Wretch followed a soldier up winding stairs and heavily manned checkpoints. As they climbed higher in Voska’s stone heart, the corridors grew wider, a scent of incense prickling against his senses. The place was crowded with pedestrians in normal attire. Some even wore lavish dresses, and maids served tea from rolling carts.
This is the true quarter of power, Wretch thought as he glared at the people giving him curious looks. Whatever politics took place up here above the slaughter, he wanted no part of it. He would always belong on the front.
“Right this way,” said the soldier from the Third Outrunner Regiment and gestured to a closed door. Two guards stood to either side, but they must have been informed of his arrival. They stepped inside, revealing a spacious study. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to a massive table in the center. Upon it, a miniature replica of Voska's defenses rose over an encirclement of war-machines. Beneath his veil, his eyebrow rose. Sounds came from the piece, the low rumble of artillery, and smoke spread from the impacts that were no bigger than the tip of his claw.
A Blessed item, no doubt.
A man stood leaning over it. A man he knew. General Frederic Von Age’r in a uniform adorned with so many medals and ribbons it struck Wretch as something more useful as a clown suit rather than clothing for battle. Frederic pulled his gaze from the miniature battle happening before them. Hair combed and freshly shaven chin, much like his soldiers. But Wretch could tell much with his sharp eyes. He saw the bags under the eyes and uncut fingernails.
“Wretch, Omen of Misfortune, congratulations on your ascension,” said the General with an expression that hid any emotion, like any skillful politician.
“General,” Wretch said with a nod. Perhaps it was his place to bow, but he did not see it fit. He was a prisoner to the vows made to this man. And he would not prostrate himself before his jailor. “An interesting table you possess. Must come with a sizable downside?”
The General nodded. “The loss of oneself for a day. It makes you believe yourself to be one with the structures around you, capable only of breathing. I have others power it. But before we begin, some privacy is in order. There are Gulschak spies within these walls.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a box of red oak. He slid the top off and extracted a leathery item. At closer inspection, it proved to be a shriveled-up human ear. Frederic’s eyes lit with fire, and a noise began to emanate from the severed organ, a high-pitched screech that slowly receded into nothingness.
He returned the item and instead picked up another, a metal ball molded in the likeness of an eye bleeding from the pupil. He threw it into the air with fiery eyes. The eye hovered there, glaring at the room.
“There,” Frederic said in a voice that was booming to Wretch’s senses. “No prying eyes nor eavesdropping.”
Wretch glanced at the soldier standing in the corner of the room. Apparently, Frederic trusted him enough to stay. Or perhaps he, too, was bound by oaths.
“Let me guess,” Wretch said. “It's not Gulschak ears that worry you?”
Frederic studied him for a moment. “Ditch the veil. No need for that religious mockery any longer. And yes.”
Wretch pulled the torn and damaged veil from his head to grin at the General. “Alright, General. Why have you called me here? And will you vow to speak the truth for the coming conversation?”
Frederic, still leaning on the table, smiled. “I vow to speak the truth for the next thirty minutes. Will you vow to do the same?”
Wretch tilted his head. “I do. But I’m already under your spell. Have you forgotten those you’ve sent to die already?”
Frederic did not take the taunt to heart. Or at least he did not show it. “You cannot be too careful. Not anymore. The official business of today is a request to catalogue your Blessings.”
Wretch took a few steps closer, examining the miniature battle playing out on the table before him. To the south, he could see a clash between what he suspected was a Nov Yanosk Blessed wielding lightning against a warmachine powered by the enemy. In the back, steam cannons roared to answer the advance. “But that’s not the only reason, is it?” Wretch said.
Frederic followed his gaze. “That is our only wielder of the Storm Flame above Ember. Full of anger, that one, like many of those marked by his flame. You ask me if I’ve forgotten the ones I’ve sent to die. And the answer is no. All three thousand of my men buried in the earth around us are on my conscience. And that conscience is why I’ve called you here. But please, let’s begin with your Blessings.”
Storm Flame? That was news to Wretch. That made five that he knew of: Beast, Ingenuity, Death, and the strange Flame of the Saint herself, Reverance. The General seemed to share such secrets as a matter of hospitality. The kind one wielded before asking a favor. Wretch gave a short rundown of his Blessings. There was no reason to dance around the issue if the General could force him to reveal his secrets. And he had a few. The rats spying on the interior of the fortress, the crow with a clipped wing circling above, and the hand-cannon lodged in his guts, just to name a few.
Wretch, Collector of WoundsBlazeRegeneration: Consume flame to restore broken flesh. Purging rot and poison. Greater wounds demand greater cost.Flesh Stealer: Consume flame to reshape the body and take the form of any blessed you have slain and devoured, the change can be overwritten only by a new shape. Each change decreases your maximum flame permanently. Form Weave: Weave flame into temporary flesh. A fast, unstable, and temporary change from the Blessed forms at your disposal. Costs a large amount of flame to use and to maintain.Vermin Prophet: Vermin heed your command. Those who bow to you make their flesh yours, capable of carrying your Blessings.
As the miniature battle drew to an end, the Nov Yanosk Storm-Flame ripped the metal opposition to pieces but was slammed with a hail of artillery a moment later. The Gulschaks advanced in the wake, infantry shredded by steam cannons, but enough made it over to the next trench. Just then, the territory of Nov Yanosk diminished once again.
General Frederic watched it with the gaze of a man pondering deeply. “Most Blaze-tier Blessings offer some form of outer bodily control. My vows, Grendel’s mist, and your vermin. So far, it is entirely ordinary. What offers it power is the promise to change those bound to you. Then you’ll be truly dangerous. How far have you come?”
Wretch watched the man carefully. “Only failures. Not enough subjects up here.”
The General nodded. “And even then, time seems to be running out for all of us. I’ll cut to the chase. I don’t want to raise any more suspicion than already permeates these halls of self-importance. But vow that the contents of this conversation will not be relayed.”
“I promise.” Wretch had nothing to lose from at least knowing what the man was offering.
The General turned to look at the eastern front of the battlefield on his living map. Kattla and Dalynja’s territory. The front there seemed quiet at the moment. Perhaps his swarm had truly damaged the enemy's morale. “Our dear Commander, Gustavius the Lion, is a fraud. His lack of tactical skill is only eclipsed by his pride.”
Wretch showed his teeth in a grin. “To name the right hand of the Saint a fraud. I doubt even your family name would protect you from the gallows should word spread.”
The General was unmoved, tapping his finger against the wooden table. “I’ve, of course made sure that it won’t. I’m a man of planning. My Flame of the Real does best as such. But I am no traitor. I hold our city dear and would gladly lay my life down for it. But never would I waste it. Not mine, not yours, nor that of my men.”
Wretch squinted at the man offering him secrets like a leaking tap. “And what is your plan then?”
“A warmachine is coming, made from the patron of the Gulschaks, their father of machines. When it all crumbles and the Lion himself orders the charge to protect his retreat, we'll play along. Then a scarce few will retreat through a safe passage. Then find our path back to Nov Yanosk.”
“Ahh,” Wretch said in realization. “You need someone with uncompromising strength for protection, preferably with experience in the wilds and a way of scouting. That is why I’m in this room?”
The General nodded. “You’ve fought a Pyre twice and lived. Trekked through the wilds as a Fireling. And you are already bound to me.”
“Then why not just force me to do your bidding?”
The General scoffed. “I know full well any vow has holes. And I wish for a longer partnership. You’ll be a hidden ace in my sleeve after our return. A promising Blaze who vanished in the war. Who would look for you?”
Wretch licked his malformed lips. “I see. Ambitious, General, I must say. And in return for my service?”
The General met his gaze. “I’ll offer you a looser leash and freedom from this place destined to be your end. What more could you ask for?”
Wretch thought quickly, weighing his options and what he truly wished. Finally, he flashed a smile that probably came off more like a snarl. “Information.”
The General frowned. “I’ll answer only what I can.”
“The Gulschaks, the few I’ve captured, tell of a purge of their flame from Nov Yanosk. The Ingenuity Flame. I’ve met another, one with the Death-Flame, that said much the same. It’s true, isn’t it? That we hunted them both to extinction?”
Frederic looked at the moving table before him. Gulschaks threw themselves at their defenses from every side. Metal and fire eager to kill. “Yes,” he responded after a moment of silence.
Wretch stepped closer. He was far taller than the General, and though the man was a Pyre, he suspected he could at least match him in combat. “I’ve seen the atrocities they’ve done to our city. And I’ve returned them tenfold. I’ve killed hundreds, maybe thousands, made webs of misfortune and revenge. Why Death and Ingenuity? Are they really more problematic than the flame of me and Grendel, beasts capable of such destruction?”
The General’s expression did not crack. But he answered so quickly, Wretch was certain he had asked himself the same question. “The Saint protects us all. Her ways are beyond us, but she has held the bastion of man for a thousand years. Can you and I really argue against such results? That’s all I’ll share on the matter.” He straightened finally and locked eyes with Wretch. “Now then, we have a deal. Do you swear to listen to my command and to act in my best interest?”
Wretch leaned closer, standing uncomfortably close and glaring down at the man with exposed fangs and bulging muscles. “I do.” A chord drew around his heart as another vow was added to the pile. “But what of the other vows?”
The General lifted his chin to look back at him. “I absolve you of the vow to never lie, the vow to listen to officers, the vow to retreat only when instructed, and the vow to do your utmost for the war effort. Can’t have you sent to the front when the time comes.”
A sense of ease filled Wretch as something loosened in his chest. A tightness he had forgotten. He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Ahh, now we're talking. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to sharpening my claws.”
The General nodded. “You’d do best to act as if you're still bound by the officers' words. When you feel three squeezes around your heart, head to the storage rooms by your old quarters. Now go.”
Wretch turned with a scoff and drew the frayed veil over his head. The soldier who had stood in the corner took a step forward and politely opened the door. He left without another word. Down the wide corridor, many curious eyes followed him as he made his way to the lower levels.
As he approached his abode, Wretch’s lips curved up into an uneven grin beneath the veil.
Things are coming along nicely. A General spinning plans in the dead of night. Asking a beast to trade a death sentence for a life of servitude. Surely none could resist such a deal? How wrong you are, little General.