A Journey of Black and Red

A frigid wind blows on the dead mountain, raising powdery white ice into the air.

Cadiz essence for focus, Natalis and werewolf for strength. I draw on them in my relentless assault against Svyatoslav as he parries and dodges backward. He flows around in a liquid manner that frustrates me to no end, avoiding strikes by a hair. There are so many things to focus on. Roland essence to keep going. I use and release as needed.

My attention falters and Svyatoslav pounces. His blade rakes my arm. It takes a lot of effort not to drop Rose. I draw on the Ekon essence to mitigate the pain and the Roland essence again to fight through it. My return strike pushes Svyatoslav back.

“Not bad, little sister. You are making progress.”

“AAaaaugh!” I reply eloquently.

Fighting Svyatoslav, or Slava for short, irritates me to the highest degree. He has a very defensive style of fighting that uses a curved saber, and a range of movement that only Naminata could match. More than once I thought I had him, only for the nimble fighter to pull off some truly insane acrobatics. Once, he even stepped on Rose. The gall of this man! It cost him his shoe though.

“Not to worry, you will get used to it soon enough.”

“Why is it that I have to learn so many things at once! I am almost eighty years old! Why am I even in school!” I mock protest to work out my annoyance.

“Of course, to stagnate is to die,” Slava replies with a pompous air, hand brushing his long mustache. I pick up a branch and throw it at him.

“Look out! The overgrown walrus speaks,” I huff.

“No need for mockery, yes? You are doing fine. I bet you could even handle two mortals at once!”

The truth is that I am temporarily weaker. Integrating a new tool in my arsenal means retraining me to make use of it, as I had done after gaining my intuition. As I had also done after obtaining Rose. One must keep a flexible mindset in order to reach the top, it seems. Nevertheless, I am slower and more deliberate while I practice. While I am fully decked out, I need to be mindful of an ever-growing list of parameters. There is Rose and her range, my opponent, my footsteps, the flow of battle, my armor and the way it affects me or even allows me to deflect a strike instead of dodging it, my magic, my firearms, my intuition and so on. The list is long and it would have been impossible to think of everything were it not for the Rosenthal essence and the improved memory it brings.

More importantly, I am physically weakening. I drink more, slumber longer. I find my aura harder to manage. I have shared my worries with Octave and Slava, both of whom I trust for different reasons. They showed no signs of concern and so I expect that it relates to my progress, although I still show no signs of becoming a lady.

I cannot wait for all those investments to pay off.

“The little sister is weary and distracted,” Slava remarks.

“The conclave starts later tonight. I am concerned,” I reply truthfully.

“Ah yes, you wish to convince those crusty old fools that you know better.”

“That is Mannfred’s project!”

“A proper lady does not shirk her responsibilities, is it not what the English teach their little ones?”

“I am not English!”

“They do not shirk their heritage either.”

“Please stop aggravating me.”

Svyatoslav shrugs and smiles, and we talk a bit more about his life. The ancient warlord is an endless source of anecdotes and amusing tales, some of which I highly suspected to be ‘embellished’. He carefully avoids the topic of his relationship with the Kalinine. Politics is something he understands but does not enjoy, and he often complains loudly about time wasted offering guarantees or being tactful instead of being effective. I realize why he owns few assets despite his age. He is simply uninterested in any involvement beyond what it takes to maintain the status quo. A few of the older stories also concern his family with whom he has long since lost contact. It had been too many generations. They are gone, spread out throughout the endless expanse of Russia.

It makes him suffer.

It has become obvious to me that Svyatoslav holds family in high regard. Whether it is born from a cultural bias or out of personal preference, I do not know. Suffice to say that he has desperately been trying to find someone who could relate and now spends as much time as he can training and socializing with me. I appreciate his company. I consider Team Willow as work acquaintances, not friends. We respect each other but we do not click in the intimate and comfortable way that I did with Jimena or Nami.

As for the rest of the Knights, my many requests and questions somewhat sour the mood. In particular, Marlan has had it with my constant nagging. Sometimes, I wonder if they realize that many of us Knights might be new to the organization but old hands at dealing with otherworldly threats. I am so used to them that I find the most threatening of them all quite fetching, if infuriating. I wonder what he and Sivaya are up to right now.

After we are done, I walk back to the compound across a small trail, leaving the snow undisturbed. No one stops me as I cross the gates and walk into the main underground complex. My feet lead me deep underground to a place I had not visited before. A powerful pair of guards let me through a small gate into the conclave room proper.

Several squads have been called back from the smoky pigsty fire that is Europe right now, as each kingdom and republic decides how to handle their own mages. The Knights have split along the different tiers of the room. Down on the ground, high wood seats around a table of polished black stone will host the officers, most of whom are fashionably late. The second tier, a bit above, hosts the bulk of the true Knights while the last tier sits on a mezzanine borne by massive Ionic columns. I find my fellow Squires leaning over the balustrade and take the stairs up.

Contrary to their habit, the Knights have eschewed white austerity in order to give their center of debate more gravitas. Pale and black frescoes cover the walls, showing heroic fighters triumphing against all odds. The ground is polished to a shine while enchanted lanterns provide a calming blue glow. I even spot a few golden leaves on a few of the characters, the only one I recognize being Octave. It must be quite nice to become old enough to have a temple dedicated to oneself. I could imagine some ancient lady visiting a museum of statues and seeing her own breasts immortalized for the ages, nipples fully on display.

Yes, I should stick to painting others. That would be best.

We settle down and I realize that Mannfred is nervous. He holds in his taloned hands a sheaf of papers covered in annotations. His speech, counter-arguments and examples are all organized by color code. I would be amazed by his dedication but I finally understood the man. Mannfred is obsessed with improving his combat capabilities. Nothing will stop him on his quest to become deadlier. I actually asked him once, if it saddened him that no amount of effort will ever allow him to match the antediluvian horrors of this world. He answered that he did not care a bit about the wrinkled old farts, he only pursued self-improvement. It was a brilliant night if he was deadlier than before when the sun rose. It was not a bad approach, not with how flexible he was with the rest. He has found his path.

Despite the ever-increasing number of vampires, the room is perfectly silent. All preparations were completed long in advance, and anything said here will be heard by dozens of ears. It would also be an admission of weakness since anyone with a bit of sense should be ready by now. Without a noise, not even the susurrus of fabric, the room fills nearly to capacity. The third tier remains the least populated by virtue of the comparatively large space we occupy with our small numbers. The Knights never have that many recruits at the same time, and those who stay with them do so for centuries.

Down in the inner circle, Octave has joined. A severe beauty in form-fitting armor and sensible brown hair tied modestly sits by his side. I also see Marlan, the Shade trainer, and another few, less important figures like the librarian. I assume that the newcomer is Lorica, Octave’s peer and one of the three co-founders of the Order.

The ceremony begins with a few oaths reminding everyone present what the Knights stand for: peace, justice, honor. They are merely repetitions of what I already agreed with and so I bow to tradition. Many of the auras flare to show sincerity. I find the experience… uncomfortable. Like bearing one’s calves to a stranger. Finally, everyone sits and the first order of the day is discussed: the current chaos engulfing most of the civilized world.

The countries where Mask’s presence is the most prevalent, mostly England and France, have decided to identify and regulate their magical population despite the objections of the Church. Spain and the Italian states have taken a more drastic route with anyone suspected of sorcery forcefully shipped off to the New World, possibly due to the power of the catholic faith there. As for Prussia, her history of ruinous religious conflicts led them to adopt a more lax approach with every major population center deciding for themselves. This has led to a few key cities like Frankfurt becoming centers for refugees. Reactions in Eastern Europe are both more diverse and more extreme. In Polish and Hungarian cities, pyres still burn, belching plumes of smoke day and night.

The reports are short and to the point, the votes, fast. Everyone already came with their own conclusions based on freely-circulating information. We squires do not have a voting right, therefore we are reduced to watching the proceedings. The Knights decide to petition Mask and convince their leadership to share the mage lists they will have inevitably acquired. Measures are taken to protect affiliated mages from persecution, and to ‘convince’ select groups and individuals to come under our benevolent rule for their own good and that of their families.

I really should be in Marquette to take care of my territory. We live in an age of turmoil and those who adapt the best will come up on top. I simply cannot afford the risk, however. One of my saving graces is my dangerous battle potential. If my rivals know me to be unstable, they will pounce.

I hope Melusine is fine. I almost miss her jabs.

My worries and the little interest I have in the minutiae of the proceedings almost make me miss the time. Mannfred’s petition relates to training, a minor element in the grand scheme of things. As a result, he is one of the last speakers to address the crowd.

“Squire Mannfred wishes to present to us a proposed modification of the Knight training program. Squire, please join us on the floor,” Marlan says.

The local administrator has made his opinion clear. The official proposal was ‘improvement’ of the training program, and by forcing Mannfred to walk down instead of speaking from his seat as the others had done, he forces a ten-seconds travel down to the center of the room. Every tick of the clock stresses Mannfred’s status as an outsider. However, the Roland master is as stubborn as expected and he approaches his speech with a refreshing giddiness that the rest of us have lost.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Knights. I have little need to remind you that the world is changing faster than ever before, and so do the challenges that we face. The mundane governments have remembered the existence of magic and will soon dig deeper to see how far down the darkness spreads. The mages have spread and multiplied across the planet and now their numbers are so high that they have become a tangible concern for rulers everywhere. A new age is upon us, one we are not fully equipped to handle.”

He takes out his notes and starts quoting a few incidents in the past where the results of squads were less than optimal. All of those are instances where the Knights had to contend with new situations brought about by modernity: stopping a train, taking over a powder reserve. They are handpicked to illustrate his point.

“In all those instances, the tools used against us were not blades or magic but the inventions of man. Guns. Explosives. Engines. We are letting the mortals gain a monopoly over technological innovation. As Knights, our greatest advantage has never been the sharpest blades or the fastest bodies. It has always been cooperation and preparedness, the use of the right means in the right situation. We must no longer delay in acquiring said tools for ourselves, so that no aspects of warfare shall find us wanting. As such, I propose that we introduce firearms and firearms defense training to the curriculum, as well as optional training in powder-based sabotage, mundane lockpicking, all and anything that could be useful in our arsenal. In order to show how my proposal would affect our abilities, I have taken the liberty of exploring alternate solutions to past situations our knights actually encountered.”

I helped him with that and nod as he demonstrates how long-ranged guns would have been useful in assassinations or how powder charges could have been thrown through the portal last month. He explains that guns would offer more options against Gabrielites and essentially all faith-wielding fighters by nullifying the effects of their crosses. The presentation is not too long but it is thorough and extremely concise, and he finishes long before boredom can set in.

“Thank you for your attention. I will conclude by reminding everyone that the only way to stay at the top is to get to the new top before the others do. I have spoken.”

We do not applaud. It is not tradition. A few people nod to acknowledge his good points. Then comes the time for objections and Marlan unfortunately takes the helm.

“My fellow Knights. One could spend a lifetime studying warfare and still learn little. There are only so many hours every night and a great many subjects to cover as it has been for generations. During our history, we have encountered several innovations, but many of those have gone the way of the longbow or the catapult. And we are still practicing as we have.”

Some people chuckle. Too many people.

“Our main priority during training is not to provide as many tools as possible but to make sure that the most important ones are mastered. More Knights have fallen through history to rogues than any other causes combined. Yes, guns are fast, but their wielders are not. Very few throw the kind of projectiles that harm us. In fact, only Squire Ariane has proven to be dangerous with one, and she has both our speed and a pistol that mortals cannot handle.”

Marlan continues his objection. I can summarize his argument easily: the time investment does not make it worth the effort. We would need expanded facilities. We should focus our efforts on political pursuit. All of those are valid excuses that he exposes to undermine our point but I know the truth, he finds us annoying. Rigid minds like him search for reasons to say no instead of factual truth. Mannfred gets a chance to answer and he does, but by that time the cause is lost, as I expected. I can see annoyance and impatience in the minute changes in some of the Knights’ postures.

“The main reason why we do not consider guns as a worthwhile pursuit is that we have never tried. The Knights are deadly in battle, with or without guns. Politics will also accomplish tasks that a fist will not, but in the end, we are Knights, not envoys. Battle is our speciality and weapons our focus. All weapons. We should at the very least explore the question.”

That was Mannfred’s secondary plan in case Marlan opposes us as firmly as he has. Throw us a bone, he says, you know that we are correct and you are a bunch of arrogant, stubborn old farts. Or something of the sort.

I might be projecting a little bit.

“Very well. Squire Ariane being our only… gunsmith...“

His words drip with disdain.

“... we will allow her to use the armory to make parts for volunteers. We will also explore anti-firearms techniques. Squire Ariane, please see me after the meeting.”

He will not have to ask me twice. I love shooting people, and I was planning on doing just that.

“I thank you for your support, Ariane. You truly are a worthy rival,” Mannfred tells me as we leave the room. Phineas rolls his eyes.

“You are welcome. I am sorry that your efforts were hampered,” I reply.

“Think nothing of it. We shall use the opportunity they granted us to demonstrate the values of guns to our kin. They might love tradition, but they love winning even more. It is only a matter of searing the lesson painfully into their flesh, bullet by bullet.”

“I commend you for your positive and wholesome attitude, Mannfred.”

Later that night, I sit across from Marlan in his tidy office. He is not amused.

“Congratulations on convincing the council of your arguments,” he starts.

“Why thank you,” I reply, ignoring the small jab. We did not convince them. He made sure of it. We merely received a consolation prize, and Marlan will make sure to dispense it like a miser.

“I would still like to point out that instruction is to be taken seriously. I expect a report on how you will proceed as well as a list of the things you will need. Teaching Knights is a serious endeavor and only the most prepared and determined of teachers will be accepted. This is no game. I hope that I am making myself perfectly clear.”

As an answer, I grab a file by my side and remove my project plan, complete with possible training hours and a detailed list of supplies I will need.

It amuses me that he would think me unprepared.

The next night.

The compound arena is the only place designed for range training, and even then only the most basic one. The few vampires who use ranged weapons come to the Knights at expert level, and have no need for targets unless they stand a mile down range. My two students stand before me, ready for instruction.

“There are a few rules about gun safety, gentlemen. Rule number one, when you are not directly looking at the gun, tiny powder fairies load it with live ammunition.”

Mannfred frowns mightily and brushes his villainous mustache while Phineas tilts his head.

“Is this an enchantment specific to this weapon that I do not know about?” the Roland master asks.

“No. Every gun is the same. That is why the consequence of rule number one is that you always treat a gun as if it were loaded, and you do not point your gun at someone you do not actively intend to shoot. Threats are fine too, but you must be willing to shoot the person if they mouth off. Similarly, keep your finger off the trigger if you’re not going to pull it. We may be able to regrow fingers but the process is quite painful, I assure you.”

“I understand. I have learned how to handle blades before,” Mannfred scoffs.

“Blades have less range and it takes quite the acrobatics to rip off your unmentionables with a twitch of your finger, therefore I advise you to mind my words and to keep the barrel pointed in a safe direction until such a time as someone gets demoted from person to target. Right now, the ground is a safe direction.”

The two accept my explanations. I have already proven myself, after all. Octave often leaves our training sessions with his shirt burned and stained. I only have my own revolver and there are two students so I pick Mannfred to start because he started the whole affair. I take my time to show Mannfred how to hold the gun properly, and a proper stance. Balance is just as important as strength when wielding my Big Iron. Thankfully, we do not have to worry about breath control.

“When you are ready, line up the sights on the target. You must focus on the front sight then align the rear sight. Once you have done so, pull the trigger. Watch for the recoil. You may begin when ready.”

At first, I thought he would aim for the head but he reconsiders and aims for center mass, thus achieving an accidental headshot.

“Not bad.”

“That thing kicks like a Nightmare!”

“Yes, a mortal may only shoot my gun twice because of that.”

“.... why twice?”

“Humans only have two wrists. Moving on, calmly shoot five more times and try to get a feel for the weapon. Please make sure to take your time and aim properly. When you are done, place the gun safely back on the table.”

Mannfred is nothing if not disciplined. He is calm and talented enough to turn the dummy’s chest into a shredded mess. His eyes glint in the semi-darkness.

“I could get used to this.”

“Good. You will practice with my Big Iron while I build your own.”

“You will build my own?” the man replies, excitement clear on his face.

“Yes, for you and Phineas. We could train with mortal weapons but it will be faster and more efficient to let you get used to customized weapons.”

“Can I pick the color?” Phineas asks.

“Oh, and the design of the grip?” Mannfred adds.

Hssss. More work.

May 1864, three months later.

Spring has returned to the Ural, and nature has erupted from molten snow, green and vibrant. The air smells of sap and blooms. We stand at the edge of the forest not far from the compound, one of the endless training spots Knights can use.

I did not pick this spot at random. The difficult terrain will prove useful.

Before me, my students are arrayed. They stand with guarded expressions as they sometimes cast furtive glances at my bullet belts. It might not be the most fashionable item, of course, but few people will ever inform someone with a bullet belt that they look drab. It would be unhealthy.

“Welcome to the first class of bullet avoidance. In this course, I will shoot you and you will attempt not to get hit.”

Team Aspen looks chagrined for some reason, except for Mannfred who carries a shield and the Amaretta girl who can see the future. It shows that they know very little and will sorely regret their overconfidence.

“Bullet avoidance is different for us than it is for mortals because of our speed. Nevertheless, both the mortals and vampires can use cover. We will begin with that.”

“Are you telling us to hide? From mortals?” Anatole asks with disbelief.

I almost shoot him there and then. I have not forgotten.

“Yes, I am telling you to hide if the situation calls for it, such as if you need to protect a mortal or if you feel like playing cat and mouse. Now, there are two elements you have to choose when picking your cover. The first question is, does it break the line of sight? I will let you guess the second question. Go hide now but stay close enough to attack me.”

Team Aspen runs to the woods and disappears in an instant. They may not all see the interest of the exercise, but they are disciplined.

I note that the Amaretta Knight hid behind a dark pine. Her slender figure disappeared behind the thin trunk. I could not do that. Because my armor is too padded at the back. For added protection.

I suddenly find the Amaretta witch vaguely annoying. Her cover will also illustrate my point nicely. I aim and shoot as fast as I can, and, although I see her start moving before I pull the trigger, I adjust my aim to compensate for her own intuition. The bullet shreds the edge of the tree and lodges itself in her thigh.

“Ow! Cazzo! Hsss!”

“Thank you for illustrating my point. The second question you need to ask yourself is: can my cover actually stop a bullet? If it does not, you are devolving from a moving to a stationary target. You do not want that. Now, hide better.”

The exercise continues and with every advice, the Knights grow less contemptuous.

“If you can see the dark in my gun’s barrel, it is aimed towards your face and you need to move. Remember, most of us cannot outrun a bullet but we can always outpace the shooter.”

Active avoidance is not something that mortals can reliably achieve. This part of the training remains brief since most of the Knights have been shot at before and understand the concept.

“Lateral movements will make you harder to hit.”

Anatole weaves right and left. I aim and wait for him to pass in front of the barrel again, then I shoot him. He looks particularly aggravated. I am enjoying every second of this.

“Being unpredictable makes you harder to hit. Do not allow your foes to stop aiming and shoot you when you pass in front of the barrel.”

Most mortals would not be able to do so, but Gabrielites train exclusively to shoot at where we are going to be. We should not make this task easy for them.

“Duck!”

This one is easy. By staying close to the ground, we offer smaller targets. I also advise the use of face masks, though I know that many of us cannot stand them. Head protections affect our senses. I just believe that one can adapt to them and the added protection makes it worth the inconvenience. They remain unconvinced. I do not mind.

Classes continue for a while and we finish the course in a little less than twenty lessons. The squad develops several techniques such as hiding when being the focus of sustained fire and letting other squad members close in. They also enjoy attacking at an angle so that enemies have to stop shooting or risk hitting an ally. The exercises turn into games where I, the unmoving shooter, need to be overwhelmed. It calls to their predatory instincts. The module is a success and Marlan grudgingly accepts its addition to the standard curriculum. Another victory for us comes when Marlan is forced to ban the use of guns in standard exercises. While we are not making any concrete headway, vampires can always smell weakness. They know that Marlan would not ban something unless it were dangerous and a few more recruits join my private lessons. Even Esmeray gives it a try until she realizes that she cannot absorb a gun into her wolf form. I am more impressed by the fact that she can absorb her armor.

Training continues over the next six months. During that time, I make remarkable progress. Between Octave’s and Svyatoslav’s lessons, I grow deadlier by the day even though I feel a bit weak. Through determined practice, I merge all my abilities into a fluid, aggressive style until the results finally speak for themselves.

One fateful night, as I am sparring with Octave, a series of exchanges turn into a hotly disputed exchange. I feel it then, I feel a path to victory and absolutely outdo myself. For one fugacious instant, the world is perfect. I know everything that will happen. I know exactly where to strike, how to press, how to force a step back, a dodge, a deflect, a series of maneuvers that will grant me that one tiniest of openings in Octave’s adamantine defence.

I land a blow.

It is merely a glancing blow, but I did not use a gun this time and the slice appears clearly on Octave’s pristine shirt. The spar stops.

In the deserted arena, Octave inspects his damaged piece of cloth. His gaze travels up and he gives me a respectful nod.

“Satisfactory. Let us see if you can reproduce it reliably.”

We try again and fail without surprise, but I do remember this feeling of floating, of being perfectly in control. I cherish it and commit it to memory because I know that I will find it again, one day, and that it will take at least that much to face the ultimate foe.

Around the same time, I receive a message from Constantine in the form of a letter.

“Ariane,

Thank you for bringing this threat to my attention. So far, we have had no reports of increased portal activity, quite the contrary. It appears that the existence of hounds and the fate of those who capture them has finally started to spread and even the wildest of mages have turned to other endeavors. Nevertheless, I took your warning seriously. You will find attached to this missive a construct that will reinforce the weave of this world and deaden magic as a result. It can be set in a Myrrdin-style array, however you will need at least three other mages to stabilize it…”

I glance through the spell’s prerequisites. As expected of Constantine, he has managed to turn an impossibly complex problem into a series of logical steps that even a donkey could follow. The spell would make it extremely difficult for one of the skeleton things to tear our planet to shreds. The short range is not really an issue. We would go in as soon as the spell takes hold. Casting magic while inside the circle should be almost impossible, reducing the struggle to one of physical capabilities alone. I am certain that we can manage.

“I would love to know who shared those calculations with you…”

I am certain that Constantine would love Sivaya, perhaps a bit too much.

“... I shall ask you to be careful. The drive west has created rifts within the Accords while Mask has shown an inclination to finish what they started. Those of us who wish to build a lasting society sorely miss your dedication to the cause. When you return to us, you will find a warm welcome.”

A better welcome than the first one I received, I hope. I have not forgotten what he has done. I do wish I could at least kill Anatole. It is not fitting that my kill list should contain more than five names at any time.

Finally, two years after our arrival, Marlan summons Team Willow to his office.

“You have passed all the elementary classes and your instructors are… satisfied with your progress. As such, you will be given a mission to fulfill as a true squad. Your performance will be judged and, should you prove yourselves, you will receive dedicated training in your respective roles in preparation for your nomination as true Knights. Take the details and go, and for the love of the Eye try not to start an interdimensional war.”

I am not the one starting it if they attack first.