I wrote a thing

A tinkling of glass on glass, and all their minds broke, the soldiers collapsing in a heap all through the streets of Aix-les-Bains. All, save one. Shortly, though, that soldier too was on the ground, moaning in pain and fear. A woman, in the most elegant of dress and the reddest of hair, walked by that soldier with a sneer of contempt. That soldier would always recall the woman's face, peered at surreptitiously. A sharp, angled nose. Eyes of a deep, forest green. Corners of the mouth so distinct as to appeal hand-sculpted. And a surpassing, alien loveliness. The peering eyes quickly shut.

Retainers clustered around the woman, bidding her to mount into the carriage. She began entering the coach, black and curtained in velvet, to depart to parts unknown. So that soldier did something incredibly stupid. Maylis found the strength to stand, shuddering, calling to the woman, stumbling over every word. "Your Highness! Lady d'Archambault!" was all Maylis was able to express. The woman stopped, stepped down from the gilded foot-bar to the cobblestone streets. She peered at the figure, abrimwith unbridled curiosity.

"Oh? How are you still standing?" She asked, her retainers peering at Maylis threateningly through the narrow slits in their white masks. Maylis simply stammered in response, looking longingly at the other soldiers, safe, not currently in the process of getting themselves killed. D'Archambault looked at her retainers angrily, muttering, "that rat bastard promised me! 'The power to bend the minds of all men is yours, Ambroise, if you have the will to take it,' he said. All men! All-"

Her continence shifted. She looked at Maylis with a savage hatred, her green eyes glowing brightly as she focused all of her rage into a single fine point. After a while, held terrified under Ambroise's  gaze, Maylis began to swoon. Ambroise abated.

"Who's Jacques to be sending woman to fight his wars, anyway?" Ambroise said disparagingly. Maylis jumped in astonishment.

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken, Your Highness. I, merely..." Maylis grumbled in a practiced, gravelly tone.

"No, no I don't. Miss… whoever you are."

"It's…" Maylis began in the gravely voice, before breathing a long sigh and continuing in her much more natural tone. "Maylis."

"Right. So, Miss Maylis," Ambroise said, glaring at Maylis with all her surplus of malice, "is there a good reason why you shouldn't fall before me?" The retainers swept up behind Maylis, in the event that the answer was no.

"I, um, want to help you?" Maylis said, hesitantly. She felt the prick of a blade to her back, the tip ever so slightly embed in her skin.

"Of course you do. This is why you dressed up in men's clothing and came to kill me, correct?"

"It's, not… Your Highness, I am a mercenary, you understand. I was unaware that this conflict involved you until I saw you just now."

"I would like to posit that that is complete and utter bull-shit," Ambroise said, spitting the profanity as though it was burning her tongue. "I would believe your claim, perhaps, if you had fought for me, or served me, or had some sort of talent, in any way. But, my dear, I'm afraid that you simply don't."

"Milady, it is possible that she does have something to offer you," a masked retainer (the very one, in fact, with their dagger to Maylis' back) said quietly.

"What would that be? Surely, she is not noble," Ambroise said, moving her vitriol-filled gaze off of Maylis.

"No. More than that. A word, Milady?" the retainer asked. Ambroise gestured to two more retainers, who put their blades to Maylis' throat quickly, in perfect synchronization.

"Perhaps even two," Ambroise acceded. They walked behind the coach, disappearing from Maylis' view. She was left alone with three retainers- two, with their blades at her throat, and a third, sitting cross-legged on the pavement.

"You're an idiot, I hope you know." the third said.

"I, yeah. I kind of am," Maylis acceded.

"I know you're never going to explain why you didn't just keep playing dead like the rest of these guys, and count your blessings," the third said, gesturing still at the collapsed, moaning men. "but I'd kill to know."

"It wasn't, it was just an impulse," Maylis said, immediately grunting with the shear wait of her incredible stupidity.

"Feh. Don't be so quick to dismiss your instincts."

"You, um. You're awfully talkative," Maylis said, as so to pull the focus of the conversation away from things that might incite one of the retainers to just kill her and get it over with.

"Thought retainers couldn't be chatty, eh? Stereotypes. Most people can't really muster a deep devotion to a person and keep talking to other people like they really matter, I guess."

"I, what?" Maylis asked, flattened.

"Something, something, something, magic, something, something, man in white, something, 'Babette, if you are truly willing,' yada yada, 'The power to exact your ideals,' and so on. Are you not familiar with how magic works?"

"Not, really, no." Maylis said. "Is that the wrong answer?"

"Well, not really a good thing, but, you know. It's not the end of the world. Speaking of which: I trust you've been to church at least once?"

"Um. No."

"What, really? How'd you manage?"

"Um. You know. Lived pretty far out. Never really bothered," Maylis said, quietly.

"You're dodging the question, but that's quite alright. You at least know the guy, right? The man in white, or whatever you want to call him?"

"I, vaguely."

"Hopeless. Well, lots of people are born with the potential for greatness. They're given the right to use magic, but very few people ever exercise that right. But when they do, they're taken to meet the man in white. Or, rat bastard, or whatever you want to call him. He doesn't care. And you're given magic, but you rack up a debt with him. And he always collects, sooner or later.

"Most people who do obtain magic are pretty simplistic about it. They're idealists who want to fix the world or devotees of a certain person, or whatever, and they wind up retainers. He collects from them, surely, but it's usually quiet. Things like, you'd never suspect that that kid who got crushed by your horse was previously destined to be your truest of loves. And you'll marry someone else, and it won't be the idealic picnic that kid would have been, but you don't really suffer so much for it.

"Most people either can't be great, chose not to be great, or trade in their greatness for someone else's gain. There's a few, though. They're not satisfied with anything such as that. They make a true contract with the man in white. I'm not privy to the details of that, but. I assume it's rather similar to the pact retainers sign. But they become great.

"The power is incredible. The price is horrifying. Moments of happiness are stolen surreptitiously and only seem to exist to set one up for the fall. They seek greatness, and in exchange the man in white steals all their happiness up. As long as they press the issue of greatness, they can keep faltering along, of course, chasing whatever desperate goal drove them to sign the contract in the first place. But if they slow down, if they ever seem to regret the contract, if they seek to be happy again, they die. As simple as that," Babette finished. Maylis struggled to remain rigid.

"Isn't there anything that can be done about it? Isn't there any way to have it both ways?" Maylis asked, at length.

"Well, yeah. For some. See, greatness means a lot of different things to different people. So you set a goal. If you can achieve that goal, the magic goes away, and you get your life back. As per the Lady Archambualt- "

"That's enough, Babette." Ambroise said, returning into Maylis' view. Ambroise gestured, causing the two retainers to lower their swords, permitting Maylis a long-desired sink to her knees.

"Maylis. My retainer informs me that you could become a viable magical asset to me. Your training as my retainer begins now. You will accompany me on this campaign, training with my existing retainers. You will make the contract at its conclusion. The process should take a between two and three weeks. I trust that you will agree to this request."

Maylis still had enough stupidity in her for one last monumental act of stupidity, the sort of which are written about in history books as the reason kingdoms fall and great men die.

"Of course," she said.

Ambroise extended a gloved hand. White silk. Maylis took it, marveling at its warmth and softness as it pulled her to her feet. She looked Ambroise in the face. Ambroise smiled greedily, which was enough of an accolade to send her to the coach, stepping up and sitting in the soft, red seat in back. The two retainers with swords took the driver's chair, Ambroise and Babette the front, and the remaining retainer the rear, with Maylis. Maylis took the opportunity to take a long, luxurious nap, while the coach rode onwards, through a field of moaning men she once called comrades, to unknown locales.

Next to the motionless, masked retainer, Maylis reclined slightly, sighing in relief and in confusion. It was all great that she had made it out of that particular situation alive, after all, but she had no idea why she put herself in that situation in the first place. Even disregarding the fact that her route out obligated her to sell her own chance at lifelong happiness, it was strange, mysterious. She supposed it must have been part of Ambroise's magic. The concept that it might be because of Ambroise's physical attractiveness, power, and self-confidence didn't occur to her.

She looked at her fellow - passenger for what must have been the twentieth time. They wore long, flowing, form - concealing green robes, and the customary mask of the retainer. Bone white, with darkened glass eye slits and a locked hinge that would, presumably, come undone and allow the mask's wearer access to their lower mouth. She shuddered slightly. It would be hers, one day, most probably. She knew very little of Ambroise d'Archambault, or, indeed, the life to which she was now fated, but it was already apparent to her that escape wouldn't be viable. It was better, then, to resign herself to fate, wasn't it? She couldn't accept that. She'd find a way.

The carriage creaked to a halt, and Maylis peered out through the curtains. They had left the road quite some time ago, it seemed, and were in the middle of a vast track of plains. More notably, she was surrounded by soldiers. They bore not the King's orange or the Holy purple or any mercenary designation. Their uniforms, and their standard, were of Ambroise's rebellion. Red, the color of flames and blood and their mistress' hair.

"Oh, excellent. They're not all dead," Babette said, her voice muffled and indistinct through the wooden partition between the two halves of the carriage.

"The question, Babette, is whether or not they won the battle. Claude, keep Maylis entertained," Ambroise said as she descended from the coach to assess the value of her men.

A short conference confirmed that they had not. The mercenary army, although it bore a gift in the form of Maylis, had not been such a problem. The fact that they were assumed to be the Holy contribution to the war effort was. The Holy army was able to flank Ambroise's while they clashed with the King's. Morale was shattered, and her army scattered to the four corners. Aix-les-Bains was as good as sacked already. Babette related this to a scowling Maylis as they crouched behind the cart, waiting for Ambroise to finish a plan of action with her generals.

"So. That's it, then. Nothing to protect anymore, at least. We can focus on taking the fight to His Majesty" Babette said, sadness in her voice. "It's just, hard, losing the place you grew up in. I guess this is all part of Ambroise's contract."

"Why can't she just ride back, and stop them from burning it down? Put them all to sleep, like she did my army?" Maylis asked.

"The Lady Archambault is not omnipotent. Even with her impressive powers, there are limits. She can't really muster the strength to do that again, to so many men. Not so soon, at least. We already loaded the valuables on the cart, and we've got a second to run while they're distracted."

"You speak as though we're going to lose this."

"We are, yeah," Babette said, "With these numbers against those? Not going to happen. Our only shot is foreign aid, which one would suppose we're going after next."

"Then why the planning?"

"Beats me, May," Babette said sighing. She reached to her face, and removed her mask. Her eyes were a soft, earthy brown, matching her short, cropped hair.

"Why, did you take that off?" Maylis asked, peering at her face.

"It's hot. I'm not even a proper retainer, as it is," Babette answered.

"You're not?"

"Nope. I want a world free from the influence of the holy. So I traded with the rat bastard for magic. It's funny how that work, no?"

"Why, the mask, then?"

"Anonymity is a useful thing," she replied with a shrug. "So. Why the hell are you here, Maylis?"

The question took her by surprise. "I, you said, that I wouldn't answer that, yourself, didn't you?" She stammered.

"I did," Babette acceded. "I'm just going to ask it anyway."

"Um. I don't... It's a fluke, I guess. Maybe Her Highness' magic?"

"Nope. Her Highness' magic only works on men. The rat bastard likes to twist words around like that."

"But, what if..." Maylis began, realizing quickly that she was utterly outclassed, and shutting her lips tight.

"Look, Maylis. I don't know why, but I like you. You remind me of a younger me, before I met Ambroise and traded for magic and all that other stuff. So I'm going to tell you something. Don't just let Ambroise boss you around like this. Sure, she's the Queen, rightful suzerain, and all that, for all futurity, her and hers, ectera. But you've got rights too. She's going to want to push you into trading away everything that matters to you until you're subsumed in her ego like those other fucks. Like me. Don't do it. I'm not even going to try to tell you to stay away from her, or anything like that. I know things. It's not going to happen. But I want you to be happy, and giving your happiness to a metaphysical force isn't going to accomplish that one bit," Babette said, her face stern, her eyes closed.

"Well, um. O-of course. I won't try to, um, get happy by giving away all the happy, to the Man in White, I mean."

"Yes, you say that. You'd be surprised how many people think that's a viable thing. Don't you think being happy and making other people happy is all that really matters?"

"I, I don't know, Miss Babette."

"You should. It's true."

"I… um. Backtracking. Why wouldn't you tell me to stay away from Her Highness?" Maylis asked quietly. Babette chuckled.

"Cute. You'll figure it out, I'm sure."

Ambroise walked around the carriage, her footsteps sharp and deliberate.

"Babette. Maylis. We are leaving," She said, in a voice barely containing a torrent of bile and rage.

"Where to?" Babette asked, putting her mask back on and slowly rising to her feet, brushing the dust off of her robe.

"The Chenon. His Majesty has expressed distaste for the Pretender on numerous occasions, as you could guess. He might help us. It is all the hope we have left."

"Righto." Babette said. She held out her hand for Maylis. "Come on, now. No time to waste."

Maylis simply got herself back up. She took up her position on the rear of the coach once again. To her surprise, Babette followed her.

"Hope you don't mind. I'll be hanging out back here for a while, I suppose. Ambroise has some more important matters to discuss with that other guy," Babette said.

"Right, sure." Maylis said.

"Thank you kindly. I apologize if I am being too talkative."

"No, no. It's, fine." Maylis said incredibly unconvincingly. Babette politely ignored Maylis' atrocious acting.

"It's just been terribly long since I've spoken to anyone aside from Ambroise," she added. Maylis nodded in tacit agreement, and shifted uncomfortably away from her traveling partner. The coach slipped away from the army, who began preparing to march somewhere else entirely. The plains shifted slowly to forest as the sun set below the horizon. Just as the world was made dark, the sun obscured behind that dividing line, everything was brightened by the intense fire the coach now found itself consumed in. Maylis reflexively bailed out, breaking the fragile wood of the coach door with her shoulder as she fell into a roll on the tangle of roots and undergrowth. Coaches didn't just light aflame. She scanned the trees for any hint of human activity. She found none. Babette emerged from the shattered door, masked, but her robe shorn, revealing sleek, steel armor, accented in red, and adorned with a sleek blade, sheathed by her side. She opened the front door of the coach, permitting Claude and Ambroise to stumble out. The two other retainers were already nowhere to be seen.

"Babette, can you-" Ambroise began asking.

"I feel them. Many. To arms!" Babette replied hastily, drawing the sword. Maylis then realized that she was utterly unarmed.

"To me. I will protect you." Babette said, to nobody in particular. Ambroise stood behind her like a spy behind a low wall. Maylis quickly followed suit. Ambroise was comfortably close, and Babette seemed a formidable barrier against all dangers.

The first shot was fired. Missed, of course, but Babette's head swiveled around quickly, pausing for a moment before she charged towards a small pile of bushes. She drew her sword back and swung quickly, producing a sickening crunch of broken bones and ruined organs. Ambroise grimaced, while Maylis merely shrugged. She'd heard  it before, of course. No sooner had Babette returned to them then had another assailant appeared, a long knife in hand, running swiftly towards them. He did them all the favor of impaling himself on Babette's sword, pointed out against him. Babette swiftly withdrew the sword from the man's corpse, turning to block the ax swung at Ambroise's exposed back. Maylis recoiled in shock. She hadn't seen it. She shook her head as Babette's muscles strained to deflect the ax blow. The ax twisted and fell out of the new assailant’s hand. The man merely grinned wildly, his eyes out of focus and bloodshot. Suddenly, a crack of light, and electricity was coursing towards Babette's long, metal sword, pointed against him. It flowed into her, and she fell. The man licked his lips, picked his ax up off of the ground. Ambroise glared at him, angry, but unafraid. Maylis began to panic. Time seemed to slow as she looked from the man to Ambroise to her empty hands to the man again. And then, before she even knew what was going on, a large ax was in her hands, made of shimmering, iridescent rainbow light. She drew it up and over her shoulder, transposing herself in front of Ambroise before taking a mighty swing at the would-be regicide. He swung his own ax at hers, shattering it on impact. He stared at the broken handle in his hands as Maylis neatly and cleanly removed his head from the shoulders up. Her ax vanished. She fell to her knees, breathing heavily. Her blood pounded in her ears.

What had happened, she wondered, as a fog coated her vision. She dimly heard Babette babbling in the peripheries of her consciousness, and the crooning voice of Claude almost failed to register entirely. But she heard, clearly and distinctly, Ambroise d'Archambault muttering, "Thank you, Maylis. Well done."

Her course done, she saw the fog overtake her, and she drifted into a soft, dreamless sleep.

She was revived a few hours later, to the sounds of rushing water. She opened her eyes and looked around. The river. How did she get near the river? The fog receded. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, before looking around again. The river was surprisingly clear, full of reasonably potable water and large, silver fish. There was a campsite nearby, on the side she was on. A woman with startling red hair sat by the edge of a dead flame, eyes closed in thought. Maylis struggled to her feet and walked over. "Am- I mean, Your Highness?" she asked.

"She is I. I presume you are hungry. First, though. We have to talk about last night," Ambroise said, her voice ever so slightly less rigid than usual.

"I, um. I don't know anything. I promise!" Maylis said, taking a seat by the ashes across from Ambroise. Ambroise merely shook her head.

"I know. We do. Claude is not present, so I will be explaining it to you. Listen attentively, if you would?"

"I trust, Maylis, that you know at least the rudiments of magic?" Ambroise asked.

"Of course," Maylis replied, neglecting to include how long ago she acquired the information.

"I'm sure, then, that you know of the great sacrifice it requires?" Ambroise said without the slightest hint of sadness, or regret, or any sort of feeling that would link her statement to herself.

"Yes," Maylis responded.

"All magic requires a contract. The debt of the contract must be payed in full. These are the laws of magic, and no force can circumvent them," Ambroise said. Maylis felt a tightening in her stomach. She longed for a few more moments of ignorance, before whatever terrible truth was revealed to her.

"All, save one," Ambroise finished. Maylis' stomach unclenched slightly. "The Man in White has been known to bestow gifts, temptations. Tastes of the real power with little substance, all in the name of corrupting the incorruptible and coercing even the most adamant in their pursuit of happiness to sign a contract with him. This is you, Maylis. If you were to strike out a contract, you would be filled with power unknown and unknowable, terrible and terrifying. Even without it, you wield gifts no mere mortal could ever hope to obtain."

"I, suppose then, that this is when you tell me to sign the contract?" Maylis said, her eyes downcast and her spirit thoroughly trodden.

"No. I am not such a tyrant, Maylis, as to require one of my subjects to sign away her happiness. It is a terrible burden and I could not so much as ask you to take it up."

"Then, then..." Maylis, predisposition ed to suffering and misfortune as she was, struggled to form her thoughts into words. "Why did you let me live, then? Surely, that was what that other retainer told you, back at Aix- les- Bains?"

"Claude told me that he felt such a power from you. This is why you were not imprisoned. I had not decided what to do with you until, of course, you saved my life," Ambroise recounted, turning her brilliant green eyes to Maylis. Maylis held the eye contact, shifting uncomfortably.

"I am grateful, Maylis. And now I trust you. I will not compel you to do anything against your own will, but I must insist rather strongly that you stay with us," Ambroise said softly.

"Of course!" Maylis exclaimed, the words flying out of her mouth almost entirely unbidden. "I, um. That is to say..." she began, before giving up.

"With us, you will certainly be protected from the forces of the Holy, who wish nothing more than to see those like you moved into their monasteries and made to sign contracts with the rat bastard. Even if you so desired it, I could not allow it. You would prove an insurmountable obstacle."

"You don't have to convince me, Your Highness. I will gladly pledge myself to your cause," Maylis said, quickly. Ambroise narrowed her eyes.

"Is that so? I am glad to hear it, at least," she said, reclining back on the dirt and looking at the clear, bright sky. "Babette should be back from wherever she went shortly, with the others. When she does so, we can start on the road. The coach is ruined, and the horses fled. We barely managed to save the war chest, at the cost of many, many, many irreplaceable paintings and other such things. Which, I suppose, is my fate."

Maylis felt a curious impulse to gather her up, draw her to her breast, and reassure her that everything would be alright. She shook it off. Not only was that a completely impolite thing to do to such a high noble, but she didn't feel like lying to the strange woman. Nothing would be alright, until they fulfilled the terms of Ambroise's contract. The rat bastard would make absolutely sure of it. Maylis lay down, and looked at that same sky. Any moment of calm introspection that might have resulted was trampled horribly by the sound of footsteps, shattering twigs, and jingling armor. Maylis jumped up as quickly as she was able, and pulled from nothingness another shining ax of transparent force. From the edge of the forest came a figure with a familiar mask, a stammering of brown hair, and red-and-gray armor. Maylis sat down, cursing her paranoia silently. The ax faded from the world.

Babette came up to the campsite, uncharacteristically quiet. "They're done, Ambroise," she mumbled. "Time to head out. Buried the war chest, too. We'll send people after it. If we still have people, I guess."

Ambroise rose to her knees. Maylis noted that her previously-immaculate silk dress was veritably shredded, and winced for the death of so much rich cloth. "Good. The sooner we can get more supplies, the better."

The other retainers soon approached from the forest in their characteristic, taciturn manner. The group thus assembled, they began on the long, weary road, the nearest town still miles away. Maylis was on edge the whole time for another attack by bandits or whatever the assailants were, but failed to encounter a single one.

Uncertain step followed uncertain step. Maylis was accustomed to it, of course, being in the business of war since before she could even remember. She had no doubt, too, that the retainers would suffer little under standard marching conditions. She was concerned about Ambroise, though. She sincerely doubted that the woman had been anywhere more than a few feet off her room without a carriage, or at least a horse. Yet, she showed no signs of weariness, even as her delicate and ladylike shoes broke out from under her and she found herself wearing Babette's altogether too large boots. No complaints were heard. Only the silence of the forest, as Babette grew weary of being the only one singing marching songs rather quickly. The songs she chose were foreign and strange to Maylis' ears, preventing her from joining in if she was so inclined.


It was peaceful. So peaceful that it drew Maylis' suspicion.

"Something's not right," she said, her brow furrowed, "The bandits should have attacked us again by now."

"Verily, they should have," Ambroise replied, "if they were not so dead." Maylis stopped.

"When did this happen?" she asked.

"I did it while you were napping. Let's just keep going, alright?" Babette said. She smiled widely, but her hands shook.

Odd, Maylis thought, but she shrugged and continued on to Raineval, located just on the outskirts of the forest. When they finally arrived, they were unspeakably tired, the robes of the retainers and the dress of Ambroise ruined by snagging twigs.

They scarcely noticed it, at first. The light forest path remained overgrown with vegetation and sown with rocks, but there were (here and there) signs of human activity. Felled trees and scorch marks on the grass served to delineate the forest from the civilized world of Raineval. They came across the first logger's hut an hour or more from the first cut tree, and from there it was another hour to the core of the town, the church. The party there assembled was not noted to be particularly fond of the church, but the church didn't need to know that. It was an old, stone building of white marble, figures of great men of magic carved into the front, the pillars of support, their deeds inscribed on the floor- the whole of the building was covered in the legends. Ambroise eyed it suspiciously, while Babette simply attempted not to glare.

"You think they've got an inn, here?" Babette hissed through clenched teeth.

"No. Not to mention our dire financial straits." Ambroise returned, sighing. "We are to throw ourselves on their mercy and hope they grant it to us."

"Yeah, right." Babette said. The doors of the building were made of a dark wood that made a tremendous creaking when Ambroise pushed them open. She went in to speak with the minister. Babette remained outside the threshold, kicking her feet and pouting. Claude and the two with the swords entered, following her with no hesitation. Maylis teetered at the threshold. She looked at Babette for a moment, and then walked in.

"-but I hope you can find room here, for one so pitiful as me and mine." Ambroise concluded. She stood in the middle of the raised, circular platform common to the churches. An old man, his few remaining scraps of hair bleached white, dressed in a minister's bright white, stood with her. Tears streamed freely down his face.

"Of course. I hope my attic may be your refuge, Your Grace," he said. Ambroise wasted no time whatsoever in locating the stairs (tucked away in a tiny alcove, overshadowed by the nearby statues of mostly-naked men), ascending them, and depositing herself on the crude mat of straw that ornamented the tiny, cold, stone room. Maylis followed quickly behind- the old man scared her almost as much as the thought of profaning the divine with what was almost certainly shameless manipulation. She heard the synchronized tread of three sets of feet and knew that Claude and the others were close behind. Aside from the tiny, straw mat, the room was bereft of any sort of furnishings, utterly plain and stark aside from the entrance to the narrow stairs from which Maylis had disembarked. The ceiling’s height obligated her to stoop down low to fit in, and she groaned with a mild disquiet. The stone floor looked especially inhospitable, and she sincerely doubted there would be room for all six of them.

Or, perhaps, five. Babette had not joined us and Maylis thought she never would.

"It is late. We should retire. With luck, we will find suitable accommodations to the Chenon by tomorrow. As if luck was particularly apt to accompany us."

It was Ambroise, of course. Maylis knew that at least Claude was capable of speaking, but she had never witnessed the event. Babette seemed to be an exception to the rule. She tried to remember if she'd seen a retainer speak before, but she didn't remember ever meeting one. It wasn't like the average girl had much of a chance of doing so, anyway. As she pondered this, Ambroise took up her spot on the mat. Maylis found a spot on the floor she deemed livable, and lie down on it. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that she was wearing her armor. She predicted that it would be a long night, so she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Three or four hours later, Maylis was still awake. The moon had long ago reached its peak in the sky, and begun to descend. Everyone slept but her, she thought. She heard a stifled gasp, and opened her eyes into perfect darkness. Pondering on it for only a second, she sat up (laboriously, given the armor) and summoned the ax of shimmering light. The room was rendered in soft contrast. Ambroise was sitting up, stock still, on the coveted straw mattress. If she saw Maylis, she gave no indication of it. Slowly, Ambroise relaxed, her shoulders unclenching and rolling downward by the tiniest fractions of a degree at a time. She turned her head to the source of the illumination, and raised her eyebrows.

"Maylis. You are up?" She asked quietly. Claude and the others still slept nearby.

"Um. Yes," Maylis said.

"Sleep. We will be traveling for quite some time tomorrow, if you understand?"

"Sleep yourself. What are you doing up?" She asked.

"Truthfully? I have not had a moment of restful sleep since I made the contract with the man in white."

"About that?" Maylis asked. She hesitated slightly. "Why? What incited you to do something so-"

"Incredibly stupid?"

"Well, yes."

Ambroise paused a moment, considering it. "Do you understand the nature of my claim?"

"To the throne? You were..." Maylis began, trailing off. How was she related to that last monarch, anyway?

"His Late Majesty’s daughter. Only child, since the death of his son. And yet, I find the throne in the hands of my cousin."

"How did that happen?" Maylis asked. Ambroise shook her head gently.

"Another time. The throne is mine by right of birth. I do not have it. And this, I suppose, I could come to live with. But it is what happened afterwards that was truly unforgivable. I claimed the throne. And the Pretender stripped me of my titles, gave them to his favorite consort, and ordered me sent to prison like a common peasant."

"So, you made the contract then?" Maylis asked.

"I lit my estates aflame, and rallied my guard. When they refused to answer my summons, that is when I made the contract. I knew how, of course. It would be utterly irresponsible for a woman of my character and status to not know how. And when I made the contract for Vengeance, and obtained my power, I thought it would be an easy quest. And yet, here I am, a year and a half later, with absolutely nothing to show for it." Ambroise spoke quickly, rushing the story out as though the words were painful to her. A look at those iconic  green eyes assured Maylis that they were. Ambroise blushed slightly and sat up straighter.

"I'm sorry to have burdened you with this, Maylis. It is late. I don't know what I am thinking." She stammered.

"It's not a burden, Your Majesty," Maylis said quickly. "It's important to get to know your traveling companions. And, all things considered, I suppose I'm going to be with you for quite a while."

"Thank you. And..." Ambroise said, chewing her lip. "You may call me Ambroise. You know that Babette has already thrown any distinction for my rank to the side."

"Thanks, Ambroise." Maylis said. The ax was gone, and she reclined again. Her armor still proved hard against her back, but she hardly felt it as she drifted into a tranquil sleep.

Her shoulders began shaking. She yanked herself out of the soft blackness of the dream and opened her eyes, groggily.

"-et up, you unbelievable- It's hopeless, isn't it." A voice said sharply.

"Up! Up. I'm... I'm up!" Maylis said, smacking her lips.

"Finally! I've been working on you for eons!" Babette said in that same sharp tone.

"Whatssamatter?" Maylis said, slurring. She looked around. She and Babette were the only two left in the room.

"What- Right, okay. Holy troops. Marching through. Looking for you. We have to cut and run, now. I'd take a moment to lop all your hair off, but you seem to already have taken care of it. Not good. All the soldiers need to know is that it's the blonde, foreign girl with the lesbian haircut and you'll be as good as, you know, His," Babette babbled. She pulled Maylis up and half led, half dragged her down the stairs and out the big wooden doors. One of her hands was occupied by Babette's intense grip. She was using the other to feel her hair.

"I like my haircut," she said provincially.

"Not the point. It's not even close to the point. It's not even tangent to the point. Go!" Babette said, yanking Maylis through crowded and labyrinthine streets, winding their way to the town's outskirts. Soldiers clad in purple appeared infrequently, asking the scattered populace questions no doubt relating to the guests of the church the previous night.

"'mbroise and the others should have arranged transport already. If we get to the coach, we'll be safe." She explained. Suddenly, she redoubled her speed. "They're on to us. Running is the only way out."

And so they did. Running in full armor was not an easy feat for Maylis. She resolved to fix that problem as soon as possible- the armor was quickly proving to be a terrible investment. Not that she could even remember buying the stuff, or putting it on. It had been a part of her for so long, it had faded into the unconsciousness until recently, she supposed.

Purple clad soldiers. More of them. A whole line, pikes in hand, pointed at Babette and at Maylis. Babette drew her sword, Maylis manifested the ax Babette looked back, nodded, dropped Maylis' hand. Expertly, she dodged just left of a pointed pike, turning and slicing the weapon in half. She turned and kicked the soldier mightily in the chest, sending him flying.

Nothing so complicated for Maylis. There were three soldiers in her way, so she raised the ax and swung it at them until they died or scattered. Another of the myriad soldiers was charging at Babette. She transposed the blade of her ax in between his pike and her friend. The pike shattered, and he fled. Babette got up, continued running. They emerged from the tangle of streets, to a pleasant, paved, riverside road. A modest coach, drawn by modest horses awaited them. Two familiar retainers held the reigns of the horses. Babette reached the door first, opened it, hopped in. Maylis followed immediately after, slamming the door with a mighty thud. The coach thudded into motion, the horses moving with surprising speed. She took a deep breath, drew the curtains closed, and relaxed for about eight and a half seconds.

"Son of a-" Ambroise began from the front, past the customary wooden partition. "Soldiers. Many of them. I should be able to bypass them, but brace!"

The chorus of breaking glass resounded throughout the carriage. It had a different quality to it than the sounds from Aix-les-Bains. That was more deliberate, rehearsed. This was the sound of a frantic battle, discordant, disorderly, and strained.

"Ambroise!" Babette cried. Shortly, she hacked the wooden partition to bits with an expert array of dizzying sword strikes, and she stuck her head through the gap. Ambroise was there, unconscious, being attended to by Claude.

"She has simply fainted. Overexertion. It is not uncommon." Claude said.

"She had better be alright, Claude." Babette said. Maylis looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Not that she could be seen.


In light of that fact, she cleared her throat. "You know, I passed out right after I did my thing, back in the forest," She remarked.

"Yes, of course," Babette replied, "the first time. Have you fainted any time after that?"

"No," Maylis acceded.

"Precisely. You see the point of concern here, then? Ambroise has had far, far longer than you to train her abilities," she said sharply.

"Y-yes, of course. I'm sure she'll be okay, Babette," Maylis choked out.

"She had better. If not, heads will roll."

They arrived at length to their lodging for the night, an old, broken down, wooden building designed expressly for the purpose of replacing the horses in a coach, with the comfort of the equine's bipedal friends a distant second. But compared to the attic of the prior night, Maylis felt that it was surely a heaven. Even the horses' stables would be an improvement over the cold stone.

Most disconcertingly, Ambroise was still passed out in the coach. Babette went inside to arrange the stay (with all none of her money), leaving Maylis to pick up her prone form and carry it up a flight of broken, splintered, and barely functional stairs. She gently laid her on the reasonably soft bed and looked at her for a long moment. While she slept, there was no hint of the incredibly intimidating person Maylis knew her to be. She didn't look anything like the fierce queen who shattered the minds of men as easily as a drunkard broke his glass on the tavern floor, or of the desperate woman who sold her future for a chance at revenge. As she slept, she just looked like any other beautiful woman. Maylis shook her head, and went downstairs. The two retainers who remained nameless stood there, their swords at the posting house's sole inhabitant's throat. Babette stood before them, her continence unreadable under her mask.

"I thank you for your hospitality," she said to that sole inhabitant, a man of about thirty. "And assure you that you will never have our patronage again. Now, fix the horses, and let us rest," she said, in a voice like ice. The man gulped and nodded profusely. The business so concluded, Babette lead the posse upstairs.

There were two bedrooms, and two beds. There were six of them. The problem presented itself immediately. Babette headed towards the room in which Ambroise was sleeping. After a brief pause of hesitation, Maylis turned to the other room. She felt a grasping hand on her shoulder. She spun around to see Babette. "Come with me," she commanded. Stupefied, Maylis followed. The room was furnished lightly, the one bed complained by a small nightstand, two crude little chairs, and a single table. Babette gestured to one of said chairs.

"Sit," she said. Maylis took her seat [adjectively], with Babette taking the other. She removed her mask and looked at Maylis, her eyes heavy with a tremendous sadness. The sight of it was so much so as that Maylis found herself short on breath.

"Maylis," Babette said softly. "I find that, despite myself, I have grown fond of you. I know the circumstances under which we met were... decidedly unpleasant. That said, I find that I can trust you.

"This is more than I can say for the others. They fill me with a tremendous sense of foreboding. They don't speak, or remove their masks, or interact with the world. The mask of the retainer is meant to simplify them into a single concept: to abstract a person into the service they do for their master. But it can be used to lie, and to hide, and…fuck it, I'm not cut out for such navel gazing," she said abruptly, "but those guys are planning something. I can read emotions off of people, with my contract. I get this, earnest-ness from you. You're an overeager puppy on the inside that's attached herself to me and my Lady for reasons unknown. But from them, nothing. Just a howling void. I've not brought this up with them, but I've told Ambroise. I want to be prepared for anything, if you understand me?"

Maylis just sat there, breathing. She was suddenly acutely aware of her breathing. Sometimes, she would open her mouth, as if to begin speaking, but she just as quickly closed it again.

"Look, point is. I know you will protect Ambroise if it comes to it. I want you to know when it comes to it," Babette said, again.

"Y-yes," Maylis stuttered out.

"Right, then. I'm going to be monitoring them. Stay with Ambroise, if you would?"

Maylis looked at the solitary bed, with Ambroise curled up, sleeping peacefully.

"Of course," she said reflexively. Babette got up and left without a further word. Maylis numbly stripped herself of her armor ( to avoid a repeat of the previous night's escapades) leaving only her lightest layer of plain linen, and with considerable awkwardness got into bed with the Lady d'Archambault. She was warm and vital, and served to dispel the sense of doom that had crept its way into Maylis' mind while she was quite unaware. She drifted into a calm and satisfied sleep, dreaming again of the endless blackness.

She awoke to screams. Instantly, she was awake, and her luminous ax in hands. Ambroise was nowhere to be seen. Maylis burst through the door, glimpsing a green-robed figure dragging a figure in a red dress down the stairs. Maylis wasted not an instant before running to the landing and hurling herself down the stairs. A retainer held Ambroise in their hands, and she hung limply. Maylis sprinted after the retainer, but she felt restraining hands on her arm, her leg, her mouth. As she drifted into a blackness far more sinister than the one from which she had awakened, the last thing she saw was a particular, distinctive purple.

She awoke in pain and discomfort. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. But, she found, she was bound by nothing. She opened her eyes and stood up.

She was in a room of stone, perfectly cylindrical, with a grid of iron bars on the top and featureless, gray, rock elsewhere. The ceiling was three times taller than Maylis herself was. She looked at the grid with a sense of foreboding. She summoned her ax and hurled it at the bars, only for it to vanish the moment it left her grasp. Her blood boiled. She summoned it again, and this time began carving huge arcs on the sides of the cell walls. The material scratched deeply, but she was unable to break through it. Her rage grew, as she traced and retraced the same square of blade marks over and over again. Up, down, left, right, up, down, left, right. The surface would not yield. Angrily, she bisected the square diagonally once, twice. The now four triangles seemed to mock her with their obstinate clinging to their former shape. It was enough to drive her mad with rage, slicing and mincing at the wall with no pattern or reason, simply a primal desire to kill the thing that stood in her way. Exhausted, she dropped the shimmering ax, which disappeared as it was accustomed to. She sat down and glared at the scratches she had managed to create with all of her effort.

"Now now, Maylis. That's no way to treat a guest's house, is it?" A voice asked from high above.

"Who the fuck are you?" Maylis asked, not looking up.

"A friend."

"Funny. Now, really."

"I mean it, Maylis. You're not like the rest of those wretches, no, certainly not."

While Maylis certainly wanted to passive-aggressively refrain from looking up, reason got the better of her. Leaning over the iron bars of the ceiling, a masked figure stood. The mask was not the featureless mask of a retainer, but was a grotesquely oversized affair, twice or more the size of the wearer's actual face, depicting a stylized icon of a man smiling. The face tilted to the side in curiosity.

"Fuck you," Maylis said, glaring at the mask.

"Language. I simply wish to help, Maylis," it said.

"How is this helping, in any sense of the word?"

"Understand that it is necessary to prevent you from harming yourself and others, Maylis."

"Fuck you," she said again, spitting on the floor.

"I understand that you hate me-"

"Damn right, I hate you," she interjected,

"-but I'd like you to take a second to answer some simple questions for me. If you can answer them- no, if you can answer even one correctly, I'll let you go free. How does that sound, Maylis?" The mask asked.

"Like a waste of my time," she replied.

"Hmm. I'll sweeten the deal. I will tell you where Ambroise is being kept, yes?"

"Fuck it, fine," Maylis responded. "Not like I have anything else to do."

"Excellent. Question one: what is your surname?"

"I..." she began, trailing of, "I don't think I have one."

"Question two: What is the name of your mother?"

"I don't... I don't think I knew her. What are you getting at."

"Nothing, just assisting you in grasping at the truth you already know. Question three: Why did you decide to become a mercenary?"

"Because it seemed fun, or, something. I like fighting?"

"No. You don't, really. Question four: Can you recall anything that happened before the sound of breaking glass at Aix-les-Bains?"

Maylis laid down on the hard rock floor. Her throat felt unbearably tight and dry as she choked out, "No. No, I can't."

"You see it now, Maylis? Question five: can you adequately explain your loyalty to Ambroise d'Archambault?"

"Of course I can!"

"Do it, then."

Maylis took a very long time in composing her answer. The mask stared at her intently as the seconds rolled into minutes. "She…I…I don't know why I like her so much, no."

"Interesting. Now, Question six: What does this all mean, Maylis?" The mask asked. She heard a cackle.

"It, I mean... I don't know anything."

"Perhaps I can clarify it for you. As humans, our selves are the sum of our experiences. More importantly, our memories thereof. The person who was responsible for growing your body to its current state, and parking it on the street in Aix-les-Bains is dead, now, and you have taken custodianship of it. d'Archambault's dangerous, heretical, and unsanctioned magic is capable of a great many things, is it not?"

"She…she said she couldn't affect my mind on account of my gender," Maylis said. She felt the reality she based her world on breaking into tiny little slivers.

"And that sure was a convenient coincidence, wasn't it? That you happened to be the only female soldier in the entire mercenary guard you were employed in, and that there were none in the Holy soldiers that she laid low recently, yes?"

"I… I can't believe the implication you're giving, Mask."

"It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. It is true. You're the merest of puppets, driven by a rationalized loyalty to the Pretender Ambroise. She's made you into quite the loyal guard dog, no?"

"I…" Maylis began, before going completely silent. She looked at the devastated wall without seeing.

"That's enough, Brother," said a novel voice, "It's about time that she go back, no?"

"I suppose you're right, Sister, but I do despair over her condition, don't you?" said the prior voice

"All things come in time, Brother."

And then Maylis was awake, curled up in a little ball and pressed up next to Ambroise. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, and she quickly stifled it to prevent herself from waking her bed-mate. She sat up on the edge of the bed, and tried to avoid thinking about the dream. It was a dream, certainly, and she had her freedom to thank for that fact. But it was true. She had no memories predating that sound of broken glass in Aix-les-Bains. She had no way of knowing if the conclusions the Mask had posited were in any way true, but they very well could be. She looked at the sleeping Ambroise, and her dread and doubt abated ever so slightly. How could such a person do such a thing. It was very probable that the magic had something to do with the amnesia, but she believed that her actions after the wipe had come from within, organically.


She stopped looking at Ambroise. Even if the conclusions seemed false... that's precisely what Ambroise would have set her to think, wasn't it? She rose uncertainly to her feet, staggering outside the door to her room. Lightly, as so not to wake anyone, she climbed down the stairs, and out the doors, into the last fleeting moments of darkness before the sunrise. She stained the dirt path outside the door with vomit and bile.

"What…what's wrong with me?" She asked slowly, gaze turned up to the descending moon.

The dream was out of character for her. She always dreamed of darkness. Or, so she thought. It may have been a single isolated event, though, for all she knew. Where where her memories, she wondered? Could she ever hope to get them back? She thought of her fate and vomited again. Her mouth was increasingly acrid.

Talk was cheap. She could wallow in pity and indecision for the duration of the trip, always looking over her shoulder to see if Ambroise was crouched there with a knife, or she could confront her. Bring the truth to life.

And then what? Ambroise could easily edit her memories again, and she would lose every deserting thought she'd ever had. And if she didn't, Maylis deeply doubted that she could kill her. Even if her feelings were faked by magic, she still felt them, was subservient to them. She could leave, she supposed, to be hunted by the Holy forces and brainwashed again. The path of truth seemed to be most definitely the path to the loss of her memories again.

And perhaps she would have abandoned the truth and hid it within herself, in an endeavor to keep it safe. It tempted her sorely. But there was a feeling there. If she couldn't trust Ambroise...

The thought interrupted itself. She wasn't ready to think it. Her mind grew cloudy, and she vomited again.

She would go up and talk to Ambroise. See if she could not be roused. She had steeled the resolution in her mind, when she heard delicate footsteps behind her. Ambroise, she thought, craning her neck to see. It wasn't her. It was Claude.

"Maylis. Are you alright?" It said. Maylis found it difficult to place Claude's gender, or anything more about it. It was a formless mass under a green cloak, a white mask, and a bald head.

"Y-yes," Maylis choked out. Claude tilted its head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's just-" Maylis said, before she jumped up in shock. She had left Ambroise alone. This person was a potential enemy.

Or a potential friend, a tiny voice inside of her whispered. If Ambroise was her enemy, and it was Ambroise's enemy...

She dispelled the notion. Ambroise would have an explanation for it.

"-Just, nerves, or something. I'm going back up," she said with a moment's pause. Claude tilted its head but otherwise said nothing. It stepped aside, cloak swishing behind it, and allowed Maylis to quietly ascend the stairwell.

Ambroise was still there, sleeping peacefully. Maylis looked at her again. She shunted aside her jumble of thoughts, knelled on the bed next to her, placed her hands on Ambroise's shoulders, and shook gently. Ambroise simply mumbled and continued her sleep. Maylis shook more vigorously, and Ambroise continued mumbling. In the discordant, meaningless sounds that escaped her lips, Maylis heard something distinctive.

It was her name. Maylis slumped down, laying back down on the bed.

"Why're you dreaming about me, Lady Ambroise?" she asked, knowing fully well that she would not reply with anything approaching an explanation. "I mean... I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?"

Maylis breathed deeply. "It doesn't really matter, if I'm 'real' or not. I'm here now, and whoever I was before isn't. I... I trust that, no matter what, you... These are just words. I..."

And then Maylis didn't say anything at all. She just lie back down and stared at the ceiling, waiting for Ambroise to wake up so she could say everything she wanted to to her. Unfortunately, Babette walked in before anything could be made of that.

"Hey. Wake up," Babette said, yawning, "And get her up if you can, I guess."

She stepped into the room. Her mask was pulled off, her armor half-donned, and her hair stood out in every way imaginable.

"I, um, I already tried," Maylis explained.

"Fuck. This is not good. Very, very not good."

"I'm sure she will wake up soon, Babette," said Maylis. Babette simply scowled, walking up to Ambroise and picking her lightly up. Maylis rubbed the sleep from her eyes and went to put back on her mercenary armor. She descended the stairwell, passing the terrified clerk who failed to feature in her dream of the previous night. He simply cowed his head in fear and made no comment as she left the building. She expertly ignored the patch of road she had ruined over the course of the night and instead payed attention to a telltale plume of dust on the other end of the road. She scrunched up her eyes and tried to see the source of the dust through it, but to no avail. She heard footsteps and looked behind her. Babette, fully armed and armored, still carrying Ambroise.

"Hey, um. Babette? What's that, over there?" Maylis asked, pointing to the steadily growing dust cloud.

"If I had to guess," Babette began, "that would be our liaison from the Chenon."

"Liaison?"

"I don't know either, to be honest. They do diplomatic things with Ambroise that I'm not fully privy to," Babette said with a shrug. The dust cloud spread out, and soon Maylis could make out a small black speck on the edge of the horizon. The speck grew and focused into a cart, of dark wood, drawn furiously by a team of six lathering white horses. The cart hurtled furiously to the posting- house, the horses clearly dying. From the cart emerged a noble lady, clad in an elegant white dress, resplendent with ruffles and lace and feathers and a thousand other completely useless accessories. She wore long white gloves, capped on each end with a silver ring adorned with a rainbow of sparkling gemstones, and her hair, matching Maylis' in lightness, was long, flowing, and adorned with ribbons and delicate, fairy-like chains. Maylis had been impressed by Ambroise's elegance and charm on first meeting, but this woman demolished all precedents. She was assisted out by a man in a dark suit, simple but conveying wealth and style regardless. His short hair and dull eyes matched his black suit in hue. Maylis was curious to note that he didn't wear the customary white mask. The woman, greeting the party in a stilted version of their language, introduced herself as Lunet de Solier.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady de Solier," Babette said, and with a moment's awkwardness Maylis bowed.

"No need for such formality! We're all comrades in this, you know!"  She said.

"Right, comrades," Maylis repeated numbly.

"I see that your noble lady has taken to a faint at my arrival. While certainly rude, I can't say that it's without precedent," Lunet said, giggling. "In her absence, to whom may I direct matters of diplomacy?"

"Myself," Babette said.

"Excellent, Miss Myself. There is much to direct to you! But, enough of that. I will have a fresh set of horses hitched, and then we will ride. No doubt whatever coach you've been using is known to the king, and I'm genuinely surprised that nobody burst in last night to kill you all!" She said again, laughing. Maylis attempted to hold in her stomach, succeeding but forever associating the taste of bile with that woman's crow-like laugh.

"We are well protected, I assure you," Babette said, without a trace of amusement.

"Yes, yes. Five retainers!" Lunet said, gesturing. Maylis looked behind her to see the previously unnoticed collection of Claude and those two retainers whos names still eluded her. She looked back at Lunet, not wanting to miss a word that came out of her gaudy and accented mouth. "This is the sort of thing," she continued, "That represents a gross misuse of magical power. Even I must do with only one, and myself, of course."

Maylis looked at Lunet blankly, without comprehension. Lunet coughed gently, and beckoned them in.

The coach was still a bi-layer design, but the seats were far roomier and each section longer. The seats would fit four, where the previous coaches would fit only two.

"Maylis. Front. Take Ambroise," Babette said, gently placing Ambroise into Maylis' outstretched arms before disappearing into the rear along with Claude and Lunet's servant.  Maylis tried to force her thoughts from lingering on Ambroise, and carried her gently into the front of the coach. Alongside Lunet.

Ambroise's two unnamed retainers took up the reigns, after the clerk came at length and replaced the mostly-dead horses with fresh ones of a similar quality and a similar destiny, as Lunet, it would come to be discovered, enjoyed going fast. The two egged the horses on, sending them rocketing eastward, towards the Chenon. The coach was incredibly uncomfortable, but also exceptionally fast. Every sound of snapping wood simply seemed to encourage Lunet to encourage the drivers to speed up, causing the horses to exceed the  powers of mere ordinary horses, running faster than anything Maylis had ever seen.

Which, she was reminded once again, was not much.

Lunet was one for idle conversation, as it happened. "Hello, Comrade. May I ask you your name?" She said, as the coach lurched sickeningly.

"Um. It's Maylis," she replied uneasily.

"Excellent! Family name?"

"I..." she began, trailing off, "I don't think I have one."

"Neat! Family isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"I don't know," she said, annoyed.

"Right, right. Of course. How did you come to association with Ambroise here?" Lunet asked, gesturing to the still- comatose young woman.

"I, it's, a... It's a reasonably long story," Maylis said.

"This is a reasonably long ride, although it would be a lot faster if those idiots up there would GO FASTER!" She hollered the last two words, accompanied by a firm rapping of the coach's roof with her rings.

"Look, I. I don't really know, right now."

"Hm. Weird. I guess I won't ask, then!" Lunet said, ever-cheerful. Something about her struck Maylis as incredibly off-putting. Fortunately, she seemed content with amusing herself by attempting to go faster. Faster and faster and faster until they found themselves over a hill and directly adjacent to a huge mass of purple-clad soldiers.

"Ruffians!" Lunet exclaimed as the coach shrieked to a halt, as per the expected result of the horses being stabbed through the end with a line of long pikes. She bailed out of the coach as it began to skid and overturn. Maylis quickly slung Ambroise over her shoulder and exited herself, the second before the coach capsized itself. The two retainers without names had swords in hands and stood on the wreckage that was once a coach, while Claude, Babette, and Lunet's man had exited and stood clustered around the splintered wood a few yards away. But between Maylis and them were a dozen soldiers, garbed in purple and wielding long poleaxes. Lunet was there, to provide little to no support as she cowered. Ambroise was still over her shoulder. This thought quelled the rising panic in Maylis' mind. She would protect the Lady d'Archambault if it cost her her life. The brilliant ax appeared in her right hand, while the other secured Ambroise, holding gently onto the small of her back. The soldiers circled, arms drawn, cruel smiles on their faces. They expected an easy fight, against three women, only one of which was even militarily trained.

Maylis prepared to show them how wrong they were.

She oriented herself in a more defensive stance, her boots digging into the ground. She felt an overwhelming sense of power, resolute in the face of the enemy. She was surrounded, and yet had never seemed quite so capable.

Her ax was a small hatchet, susceptible for splitting wood or for beating back ruffians, but it wouldn't do for such a threat. At a thought, the thing transfigured itself into a slender poleaxe, its handle growing and its head broadening. It was difficult to perceive its illusionary form, but Maylis figured it was sufficient for the job. She secured her grip on Ambroise, and lashed out at the man closest to her front. Completely taken aback by the assault, he fell instantly. The circle closed in, sharp points forming the bars of a cage around Maylis. She swung wide, snapping the said points off at the base, leaving only charred lengths of wood where spears once were. With a terrible roar, she bore her full force at the next closest man, his armor snapping in too as though it longed to be free from him. He staggered to his knees, and collapsed onto the floor. Maylis would have expected this to break the group's morale, but it seemed only to encourage them to fight even harder. While their pikes were mostly useless, each carried with him some description of knife, and these were brandished by a legion of smug faces. Maylis' lip pulled back in a guttural and primitive snarl. Her ax transfigured itself into a much, much shorter model, designed for throwing and hacking, and she plunged herself into the fray, Ambroise's body nearly jostling its way out of her hands. They surrounded her on all sides with knives. A man to her left stabbed at her, losing his hand as a consequence. She fell upon another man with savage fury, swinging heavily at his throat. He jumped back, stumbled, and fell. Maylis delivered the coup de grace before he had a chance to rise. She heard a wet squelch, and quickly turned about, fearing for Ambroise. Instead, she saw the prone forms of two soldiers she didn't quite remember killing, and Babette surrounded by the remainder of their force. There were six left on the front lines, although many probably remained further away than Maylis cared about. She grabbed one of said soldiers by a seem in the rear of his armor, pulling him and sending him sprawling. He died a single ax blow later. She swung at another, again severing something and sending him to his grave. Babette took the opportunity to take a few steps back, leaving knife range but keeping the soldiers well within the reach of her sword. Outnumbered and outmatched, the remaining four soldiers turned around and ran. Babette breathed raggedly, removing Ambroise from her perch on Maylis' shoulder while Maylis sprinted towards the retreating soldiers. Her ax duplicated itself without a conscious thought, and she buried them in the carriages of the first two men she caught up to. Then, with a single, tremendous effort, she shoved off from the earth, leaping over the soldiers, cutting off their lines of retreat. She then proceeded to cut off their blood supply to the brain by means of her axes. A rude shove from her foot sent the corpses to the floor, and freed her up to focus on more enemies. She turned around to see a demoralized legion of foes, the fear palpable, the lines barely holding

Then, she heard a laugh. The soldiers parted to reveal a sharp woman dressed in the ornamental style of a general. The edges of her mouth pulled back into a cruel, sarcastic smile, and she walked with supernatural grace and ease. Still laughing, the woman pulled a quivering soldier out of the lines and lifted him up into the air by his mail, using only one hand. Ambroise heard the sound of breaking wood, distinctly, and the man's form went limp, his skin bubbling and reforming into something altogether inhuman. Two great bone spurs broke fourth from his shoulder blades, his armor cracking off like porcelain. The spurs metamorphosed into great hinged scythe-like projections, akin to the bones of a bird's wing. Meanwhile, his legs split in two, reforming into another full set. His face fell off like a discarded handkerchief, and he let out a horrible, guttural shriek. As soon as the woman dropped the thing, it charged towards Maylis, who quickly brought her hands together, forming her ax into a huge, double-bladed weapon of battle. She hoisted it over her head, and brought it down swiftly on the thing's quickly-approaching monstrous skull.

It didn't got through. Nothing, except that strange wall from her dream, had ever resisted the ax before. It was made of a cleaving and divine light, and the thing had caught it in frail bone projections. His hands remained completely unoccupied, allowing him to rip and tear at her naked throat with disgusting and elongated fingers. She smelled rot. With not a second's pause, she split her grip on the ax, transforming it back into a pair of weapons. The bone scythes lashed out at her, but she managed to catch one with each ax, pushing hard against their force. She swore, and forced more power into her blades. They glowed and pulsated with light, the faint rainbows growing increasingly more vivid. She roared with fury, and her axes grew in size and weight until the bones snapped under her blow. Quickly, she swung both at the thing's exposed skull, shattering it in short order. The thing collapsed and disappeared into a strange smoke. She panted, and dropped to her knees. She heard that same laugh, and turned her head to see that same woman, grinning like a madman.

"Well done. Very well done! You've surpassed all expectations. I almost don't want to kill you!" She said, in a voice like a box of bees. She snapped her finger, and with the same sound that accompanies the felling of a whole forest, the entire legion transfigured itself into those selfsame monsters.

"Almost, I point out," she said, still smiling. She pointed a long, bony finger towards where Ambroise lay unconscious. The creatures rushed forwards at a completely alarming speed.

This is it, Maylis thought, this is how I die. The monsters rushed towards her, and she hadn't an ounce of strength to stop them with.

The monsters were about five seconds away from converging on Ambroise when they stopped. Ambroise rose to her feet, slowly. Breaking glass resounded throughout the whole field. While the sound of the woman's creation of the monsters had been compressed into a single moment, Ambroise's was long, and drawn out, methodical. It was as though a different glass was broken for each member of the legion. As the cracking and popping subsided, Ambroise pointed a finger to the sky.

"I am Ambroise d'Archambault! I am your rightful sovereign. The power of your loyalty was given to me by The Almighty. How dare you attempt such an act towards your Queen!" She shouted. Slowly, the legion bent all four of their knees to her.

"My will is absolute! If I should decree that you die, then that is what you shall do! And I do! I command you to die!"

The sound of shattering glass, again, and the whole of the legion was slumped over on the floor, horrible, ghastly noises issuing forth from their bodies. The woman, alone, was mostly unaffected, although Maylis could not tell if she didn't flee because of magic, or because doing so would be useless. Ambroise walked over to her, unsteadily. Babette offered a hand in aid, but Ambroise simply brushed it aside. When she passed Maylis, however, she flashed her a small smile. Her eyes glowed a bright green. She was then right up to the woman. While Ambroise was of perfectly average height, she seemed then a colossus to Maylis. Ambroise balled her fist and punched the other woman in the jaw.

"I hope you realize what your actions will cost you?" Ambroise said coldly. The woman said nothing. "Death awaits you. But I can still use you."

Maylis felt a cold shudder of anticipation.

"When you awake, you will remember nothing of your life, while retaining all your skills. You will never come into repossession of these memories, and the person you are currently is to be dead," Ambroise intoned, before accomplishing the knocking out with another strong punch to the face.

Maylis vomited again. The woman was the one who had been punched, but Maylis could swear it was her. Had that been how she and Ambroise had really met? Not seeing that transient beauty in Aix-les-Bains, but… getting knocked out cold by a punch? An irrationally large part of her was upset by how much elegance and how much romance the approach was lacking, quite unfitting a noble lady. The much greater part of her, of course, was busy trying to sort out what this meant about the Lady d'Archambault. She half-hoped that she would fall unconscious again so that she could put the conversation off, but no such thing happened to her. Instead, it was Maylis who, exhausted by the efforts of magic and by the stunning revelation, promptly slumped over unconscious. She dreamed of darkness.

And of the cell, again. She opened her eyes, and there she was again, with the same tell-tale pattern of scratches on the wall. There was a dripping of water from the ceiling this time, a novelty that failed entirely to amuse her.

"Oh, you're back!" said the voice from before. She looked up. The Mask. He had been called Brother before, she remembered. "Do you see now?"

"See, what?" she asked. Her mind was fuzzy.

"You know, Ambroise. The girl just did the same thing to that general that she did to you a few days ago!" Brother said cheerfully. Maylis coughed and said nothing.

"Oh, no response? That's okay. I'll keep talking! See, you know now that she can't be trusted. But what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," Maylis said quietly.

"Oh, what's that? I thought you said-"

"Nothing," Maylis repeated, louder, "yes. I said nothing. I meant, nothing. I'm not going to do anything."

"You don't have to lie here. It's a safe place, inside your subconscious. All I want to do is help you out!"

"You can help me out by fucking off," Maylis spat. The mask tilted.

"I don't understand it. Why?"

"That woman. Look at her. She's insane. She made monsters out of men for fun. Nobody could say that she deserved anything less than death. And Ambroise delivered that death. I suppose the woman that was once me fell under the same criteria."

"Neat, neat. I doubt it though! You weren't wearing anything special and you sure as hell didn't put up much of a fight. Plus, there's still the part where she slaved you to her!"

"I'm loyal to Ambroise because she took me in after I woke up in a field of virtual corpses, you idiot," Maylis said calmly.

"And because you're madly in love with her?" Brother asked.

"No. I'm not," Maylis said, not even looking up at the taunt.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Really, really sure?"

"Shut up."

"You're no fun. Well, I guess you can suffer the rest of the night in that weird blackness! See you tomorrow night, when all your interpersonal relationships have fallen into pieces and I'm the only friend you have!" Brother said, before the cell faded out and was replaced once more with blissful darkness.


Maylis woke up, finally, from that blackness. She was in a coach of some description, she could tell, lying down. She opened her eyes to darkness. The two retainers with the swords were there, peering down at her through their emotionless masks. Maylis shuddered at the mention of masks. She adjusted herself, sat up, and rubbed at her eyes. Then, she allowed herself to think of her dream.

She had told Brother to go away in no uncertain terms, rebutting all the arguments he cared to make. But could she be certain of the strength of her rebuttals? Was this all the brainwashing talking?

She would not hesitate, she decided. She would have answers from Ambroise. With that thought in mind, she sharply rapped at the partition between the halves of the carriage, immediately realizing that she couldn't easily move up while they were still moving. She cursed under her breath and reclined again. Fine, she thought. After we stop, then.

That time, as though to spite her, was a long time in coming. Even as the sun set and the tiny sliver of light that filtered through the edges of the curtain faded to nothingness, they didn't stop. She sighed with sympathy at the thought of the condition of the horses, assuming that Lunet was with them.

The hours flowed into each other with nothing to demarcate their passage. Maylis began to suspect that they would not stop until they had finally reached the Chenon. The revelation that she had no idea how far away it was or how she would know when she arrived was not surprising, but supremely unsettling. Another hour passed, and a second. She found the lure of sleep increasingly attractive, but resisted it in hopes that she would soon be able to speak to Ambroise.

She began to wonder what was going on, precisely, when that sliver of light that extended through the bottoms of the curtains reappeared, making it a certainty that she had been traveling for at least twelve hours. She pulled aside the curtains to reveal a long, frozen plain, dusted with tiny snowdrifts. The windows were frosted over, tinting the scene with white and distorting its details. But, curiously, she noticed that they were moving almost mind-numbingly slowly, taking almost three minutes to travel their own length again.

So slowly. Lunet would never abide this.

"Is Lunet with us?" she asked, her voice sounding strange to her ears after so long disused.

She began to wonder what was going on, precisely, when she noticed that the sliver of light that extended through the bottom of the curtains had reappeared. And then she felt increasingly peculiar, it becoming difficult to think straight. She lay back down. Perhaps she would ask the retainers about it, and about if Lunet was still around. They seemed to be going too moderately for it. But, Maylis reasoned, there was no reason she wouldn't be with them. They hadn't yet reached the Chenon. Instead, she simply rested and waited.

Inside her, something screamed out in protest, silently. Fed up, this something decided to take matters into its own hands. So, quite without realizing it, she noticed that she had an ax in her hand and had torn a hole through the partitions. She screamed in terror and confusion.

The front of the carriage was empty. No Claude, no Babette, no Lunet, and no Ambroise. She wondered why the other retainers were back with her instead of driving just as she ducked their swinging knives. She lept through the hole she had made, tore another in the side of the carriage, and jumped out, rolling into the snow and ice. Her limbs ached from their time spent in armor, and protested heavily against any sort of action. Maylis, fortunately, ignored them, turning around to look at the carriage. The carriage was driven by a man in purple armor, who held limply in his hands reins connected to a meandering pair of horses. The two masked people Maylis had come to assume were likely not the same as the two unnamed retainers darted out of the carriage, swords in hand. She summoned her two-handed battleax, and swung into the paths of the one, slightly shorter than the other. He or she stopped just short of the hissing and fizzling ax blade, and in response leapt high and sailed over Maylis. She was saved only by virtue of the icy grass, slipping her assailant. She turned to deliver the coup, but the second was already upon her, blade swung with mathematical precision. She bobbed and wove, calculated assaults on her arms preventing her from moving the ax, already a slow and laborious weapon. She divided the power into two, and began her own offensive. A strike to the torso, first, but the enemy dodged left. She strafed around to his or her back, attempting to find a weakness, but instead finding that the first was already arisen. The mask that previously adorned the enemy's face had cracked and fallen off, revealing a pair of dull eyes set in a sunken face, with an entirely off-putting and heavy frown. Though it was difficult, Maylis could vaguely discern a masculinity about the face. Him, then, she thought, as she swung at the revealed face. He dodged nimbly. She roared inhumanly, and swung faster than the eye could follow, a barrage of blows directed vaguely at that sickening, disgusting face. But it was like a game to him, for all the effort he expended evading the assault. Maylis felt as though she was being toyed with. She felt her limbs slow. Imperceptibly, perhaps, to anyone but her, but it heralded the beginning of the end. She knew that her death was eminent, felt it kissing her softly, felt it in each feather-like blow of the swords that followed her slightest lapse. The still-masked one tilted his head, before swinging at an exposed side. This was unlike the other blows.

It would be the one to kill her. She knew it. She could feel the blood draining out, straining her chest. She would not die without a fight, though. She roared, massed all of her power into her axes, combined them, drew from the depths of her departing soul a huge, monstrous weapon, twice her height, with blades large enough to fell the grandest of trees in a single stroke. And then, with all of her determination, she brought it thundering down onto the masked one's head.

He sidestepped, it planted itself in the ground, acting as a fulcrum and sending her flying a ways away. It was a convenient exit, one Maylis wished had come before she was slated to die anyway. The blow against the hard, packed, icy grass jolted the wind out of her, perhaps the last breath she would ever take. The world faded out of focus, and she thought to herself that the incredible shame of it was that she had never gotten to speak to Ambroise d'Archambault.

She saw a whiteness. A man. The whiteness was the man. The man was the whiteness.

"Rat bastard," she said, comprehending but unfeeling.

"The one now called Maylis. What do you desire?" A voice said, disseminating from everywhere and from nowhere. The voice was all things of comfort, the croon of a beloved grandmother and the whisper of a sleeping lover.

"I want to live, of course," she said, still unfeeling, emotionless.

"Why?"

"I…I never got to talk to Ambroise."

"Why do you want to speak to Ambroise?"

"To thank her, I suppose. To thank her for giving me this life, as fleeting and transitory as it may be."

"Enough about her. I already have her, Maylis. Tell me about you. Your dreams. Your struggles. What would you trade away lifelong happiness for, Maylis?"

Maylis thought about this. "I suppose it would have to be something, without which the world would not be complete, regardless of how happy I may be. Or, something selfless. A sacrifice for someone else, I guess."

"Tell me, Maylis. I can give you powers you never could have dreamed of. I already have. That ax was my gift to you. It's your chance. You can take it and make it more than you ever could have dreamed. All men will fall before your power, Maylis. You will never have to hurt again."

"I don't…" Maylis murmured.

"You fight for Ambroise and her outcropping of allies. You fight to protect her and to protect them. Imagine that protection failing, Maylis. Imagine the enemy overrunning you like they did today, but this time Ambroise lies unconscious at your feet as you are driven from the ground on which you stand."

"I..." Maylis stammered. A vision of Ambroise, her breast torn open, her heart in ruins. An image of Ambroise, head lying limply by her side. A vision of Ambroise, tied in chains, brought before the King.

"Fuck off!" Cried a familiar voice. Maylis started. Her mind was filled with new images. Not hypotheticals, but absolutes. Babette. Babette telling her to refrain from contracts. Babette confiding her trust. Babette, telling her,

"Being happy and making other people happy is all that really matters!" Babette's voice echoed.

"Interesting effect. If you want Ambroise to be happy, you're going to need to make some sacrifices on your part, so you can protect her.

"Fuck off!" Maylis cried. She staggered to her feet, in the whiteness and in the cold plain. "I'm going to fight this myself. I'm going to make absolutely sure of it. I'm going to bust down all the walls in my path with my own two hands, and you're going to watch me have all the happiness you covet thrust before me because I. Am. A. Goddamned. Hero!" She said, the words flowing from somewhere deep inside of her. She manifested an ax, tore the whiteness from being. She was back on the plain, still bleeding. The one in the mask and the one without were still charging towards her. She summoned her ax It flickered and died. The enemies a mere yard in front of her, she did the only thing she could think of doing.

The sword ran straight through her armor, piecing through her body, sliding neatly between her ribs, poking a large, bloody hole in her left lung, and then exiting, scraping by her spinal cord. She looked at the masked figure holding the sword, and punched him in the face. The mask shattered instantly, revealing a similar shrunken face, bearing a very, very familiar grotesque smile.

"Oh, you fucker!" She said, punching again. The sword tore at her inside. The smiler dropped the sword, falling to the ground. Quickly, Maylis had her hands on it, grabbing it, removing it from her torso, leaving a large, gaping wound. She turned it to point right-side out, and swung at the still-prone smiler. He moved out of the way, but she managed to hit him strongly, cleanly, knocking off the tip of his left index finger. Taking that as a sign, the duo turned around and fled. Maylis stood strong as they retreated into the forest. She walked strongly, resolutely towards the battered carriage, which had moved less than a handful of meters during the altercation. It, fortunately, was still usable, and the vacant soldier driving the horses took no heed of the state of the returning party. She shouted hoarsely, "To the Chenon! With all the speed at your disposal!" to the soldier, getting in the carriage and promptly passing out.

She should have died. She really should have died. But fate had something altogether more interesting in store from her, it seemed, when she awoke at length.


A younger version of Maylis would have wondered why she was still alive, when she woke up, but this older one had far more pressing concerns. She snapped open her eyes with all the flourish and dignity one could press into such an uncomplicated gesture. She was in a white room, on a small, hard bed neatly made. Above her stood a woman, dressed in that same white, wearing a stern scowl and an unfamiliar sort of cloth head-wear. Maylis shook her head, and the woman's eyes widened slightly.

"How," she asked, in an unexpectedly harsh voice, "are you still alive?"

Maylis looked down to notice that she was dressed in fresh, white bandages, her armor and most of the rest of her clothing discarded. She filed that away as unimportant. "I was thinking you would know, actually," she replied.

"I did what I could to staunch the bleeding, close the wounds, and so on when you arrived, but you had been traveling already for hours when you arrived. Perhaps even a full day. You should have died in but one or two. Truly, you are a remarkable woman," she said. The voice was... familiar. Maylis was almost sick of familiarity. Too many people had an unfortunate habit of showing up where they weren't wanted.

"I suppose I am. But, no, I've no idea how I managed it. Maybe I've got something out there looking for me?" She said, nonchalantly.

"Suppose you must, although I'm almost certain that you don't want the one such entity following you around," the woman replied. Something clicked, for Maylis.

It was that general, the one she had fought against so soon before.

"May I ask where we are?" Maylis said cautiously, making no hint as to the rising confusion she felt.

"The Chenon? I, the name is strange." The woman said, hesitantly. She looked away from Maylis, distracted.

"Chenon. Right! Excellent! I need to be taken to His Highness with all available speed," Maylis explained.

"I don't think I can arrange for that. He's still a while away, I think," the woman said.

Maylis needed to find Ambroise. This was a thing of paramount importance, to her. But this woman was too curious and too important to leave alone, especially based on the odds of their paths successfully crossing again.

"Come with me, then," Maylis said, solving the problem quickly and efficiently.

"I, um. Why me?" she asked, her mouth gaping.

"My wounds might reopen, or, more likely, I will acquire new ones," Maylis said quickly, "and, your services could be useful to me. So, come with me."

"Of course," she said unexpectedly. Maylis pulled herself out of bed, swinging her legs over the edge and standing up. Her torso ached, as did the rest of her. She didn't anticipate fairing well in another fight, especially given how circumstances had turned against her. The woman lead Maylis to her armor and her recently obtained sword, neatly cleaned, and they set out through the front door of what was almost certainly a painfully modest peasant's shack.

"May I ask your name?" The woman asked.

"Maylis. Yours?"

"Adeline."

They walked down a solitary dirt road, side by side. Neither one knew where they were going, at all, but they meandered their way into town. The sun was just peaking out above the horizon, and the town was sprinkled lightly with citizens, milling about.

"We'll need horses, right?" Adeline asked.

"Likely. Do you have any money?" Maylis responded.

"No."

"Well, then. That's a problem," Maylis stated. Adeline looked at her, cocked her head. "Well. We could steal some, I suppose?"

Adeline gasped, so slightly, "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"A little," Maylis admitted, "But it's utterly necessary that we get there as soon as possible."

"Why so?"

"I'm keeping a friend waiting for me. Let us just leave it at that, no?"

"I, suppose," Adeline said, her voice completely unconvinced.

It wasn't terribly hard to steal the horses. They were horses, and they weren't in any sort of locked strongbox. They were outside the inn, in stalls. Maylis shattered the locks, kicked the doors down, and soon she had two beautiful brown horses to do her bidding. She helped Adelaide up onto one, jumped onto the second, and they rode away, utterly undogged by any sort of pursuit. No doubt Ambroise could patch things up before the theft affected anyone too heavily.

Maylis had forgotten how much it hurt to ride a horse in full armor, just like she had forgotten everything else. Each jolt was like a tiny prick at her gaping chest wound. She payed it no mind. Adeline carried herself with far more grace and poise, a consequence of her cloth garb and perfectly unperforated [what] physique. They kept riding, on and on, until the sun was high in the sky and they came about another town. It was much larger than the dingy village they had come from, but was definitely too small and humble to be the capital. Indeed, the odor of the place suggested that it was a fishing town. Maylis quickly sold the horses to the nearest inn in exchange for a large, accommodating carriage transport to the capital, Ospel, and some food. She likely could have gotten far more for her goods if they had not been stolen and if she did not have an atrocious foreign accent, and would have gotten far less if she hadn't looked suitably intimidating.

The coach ride was swift, monotonous, silent, and uneventful. Adeline changed Maylis' bandages, and they both slept a little. The cart pulled into Ospel, and Maylis stumbled out into the moonlit streets.

The beauty of the place was overwhelming. It sprawled before her, reaching from distant, purple-tinted mountains to the calm, black sea, building all neatly arranged in rows and columns. They all radiated out from the huge palace, a golden ornament on the whole experience. Even in the faintest of lights, it seemed to glow with the radiance reflecting off of its golden surface.

"I think I know where we need to go, Maylis," Adeline said.

"I know," Maylis said succinctly. With that, they headed towards the palace, before being stopped quite rudely by the sound of cracking thunder and a deep thud that emanated from directly next to Maylis' ear.


"The fuck was-" Maylis began, cut off by another burst of thunder and dull thud. She perceived the sound as coming from in
front of her, but the darkness of the night was too intense for her to readily see much of anything. A long, tall building
was in front of her, extending up almost as high as the Crown Prince's palace. Unfortunately, it did not appear that there
was a door on her end.

Another thundering, another thud. This time, it drew blood. A long, shallow cut across Maylis' face oozed the stuff.

"What's going on?" Adeline asked, struggling to keep a note of panic out of her curious voice.

"I don't know!" Maylis said. Knowing not what to do, she turned on her heel, grabbed Adeline by the hand, and together they
ran. She heard that thunder and that thud repeated, over and over again, slowly fading to nothingness. About a block or two
from the palace, she encountered a group of men, dressed as soldiers but unexpectedly small and lithe. As she attempted to
run past, they grabbed at her. She skidded to a stop, though she could very likely overrun them considering how much larger
and stronger she was.

"What's the problem?" she asked, unhurriedly, as though someone wasn't recently engaged in trying to kill her.

"You, Maylis of Aix-les-Bains, and all your associates, are to be held responsible for the abduction and attempt to ransom
of Ambroise d'Archambault, Queen Regent of Ancre, and brought before His Highness, Prince Regent of the Confederate
Territories of the Chenon and High Commander of her associate forces, to be tried for regicide," said the foremost of those
peculiar soldiers. He and his men, Maylis could now see, carried nothing but long, irregularly shaped wooden sticks.

"Well, you seem to be too well educated to be ruffians," she said after a brief pause of contemplation, "so I consent. Take
us to your Prince."

They surrounded the pair, Maylis and Adeline, and bound their hands in chains. Maylis was troubled, but only very slightly.
She found it astronomically unlikely that, had something unsavory happened t Ambroise, she would be implicated in it. She
only started existing less than a week ago and it was unlikely that anyone had her name from something less than the lips
of Ambroise herself. It was, likely, some confusing local custom.

It wasn't, though, and this became apparent when, having been deposited at the feet of the Prince, she saw no Ambroise. The
Prince himself was a pale, slight man, much like the scrawny soldiers he had dispatched against Maylis. A tiny circlet of
the palest silver adorned his long, dark hair, and he wore (for reasons utterly unknowable to Maylis) the tallest pair of
heels Maylis had ever conceived of.

"Maylis of Aix-les-Bains! Associate!" He boomed.

"That's us, certainly," Maylis responded calmly. Internally she was struggling to force down the panic she thought she had
excised from herself completely when she let herself be stabbed on that icy plain.

"You will address His Highness by title at all times!" Shouted a guard. Maylis looked around. Guards. There were a lot of
them. Two at every exit, two at every entrance, two by the side of the Prince, and likely several she didn't see because
they were busy kicking her for moving. These were, still incredibly small and lithe people, more suited for picking flowers
than killing men.

"Right, whatever. Your Highness," Maylis said with an ironic flourish, "what am I doing here?"

"Do not lie to me, witch! I am well versed in your ways. It was, surely, you who delivered Ambroise into the hands of our
sworn enemies!"

"Those enemies tried to kill me, your unbelievable idiot Highness," Maylis replied, having no clue if a word of it was true
or not.

"An exceedingly unlikely story, considering your position."

"The fuck are you talking about? Your Highness."

"Don't try to hide it, Maylis."

"Enlighten me. Your Highness."

"You act as though you don't remember."

"I don't remember shit, Your Highness."

"So it wasn't you who was responsible for laying low the armies of Her Majesty, Queen Regent of-"

"Not even vaguely. I- that wasn't me!" Maylis said. Why was she panicking. That was incredibly stupid, she thought.

"It was you! We have reports from the survivors! The things you did there are utterly unforgivable!"

"What were these things? Your Highness."

"The barbarian wastes you come from might condone the wanton murder of the enemies' civilians, but I certainly do not!"

Maylis took a deep breath. None of this mattered. It wasn't her. Likely, it was just another woman, wearing her face. She
had the dimmest suggestion of an idea.

"I did this with magic, no? Your Highness."

"Of course you did that with magic! How would you be- I don't need to explain anything to you. You know what you've done
wrong."

"I don't, Your Highness. Please, have someone, I'm sure you have in your employ, attempt to analyze whether or not I have
any magic."

A whisper, and a gasp. "So, villianess, you've already managed to succeed in whatever dark goal you've set out to
accomplish. A grand feat," The Prince said.

"Not even remotely. Are you aware of the Lady d'Archambault's magical talents?"

"Yes, of course. I don't..." the Prince trailed off.

"She took the woman, the Maylis of whom you speak currently, and destroyed her mind, wiping it of memories, wringing from
her shell the Maylis to whom you speak currently. That woman is avowedly not me."

"T-then why don't you have any magic anymore?"

"We're different people. I never made any contract with the Rat Bastard," Maylis lied. It wasn't technically untrue, but it
was certainly misleading. There was a long lull of silence.

"This information is too much for myself. In two months' time, the High Court will conviegnagain, and I will present your
case to them."

"That's not going to work, Your Highness. If Ambroise is in trouble, I need to get get to her," Maylis said, surprised by
her own frankness.

"The law is the-" The Prince droned. Adeline, before notably  taciturn, interrupted. "Trial by combat!"

"No. The law technically permits such a trial, but as murder is illegal regardless of context-"

"This is a duel, right, Your Highness?" Maylis asked.

"Yes," [sic]

"And what are the lose conditions to a duel?"

"Death of either party or resignation, of course."

"So all I have to do is fight a duel and get the other guy to give up?"

"Interesting. I'm afraid I cannot-" The Prince continued. Maylis rose to her feet, ignoring the kicking of the guards. She
looked pointedly at the nearby guards.

"Come now! Are you all too scared to fight a weak, injured, foreigner, without magic, and atop it all a woman? Is this day
to go into history as the day the Prince Regent of the Chenon was unable to find a single member of his court willing to
fight against a teenaged girl?" She shouted. She didn't actually have a clue how old she was but assumed she could pass for
nineteen.

"No!" cried a guard. He turned to the Prince. "Your Highness, I beg dispensation to duel this interloper!"

The Prince furrowed his brow in concentration, and then sighed. "Very well. You may fight. If you win, it will be regarded
as an unusual execution and we'll let the issue drop."

"When I win, you mean," he said. Maylis suppressed laughter. He was about as wide around the arm as a twig. Perhaps half a
twig. She could force his surrender in a matter of minutes.

"Challenged party chooses arms," the guard recited, looking at the Prince expectantly.

"I chose guns," he said. Maylis' confidence melted. What was a gun?

A gun was a stout, vaguely crescent shaped thing with a little flap that, when pressed, produced the sound of crackling
thunder and propelled a rock roughly where it was pointed. It could shoot five times before the strange foreign magic that
powered it dissipated and it became valuable as a device for smacking people with. Maylis fondled the gun awkwardly,
eventually worming her finger onto the triggering mechanism and grasping the rest of the thing in her hand. The aide who
had given the gun to her scurried away. Maylis was on a long dirt pit, a stone circle under her feet and under the feet of
her opponent, a ways away. Above them, tiered seats held spectators who were unusually eager to see a woman gunned down in
cold blood. Past her opponent, there was a narrow doorway, leading to a small grove of fruit trees, curiously.

"Turn!" The Prince yelled. Maylis' opponent turned away from her, and she from him.

"Some of you don't seem to know how this works," the Prince said, no doubt looking directly at Maylis, "and so it falls to
me to explain. I will call 'turn' again. You will then fire upon your opponent. You have five stones, one already loaded,
and four at your disposal in a pouch at your side. If both parties fire five times with an equal number of hits, the duel
is a draw, and this case will be decided in a court of law as it was intended to be. If both parties fire five times
without striking the other lethally, the person who was hit more times will be deemed the loser. If one party strikes the
other lethally, he wins, regardless of hits to his person. I thus commence this duel between Maylis of Aix-les-Bains and
Arjan van Aasterberg. Turn!"

Maylis knew that her only remaining talent was the ability to be hit in places that should result in her death and remain
roughly okay. And so, bravely, she turned and did nothing as Arjan shot her once in the right leg, once on the left
shoulder, and thrice in her torso. The pain was incredible. The stones of lead had embed themselves into deep wounds or
punched their way through bone and sinew to ruin internal organs. Maylis gasped, struggling for breath, but then righted
herself. Her right hand held her gun tightly, her left her bleeding abdomen.

She couldn't explain it, but something about the operation of the gun just made sense to her. Her foe hadn't quite figured
it out, but the stones fell. So, she should aim just above his head. If she wanted to kill him. But of course, that would
not bode well for her survival. Instead, she aimed far above and to the right of his head, so that it appeared that she was
aiming for the door-frame, or some spectators. She closed the triggering mechanism, and the bullet sped through the door.
There was a wet thud, and a dead silence. A small child sped through the doorway to much consternation, holding a wet
fruit. He jabbered in a language that Maylis didn't understand, but presumably he meant something along the lines of,
"look, everyone!"

There was a small stone of lead in the red flesh of the fruit. The child giggled, and Maylis pointed her gun to just above
her Arjan's head.

"Do you surrender?" She asked, politely.

"Never!" he proclaimed. She lowered her aim, shot, shattering his kneecap. He fell.

"Do you surrender?" She asked again.

"You can't kill me!" he replied.

"I can! I simply chose not to. Now, help me to continue choosing to do this by surrendering!"

"I!" He shouted, stopping himself. Quietly, he said, "I surrender."

"Forfeit the battle!" Maylis demanded.

"I forfeit!" Arjan replied.

"Thank you for you kindness! Now," Maylis said, intending to finish with "I need medical attention," but instead finishing
by falling flat on her face and staining the stone red with her own blood.

She awoke in what smelled like, looked like, and in all other ways resembled a barn. This is because it was a barn. Adeline
sat cross-legged next to her, her wounds bandaged and five small lead stones, coated with gore, in the straw next to her.


Noticing that Maylis was awake, Adeline looked up, startled.

"You should refrain from doing things like this in the future," She said.

"Not much of a chance of that happening," Maylis replied. Adeline sighed.

"How long was I out for?" Maylis asked.

"Quite a while. It's morning."

"Excellent. Let's go see the Prince, shall we?" Maylis said, standing up. The pain this action caused her was unexpectedly minute.

"What happened the last time we tried that?" Adeline said, although she didn't really move to stop her.

"It'll be better this time. I've a favor to ask him, anyway, and I don't intend to be turned down," Maylis said, sauntering out of the barn. She was on a tiny farm, but even from there she could see the glorious capital stretched out before her. She noticed an ax imbed in a stump a while off, and promptly stole it.



The palace was as it was previously, although Maylis' face was no longer pressed to the ground. She strode in, so evidently possessed by an inner fire and of a moderately infamous face that none of the guards made more than a token effort to stop her. She wound up in the throne room again, where the Prince still sat in waiting, expecting her. He signaled, and his guards calmly and quietly vacated the room. His typical stern face was washed away, replaced with a smile. Maylis couldn't fathom why.

"Maylis," he said, "I know why you're here."

"You do?" She asked.

"Of course."

"What was all that business with the fucking duel, then?"

"That was, I recall, your own effort. I had to keep up pretenses, I suppose. But I know what you are and I know how we can help each other."

"I'd be delighted to hear it!" Maylis spat.

"You want to save Ambroise d'Archambault, but have no resources by which to do this. I wish to save Ambroise d'Archambault but have no agents through which to act while preserving my territorial integrity. You can see how these aims align and these capabilities compliment one another, no?" he said.

Maylis could see. "Yes, of course. How do you mean to assist me, then?"

"My fastest horses, my largest guns, and my own signet ring. I cannot move an army, or any such thing, but I can arrange for the speedy deportation of a political prisoner, under guard, to the Holiest of Holies, and, of course, it's not quite my own fault if the guards are disposed of and those same facilities used to engineer a breakout a certain prisoner and a flight to exile, if you understand?"

Maylis understood.

"Right. So, what's going to stand in my way?"

"Going, little, until you begin approaching the capital. You'll have to deal with the whole of the garrison, very likely. In escaping, they will likely have arranged forces to block your retreat back to the Chenon. So you will flee the other way, entirely. With hope, we should be able to figure out a way for her Highness to return home and reclaim her rightful title. Do you agree?"

Maylis agreed. "Yes. I leave immediately?"

"You leave immediately."

She left immediately, in the back of another coach with Adeline, the front and the driver's seat packed with the most loyal of guards. A cache of those wonderful, impossible guns was stored under the floorboards, and they swiftly made their way to the capital of the Holiest of Holies.

The guards left, Adeline took the reins (knowing, somehow, what to do with them), Maylis took the guns, and they sped further onward, waiting for the inevitable ambush. Maylis' ax grew insufferably heavy by her side. At length, Adeline spoke.

"So, you don’t' remember anything either?"

"No."

"Am I-"

"Yes."

"What was I like?"

"You don't want to know."

"I do, Maylis."

"You were… Ambroise would know better. When we get to her, let's have her tell you, okay?"

"Okay."



The ambush came. A wall of soldiers, bigger by far than the forces sent against Ambroise on that day they were separated. Maylis took a gun in each hand, fired twice at the prominent generals. Missed both times. She quickly reloaded as the first line of infantry charged with pikes. Fired, missed. Frustrated, she leapt from the front of the carriage, taking out her ax. A nearby solider who had made the lethal blunder of attempting to oppose Maylis saw his own back as his head slipped down. He fell. The horses skidded to a halt. Maylis looked back.

Adeline. She couldn't be left alone. She couldn't defend herself. She felt a niggling self-doubt. There must have been more than a thousand men standing between her and Ambroise, with more reinforcements coming, she had no magic, a vulnerable dependent, and unprecedentedly poor aim. This, she felt, was the sort of desperation that would drive lesser men to barginmaking with the Rat Bastard.

Instead, she ran back towards the cart, bisecting (with difficulty) anyone who bothered getting in her way. From in front of the cart, she positively roared, temporarily shocking the disorganized and damaged line into motionless. Then, she pointed a finger at the barricade, and proclaimed:

"I don't care how many of you there are- if there's one or ten or a million, I am still more! I will strike you down! I don't care how much more powerful you are than me, because I am always stronger! I will strike you down! I don’t' care how much you want to stop me, because I have something that will always go beyond you. I will strike you down! No matter what barrier comes in my way, I will strike all of you down! I give you, then, this opportunity to flee! Take it! This mercy will not be extended to any of you a second time!"

They didn't take it, nor did they advance. Maylis thought, for a brief second, that her speech had rendered them stupid. But her hopes were dashed. A tall woman broke ranks, elbowed her way through the lines, and came face to face with Maylis. She was a general, boding very poorly for the magic-less Maylis.

"You. What have you done with Maylis?" She said, pointedly.

"She's dead! I've risen from her grave, greater than she ever was. Now, do you wish to flee?" Maylis said. The woman, instead of using any sort of customary magic, knelt down, grabbed a fallen pike, and ran Maylis through with it.

Maylis' vision clouded with the pain, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt the blade inside of her jostle, and was conscious of a new, blurry shape in front of her.

"What did I say about my friends, Caroline, you impossible idiot?" Asked a familiar voice. There was a wet, crunching sound, and then Maylis felt the blade lifted from inside of her.

"You there! Help her!" That same voice said. The blurry figure disappeared from sight. She felt an altogether disturbing feeling at her breast, and gradually noticed the wound stop being. Her vision restored itself, and she was looking at Adeline, still in front of the carriage, while a set of green robes did combat with the whole mass of the troops. Adeline looked away, and Maylis looked down. Her wound was replaced with bone. She shook her head and simply ran to aid the robed individual. Her ax swung true, bashing down the shreds of resistance that weren't too engrossed with keeping up the circle of pointing and thrusting spears that the green robes expertly danced through. Soon, Maylis too was inside that circle, hacking at pikes and pike-men.

The face under the green robes was, to Maylis' complete lack of shock, Babette's. It looked aged and worn, scared and sad, quite beyond what one might expect.

"Babette, how did-" Maylis said, cut off by the necessity of dealing with the sharp blades at her extremities.

"After we kill these morons, we'll talk, yeah?" Babette replied. Heads went sprawling as she slashed at anything exposed in a dizzying whirlwind of sword blows and profanity. The cluster of dead bodies around them grew steadily.

"Why aren't they running?" Maylis asked between blows.

"One of the generals is boosting morale! She was doing that back when we found that one back at the cart, too!" Babette replied.

"So, we've got to kill them all?"

"Yeah, she's probably hiding somewhere, so we can't quite strike at her directly!"

"You up for it?"

"Course I am!"

Back to back, they fought onslaught after onslaught of foes. Maylis' confidence (and recently acquired flexible bone plating over much of her torso) was the only thing separating her from death. She didn't have much of a chance, consequently, to wonder why she could take so many on and win. With Babette, there was no such question. She was well trained, and magically sensitive to who would be attacking her when.

They each must have killed fifty or so men each, when they heard a most peculiar sound. While after the fact none of the witnesses could remember what it had sounded like, Maylis had the strangest feeling. It was, distinctly, the same feeling she had had, in the white room, with the Rat Bastard.

A voice like bells boomed:

"Swine! Witches! Your feeble efforts are mere motes of dust compared to the splendor given to us by our noble Patron, that great entity you callously refer to as the Rat Bastard, who has intrusted me and mine with the sole task of eliminating you and yours. You see, Vermin, it is I who-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Maylis screamed. She threw her ax blindly at the source of the voice. It laughed like bells, too, and Maylis genuinely wished to know if it screamed like bells as well.

But that wasn't going to happen. Babette clapped Maylis on the shoulder, as the laughter subsided. She whispered low, "You're going to run. I'm going to hold her off. If you can get through the dungeon, there's a shot at you and Ambroise getting out of this one alive."

"You talk like you're planning on dying!" Maylis said. Babette smiled and said nothing. She motioned to Adeline, ten meters off, and she numbly followed.

"Adeline, you know what you can do, now, don't you?" Babette said. The laughter continued, and the troops seemed frozen in awe or in terror. Maylis wished she could see what was making the commotion, but she couldn't see through the mass of soldiers and corpses

Adeline nodded, kneeling before the corpses, concentrating. The raw flesh twisted, folded, hardened. The Adeline of before was fond of horrible monstrosities, but when she was through with the corpses, it did not, much to Maylis' surprise, contain any elements from a particularly feverish nightmare.

It looked like a ten meter tall ivory statue of Babette. Babette nodded in tacit approval, as did the statue. The statue garbed Maylis and Adeline in its great, hard hands, chucking them over the enemy lines and the walls of the city, directly though a tall building's highest window.

The tall building was the highest Cathedral of the Holy Patron, and the bottom of the tall building was the dungeon. Maylis didn't quite know how she knew this, but suspected that the washing away of her memory hadn't been quite complete after all. She took Adeline by the hand, and together they ran, down innumerable flights of stone stairs, bypassing nonexistent guards, until they had reached the cold, dank dungeons. There were rows and rows of cells, each holding some despondent man or woman in chains. At the very, very furthest edge of the room, Maylis saw a woman in red. She ran to Ambroise, who sat in a tranquil fury on the floor of her cell.

"Ambroise!" Maylis cried.

"Maylis! It's really you! And, that general! I knew leaving you behind was a good idea!" Ambroise babbled.

"What the-"

"Maylis, the other retainers, they're in league with the Rat Bastard and the Pretender. They sent me here, and I thought- I thought they had killed you, Maylis."

"They tried. I scared them off," Maylis said, in a comforting voice. Adeline looked at Ambroise with apparent confusion.

"Get me out of here. Use your ax, thing!"

"I can't. I lost it, fighting them," Maylis admitted. Ambroise sunk down.

"I guess, it doesn't really matter. There's no magic here. How're you going to cut through iron?

Maylis took out her ax and used it to cut through the iron bars of Ambroise's cell, shattering it through sheer force of effort. Ambroise neatly brushed herself off, and looked at the despondent prisoners.

"Excellent. Now, as I'm free, it's time for us to get out of here. Comrades! I will see to your freedom as soon as I secure my kingdom! Farewell!"

And with that, the trio began ascending stairs. They encountered a man. The man was large, broad, and dressed in a white garb that reflected precisely the entity he served, loyally, and without peer.

"So. We've come to meet, then?" Ambroise said, staring at the man.

The man, with a voice like bells, replied, "You're going to die. All three of you. Simply."

And then there was a rush and a blur and everything was white. The man stood underneath another man. The former was a man dressed in white, but the latter was the genuine Man in White.

"You defy me," he said, without a trace of emotion. "Those of you who serve me, in name, and those of you who openly reject me. I will render you ash. Your names will be forgotten. This chapter of history erased. And nobody will miss a single thing."

There was a vision. Of the Crown Prince of the Chenon, shot by his own guard, of priest who had sheltered them tying a rope around his neck, and of Babette.

Babette fought bravely against the highest of the church, accompanied by her ivory effigy. Even when her sword broke from work, she continued, ducking, weaving, punching him, while her effigy did all it could to keep the masses from swarming her. But it was all too little. The soldiers broke through the effigy's great bone arms, and they, at length, ran Babette through with spears.

"This is the suffering your existence has caused. These are the contracts you have caused to come due. And for that service, I thank you. But I can no longer abide you. Die," said the Rat Bastard.

Maylis gasped. Babette's loss had hit her unexpectedly hard. She fell to her knees. Was this, really, what was best? Would the world be better served without her?

No, said a voice, a familiar voice.

The vision returned in force. Babette run through with spears. She falls. As she falls, she is smiling, her contract complete, and finally at peace.

"This is what we fight for:" Cried the voice of Babette, issuing from nowhere and everywhere. "My death was for this! I died making the world a better place for the rest of you. Being happy and making other people happy is all that really matters! And you, Rat Bastard, are an object to this. So I tell you! Die!"

The Rat Bastard, in a voice like bells, screamed.

"Get out of my domain, foul interloper!"

"Make me!"

"Gah!" He screamed again, and then roared. His mortal representative, forever nameless, merged into his form. The white void around them transfigured into an endless blackness, through which the light of the new, fused form shined. The Rat Bastard said thus:

"You are worthless against my power and my splendor! Suffering is all you are good for! Your death is inevitable! No force on earth can overcome these facts! I am supreme! I am sovereign! You were all born as I willed it, and will die as I will it, suffering, hating, doing anything for an iota of comfort that will never come!"

"You are wrong!" Maylis repeated, carrying on the chorus from Babette. "You are a tyrant! And you will fall before me, like everything else that opposes me!"

In her hand was a shield of that same, peculiar, glittering, rainbow light.

"Enough talk. I am going to fight you!" She said, and in her other hand appeared a long, slender sword. Babette's.

"Confront this first!"

Two humanoid figures Maylis knew well stepped out of the shining form. One's face in eternal frown, the other in smile.

"The happiness I gain from others, and the suffering I leave in their place, all personified as these two swordsmen, who you saw in your dreams and Ambroise saw every day as a little girl."

They ran up to her, swords in hand. She caught their first blows on her shield, and quickly ran them both through.

"I am the hero who will slay you! You will never ruin another life again, you asshole!" Maylis screamed, before running at the shining form. Again and again and again and again she swung against him, catching his blows and his new avatars he peeled off against her shield. She kept swinging and smashing until there was only a little bit of light left, and that she stamped on.

She opened her eyes. The man in the white robes, the mortal one, lie on the floor, his brains fallen out and his face deformed. She held in her hands a large stone. Wordlessly, she walked on, taking Ambroise and Adeline to deal with the pretender.

Bonus!

The pretender was fallen. Ambroise held the sword. She swung.

Hitting stone. Her sword broke. She dropped it.

"There's been enough death because of me."

She felt the magic flow out of her, unbidden.

"I have already achieved revenge, you see."