//------------------------------// // Chapter 42 // Story: H A Z E // by Bandy //------------------------------// Administration was a thankless job. But someone needed to perform the unenviable task of cataloging the bodies before they were burned, hoofing out paychecks and life insurance payouts, and writing delicately-worded letters to vassal states about the new changes in leadership. LeBaine did this all without complaint. It was his sacred obligation and survival mechanism. Whenever the reins of power fell into new hooves, when a new general barged into the estate demanding the old guard vacate or die, LeBaine could simply point to the mountain of paperwork on his desk and inform them in no uncertain terms that, yes, they could do whatever they wanted with him, as was their right. But he was the sole cypher to this mystifying mountain of paperwork. Derecho only turned so long as the paperwork flowed. And who wanted to go down in history as the ruler who ran Derecho into the ground? When the smoke cleared, LeBaine found himself back in his same office chair, at his same desk, doing the same thing he’d always done: paperwork. There was a knock at the door. LeBaine looked up from his work. “Come in.” Floore nudged open the door. He balanced a tray of tea on his back. “If you’re going to lock yourself in here all night, you might as well have something to drink.” “That’s very kind of you.” “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I don’t mind staying.” “Absolutely. Get some rest. That’s an order.” Floore set the tea tray down and saluted. “Yes, sir.” LeBaine cringed. “I’ll make an example out of you if you salute me again.” Ignoring Floore’s chuckling, LeBaine picked up his mug and took a deep breath. Shockberry tea. At last. Jazzmine and citrus and faint ambient ozone. “Where’d you get this?” he asked. “The late emperor Giesu had some stashed away in his room.” Floore leaned in. “Do you like it?” LeBaine took a delicate sip. A warm smile bloomed like a floral flavor note. “I love it.” Derechan tea just couldn’t compare to tea grown on the ground. If the city stood for another five thousand years, they’d still be unable to cultivate a single decent strain among all the city’s vast hydroponic gardens. Never could. Never would. The first thing the assassin Gold Leaf did with her paycheck was buy a bottle of strong mulled cider and two dozen roses. She carried the gifts home in a little wicker basket, passing like a shadow through the empty market districts and quiet apartment-lined streets. She’d been given a special pass signed by Giesu himself in case anyone stopped her, but she kept a low profile all the same. Between puncture-happy greenhorns and Giesu’s untimely demise, she doubted a hall pass would do her much good. Her one-room apartment was an odd mix of neglect and priceless antique treasures. She sometimes pocketed things from missions under the pretext that she’d sell it and find a nicer place to live. But when it came time to sell, she could never bring herself to do it. The real treasure in her flat, at least as far as Gold Leaf was concerned, was her lover, Canto. When Golf Leaf knocked on the door and Canto opened it, Gold Leaf shoved the flowers into Canto’s face, sending the poor mare stumbling backwards. “What’s wrong with you?” Canto said, murder in her voice. “First you--” Golf Leaf opened her mouth to apologize. “No, shut up. Get those flowers outta my face. First the archaeological society pulls you away for some secret special assignment, then you leave without saying goodbye, and is that blood on your leg?” Gold Leaf looked down. Her forelegs were matted and smeared with dried blood. Senator DeVrie’s, if she remembered correctly. He’d bled a lot when she killed him. “I love you,” Gold Leaf said in an even voice. “And I’m sorry.” Canto just stared at her. Then it looked like she was about to throw a hoof at her. Then she sighed, and the hurt subsided. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” “Don’t worry about the blood. It looks bad, but it’s just a cut.” “Did you come straight from the dig site?” Gold Leaf cringed before the words even left her mouth. “I couldn’t wait to see you again.” Canto threw her hooves up. “I don’t know. I don’t even know anymore.” Damn these questions. Canto saw right through her. Gold Leaf had to say something clever, and fast. “I quit the archaeological society.” She took a step forward. “I’m never taking another job with them again. I was thinking about what you said, and you’re right. I wanna move out. I wanna go to the eastern Isles with you. I wanna meet your family.” Canto’s face went from rage to confusion with the faintest flicker of hope in between. “You’re joking.” “No. I’m stifling both of us by making us stay here. I want to be free.” “But... move out? What about your stuff?” “We’ll leave it. Consider it collateral for the landlord.” Canto walked over to where a series of ornate faberge eggs sat on a rickety wooden desk. Gold Leaf had taken those from the griffon ambassador she’d strangled four years ago. His children had walked in on her committing the act, and for their curiosity she had to kill them too. Now all that was left of that entire family and all their suffering were a couple pretty little eggs. Canto fixed Gold Leaf with a look of aching sincerity. “You’re a liar.” “I would never lie to you.” “Then what is all this?” Canto pointed at the blood. “You’re lying to my face.” Her hoof hovered over the rickety desk, like she was going to smash the whole thing to pieces. “Say you’re not lying one more time. I dare you.” Instead of replying, Gold Leaf stepped carefully forward and plucked one of the priceless ornamental eggs off the table. She placed it delicately on the ground. Moonlight traced the fine lattice of gold surrounding the pure opal body of the egg. Gold Leaf brought her hoof down on it with a satisfying crunch. “Goldie!” Gold Leaf took Canto by the arm. “These things mean nothing to me. Smash them. I’ll help. I would break every treasure in this room if it made you feel better.” She drew away. “I mean it. Go ahead.” Slowly, inch by inch, Canto backed down. “Do you really want to move to the Isles?” “Yes. Or anywhere. Wherever you want. I just can’t be in this city anymore.” Canto’s demeanor shifted. Her back straightened. Her eyes sparkled. “Then we should get started as soon as the no-fly order is lifted. We could use your connections within the archaeological society to find buyers for all these--” “No.” The force behind Gold Leaf’s voice startled her. “We should leave tonight.” “What? But all this stuff--” “Forget the stuff. I want it out of my life forever.” “Goldie, one of these eggs alone could buy a house in the eastern Isles.” “But I’d know where the money came from. And then the house would never feel right to me.” She moved across the room silently and took Canto’s hooves in hers. “Please. Let’s leave and never come back here.” Silence reigned in the room. A mote of worry bloomed into full-on panic as Canto struggled to find the words. Finally, she said, “If that’s what you really want. Then we’ll leave tonight.” Gold Leaf surged forward with a cry of joy, but Canto put a hoof on her chest and stopped her. “Wash up first. I wanna make sure you’re not hurt.” Gold Leaf didn’t tell her what had happened that night. Canto was smart enough to see right through her lie. But to her credit, once she’d helped Gold Leaf wash it off and made sure there was no risk of infection, Canto promptly dropped the subject and never picked it up again. The two ponies lived out the rest of their lives on the eastern Isles. Neither of them ever brought up that moonlit night in Derecho again. Mother sky gave him strength. Mother sky gave him speed. The Derechan legionary in front of him gave elder Cumulus an opening. He lunged forward and plunged his spear between the breastplate and shoulderguard of the legionary. The ribs in the stallion’s chest cracked. He let out a whoof of air and collapsed on the stairs of the Roseroot temple dias. The blood from him and ten of his friends formed a gory mandala on the stone. Cumulus let go of the spear and sailed into the air. The stone ceiling of the dias restricted his movement somewhat, but he was still faster and more agile than the pegasi intruders. Four more legionaries advanced from his left. He drew a rune circle and clapped his hooves together. Lightning sprang from his hooves with a deafening clap and leapt onto the backs of the legionaries. Armor melted, fusing to skin. They cried out as they fell, but he couldn’t hear it. The ringing in his ears drowned it all out. He saw a group of monks making a dash for the acolyte hovels. He started towards them, but a hail of arrows forced him back beneath the protected dias. This battle is lost. The thought didn’t fill him with the anguish he expected. Lost or not, he still had a role to play. He had to draw attention away from the acolytes as they made their escape. With any luck, they’d make it to Gleeful and Yangshuah and Shining Rock. Hope wasn’t lost. Not yet. What he needed to do now was keep enough of the invading force occupied at the temple to cover the retreat of the acolytes. That was his mission. He would see it through. An arrow whizzed inches over his back. He turned and saw archers forming up at the base of the dias. He dove on them without mercy, crushing one archer to death on impact and beating another to death with his own helmet before the rest scattered. He breathed deep, even and slow. Keep control. Your death plays a crucial role. Feel it. Receive it. More guards massed on the other side of the dias. One of them wore a red robe and a large plumed helmet. General Romulus, Cumulus thought. No doubt the general was impatient to get a look inside the temple and plunder what he found inside. Not if Cumulus could help it. He lunged forward, eyes fixed on the general. The momentum had already swung too strongly in the invaders’ favor to save Roseroot, but if he could get the general now, perhaps the campaign would stall. Other monasteries could be saved. Just a little bit closer, and he’d have him. At the last moment, something flashed over him. Too late, he realized he’d been baited in. He tried to turn, but not even he was fast enough. A thick rope net closed around him. Stone weights at the end of the ropes tangled up, sealing him in and dragging him down to the ground. Legionaries with swords closed in. They should have used spears. When they got within striking range, Cumulus threw his entire weight towards the closest legionary. He couldn’t get himself out of the net, but he could still move his hooves enough to throw short punches and deflect the incoming swords. The unfortunate legionary’s helmet cracked. Blood oozed out. He stumbled backwards and collapsed, staring at the ground and muttering, “Muh, muh, muh.” One more legionary met the same fate before the others got wise and went for some spears. In the few moments of calm, Cumulus strained against the net with all his might. Just as one section gave way, however, the invaders threw another net over him, cinching him to the stone floor of the temple dias. He landed in a puddle of someone else’s warm blood. The sensation sent shivers up his spine. The legionaries acted quickly. Cumulus lost sight of the general in the throng. A dozen of them formed a circle around him. He saw fear in their eyes. They raised their spears. This was it. The end rushed towards him with all-encompassing clarity. A faint breeze tickled his fur. He smiled. Let it go.