A Perverted Path to Victory

Aurora Vesta

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She should have known better than to think that Sara would actually run off to attend the Admiral. At least she’d managed to wrangle a concession from the woman, in the form of sending Vesta off to inform him of her arrival and ask after an appropriate meeting time. This was not a meeting of equal monarchs. Admiral Whistling Ash was to Tulian as Tulian was to an isolated, underfed village. Certain formalities were all the more important when such a vast power imbalance was present.

There was nothing to be done for it now, however. Though she apparently attended to some secondary task while on the way to the University, considering Vesta and Oddry arrived at the nearly same time as her, there was no surprise to what followed. Of course Sara would ignore every other duty in favor of sprinting up the steps and flinging open its doors, footsteps echoing as he blurred down the hallways until there was a girlish squeal of excitement and a pained grunt from a large man, one whose daughter had just flung herself into his arms. Vesta should have known to take the delay into consideration. There was certainly no directing the woman to a task she was uninterested in, no matter how important.

Sara Brown may do as she pleases, but I still desperately wish that the Governess might have cared to see the Admiral sooner.

She did not consider it strange to make that distinction in her mind, that of two powerful persons: Sara Brown and the Governess, each independent of the other. The woman who possessed these disparate titles was as difficult to picture in the mind as the sea in a storm. Perhaps some master poet or artisanal painting could slice off a moment, crystallizing it in ink, but Vesta certainly couldn’t. The two personas shifted and melded from one to the other with an unseemly ease, not so much blurring the line of truth as they did utterly obliterate it. She often felt it was completely impossible to truly understand the woman, that the two faces she showed the world were equally false, both a convenient mask for a given occasion. In fact, she once would have gone even further, adding a third persona to the list, that of the Champion. The woman who had drowned Sporatos in flashing fire and sulfurous smoke seemed as different as any other of her faces.

Meeting Professor David Brown had thankfully shattered this illusion for Vesta. As the jovial professor had freely shared stories of Sara’s formative years, several truths made themselves known. Firstly, that the only false self she’d seen of the woman was any which had imitated a civilized bearing.

At her core, Sara Brown was not polite. She was not gentle. And, gods forbid the thought, she was the furthest thing from patient. Kind? Wise? Determined? Oh, absolutely, in her own ways. But not an ounce of her, not if you expunged, pulped, strained, and inspected the contents of her very soul, could be said to be civilized. Not as Vesta understood the term, at least. The fire Sara summoned, the passion she channeled, and yes, even the sword she swung, those were her honest self. The same Sara Brown who teased and plucked at Vesta’s heart was that cackling, bloody-toothed Champion.

Vesta could thank the girl’s father for giving her such a unique insight into Tulian’s leader. Professor Brown was a shockingly intelligent man, amongst the cleverest she’d personally spoken to, and inarguably the most knowledgeable she’d ever met. Though few recognized it (in no small part thanks to Vesta, Evie, and Sara’s obfuscation efforts), that lone man was the beating heart of Tulian’s industrial revolution. Near everything they had today was either built upon figures hidden within his mind, informed by his advice, or given his tacit approval. If given time, Sara may have been able to replicate her father’s designs, but certainly not the wisdom he tempered them with. His historian’s perspective was nearly as valuable as his passion for machinery and education.

So when Professor Brown, that brilliant and enigmatic man, had told Vesta that he’d never succeeded in taming Sara? That he had struggled all his life to guide and corral her, that even he, with all the love he’d gushed for his old world’s educational system, had failed to prevent her from entirely abandoning formal learning? Well, that was all the proof Vesta had needed. Sara Brown had always been like this. Whether by circumstance or birth, she simply was the way she was. If the Professor couldn’t convince her to change her ways, nothing could be done. It was no wonder Amarat had chosen her soul to pluck from that foreign world.

Vesta and Oddry finally caught up with Sara in the University’s lecture hall, where, of course, Professor Brown had been teaching. They had to step aside to let others flow from the doors, the class and its students having apparently dismissed themselves when they saw Sara arrive. After hearing their teacher so often whine about how long it had been since his daughter last visited, (as had anyone who spent any significant amount of time around the man) they knew her arrival was a lethal blow to his concentration on any other topic. The Browns were reunited, and all the smiths and laborers in Tulian could not pry them apart.

So Vesta and Oddry folded themselves into seats at the bottom row of the lecture hall, contenting themselves to wait. Oddry unfolded a book in her lap, one of the Tulian Press’s newest releases, and began to read. Vesta brought out a journal and one of the fabulous writing pens Hurlish had made for her, preparing to take notes. Conversations between natives of a technologically superior world could be utterly enlightening, even when they didn’t intend them to be.

CAN be, Vesta thought several minutes later, sighing heavily. Not this morning, it would seem.

Sara emphatically slammed her hand down, sending a piece of paper fluttering up into the air between herself and her father.

“I’m telling you, there’s no way it was anything else! Look at it!”

The paper, Vesta saw, had a sketch of some jungle beast’s footprint on it. Though it was an impressive specimen, apparently having measured nearly a meter from heel to toe, Sara and her father were ascribing some importance to the footprint that she couldn’t grasp.

“Sara, honey, you know I want you to be right,” Professor Brown said, picking the paper up and carefully smoothing it across his lectern, “but you can’t just assume it’s a T-Rex from a single footprint. Remember what I was telling you about the fossils around here? This place hasn’t followed earthly evolutionary patterns whatsoever. The odds of an identical species on both planets-”

“There’s humans!” Sara yelled, throwing her hands in the air. “Cows! Dogs! Cats! Sure, there’s elves and orcs and weird sea serpents and a bunch of plants I don’t know, but if there’s all this earth crap, why can’t there be a T-Rex?”

“There could be,” Professor Brown said, speaking as if he were trying to warn a toddler that they may not receive the gift they were set upon for their birthday, “but we don’t know that for sure. A single footprint just isn’t enough evidence.”

Sara petulantly crossed her arms, turning her nose up. “I’m going to find a T-Rex. And when I do, I’m not even gonna tell you where I found it.”

“No!” Professor Brown put a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as if he’d suffered a grievous wound. “Anything but that, please!”

Sara sniffed theatrically. “Well if you want to see the T-Rex too, maybe you shouldn’t be such a downer about it.”

He dropped his hand with a chuckle. “I’m not being a downer, Sara. I just know how you get when you get excited about something, and I don’t want you to get upset if there isn’t really a-”

“It’s gonna be there. I’m gonna find one.”

“Sara,” he groaned. Vesta didn’t know if she’d ever heard such exasperation expressed with so much love. “Look, it’s a 35-inch clawed avian footprint. Even if it’s not a T-Rex, it’s got to be impressive, right? Promise me you won’t be disappointed if it’s some other animal?”

Vesta had watched high nobility and powerful Knights crumple under the glare Sara fixed upon her father. Professor Brown, unlike any other, met it with his jaw thrust forward.

It would seem the stubbornness is familial.

Sara, unbelievably, broke first. Though she kept her arms crossed, she turned away, mumbling under her breath.

“...Fine. I’ll try not to get too hooked on finding the coolest dinosaur ever.”

“Thank you.” Professor Brown lifted the sketch she’d drawn off his lectern and moved to his desk at the rear of the lecture hall, opening a drawer. He stored the drawing inside with the care of a man handling a master glassblower’s magnum opus.

Oddry’s knee bumped against her leg. Vesta glanced over at her wife, who leaned in to whisper.

“I thought this would be a more productive meeting.”

Vesta’s lips pressed to a thin line. “So did I,” she whispered back. “It’s not as if they lack important topics to discuss.”

“Mm,” Oddry hummed, turning the page of her book. She lay her head on Vesta’s shoulder. “It puts Evie’s efforts to direct her wife’s energies into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“That it does.”

Across the lecture hall, Sara began to sketch on another piece of paper, outlining something that caused her father to begin passionately insulting ‘those shitty sequels.’ Vesta did not know what he was referring to, but she knew it wasn’t anything useful for Tulian.

With a reluctant sigh, she shut her journal, slipping her pen into a covered pocket. She hadn’t written a single line of notes.

“I suppose I must try to keep them on track. Wish me luck, dear.” She adjusted her dress as she stood, taking a deep breath.

“Of course,” Oddry said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “I’m afraid you’ll need it.”

“I most certainly will.” Vesta stood, moving to place herself between the happily quarreling father and daughter. Quietly, to herself, she whispered, “I only wish I knew how Evie manages it for herself.”

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Evie Brown

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After so long spent with Sara’s philosophies ever-present in her mind, the Imperial Army’s command tent was an alien creature. Rich crimson dyes suffused the cloth, broken by enchantments which appeared to float off the skin, silently repelling the raindrops which might have otherwise bothered those within by pattering atop its surface. A set of four guards in thickly gilded armor stood before the flap, maintaining a stern-faced vigil. Their ears, though hidden beneath their helmets, were stuffed with wax and cotton to deafen them. Catfolk were outright forbidden the duty.

And I suppose they were chosen for their martial prowess, Evie mused as waved a mild greeting to the faceless soldiers. Rather than their wisdom in knowing what to share with their comrades.

Sara most certainly had her peculiarities. Evie wished she could shake her wife of some, particularly those which endangered her, but knew better than to expend the effort. And besides, having now served and partially commanded a force which was permanently informed of their mission’s details, Evie had found advantages which were not inconsiderable. When even the lowliest soldier had been told not only their objective, but why it was their objective, they had proven capable of showing remarkable initiative. It was one change amongst many that Evie had not only grown accustomed to, but genuinely enjoyed.

She slowed by degrees as she approached the meeting tent. This would be her first time attending a strategy meeting without Sara. It was a daunting prospect. Though she had more than enough training for the duty, Evie was no god-appointed Champion. It was laughable to think that she could replace Sara. She would make mistakes Sara would not, fail to notice behaviors her wife’s Blessings could never miss, and would be entering an arena steeped in a language and culture that was not her own. To say it was challenging was an understatement— it felt impossible.

It also couldn’t be avoided. Steeling herself, Evie forged onward.

As she stepped through the Imperial Army’s entry flap, it felt as if Evie had been transported back in time. Or, perhaps more accurately, to an alternate time. One in which she was a part of the old armies, having finally shaken free enough of her mother’s shackles to successfully join the Sporaton military.

A long, cleverly-designed folding table took up the bulk of the interior space, slickly lacquered wood enchanted to survive the harsh conditions of a military campaign. Three maps, each skillful copies of some original masterpiece, were placed the table’s length, providing each seat an easy view of the carved wooden figurines placed atop the paper. Beautifully carved soldiers stood to represent definitively known enemy and allied positions, with flat, white-painted tokens denoting unconfirmed scouting reports. Attendants with long poles stood hidden in the shadows, ready and waiting to adjust the pieces as directed.

Despite the culturally alien trappings, it was a familiar sight to the part of Evie which still recalled her noble upbringing. The figures sitting around the table claimed different ancestries, wore different styles, and had strange, difficult-to-pronounce names, but they were as blueblooded as any Sporaton military officer. As they turned to look at her entrance, her tutors’ earliest lessons forcibly took hold of her mind. Her eyes flicked across the room, making a point to put a name to each face. She spent a moment pressing the entire into her memory for later analysis, knowing as she did that who sat next to who could often indicate hidden alliances.

Then her next tutor’s lessons kicked in. The less official tutors, the commoners. The greatest mercenaries in the known world had helped hone Evie’s instincts as well. Her eyes darted down, cataloguing the attendee’s height, arm length, and assorted weaponry, the combination of which determined the range at which they could be a sudden threat. If there were open seats available and political precedence was not a concern, that was often how she would choose her seat. Unfortunately, however, she had arrived slightly late to the meeting, and there was only one place left, across from the newest visitor to the Imperial Army’s regular strategy meetings.

Honored Elven Mage Mayaran.

Her presence was a shock, but Evie didn’t dare let the surprise show on her face. Though technically a formal member of the Imperial Army and thus beholden to General Borek, her status as an elf gave her a leeway that she exercised freely. From what Sara’s Blessings had gathered, in addition to Ketch’s more dedicated reconnaissance, Mage Mayaran spent the majority of her non-marching time socializing in the privacy of other nobility’s tents. She was also, much to Sara’s putrid disgust, one of the only members of the First Blackpowder Army which passed the day’s march relaxing in a human-drawn rickshaw. That was when a great deal of her less intricate political dealings occurred, Evie recalled.

So why join a strategy meeting today? Evie wondered. It certainly wasn’t because of Sara’s absence; Mage Mayaran was too politically savvy to do such a thing. Attending when Sara was not present, only to disappear when she returned, would be tantamount to admitting a fear of confronting the woman. This must be a more permanent change, then. But why? The indeterminate and inconsistent animosity Mayaran showed toward Sara was inexplicable enough on its own, and that made picking apart her motivations even more difficult.

Gods, I wish Sara was here.

She didn’t have time to pursue the question as thoroughly as she would have preferred, of course. Such was the nature of surprises. She simply took her seat, nodding her greetings to the head of the table, where General Borek sat.

“My apologies for such a late arrival,” she said, primly placing her journal on the table. “I wished to personally supervise our artillery as they crossed that brief stream some miles back.”

“Of course, Commander Evie,” General Borek replied with a gracious nod. “All in this army know the value of those cannons. I hope there were not any difficulties?”

“No, there were not.” Evie unlocked her journal, turning it to an empty page, and pulled out her pen. “Though our Combat Engineers began building a small bridge, my wife proved too impatient, choosing to ruin their work by carrying them across herself.” She smiled. “I asked her not to, concerned that she might slip and drop one, but you know how wives are.”

Polite chuckles went around the room. It wasn’t Evie’s best work, but it had served its purpose. Though the anecdote followed a tried-and-true method of amusing others, that of lightly complaining about the idiosyncrasies of one’s spouse, it was too blunt. Reminding those present of Hurlish’s strength was amongst her many secondary objectives, but pursuit of it seemed to have harmed her primary objective, which was to use humor to ingratiate herself with the Imperial socialites. Lacking Sara’s blessings as a social lubricant, Evie wished to assure them of her own approachability.

Perhaps I genuinely wished to boast on Hurlish behalf, Evie considered. The more she turned the idea over in her mind, the more she felt certain it was true. Hm. Interesting. Perhaps my younger self shouldn’t have been so dismissive of lessons on how to control affection’s influence on my actions. I’d never thought affection would be relevant to my life.

“Will your wife not be joining us?” Mage Mayaran asked. “Though I mean no offense to our host, I imagine even these fine chairs are not anywhere near as comfortable as your usual seat.”

Really? Another Evie resisted the urge to lift an eyebrow at Mayaran. Of all my poor behaviors, you choose to mock my sitting in Sara’s lap? It was a habit Evie was more than well prepared to defend.

“Of course they are not,” she sighed wistfully, an emotion she did not have to fake. “But sad as it may be, I must make do without divinely-annoited thighs for my perch for a few short days.” She looked around the table. “I’m afraid the rumors which you’ve all doubtlessly heard are true. General Brown has departed to handle urgent matters in Tulian. She will be back in a few short days.”

A slight current of murmurs was all this news elicited. Though only General Borek had been officially informed of Sara’s departure, Sara was far from a reclusive figure. Her absence could not be hidden, and no effort had been made to that end.

“A few short days?” A woman asked. Iva Raksa, a former peasant who had been ceremonially elevated to the status of Warrior. By the Tulian military ranking system she was a Colonel, answering only to General Borek, but what records Evie had acquired of Raksa’s battles showed that she usually acted as a leader of small, elite squads, not entire divisions. “Though the mechanical creature which visited us yesterday certainly seems impressive, are you truly claiming it can cover several month’s worth of travel in so short a time?”

“Yes,” Evie stated bluntly. “It has already made the journey once. I am confident in its capabilities.”

Raksa scoffed. “You’re a more faithful woman than I, then. I was with the griffons as they watched it depart. Were I to encounter one of our own animals making such sickly noises, I would have them retired immediately.”

Evie noted two things from this. Firstly, when General Borek did not immediately cut in to silence Raksa, that the respect afforded to an Honored Chosen did not extend to Evie. She was just a mercenary to them. An important one, perhaps, but only a mercenary, and very few career soldiers respected those who killed for no greater cause than coin. Secondly, though less important than the first point, she made a note that Raksa was somehow involved with the griffons, if not a rider herself. That hadn’t been in her preparatory resources for this meeting. Something to have Ketch investigate.

“Unfortunately,” Evie said, taking care to enunciate the foreign words, “all efforts to quiet the aeroplanes have met with failure. It appears the noise they create is inseparable to their basic functioning. Particularly when they are traveling fast enough to outpace Imperial griffons.” Evie lifted her left hand from beneath the wood, placing it on the table before her, fingers slightly curled. Steel entered her voice. “However, I will assure you that I would not allow the mother of my child to travel in anything remotely approaching something which might be described as sickly. The aeroplane is reliable.”

The tent, already quiet, became silent. Raksa’s gaze flicked down to Evie’s hand, then back up to her face.

“I see,” she said carefully. Not cowed, but abruptly aware that she had nearly crossed a line she hadn’t known existed. “A strange contraption indeed, to make such a noise as part of its natural course. I know our artificers and mages are eager to learn more.”

“I’m sure they are,” Evie agreed. She turned to General Borek. “I apologize for the unintended interruption. Please, continue as you were.”

If the vanara man was irritated with the snippy exchange, he didn’t show it on his face.

“Your apology is accepted, General Brown, but hardly necessary. We had barely begun.” Waving a hand, General Borek directed the meeting’s attendees to the maps before them. “As you can see, reports indicate the enemy has continued their southward journey. They remain divided in three groups of unequal strength. Our aerial scouts have taken to referring to them according to their estimated size. Henceforth, they will be referred to as the Core, Wing, and Tooth armies.”

As General Borek spoke, he tapped the centralmost army with his right hand, the easternmost with his left, and the westmost with his tail. The Core army was represented by a carving of a heavily armored Imperial Warrior, with the Wing and Tooth armies depicted by their respective pieces of anatomy.

Aids came forward, handing sheets of parchment to the attendees. Evie leaned in, squinting in the dim crystal-light. The Core Army numbered thirty-five thousand, less than the First Blackpowder Army, but contained a heavily disproportionate number of Warriors. Conventional military logic, assuming a Warrior was roughly equal to a dismounted Sporaton Knight, told Evie that the Core army alone could handily overpower their force. That did not account for the unknown variable of muskets, however. No military calculus yet did. Perhaps such a large volume of Warriors would sweep across the field and crash into the melee before a single volley could be fired, tearing through the lightly-armed musketmen like paper. Perhaps they would try to mass for just such a charge, only to be scythed down by leaden rain. As Earth had not possessed highly-Leveled Warriors or Knights, not even Evie’s otherworldly knowledge could help her predict the outcome.

The Wing and Tooth armies, meanwhile, had a more common distribution of troops, save for the fact that they contained the largest concentration of blackpowder-armed troops. That made sense to Evie; the less experienced a soldier was, the more readily they could take up new weaponry. The Core army had a surplus of veterans, many of whom would possess Levels and Skills which did not translate to the new age of warfare.

“Unfortunately,” General Borek continued, drawing a line across the empty jungle that lay south of the three armies, “we have not confirmed their objective. Though it is obvious that they seek to break free of the jungle’s confines, what they wish to do when united upon the northern fields is a secret their commanders are closely guarding.”

Evie did not agree with that. To her, their objective was obvious: Tulian. By providing arms to their enemies, the city-state had proved a nuisance worth eradicating. She did not voice this opinion, however. Not only was it not her place as a lowly mercenary, it was not the official stance of the Powdered Lead. Sara insisted that Evie’s paranoia was influencing her military mind, causing her to obsess over what she considered the most disastrous outcome, not the most likely.

Evie disagreed. The enemy was going to Tulian. Gathering evidence for the conclusion was a waste of time.

And if I’m wrong, what will it matter? By placing the First Blackpowder Army between Tulian and this trio of armies, we will cut off their ability to travel east, where their objective must lie.

Due to the sparse population of its frontiers, the Empire’s borders were a nebulous thing. The majority of the densely populated regions, however, tracked a southwesternly course, with the easternmost regions also being the furthest north— and thus the closest to Tulian. Once the enemy was free to march through the open fields, there was no doubt they’d be heading east. Every meaningfully accessible objective, Imperial and Tulian, was in the east.

That was another reason why Evie held her tongue. Though the particulars might vary, in the larger picture, any defensive posture the First Blackpowder Army might adopt would also be one which served the dual purpose of defending Tulian.

But will General Borek choose to be so passive?

Evie doubted it. The Imperial Adjutant had become acquainted with Sara well before he had assigned General Borek to this army, which was assembled specifically for the Chosen to accompany. Though the Adjutant and Sara only spoke for a single day, that was more than enough time to realize that the mythical Chosen’s aid could not be retained for long by placing her in a passive position.

Looking around the table, however, Evie found herself outnumbered by terribly conservative commanders. They were veterans all, well-versed in warfare, but the Imperial jungle lent itself to a brutally attritional variety of combat. Most had only fought in two sorts of battles: that of an agonizing shoving match, the strongest and most skilled of an army’s spearmen colliding headfirst into one another on the narrow jungle roads, or protracted sieges, each side trying to outlast the other’s willingness to suffer. The Imperial war machine was brutal, and by necessity far more meritocratic than its Sporaton opposite, but it did not create officers fond of bold, striking maneuvers. Merely those with the strength to endure.

Better to sacrifice the favor of the conservative faction to earn the fondness of the most important person in the room, Evie decided. She would advocate for the aggressive course, knowing it was what General Borek would prefer.

She bided her time, allowing the discussion to take its natural course. Evie had long since learned to avoid becoming too invested in the Imperial Army’s debates, paying only enough attention to make the occasional inoffensive contribution. The accuracy of reports were debated, the validity of certain strategies, and, as always, a furious argument arose over the degree to which the possession of muskets multiplied their force’s effectiveness. From her outsider’s perspective, Evie found it terribly exhausting. Imperial governance was predicated upon a dizzyingly complex bureaucracy, a cultural trend which was clearly reflected in this meeting. At times Evie felt that the Empire had inadvertently created the bastard child of the worst elements of her two military experiences. They lacked the hierarchical tyranny and discipline of a Sporaton army, where the highest-ranking individual’s word was law, yet hadn’t provided their commanders the freedom Sara did, allowing them to speak their mind without fear of consequence— even if they really should have kept their mouths shut. The Imperials so often seemed locked into tail-chasing arguments, too polite to offer substantive criticism, yet unwilling to give the issue up and dedicate themselves to the execution of orders they considered inferior.

Finally, after an age of back and forth, the question of what should actually be done reared its head. Evie took a deep breath and straightened her back, folding her hands on the table before her.

“Is it not obvious?” She asked aloud. The others started, as if they’d entirely forgotten the strange pale foreigner sitting among them. Evie did not provide an opportunity to answer her rhetorical question, quickly pointing to the easternmost army, represented by a stylized griffon wing. “We are concerned where the enemy shall go once they unite upon the open plains. Why leave them to do so unmolested?”

The human man sitting to the left of Mage Mayaran scowled, tilting his head to give himself a better angle to look authoritatively down at her. She knew him only vaguely. Kiri-Ma’an, another Colonel, though one that had joined the army only within the last month. Evie briefly wondered if his sitting next to Mage Mayaran was a coincidence, but dismissed the question as unanswerable. She would task Ketch with determining his loyalties later in the evening.

“And how do you suppose we do that, My Lady?” He scratched at his upper lip, as if he was used to having a mustache there, then waved at the road network. “The Wing Army is smaller than us, true, but this makes them more maneuverable. It would require a long and hard march, exhausting our troops, and we cannot guarantee an interception. Not without knowing the exact path they will choose, and even then, their scouts will invariably spot us. It will be a simple matter for them to choose a different road, one which will avoid our forces entirely.”

Evie smiled, careful to keep her fangs hidden. “Would you suggest our forty thousand meet their united hundred thousand on the open field, then? Where they will be free to surround and overwhelm us?”

His scowl deepened. “Of course not. But neither would I suggest that we go off chasing impossibilities.”

“Why not meet the enemy on the open field?”

The quiet, refined, nearly musical voice cut through the tent. All heads turned to Honored Elven Mayaran, who had just spoken for the first time in a very long while.

Her face was a picture of innocent curiosity, tempered with just the right amount of self-assured confidence. Once satisfied her moronic question had gathered the attention of the others, she cast a spell on the three maps, using illusory magic to circle the largely undecorated spaces of southern Tulian.

“Thanks to the aid of the Powdered Lead, we have advantages that our enemies lack,” she said. Her spell, rendered in triplicate, began to warp Tulian territory, raising hills and carving valleys. “Local knowledge, for one. We will not need to waste time scouting territory. We can march directly to the most defensive land.”

Another Colonel huffed doubtfully. “In those lifeless wastelands? What could possibly pass for a natural fortification?”

“Well?” Mage Mayaran turned to Evie, her face polite and expectant. “What could?”

Evie had no idea what Mayaran’s angle on this was. Until that moment, she’d vacillated between regarding the Powdered Lead with disinterest and outright disdain. Now she seemed to be presenting Evie with an opportunity to prove their utility.

Feeling as though she was walking into a trap, but seeing no way around it, Evie took a breath as she considered her recollection of Tulian landscapes.

“Though I would have to consult my maps for detailed information, I know that there are plentiful hills, rivers, and sparse jungle within the territory you have indicated. There are even abandoned cities, some of which have defensive walls that, while degraded by disuse, could be repaired by a dedicated enough effort.” She drummed her fingertips on the table, staring Mayaran in the eye. “Though these features are not the dozen mile thick wall of foliage the Imperial military is used to relying upon, each feature can be used to one’s advantage. I’m certain a quick perusal of our maps could reveal a defensible enough position within the region.”

“And your mercenaries have experience fighting on the open plains, no?” Mayaran’s illusion grew in complexity. Soldiers the size of ants scurried out of the forest, dispersing from their neat columns into a chaotic mob. The eastern blob, shimmering gold to represent their own forces, collided into the larger black blob, which absorbed them in mere moments. As the black blob moved on, rushing to take the nearest friendly Imperial city, Mayaran looked inquisitively about. “I trust you have all heard the reports of the Expeditionary Army’s attempts to conduct a battle on the open fields?”

Most made noises or motions of affirmation, including Evie, but several didn’t, or did so only hesitantly. Mayaran nodded, as if this was the result she’d expected, and began to explain.

“Though the final result was inconclusive, with both parties retreating to lick their wounds, all reports profess the sheer chaos of the battle. Even our largest field battles, such as those which occur when a city must be taken by force, are constrained. Whether by city walls, jungle thicket, or winding streets, we are a people accustomed to narrow, ordered battles. What emerged on those empty plains is difficult to envision.”

Her words had the air of a prepared speech to them. Evie’s eyelids narrowed to thin slits, her tail attempting to thrash behind her, though it was thankfully pinned against the chair.

“Commander Evie,” Mayaran smiled across the table, “you saw the aftermath of the battle personally, I believe. Would you concur with my assessment?”

Yes. The word rose to the tip of Evie’s tongue automatically, but she didn’t let it loose. As she and Sara had walked through the Imperial camp the night after the battle, she had been astonished by the utter chaos described by so many soldiers. Imperial commanders, accustomed to battles confined to neat, predictable lines, had no experience in complex signaling and maneuvering. If she’d taken every soldier at their literal words, there had been instances of one group surrounded by another, surrounded by the first’s allies, surrounded yet further by more enemies. In other places, junior officers had stayed stalwart and complacent at their assigned positions, even as the battle roved and shifted around them. Those sorts never actually crossed blades with the enemy, and they had spent hours proudly applauding their obedience, achieving nothing the whole while.

But Mayaran anticipated that answer, clearly. Further, she was clearly setting up Evie to be the expert on open field battles that the Imperials should rely upon. An opportunity she would happily seize if offered by near anyone else, but not by someone so habitually deceitful as Mayaran.

Why, why, why? The question echoed in her head, but there was no time to answer it. Choosing the option Sara so often championed, Evie discarded the logical choice and went with her gut:

She didn’t trust that elvish bitch.

“I’ve heard reports which say much the same,” Evie conceded, “but all that seemed clear to me was the devastation which occurred. With such heavy losses, I cannot imagine any truly reliable account could be assembled, not without dedicated effort.”

Mayaran’s lips turned down. “A shame. I’d hoped for your expertise. Perhaps you would be more amenable to evaluating a firsthand account?” Mayaran raised a hand, fingers twisting, manipulating invisible currents.

Before Evie could parse the implications fully, there was a knock against the tent poll. Mayaran raised her voice.

“Come in! Your services are needed.”

Pushing one flap aside, nervousness writ large on his face, Mui Thom entered the room.

Evie’s claws sprung from fingertips with enough force to crack the tabletop.

“Sergeant Mui Thom,” Mayaran said, introducing him to the rest of the tent. “Though only a Sergeant, he was of this rank when he fought in what was perhaps the strangest battle in the history of this war. I believe he is the most reliable source available to us. Not only was he an officer, albeit low-ranking, he is clearly a trustworthy man. After all, General Borek personally chose him as the cultural liaison to Tulian.”

A long pause.

“...that I did,” General Borek said at length. He seemed to be considering saying something, but held it back, instead sighing, waving Mui forward. “Come, Sergeant. Honored Elven Mayaran wishes to hear your account of the First Expeditionary Force’s battle against the rebels.”

Mui stepped forward, white foamy sweat percolating beneath his fur. He opened his muzzle to speak.

Evie could take no more.

“Mayaran!” She snapped, her head whipping toward the elf with such force that it pained her neck. “I demand an explanation and an apology immediately.”

The air within the tent turned to bitter ash. No one save Mayaran dared breath.

“...I beg your pardon, Commander?”

Evie tried to convince her hands to release their grip on the table, but they rebelled.

“Mui Thom is indeed the cultural liaison to Tulian, my wife, and by legally ratified extension, the Powdered Lead. Not only are his duties important, by the nature of his assignment, he is outside this army’s command structure.” She bit every word off, teeth gnashing, lips curled high enough to show every inch of her fangs. “General Borek and those of equal rank are the only authority allowed to give him orders.” Evie tried to smile politely, but could feel it becoming nothing more than a rictus grin. “Surely you did not so flagrantly disobey General Borek’s orders?”

Mayaran met her gaze, shocked affront plastered across her face, but deep in her eyes, in the dark void of her pupils, Evie caught an infuriating sparkle of amusement.

“I would do no such thing,” Mayaran said, raising her voice just a touch, abandoning the calm, sing-songy cadence so maddeningly common to elves. “Knowing that the discussion was likely to turn to this topic, I extended a polite request to Sergeant Mui Thom, asking him to be ready in case his testimony might prove useful. Until this little…” she waved at Evie’s claws, which had dragged ten white scars in the wood. “...outburst, I was rather proud of my prescient decision. I see no room for your objection.”

“A request from one of your status, Honored Elf Mayaran, is as good as divine commandment to a lowly Sergeant! Do not feign ignorance!”

“Really?” Mayaran asked, all but humming with satisfaction. “What important duties did I steal Sergeant Mui Thom away from, then? By what I have heard, with the Chosen’s absence, he has spent the evenings doing nothing more than enjoying the privacy of his tent.”

Evie’s head spun with unbridled fury. She ripped her claws from the tabletop with an earsplitting crack, sending splinters flying across the gathering.

“You have interfered with a duly appointed mercenary commander’s operations, neglected to inform his direct superiors of having done so, and did so by the thinnest legal technicalities imaginable.” Her hand whipped toward the tent flap, a single clawed finger pointing beyond. “Mui! Leave this instant!”

Mayaran held up a hand. “Sergeant Mui Thom, stay.”

Evie’s chest was heaving. Mayaran was failing to contain her glee. Those sitting closest to the two women were leaning away, readying themselves to run, while others were beginning to reach for weapons. Mui, looking like he was about to vomit, turned wide eyes to the only authority he could think of: General Borek.

The General sighed loudly, slumping tiredly in his chair. He looked between Mayaran’s giddy face, Evie’s blistering rage, and then to Mui himself. After a moment’s consideration, he flicked his wrist as if shooing away a fly.

“You are dismissed, Sergeant.”

Mui fled the tent as fast as his legs could carry him.

In the echoing silence that followed, General Borek simply sat tiredly in his chair, looking back and forth between Mayaran’s poorly-hidden glee and Evie’s blistering rage. Finally, he looked down at the wounded table, then to one of the attendants in the room.

“Gather up any splinters and fragments you can find, if you would. I suspect it will make the carpenter’s repairs easier.”

The attendant nodded silently, taking a crystal from its sconce and dropping to their hands and knees, running fingers through the plush carpet.

General Borek sighed yet again, even louder. Without straightening his posture, he looked at Mayaran.

“Honored Elven Mayaran. Commander Evie’s objections have been noted, as have your rebuttals. The letter you sent to the man will be recovered and its wording reviewed. Is this amenable?”

“Of course, General,” she said, humbly bowing her head.

Borek turned his gaze upon Evie.

“Your behavior, actions, and words were unacceptable. You will leave this meeting immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” Evie replied, standing sharply. She was out of the space before her chair had finished coming to rest.

Evie tore through the camp, feet churning nearly as fast as her pounding heart.

Stupid! Ignorant! What were you thinking, you foolish girl?

Mui had not gone far, of course. She spotted the back of his black-furred head on the way back to the Powdered Lead’s section of the camp. She blurred up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Shit-!” Mui leapt nearly a foot vertically, claws springing from his fingers. Evie did not let him go.

“We are going for a walk in the woods,” she informed him.

Recovering himself, Mui all but snarled down at her. “Really? After that, you demand of me-”

Evie’s fingers closed around his shirt, balling it into a fist which pressed against his clavicle, silencing him. He looked at her again, this time taking his time to note her countenance, and visibly wilted.

Nothing accompanied them into the forest save for the pounding of Evie’s feet and the panting of Mui. She did not bother to note her path or walk around obstacles. She simply summoned her sword and slashed, cut, and stabbed, flicking thick vines from her path. She had no interest in navigating the jungle thicket, nor any care for the creatures which might hear her sword’s tirade. At that moment, a jungle beast’s appearance seemed a fine opportunity to work out her frustration.

She only stopped when they were several hundred yards into the forest, well beyond the hearing of even the best spy. The path she had carved was straight as an arrow, visible all the way through. No one could approach unnoticed.

When Evie turned to face Mui, chest swelling to speak, she found her chest absent of breath. She doubled over with a loud cough, all the effort of her foliage massacre making themselves known in the same instant. Her lungs were afire, her muscles aching, even the joints of her sword arm aching something fierce.

It felt good.

“I did not know,” Mui said. “I thought it was a letter from yourself, or perhaps one of your attendants. I apologize, Evie, I did not think that-”

Just as Mui began to reach a hand out, Evie whipped her body up straight, moving with enough force to send her hair flying free of its braid.

Mui looked into her eyes. Stepped back. Then dropped his canteen, fumbling for his sword.

Evie’s snarl echoed up through the trees.

“How dare she!”

Mui froze.

Evie whirled, slamming a fist into a tree. The bark shattered under the blow, as did the knuckle of her middle finger.

“How DARE she!” She screamed again, pulling her fist back and swinging again. “How FUCKING dare she! That fucking bitch! That prissy little fucking elven whore!”

Cautiously, in disbelief, Mui licked his whiskers. “Evie?”

Evie’s laughter was shrill and deranged, echoing up into the trees.

“Yes? Yes, Mui? Don’t worry yourself! I am angry, so very furious, but not with you, not at all!” She struck the tree one last time, coating it with a splash of her own blood, then spun around to face Mui. Reaching into a pocket and pulling a roll of gauze, she began twirling it over her mangled hand and pulling it tight. “I am utterly enraged that this… that this has happened! That it took barely a few hours beyond a single day without Sara for me to make such a fool of myself!”

“Evie,” he said again, still holding his hand up. As if he was calming a beast.

And why shouldn’t he consider me a beast? I have all the wisdom of one!

“I did not know any of this was going to happen,” he tried to assure her. “Whatever occurred back there, whatever that meeting meant, I had no part in-”

“I know! I know you didn’t, Mui! Of course you didn’t! But I should have!” Finishing wrapping her hand, she lifted the gauze to her teeth and tore, pressing it down hard. Blood was soaking through to the surface already. “I thought of so much! I thought of how Sara’s disappearance would affect the Imperial impression of me, of the immunity I would lack, and, of course, arrogant bitch I am, I thought of the advantages I could seize! The things I could do without Sara over my shoulder, the enemies I could scorn and allies I could pay! Of course I was thinking about that! I, I, I!”

She spun again, reaching up to punch the tree once more, but stopped herself. Chest heaving, she dropped her hand to her side, staining her pants with her own blood.

“Do you know how long it has been since Sara left?”

Still cautious, he hesitated, waiting to see if she really wanted an answer. When she said nothing further, he offered a hesitant reply. “A day or so, I believe?”

“Twenty-seven hours,” Evie corrected, scorn burning her throat. “Twenty seven hours was how long it took for me to let that knife-eared bitch drag you into her games. Because, of course, I was thinking of what it meant for Sara to be gone. What it meant for me. What I could do.” She scoffed at herself, lifting her hand to inspect the damage. A dent was visible in the knuckle, even when wrapped in bandages. It would need a full healing potion to fix. Her lips curled in disgust. “Have you any idea how hard Sara has worked to keep you from the public eye? To ensure that your entanglement with her remained pure?”

Mui blinked several times. The sun was falling, setting behind Evie, lighting his eyes. Just like a cat’s, they turned to silver moons when viewed from the right angle. Evie’s eyes didn’t. Her only catlike features were tooth and claw.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Evie.”

She laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t. Why should you? That’s what she wanted.” She ran a hand through her hair. It was a mess. Tangled with shredded leaves and branches, what remained of her braids had been torn apart by the force of her movements. She swiped her fingers through it, letting the locks fall in a mess to rest against her hips.

She lifted the end, looking at the broken strands. Time for a trim, I suspect. She laughed at herself.

“Mui,” she said, turning to him, “how do you do it?”

He had a strange expression on his face. One that she probably should have recognized, but couldn’t. Why bother trying? Best to wait for Sara to tell her.

“How do I do what?”

“This,” she said, indicating his feet. “You stand here, alone, deep in the secluded jungle. I am in a rage, and even without my pistol, I could kill you before you so much as blinked. And did you notice what you did?”

“I-”

“You reached out to help me,” Evie snapped. “I was bent and cowed, exhausted by my idiotic thrashing, and I watched you start to reach not for a knife or your pistol, but your canteen. To offer it to me! After all of this!” She laughed madly, using her right hand to slap her broken fist several times in a row. The pain felt warm. Familiar. “How do you do it? What do you have that I lack?”

This time, he spent a long while thinking before responding. She watched the muscles beneath his face twist, and she didn’t understand what the expression meant.

“What,” he eventually said, “did you mean by Sara keeping me ‘pure?’”

“Not you,” she corrected. “Your relationship with her.”

“Still,” he said.

Evie set her jaw. “She is an important woman. She always has been, at least since she reached this world, but even moreso in the Empire. She is worshipped here, Mui. And she saw in you a… friend. A good man, she called you. Calls you. She desired you, your friendship, your respect, your body, but knew that an entanglement would not be a short affair. ” Evie pressed a finger into her broken hand, grinding it down. “Do you have any idea how much she hates this? The politics? The life that’s been forced upon her?”

“I… no,” he said, “No, I don’t know.”

Evie met his eyes. “Enough so that even she can’t hide it from me. From Hurlish. From you, too, I suspect, if given enough time. She hates this place, Mui. The people she commands beside. Their politicking, the lives they live, the values they hold dear. If swallowing a latrine was what it would take to rid her of them while achieving her goals, she would cry with joy for the opportunity. She hates them, Mui. More than you could ever know.”

“Then why is she here?” He asked. “Fighting for us? For our cause?”

“Because she is…” Evie pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Because there are people like you here, Mui. People who are not part of those that she hates, but their victims. Innocent men, women, and children. Keeping people like you free of them, of their influence, that is why she is here.”

Mui swallowed. Licked his whiskers again. It could have driven Evie mad, watching him. The way he looked at her so carefully, the way he hesitated, unwilling to anger her, so gentle, so careful to make sure he understood not just what she was saying, but what she meant. And then, at a whisper, he spoke.

“And you believed that… that you have allowed me to be dragged into this? Their politicking?”

Evie’s nod was jerky, unsteady. “Yes. Yes, of course I have. Because I thought about I, as I always have. As I seemingly always will. I thought that because I was acting in the interests of those I cared about, and they were good people, I would be doing the right thing. Of course not.”

She finally lifted her finger away from her knuckle, shivering as the pressure released. Sara had described this habit to her before. Self-harm. She’d been worried Evie had once practiced it. The idea had baffled her, then. Now she understood. How calming it could be to have that known, reliable source of pain.

Evie looked down at her broken fist. She would have to tell Sara she’d done this. That she’d made it worse, and enjoyed doing it. Sara would know what to do.

“Evie,” Mui said. Her head snapped up, staring at him, taken aback. He was closer now, within arm’s length. How long had she been staring at her fist?

“I…” he took a deep breath. Considered his words. Then blew the air out in one long, drawn-out exhalation, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say. Or do, I suppose. This is not something that I…”

A long time passed between them. He looked up sharply then, eyes wide, as if struck from above.

“I think that I… accept your apology?”

Evie sagged.

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