* * *
Julia
* * *
I've been having quite a fun time here in Jhe o'Sul's labs. There's plenty to fight with - and some of it is the enemy!
So I take it that we're holing up here until we all die? Or does this count as a stronghold? Iaen's voice is as sulky as usual. Aww, poor boo. It's a shame he's so damn good at that shapeshifting stuff, otherwise we'd put him in danger more often.
This is our last stand, I say with a mental grin. I think Gwen undercuts the expression with a gesture of her own, because Iaen immediately shrinks back and goes quiet.
The Shrouds are the most elite and secretive of the Kommissar's forces, and thus are something to be reckoned with. They've managed to slink through the wards just as we did - though I noticed it took a bit more effort, and a few of them ended up in more pieces than when they started. Thus, we've really only got to wait for them to take us on as they seep through, not as one giant wave. It tends to help for strategy.
But, of course, there are the monsters.
My comrades keep sending me comments in awe of them, and in awe of Ebrellin-i's work. He's really a master technician, as we've all come to agree. I'm not sure how useful this type of thing will ever be to anyone that isn't us, but that's as much as I need. I always stick to the shadows and see many more secrets than I'm ever able to reveal - rarely do I ever see anything as impressive as the things in the tanks.
And, most delightful of all, the Shrouds are the first to break a tank. As the fluid rushes over the tile, steaming and foaming around my ankles, there's a gurgle, then a roar. I see one of the Shrouds whipped overhead by a long arm with suckers all along it. Then I leap to avoid another tenctacle snaring me.
Everyone! Over here, this is where the action is!
Iaen, of course, sulks in the background.
The freed beast is clever - it manages to keep to the shadows in a way that you wouldn't think something so huge and grotesque would be able to. It lies in wait during the fighting, whipping out an arm and grabbing onto two fighters grappling with each other. I won't say whose head I see pop like a watermelon, but I will say it was one of my men. I fetch a bit of him as a keepsake. Sloppy work, but then, I suppose all my men are sloppy. They usually learn after a regeneration or three.
Of course, callous as I may seem, I am keeping track of the numbers. There are three of us left fighting out here, leaving Cary in the shadows, cleverly concealed, and Iaen in the study. I note with some surprise that Iaen has no guards with him.
I told them to go on ahead and be useful! Who ever heard of an Armed needing bodyguards? The little snotty brat. Oh well. Let him sulk off there, as long as we keep him handy. We can't have him dying just yet, Iaen is too useful. Which is a shame, because he wiggles when he dies, and it's pretty funny.
What? You get used to these things in my line of work. It's not personal. People die all the time. Often because of me.
Ah, speaking of me, Gwen's doing her own stint as a tentacle, wrapping around some enemy scum until he coughs up blood. I dispatch him quick, then go on to the next. It's difficult - that monster's learning. Whatever it is, the thing can detect us a lot better than we can even detect each other. I make a mental count. One left besides me? When did that happen?
I can't keep track of more than you. I've got your back, but the others have to make it on their own. Cary's voice is a low whisper at my back. I blink. He's right behind me.
He lays a kiss against my neck, says Shh, and then I can't sense him at all.
Little showoff of a playboy. I narrow my eyes and dive forward right as a tentacle undulates past. I manage to not get my neck broken, but a Shroud kicks me in the ribs and then sends me flying sideways. Thankfully the creature decides the Shroud's neck makes for a fine toy, and goes on and snaps it before I have to deal with anything else from him.
Of course, then there's the monster to deal with. A few moments passing has meant one more of my own going down. That leaves me with only Cary and Iaen, neither of which I can allow to be out in the open.
...Except there Iaen is, gliding past.
I am more impressed with Iaen's work every time I see it. I'm convinced that he gets better at it with every performance. Of course, the arrogant cock of a man always acts as if he knows it, which makes it aggravating as hell to ever hand him a compliment. Still. Every hair on his head glides as if spun from elegance itself. The silks and sashes hang perfectly on the tall frame. He actually makes a rather attractive Ebrellin-i, which of course means that Ebrellin-i must be attractive, somewhere under all that makeup and under the set of ballroom curtains that he calls clothing. A bit too much trouble for me, unfortunately. Besides, I'd really rather kill 'em than date 'em. A constant bother when it comes to my nonexistant love life.
So yes, Iaen has done a wonderful job imitating the Peacock King. Even the eyes are right, and the crown on his head is a flawless facsimile. All very well and good.
But what the FUCK is he doing strolling around here as if he owns the place?
Let me take this. I've got it covered. Smug as always, the bastard walks right up to the largest mass of tentacles, which must be the beast's body. I dodge one as he gives it a pat. "There we are," he coos in sugary tones, "who's a good girl? Who's Daddy's favorite?"
The thing purrs. Or gurgles. Possibly something between the two.
"Does snookums want a treat? Does she?" The beast vibrates with glee, a terrible sight indeed. "Well then, go get some! All those black things darting around - Daddy brought them all for you. Get them fast!"
The air is a flurry of tentacles, none of which aim for me, strangely enough. Ah, that's right. I don't dress in black. White shows off the blood so much better. Still, I'm on guard from any attack, either levied by beast or by man. Even levied by Iaen. He's too creepy right now not to guard against. I can't say that he does his job too well, but... well, he almost does.
There's only a few Shrouds dwindling about in the corners now. I dispatch two as the beast goes after the rest. Soon, the room is empty of all foes except for, of course, this huge tentacled thing. Iaen pats it. "Such a good girl! You're always such a good Daddy's girl! Come on, give Daddy a hug!"
And, of course, that's the end of Iaen. At least he did the wiggle.
The beast is more dismayed by Iaen's death than I am, which makes sense when you remember that she thought Iaen was her master. I can tell that Ebrellin-i treated his monsters well - it's almost a shame he's been locked up for treating everyone else so poorly. Ah, well. The beast is getting furious now, and there's no target left for it but me. This is compounded by the fact that I dart in and snatch a chunk of what she thinks is her master. That is quite the faux-pas with her, apparently! I flee for my life but apparently my life's about to become worth a lot less.
The paintings. You have to remember the paintings.
Cary? What are you talking about? Gwen manages to sever a tentacle as she and I dance for what might be the last time.
Just bring them back with the rest of us.
I turn to where Cary was hidden. He's stepping out, a quill in each hand. He's writing into the very air. And then, a strange thing happens.
The tenctacles come slapping down at him, but they keep missing. Just barely. He starts to run, and they pursue him, but they still miss. they forget me, leaving me to stand where I am, Gwen still unsheathed.
I realize what Cary's doing, then, and run ahead before he can get too far. the tentacles are still ignoring me, but then they would now, wouldn't they? A Poet walking out in the open, writing with all the mental resources he has left - of course things are going to move according to his Will. Right up until he dies, at least. Gwen manages to dart forward and snatch an ear - a tentacle almost slaps it out of her grip, but then it rejoins the dance that Cary's marching away with. I leave him, then. I leave him to die.
I know the paintings are in the little hiding spot he had. No wonder he favored it so much. He'd been concentrating most of his resources on hiding the paintings away. Whatever worth they have, it must be as much as all of my dead brigade.
...Which, in my eyes, isn't much. But we were all made to die anyway. That's what we're all here for. So I tuck that last bit of Cary into my pocket, secure the paintings, and ready the other remains that I've kept in little secret pocket spaces on my person. It includes Camden's ill-fated warriors as well, so I have a lot of passengers on me. I hear one dull thud that sounds awfully wet in the distance, and say goodbye to Cary. I say goodbye to the whole Palace. There's nothing left for me here, and I'd just as well leave it to Ebrellin-i's beast to guard. She certainly seems to enjoy the task.
* * *
Radia is pleasant to come back to, mostly because it means I'm going to report back, and I always like bringing my Boss a whole cartload of fresh dead. It really is the best gift, and I always feel so accomplished. Enough that he keeps asking me if I killed my fellows myself, which is just his joke. He knows I hardly ever do that, especially now that Iaen's more valuable and therefore less killable.
I stand at the ready in our own shadow-branch of the Hall - the one that nobody except Poet trainees ever seem to find unless they belong in there. (Jhe h'Logos always makes the cutest excuses for that. They're almost worth the hassle of dealing with his budding prodigies.) I lay out the dead. They're mostly hands, some feet, in one odd case a tail (Jhe Morgansen, who tells the most interesting bar stories), and then the fingers and ears, of which Cary is one. They keep fresh down here in the cold. I try to separate out the brigades, but it's amazing how alike everyone looks when they've been carved up into pieces. I keep trying to convince Cary to make that into some motto about unity. He keeps telling me it wouldn't be as universal as I think it is.
Huh. Cary's dead. That's strange. I don't think he's ever done that before. He's just... so much smarter than the rest of my brigade. Heck, he might even be smarter than I am. I think I might actually miss him, which is the weirdest thought of all. I never miss people.
"This is all of them, then?" The Boss. I didn't even hear him walk up. It's a subtle reminder of just where our skills at stealth come from.
"Aye. And something from Jhe Cee, who is in there somewhere. He was convinced that they were important." I gesture to the paintings. It's strange seeing the Judge double-take.
Huh. At that, they do look sort of similar, don't they? Jhe o'Radia and Ebrellin-i's daughter.
"We've other concerns before that. I'll have them delivered to Jhe o'Radia while we attend to our fallen brethren."
Hm. Strange, I'd have expected Jhe h'Logos, considering Cary found them. Oh, well. I just work here. "I'll go along with you, then."
"Yes. After we fetch the Peacekeeper. He's just outside."
Ah, of course. Camden has his fallen as well. We all gather up the parts as I try not to whistle about it. Camden gives me the dirtiest looks when I do that. Is it wrong to be particularly joyful that I don't have to deal with my men for a few weeks? If so, I don't want to be right about it. While we're busy, I see those paintings vanish from where they lean against the wall.
Congratulations on escaping the slaughter, Lute. Next time?
Lute just sends me a dirty look for catching him when he was trying to be sneaky. Then he's gone, and we finish our cleanup. Now it's time to go fetch them back from the Void.
The Boss stops before we leave the chamber, then narrows his eyes. "We'll need Jhe h'Logos. Theos's eyes, not twice in one day!" He sighs deeply. "It can't be helped. You two wait at the place. I'll go and fetch him."
