CHAPTER 3
Portents
Katie’s was the only home that required a trip abroad, so their return voyage took them back the way they’d come. But rather than head straight to Yelgland, they took a few detours.
“Yes, yes, you do not ’ave to tell me,” Tullio Rossi said, waving them off with a look of tremendous pity. They were in a bustling, sun-drenched Ytallian port. “…You missed me, no? I ’ad no way of being with you on your journey.”
Pete and Guy weren’t having it.
“We should be able to hit the art museum today.”
“But first—anyone else hungry?”
“I do not give up! ’aving my first volley so blithely ignored will not discourage me!” Rossi declared with a laugh.
Oliver took a step forward, facing him.
“I appreciate you meeting us, Rossi. Never imagined you’d actually make good on your word. So nice of you to take our nod to common courtesy seriously.”
“Not at all! Ytallians ’ave smiles in their ’earts and do not sweat the small stuff. May our sunshine melt those spirits warped in your Yelglish cold and damp.”
This exchange of spite was followed by a handshake, and Katie looked puzzled.
“…Is it just me, or is Oliver acting different?”
“He’s not normally prone to sarcasm. Does Rossi just bring it out of him?” Pete wondered.
“…No, he’s simply being polite,” Chela insisted, offering her friends a proper explanation. “You’re aware of the rather dubious Yelglish tradition of close friends trading insults, yes? You may have seen our elders at Kimberly engaged in the practice. Exchanging sarcastic quips can be an expression of intimacy.”
“I know that much, but Oliver’s not really the type,” said Katie.
“True, but here he’s returning the favor. Observe Mr. Rossi’s attire.”
Their Ytallian friend was all dressed up in a gaudily patterned shirt and a coat that appeared to be custom tailored. He certainly pulled off the getup, but it also made him look a solid 30 percent shiftier than usual.
“His fashion choices and hairstyle are both flawless—no, he’s included a perfect touch of roughness to each. The spitting image of an Ytallian dandy. The moment Oliver set eyes on it, he knew—this moment required he embody the proper Yelglish gentleman!”
Chela was getting rather carried away while the boys continued their trash talk unabated.
“Hey, I heard the news. They say Ytallians have learned to read sentences longer than three lines. Mind taking me to a bookstore? Maybe they managed to fit Arnaud’s Beauty and Shame into a mere two hundred volumes.”
“Fear not, they sell it in a single volume for you ’ardheads. Though I must insist poetry is best recited from memory, no? Whispered in the ear of the one you woo. It must be so difficult if you ’ave to fetch a book from the shelf each time, eh?”
The spite was flowing like wine, and the spectacle made Guy and Katie fold their arms, brows creased.
“…So…”
“…They’re being super friendly?”
As they left the harbor for the city proper, Oliver let himself relax.
“Thanks again for coming, Rossi. But I think I’ve had enough. Trying to keep that going the whole visit would just be exhausting.”
“Nah-ha-ha!” Rossi cackled. “A fine effort. I knew you would play along! Ethnic ’umor is a pillar of magic comedy, no?”
Oliver’s smile was a bit strained. He’d known what Rossi wanted without it being said aloud. Three years together at Kimberly were just that intense. Enough that water and oil would start to blend.
“What do you wish to see, then? I can guide you to all our most famous locales,” Rossi offered. “Ytallian gentlemen learn these things—showing the ladies around.”
“…Those exaggerations drive stereotypes even farther from reality,” Pete pointed out.
“Indeed,” Chela said. “Surely even Ytalli has shy, earnest men!”
Rossi shrugged, whistling. “That it does. My brother is one of them. ’ad not seen ’im in ages, and we could barely talk at all.”
“Agreed on that point, you clown.”
This voice came from behind, and everyone turned to find a diligent-looking young man in small round spectacles. Yet something about him did remind them of Rossi.
“Dario?!” Rossi yelped. “Wh-why are you ’ere? You said you ’ad work!”
“I insisted on slipping out. Couldn’t shake the impression you were actively rubbing dirt on our family name.”
Realizing this was the very man they’d been speaking of, the others moved to greet him.
“I take it you’re Ros—Tullio’s brother? Nice to meet you,” said Oliver.
“Dario Rossi. I apologize for the abrupt entrance, Kimberly students. But I simply could not leave this to my fool of a brother. Let me be clear: He does not speak for the Rossi clan. He’s more of a black sheep.”
“’ow so?!” Rossi protested. “You should be proud! I am off to a good school!”
Dario ignored him completely. “I’m merely here to make a formal greeting and will not linger. I’m pulled a few strings; nothing much, but it should help you enjoy the sights. No matter where you go, you’ll be welcomed.”
“That’s…very generous. We appreciate the gesture,” Chela said, well aware it was her family name that prompted this treatment.
Dario shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve done very little—perhaps not enough. Especially considering what rudeness he’s undoubtedly committed at Kimberly.”
“Why is that the assumption?! You do me wrong, Dario! I am doing wonders for our name!”
“I hear you’ve yet to defeat this Mr. Horn?”
“I cannot ’ear you! My ears fail me!”
Rossi clapped both hands to his head, turning away. Dario allowed himself a smirk and turned back to their guests.
“He’s a handful, but it seems he does intend to make you welcome here. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
“The honor is ours,” Oliver said, bowing.
With that, Dario turned and left, true to his word.
Rossi pursed his lips, grumbling, “Ugh, that brother of mine ’as cut the wind from my sails. I am tired—can I go ’ome?”
“No need to sulk, Rossi. That was hilarious,” Guy said.
“You’ve got a good brother,” Chela told him. “You should do your part to reassure him.”
“I’d start by only hitting on one girl at a time, though,” Katie added.
“Now everyone is on my case, eh?! I ’ave ’ad enough of this!”
Rossi turned to go, and Oliver had to grab his collar. An entirely different kind of commotion—and their Ytalli visit was underway.
They hit several famous spots, shared a meal, and then it was time to reluctantly return to their ship.
“Later! ’it me up next time you come, eh?” Rossi said, waving them off at the docks as their ship pulled away.
Oliver waved until Rossi left, then he turned back to his friends. From here, they had no more stops—it was straight home to Yelgland.
“…That ends our Union tour.”
“Such a shame,” Chela said. “But I’m glad we came. There will be more opportunities in the future.”
“Yep. If we feel up to it, we can always fly over for the weekend.”
“Guy, you’ve heard of the broomrider who ran out of mana over the ocean, right?”
As their friends bantered, Oliver turned to Chela.
“Time to refocus and hit up the Yelgland contingent’s homes. You’re up first.”
“Yes, and they should be ready for us. Still…I’m nervous. I can’t guarantee it’s a place you’ll find fun.”
“I’m more worried about whether they’ll even let us in the door,” Guy said. “I mean, I brought my best duds…”
“Oh, that won’t be an issue. If you’re found wanting, we’ll simply tailor you something better.”
“That actually more frightening, Chela…”
“Is your manor styled after your hair?”
Katie and Nanao had their own ideas about this, while Oliver had a different concern.
“You said he’s too busy to come, but…I can’t shake the notion Instructor Theodore will be waiting to ambush us. He does love surprises.”
“Oh, this time I can promise he won’t. I’ve got just the person to keep my father away.”
An intriguing turn of phrase, but Chela did not elaborate—though her smile spoke volumes.
Disembarking at the same Yelgland southern port they’d left from, they switched to the inland ferry. After that, they were on foot, but after a thirty-minute walk along paved roads flanked by ordinary residences, Guy cocked his head.
“…We’ve come pretty far. We still not at your place?”
“That’s a difficult question. We’ve been on McFarlane holdings for quite a while now.”
Chela spoke like this was nothing, but Guy just gaped at her, then looked around again.
“…?! All of this?! But it’s just houses!”
“Well, manors require all sorts of people to keep them running. House them all, and you get a sizable town. And the McFarlanes expect the bulk of them to provide for themselves.”
No one had been prepared for a home of this scale—but as they goggled, passing ordinaries began to greet her.
“Oh, look! Welcome back, Lady McFarlane.”
“You’ve become even lovelier! Heh-heh, you’d best make haste. They’re eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Chela answered with a wave, and Nanao nodded, crossing her arms.
“Aha! It all makes sense now.”
“Nanao?”
“I thought the ambience felt familiar—this is much like the town surrounding a castle. The populace’s lives enriched beneath the rule of a wise lord. Naturally, they look upon Chela as one would a princess.”
“Do they? I think princess is a touch exaggerated.” Chela winced.
In time, they reached a large mansion, where they were greeted by a man in formal attire—clearly a servant.
“Welcome home, Lady Michela. Please wait with your guests within.”
They were swiftly led inside. Seated on couches in a huge room, Oliver looked around.
“…Is this a guest house?”
“Very funny, Oliver. This is clearly just a waiting room.”
“No way—it’s bigger than my whole house!” Guy cried.
“Chela, be honest: Did my house look…shabby?” Katie asked, her voice shaking.
Not long after, the servant rejoined them, making eye contact with Chela. She rose to her feet.
“She’s ready. Brace yourselves, everyone. My mother is a rather…no, a highly unique individual.”
They went out the back door of the so-called waiting room and down a long path, at the end of which was a building every bit as imposing as the average palace. Once inside, they were led down a long corridor to a door—from which emerged a distinct odor.
“…Is that…?”
“…Tobacco smoke…?”
Chela knocked, and a voice answered. All nodded and pushed the door open.
“You’ve arrived, daughter?”
At the back of the room behind an imposing desk sat an elf. A cigar in one hand. Her skin noticeably darker than Chela’s own, but they had those blond ringlets in common—and the coat she had slung over the shoulders of her suit projected a ruler’s dignity. As the others froze up, Chela stepped forward and took a knee.
“That I have. It has been far too long, Mother.”
“Mm.”
The elf lady nodded, placed her cigar on an ashtray, and rose to her feet—at which point, everyone lost sight of her.
“Mid.”
“Huh?”
The voice came from behind Guy. Stunned, he turned to find Chela’s mother standing right there. Everyone flinched. Teresa’s hand even snapped to her athame.
No one had managed to react. Not until the elf woman was right next to them.
“Mid.”
Katie was next, followed by Pete.
“…Hmm, this one’s a reversi. Mid-plus.”
She turned toward Nanao and paused, gazing down at the Azian girl.
“Good-looking for a short-lifer,” the woman said. “Peak.”
A faint smile, then she cast a sidelong glance at Oliver.
“Can’t bear to look at him; no score.”
Oliver swallowed hard, and the woman moved to Chela.
“Those two could work as grooms; don’t even think about him.”
“Mother, they are all equally my close friends.”
Chela’s voice was polite but firm. And this made the woman’s lips soften; she pulled a new cigar from her pocket.
“Apologies, Chela. Maternal instincts got the best of me… Can I get a light?”
Chela drew her wand, a flame at the tip. The woman put her cigar to it, took a few puffs, then exhaled a plume of smoke.
“Ahh, that’s good. They do taste different when you light them.”
She kissed Chela’s cheek affectionately. Then she moved back to the desk, taking a seat behind it.
“Mishakua McFarlane. You must be my daughter’s school friends.”
This formal introduction made them all straighten up. Their minds were working again. This was Chela’s mother—Theodore McFarlane’s elven bride.
“At ease. Don’t get stiff. I loathe humans but adore children. An elven weakness—the sight of you makes us want to dole out candy.”
Mishakua smiled and waved at the couch across from the desk. Everyone was rattled, but with “no score” still echoing in his ears, Oliver put up some resistance.
“…How long do we stay children to you?”
“As long as that label still annoys you, boy,” she replied with a stream of cigar smoke.
Chela made to protest again, but Oliver waved her off and took a seat. He hadn’t actually taken offense. His instincts merely told him this woman would appreciate a retort.
“Oliver Horn. All of us are good friends with your daughter and appreciate your hospitality.”
“K-Katie Aalto.”
“Guy Greenwood…”
A bit overwhelmed, everyone managed to introduce themselves. Once she’d heard all their names, Mishakua nodded.
“I won’t forget those. Now, what shall we play?”
“Huh?” Oliver said, not catching her meaning.
“My daughter brought friends over. We must have fun.”
With that, Mishakua put her cigar down and looked out the window.
“Sitting around is so dull. Time to fly.”
Before anyone could work out her intent, she’d taken them to the broom flight grounds on the mansion’s property.
“Seiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Splendid! Act like you mean it!”
Nanao and Mishakua were furiously trading blows far above.
Broom in one hand, flat on her back on the ground, Katie whispered, “Chela…”
“…Yes?”
Lying next to her and equally confused, Guy finished the question. “Why’s your mom knocking us out of the air?”
“…She’s just like this.” Chela sighed. “How can I put it? Endlessly exuberant. This is clearly her idea of how to welcome us all, but…”
Oliver sat up. “So she is just playing?” he asked. “Like any mother would with their daughter’s friends…?”
“Perhaps it’s hard to believe, but she means nothing more than that. She is nothing but sincere around children. If she offers to play, she will do so until the sun sets. I’m certain she’s canceled all other appointments for the duration of our stay.”
Oliver pulled a face. She wasn’t calling them children dismissively; she meant it. With a fervor that banished any irritation he may have felt.
“Got it. Then we can’t exactly bail first.”
“…Yeah. Dammit. Shoulda practiced flying more.”
“I-I’m getting back in this…! I’m all fired up now!”
“…Same. Don’t want her thinking Kimberly students give up this quick,” Pete growled.
Everyone returned to the air. There were hours left before sundown, and they spent that whole time “playing” with their friend’s mother.
At last, evening arrived. The kids were all flat out on the ground, gasping for air.
“Good enough,” Mishakua said with a snort. “Time to bathe! Then we eat.”
With that, they left the practice grounds. Servants led each guest to a private bath, and once clean, they were taken to a dining room. Luxurious dish after luxurious dish was carried in, and Katie and Guy were torn between delight and dismay.
“…Augh! It’s all so good…!”
“B-but I’m too hungry… Can’t even savor it…!”
All that flying had left their bodies craving nourishment. The others were no different, but had just enough of their wits about them to remain aware of their surroundings—specifically, the far side of the table where Mishakua was busy carving up a tenderloin.
“…I see you’re eating meat,” Oliver noted.
“I walk the path of human sorcery. It’s good! Only mildly nauseating.”
Her answer made his mind churn even harder. The cigars alone had demonstrated it, but she was certainly far from the typical elf. Marrying into a human household proved as much.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and glanced around the table.
“You made it to sundown, so I can tell you’ve done your training. After dinner, let me see you move.”
“Mother, I appreciate the offer, but we’re all tired from our journey…”
“I don’t mind.”
“Me neither!”
“Long as I got food in me…!”
Pete, Katie, and Guy were on board. That meant Oliver had to join them. He, too, was a Kimberly student—and moments like this lit a fire beneath him.
“Whoaaaa…!”
“Aughhhhhh…!”
Mishakua was chasing them around a disk, which itself was revolving unpredictably.
“Neat, right?” she said. “This is how McFarlane mages train their Wall Walking. If it’s too slow for you, I’ll speed it up.”
“By all means!” Nanao cried.
“W-wait, Nanao!” Pete yelped. “We’re not ready for that!”
Teresa had elected to sit this one out and was on the sidelines with Marco and Oliver—the disk supported only four at a time, so the latter was waiting his turn.
“…The facilities here as every bit as impressive as I’d heard. No wonder you got so strong.”
“Heh-heh-heh, the revolving disk is merely the beginning,” Chela said. “We have all manner of training equipment.”
“…Shame we’re only here a few days, then. We could easily spend our entire break taking advantage of that.”
“Marry me, and they’re yours forever.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Playing along with Chela’s joke, Oliver looked around. “…But it does make me worry—we’ve barely seen any mages here. Besides your mother.”
“That’s her doing. You can hardly relax and have fun surrounded by our best and brightest. The extended family have any number of mages with centuries under their belts…”
“True, running into those would give me a heart attack. But…isn’t your mother one of them?”
“Yes, she’s turning three hundred and eighty this year. I understand there was quite an uproar over her standing in the household when she first married into the family—especially since she’s older than my father’s great-grandmother.”
Oliver tried to picture it, then abandoned the idea, shaking his head. This was a marriage that defied his meager imagination, and no speculation he produced would be remotely close to the truth.
“I’m more curious how elves came to be welcomed into the fold at all. Instructor Theodore is always evasive when people ask.”
“It’s not a secret or anything. He’d just rather not discuss it. From what he’s said, it was a dark time for him. But don’t worry, they have talked it out with her home and come to terms.”
“Oh? Curious about my standing?”
Oliver jumped and turned to find Mishakua no longer on the disk, but right behind him.
“Mother? Weren’t you—?”
“They’re all on the floor. You can see them spinning, yes?”
“Then stop the disk!”
Chela ran off to the contraption’s controls. Her mother watched her go.
“Imagine what you like. Our story isn’t that complex. This nutbar showed up in our village just as I’d been craving change. I took advantage of the opportunity—that’s all. Though it may have come close to starting a war along the way.”
“The short version sounds like it’s leaving out some horrors. Is there not a rule prohibiting exogamy?”
“Elves will have no future if they stick to that principle. On that, at least, I agree with the miscreant who fled to Kimberly. If I had not done the honors, someone else would have.”
Mishakua sounded certain of that. By “miscreant,” she must have meant Khiirgi Albschuch. Khiirgi’s position had been precarious, and it was not hard to see how Mishakua—who held similarly unorthodox views—would have played a part in getting her enrolled.
Chela got the disk to stop, and her friends were no longer glued to it—they soon joined Oliver and Mishakua.
“My eyes are still spinning…”
“Wait, Guy… I can’t walk straight…”
“That was enjoyable. That’s all for today! Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be helping with the festivities.”
“…Ohhh,” Chela said, hand to her chin. “I suppose it is that time.”
The next evening, the McFarlane manor ground was filled with food and drink, free for all residents. Chela’s friends joined in the revelries, albeit in a somewhat-unusual role.
“Are you a naughty child?”
Children were running around with candy when out popped Mishakua, wearing a hideous wooden mask. This frightened the children, who shook their heads frantically.
“Aiiiieee!”
“No, I’m not! I’m on my way home!”
“Reeeally? You’re not lying, are you?!”
She intimidated them a while, then released them, handing out bags of treats. Her performance over, Mishakua took off the mask, turning to Oliver and his friends.
“That’s how it’s done. Make sure you scare them properly first. No wishy-washy stuff! Try and make ’em cry!”
With that, she vanished into the festival, leaving them gaping.
“…I’d heard they had a holiday like this down south, but…”
“…Never thought I’d be part of it. And with a real one on the spooking side…”
They were wearing tattered black robes, wooden masks, and fake pointy ears. Disguised as the stars of this festival—the man-eating elves. Their role: to scare children, warn them against staying out after dark, then give them candy.
“The holiday itself has been in the area awhile, but now my mother runs it every year. She calls it a good excuse to get to know the neighbors.”
“Does she want to improve their image of her or destroy it?” Guy asked.
“I think it’s working,” Katie said. “The kids are having fun.”
“Indeed! My home had a similar festival!”
Nanao seemed to be thriving on this whole thing. They ran around a while, scaring kids until a thought struck Oliver.
“…Chela, how does this end?”
“Meaning?”
“There are regional differences, sure, but there’s a standard climax to holidays like this, right? If this is based on the tall tales of elves stealing children, then—”
“Yes, exactly that. It ends with the elf defeat. My mother goes all out!”
“…She’s certainly…amenable.”
“Heh-heh-heh. But there is another key difference. Look, it’s starting.”
Mishakua had appeared on the stage at the center, drawing eyes her way.
“Mwahhhh! How can this be?! I’ve searched long and hard and found no naughty children! How am I supposed to snatch anyone?!”
The “man-eating elf” clutched her head in agony. Then another figure burst onto the stage.
“That’s enough, vile elf! There are no children for you here! Get back to the forest!”
“Hng?! Who might you be?”
Mishakua raised a long wand. Her opponent’s lower body was that of a horse, and the upper body that of a man.
“Huh?” Katie gasped. “A centaur?!”
“Shhh. He’s the hunter here,” said Chela.
They settled in to watch the performance.
“Begone, four-legs!” Mishakua roared, stomping her foot. “There is a feast before me, and I cannot just leave!”
“Then I shall strike you down! To arms!”
The centaur drew his athame. The battle that followed was tremendous, even to Kimberly-trained eyes. Spells sending fire and lightning wild, blades clashing—far removed from real combat, yet no less technically proficient. This was a show fight.
“Damn you! Damn you, four-legs! Though my body may fail me, I shall make you pay! May you live in fear of the forest for all time!”
“Then, with the help of man, I shall bring light to that darkness! Fragor!”
“Gahhhhhhhh!”
Struck by the spell, Mishakua exploded in a burst of light. The crowd roared. Such a tremendous finale, it left Guy’s jaw hanging open.
“…Uh, your mom just blew up.”
“Even more spectacular than usual. But don’t worry; she’ll be lighting a cigar backstage by now.”
“Uh, um! Chela!” Katie said, eyes gleaming.
“I thought this would happen.” Chela chuckled, way ahead of her. “Let’s go meet the hunter.”
Chela led her friends around the back of the stage to an area filled with tools large and small. Three figures sat at a table in the middle.
“You’re making this flashier every year, Misha. We need to cut ourselves off before my body gives out.”
“Don’t be daft, Torlia. Train children’s eyes, and they will want more. If we don’t push ourselves, they’ll turn up their noses, call it a poor showing. I’d rather die.”
“Heh-heh-heh, no point if ain’t a spectacle! Maybe I should join in next time? Play a man-eating dwarf?”
“Don’t be a fool. No need to create your own baseless horror stories.”
Mishakua was seated with the centaur, and the third figure was a sturdily-built female dwarf. They were chatting casually, sipping drinks—a sight that made Guy goggle.
“…Wow. An elf, a dwarf, and a centaur sitting at a table and drinking.”
“Quite the spectacle… I saw them both around the event,” said Oliver.
“Cross-species contact has been growing a lot down south. Arguably due to contacts my mother brought. They’re characters, but good people.”
Chela brought them over to the table. All three turned at their approach.
“Ah, there you are. Michela—how’d you like my performance?”
“You always make a fine villain, Mother. Mr. Torlia, thank you for indulging her. I’m sure you have better things to do that play along with my mother’s enthusiasms.”
The centaur responded with a broad smile. “No need for niceties, Michela. This is an excellent chance for my kind to connect to the people, and I’m glad for it. Putting up with the stage manager’s standards is a small price.”
“I’m glad we can help, then. Your whiskers are even more magnificent today, Ms. Luluim,” Chela said, turning to the dwarf.
Typically, even dwarf ladies sported facial hair and were proud of it.
“H-hey, Chela,” Katie said, tugging her friend’s sleeve, unable to wait longer. “Are they…?”
“Friends of the McFarlanes. Mr. Torlia and Ms. Luluim. Representing the southern centaurs and dwarves respectively. Introduce yourself, Katie.”
Looking very nervous, Katie stepped up, eyes of two other species on her.
“N-nice to meet you!” she blurted out. “I’m Katie Aalto, a human mage!”
“Ah, you’re Chela’s school friends, then? Thanks for helping with the festival.”
“Nice work. Help yourselves to the grub. Human children are so scrawny!”
Both welcomed her to the table. The other friends began pulling over chairs.
Unable to contain her excitement, Katie babbled, “Er, um…! I’m really into demi-human rights! I’m got a lot of questions…!”
“We’re not going anywhere. Go on, sit down.”
“And we won’t bite. Humans don’t taste that good. Mwa-ha-ha!”
Luluim’s joke made Torlia wince. Having never encountered dwarf humor before, the mages quietly joined the circle, unsure what to make of it.
Both were affable types, and once they got talking, they were far easier to connect with than Mishakua had been. Soon everyone felt comfortable asking questions.
“…I’ve never met a centaur mage before, but your performance was certainly impressive, Mr. Torlia.”
“Ha-ha, that was nothing. It’s acting, but I’m paired with her. I’m mostly trying not to accidentally get myself killed and spoil the party.”
“You ain’t fooling anyone, Forest Guard,” said Luluim. “You’re the hero of the Sixty Years’ War. Plenty of mages out there still shake in their boots when they hear your name.”
That stunned Oliver, Katie, and Pete at once. The Sixty Years’ War could only be the famous historical centaur rebellion, and Forest Guard was the epithet of the centaur who’d commanded their forces. If that was the case, then they were quite legitimately in the presence of a bona fide hero.
“My rep’s massively inflated,” Torlia said, making a face. “These days it just gets in the way of my dealings with humans.”
“…Um, can I ask more about that? I’m part of the civil rights movement myself and would love to hear how centaurs achieved their current standing direct from the source…”
“Sure, I can share, but—”
“Mr. Torlia! There you are!”
Just as Katie got to the point, an ordinary man came running up. He soon realized who else was at the table, and that he’d interrupted them; he turned rather pale, but Chela smiled.
“Never mind us—you have urgent business,” she said.
The man moved up and whispered something to Torlia, whose brow furrowed.
“…I was afraid of that, but we’ll have to act.”
He sighed, then put down his mug.
“Sorry, Ms. Aalto,” he said. “Hate to leave, but this is no time for drinks. Luluim, you come with. Don’t take another sip.”
“What, we fighting?”
She was already reaching for the handle of her ax. Torlia nodded gravely.
“Afraid so,” he replied. “No harm in you all knowing—there’s been tensions with the bogeys for a while, and they’ve launched an offensive. Wiped out a nearby town.”
“ !”
Everyone’s faces tensed.
“I’ll be leading the campaign to put them down,” Torlia went on. “We will try to negotiate first, but there’s almost certainly gonna be bloodshed. The fight won’t get this far, don’t worry. You and Chela enjoy—”
“Why not take them with you?” Mishakua suggested.
Oliver and the others looked shocked, but she didn’t hesitate.
“They’ll make themselves useful. They’re Kimberly fourth-years. I guarantee they know their stuff.”
When none of the students said anything, Toria turned to face them, arms crossed.
“…True, we could use every hand we’ve got. I’ve got lots of nonmagical comrades and troops in this battle. Even if you aren’t active participants, if you’ll help heal the wounded, we’d appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry. Stay behind me, and I’ll keep you all safe and sound.” Luluim grinned, flexing.
This unexpected request left them exchanging glances. Though surprised, given the situation, it was entirely appropriate to ask for their help. This was Chela’s home, which also encouraged them to lend their wands. If there was any reason to refuse…
“…What do you say, Katie?” Guy asked.
“……I’m in. This is mage work.”
She looked tense, but if she was going, no one else was inclined to decline. When everyone nodded, she spoke again.
“But I want to be sure of one thing. How are we treating foes who won’t fight or the ones who surrender during combat?”
“Neutralize and capture once the fighting’s over,” Torlia replied. “If, during questioning, they agree to abandon the life of conquest and go back to being ‘goblins,’ then we’ll give them the education they need to work in the factories. More or less the same for the kobolds that live with them.”
“Factories…”
“That bugs you, too? You really are an activist. I dunno that this’ll help, but I’ll make sure their dwellings meet southern legal standards. We got an elf—Mishakua—checking those standards often, so it oughtta be a lot better than regions run by humans alone.”
That made Katie fold her arms and groan.
“That’s far better than the losing side usually gets.” Luluim shrugged. “Not long ago we’d just turn ’em over to their victims and forget. But that made them less inclined to surrender. And we know them raising the white flag’s easiest for all of us.”
Oliver had to nod at that. Having a plan in place post-surrender was clearly a conscientious approach.
“The settlement’s scale is bigger than some,” Torlia added. “We’re expecting minimal casualties, even among the rank and file, but bogeys can be a real threat when they know the land. It’ll be good experience for all of you.”
Oliver and his friends nodded, took a deep breath, and exhaled. That alone was enough to make them put the merriment behind them.
They spent the night prepping and then headed west across the land, following Torlia’s directions. They’d debated whether to use a summoning spell to get Marco there, but Mishakua solved that problem by showing up with a large chariot pulled by manacattle. Learning that she would be joining them on the front, Oliver concluded that she intended this whole thing to be a learning experience for them. With the McFarlanes’ power, they’d hardly lack for military might, and either Mishakua or Torlia could likely crush a bogey village all on their own.
“Everyone’s here. Begin!”
But once they met Torlia’s forces on site, he had no choice but to revise that impression. Torlia had a lot more nonmagical troops with him than Oliver had expected, and it was clear they were meant to be the primary offense.
“I’ll cover your retreat. Yell if a behemoth shows,” Mishakua deadpanned, stopping alone at the forest entrance.
Torlia nodded, smirking. Oliver wasn’t surprised she was avoiding the front lines. She was just too powerful and made it hard to take this seriously. Bogeys were a threat even ordinaries could handle if properly equipped—odds were Torlia was looking to get them more experience. In light of which, Oliver wondered just how they should handle themselves.
Accompanying the troops, all eight of Oliver’s crew advanced into the depths of the forest.
“…Hey, if we do have to fight…,” Katie began.
“Don’t need to tell me.”
“Neutralize with minimal injuries, right?”
Guy and Pete were way ahead of her. Katie looked surprised, and Guy pursed his lips.
“I don’t wanna feel bad about this, either. Especially after meeting them back in Farnland. We’re hitting a village—there’s gonna be kids, too.”
Oliver entirely agreed with him. He made up his mind—rather than worry about what was their best option, he was going to follow Katie’s heart.
They advanced with caution through the trees, Torlia in the lead—and in time, he stopped, put his fingers to his lips, and whistled like a bird. This custom was the same for bogeys and goblins alike.
“Wise forest children, I am Torlia, the Forest Guard! I’m afraid my alliance with the McFarlanes requires me to stand against actions violating the accord, like your assault on the human village. I swear that if you put your weapons down and surrender, no blood will be shed. What say you?!”
His voice faded into the darkness of the forest. The answer came not in words, but in a volley of arrows to the ground at his feet. Torlia sighed and reached for his athame.
“So much for speeches. Time to fight!”
“We’ll lead.”
Without waiting for orders, the mages stepped out. If they were going to play a bigger role than expected, now was the time to act.
Luluim blinked at them. “’Ey, what’s the rush? You wait in back—”
They’d known someone would stop them—so Oliver didn’t let her finish.
“Cut ’em down, Nanao.”
“Gladio Ferrum!”
Nanao’s severing spell cut through all the trees before them. Any number of foes fell with these, and Oliver was already barking his next order.
“Take ’em out, Chela!”
“Magnus Tonitrus!”
Her doublecant blanketed the area, hitting all the bogeys in an ambush. Guy and Katie went rushing in, wands waving.
“Impediendum!”
“Impediendum!”
Any foes who escaped the electric net were quickly neutralized. While they worked, Pete was flying multiple scout golems, searching for more.
“…Big group to the northwest. Small squads approaching from east and west. Best to hit those before they regroup.”
“Roger that,” said Oliver. “We’ll open a path; you take out anything that gets past us. Marco, you stand down and guard the ordinaries.”
“Unh, got it.”
Armed with info, Oliver controlled the flow of battle. With a practiced ease that left the actual commanders slack-jawed.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding…,” Luluim managed.
“Better than expected.” Torlia grinned. “We may not get a turn here.”
Up ahead, Oliver was pushing the front lines back. Katie was running alongside him.
“Katie, I’m sure you know…,” he began.
“Yep.” She nodded. “We’re totally jumping the gun.”
Torlia had brought these nonmagical soldiers along to teach them how to defend themselves; mages robbing them of that opportunity was less than desirable. Well aware of that, Katie chose to follow her own desire.
“But what of it? I care more about making sure these people aren’t hurt. That’s my priority!”
Oliver nodded. He knew: This was Katie’s fight.
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, far from the mages’ battle…
“The attack’s begun. Such horrid people.”
A calm man’s voice. In response—an unearthly sound. Bogey growls that could be taken as pain or elation.
“Yet we need not fear. You are no longer helpless bogeys. You can feel it, yes?”
Propelled by his words, they advanced. Watching their unnatural silhouettes go, a figure muttered:
“Show your strength. As long as this blessing lies upon you.”
The first stage of the battle was resolved, yet the mages did not relax, eyes on their surroundings.
“…It’s awfully quiet.”
“They lose their nerve?”
“Way too soon for that. They should have more forces—”
The moment Oliver spoke, Nanao’s shoulders jumped.
“I sense something ominous,” she intoned.
Oliver barked a warning: “Halt!”
“What?” Luluim said, puzzled. “We’ve got ’em on the ropes.”
“Not if Nanao’s instincts say otherwise. Mr. Torlia! Are we really just fighting bogeys and kobolds?”
“……?” Torlia looked confused. “They might have wargs or the like, but in my experience, no greater threat—”
“Below!” Chela yelled.
The mages leaped back—as something ripped out of the ground.
“…What the…?!” Pete said, narrowing his eyes.
These were bogeys—but their arms were transformed, hard and pointy, like drill bits. Bogeys had no such talents, and the sight of it made the centaur yelp.
“…No—they’ve gone Gnostic?!”
“““““GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”””””
The bogeys charged, their freakish hands outstretched. Torlia wasted no time shouting orders.
“Company, retreat! Circular formation, defensive stances!”
“Firming up the ground! Fortis Prohibere!”
Luluim aimed her labrys at her feet, hardening the topsoil in the area. This prevented further attacks from below and let her start strutting her stuff.
“Fahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
With a roar, Luluim sent bogeys flying with her ax. While momentum was on her side, the nonmagical troops regrouped.
“Sorry. Did not see this coming,” Torlia muttered. “There’s been no signs of any Gnostic activities in this region, not for years. For it to show while you’re with us—”
“Consider it a stroke of luck you had the extra might along,” Oliver said.
“…Katie, I’m afraid this changes things,” Chela cautioned.
“We can’t hold back here,” Guy added. “Sorry, but the gloves are off.”
“…Ngh… Right…!”
Katie collected her nerves and raised her athame. Teresa’s eyes were scanning the trees around them.
“ ? What’s up, Teresa?”
“…I’m not sure. Something’s bugging me.”
Not much of an answer, but Oliver nodded, growing even more cautious.
If she voiced a concern here, her covert instincts must have been sounding the alarm. Kobolds as gnosticized as the bogeys were pouring out of the brush, but they were not the only threat. Blasting the enemy aside with his spells, Oliver was all too sure of that.
“Damn, they’re strong!” Guy growled, firing away. “These things really used to be normal bogeys and kobolds?!”
Spells worked on both types of enemies, but since they were coordinating their attacks and striking in numbers, the mages could not be careless. Further unforeseen attacks were in the cards here—and these creatures’ transformations had clearly made them far more durable. They were as tough as the beasts in the Kimberly labyrinth.
“That’s the Gnostic blessing. The one means by which those without magic aptitude can stand against a mage. Heedless of the cost that incurs…”
As Oliver spoke, he frowned. Even factoring in the gnosticization, this felt wrong.
“…But something’s off. They’re too strong. This isn’t just an individual power-up; they know how to take advantage of their transformations in combat. That’s doable if you have time to prepare, but—”
“They didn’t,” Torlia said, shaking his head. A bogey fell from a tree, and he kicked it away. “We were watching them the whole time, right up till the final warning today. If our network failed to detect it, they must have only just succumbed. The answer is obvious: Someone must have taught them.”
Teresa had been watching their surroundings the whole time.
“Ms. Hibiya,” she said.
“Mm? Yes, Teresa?”
“Cut down the trees behind us, to the left. Without looking. A single slice on the turn.”
“Gladio!”
Nanao accommodated this request at once. With a crash, the trees fell—and Oliver caught a glimpse of someone inside. He pointed his athame toward them.
“Someone’s there! Don’t let them leave! Flamma!”
“““““Flamma!”””””
Their spells set the fallen trees alight, flushing out the hidden figure.
“ ?!”
“Hrm—!”
An elderly man in simple robes much like an Azian monk. Nearly seven feet tall, with gaunt cheeks and a build like steel wires. In his hand, a pentagonal staff, nearly as long as he was tall. A clear departure from the standard mage’s appearance, yet the way he carried himself suggested he was a hardened veteran.
“You have fine instincts. I should not have dismissed you as children.”
He sounded impressed. Oliver and the others glared at him, guarded.
“…A human mage.”
“Stand down, Katie. You can tell, right? You can feel his threat.”
Even as she urged Katie to retreat, Chela felt sweat running down her own back. Torlia and Luluim stepped forward, covering them.
“A priest of the Sacred Light. And rather high-ranking… A bishop or an archbishop?”
Torlia derived all this from the man’s appearance. Resting that white staff behind him, the man bowed his head.
“Indeed, I am Evit. Despite my age, I serve as the lowest seat of the Pentagon.”
Those words noticeably upped the stress on every face present. There were numerous Gnostic groups, and the Order of the Sacred Light was among the largest, boasting many mages among their ranks. But they had sworn loyalty to a tír god, their paths straying far from what a mage ought to be.
“You’ve been on the Gnostic Hunter blacklist for a solid fifty years! Hard-core,” said Luluim. “Didn’t expect you on McFarlane territory—you a workaholic?”
“We are not choosy. Where there are those in need of salvation, we arrive to answer their prayers.”
Evit spoke with conviction. Torlia brandished his athame.
“If you’ve shown yourself, we must strike you down. Do you need our names?”
“I do not, centaur hero. Such a shame—I would have loved to perfect your form as well.”
Sounding regretful, Evit raised his pentagonal staff. Stepping up beside Torlia, Luluim addressed the young mages behind them.
“We’ll handle him. He ain’t a foe for children’s hands.”
“…I hate to be rude, but can you win?”
This foe was an unknown quantity, and optimism was unadvisable.
Luluim met Oliver’s blunt question with a grin.
“Lemme aboard, partner!”
“Don’t you fall off!”
Labrys in hand, she leaped up on Torlia’s back. Four hooves struck the ground, and together the pair charged at their foe.
Oliver gasped. “…A centaur desant!”
As the priest raised his staff, the demi duo made the first strike.
“Impetus!”
“Raughhhhhhhhhh!”
The spell forced their foe onto the receiving end, and then Luluim’s labrys slammed home, boosted by the momentum of the charge. A furious assault that left Evit on the defensive.
Katie and Guy watched with bated breath.
“Wow…!”
“They fight as one unit…!”
“There’s no time to marvel at it!” Chela shouted. “We’ve got bogeys to fight!”
Leaving the priest to Torlia and Luluim, the Sword Roses refocused on the gnosticized bogeys. Their presence here had proven a boon to the commanders; no nonmagical soldiers could stand against creatures altered by tír powers. Had the Kimberly contingent not been here, Torlia and Luluim could never have focused their full attention on Evit.
“Whew, such fury! Too much for these old bones.” The priest sighed, deflecting another attack. Yet he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Torlia and Luluim were well aware of how odd that was—he’d weathered their assault without a single spell cast. Superlative footwork alone could not explain it—they had to assume that pentagonal staff supplied protection.
“Best I shut those hooves down. Manifest pillar— .”
An unnatural spell crossed Evit’s lips. Multiple white pillars rose from all around, restraining the centaur’s movements. Luluim slammed one with her ax, but a blow that could shatter steel merely bounced off with a clang.
“Ngh! Can’t break ’em…!”
“Sacraments! No matter—I’ll just run through them!”
Torlia was already threading his way through the pillars. For a split second, a pillar stood between them and their foe—and the priest was gone, escaping their line of sight.
“Huh—?”
“I did not seek to slow you—merely limit you.”
He was in their blind spot. By the time they realized that, the tip of the staff had struck Luluim’s left arm.
“Gah…!”
“Luluim!”
With his partner injured, Torlia backed off. As they handled the bogeys, the other mages saw the same thing and tensed up.
“…Wh-what just happened?”
“How’d he move that fast…?”
“That’s the Sacred Light’s geomartial arts. The closer their movements get to the orderliness of regular polygons, the stronger their god’s blessing is. With the pillars limiting his movement, Mr. Torlia doesn’t stand a chance.”
Oliver had read up on this, so he could offer that much explanation.
Torlia and Luluim were left scowling at their foe.
“His movements are that much more precise than our own. I knew that going in, yet…”
“Tch, eff that… I ain’t good at math.”
Even as she spoke, Luluim took a short hold on her labrys, scraping away her own skin and flesh. Gnostic attacks always carried a risk of corruption, and this was the treatment.
The priest sighed. “You removed the stigmata. Merely accept it, and you could be one of us.”
“Hell no! I ain’t about to join no boring world without drinks or song! Clypeus!”
As they moved again, Luluim put a big pillar between them and their foe. She seemed to be imitating the priest, who frowned.
“Increasing your own impediments? Foolish—”
“That’d be you.”
Luluim chopped the pillar like it was firewood—and it split in five, the pieces flying out in all directions. She’d adjusted her visualization on the spell before generating it.
“…Hng…!”
“Go on, move! Follow your little rules!”
“Impetus!”
The pieces of the fallen pillar obstructed Evit’s pathing, and Torlia’s spell shot toward him. An approach that stifled the priest’s strengths.
“…They’re good,” Oliver said, visibly impressed. “The pieces fell right where they’d block the polygons.”
“And make the ground rougher,” Chela added. “Even the Order’s martial arts can be disrupted if they’re forced to jump, while a centaur’s sure footing excels on rough ground.”
As he fended off the ensuring assault, the priest muttered, “Ah, very good… I see those sixty years at war served you well.”
“Yer damn right! Battle ain’t no place for a ruler or a compass!” Luluim yelled.
Their charge was ferocious, but against their heroics, the priest stood his staff on the ground.
“However, I’ve fought the Gnostic Hunters for a hundred years,” he said. “Two-armed, four-legged centaurs—”
Luluim’s ax swung down. Evit caught the blow with the point of his staff and slipped beneath Torlia’s belly.
“—cannot reach beneath them. A well-known fact.”
Once more, his moves left the others tongue-tied. Their foe was now hiding beneath Luluim’s mount—yet she just grinned.
“Dumbass! You missed two arms. Impetus!”
She snapped her wand toward Torlia’s flank. The handle sank into his side, the blade beneath him—firing a wind spell at the priest below.
“Hng…!”
Evit blocked with his staff but was flung out from beneath the centaur. Torlia wheeled around toward him but was drawn up short by the pain in his side.
“…Unh…”
“Sorry; snapped a rib. Wouldn’t have reached the old man if I hadn’t swung that hard.”
“…I know. Just…buy me a drink later.”
With that, they were back in the fray. The priest was once again on his feet, dusting off his robes with a sigh.
“…My goodness. A dwarf and a centaur fighting together—you certainly are a nuisance.”
“We can go all night,” Luluim taunted. “If you can swing that long pole one-handed.”
Evit had been in no position to defend himself while clinging to the centaur’s underside—the dwarf’s labrys had broken his left arm. Then the Kimberly group came running up.
“Gnostic bogeys and kobolds down. They were a small part of the whole.”
“We can back you up now. It’ll be a tough fight, Sacred Light priest,” Chela said, pointing her athame his way.
Surrounded by wands, Evit frowned. “I underestimated the children, too. I had no time to coach anyone properly—and I certainly didn’t expect nine mages to put down one bogey village.”
His right hand slipped from the pentagonal staff. That might have looked like a sign of surrender—but his lips betrayed that.
“Grant unquenchable thirst— . Let god’s authority hold sway, however fleeting.”
““““““““Tonitrus!””””””””
The mages fired lightning over the priest’s unnatural incantation. But then a cube appeared from nothing and swallowed each bolt.
“Hng—”
“It inhaled our spells?!”
As they gaped, the cube began to absorb the very air around them, as if there was a hole in the world. They stood their ground against the pull of it but heard screams behind them.
“Ah! Gah—aughhhhhh!”
“O-owww…!”
“Dry… Dry… Too dry…!”
Even at that distance, the sacrament was drying out the nonmagical soldiers’ skins. That plus what he’d read led Oliver to the nature of this threat.
“An Urani Sponge! A tír object that expands the more it absorbs! Move before it grows or it’ll take your body!”
He’d seen records of this sacrament, witnessed on the Gnostic fronts. Oliver and his friends quickly retreated, trying to escape its pull, but with it absorbing their spells on cast, they could not fight back. The nonmagical troops were drying out and toppling over behind them, and they were helpless to stop it.
“Shit! This is bad…!”
“We can’t even protect them!”
“Fortis Prohibere Resistis!”
The pulling stopped dead. A triplecant, far more powerful than anything they could produce. Like a plug dropped in a drain, the air around the tír object went still.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is this worse than a behemoth?”
“Mother!” Chela gasped, her eyes turning to the sky behind her.
Mishakua McFarlane, astride a broom, wand in hand. Her spell was engaged in an active tug-of-war with the sacrament.
“And now you’ve arrived.” The priest sighed. “I suppose this is where I bid you adieu.”
“Why the hurry, little Sacred Light boy? I don’t mind going all out right here.”
“I’m honored by the offer, but neither of us have any such intentions.”
Dismissing her challenge, he ended the sacrament. His next chant spawned a diagonal pillar, and he kicked off the end as it grew, launching himself into the trees.
“No need to rush—salvation is never far from reach.”
With those last words, he was gone. Freed from the gravitational pull, fatigue caught up with everyone present. Mishakua leaped from her broom, glancing around.
“Much as I’d love to pursue and pummel the man, some of these ordinaries won’t last. Torlia, Luluim, got anything left?”
“…Wish I did…”
“Sorry…”
They were both injured and clearly in pain. Mishakua nodded and glanced at the young mages.
“That is the Gnostic threat. Did we all learn something today, kids?”
She flashed a smile. No one dared say a word. This unsettling foe and their first battle with a mage armed with the tír’s mysteries—neither was something they would ever forget.
Meanwhile, in Lantshire… Two mages reached their destination.
They were through the sturdy iron doors in the mountainous walls, and the building within was all the more brutal. The fortress filled their vision with black and gray, less mausoleum than plain old tombstone. Here, the very notion of decorative flourish was considered pointless. No such efforts would ever disguise the permanent stench of death.
“……”
“…Hmph.”
This was the Gnostic Hunter headquarters, the likes of which could not be found anywhere else in the world. The mage pair had left the hellscape of Kimberly and fallen straight into an even more fiery cauldron.
“…Can you feel it, Lesedi?” Godfrey asked, eyes on that ghastly sight.
The woman next to him nodded. “Yeah. Reminds me of my first day at Kimberly.”
They grinned at each other, finding humor in their shared sentiment.
“Time we went in.”
“I’m with you.”
Their next step could not be retracted. Both minds wondered how to greet those within—or what spell to hit them with.
END
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