VG 3.43 - Blueprints for Ruin

Here's today's chapter! Just a couple more to go, I'd say. Hope you enjoy~

-Plum

43 – Blueprints for Ruin

“All you must do,” Pallishae said after Ward filled him in on the apparent windfall Gwen’s capture represented, “is place this amulet on her chest and anoint it with her blood. I will do the rest. You’re absolutely certain that she’s the leader of the Umbrage?”

Ward sighed, thumping his fist on the bedroom wall. He’d gone upstairs and found an empty room in which to speak with the spirit privately. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure Marie thinks so.”

“Well, from your tale, she seems to have quite a lot of information. We’re operating in the dark here, but I’ll know for certain once I’ve bonded with her.”

“And what does that mean? Are you sure you’re not just giving her what she wants? Hasn’t she already been using that other version of you to do plenty of evil?”

“Her cult has, yes, but only after subverting my…other self for decades with the blood of corrupted individuals. If she’s the leader we seek, Gwen will not have a demon inhabiting her; as I told you before, she’s found her way to evil all on her own. As for what it means for me to bond with her… Let’s just say that I’ll be the one in control of our little duality.”

“Well, I guess that’s that, then.” Ward had been leaning on the wall near the door, and he stood up, reaching for the handle. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

“Ward, I’ll be able to speak to you once I’ve completed my bond with the sorceress, but after that, when we go to face our enemies, I’m not sure what will become of me. I may finally be forced to move on through the veil. Or…” He hesitated, shaking his head and pressing his lips together. “In a worst-case scenario, I may be destroyed utterly. In either case, I’m sorry I won’t be able to continue tutoring you. I find you to be a likable fellow.”

Ward clutched the amulet and opened the door. “Thanks, Pallishae. You’re not half bad yourself. Now, try to keep a positive outlook.” With that, he stomped down the hallway to the stairs and took them two at a time. Pallishae faded, breaking up in a wisp of amber-tinted smoke as he went, no doubt saving his mana for whatever he had to do to Gwen.

Ward went straight to the parlor where Reembak had stowed the prisoners. She and Coral were there, talking quietly near the doors, and when he stepped in, Coral turned to regard him, holding out a hand. “It seems I owe you some thanks, Ward. What a debacle! My memory is spotty—honestly, I only have a vague recollection of speaking to you after the Assembly hearing. Everything else is a hazy fog—a nightmare of feeling paralyzed, trapped in my own body while the thing within me worked with Gwen.”

Ward took his hand and gave it a good shake. “I’m glad I could help you, Vott.” He saw no reason to spare the use of the man’s first name; he never enjoyed formality, and he certainly didn’t love government bureaucracies. Ward looked around the room, noting the absence of the other prisoners and Marie’s henchmen. “Where’s everyone else?”

“My men, well”—she looked at Vott—“Lord Gregory’s men, are gently interrogating the other prisoners, determining if they were aligned with Gwen or simply victims of circumstance.”

“Ah. Well”—Ward held up the artifact—“I’m ready to do it.” For the first time, Gwen bucked and thrashed in her bindings, kicking her bound feet up and down and flopping so violently that she nearly fell off the sofa.

Marie hurried over to her and pushed her down with her elegant knee-high boot. “Be still, wretch!”

“Take caution, Marie!” Vott said, absently rubbing the rope burns on his wrists. “She’s powerful and has—”

“Many tricks,” Marie finished for him, giving the bound sorceress another shove with her boot heel. “I know.”

“All right. Enough stalling.” Ward gripped the artifact talisman and approached the couch. “I need to see her chest. Turn her over.”

Marie looked at him with narrowed eyes, but didn’t argue. She bent and grabbed Gwen’s arm, tugging. “Turn!” As she struggled, she hissed, “Vott. Her ankles!”

The older, hunchbacked man grimaced as he limped over to the couch and grasped Gwen’s bound ankles. Together, they managed to turn the sorceress mostly onto her back. Ward approached, belt knife drawn. “What will you do to her?” Vott asked, his voice hoarse.

“Didn’t Marie tell you? There’s an old one’s spirit in here.” Ward held up the amulet. “He’ll get into Gwen’s head and use what she knows against the Umbrage.” His words sent Gwen into another paroxysm, thrashing, moaning against her gag, and straining with everything she had against her bonds. It was enough to make Ward feel decidedly like the bad guy. As if she were reading his mind—she may very well have been—Grace appeared.

“Don’t you dare chicken out, Ward!”

He glanced at her, rumbling a low growl in his chest. Vott looked at him sharply.

“What is it?”

Relieved that the old Assembly member couldn’t see Grace, Ward shrugged the question off. “Nothing. I’m just—I just wish I’d seen Gwen doing something evil with my own eyes.”

“Ward, you—” Grace started to say, but Vott Coral guffawed, cutting her off.

“Oh, dear boy! The things I witnessed when I was trapped in my own mind! Yes, things are hazy, and I can’t remember everything, but this woman—she is bad, through and through. I watched her torture and kill allies of Reembak’s and mine. I watched her drink the blood of Lord Everson’s child from a crystal goblet while he sobbed, awaiting his own grisly fate. Do not feel pity for this thing!”

Ward didn’t know who Lord Everson was, but the image was vivid enough. Could he trust Vott? He’d seen the demon come out of him with his own eyes. If there were some elaborate scheme to trick him going on here, it didn’t make any damn sense to him. Why would Marie beg Grace to help Vott if she was working with the Umbrage? Why— He shook his head as Grace pinched him. She was right; this was no time to get lost in his spiraling thoughts. He took his knife and cut the top buttons of Gwen’s blouse, exposing her surprisingly well-tanned breastbone.

“What now?” Marie asked, breathless as she fought to pin Gwen’s shoulders down.

“Not much,” Ward said, as he took the knife and cut a two-inch gash in the smooth flesh he’d just exposed. As bright blood bloomed from the cut, he pressed the artifact against it. The blood instantly sizzled and began to steam, and Ward pulled his hand away as the amulet grew uncomfortably hot. Naturally, this triggered another surge of guilt as he watched Gwen writhe and listened to her scream against the gag in her mouth.

“What’s happening?” Vott asked, grunting with the effort of holding Gwen’s feet still.

“I would imagine the spirit is battling with her will,” Marie said, glancing at Grace as though she could confirm.

Ward didn’t look at Grace. He was too focused on the glowing amulet, the sizzling blood, and the foul-smelling steam rising from it. “Jesus,” he grunted. “I hope to hell you’re right about her.”

“I am!” Marie hissed, baring her teeth at him. “I am painfully certain that she is the cult leader!”

“As am I,” Vott growled.

While they spoke, Gwen grew still, and after a moment, the artifact stopped sizzling and the bloody steam faded. Looking at her Chest, Ward could see that the golden talisman was fully embedded in her flesh, the skin raw and red around it. Still, her breathing had calmed, and she very deliberately turned her hooded head to face Ward’s direction, almost like she was waiting for him to do something.

“Pallishae?” he asked, tentatively.

The woman’s hood nodded up and down.

Ward took the knife and cut the drawstrings under the hood. “Take it off.”

Marie, hesitant and with a hand that veritably shook, grabbed the top of the hood and tugged it off Gwen’s head, revealing unkempt brown hair and brilliant blue eyes that glowed even brighter than Marie’s green ones. Her face was calm, but Ward wasn’t taking any chances. He held his knife to her throat and growled, “Utter one syllable of a word of power and I’ll cut straight to your spine.

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll get the gag,” Reembak said, producing an elegant, eight-inch blade with a slim, curved blade. She slid it along Gwen’s cheek, under the gag, and deftly sliced the material. Then, she pulled it, along with a thick, saliva-soaked knot from Gwen’s mouth.

“Ack,” Gwen said, probing her cracked lips with her tongue.

“Give us more than that!” Vott demanded, jerking the rope binding her feet.

“Ward,” Gwen said, her voice scratchy and rough. “Do you recall the lesson I taught you in the coach? About manipulating mana?”

Ward exhaled shakily, pulling the knife away. “It’s him.”

“This woman’s mind is filled with horrors. I shudder to think what it’s doing to my psyche to sift through them all,” Gwen said, again licking her dry, cracked lips. “Still, she’s of adequate strength. I’ll be able to put up quite a resistance against the active members of the Umbrage.” She closed her eyes and became still.

“What are you doing?” Ward asked, moving to cut the bindings from her wrists. He kept thinking of “her” as Gwen, but he supposed it was really Pallishae in there…

“I’m digging for memories and devising a plan,” she muttered.

Ward cut the ropes from her ankles and looked at Marie, arching an eyebrow. To his surprise, she smiled almost warmly at him.

“This is more than I could have hoped. In fact, yesterday, I thought hope was lost. My only ambition was to weaken Gwen to the point where she’d have to tell me how to help bring Vott back.”

“Yes, Assemblywoman Reembak,” Gwen—Pallishae—interjected. “You’ve been quite a thorn in this woman’s side. You’re to be commended. Well, at long last, I can view the full picture of her schemes, and I’m afraid to say we must make haste.” With that, she pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as she took turns gently massaging her wrists. “There’s an ancient leviathan bound in a cave beneath the bay of Ordo Caelus. The Umbrage means to break its chains and awaken it.”

“What?” Vott asked, taken aback so literally that he almost tripped over a small end table.

“Yes.” Pallishae nodded. “It seems they intend to harvest the anima produced by the calamity, bringing to life a machine left behind by my people. It’s a vessel of sorts, one that can sail the stars.” He—she?—clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Best left where it lies; I’m afraid the…technology would be too much of a leap for the people of this system. No, it would tempt them to great evils and, considering the already immoral nature of these individuals, I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen.”

“When?” Marie asked, ashen-faced.

“When?” Pallishae asked, her head tilted in confusion.

“When are they going to awaken the leviathan, you daft—” Vott started to growl, but Ward cut him off.

“Easy. Give her a chance—is that all right, Pallishae? I mean, for me to call you that?”

“Her? Well”—she looked down and gently prodded Gwen’s rather ample bosom—“I suppose the label fits, but I’ve been a man for millennia…” He shrugged. “Call me what you like.” To Ward’s surprise, he chuckled as his cracked lips twisted into a painful-looking grin. “Now, more important questions.” He looked at Vott and held out a hand. “If you would be so kind, sir.” As Vott, grimacing, pulled him to his feet, Pallishae continued, “As to your question, the hour is imminent. It could have happened already, but I suspect you would have felt the ground quake.” His eyes flew wide. “You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Marie answered for them all.

“Good. Let us make haste. We must gather what allies we have and proceed to the depths beneath the Assembly building. You must know that the structure has existed long before you and your Assembly, right?”

“Yes,” Vott replied. “It is known.”

“There are fifty-three members of the Umbrage in the city. Many are normal people, but there are a good number of strong sorcerers among them, Veylan included.”

“He’s not—” Marie started to say.

“Very strong, I know. He’s strong enough to cause trouble, as are the dozen or so others, some of whom would rival you, dear Assemblywoman.”

Reembak folded her arms over her chest. “Marie will be fine.”

Pallishae chuckled again, starting for the door. “Apologies. The point stands; the Umbrage is a dangerous group, and they’re likely gathering, or are already assembled, in the great caverns beneath the city. I know where the locks to the leviathan’s cage are. I will guide us, but if you have other allies, now is the time to gather them.”

“I have no one save my mercenaries!” Reembak growled as they all followed Pallishae toward the front door.

“I have friends,” Ward interjected. “And why don’t we talk to the marshals?”

“Excellent idea, Ward,” Vott said, clapping him on the shoulder. “When we reach the city, I’ll reach out to my contact at the Citadel. Surely, they’ll send some stout wardens to our aid!”

When he said “stout,” Ward pictured True and smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I know at least one, if she’s still in the city.”

“Marshal True?” Vott asked, reminding Ward that True had also been through an inquest at the Assembly.

“That’s right.”

Grace had kept herself scarce for most of the conversation, but she appeared beside Ward and said, “What if they’re in on it? I mean, what if they’re part of the Umbrage?”

Pallishae responded before Ward could. “There are marshals attached to the Umbrage, but they’ll already be beneath the city. I know this for certain: the Marshal General is free of their corruption.”

Outside the house, Marie whistled shrilly, and her two lycan henchmen, lingering near the gate, hurried over. “Get the mercenaries mounted and bring the coach around. We must make haste to the city.” The two men gave their group a good look, the smaller one, arm in a sling, scowling at Ward. Reembak gave him a shove. “Romy, let bygones be bygones. We’ll need to stand together now.”

He slowly let his snarl fade, then ducked his head toward Marie. “As you say, Madame.”

Reembak snapped her fingers. “Quit staring! She’s not the same in here.” Marie tapped her temple, and the other lycan, Tavin, jerked his gaze away from Pallishae. “Go now. Wake my coachman. We must fly.”

Ward looked from Reembak to Pallishae and clicked his tongue. “Neither of you great wizards can magically transport us back to town?”

“I could,” Pallishae said with a shrug. “If I had my spellbook and if I’d prepared an anchor.”

“I have your spells—well, Gwen’s.” Marie reached into her robes to withdraw a surprisingly slim, white, leather-bound book embossed with silver inlay. “I took them and added them to mine. I’ll let you prepare what you need as we travel.”

Pallishae nodded. “That will suffice. I wish I had my spells, however.”

“You have an ancient spellbook stashed somewhere, by any chance?” Ward asked, mostly joking.

He shook his head. “I left my spells to my daughter, and she is not in this system.”

Ward nodded, eyeing Marie’s spellbook hungrily. What kinds of wonders were in that little volume? She was powerful, and Gwen even more so. He could only imagine what they might—

“Ward,” Grace said, giving him a nudge. “You’re drooling.”

Marie gave him a sidelong look, then started walking down the gravel drive. He followed behind, along with the rest of the party. To his surprise, Pallishae came up beside him and grabbed his elbow. “You know, I have a spell or two committed to memory. It’s no easy feat imprinting the words of power indelibly into one’s memory, but I managed some. Perhaps, on the journey, I could write another one down for you. It seems you were cheated out of some spells by this woman, after all.”

Ward looked down at her—his—soft brown eyes. “You know what she did with Thrund’s spellbook?”

“Oh yes. She took the only spell of interest to her and then burned the rest. She was a jealous sorceress, Ward.”

Ward grumbled, clenching his fist. “Man, I was a sucker.”

Grace grabbed his arm, leaning into his side. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’s a powerful sorceress. She fooled other powerful people, too.”

“Your little friend isn’t wrong,” Marie added. “She wormed her way into the lives of many Assembly members and subverted them. She had me fooled for a while, too.”

“Little friend?” Vott Coral asked, looking around.

Marie waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about, old friend. How are you holding up?”

“Poorly. I need food.”

Ward’s stomach rumbled in sympathy, and Grace laughed. They were nearly to the gate, and Marie called out, “Roger! Run to the kitchen and load a sack of provisions—bread, butter, cheese, and the like—for the road.”

She’d just shouted the order out when a sleek, midnight-blue-lacquered coach hummed around the corner from the direction of the stables. It looked like some kind of steampunk roadster to Ward, with big, hooded, silver lanterns mounted near the front and the tell-tale, glowing blue crystals that signaled a mana engine. The passenger compartment was large, with windows made of blue-stained glass. It was pretty in a way that even Ward could appreciate.

When it pulled up to the gates, the front door opened, and a very short man wearing what looked to Ward like a fancy butler’s uniform stepped out to open the rear compartment. When the door was open, he stood there, silent and still.

Marie gestured to the little man. “Not to state the obvious, but our ride is here. Go ahead and get inside. I’ll await my swordsmen to give them further instructions before we leave. I’ll have the mercenaries ride like a devil’s on their heels and meet us at the Assembly building. Will that be all right, Pallishae?”

“Yes. We’ll reach the city ahead of them?”

Marie smiled, nodding. “Just ask Vott; this beauty will beat even the fastest horse on a trip of any distance ten times out of ten.”

“It’s true. She spared no expense, though I have to say, I think her money could have been more wisely spent renovating that ramshackle mansion of—”

“Come, come, Vott. Get into the coach, will you?” Marie took his elbow and led the older man over to the open door.

By then, a dozen or so men had filed out of the estate, working their way toward the stables. Ward's stomach rumbled again when he saw the guy Marie had sent for food, and he moved to get into the coach. When he sat down in one of the seven plush leather seats, he couldn’t help feeling something was wrong. It was a feeling similar to how a person might feel if they were about to board an airplane for a trip and remembered they’d left the garage door open. Had he forgotten something? Missed something? Or was it just the general unease of knowing a calamity was inches away from being unleashed on the city?

He felt like that was it. His “dreadmarked” bloodline was trying to tell him something. What, though? Hurry up and save the city? Or… or was it telling him to get the hell away while he still could? Disturbingly, he felt like he’d hit the nail on the head. It was like the bloodline was saying, “Hey! You did your job. You warned people. Now get the hell out of Dodge while the getting is good!”