Time froze in the moments before gravity asserted its remorseless grip over Mara’s weightless form. She saw between stagnant raindrops the victorious toothy smile of her sora. He did not care that the fall was likely to kill her, that his counteraction would grip her access to flight for some time. Defiantly, she clutched the Crook to her chest as all three of her eyes met his. Having regained his sight, the smile began to fall. Even if he had come to regret his murder, he was powerless to stop it. By the time he cast flight on her, she would be outside his reach. As she began to fall, she smiled with a look of acceptance. Oh, to be beyond his reach. She welcomed the oblivion as it began to manifest, the vertigo of rapid falling bringing welcome relief.

Mara thought of Armin, of Solvi and Arthur. She remembered the life she’d shared with them. Fred, Twitcher and Julie were the new additions to her family that she would miss most. Brashness and callous decisions aside, the elf did not resent Dana. She’d be a hypocrite to do so. The Herald and all his minions now languished in Idharan prison because of them. And she would see them remain there a century or more, had she the time. As she hurtled past the intact portion of the stained glass, she saw Sirona bequeathing the seedling of her tree to the people of Khal. Even the gods had killed their kin, in the end.

Her racing mind was drawn to the Crook almost involuntarily. Should she choose to draw upon its power, she could fire one last spiteful blast at the hateful Ardan. It would be a waste of her precious few seconds to do so. She chose instead to remember Lyra. Once again, her mind was wrenched from the pleasant memories of childhood to the tool of the gods she held in her hands. Angrily, she told the Crook to save her if it wanted her attention so badly. She wouldn’t condemn herself on its account. Death was personal, even a necromancer as shoddy as her knew this to be true. And so, she returned to the happy memories that fortified her against her fear.

A new sensation began to take over the vertigo of falling. No more than a house’s height from the ground, Mara felt herself begin to slow. The Crook seemed to desperately tug itself from Mara’s grasp as she held on for dear life. Eventually, her descent stopped to a halt barely her own height from the jagged remains of the platforms. She looked far above her to see the dark clouds of her sora’s obfuscation cast aside by the man himself. Ardan’s head frantically looked about only to freeze in place as his sana gingerly unhooked her legs from the length of the Crook. As she did so, the artefact seemed to radiate smug satisfaction. The woman it had just saved felt her eyes bulge with amazement, almost dropping it from sheer surprise. Numbly, her mind recalled the confrontation in Avon Soram. Arthur had said that the Crook would not meekly submit. Wasn’t he just being poetic?

“Y-you’re sentient?” Mara asked the inanimate object, feeling somewhat foolish. It did not verbally respond, though she felt an impression on her mind. The briefest touch that told her of a great intellect. A tool created by the most magnificent mind to accomplish his most personal and heartfelt desires. This Crook which had been created to shield Arawn’s followers from his voice had now saved her. And it brought her attention back to Renaud, who began drawing upon his remaining reserves of power. His expression was too far to determine. The Crook brushed her mind once more. It informed her that his jealousy in this moment was truly something to behold. It spoke with her own thoughts, though she knew they were not truly her own.

She pondered her problem with an intense panic beginning to build. With her power dwindling to fumes, she could do nothing but wait for Renaud’s fury to fall upon her. She could not command or bind the dead, perform anything but the most basic of spells. Even as the Crook offered its assistance, she had to remind it that it would destroy her to attempt such a thing. It retorted something about permissions that Mara did not quite understand in her panicked state. Her mind once more slipped to Lyra as her desperation mounted. Why had the Crook saved her only for her to die here, on the ground?

Renaud began his descent in a crackling, whirling force of fiery magic. There was nothing remaining of his reserves that had not been turned to the destruction of his sana. As she looked toward him with fear rooting her in place, he bellowed wordlessly. There was nothing remaining of the man she’d once admired. He’d spent so much of himself on the folly of a fictional past that he now hurtled to his own doom. Spite alone drove him as his Army deserted him. His sana had rejected him and his plans lay in ruins. There was nothing left for Ardan now but the death of a hated enemy. A hated enemy who’d worked the miracles he’d designed. A hated enemy who cavorted with the lesser creatures of the world and flagrantly ignored his wisdom. A hated enemy that had betrayed him and everything he stood for. Let them flee, he thought. He would show them the foolishness of surrendering to these savages.

With panic consuming her, Mara desperately clung to those happy memories once more. Memories of Armin poring over his book, elated as he moved a page under his own power. Memories of Solvi battling to save her from Frigg. Memories of Lorana teaching her on the mountain’s side.

She did not know when it happened. Something within her rebelled against the end. She had a kernel of power and the will to use it. If she could not brave his attack, then she would find those who could. No matter how powerful the mage, they could be brought low. Even Mira herself had to succumb to the justice of the mob. And this aberration, this remnant of a good man since burned away, was no Ir Tolves. Much as he might pretend to her throne, her esteem, he was a frightened little man screaming at the world.

“You don’t know me. But your city is under attack. The home of your families, your friends. Your homes, even now.” Mara whispered as if in prayer. Her words reverberated weakly with the last dregs of her reserves. The blue flames she’d summoned earlier carried her message, flitting like shooting stars to the sides of those long since passed. “Though your bodies have long since turned to dust and your souls burn in the memories of your loved ones, we need you.” The mage breathed through desperate tears, head turning to gaze up at the triumphant Renaud who began generating a ball of lightning in his hand. “Come to me now and protect me. Let me be your sword. Let me save them from him. Save me from him. In every way possible.” She concluded as her hands gripped each other with shuddering anxiety. Everything had been placed on this last gambit. She looked to the figures barely visible through the cordon the Guard had made. Fearful faces that looked upon Renaud with a mixture of awe and hate. Was this her legacy, a failed necromancer who spoke to deaf dead? She regretted that the Crook had saved her in that moment, as the humiliation of defeat set itself on her shoulders. Renaud hefted his arm, close enough for the confused expression to be visible on his features.

It began not as a triumphant crescendo but as the sound of a lonely flute that cut through the din of combat and the storm. A piercing tune that carried itself to the distraught Mara. Even Ardan who’d prepared his coup de grace faltered at this miraculous sound that cared not for the world around it. Then the drums rolled across the courtyard, a percussive announcement of the marching footsteps that followed. Before Mara, the flames returned and cast their newfound voices to the chorus. Those spirits which had languished in the rubble of Easthelm’s earthworks and defences rose to interpose themselves between the necromancer and her foe. The drums rose to a higher tempo, the sound of hundreds of boots clacking on the cobblestones sounding as they crowded about her. The reality of the situation began to steep in the young elf’s mind as she looked upon the spiritual host. Every background and creed, every spectral soldier and seamster stood before her in defiance of Renaud. The man himself howled furiously, throwing his lightning toward his sana. A burly man with a long beard braided in ribbons took the blow with a stoic grimace. As the lightning cleared away, the ghost stood with a hand to his chest before fading from view. Another took his place, visible snarl on their transparent features.

Renaud seethed and rose up a little. Mara knew he was not fleeing, for she’d moved her encasement to their location. It was now a fraction of its former self, but it would keep him in place for the time being. His true intentions were known soon after as he thundered towards her with a crackling halo of power about each hand. Such power condensed into a single decisive blow would overwhelm her were she standing alone. But she was not alone. At her call, the ghosts crowded between master and student before the two collided. Renaud’s eyes widened momentarily as he realised the gravity of his mistake.

A cataclysmic explosion ripped its way across the courtyard, the Guard diving upon the crowd to drive them back. The walls about them became nothing more than stumps of their former selves, falling toward the cordon. Eris beheld this destruction with a steely gaze, taking a step to the right as a piece of masonry fell close to her. The detonation had been so powerful that cobblestones were ripped from their mortar and flung against the walls, several embedding themselves in the outbuildings. Fortunately, it had only been the cobblestone close to the clash of mages. Only the walls behind the outbuildings had survived. The citizens of Easthelm burst into panic. Several crawled from within the tangle of people to escape the carnage being wrought. Yet Eris stayed, her grim face turning to a woman next to her. A woman with dark curly hair in red robes.

Mara rumbled as the ghosts that had protected her faded from view. They’d given their last full measure to ensure she lived. Only a few remained, offering their silent ascent to what they knew must happen next. The necromancer prised off the mud caked to her robes, standing in the rapidly filling crater both she and Renaud occupied. The downpour made things slick beneath their feet, Mara holding a hand out to the ghost of a human peasant woman who looked to have been a baker. She held her other to a burly man who nodded with a stern resolve.

“Boros, Maya. Thank you for this.” Mara panted as she stood with her claws manifested once again. Though they were different now, the ghosts having changed them to their personal desires. Boros’ claw had been cladded in armour, the Gardish royal insignia on the back of her palm. Maya chose to make her claws look like the twisted remains of her oven, belching fire from the grate on her forearm. “We can’t fail. Not now. He has to pay for what he’s done. The people he’s killed.” Mara spat, all three of her eyes narrowed as she watched her sora miraculously extricate himself from the rubble that had fallen upon him. He looked up to see the outer cladding of the tower, a massive hole blasted into it.

“You’ve already failed.” Renaud growled as he held his hand out. With the last of his reserves, he manifested the barest hint of an illusory sword. It was nothing more than a shimmer in the suggestion of a sabre. Similar to the one he’d used in the war he held it at the ready with a confident expression. “You’re not even willing to sacrifice a principle. How many people are dead because of your cowardice?” He scorned. His jibe bit into his sana, guilt flooding her. He was right. Had she been quicker to kill him in Avon Soram, had she been colder she would have seen his betrayal and those bodies in the tower would still live. Her sentiment, her charity had let the monster roam free.

“You chose to kill them, Ardan.” Mara snapped back, beginning to advance on her sora with malicious eyes. Like his protegee, Renaud’s eyes lit up eagerly at the prospect of combat. “Their blood is on no one’s hands but your own!” She roared as she lunged at him, claws swiping across his chest. He caught the blow with the lower half of his blade, twitching his wrist to shear its tip through her cheek. Mara hissed with pain and staggered away, flinging herself to the side as he riposted with a strike at her chest. Boros’ claw lashed out and grabbed the blade while his fellow ghost’s claws dug into Renaud’s shoulder. The older elf gritted his teeth with a laugh before pulling himself free. He patted the entrance wounds with the palm of his hand knowingly.

“Even now?” Ardan laughed incredulously. His student snarled, preparing a lunge only to be cut off by the sword. Wisely, he was keeping her at range with the superior reach of his blade. He danced about her, toying with the clumsy strikes she attempted to make. Boros shouted advice to his sister in arms, allowing her to see her sora’s strikes coming before they landed. The two of them were at a stalemate for a few moments before Mara used one claw to grip Renaud’s wrist after a failed feint. With Maya’s claws, the necromancer threatened to tear open her mentor’s throat. He thought quickly, applying a banishment spell to the claws. Maya vanished from the battle, Mara’s claws raking shallow cuts across his throat. The older elf chuckled, cursing moments later as his expenditure caused his sword to vanish.

“Amy! To me!” Mara shouted to one of her remaining ghosts. Her free hand gained a new set of claws in the form of a curled alleg’s paw. She’d been a stable hand, tending to the work animals of the city centuries passed. She too was brought against Renaud, the illusionist freeing his hand in the barest time to reform his blade as a parry. With a kick, he once again pushed Mara to a more comfortable distance. The necromancer grinned at her mentor challengingly. “I don’t have to kill you. I just have to outlast you.” She observed as she took a more defensive stance. This incensed Ardan who leapt forward with his blade in both hands like a bat. Mara thought better of attempting to block that. Behind her lay the slippery mud luge of the crater wall. She was forced to dive beneath him through the puddle of ankle-deep water. Rolling to her feet, she caught the blade as it came in for a second blow.

“I need one mistake! Your sanctimony is going to kill you!” The older elf roared over a roll of thunder. As if to punctuate his point he whipped back the sword to bring in another blow, deliberately leaving himself open as if to challenge his sana to strike him down. She had moments to dive to the side, sword digging deep into the earth beneath the puddle. Mara gripped her sora’s knee with a clawed hand. With a swift slice of her claws, his robes and skin were hewn open. The older man fell to his knee in abject pain, screaming momentarily before hissing himself back to silence. He reluctantly opened his eyes to see Mara’s hand at his throat. Yet even now he did not offer surrender, driving the point of his sword toward his student’s heart. She attempted to avoid the blow, the blade skirting through her clothes to spill black blood.

With a howl of pain as he used magic he did not have, Renaud staggered to his feet. He was not steady, but he was standing. That was all he needed to be dangerous. His student braced as he switched the hand, he used his sword with. The skin of his palm came with it. The backfire effect had taken such a toll that even the illusion could not hide the damage he was doing to himself.

“Do you want to die so badly?” Mara demanded, refusing to land another blow against the man she knew to be dying. “The nullstun in your skull is absorbing the magic keeping you alive! And now you’ve added more fuel to the fire? If you want death, why this devastation? A long walk off Yanhelm’s walls will suffice!” She practically screamed, hoping reason would finally reach him. The wild-eyed elf wore an expression of such abject disgust that his student recoiled.

“I don’t want to die, idiot girl!” Ardan spat with cruelty etched into every syllable. He levelled his sword at her accusingly. “I want you to kill me! Prove that you are as driven by fear and despair as the rest of us! You condemn me for my actions while you stand at the side of the moneylenders and tyrants! What alternative do you offer to the hope I provide? You give them nothing and expect to be honoured for your character. No more, Mara! You will do what the world has demanded since time immemorial and kill to live! Destroy a hated enemy to see the dawn! This is the way things are!” Ardan ranted as he drew back his blade into a readied position, burned hand shakily gripping the pommel.

Mara sighed and looked to her boots momentarily in thought. Her mentor shouted an angry warning as he whipped his sword upwards, catching one of her horns as she recoiled. Blood began to trickle from the stub’s fleshy surroundings, blinding her in one eye. She looked at him with breath coming like burning porridge. Her arms barely responded, as if the claws were made of lead rather than spectral. He too seemed all but spent, spitting blood as he weakly swung at her once again. She avoided barely and used Amy’s claw to punch his chin.

“Men like you made this world. And I will fight with every fibre to tear it from you!” The necromancer howled as she grasped her sora’s wrist. He came up with a fire bolt forming in his other hand, seeming to turn his flesh to ash before her eyes. She gripped his other wrist, sending the bolt behind her into the puddle. Renaud seemed to smirk confidently for a moment before his student rammed him with the apex of her forehead. As he recovered from the dazing strike, she crunched down on his shoulder with her spiked teeth. Renaud screamed in pain, his knee winding her in retaliation. They staggered apart before their eyes met and once again, they came to blows. As he fought though, Mara could sense her enemy weakening. She was not prepared to allow him an inch, pushing her shrieking muscles and tormented mind to their absolute limit.

“Even if you send me into the mud today, I will rise stronger and wiser! Me and mine will never relent!” Ardan howled, bloodied spittle lending credence to his last attempt to demoralize his opponent. It seemed to have the opposite effect for as the words left his lips, Mara seemed to gain a renewed focus and energy. She closed the distance between them as his tired arm attempted a clumsy overambitious thrust. She was under his guard now, claws poised to impale themselves through his chest. All it would take for her to win would be a moment’s courage.

The blow came instead as a diaphragm-spasming punch that sent Renaud retching and wheezing against the wall of the crater, sword evaporating as he lost his concentration. He’d lost the breath to speak and the magic to stand, sliding down the wall into the now shin-high water. He hissed with pain, looking up at Mara’s bloodied and battered form with a tired expression.

“Then go to prison. Ruminate on your failure. Plot your triumphant return.” She spoke dangerously as she stooped to grab both lapels of Renaud’s robe. He regarded her contemptuously as he realised that he truly had nothing left. The pain in his body was excruciating. Even remaining conscious was a titanic effort. “When you get out, I’ll be waiting for you. We all will. It doesn’t matter how many lifetimes they give you, how many desperate and lost souls flock to your banner. If you’re replaced by some other hatemonger, I’ll fight them too. Because that’s who I am, you pompous bastard.” The necromancer growled with a bloodied eye closed. She’d have scars now, she supposed. She’d wear them with pride, as Ranva had done. Let them see exactly how far she’d gone.

“They’ll hate you. For eternity. Even those you consider friends laugh at your disfigurement.” Renaud disputed with a groan of pain. Even the chill water did nothing to alleviate the burning sensation that swaddled his body. His eyes met his sana’s sadly for a moment. “I was your greatest ally. Your trusted friend. None loved you more than I. A daughter I could teach, a legacy of my own. You cannot imagine my sorrow seeing you become this.” He said, heaving himself into a more comfortable position if such a thing existed. He could feel his consciousness slipping. His sana, the diligent medic, had already seen the signs. She took his hair in hand and moved his head from the drooping doze it was moving toward.

“You never loved me, Gaius. You only loved what you could make of me.” She replied with melancholic weight. Allowing the man’s head to drop once more, she stood and looked toward her hands. “Boros, Amy. My sora is no longer a threat. If I can borrow your strength for a moment more, he will remain pacified.” The necromancer requested to which she received their silent ascent. As the clawed gauntlets began to dissolve into motes of blue light, the spirits that manifested to defend their home returned to the ephemeral world. They bequeathed enough energy to her to cast a sleep spell upon Renaud, which she did with a light touch. “Sleep well, Ardan. I hope you find peace.” Mara hung her head before grabbing the back of his robe. With struggle, tears and one last exertion, she rolled herself over the lip of the crater into the pouring rain. Her sora came reluctantly, as always. He lay next to her, his legs dangling in the crater. Mara looked to the sky to see the thunderstorm he’d called from the Bay of Fangs dissipating. Though the sun did not shine brightly, it shone enough to illuminate the two mages to the roaring, relieved crowd. The necromancer felt a deep satisfaction, as if her task had finally lifted itself from her. She had finally atoned for her mistake.

After some time, she heard the thudding of many boots. Mara lazily looked over from her sleepy repose, seeing a cavalry of Guard and Legionnaires alike running toward them with manacles out and medical stretchers borne between them. Sensing that she was about to be carted off to an infirmary again, the horned woman sat herself up to the chorus of screaming muscles. She looked about to see the tower, barely held aloft by the engineering of long-dead people. What had been worked by so many hands, so many minds and merchant princes, had been cast into peril by the actions of a single man. From it, Solvi had emerged prepared for battle and bleeding. Instead, she found the dazed and flagging Mara, sitting next to the still form of her sora. She shouted her companion’s name and pelted with what strength she had left toward their crater, Arthur in tow.

Arthur immediately sank to his knees, checking over Mara and pulling his tools from his bandoleer. The necromancer’s shoulders were slumped, hands between her legs. She seemed fixated on the sky for the moment, as if enjoying the feeling of the cold breeze. Solvi wanted to embrace her but knew all too well that not all injuries were visible. She instead touched her forehead to the mage’s with a relieved sigh so profound that Mara snapped out of her reverie.

“Is he dead?” Arthur asked flatly as he prepared to work on Mara’s injuries. The Legionnaires arrived with dark looks on their faces, as if prepared to apprehend all involved. Solvi stood with some difficulty and peeled the commander away, recounting the day’s events in a quiet voice. The necromancer looked to her friend, who noticed that her eyes were no longer glowing. It truly had taken everything she had to bring him low.

“Sleeping. I imposed it upon him when he had nothing left.” She responded before holding a hand open behind her. There was a splash and a rumble of mud falling before the Crook seemed to snap to her hand. “Sorry about leaving you in the pool. I couldn’t let him use you again.” Mara explained to the Crook, prompting the cleric to check her irises for suspected concussion. She probably had one of those, given how foggy her mind felt. Though perhaps that was simply the enormity of it all crashing around her.

“I’m not sure I would have spared him in your place. I want him dead, even now.” The cleric admitted with a measure of shame, his mace placed on the ground next to his curled legs. The mage nodded weakly as a bandage was tied about her head. She looked to see the Legionnaires take his unconscious form across the courtyard toward the billowing red robes of the vampire queen. She had a mysterious expression, somewhere between drive and anxiety. Mara didn’t respond to her friend.

Not long after, the remains of the Army were escorted from the creaking tower by the party. Fred drew up the rear with a limping Albrecht. The skitti had his rifle pointed directly at the back of the elf’s head, his expression only softening once he saw Mara sitting up. The mage thought briefly that the rifleman may have ended Van Tuil’s life if he had the chance. She wondered whether she would have spared him. Where did her line lie, exactly?

The vampire queen was upon them with a guarded expression. Her eyes flicked to each of them in turn before settling upon Mara. Eris brought up the rear with a limp, her cane tapping the remaining cobblestones until it became muted by the bare earth of the crater’s lip. Lyn drew the attention back to herself with a cough and an expectant gaze. When none was forthcoming, the monarch assumed it to be battle fatigue and sighed.

“Why does he live? I have sharp ears, Mara you know that. I won’t have one of my citizens embarrassing me on the public stage!” Lyn spoke with more authority and far less glibness in this persona, inciting Arthur to slowly lift his patient to her feet. He gave the queen a disapproving look before attempting to move. His charge did not, eyes trained on her accuser.

“You’re going to have to endure some embarrassment, your majesty. He will stand trial.” Mara responded defiantly. Lyn attempted to draw breath and condemn this course of action, only for the necromancer to snarl at her almost animalistically. She was too tired for diplomacy. “He must lose. More than that, he must be seen losing. They must know he isn’t the answer.” She ordered emphatically before hobbling towards the crowd under her own power. She didn’t know exactly why the queen was here but as she staggered in the general direction of the airship an answer presented itself. A panting Rochefort ploughed through the crowd towards her, asking if she was alright. It seemed that after the tower exploded, to hear him tell it, he contacted the queen. Rather than take a retinue of guards and her personal sanlater, the queen had elected to simply teleport herself to Easthelm’s circle. And run across the city.

Solvi eventually caught up to Mara, who was having trouble struggling through the crowd that insisted on barraging her with questions, congratulations, insults and condemnations. She didn’t begrudge them their fervour. With Solvi’s help, they managed to worm their way to an impromptu infirmary for triage that had once been an inn. With some small semblance of privacy, the two dragged chairs from the tables.

“Want to talk about it?” Solvi asked as she pulled a drinking flask from her bag. She sighed as she saw that Albrecht had cut a hole through it. Regardless, she offered Mara the chance to drink which she gladly took. The Orsan noticed a haunted, empty look about her eyes. There was no elation or victory, only the weight of her deeds.

“He was a good man. I believed he was a good man.” Mara mumbled incoherently. She inhaled deeply, as if trying to hold back the despair. Solvi grasped her companion’s hand with a sympathetic expression.

“He was kind to you. The moment you weren’t useful, he showed you what he’d been showing everyone else.” She reassured tenderly. Mara looked at her with a distraught expression. She had purple rings about her eyes. It was only through the swelling that Solvi knew only one eye had been bludgeoned. It appeared that during the battle the part of Mara that took the greatest bludgeoning was her mind.

“I know. I just need time.” Mara pleaded which the Orsan understood fully. She’d been given the gift of time in the prisoner camps. Time to process the devastation her mother had wrought on her soul. “Go. Be with Julie. Enjoy your victory. I’ll be at the apartment if you need me.” The necromancer breathed before standing and walking towards the bar. She rummaged in her trouser pockets for a while before taking a few bullions and slapping them on the stained wood. Reaching over, she grabbed whatever looked strongest and cleared away some space. Realising what she was about to do, Solvi stood with alarm.

“We stopped him, Mara. It’s our victory.” She smiled with tears standing in her eyes. She did not want this, any of this. It wasn’t fair.

“It doesn’t feel like one.” Mara sobbed, face turning to look upon Solvi. Her eyes were those of a broken woman. Her gaze never left her companion’s as she incanted the teleportation spell, wind rustling the papers and loose bandages that sat in their lonely alcove.