Albin Emanai Wazara

 

Bragge’s tent was not a true negation vault but its unique magic made it one and that was quite concerning. The insidious taint of Bragge’s hidden artefact not only veiled his plans but, most importantly, his actions and runecraft. Even now, despite witnessing the spell, Erf’s final destination was outside of Albin’s reach; the delicate nature of Fate-Sight corrupted by the muddled creation of anchoring runes. A minuscule bump at the top of the mountain of time that sent the avalanche of the present into new and unpredictable directions. It was also nowhere as loud as negation vaults, which ‘hid’ anything happening inside by drowning it in their whirls.

Was it a wonder mother had been growing concerned for the last few decades?

But each shadow was cast by its light. Raksha’s less sensitive Sight might’ve spurred them to seek forbidden knowledge that would’ve sent an overly curious heurisk into an early exile, but it also hindered their understanding of the curse they were playing with. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have remained in Bragge’s hands to be used for such a small conflict. Even as a trap against Albin. Unless Bragge or the rest of Archomilea were using the current situation to gauge its effects.

There was no room for mistakes, then.

Albin also knew his most curious friend enough to see through Erf’s otherwise poor state. He saw his eyes, observing Bragge’s reactive spellwork like a stalking predator, just as he saw Bragge’s divine body reacting to a threat his mind refused to recognise.

That was why Erf had to go. Forest was a dangerous place to be alone in, but Albin had faith in Erf’s tricks. Hidden or otherwise. If he could best a heurisk in a game of chatrang, he could defeat a cancer sprout or two. Meanwhile, Bragge wasn’t the only Archomilea and his family’s response would be swift just as their memory was long. For Erf, Forest was a problem and Bragge — a dilemma. Moreover, Albin had other, bigger plans for Erf than to use him against a mere scion of a divine family during a yearly border conflict.

Leaving his meditation, Albin smashed his tail against his cage with all his might. Runes flashed in an angry amber as the stone held. “If you seek a direct confrontation between our families — we are ready! Be it Emanai or all of heurisks.”

Bragge turned his gaze away from the empty teleportation circle. There was a trickle of now-dull blood coming from his nose and his snarl was adorned with glowing bloodmist eyes. “So this is the extent of your ability?”

Albin gripped the bars and shook them violently. “You’ve attacked Emanai not as a steppe lord but as an Archomilean raksha! And when that wasn’t enough — you used artefacts to intervene directly. It isn’t us who is threatening a war when you were the one to loose the first arrow.”

Bragge flinched and shook his head. “As if half-truths will help your cause, now or ever. Both you and your sister had cultivated rumours of being daimonas for a long time. A Censor of Emanai? The one, who speaks the words of the goddess!? A convenient ruse to sidestep the family accords and nothing more. Your trickery will be useless when our deeds are weighted against each other!”

Albin unsheathed his kattar and tried to gouge the runes. The steel made a small dent before they flared up again, shattered the blade, and vanished the damage. “Then why are you so quiet about the lark you’ve sent into our arm? Do you think that my sister and I are blind?”

Raksha scoffed. “What is wrong, young heurisk? Can’t See the runes and thus relying on tall tales about larks to hide your impotence?”

Albin rolled his eyes at the flippant response only to blink as he saw a grimace of pain instead of a gloating grin. “…Why am I here, Bragge Archomilea the Third?”

“You are here because you’ve lost, Albin Emanai Wazara. You underestimated your ability to travel across Flow and got pulled into my little trap.”

“Why did I come here?”

The grimace morphed back into a snarl. “Because you sought my artefact! That’s why!”

The rakshan body covered the gap in a single leap and Bragge slammed the cage with his forepaws. The bars started to heat up. His arm patted the vortex of Flow on his chest. “Because you are afraid of the darkness ahead, young heurisk!”

Despite the rapidly heating prison, Albin felt a cold shiver run from the tips of his veiled face tentacles to the tips of his tail crescent. “By the grace of Mreea… you don’t know… No, you don’t remember!”

“What nonsense-”

Flow screamed in tumult as countless runes were undone in less than a heartbeat. Bragge’s gaze slowly turned toward the glowing blade Albin drew from his palm. He looked at the crumbling rocks of the prison as the runes keeping it in place were no more. Then he stared down at the bright blue blood gushing freely from his now-open chest. Its glow was fading rapidly, turning from the vibrant arksite into a sickly purple and then — into a deadly red. “Y-you…”

“You have heartbeats of life left,” Albin stated as his tail easily swiped clean the remnants of the cage, “where is the focusing array?”

Air rippled with power as the raksha unleashed his Flow artefacts. “I will not beg for mercy!”

Albin sidestepped the flying sabres and cleaved the healing effigy in half. “Then you will bleed to death in a negation tent of your own making and I will have plenty of time to plunder your cooling corpse before your family takes notice. Choose.”

The curse was too weak to hide his actions completely, especially this close in future, and Albin’s murkwatching left him quite adept at predicting immediate events even without Sight. Moreover, those artefacts were old and quite clear in Flow. Wounded and without prison, Bragge stood no chance.

“This isn’t over, young heurisk.” Bragge spat and made a beckoning gesture.

A large heavily-runed pillar — the focusing array — emerged out of thin air, only to be immediately shattered by Albin’s blast. His next spell froze Bragge in time as the entire runic formation of the tent began to collapse and unravel. Its negation was no more.

“No, it isn’t over, Bragge,” he murmured as the third spell yanked the tiny pouch from the raksha’s neck and brought it close to him. “The dance is just beginning and the end is nowhere in Sight.”

The artefact consisted of two parts. The outer layer drawn in rakshan blood was a somewhat complex but not at all mysterious time-reversing formation. A recent addition to keep the artefact away from the ravages of time. Then there was the enigmatic other. A shard of jagged jade, covered in golden cryptic runes yet dead to Flow. It looked like nothing he saw inside Erf’s shipwreck, yet it reminded him of Erf’s tools anyway. Perhaps because there was no Flow in it, perhaps because Erf’s sword was still in his hand. The deadly blade that cut everything and anything yet relied on Old Mansiya’s runework to last longer than a handful of heartbeats. Similarly, the jade sliver looked flimsy and partially broken, yet it somehow carried such a worrisome taint within.

His cards told him little else but pointed at a small part that could be pressed. Albin did so, only to flinch in surprise as it chirped back. He pressed again and again and each time the chirp came not when he expected it, unseen by Sight.

“A murk essence? A soulshard? Or is it unseen by Sight because there is no Flow within?” Albin sighed and shook his head. “Something tells me that the Archomilea would never tell me, even if they knew the answer themselves. Oh well — I got as much as I could.”

The tent ripped apart into shreds, revealing the scattering and cowering nomads in the middle of a furious storm. Albin lifted his gaze upward as an enormous turtle descended from the heavens, unleashing thunderbolts in its wake. The Archomilea palace could be seen on top of its shell; the speed of their entrance revealed their fury.

The skies parted once again and another castle had joined the fray, sending even more screams of awe across the nomads and maniples alike. A chain of flashes and the surviving cancer sprouts fell apart, struck down by the scythes of his mother’s guards. Catriona Emanai Aethil came with force, checking the other family in a similar display of power.

The chatrang players began to rearrange their pieces.

“I hope you can see this, Erf,” Albin muttered as he watched two divine castles converge on his location. The sword returned into his palm and the broken remains of Erf’s gear vanished without a trace. “Because I would feel stupid when I’d done all of this for you and your wives and you were too far to notice and find your way back.”

 

Irje

“What happened?”

Irje spat the blood from her mouth and looked at Anaise. “The Kamshad took Erf.”

The oar creaked under Anaise’s fingers. “And you call yourself his First-”

“By the Three Horns, I tried! Why do you think I have these!?” Irje shook her shackles at her wife, but her anger didn’t last. “They used a Gift, Anaise. Not a poison that Erf promised to handle better than I could, not a rune with no wermage nearby to power. A Divine Gift!”

The tail swished. “You should’ve still opened it yourself.”

“Erf took it when the vermin said it was a love scroll from Muramat to me. What would you have done in my place?”

Anaise groaned and pulled her ear down. Her oar stomped and the Flow-restricting shackles fell off. “Can you stand?”

“Yes. They weren’t too rough with me. I could’ve fought for longer but there was little I could do when the First Bow threatened me with execution for revolting. The last thing I wanted was to give Kamshad the pleasure of giving my life to them on a silver platter.”

“Well we are in the middle of the battle,” Anaise lifted her up, “even if our maniple is standing in wait, the orders are absolute. Your Kiymetl status kept you alive but it was wise to show restraint. With you dead, I wouldn’t been able to accuse the Kamshad at all!”

Irje rubbed her sore shoulder. “No one else spoke up?”

“Who would dare to? I got a message from the twins — they saw Erf vanish with the spyglass, those little horny snoopers, but they saw it from afar. Are you absolutely certain it was a Kamshad Gift?”

“It was a scroll with an official Kamshad seal and the servant called it as such. And it vanished Erf away as soon as he broke the seal as if he was standing in the Pillar entrance chamber. If you know what else could do that apart from a Divine Gift, I am all ears. Do not dismiss the servant either — the cur knew about the Gift from the start. If not for my magic, he would’ve been gone as well.”

Anaise stared at her. “Your magic stopped a Gift?”

“I don’t know, it did something! I thought he was trying to attack Erf so I held him down, but then I felt another pull that wasn’t just the murk fighting back. The scroll took Erf and Chirp but the servant remained here.”

“Keep it to yourself, then. The last thing we need right now is having your accusations dismissed because you claim to be stronger than Divine Gifts.” Anaise waved her over. “Let’s go see the Manipular.”

“What does Kamshad say?”

“Nothing, so far. Lita’af swore-”

“Deny and deflect,” Irje spat, feeling her anger bubbling once again. “They are stalling for time while doing Goddess knows what to Erf. First, it was his sword, now they took him whole. How long are we going to let them do whatever they want? Or are we going to wait until the General ‘discovers’ him? Will he come back with a sliver missing too?”

“This is why I came for you right away.” Anaise stomped through the muck without care. “With me as the Lady of the House backing up your confession, we can demand that servant at the very least.”

“Good,” Irje cracked her fingers, “as an overseer of your mother’s Manor, I know a few tricks to make him speak.”

They walked through the maniple as others stepped out of their way. Now that Irje had time to pay attention, Anaise’s kaftan was caked with blood and mud. Not as much as Erf was, but she clearly saw plenty of carnage on the chariot.

The wermage noticed her gaze. “It isn’t mine.”

Irje nodded. “Erf was quite bloodied from battle too. He fought maniples worth of enemies alone and left numerous wermage corpses in his path. Whoever took him is up to a very rude awakening.”

Manipular met them with a frown on her face. Beside her stood Lita’af Hikmat, rubbing her temples, a confused Hajar Kishava, Erf’s commander, and a furious Muramat Nishad. The vermin was nowhere to be seen.

“You’ve brought the accuser? Good.” Manipular nodded. “By the Goddess, while this is not the time nor the place, the accusations are bordering on a blood feud between two Pillars. I am not a magistrate nor a General to judge you so all I can offer you right now is a chance to resolve this matter between yourselves while my maniple stands. But once we get orders to attack, all I will ever hear from any of you is ‘At once!’ or I will start taking tails, then heads. Do I make myself clear!?”

Not hearing any words of protest, she sighed and stepped aside. “You have your time, I pray that you find peace quickly.”

“Where is the servant?” Anaise immediately spoke up.

“So you came to gloat, Anaise Hilal,” Muramat hissed. “I wonder if you will keep smiling when our mother moves against your House?”

Anaise closed her eyes. “Muramat Nishad. I’ve killed scores of enemies today. Enough to be proclaimed as a ‘child of Kiannika’ by my chariot wing for my achievements. And yet my well-earned rest was interrupted by a messenger from the Kausar sisters, telling me that my husband was whisked away and my wife was taken to the stocks! While my mind is tired from bloodshed, my Spark is roaring like a well-stoked furnace, and my heart demands answers and consequences.

“I have no time to trade threats. All I care about right now is getting my husband back. We can discuss favours and remunerations at a later time.”

“And what makes you think that we took him?”

“Did you forget that I was there when it happened!?” Irje snarled, taking a step toward Muramat. “It was your servant, dressed in Kamshad embroidery, who gave Erf the scroll sealed with Kamshad sigil and called it a personal missive from no one else but you! It teleported Erf away as soon as he broke the seal.”

Lita’af stepped in between her and Muramat. “Irje… are you saying that he used a Gift to take Erf away?”

“I said what I saw!”

Muramat wasn’t done, however. “Did you? Are you ready to stand by your words?”

“I can repeat my words in front of the Orb of Truth! Can you?”

Muramat sneered, “Of course! And when it shows that I said nothing but the truth, I will expect a public apology from your Domina! She can crawl on all fours to our Manor’s gate like a Sparkless beast.”

“No Kiymetl will demand someone of your status to stand in front of the Orb of Truth, Muramat Kamshad Nishad.” Anaise put her hand on Irje’s shoulder and gently pulled her back while shaking her head. “That would be highly discourteous… and there are plenty of ways for a master to remain unaware while his servant… acts on his behalf…”

Muramat sputtered, “Anaise, you dare-”

Anaise swished her tail at him and turned toward Lita’af. “Bring the one called Siavash forward and we will hear what he has to say.”

Lita’af shook her head. “I believe it is best if our Manipular speaks on this matter.”

Manipular harrumphed. “Before your arrival, that servant publicly denied every single accusation against him and took poison-laden wine to prove his innocence-”

Irje saw red.

“Do you fucking smell the farts that are coming out of your mouths!?” she thundered. “Your servant steals a Kiymetl daimon and oh so conveniently drinks poison not a moment later!? Do you really think we are that gullible to simply nod along and say ‘that’s reasonable’!?”

“Oh, cease your foul mewling!” Muramat scoffed. “Your baseless words had taken a life already and yet you still bray for more? Your ‘daimon’ was supposed to be far away from here by Manipular’s orders! I’ve made inquiries. Was he really present at all? And if he had returned back in the blink of an eye through the use of some trick, who is to say that his disappearance is but another trick of his? You speak about the Kausar twins? I ask what was the price you demanded for their flying balloon!

“What do you have apart from your farts, offbreed of Barsashahr, when Siavash answered with his life!?”

Irje’s magical hand yanked Muramat towards her. “Do you think I was running away? The only reason I did not drag a confession out of your snivelling servant then and there was due to the First Bow and Manipular ordering me to stand down. I will put my life for my sadaq! Say the word-”

“Enough!” Lita’af roared as her bristling white mane slowly grew across her body. “It is clear to me that neither side is willing to yield. Rather than fanning a Pillar war here and now, while our enemies might be readying for another assault, we will ask the Censor for the Divine assistance. If Erf is truly missing, I will use one of Kamshad’s personal favours to request a Divination on his whereabouts.”

“She will have to earn that right.”

“Be silent, brother.”

“No, I will not! I will not let the name of our House be trampled into the mud by upstarts not knowing their position in our society. Look at her! Despite being a former slave, she forced one of mine to suicide, yet you are placating their demands with favours? If she wants our help in finding her lost husband after publicly spitting in our face — either she begs or she fights!”

“No complaints from my side,” Irje growled. “Right here. Right now. I’ve had enough of your political buffoonery.”

 

XXX

It didn’t take long for a few wermages to set up a ring. The Manipular was clearly not pleased with the outcome but, while she was the authority over the maniple, in the matters of Pillar Houses even Muramat outranked her, let alone Lita’af Hikmat and Anaise. Irje didn’t care. Her biggest fear wasn’t the spoiled Kamshad wermage but becoming the useless one among her sadaq.

Being the First wasn’t something she could take for granted. Not when Anaise was quickly turning from a wermage of high status into a wermage of status and power. Irje knew Aikerim would always be there to promote her daughter if she were to slip up. Whether Erf wanted it or not.

Irje also wanted to hurt the Kamshad, hurt them hard enough to sting. Hurt them enough to stop this ongoing charade before it was too late and prevent something like this from happening ever again. She wasn’t well-versed in politics but she was knowledgeable enough to know where this was heading. Once again there would be token apologies, offers of small favours that would hardly matter — as if the General wouldn’t divine Erf’s location herself once she was free, whether Lita’af asked her or not. Then, the blame would end up getting shoved onto the conveniently dead murk. Irje almost wished that Erf was summoned directly in front of Roshanak Kamshad Gulnaz so that he could unleash the fury of his lashes onto the ass cheeks of the Kamshad Matriarch. That scheming bitch deserved a proper spanking.

Anaise approached her. “Are you confident? He might be a young son but all Kamshad wermages are trained for battle. Do not dismiss him as a mere marriage stock.”

“Yes,” Irje growled. “He might be a wermage from the House of War, but he knows nothing of my magic. I’ve also sparred against you, the twins, and the Kiymetl battle trainers while he thinks of me as nothing but a slave upstart. I will not be seen as a lesser and have the status of our sadaq tarnished for it. And I will squeeze all he knows about Erf, whether he wants to or not.”

Anaise gave her a scrutinising glance then nodded and offered her personal battle mask, the runed surface quickly adjusted to Irje’s face. “Make them heed your words with deeds.”

Nothing else was needed to be said and Irje simply mirrored the nod, put the mask on, and turned toward her opponent. She was half-expecting that Muramat would tuck his tail between his legs at the very last moment and name a champion to fight on his behalf but he did not. Instead, he brought two swords that were longer than his werwolf form and heavy enough that a murk couldn’t wield one even with two hands. No, not swords — oars. Steel oars with finely carved-out rune foci that were conveniently shaped into swords.

That was fine, Irje was expecting a war mage, not a Collector. And she was just as well-armed. Her sword and kattar lacked the foci she could channel spells through, but Irje wasn’t much of a spellslinger, and the edge of her weapons was notorious enough to make Lita’af cast concerned glances.

The cocksure wermage started the fight with a howl and Irje instantly felt his magic pulling her sword away.

“As if I’d let you!” Her magic clamped over his, forcing his howl to warble off pathetically. Irje immediately rushed in, dodging the fire, as if to personally deliver the sword, just not in the manner he desired.

“Accursed tricks,” Muramat spat and swished his sword, scattering rock spikes from its focus.

“You should’ve paid attention to your Rhetors, for it is called magic.” Irje ignored the projectiles as they twisted around her body and kept flying as if she wasn’t there. All she had was her form of telekinesis, but it was hers and no one else’s. It was the first of its kind, not taught in any codices, and that uniqueness made it strong. It was a weapon Emanai wermages knew no counter to. The inwardly directed spell wasn’t strong by itself, but it still imbued her gauntlet with additional strength, allowing her to draw bowstrings of fully powered werbows and swing weapons with a might of a wermage and a half. Its excellence, however, was its disregard of other Flow manipulation spells and the nauseating effect it had on any spellcasters who tried to wrestle her for magical control. While the outward version bent the trajectories around her and pushed other objects away from her.

Erf had mumbled something about warping time and space but Irje simply took that as his words of praise — her spells didn’t, couldn’t affect time. That was the realm of the Divines.

By the time Muramat realised that his usual tricks had no effect, Irje bounded over the final mud wall and fell on him, swinging her sword with abandon. The mutt tried to parry with one of his swords and immediately lost a hefty chunk from it. His eyes widened as she swung again only for his magic to blow her away. Irje smirked into her mask as she landed on the ground; that was a near-death spell. Either her previous attack spooked him hard enough, or Flow itself warned him to be cautious or lose more than a third of his sword in a single strike.

The steel plates creaked as he shifted into his full war form and Irje cautiously switched from her sword to the kattar. Kamshad wermages were known for their swiftness and she couldn’t afford to miss a strike because her blade wasn’t properly aligned. She dodged a ball of flame and swatted the next one with her Flow grasp, grinning as the fire dissolved in the air, and slammed into the barrelling wolf.

Her kattar went into his palm, but his fire-tipped claws bit into her gauntlet.

“Got you.”

Irje harrumphed and pushed her magic into her palm, filling her gauntlet with strength and her kattar with resilience to withstand the flames. Muramat grimaced when her weapon started to slowly edge toward his chest.

“Speak where Erf went or I will-” Her speech got interrupted as his sword smashed into her body. The brigandine stopped the cut of the slash, but the blow was enough to throw Irje quite a distance away. She felt her stomach churn but quickly gathered herself before losing her breakfast then and there.

“You are centuries too young to speak in the middle of a fight,” Muramat spat as he healed his mangled hand. He glanced at his sword, smirked, and took off into a circling run around her.

Irje gave her armour a quick glance — as luck would have it, nothing was split or bent out of shape. Her body? The pain was quick to follow, but there was nothing that could hinder her moves. She would take his arm whole next time and watch him make a choice between keeping it or continuing this fight.

The barrage of spells continued. Muramat was either trying to distract her while jumping close and far or showing off his Spark resilience and the expensive oar-sword. Irje cared not. She simply rushed in once again, trying to catch him mid-step and get close enough for another strike. If he were to continue keeping his distance, she would need to pick up her bow…

The flying stones vanished and Irje gasped, trying to catch the scabbard that was on her belt a heartbeat ago only to get kicked in the stomach hard enough to send her rolling in the dirt. She gritted her teeth as she got up — the coward resorted to tricks!

“Do you wish to speak now, one of Kiannika’s bows?” Muramat gloated as he unsheathed Irje’s sword. “You should’ve listened to your betters when they offered advice. When they tried to teach you how to cast your spells properly and swiftly. But it is known that mongrels do not learn.”

“And thieves only know how to steal what isn’t theirs,” Irje spat at him.

If only he was ignorant enough not to power the runes on her sword — Irje could simply wait until the edge was no more. She might need to sacrifice an arm or a leg to get it back, now. A sharp sting of fear pierced into her heart and she stuck her hand into the belt pouch. Her relief was just as quick — Muramat only took her sword and its scabbard, nothing else.

“I should carve that vile tongue out of your mouth for good!”

Irje bit her lip. What if? Erf called it a ‘very capable’ weapon and that alone made it dangerous — Erf’s standards were quite notorious, if one knew him well enough. It was more than dangerous — Erf made it clear that his tools could potentially hurt wer and wermages. Vanish their Sparks, even. But it was Erf and he was also notorious for worrying just about anything. Leave him alone long enough and he would start to worry about the next morning meal.

No, even if Erf didn’t believe in his goodness, Irje did.

Her hand reached into the pouch once again and firmly gripped a squirming handle. As his First, she would be brave where he was cautious. Especially when his life and freedom were at stake.

She felt it bite into her skin, just like Erf’s whips. She felt it drink her blood and let it do so willingly, hoping that its power would grow even larger by feasting on wermage flesh. While Muramat was observing the stolen weapon, she let it grow accustomed to her grip.

Once she felt it was ready, Irje pulled it out. To the side, Lita’af gasped.

“She has a whip!”

Irje glanced down and blinked in surprise. Her ‘sword’ was flaccid.

She wiggled it in confusion. “Do I have to stroke you or what?”

“As if that would help you!” Muramat took off with a growl.

Irje swore and tumbled to the side. “By the Three Horns, get up!” Her hand gripped the handle with all of her might while she weaved and dodged the incoming blows. Her magic was still with her but she couldn’t rely just on it anymore. Not after the last misstep. Irje felt it squirm inside her arm so it wasn’t asleep, but, by the Goddess, she needed it to hurry up! Erf made it look so quick and effortless with his lashes!

She hissed in pain as the heat from a flame spell seared her leg. Meanwhile, the pathetic display of a sword kept dangling in her hand and asking for permission of all things! “Yes, you have it! Now, get up!”

A prick of something cold and Irje shuddered from a wave of elation spreading across her body and down her back. The pain stepped aside as her thoughts grew clearer, sharper.

“Trying to bribe your way out with a sword that I already possess?” Muramat swung her sword down.

Irje brought up her now-turgid sword and let the blade of flesh meet the impossible edge. The edge won, but the victory was a finger deep. The living sword let the steel in, squeezed it tight, and shattered it away with its vibrating scales.

No, not scales. Teeth.

Teeth as sharp as her kattar yet required neither sharpening nor magic to stay that way. The air that rusted steel made them strong instead. Fixation? Irje shook her head. It mattered not.

“Pathetic,” Muramat spat and cast aside the leftovers of her sword. “Just as your magic — one single trick and nothing else. Smoke without fire.”

He still had his enormous oar-sword and ranged spells. She needed reach. And she would have it.

Like a hungry chick, her sword opened its maw, revealing a myriad of rapidly growing teeth sheltered inside. Wider and wider, until the jaws popped out of its mouth. Then, the beak of the blade snapped shut. Twice as long if not more and with its teeth on the outside.

Purring for blood.

The Kamshad fur stood up. “From which of the ten hells did that crawl out!?”

Irje grinned. “This is what you get for standing in the way of the First wife of a Daimon!”

She took off and the fight began anew. Her new sword did not cut. It ate. It ate through the rock walls that Muramat raised from the ground. It ate through steel and runes. Its teeth kept purring, tearing anything and everything in their path into tiny, mangled pieces.

Muramat spat a few curses. His magic slapped her away and then yanked her into the air. “Do you think I am deaf to Flow? It is nothing but another trick, created to hide the weakness of your Spark! Fight me like a wermage, if you dare!”

Irje growled but said nothing. She could revert the spacetime curvature and slap his telekinesis down in a second, but Muramat was waiting for that exact response if she could read his stance correctly…

She paused and blinked. “What?”

The sword kept purring in her hand. She felt its vibrations throughout her body, along her spine, and inside her mind…

A little puppy, waiting for the mistress to issue a command. Eager to assist in any way it could.

The oar-sword spat a boulder at her before Irje touched the ground, only to smash into a wall of cloth in its way.

“Another trick!?”

“No, it is the same spell, once again,” Irje muttered as she adjusted her sash behind her floating kaftan. It was bent and crooked, resembling an enormous glove floating in the air. Because when it came to Irje’s spell — it was one.

She looked down on her kattar, if she were to focus…

The gauntlet slipped off her hand, still clutching the weapon. Her thoughts changed and with them — her spell. A translucent arm, woven from Flow itself, now wore her gauntlet. Irje’s hand, there was no question about it. Not of her body but of her Spark. Those hands were her spells from the beginning. Irje knew that with her heart, even if she couldn’t see them.

She was a true wermage.

But the khalat was still floating in the air. Shaped into the shape of her right palm. Meanwhile, her kattar was held by her right gauntlet… Irje thought her Spark possessed two arms, just as her body did, but that was false. How many were there, then?

Kaftan flew forward, wrapping Muramat into a balled fist of cloth. His claws and spells quickly ripped it apart and the furious werwolf faced Irje once again.

Irje that had all of her weapons unsheathed . The wermage Irje.

Like wide open wings, six arms of glowing Arksite extended behind her back. Each one carrying something. A gauntlet and a glove. A bow and an arrow.

A kattar and a dildo.

By her side, a myriad-toothed sword purred for blood.

“Where is my husband, Muramat Kamshad Nishad?” Irje asked as two of her arms drew the bowstring above her head.

“You still cla-” He jumped sideways, avoiding the loose arrow, right into the gauntlet that flew into his stomach.

“I do not claim — I demand!” Irje hissed.

Muramat’s roar of outrage was interrupted once again. This time — by a dildo jamming into his throat. Irje’s kattar and glove were quick to join the fight and she was right behind them. He fought back, but his focus was off and his spells were flying elsewhere. His sword was sharp, until it met her sword of flesh and teeth.

She cleaved it lengthwise, gouging a rift through runed steel and Muramat howled in pain, clutching his mangled sword hand. The teeth cared not for wermage resilience.

Irje raised her sword once more. “I will not repeat myself again.”

Another voice barged through the purr of her sword, “…to cease this immediately!”

Keeping her kattar close to his neck, Irje glanced sideways. “Do you speak as a Manipular of Kiannika, right now? Or as a Kamshad Domina? I will have my justice!”

“There will be no squabbles in the presence of the Divines,” Manipular gestured at the sky. She quickly followed with a hushed: “You will have your justice later.”

Irje glanced upward, gritted her teeth, and let her sword fold inward, silencing its purr. Her arms pulled back their weapons, but Irje didn’t dismiss them outright. Ignoring the prone Muramat, she turned around to the silent onlookers and approached a stunned Lita’af Hikmat.

“I-”

The usually languid Lita’af was quicker. “You have my word as the First Lady of the Kamshad House, that I neither ordered nor knew about plans to take your Erf away. Directly or indirectly. Moreover, I previously issued a decree among my kin that he was to be left alone. If any Kamshad was involved in this sordid affair, they did so against my and my mother’s will,” She paused for a second then sawed off one of her braids and offered it to Irje. “This is my Oath to the Goddess Above that what I said right now was nothing but the truth… my promise to seek and punish anyone that had a hand in besmirching our names… and my gratitude for sparing my brother.”

Irje stared at her for a moment. That… that was a significant show of respect and humility. From the daughter of the Pillar Matriarch, no less. She glanced at Hajar Kishava and the First Spear quickly made herself scarce, muttering about her not being involved in any way and needing to be with her fingers post haste.

So that was how the wermages of power were treated. Even the Manipular didn’t reprimand her for the sharp words said in the middle of a fight and reasoned with her instead.

Being First was not just about being strong and powerful, however. She had to be wise. As such, she gave Lita’af a nod and took the braid. A small part of her wanted to keep pushing, to keep demanding for Erf to be brought here despite any protests, but that oath was not something said lightly and even more so when the Sky Castle was above their heads. Lita’af truly did not know what happened to Erf.

Lying would’ve doomed her entire House, Pillar or not, and the cut-off braid would stain their honour for the generations to come.

“Then I will keep it as the token of your Oath, I hope that I will be able to return it soon,” she replied back to her, trying to weave a similar implication into her statement as Lita’af had done with the part about her brother. Irje tried to strike an imposing appearance but quickly realised that she had no idea where to put her six magical arms. She chose to keep them spread out wide, as they were. Like magical wings.

Or the tail of a peacock. She knew they were marvellous.

Lita’af gave her a polite but stiff bow, cast another glance at her glowing spellwork, and excused herself. Only when she got far enough, dragging her brother away by his scruff, did Irje sigh with relief and let go of her spellwork. Her weapons cluttered on the ground.

“Was that good enough?” She turned toward Anaise with a faint grin. She thought she did well but Irje was still quite new to the customs among the Pillar peers.

“Congratulations on your first spell breakthrough, Irje.” Anaise shook her head. “Your Spark chose quite an appropriate time for it, I say.”

“Erm.”

The red ear twitched. “What?”

Irje pulled out a rune of silence yet still bent closer to Anaise, cupping her mouth to the ear. “I think the sword helped me.”

Two large green eyes turned her way, “The sword? Do you mean this fleshy thing that screams ‘Erf’s trinket’ from a league away? Are you telling me that our husband was crafting a Flow enhancing Artefact for you and I was none the wiser? Do you realise the significance of your venture!? Why didn’t he tell me about it? Why didn’t you!?

“That!” Anaise jabbed her oar in the direction of two Sky Castles, showering the ground with lightning bolts and scattering nomads and maniples alike. “Might be related to your ‘sword’! What if Erf was taken by one of the Barbarian Gods because they felt his crafts through Flow?”

“No!” Irje shook her head; she refused to believe that Anaise’s idea was anywhere close to the truth. “It wasn’t like that at all! It’s his grub that he was growing into his personal weapon, nothing else. It wasn’t even meant for me at all. There is no Flow inside, no runes, nothing! Similar to that sword-oar.”

“An oar focus? Was Erf able to transcribe your spell?”

“It didn’t work like that. It just made my thoughts clear! Like a splash of cold water to chase the morning dreams away. And it helped me with curves…”

“The sword taught you Erf’s mathematics!?”

Irje raked her hair trying to come up with the words she didn’t have. “No… but it made me feel like I knew it. I just felt when my thoughts were right or not, you know?”

“I don’t,” Anaise quipped, deadpan. “Let me try.”

Irje glanced down at her sword. “Erm.”

“Irje,” Anaise narrowed her eyes, “this is not the time to be selfish. Our husband is missing, while the arms are in turmoil at the Divine presence. If we want to hurry his search along, the braid of Lita’af Hikmat won’t be enough. If it works as you described it, not only we would get more leverage here with my improved spells, but we could rally the entire Kiymetl under this cause by offering it as a new oar if things get to that stage. A ridiculous offer, I know, but that would actually make my aunts move rather than issue strongly worded speeches.”

“I… I don’t think I can remove it, Anaise…”

“A shenanigan,” Anaise murmured like it was a curse word. “How very Erf-like of it. Well, come along my eight-handed deva. We still have the husband to find, the General to rally, and, possibly, the Goddess to impress. I will not have you walking around without a proper Kamshad kaftan if that happens.”

Suddenly, Irje felt, being the First wife wasn’t so glamorous anymore.