Elegy for a Star

The sight of the tormented, emaciated man suspended above gave Krahe chills. “This is so fucked,” she muttered, watching the man’s skin smoking from the magical, draining electrocution he’d just suffered, only to power some Wyrden’s spell in the city. Still, he would live until his soul was completely exhausted. Anger welled within Krahe.

“Ma’am,” Krahe turned to see Amblecrown, a colorful minstrel under her command, “We’re ready on our end.”

Krahe smiled and nodded, “Good work. Will I see you inside?”

“Not my forte, ma’am,” Amblecrown chuckled, “I’m but a humble musician.”

Rolling her eyes, Krahe waved him away and chuckled, “Oh, fuck off.” Amblecrown gave a sideways grin, waved and wandered off. No doubt to go con someone. Or fuck them. Or both.

Krahe’s scarlet cloak billowed behind her as she ascended the stairs two at a time, bypassing the guards. Ever since the Empress’ madness set in, the normal city guard had been replaced by the Wyrden Necrotic—Floating skeletal bodies, dressed in tattered robes, possessed by undeath and given magic. The old city guard had enough corruption in it already. She supposed they were only made to look the part now.

There were a few more magical vessels suspended in the cages above. One of them—a pretty young girl—was most certainly rendered soulless by now, waiting to be changed out like lantern oil.

A gust of wind threw Krahe’s hood back, blowing her hair—dark as midnight—out behind her. One of the Necros turned and stared at her as she passed, moving on only after Krahe pulled her hood back up.

At the top of the stairs was the bridge to the Leyline Fortress, the foci of magical power in the region, the single point to receive most constellations’ blessings on each of Thyr’s passes. Magic was most powerful here, Krahe knew, which only made this coup more difficult than it already was. The Empress needed to be taken by surprise or she would turn Krahe into one of her little arcane batteries suspended all over the city. “I’d rather die,” Krahe thought, “Than power her sorcery.”

Krahe pulled the black, silk mask over her mouth and nose. She was planning to be wicked tonight.

As she crossed the bridge to the Leyline, a few of the Empress’ Palace Guards—flesh and blood, this time—shifted to block her path. She’d be questioned, caught and killed, but a few deft sweeps of a fingertip beneath her cloak caused a tingle of sorcery to wash over Krahe’s body. The Spinnerets. The Devil. The Red Poppy. She’d be invisible to the guards for a few seconds, and that’s all that she needed.

“Born from blood…” Krahe whispered.

Her gloves hissed back, “...To blood we return.”

A pair of kukris appeared in Krahe’s hands and in a furious rush—which the guards wouldn’t have kept up with if they could even see her—she was upon one of the guards, repeatedly stabbing him in the stomach through a gap in his armor plating. With a spin she sliced the throat of the next so deeply that her blade hit cervical bone.

A guard held out a hand, his gauntlet heating with a flame of sorcery, but Krahe was already in the air, landing her knees upon his shoulders and jamming a sharp edge deep into the back of his neck. She used it as leverage while she twisted her hips and turned his head in a sharper direction than it should ever go.

Seeing their comrade’s head spin on a swivel and unable to see their opponent, the rest of the guards dropped their weapons and fled in fear. Surely one of them knew that Krahe’s invisibility wouldn’t last long, but even if they could see her, could they stop her? Shimmering into view once more, she continued her way to the gate. Dropping her kukris—which vanished before hitting the ground—she ran to the gate and took a leap up its side. A few hurried steps up the wall and she had to grab onto the nearest crack she could get her fingers into.

Krahe scrambled up the wall, nearing the first window of the Leyline Fortress.

“Tess…” A voice spoke behind her. Krahe held onto the wall with one hand and summoned a kukri into the other, twisting at the waist to attack whatever was behind her.

There was nothing. Only distant airships and the massive sprawl of Verdona. “Focus,” she told herself.

A few more spinneret rituals and blood sprays later, Krahe made her way to the hallway outside the prison cells. Waiting by a pile of corpses was Missi. The assassin was garbed in black from head to toe, except for a lock of blonde hair that fell from beneath her hood. It was difficult to make out her emotions, especially with her mouth covered by a black mask like Krahe's. Her blue eyes narrowed, “Here. She won’t talk to me.” Missi tossed a key into Krahe’s hands.

“Good work. Get in place by the throne room,” Krahe spoke softly, opening the door to the prisons, “Quickly. I don’t think she’s going to delay.”

Once inside, Krahe looked around to see the state of the place. She’d heard stories, but never had to spend time here herself. Her chest hurt to think of the people she’d lost along the way, who must have spent nights here before their execution. If they even survived to be placed in jail, that is. She could feel the anti-sorcery field wash over her as she stepped through the entryway.

Within the very first cell was a woman, skin as pale as snow with a touch of purple. Her platinum-blonde hair was silver, long and braided, frayed and falling loose at the ends now after her time here. Her eyes were milky pools that hid her stare. Regal, Courtish tattoos adorned her cheeks, and her long ears denoted her as one of the Fey of the Winter Court.

Krahe looked her over and asked, “Can you fight?”

“Get me out of here. I am going to slaughter that worm.”

Krahe took that for an answer, turning the key in the cell door and freeing her, “Chamberlain, we need to do this rationally. If the Empress…”

“Fuck off, Krahe,” Chamberlain Harmia spat.

Krahe had never known Harmia for politeness or gratitude. She was often under scrutiny for being too crass for court. 

“She’s being controlled by that short-dicked, bald, fuckfaced little cunt of a worm, Vuzun,” Harmia sneered, “I’m going to skullfuck him right in his beady little eyes.”

As they began to exit the prison, Krahe sighed, and Harmia added, “I have a spell for that, you know? It’s pretty fucked up.”

“I believe you, Chamberlain,” Krahe replied.

Once they were out, the Chamberlain immediately began signing constellations as though she’d been practicing every day in her cell. Krahe couldn’t have imagined her doing anything else but signing the spells she was going to use to butcher Vuzun.

“Take me too, Chamber-...” Krahe started, only to see Harmia vanish from sight. A teleportation to the throne room was outside of Krahe’s wheelhouse, so she had to book it through the palace to try to get there before the Chamberlain was killed or—even worse—controlled.

She arrived to the throne room doors, only to see Missi, Rosie and Isaac waiting for her. Each of them had been speckled with blood. This is what Krahe trained them to do, and she trained them well. Not well enough to fight the Empress unfortunately, but this is all she had.

Missi turned to her and with a straight face she said to Krahe, “Is she alive, Gwen?”

“What?” Krahe asked.

“I said ‘Are you ready, Krahe?’”

“Oh,” Krahe said, nodding, “Of course.”

Isaac made a quick gesture of signs in front of him, and the lock on the door to the throne room clicked. Missi and Rosie pulled the doors open and Krahe went through.

A half dozen corpses of guards were scattered about. Some of them were nothing more than piles of armor, vacant of anything living inside of them, others were black and red, covered in char and ash.

Harmia had been busy. Busy and efficient.

While the Chamberlain battled the old and withered—but a powerful Wyrden in his own right—Vuzun, the Empress decided to greet Krahe and her company. She appeared in an instant in front of Isaac. She was no older than sixteen. Short, black hair and dressed in a gown, covered in jewelry from head to toe. Krahe knew that just two years ago, she would have hated appearing so imperious. She used to be so sweet and kind. Giving.

With a pacifying expression on her face, the Empress reached out, pressing a hand to Isaac’s stomach. He didn’t even have a moment to scream before he was nothing but dust. Krahe hadn’t even seen her signing.

“Isaac!” Rosie shouted. Krahe lunged at the Empress, a kukri flashing into her hand just before the strike. Krahe’s vision blurred and she found herself elsewhere, jamming a kukri into the Chamberlain’s back.

“Fuck! Would you fucking mind?!” Harmia snapped at her, a blade still sticking out of her back. She didn’t bleed, surely the effect of some protective spell she’d already cast upon herself.

The Empress would kill them at this rate. They needed Harmia free to fight her, not Vuzun. Krahe whipped her arm, sending a blade flying. It caught the distracted Vuzun in the gut, and with his spell failing, Harmia was able to gain the upper hand. In a flash, Vuzun shrunk down and was morphed into a simple worm. A hand outstretched, Harmia pulled the worm through the air and into her grasp.

“Fuck you, worm,” she hissed, squeezing her hand and popping the thing through her fingers.

Krahe spun around, watching Missi and the Empress battle it out. The Empress obviously had the upper hand, but the fact that Missi wasn’t dead yet boded well. She couldn’t say the same about Rosie, whose upper half was inside a wall as though she slipped through it like air. Her lower half hung out of the wall, motionless.

Harmia put her hands together in the shape of a triangle, eyes glowing red. From the center of the triangle, a red light burst through the air, striking the Empress in the back. Missi, one arm bent in the wrong direction and covered in blood, stumbled backward.

“Tess!”

Krahe spun around, but saw no one.

“Who the fuck is there?!” She screamed. Krahe noticed a spider dangling from a web in front of her.

It spoke softly, “The first time is always the worst.”