Discordant Note | TBATE

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Seris Vritra

Toren did not know the worth of the item he had used for a simple weapon. The young man thought it a simple focus for his mana and aether, but that was such a baseline application. Inversion was so much more.

Atop my laboratory table, the horn–which reflected orange and purple along its pristine white length–glowed lightly in the relative darkness. Half a dozen measuring artifacts were hooked up to the item, tallying a dozen more metrics.

Not far away on an opposite table, two mana beasts lay dead. One corrupted, one not.

A test group and a control group.

Each had been pierced by the Inversion, then the horn had been flushed with pure mana. Though the test subjects had died, the knowledge I'd gained in the wake of their deaths had been worthwhile.

I hummed contentedly as I focused on the readings from the recording artifacts. Progress was an intoxicating thing.

The unique deviation of mana Inversion creates when filtered with mana dissipates quickly without active control, I thought, noting the exact measurements for mana concentration around the item after every few seconds. They were automatically recorded in a memory bank, but I didn't need to graph each number to see this pattern.

When suffused with mana, Inversion ever-so-slightly altered it. The mana that left the horn was imbued with a subtle sort of deviant nature. One wouldn't be able to notice the difference—at least until it met corrupted flesh.

That mana deviation—what I conservatively called anti-decay—was abnormally proficient at scouring away any taint of the basilisk. The mana seemed to hone in on anything touched by the Vritra, systematically annihilating it in an almost familiar manner. Like antibodies piecing apart a virus, it was an almost methodical deconstruction that I watched beneath a microscope.

That comparison was near perfect for what was happening, too. I suspected that it was related in some way to how Toren's insight into his abilities stemmed from blood and biological processes.

Aetheric insight is such a strange thing, I thought, picking up a nearby vial of blood that I'd injected with a viral strain. It appears to almost follow a common logical path, but it is conceptual in a way that mana is not. While I can almost understand how Toren's insight works, simply the fact that I am not Toren bars me from it. The fact that I am trying to follow Toren's path innately bars me from understanding.

I supposed that was why the High Sovereign and Lord of Epheotus both could not truly master aether. I suspected that every pathway of insight was unique to each on the road.

I gingerly disconnected Inversion from the testing devices, unclipping and untying them all. I held the beautiful horn, my eyes tracing its intricate grooves up to the sharp point. Even if Toren was far from me now, the pulsing warmth in my hand told me that he would return soon.

But beyond that, when close, the presence of Inversion served to silence the churning of my blood.

I knew why I held such a darkness. Many with potent strains of basilisk blood spoke of the sensation, the strange animus it could have. Sovereign Orlaeth had once told me that it was one of the more difficult things to account for when merging lesser and basilisk blood.

Most who experienced such drives from their Vritra ancestry went mad, unable to distinguish their true thoughts from those encouraged by the darkness in their veins.

And I suppose I am among those maddened few, I thought, letting myself lounge in the light of sanity for a time. It was… strange, my mind feeling so silent. Especially after an experiment.

I had to always be hyper-aware of myself whenever I stepped into the laboratory. Always listening. Always watching for the barest twitch of my blood. Because that was what that creature in my veins latched onto. I had to set a dozen limits and lines for myself whenever I stepped into a lab to ensure I would not cross them.

Don't experiment on others without their consent. If experimenting on another, ensure they are aware of what is being done. Inform them of the results. And many more absolute boundaries.

I would need to find willing test subjects to verify Lady Dawn's method of breaking Agrona's runic control, I thought absently. But I do have options.

I allowed myself to breathe. For decades, I'd dedicated a part of my mind to suppressing that darkness, ensuring it would not resurface. But right now, it was almost like it hid in the face of Inversion.

It is so ravenous whenever I am with Toren, I thought, clenching my gloved hand around Inversion. The more I open myself, the more it rises in turn. But for it to be so silent…

This was the secret. This was how I destroyed it for good.

I thought again of Toren's powers. Of how he could see my soul.

I had shown my Spellsong much of myself, but that was where I drew the line. In the same way I would not allow myself to cross borders during experimentation, the soul was a place I would allow nobody to see.

Those thoughts brought me back to reality. It was a nice sensation, being free of the song of my blood, but I couldn't let it last. With a sigh, I pulled Inversion into my dimension ring, feeling the immediate rise of my basilisk blood after.

That inner fear kept me sharp. It kept me wary. That constant, paranoid attention I dedicated to myself was what made me so proficient in my crafting and planning. Like balancing on a tightrope over a chasm, it forced my movements and politics toward a razor-sharp point. I couldn't let it stay suppressed, lest I lose my edge. Watching for shadows in my mind allowed me to recognize them outside of it, too.

When I destroy it… What shall I do to keep myself wary? I wondered. Though you will find something, Seris, you must be aware of that reality.

I slowly pulled the gloves from my hands as I left the makeshift laboratory. The underground caverns of the Divot were dark and shadowed, even with the many sconces that burned with light. They felt more empty than usual as I strode toward a specific place.

The war is changing again, I thought with a slight frown as the few dwarves I passed bowed respectfully. I would have expected it to end soon, but King Arthur has shown himself to be a master of the political game.

I finally arrived at my destination: a meeting room for the dwarves. Within, Elder Rahdeas and Elder Jotilda worked together to push their goals for the Darvish rebellion forward.

With the assistance of Alacryan forces, the dwarven rebellion had conquered most of Darv. There were a scarce few pockets of resistance left remaining, but the entire desert was functionally under Alacryan control.

The conversation within the meeting room died away as my aura slowly washed over the two dwarves, surrounding and suffusing them for a moment. I didn't speak all as I waited outside the meeting room, just let my silent message course through their veins.

Rahdeas finally answered my silent command. The aged dwarf pushed open the door, looking up at me with a blank expression. He smiled at my appearance as if I were a long-lost friend.

"Ahh, Scythe Seris," he said, making a gesture of welcome. "We've been waitin' for ya. I think you'll appreciate the plans we've got down."

I said nothing as I strode into the room, my eyes sweeping over the entire space as I quested out with my mana senses. All I saw was Jotilda's ramrod-straight back as she sweated beneath my casual intent.

A circular table carved of glimmering crystal stood at the center of the tall meeting room. The table glimmered green as it reflected the firelight, and half a dozen chairs made of the same material stood waiting.

"The last time we spoke, you were uncertain about your abilities to fulfill your task," I said evenly, striding toward a nearby chair. "Tell me, are you still so doubtful of your abilities?"

A week past, I'd ordered Elder Jotilda to start arming our Alacryan troops with provisions, weapons, and supplies on my behalf. She had started doing so, of course.

Jotilda swallowed nervously as Rahdeas casually strode back beside her. "No, your ladyship," she said haltingly. "It is going just fine. All your troops are gettin' what they need."

I tilted my head slightly, pinning the rigid elder with my gaze. Her sweating increased as I pressured her with my intent, ever-so-slightly.

She was lying to me, I knew. Our troops were getting supplies and provisions, but the meticulous numbers I kept did not add up. Somehow, a small portion of each shipment of weapons, artifacts, and war supplies I ordered Jotilda's dwarves to carry simply… disappeared.

"It's been a lot easier recently," Rahdeas said simply, unphased by the power I pressed into the air. "Seein' how we've finally… finally captured Darv for ourselves. We don't have to watch our backs all the time as we transport things. Not like before."

I let my intent diminish from Jotilda, turning my attention to the maddened Rahdeas. "That is well," I said, giving no indication that I knew Elder Shintstone had lied to me. "I suspect we will have an influx of new troops and supplies soon as Viessa fails on her eastern front. Your tunnel networks and knowledge of the continent will be invaluable in seeing them delivered to where they need to be."

I could have found a dwarven leader who would follow my actions to the letter. There were certainly many who would deliver my supplies and rations without skimming from the top.

But Elder Jotilda was one who saw through the Alacryan guise of civility and liberation. The weapons and armor she hid away who-knew-where would serve to bolster and supply the dwarves when this war with Dicathen finally ended and Agrona revealed his true colors. And with every press of my intent, she learned a bit more about how to mask her true thoughts.

It was a good trial run for what would be her life for the foreseeable future.

I have made headway. Planted seeds through Toren in linking Alacrya and Darv, I thought. But when this war ends—or even before that, now that I've practically conquered this country—I will be forced to enact policies closer to the High Sovereign's edicts.

"I like that about you, Seris," Rahdeas said casually, his eyes far away as he interrupted my thoughts. "Strange thing, it is. The Council and the other humans and elves… They didn't take us seriously, ya see. Even at the highest parts of the Triunion, they thought us small. But you value us. It's nice to have an ally in rebellion."

I narrowed my eyes as I stared at the elder, noting his empty smile. He was well and truly mad, but it was a sort of controlled madness. I knew Mordain Asclepius whispered secrets in his ear as well, and that only made me more uncertain.

How much does the Lost Prince see? I wondered, looking at the dwarf's distant expression. How much has he told this broken dwarf?

"You are casual with your words, Elder Rahdeas," I said, tilting my head as I adopted a severe expression. Rahdeas' flippant attitude served to stoke annoyance in my core. "I work with you, true, but you are too loose with your words. Rein them in lest you lose your tongue."

Rahdeas chuckled, while Jotilda's face went white as bone. She was quick to speak. "Lady Scythe, I assure you–"

"No, no," the old elder said, his single good eye closing as he waved dismissively at Jotilda. "But it would be good to speak about things alone. If you would, Lady Shintstone."

The dwarf—coated entirely in plate armor—looked uncertainly between me and Rahdeas. She opened her mouth, about to protest.

Then she saw something in her counterpart's expression. Something about how peaceful he appeared, I thought, before bowing stiffly. She shot Rahdeas one last uncertain glance, before marching from the room.

The door rumbled shut like the closing of a coffin lid, leaving Rahdeas and me alone in the room. I stared at him for a time, tilting my head as I adopted the mask of Scythe even more deeply.

I was accustomed to many reactions upon being left alone in a room with someone. Most of the time, I was greeted with fear and terror. When my aura pressed into someone, I became accustomed to groveling and submission. On some rare occasions, they would try and put up a diplomatic front. They'd try to bargain and weasel their way to some sort of deal through empty flattery and scheming eyes.

But as I stared across at the dwarven elder, I found myself experiencing something new for the first time in a century. Because Rahdeas simply sighed in contentment, appearing more relieved to be alone with me than he had with Elder Shintstone present.

"It's hard sometimes, talkin' to them all," he said languidly, his muscled body settling into his crystal seat. "We see things from so far above, ya know. It's weird, tonin' down my perspective. Filtering out the truth."

I tilted my head, staring down at my hand, roving my eyes over their pristine manicure as a man examines an interesting painting. "Rarely have I met one as mad as I," I said appraisingly. "You seem to think you see things no others do, but that only proves your folly. You speak as if you have nothing to lose."

I inspected my dark-painted nails, noting how the firelight reflected off of them. "But Olfred Warend is still assisting my Retainer in Vildorial in holding the city against assaults from the Lances and Triunion. Beyond that, the entire station of your rebellion rests in the hands of the High Sovereign."

I flicked a bit of dirt out from underneath my nails. I let the silence air like a dread secret brought to light, savoring the tension that rose between the dwarf and me like fine wine.

"I would say that you still have plenty at risk, should you step over the ledge."

For the first time, it seemed like I'd gained Elder Rahdeas' full attention. He looked at me, his single eye searching my face instead of roaming past me. "Aye," he said quietly. "Aye, I suppose you have a point, Scythe."

Silence reigned between us. Elder Rahdeas had the airs of a man who had lost everything. In many a way, he acted as if he already had.

"I wonder," the man said musingly, "what my son will think of me when he is old and gray as I am, when I'm long gone and naught but another bit of soil in Mother Earth's embrace."

I looked up at the dwarf, sensing a change in his tone. He stared straight up at the ceiling, his hands rumbling a steady rhythm across the crystal table.

"Always thought maself an idealist. A man of my people. But ya know… When all is said and done, I wonder how I'll be remembered by'em all."

I sighed, letting my eyelids close. I'd asked myself that question a few times, but it did not plague me like it seemed to haunt this dwarf. "It matters not what others think of you when all is said and done, so long as you've said your peace and made your choices. Fact is fact, Elder Rahdeas. It is objective, regardless of the subjectivity of perception."

Rahdeas shifted, trying to get more comfortable in his seat. "I suppose."

A long silence stretched as the dwarf's eyes wandered. "I'll leave you here, I s'ppose," he said in a low mutter. "Ya've got an important call comin' in. Should tell you, though. Toren's met that family of his. Lad's makin' headway in his attempts to sway them, too."

I nodded slowly, retrieving my communication artifact from my dimension ring. I was no seer, but I knew that Mordain Asclepius was. According to Toren, the Lost Prince dabbled in aevum arts that let him see the future in some manner.

I wonder what it would be like to match minds with a seer, I wondered absently, tracing the speakers and many buttons on my artifact. Such sight cannot be perfect, else the High Sovereign would have never managed his empire.

I had countermeasures for nearly everything I could think of, and my countermeasures around Burim had increased in the wake of Lord Aldir's inherent threat to Toren. But it would seem that I'd need to concoct some for the future.

I stared down at my artifact as Rahdeas slowly pushed himself to his stocky feet. The dwarf gave me a stiff bow that wasn't quite respectful, before hobbling toward the exit.

"Elder Rahdeas," I said, still waiting for whatever fated call was about to come.

The dwarf paused, but didn't turn back.

"Doubt your future, but do not doubt your past," I said from the depths of my soul. "There are some insanities that cannot be mastered."

The dwarf finally stepped out of the room just as my artifact began to ring.

Cylrit.

I let out a world-weary sigh, before answering the call. "Hello, my Retainer," I said. "I was expecting your call."

There was silence on the other end for a short moment. "Your sight is great to perceive such," he finally decided to say. He was always one to default to flattery. "I presume you know for what reason I call?"

I chortled lightly, taking a measure of strength from Cylrit's familiar tone. He said it in an almost dry and emotionless tone that would lead most to think him insincere, but I had long since learned he believed them from the depths of his soul. I feared the day I let down his expectations. "My sight is not as great as you suspect, Cylrit," I replied. "Speak as if I know nothing of what you call about."

"Of course, my master," my Retainer's loyal baritone echoed back. I let my head rest against the back of my seat, letting that familiar sound ground me once more. Made it easier for me to rise above that serpent in my veins. "I bring news. A messenger from the Triunion Commander arrived today, bearing terms of parlay."

I narrowed my eyes, crossing one leg over another as my Retainer's words washed over me. "And what might those terms be?"

"They were vague," Cylrit said honestly. "The one sent was a captain known as Vanesy Glory. It was implied that the Council wished for something more from Spellsong."

I tapped a few fingers against the arms of my chair. "Did they wish to push for his exclusion any further?"

"That was not the understanding I gained from the meeting," Cylrit replied. "Captain Glory alluded often to the captive Retainer Mawar during our brief parlay. Enough that it was abnormal for the subject matter."

That implied on some level that Retainer Mawar was on the table for negotiations. The last time I had negotiated with the Council, it was in an exchange of hostages for Spellsong's withdrawal from the war. It was likely that King Leywin wished to use this established precedent once more.

Retainer Mawar was a valuable prisoner the Dicathians held, but releasing her to me instead of Viessa…

It could simply be because we had spoken before, but my gut told me otherwise. From the covert spy warfare Arthur Leywin and I had engaged in this past month and the subtle tactics we both utilized, I had a measure of his character. This was a calculated move.

He wishes to drive a further wedge between Viessa Vritra and me, I realized quickly. But how would Toren play into this?

The pieces aligned quickly. "Ahhh," I said aloud, a smile stretching across my face as I held my chin with one hand. "Another solid play on this gameboard, King Leywin."

"Your sight is indeed all-encompassing," Cylrit said in that usual flattering manner of his, "but I do not understand what play this is."

"Arthur Leywin wishes to sow further division between Viessa and I," I said simply. "And what better way than to release the Retainer she lost to me instead, while having my subordinate heal the sole major casualty she accomplished in her assault on Zestier? My sources in Elenoir tell me that the former Commander Virion Eralith is still comatose from corruption."

Cylrit was silent for a moment. "That is a brash move," he said slowly.

"It is bold," I acknowledged. "But it is no great secret that Viessa and I are on questionable terms. With the ways we operate in war and the rumors I have seeded across the continent, that much is clear."

But this wasn't all. There was more to this than just trying to push Viessa and me into further division. My spies also brought reports regarding the new weapon that King Leywin had been developing and tested recently.

It was during war that technology truly developed. This was a fact of life and society, something the Sovereigns in Alacrya exploited to the greatest degree. Our histories were filled with instances of new technology being introduced that disrupted the space of warfare.

The communication artifact in my hands was one such innovation. So too were tempus warps, beastwards, and most of all the manatech all across my home.

And in Arthur Leywin, I saw a man stalling for time. Time for his new technology to spread and bolster his troops for another wave. He'd already pressured Viessa's troops and position in the Beast Glades nearly to the breaking point. His attention was surely going to focus on Sapin's southern front soon, and he wanted to be prepared.

"What should my official response be?" Cylrit asked. "The representative is still here, waiting for your response."

"Allow me to think for a moment," I said, standing. My dark dress flowed around me as I sighed in contentment.

I walked to one of the paintings adorning the room. It depicted an old scene, I suspected. A fire salt miner swinging his pickaxe as he struck at the orange vein of ore.

It was likely that King Arthur wished to stall for time—but that was something the both of us were able to do.

I could sense it in my veins. Even if this war would last longer with King Arthur's actions, there was only so much he could do.

Scythes Nico and Cadell would intervene soon, likely within the next few months. And the moment they did, this political game would be over. That was why I'd started to make covert movements to bolster the dwarven rebellion in the underground.

Two could stall for time. But this parlay also opened up another absolute opportunity.

Toren had told me more of Agrona's ultimate goal: the reincarnation of a being known as the Legacy, a weapon to threaten the reign of Kezess Indrath, using Tessia Eralith as a Vessel.

Who has recently become a Lance, I thought with a twitch of my lips. A happy circumstance. If the worst outcome were to occur, it would be simple for Toren to snap her tether and stop her heart.

Something King Arthur absolutely knew. I suspected Tessia Eralith was made a Lance for this very reason, so that the man could deprive Agrona of his Vessel at a moment's notice.

"Tell your guest that we are more than willing to enter a term of parlay regarding Spellsong and Retainer Mawar," I said, my eyes tracing the pickaxe in the painted dwarf's burly hands. "And also let them know that their cup is at risk of being taken by those who wish to fill it with something other than water. For greater trades, we might offer our assistance in ensuring it is kept secure. But don't pressure them on it too greatly."

Cylrit caught my meaning swiftly enough, the code in my words simple. "Should I let them out through the public or private exit when they leave?"

I pretended to consider. It was another simple way we masked our words. "Private," I said after a moment. "It's a delicate matter. And for their going-away gift… try Earth."

Cylrit would write down the latter portion of my response in a heavily encoded letter using the word Earth as a cipher. We couldn't afford to utter our intentions so plainly, even if I was sure our line was secure.

I locked my arms behind my back. I wouldn't let King Arthur take advantage of this implied pause in hostilities along our southern front. I'd have to order our steamships to harry Sapin's coast more aggressively. Perhaps I would finally answer Viessa's desperate pleas for assistance and resources too. Make it more difficult to finally shift fronts.

I would not allow more massacres of innocent Dicathians, but diversionary tactics throughout the Beast Glades could keep King Arthur's attention split between three different fronts instead of a singular one. I could probably push a feint through Zestier as well. My spies in Elenoir had very little leeway, but there was a chance.

Additionally, King Arthur had ruffled many, many, many feathers among noble houses through his ascension. A few houses in particular managed small power blocks to resist and stall his authoritarian efforts. If I played my pieces right, King Arthur wouldn't get the chance to fully utilize the time he was trying to play for.

"Understood, master," Cylrit said sharply. "I will see it done."

Now was the time I'd usually tell my Retainer that he was dismissed and hang up the line. But for some reason I could not discern, I was feeling especially contemplative today. My eyes drifted to another painting: one of many dwarves laughing around a hearth with mugs of ale. A tavern of joy and happiness.

"I have never known you to be one to drink, Cylrit," I said quietly. I hesitated slightly, feeling as if I trod on unspoken grounds. "Might I know what pushed you to such lengths after your… spar with Toren?"

Cylrit was quiet for a time. My hands clenched together behind my back as I ground my teeth slightly.

I should retract my question, I thought suddenly. I shouldn't have asked such.

Toren had instilled in me a strange desire. A desire to know those around me. But I had… pushed. I opened my mouth.

"Cylrit, I—"

"Your sight is all-encompassing," my Retainer repeated quietly, in a tone so hushed I almost did not hear it. "I have no doubts within my mind that you understand what brought us to that tavern."

I swallowed, feeling off-kilter. I felt the sudden urge to simply… hang up the call. Pretend that this conversation had never happened.

But that would be lying to myself. That was what Agrona Vritra convinced us all to do. Lie to ourselves so deeply so that he never had to sink his fangs in himself.

"I care for you, Cylrit," I said after a moment. "You know this."

"I do."

I resisted the urge to scoff at myself, my mana churning in my chest at each successive blunder.

How does Toren do such things with ease?

I could not… logic my way through this. "I cannot offer… more," I finally pressed out. "But you are still invaluable to me. Without you by my side, I do not know what I am."

Cylrit was silent for a time. I slammed my eyes shut. "I am not proficient in emotions, Cylrit," I said. "I…"

"You are more open with yourself," he affirmed suddenly. "That is a good thing. You will learn, Seris. And… thank you. For your words."

He said nothing more. Without my express approval, he hung up the line, leaving me to listen to the ending dial tone as I shuddered with inner anger at myself. Anger for bringing up the topic at all. Anger for the emotions I let myself feel now. The questions I asked as I let the lies I told myself fall away.