NONE SO VILE

29: Wild Hunt

Western Prairie, Losaile, 1810.

“Stop squirming, boy," Alabaster growled, tugging the boot from the soldier's foot. It came away with a sense of wetness, a sucking sound grinding from the leather.

“Ah! Just… can you be careful, already? It bloody hurts!" The soldier gasped. He was an otter, on his arse in the dirt with the injured leg raised up. Around them, the knee-high prairie grass waved faintly in the sharp breeze.

“You want him to help or not, Eugéne?" Asked the heavy-set beaver kneeling by his side. The beaver's own uniform was torn and tattered, a bushy grey mustache obscuring his lips as he spoke. “Monsieur Alabaster is doing us a favour, remember your manners." 

“Eh. I will be still. Sorry. I'll try." Eugéne shifted uncomfortably, then glanced up at the otter's breast pocket. “At least let me at some of the brandy." 

“There's barely a lick left." 

“Denis!" The otter whined, throwing his head back.

Alabaster sighed, ignoring their bickering as he studied the otter's foot. Eugéne had lost a sock at some point, and then his foot had gotten wet. The soaked leather had scoured away his fur and flesh, and then the damp got into that too. It smelled like something dead. That's because it is. A run of bad luck.

He caught Denis's eyes. “If you've brandy, give it to him." 

The beaver sighed, slipping a beaten-up tin flask from his pocket and unscrewing the cap, passing it to Eugéne. The otter greedily sucked the last of it down, sighing as if that helped. The two played at being 'friends', but Alabaster did not miss the firm squeeze that Denis gave to Eugéne as he licked his lips. 

“The flesh is necrotising," Alabaster said. He tried to keep his voice level, despite the wringing sensation that twisted at his gut. “It's eating away at you, and the infection has run deep – well into the muscle."

“Well…" Eugéne swallowed loudly. “That means dead, right? They say you're a necromancer, that's dead sorcery, isn't it?" 

“Eugéne!" Denis scolded, gently shaking him. “Mind yourself, fool man." 

“That's right," Alabaster replied, leaning down to peer better into the wound. It was slick with sweat and grime, caked in dirt, the corroded layers of flesh around the outside of the wound practically glowing red for how raw they were. It wasn't a wonder why Denis had come to find him, in fact Alabaster was amazed to hear that Eugéne had been walking on this until now. 

He continued to study it as the two men sat in bated silence. Things were bad throughout the whole company. Leutgard had not given up the chase. Accompanied by her dragoons, the Angel had been slowly hunting them down. The only way Leon had found to stay ahead of the enemy was to march his men double-time night and day, stopping only when it was absolutely necessary, and only for brief periods of time. They'd lost people already, and hadn't fired a single shot. Some had gone to desertion, some had gotten sick, there'd even been a suicide. The spirits were down. The men were starving.

And there was no end in sight. 

“Are you going to take his leg?" Denis whispered, leaning forward. The younger otter pretended not to hear, tilting back. “We won't be able to keep up if you do. We'll be dead." 

“He's not walking on this as it is," Alabaster said. If he poked back a tiny layer of muscle, he could actually see the black roots of the rot reaching over bone. “I don't know how he managed it this far." 

Denis gave a grim chuckle. “Eugéne might whine like he's the king's most-pampered daughter, but he's tougher than he seems." 

“You admit it," Eugéne said breathlessly, still propped up on his elbows. Alabaster saw how much the young otter was struggling, his breaths coming in short hisses through his teeth, eyes sunken deep into his brave face.

Alabaster blinked, pinching at his brow. He was exhausted too. So exhausted his body was beginning to float, with tiny white flashes popping off like fireworks on the edge of his vision. Sometimes he heard people calling him, only to find no one had spoken. Days spent running with barely any water, and nothing more than berries and rabbits to eat had taken their toll. There was never enough to go around. 

All the while ignoring the fact they all knew they weren't going to make it. And that when Leutgard caught them – which she would – there was nothing they could do to stand against her. 

Why do we waste our breath? 

“So, can you remove it?" Eugéne asked, eyebrows raising up hopefully. “The rot, I mean to say. If it is dead as you say, can we not simply cut it out and be done with it?" 

“I can remove the rot," Alabaster explained. “But the muscle it has eaten away is gone, and without the dead tissue, you'll still have a hole in your foot. It won't be capable of taking any significant weight." He let the words hang there, waiting as the two men reacted. As the silence dragged on, Alabaster wondered if he should offer Eugéne a mercy-killing. 

“Might as well lop it off," Denis muttered eventually.

“I won't be a cripple!" Eugéne exclaimed, suddenly panicked. “I'm a soldier, I need to fight! Without my leg, if I can't walk, I… I won't be able to keep up with the company. I'll be left back here!"

“We can try to hide," Denis began gently. “Wait for them to pass and–"

“Piss on that!" Eugéne said, punching the dirt beside him. “I followed the Emperor to fight, I am going to fight!" He looked to Alabaster, bloodshot eyes pleading with him. “Can't you do anything? Please?" 

Alabaster sniffed. He wasn't sure. He wanted to help the young man, but anything he tried might end just as bad – if not worse – than what he had now. If only I had my tools, my supplies, I could do more. All he had was the bag of charms he'd carved out of rabbit and crow joints, and they certainly weren't anything strong enough to regrow a foot. 

“Just enough to keep him going," Denis added softly. 

“I…" Alabaster hesitated, hating that it was an option. He glanced up at Eugéne's face, realising that despite being in his mid-twenties, the man looked so painfully young. “The only option I can offer is… intolerable." 

“Worse than being left to die?" Eugéne asked, sniffing sharply. “I talked to the scouts, monsieur. They believe it is the forty-fifth Angel Leutgard that comes for us. We all know the stories; she toys with her food, picks it apart until they're left begging. No Angel has ever killed so many of their own kind as her, what will she do to an ordinary man? Don't make me beg your help, I only ask you give me a chance." 

“If we're going to die," Denis added. “Then at least let us die on our feet with dignity, like proud Rennairan men." 

Alabaster shifted his weight, studying the wound. There was nothing else for it, the rot had hollowed it out. His idea could very well end up killing Eugéne by itself, but he doubted that would deter the otter. Clearly these men believed in something more than simple survival. “Very well. Fusilier Denis, gather all the rabbit carcasses you can muster leftover from the meal. Especially focus on any that still have meat on their bones, however slim." 

“The rabbits…?" He began, but Alabaster cut him off. 

“I said fetch them! At least if you want Eugéne to die on his feet."

The beaver recoiled as if slapped, but then nodded, pushing up from the grass and hurrying to where the company had left the used carcasses. 

“Thank you," Eugéne whispered. 

“Don't thank me yet." Alabaster removed the small knives he'd brought with him from the inside of his greatcoat. He laid them down along with a small needle and thread. “If you make it back to Albedo, Monsieur Eugéne, you will lose the leg. This is a temporary solution, a stop gap, understood?" 

The young otter licked his lips again, sighing as he laid flat by way of acknowledgement. Alabaster only closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts as he waited for Denis to return with the tiny rabbit bodies. It was easy to slide like this, to almost slip into sleep again. His body was run ragged, his heart beating a mile a minute, mouth dry and eyes caked with gunk. He'd never been so filthy in his life. Leon had marched them through rivers and up ravines, refusing to turn the company for anything save the greatest of obstacles. They'd no fires as they tried to shake Leutgard, and as the meagre rations they'd brought began to dwindle, the soldiers had quickly gotten snappy one another. 

Always people looked into the distance. Now that they'd left the forests behind and were crossing the prairie, one could always look back to see the plume of dust kicked up by Leutgard's company of mounted dragoons, slowly inching closer every minute. There were less of them than even Leon's diminished numbers, but they were mounted. They'd been allowed to sleep and eat properly.

And they had an Angel.

Denis finally returned with an armful of fragile rabbit bones. Alabaster was discouraged, but unsurprised to find almost no flesh was left on the skeletons. Hungry men had gnawed at them for as long as they could, sucking out even the marrow where they could. It would have to do. 

“You may need to hold him down," Alabaster warned Denis. He coiled his claw beside himself, reaching for the other as he grasped hold of Eugéne's mind. Their eyes met, and Alabaster's hypnosis took hold. “Eugéne, you are going to be as still as possible for me, and remain as quiet." 

The otter nodded solemnly. Alabaster sagged, picking up his smallest knife. It was depressing how even this tiny sorcery fatigued him so. Never before had he realised the toll that wielding the other enacted on the body. Chewing on his tongue in an attempt to stay alert, he lowered his dirty claws to the otter's wound.

And then he began to cut. 

Eugéne obeyed for the most part. Several times he jerked suddenly, but a firm paw from his lover or a harsh word from Alabaster and he was stilled. The dragon tried to work fast. He sliced into the otter's foot, tugging at the sorcerous threads echoing off the dead flesh that the infection had left in its wake. He took what he could from the rabbit skeletons, jamming bones into place, grafting the tiny flakes of meat to help bind parts together. He bound the new bones with the old, stripping Eugéne's nerves of whatever feeling he could manage.

By the time he was drawing to a close and wrapping the otter's foot up, he could hear the rest of the company preparing to move out once more. 

“Nearly done," Alabaster said. “Do you have any pain, Eugéne?" 

“No, monsieur, thank you." The younger man sounded amazed. 

“It is not gone," the dragon explained. “I've numbed your leg, but it can still be damaged. You're going to have a significantly reduced range of motion, more akin to a stump than a foot. You won't feel your toes, you won't be able to roll your ankle around, everything has been strapped down and… reinforced." 

“It's enough," Denis promised. “We will manage with that." 

Alabaster went on. “If you make it to Albedo, you must not be tempted by the numbness. This is an open wound. I cleaved out the old rot, but a new one will set in soon enough, microorganisms carried on the rabbit bones, combined with the wet and stress of our travels make it inevitable. Listen to me, Eugéne, as soon as you are able, see a surgeon. If you are lucky, you will lose the leg from the knee down. If not, then higher. If you do not do this, you will not live." 

The otter only swallowed, his eyes wet with tears. Alabaster winced, perhaps he had been slightly too matter-of-fact. The boy needs to hear it. 

Denis clapped one big paw onto his shoulder. “Thank you, Monsieur Rafiq. I will not forget this. We will fight in your name, for the glory of the Emperor." 

“For the glory of the Emperor," Alabaster replied tiredly, pushing up to his feet. “One last thing… take these." He reached into a pocket and removed two small bone charms. They were each carved out of a crow's skull, and patterned with tiny runes etched into the bone – symbols from the dead language of the First Angels. He gave one to each soldier. “They are runic charms of my art. Keep them on your person, close to the flesh if you can. For luck."

“Of course," Denis said, linking his own charm onto a thin chain around his neck. 

Alabaster left the two men to prepare, moving away from them as he headed for the front of camp. The company was on its feet now, soldiers waking their friends from the shallow naps they'd tried to steal in the interim. Some were gathered to one side, relieving their bladders onto a log before they headed out. It wasn't lost on Alabaster that the company had not bothered to dig latrines for this stop – no one had enough in their stomach to warrant their use. 

“What did you give them?" He flinched, realising he'd been sliding into a daze once more, the sudden grip on his neck pinching him awake. 

Alabaster blinked to see Gaspar staring at him. The crocodile's own eyes were bloodshot and sunken, broken capillaries stretching red on the tender scales of his yellow neck. His greatcoat hung off him like a rag, stiff with filth, one sleeve almost entirely torn off from days spent bushwhacking. 

“The two soldiers, you were helping them, weren't you?" Gaspar asked again, cocking his head. 

“Oh… yes, that's right. The younger fusilier developed an infection in his foot. He couldn't walk on it." 

“You're a good man," Gaspar said approvingly. Alabaster was so frail from the last few days' flight he almost teared up at the acknowledgement. “Enlisted men often came to the military because they've no better options. They're used to being left behind." 

“If I had my usual supplies, I could do more." 

“What you can do is enough, my friend. Word will get around of what you did, and it will boost morale. That'll matter in the coming days." Gaspar tried again, gesturing out with a claw. “But at the end I saw you gave them each something. I've seen you do it a few times now around camp. You gave one to Sergeant Tiel just last night, but when I asked him to show it to me, he refused." 

Alabaster reached into his pocket, fishing out one of the charms and offering it for Gaspar to see. “It's a bone charm. I've been carving them since we fled Zolfreun Manor. It keeps my claws busy. There's not enough to go around for everyone, but I was able to make quite a few. The one thing I have found in abundance on our journey is carrion. Take it, if you please."

The crocodile took the charm, holding it up to the faint evening light. “What does it do? Offer some kind of mystic protection?" 

“It doesn't do anything," Alabaster lied, squashing the guilt within him. Gaspar was a straight-forward man, he was honourable and loyal, but not quite cynical enough to see the necessity for the sorts of plans Alabaster made. I might be a good man now, but I'm not a different one. “But it makes the men feel better when they hold it."  

“Huh." Gaspar shrugged, tucking the small charm into one of his pockets. “Then I feel better already as well. If you are ready to move, His Majesty is waiting for you at the front." 

Alabaster nodded his assent, accepting a clap on the back from the crocodile before pushing on to the front of the company. Behind him, Gaspar began barking orders. His normally deep and easily-carried voice was as hoarse as an old woman addicted to smoke, worn out from all the shouting he'd been doing the last few days. 

There was almost nothing to pack up, and so the company was ready to go in less than ten minutes. Alabaster heard word that Leutgard's company was slowing for their own rest stop, and that news gave the men heart, as if they could outrun the enemy while they waited. Nevermind that for every three strides Leon's men made, Leutgard's made four. They were only just faster, but it was enough that they'd catch up sooner rather than later. 

Hard to remember why we're bothering. He wondered, looking back as the soldiers fell into shamefully loose columns. Ahead, he knew reinforcements were out there somewhere, searching for them. But will we find them before the enemy catches us? 

Maybe, if the terrain had stayed a dense forest. But out here on the prairie there was nothing to obscure them, nothing to help trick Leutgard. It was hopeless.

“I had no idea that Losaile was so fucking large," Leon said, as Alabaster joined him at the front. “It always looked smaller on the maps. These fields go on forever. If I get the chance to win this war, the first thing I'm doing is pushing their border back to match what my cartographer's say." 

“We came this way on our way to Zolfreun in the first place," the dragon pointed out. “I suppose time moves faster when you have some creature comforts to distract you." 

“I suppose," Leon snorted. “Oh, my kingdom for a tent, or even some water. I never thought water would ever seem more luxurious to me than the finest wines, but here I am made a fool again." 

Alabaster shook his head. All this time, and the differences between them were still so obvious. Nobody from Urdo would ever mistake water for anything but a luxury, those who grew up in the desert understood the value of something like that. 

“Here." Leon pushed a flask into his claw. “Drink. Some of the men found a creek. You may be a heartless reptile but you're still flesh and blood." 

Alabaster didn't bother asking questions. He doubted the water was as clean as it should be, but he cared not. He opened the flask onto his tongue, the cool water almost burning him as it cut lines through the gooey buildup on his tongue and teeth. He swallowed it greedily, less than a mouthful, a sharp pain stabbing up through his oesophagus as he did.

“Finish it, I had enough," Leon added, and Alabaster gladly did. 

“FORWARD!" Gaspar's voice echoed out like nails on tin. “MARCH! SINGLE TIME!" 

And so the company began to move. That was how the rhythm went. Nobody spoke as they moved, everyone struggling with their own aches and pains, focusing entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Alabaster plodded along, brushing through the tall prairie grass as he staggered besides Leon, the jaguar hefting a rifle across his back. They crossed a dried stream as the sun set, stopping for another twenty minutes as darkness overtook the plains. On the horizon, Leutgard's company gave off a small glow from their fires. 

“I don't even know where we are," Leon confessed, once they'd been underway for a few hours. “Damn, Alabaster, to tell you the truth, I cannot say for certain how long we have been fleeing. I hope the men we left behind made it out unscathed." 

“They would have fought bitterly for you," Alabaster replied. They'd had the conversation many times now. “But once the New Coalition discovered you were gone, they would have no reason to harm the men. They'll be released back to Albedo under a treaty with Madox. Some wartime customs still remain intact."

If Madox is still alive, that is, Alabaster thought. The general was a stubborn man, prickly, but dedicated to his duty. If Leon had said fight, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear Madox fought until the very end.

“I think I see mountains out that way," Leon said, pointing vaguely northward. “That means we're close to the border." 

Alabaster wasn't sure. Where the exact borders between great powers laid was always a disagreement. Each country always tried to push a little bit further with every census. Usually a town or major landmark marked the spot where Rennaire became Losaile, but in between those spots, who was to say how the land rights ebbed and flowed?

At the end of the day, Rennairan dirt is no different to the kind they have in Losaile. It's all the same shit. 

They put their heads down, trying to ignore the throbbing tensions in their thighs, the ache in their knees, the twisted spiking of their guts. Alabaster glanced back, straining to see the soldiers in the darkness. He saw some kneeling, others limping, men helping their brothers along. Moving faster would be better, but he got the sense that this company was like a beam pushed taut – apply only the slightest bit more pressure and it would snap.

The horizon ahead had sucked him into another trance when he almost walked right into Leon's backside. The jaguar raised a paw, summoning shouts to stop from Gaspar and the other squad leaders. Alabaster blinked wearily, unsure exactly how long they'd been marching. Glancing up, it took him a moment to find the moon – pale and faintly crescent, now beginning its descent. An hour, maybe two past midnight. 

“Rest already?" Alabaster asked, trying to shake his head loose, knock some life into himself. 

“Not quite, look." 

He followed Leon's pointing paw to a deep, black scar in the landscape. For a moment Alabaster could not make out exactly what it was, but then he noticed the shrubbery gathered by the edges, the worn rocks, and his eyes managed to adjust and punch through the dark. 

“Is it a ravine?" Alabaster squinted, the significance lost on him. The company had already marched through plenty of overgrown gullies and trenches, he did not see why this one was any different. “Do you want to go around?" 

“No, look. Damn it, I need some light." The jaguar opened his mouth to shout for a torch, when Alabaster hushed him. 

“Wait. Allow me" The dragon stepped behind him, whispering old spells as he gently pressed his claws into the back of Leon's head. His thumbs found the nerves on his neck, forefingers sliding up towards his ears, pushing through the fur as they found his pressure points. 

“Alabaster, what are you–" Leon's protests died as the sorcery took hold. Alabaster pulled the other tight like a mesh, lifting a veil from Leon's eyes and allowing him to see into the night as if it were day. He felt the jaguar buck slightly from the shock of it, but then he quickly righted himself. “This is… incredible." 

Alabaster only smirked, his heart already pounding from the effort. Damn sorceries. “What do you see?" 

“Ravines," Leon said, marvelling. “A maze of deep cuts, all splintering off from one another. Too many to be worth going around, but certainly enough to get lost in. They're overgrown now, riddled with moss, shrubs, and some boulders but… I don't think they're natural." 

“There's nothing around for thousands of miles, who would come so far just to rip up the landscape and leave?" Alabaster asked. “From what little I can see myself, they seem too shallow to have contained anything valuable in the soil." 

“No, not like that." Leon shook his head gently. “It looks like a primordial dragon swooped down and shredded the ground. This is the result of a battle. I think an Angel fought here a long time ago, if I had my advisors, I could probably check which one." 

“Oh. I see. Does that change anything?" 

“It changes everything," Leon replied, suddenly excited. “There's too much division, if we go in, Leutgard will be forced to follow us in."

“Not forced," Alabaster whispered. “Excited. She won't be able to resist that kind of a hunt. She wants to stalk us, Leon, to pin us down and rip you apart. Presenting her with a maze is like giving a child a puzzle box." 

“Finally, an opponent with some fucking balls," Leon said tartly. “Should have expected it to be a woman. I'm sick of these generals too yellow-bellied to come and face me. The constant hesitation is maddening. Either give up or fight! If they want me dead, then let them come and kill me themselves."

Alabaster tried to refocus him, clearly the exhaustion was making them all struggle to think straight. “The ravines. You think we can use them to leave Leutgard behind?" 

Leon broke out of his grip, flinching as his darksight vanished, but otherwise turning about in place. His green eyes were faintly reflective in the night, staring out of deeply shadowed sockets. 

“Lose them?" Leon asked huskily. “No, Alabaster. That chance has sailed. We lure them in, and then we do what we do best." Alabaster winced, he didn't need to wait to know what Leon would say next. 

“We kill an Angel." 

“What do you think?" Gaspar whispered, checking over his rifle's firing mechanism for the twentieth time. The sky was grey now, the warmth of the day slowly creeping up and chasing away the dark. Dawn hadn't quite broken yet, but it would any minute, and that's how Leon wanted it. 

“Get them with the sun in their eyes, let them die squinting." 

“Battle tactics are not my forte," Alabaster said, glancing at the crocodile. “But it seems to me like we're spread too thin." 

“Your origins are showing, necromancer," Gaspar said, spitting a wad of dried saliva into the dust. “You were a knife-fighter back in Urdo, right?" He jerked his head down to the kriss blade at Alabaster's waist. “Makes sense that you'd want to consolidate strength. Knife-fights are about creating pressure to allow for one concentrated attack. Whole thing is over in a few heartbeats, am I right?" 

“More or less," Alabaster replied. “It's a common mistake to overcomplicate things. Better to stay simple, but flexible, and pick your opening well. If you can strike first, you'll likely strike last." 

“War isn't too dissimilar," Gaspar admitted. “But it's also about attrition. You need to bleed the enemy. Surprise and distraction go a long way, especially if you can make your force seem larger than it is, like we did back at Zolfreun. A soldier is not a fixed value, either. A knife is sharp or dull, but good morale and enough food? You can double, even triple a man's output when the time comes. Numbers don't lie, but nothing is ever set in stone and that's the grim beauty of what we do. Leutgard's dragoons will be forced to dismount for the ravine. That throws them off already. They'll be fighting on our terms, and we won't be vulnerable to a charge." 

“I see that much. You don't win a war by landing a single blow."

Gaspar grunted. “Unless you've got an Angel on your side."

Alabaster didn't reply to that, instead he clapped Gaspar's arm and slid back, pulling away from the front rank of riflemen. Leon had scattered the tiny squads throughout the maze-like ravines, all of them ordered to 'march towards gunfire' once the shooting started.

The ravines had turned out to be deep and segmented. A narrow sluice of craggy rock had led them in, and Gaspar had made sure the soldiers left behind a few – but not too many – obvious signs of their passing. Scraps of paper used in pipes, a few sprinklings of gunpowder, some piss on the rock walls, all of it designed to help Leutgard's soldiers pick up their trail, and enter the ravines where Leon wanted them to. The exposed rock walls were slate grey near the surface, but as they went deep enough to show more of the sedimentary layers, the rock had turned to a sickly kind of yellow. Alabaster wondered how many centuries had passed since that yellow rock had been first exposed to open air. 

Angels can destroy this world if they want. Rip it up, and start new. He didn't know if that was beautiful or horrifying. 

Grass covered the ground inside the ravines. It was soft and rich, but not as tall as the swaying prairie grass up above. Hardy shrubs had grown from the cracks, stretching their roots out in search of water, hunkering themselves deep into whatever rock they could grab hold of. Bugs and vermin scampered about underfoot, squirming in the tunnels and gullies of the rock walls, drinking sediment and feeding off one another. 

The ravines were a network. From above Alabaster imagined they would look similar to a river's branches, only with less natural cohesion. These were artificial, a by-product of Angel warfare, and so they did not follow a path nature laid out for them. In the chaos Leon saw a maze, a death-trap for Leutgard's dragoons. 

All Alabaster saw was certain death. He'd tried to tell Leon that the ravine branches would quickly become shooting galleries for Leutgard's ice, but the jaguar had only laughed. 

“If we don't do it here, we won't do it anywhere," he said, before ordering Gaspar to the front of their forces. 

Even the rank and file seemed excited. The soldiers were thrilled, tired of being bait for Leutgard's amusement, they wanted to hit back and hard. They wanted a chance to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with their Emperor and fight. Alabaster thought back to Eugéne, and the raw determination on the otter's face. He could have survived by trying to hide, maybe saved his leg, but instead he chose to lose it and stand with the rest of them. 

Does a part of Leon want to die out here? Alabaster wondered, worry curdling his guts. He supposed it would be just like Leon to gladly die a martyr. Rennaire was dependent on him and everyone knew it. Without him at its head, the New Coalition would sweep across the country, swiftly reverting all the good they'd tried to do. But if Leutgard shoots him like a dog in the middle of nowhere… does that change things? Could his murder be a galvanising force to unite the country into competency?  

It might. Or it all might fall apart again. Regardless, Alabaster knew it had no chance if they took the jaguar alive. 

He will never let that happen. 

The sun had just broken when Alabaster heard the first rifle shots. The sounds bounced and echoed through the ravines, quickly followed by shouts of alarm. Gaspar screeched something back, and in the distance Alabaster saw him move his men forward, their bayonets already affixed. 

For his part, Alabaster tried to keep out of the way. He wasn't a soldier, and citizens on a battlefield were nothing more than a liability. Instead, he crept around the natural barricades, listening to scout reports and trying to pluck at the loose threads of other in the air. It was like music, death flowing along in a pattern only he could hear. 

The Angel and her dragoons had entered where Leon expected. They'd come eagerly, dismounted as planned and flooding into the ravine like a virus. Leutgard had chosen east, keeping her company tightly-knit as they engaged the squads Leon had sent to intercept her. 

Leutgard may have brought a smaller force, but her men were better-fed and better-rested. Dragoons were useful fighters even at the worst of times; trained with light carbines in both mounted assaults and foot manoeuvres, they could quickly adapt to multiple situations, without the usual disadvantages shared by dedicated infantry or cavalry. 

The first ranks of her dragoons were caught in a crossfire. Leon's men drew them in expertly, opening up their flanks before the enemy soldiers even realised. Through the narrow passes in the rock, Gaspar's men shredded them crossways. After that, it was chaos. Proper formation began to break down, and both sides devolved into smaller teams of two, three, or four. Both sides fired blindly at colours, more than one killing their own fellows. Alabaster practically choked on the violence of it, it filled his nose and lit up his nerves, the other whipping around like a wild snake, lashing out at whatever it could grasp. The raw emotion combined with the sorcerous power released by fleeing souls formed the perfect storm, and he struggled not to drown in the mess of it.

Leutgard seemed to be keeping out of it for now, and that filled Alabaster with dread. She didn't care about the soldiers, enemies or otherwise – Leutgard was here for Leon. For her prey.

I have to get higher, he thought, looking to the top of his own ravine. With shots echoing all around, impossible to get a read of what direction anything was happening in. He hooked a claw onto a root, hauling himself up it as he braced his boots against the stone. It was sharp and gave grip, but the brittleness of the rock sent pebbles scraping down behind him. He hefted himself another foot higher, when he heard a sudden round of shots go off – this volley louder than before. 

“Shit." Alabaster dropped back down, slipping backwards and ducking into a small crevice in the ravine's side. He pushed deep into it as three men dressed in the grey-green colours of the enemy came around the corner. Bullets followed them as they took cover, blowing out dust from the walls where they landed. 

The enemy trio hunkered down around the corner, smoothly reloading their lightweight carbines, barking questions and answers to one another in a sharp language Alabaster didn't recognise. 

Might be Thornish, or Gerlachian. It didn't matter. The New Coalition was multicultural, their armies would speak all manner of tongues. 

The trio gave another a nod, a grin, then folded back around the corner they'd come, adopting a triangle formation and firing a volley back. Alabaster shrunk back into his cave, roots and rock digging into his shoulders, a spider crawling down his arm and onto his chest. He ignored it, holding his breath. 

The enemy trio raised their rifles, cheering as they pulled back into Alabaster's little alley and reloaded once more, this time with more patience. They'd gotten their mark. 

He watched as they affixed bayonets, jerking a head down the ravine as they began to push towards his hiding place. Their boots crunched on the pebbles, and they called out to one another, struggling to be heard over the echoing sounds of battle. 

In the distance, a sudden sharp sound of crystallising moisture sliced through the drowning din of gunfire. Screams followed swiftly, and Alabaster saw wisps of freezing mist blow into the air out one of the ravines. 

She joined the fight. It could only be a bad sign.

The enemy trio before him were moving forward, achingly close. They missed his little crevice, creeping by, oblivious. 

Gaspar is down there, Alabaster realised, heart pounding. He couldn't be certain, but unless the crocodile had moved his riflemen significantly, these three would be coming up on his squad's rear. Alabaster watched their backs as they moved away, glancing at their guns, the bayonets. His heart pounded in his chest. You have a knife. 

But they could kill Gaspar. Or Leon.

Three men won't turn the tide of battle. 

They might. This was a small skirmish, the right chaos, the right strike at the right moment… it could do significant damage. 

Three. Three is too many. Just let them go. 

Alabaster curled his claw around the grip of his dagger. 

You won't survive. The old Alabaster would never have risked himself like this.

But I am not that man anymore. There is more to life than just survival.

Three was too many. 

Sighing wearily, he pushed out from the crevice, hefting his kriss as he crept towards the trio, picking up speed the closer he got. 

He was almost close enough to touch them when something crunched underfoot. The rearmost enemy spun back, eyes wide as he cried the alarm in their harsh language. His gun was down and he was slow to raise it. Alabaster reached forward, the bayonet's edge slicing the side of his claw as he knocked it aside, plunging the kriss blade into the fox's neck. Blood bubbled and he coughed, already collapsing as Alabaster yanked the dagger free. 

Don't forget what you are. He grabbed the sagging fox by his shirt front, hauling him up as the wolf fired a shot. The bullet hit the meatiest part of his own ally's backside, the carbine's lightweight powder charge too weak to force the bullet through the fox's body. Alabaster dropped his shield. A single strike. Don't forget what you are. You were born with a knife in your claw.

The third enemy – a falcon – jabbed forward with his bayonet. Alabaster reacted on instinct, catching the blade with his own and turning it aside. The falcon's gun was still loaded, he hadn't forgotten that. 

In the distance, another sharp hiss sounded loud as Leutgard shredded more of Leon's men with her ice spikes. 

Alabaster reached aside with his free claw, two fingers pushing deep into the wolf's eyes. The man wailed and instantly dropped his carbine, the bayonet slamming down into his own foot, the butt of the gun dragging it aside and cutting him open. Alabaster yanked his wet fingers free, grinning as bloody gunk followed them. Brutality. Shock and awe. 

He buried his dagger in the wolf's stomach, releasing it as he kicked the man away. He ducked another swipe from the falcon, who already backed up to try and get a shot off. Alabaster scooped the fallen carbine off the ground, hefting it up by the hot barrel. 

“NY, NIEUX!" Cried the falcon. Some expressions were universal.

He fired, the shot blowing apart the wall behind Alabaster's head. Dust and powder filled the air, and Alabaster swung his stolen carbine like a bat. The heavy butt of the gun cracked into the falcon's head, sending him stumbling aside. Alabaster spun the weapon around with a flourish, swiftly punching the bayonet into the falcon's chest. 

The enemy soldier was pinned to the wall, and his bloodshot eyes held Alabaster's for a single breath. Then he sagged, his soul bleeding out of every wound he had. 

Grunting, Alabaster discarded the gun, letting both it and the falcon fall to the ground. He was panting, run ragged by the effort. 

You are defined by what you do. It was still violence. It was still killing. But before, Alabaster had murdered. He'd revelled in bloodshed, dispensing cruelty on his enemies for no reason other than the fact that he could. He'd chosen violence over other means simply because it was easier. He'd hurt and maimed and destroyed, even when he knew his hypnosis was potent enough to compel almost any of those he'd hurt. The world had hated him and he thought that gave him reason to hate it right back, each act of violence existing only to serve his own catharsis.

He looked down at his claws, crimson smeared across his ivory scales. This was also an act of incredible violence, that was true. 

But he'd done it to save, not to serve. 

Retrieving his kriss knife, Alabaster returned to the root in the rock wall, quickly hefting himself up the side. Panting, he made it to the narrow grass plateau that divided two ravines. Another sharp hiss exploded ahead as Leutgard sent forth a new wave of ice shooting down one of the branches.

Keeping low, Alabaster crept in the direction of the sound.

To his right, Leon stood atop a rock and screamed orders, gesturing wildly with paw and pistol. To his left the enemy dragoons pushed towards Leon, and although they were technically making ground, it didn't look easy. At the enemy rear, Alabaster finally laid eyes on Leutgard. 

She was a golden dragon, stripped to the waist in the way that was popular for Angels. Her body glimmered in the light, dark eyes wide as she snarled and snapped. The halo above her head was black as oil, its edge unlike that of any others Alabaster had seen. Where Émeric, Lazare, and Hashan had all possessed smooth, solid edges to their halos, Leutgard's moved like fire. It swirled and coiled, fluctuating with her movements. 

A secondary squad of Rennairan riflemen flanked Leutgard's side, getting the bead on the Angel. She danced back just in time to avoid their shots. Rifles were slow to reload, and as they tried to clear their barrels she slammed a foot into the ground before them. Frozen spikes burst from the soil before her like knives, followed by a second row and then another, racing across the ground like a wave. The cone of effect grew wider, the spikes reaching up round the walls until they hit the riflemen, skewering them from every angle into a bloody pulp. 

“PUSH! PUSH YOU BASTARDS!" Leutgard screamed at her own men, her shrill but powerful voice piercing through the noise. She shoved one of her dragoons forward, right into the path of a bullet fired by Leon's men. 

What can I do? Alabaster wondered, watching the conflict as he tried to stay out of sight. It was good to help, but if he got into the mix no doubt Leon would do something stupid trying to save him. The charms? No, things weren't that dire yet.

Gaspar pushed in from the side, working to beat back the tunnel of dragoons, pinching them between Leon's squad and his own. 

“RESIST!" Leutgard howled, ripping apart another flanking rifle squad before they could even attempt to fire at her. “DAMNABLE COWARDS, ANY MAN THAT RETREATS ANSWERS TO ME!" She was screeching in Yaravanian, and Alabaster wondered how many of the dragoons actually understood her threats.

Gaspar's men were good, and they fired in a three-pronged rhythm, covering the slower reload times demanded by the groove barrel rifles. One-two-three, one-two-three. It was steady but viciously effective, and the dragoons could not split themselves between Leon's squad and Gaspar's. Alabaster was impressed at how the two men had managed to use Leutgard's own dragoons as a shield from the Angel. She could not unleash herself on them so long as her own men were cutting her off. But if they stop the dragoons, they'll expose themselves to her. Another situation with two bad options.

“RESIIIIST, MAGGOTS!"

“PUSH!" Gaspar bellowed. “GIVE YOUR EMPEROR THE BEST YOU'VE GOT, YOU BASTARDS!" He raised his two wheellock pistols, each one firing and each one killing a dragoon. He passed them to a young aide by his side, drawing the second set and dropping two more. The crocodile fired out of sync with the volleys, allowing him to catch the dragoons off-guard. 

“PULL BACK, MAKE WAY!" Leutgard advanced on her men. Some heard her, and turned awkwardly before catching shots from Leon's men. They were cramped, and Leutgard couldn't get through. She shoved them away from herself. “DAMN FOOLS!" 

Heedless of her own soldiers, the gold dragon raised a leg, stomping down hard on the soil before her. Dust exploded upwards as the frozen claws lanced from the soil. The wave of ice blew through her own men, killing half and injuring the rest. She screamed viciously as the ice rushed forward. Alabaster felt the crackle of power in the air, energy racing down his spine. She's pushing, she's getting desperate. Gaspar shouted to retreat, but it was too late. 

“NO!" Alabaster cried, as the ice smashed into the two squads. Bodies were split, red smearing over the frozen spines. It was a hundred swords, cutting bone as easily as cloth. Arms were lost, as were legs, paws, tails, heads, hearts, and lives. One final shot went out, and then everything went still. 

Leutgard raised herself up, staring straight through the devastation at Leon. He was flanked by four riflemen, but the rest of his company had been devastated by the attack. Alabaster inched closer to the ravine edge, staring in. The gold dragon was almost entirely unharmed. 

“THE BOY EMPEROR!" Leutgard cried, holding her arms wide as she strode forward, easily navigating between the spikes of ice. She walked over moaning men, her own and Leon's mixed together in one bloodied mess. “How I have longed to lay eyes upon you!" 

Alabaster searched for any flanking squads, any signs of Gaspar, but he could not see them. Only bodies, piled atop one another.

“You value your men too highly!" Leutgard added, laughing. 

“There is nothing left to shield you now, witch!" Leon shouted back. His men pointedly cocked their rifles. 

Alabaster began whispering. His body was empty, limbs shaking with exhaustion. Everything he had had been drained by the fighting, the stress, the running. 

But I can help. And that means I have to help. He sheathed his kriss, reaching out for the other. The words singed his lips as he spoke them, power bristling just beneath the surface. 

“I am Angel of the One God! Leutgard needs no protection!" Leutgard called back. 

“You do from me, you gold bitch!"

Alabaster found the wandering threads he'd sowed. He plucked at them, pulling them in. A pit rode his nausea like a ship in the sea, bile climbing his throat, the world blurring before his eyes. Never before had sorcery taxed him quite like this, but never before had he attempted a spell of this magnitude. 

“You seem obsessed with me!" Leon called back.

“The only man to slay Angels with his bare paws!" Leutgard said. “I feel honoured to be the one who ends you! Do tell. Where is your pet necromancer? I'd hoped to make his acquaintance!" 

Leon said nothing, half-lowering his paw, getting his men prepared. They would only have one shot. They could not miss. 

But neither can I. Alabaster pulled on the various threads of other. He screamed as his body burned, nervous system lighting up, brain buzzing as he pushed himself beyond his natural limits. 

His voice rasped out of his throat in a guttural growl, the words dragged like sandpaper from his maw. “Rrrriiiise." 

Behind Leutgard, the bodies began to stir in the mud. Leon saw it, frowning deeply as his dead riflemen clambered up. Alabaster was linked to them all, his vision and senses suddenly split between more than fifty corpses. Many had lost arms, legs, and sight. Some could only crawl, but each and every one moved to obey. He was tethered to each one, the weight of so much ripping his awareness apart, but there they were, linked to him by the bone charms he'd given out. 

“This sodden gully was a good choice!" Leutgard cried, oblivious to the small army of corpses rising behind her. “You almost had me, but what's done is done! The New Coalition would prefer you submit willingly, and they've promised mercy if you do. Now I doubt the Supreme Pontiff will be so lenient with your pet heretic, but you might as well try. Personally, I hope you refuse me… but I am formally giving you the chance to stop now." Her voice went low, and Alabaster heard it through fifty sets of dead ears. “Quit while you're ahead, Emperor."

Leon smirked, shaking his head. 

“You should know I cannot stop now, Leutgard." Alabaster grunted from the effort, his corpses up. He dragged his claws backwards, shuddering as he urged them towards Leutgard, a mindless order pulsing throughout them all. 

Leon grinned, running a paw through the fur atop his head. 

“There's still one more body to bury." 

“YOU INSOLENT–" Leutgard did not finish her sentence as Alabaster's corpse army threw themselves upon her. She screamed out as they crashed into her back like a wave, clawing and biting, dragging her down. Ice spikes erupted out from one side of the gold dragon, but she was surrounded, and unlike men, the undead did not stop because of pain. 

“Leon, please, FIGHT!" Alabaster gasped, acid burning his throat. He felt it all, but he pushed through, hissing and heaving as he sent them upon her, writhing in the dirt atop his perch. He pushed himself up from the dirt, muscles screaming. Through all the chaos, Leon found him. Their eyes met through the haze of dust and powder, and the jaguar nodded.

“FIRE!" Leon cried. His men let loose a volley, the bullets shredding the undead and the Angel alike. “RELOAD!" 

“Y-YOU…" Leutgard tried to cry, as another corpse slammed a hefty rock into her shoulder, breaking bone. Blood was sprayed across her, and it was all she could do to slay the puppets as they came. “HERETIC! YOU HERETICS, ALL! THE ONE GOD WILL SEE YOU! HE WILL COME AND WRECK SU–"

A second volley rang out, silencing the dragon as her body was punched full of holes. 

Leon lowered his own rifle, sniffing sharply. “God's in his heaven," he spat. “And all's right with the world." 

Alabaster sagged, tears brimming in his eyes as he relaxed his grip on the bodies. He crawled forwards, rolling over the lip and sliding down the side of the ravine. As he hit the ground, two corpses seized his arms, steadying him. 

“Baster!" Leon cried, pushing the reanimated soldiers aside as he ran to embrace him, squeezing hard. “I lost you, when I saw, I… I don't know. I'm glad you're alive. You saved us." His words trailed off, and he gently pried himself off the dragon. 

Confused, Alabaster shook his head, still groggy. “What? There's more?" He held a tentative grip on the corpses now, just in case they hadn't gotten all of the dragoons. 

“No, I…" Leon's voice cracked as he stepped past Alabaster. The dragon turned wearily, looking back just as Leon fell to his knees. “My friend…"

Alabaster swallowed. Standing before Leon, swaying gently, was Gaspar. He had a great bloodied hole in his side, undead eyes staring mindlessly.

“Leutgard's attack…" Alabaster began. 

“Be quiet," Leon snapped. Around them, the soldiers that had been injured stared up at their brothers, killed in action and now brought back in a pale imitation of life. Alabaster saw their faces, and recognised the disgust. It was one thing to know of necromancy, and another to see its sorcery violate someone you held dear. The jaguar looked around himself, as if only now realising where the bodies came from. “Alabaster… you did this to our own men?" 

“I…" He didn't know what to say. “I had to. There was no other way." 

“Then why not them?!" Leon screamed, pushing to his feet and gesturing at the dead dragoons. “Why make my sons into monsters?"

“The preparation required for this sort of sorcery necessitated–"

“Stop, I don't want to hear it," Leon said, waving a paw to silence him. “You did what you had to, I suppose that has to be enough. It's expected. We won. Thank you." The words were bitter. 

“Leon…" 

“No. Please." The jaguar turned away, looking back at Gaspar's hollow stare. “No more talking. I just want to go home."