Path of the Pioneers

My ears are ringing.

I would never have considered myself a sore loser. To Adeline, I lost plenty of times - and I once had the bruises to prove it. Some part of me thinks that it would be unfair to call myself one. After all, am I not just concerned about these two? If the gap between us isn't a canyon, then I can't justify rejecting their request. It means that they'll be coming with me, to Ashglen.

The capital of Grivash, a noble house and territory of Hyperion. The three of us will enter the city and dive into the heart of it in order to find her - and then drag her away without drawing the notice of every Crown Hunter and awakened in the Kingdom.

I'm not afraid of it anymore, that prospect. There's just frustration. I am a sore loser, now. It should have been an overwhelming victory, I should have been able to crush any hope they'd have of joining along - because that's at least what it would take in order to defeat Josephine. I can still feel that searing heat in my chest, what it was like to have my heart sundered.

Forget about Josephine, will I even be able to face that deluge of awakened? I wasn't able to use my full arsenal of skills in our spar, for risk of maiming one of the two, but regardless. How many more will I be able to take on if I'm allowed full usage of them? It may not be enough even if I can face a dozen at once.

"Sybil?"

I need to act with precision and secrecy. Under cover of darkness, from corners of lonely alleys. In a direct confrontation, I will only ever become a butcher - if I even manage to survive.

"Sybil..?"

"Yes." I say, "Yes, you can come along."

The water here has such a gentle sound to it, and it looks so tantalizingly fresh. This particular part of Tirsollain has the strangest breeze flowing through it, disrupting that otherwise stagnant air. Pleasant, so terribly pleasant that I might never be able to convince myself to leave. That's how I feel every time.

I pull myself away from that hypnotizing water, and I catch a glimpse of Aisling. At first I think I see a smirk, but it's actually something else. A grin, one full of relief. If I had to guess, both groups underestimated the other. In my case, I severely underestimated the two.

Or overestimated myself. Both can be true.

"So damned fast..." Aisling mumbles to herself in disbelief, "How'd ye get so fast?"

"I've had to invest in agility a lot."

"Uncle did mention how she sparred with Adeline." Maeve adds, "Surely ye remember what she's like, Aisling?"

Aisling winces, a sigh escaping her as if she's remembering something painful. "Yea..."

I turn without a word, beginning that long walk back to Cairbre's. All decisions have been made, and now that invisible timer continues to claw its way down pointlessly. We need to leave and travel as quickly as we can. She's waiting for me. Waiting for me to save her.

Isn't she?

"Is Cairbre prepared for a war?" I ask.

I don't see it, but I can feel their expressions firm. It's a rude question, isn't it? But I know how this will go. Two dwarves will make their way into Ashglen, aiding a fugitive in rescuing another fugitive. One who should be dead, one who will soon be dead. If they want to retaliate, they'll need to drag Cairbre from the mountains.

And if the dwarves of Tirsollain refuse to give up their Pioneer?

"We all are." Maeve says flatly.

Hyperion isn't just going to let this go. They've proven just how willing they are to make an example out of Adeline Cirix. And if Selene learns of my miraculous recovery, I somehow doubt that she'll be willing to live and let live. No - I very much suspect that the potential for a chaotic new piece introduced into her plans might very well cause her to fall into a mad rush of bloodlust.

They sent Hunters into the mountains before. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up sending in soldiers. It might be the perfect excuse for my master and Selene's great experiment to find a second place to take root. At best, Tirsollain would end up being taken as a territory of Hyperion.

"You all are?" I ask, "Every person in Tirsollain is prepared to put their lives at stake?"

"Those bastards attacked two people just a day's travel from our gates!" Aisling shouts. She bites her lip, and then relaxes clenched fists, "Maybe ye feel different, seein' as it happened to ye. But they brought armed soldiers into Shiabhliath and just about killed a girl right outside Tirsollain..."

"The Clanheads have all agreed with the course." Maeve says, "If Hyperion wants t'claim retribution, they'll have a fight."

A fight with Hyperion? They got more than a few people to agree to such a ridiculous plan? There are five Houses that could be mobilized into the mountains - and possibly even a sixth, Pyre, if circumstances were to grow especially dire. Not to mention the soldiers of the Crown, Hunters included. A war isn't a guarantee, but it is a risk. You would have to be a fool to take that gamble, when losing means that your home will fall to ruins. I understand that the sanctity of their territory means plenty to them, but it won't mean much with an enemy army barreling through their gates.

"What will you do if they decide 'retribution' is worth the effort?" I take each step of those winding stairs as quickly as I can while conversing. This debate should be happening, but I still need to hurry.

"Uncle's going t'shore up the defenses of the city. The mages'll raise a barrier on the Grymgate. We'll make 'em realize that it's not worth it." Aisling says.

Not worth it. Not at all worth it. But I can't offer anymore arguments. We walk in silence from there, all the way back to Cairbre's shop.

There's only more silence when we enter. Perhaps Cairbre can read the look on my face, because he only nods. Then, the Pioneer ducks into the backroom for a moment.

Aisling takes a seat, relaxing for the short time we'll be here. Maeve, strangely, approaches me and asks a question.

"So, how'd ye manage to scoop up my mushroom?"

Making conversation? I was worried in the back of my mind that my gloomy attitude would drive the pair away from anything resembling that. "One of my skills, [Telekinesis]. It can move up to a hundred and fifty pounds."

Aisling whistles, perking up all of the sudden, "That must be nice, how precise does it get? Could ye hammer a nail with it?"

An odd question. I hadn't thought about it... "Less dexterous than my hands, a bit better than if I had my arm wrapped around it?" A vague answer, but...

Cairbre clears his throat, drawing our attention over to him. He's back behind the counter, holding some folded clothes and bits of fabric in his hands. "Come 'ere, lass." He says, and I stand, making my way over. One by one, he sets each thing on the countertop.

"Yer cloak was damaged, figured I'd fix ye up a new one." He laughs a little, there's something solemn about it, "Don't want ye t'look worn down in front o' those fools." He gestures to the other folded clothes, "Took some liberties, 'course, but I got ye some changes o' clothes."

I bite the inside of my mouth. I can feel tears trying to force their way out of my eyes. There's a pressure, a cruel pressure.

"Now..." He says, unfolding a silvery patch of silk, "I won't leave ye unequipped, not against her."

Scattered around on the fabric are all sorts of items. A pair of long gloves, made of some dark, almost translucent material. Two rings, a bracer, a knife only slightly smaller than Tanascáil, and a sizeable satchel with a half-dozen different pockets.

Cairbre sighs, and then reaches a hand out, "Ye ready?"

I put my hand in his, and receive a flood of information - a window telling me what each of the items do. "Cloak's enchanted, too, don't go thinkin' I'd skip on that." He remarks. It's an impressive amount. I don't think I'd be able to purchase a single one, even if I spent the rest of my life running that apothecary. How much would his customers pay for these?

He wouldn't want me to think about that, though, would he?

A moment later, he puts the mundane clothes away into the satchel, folded up nice and neat, and then pushes the fabric my way. "Lass... I've got somethin' t'say..." His head drops for a moment, and he speaks again, "Run if ye've gotta, flee an' escape. Just don't go dyin' on me. Even if it means ye can't save 'er."

A copper taste runs along my tongue from my teeth baring down harder. I need to get the words out, without breaking here.

"Thank you, Cairbre."