Liberi Reader

Endless reports.

An avalanche of intel has flooded this lonely battleship ever since it left Norport.

There are signs of trouble from Leithanien to the east, Sargon to the southwest, Kjerag to the west... while everything remains silent in the south.

The messages are suffocating, eating away at my nerves.

My mother seems utterly unmoved, impassively issuing order after order.

But even she cannot resist a frown when she reads the 'congratulations' from her fellow dukes.

This is her life.

She is here, and so this is my Lynncardine.

I am home.

......

Focus, Delphine. Listen to the reports. This is no time to let your mind wander.

She adjusts the position of her eye patch. Is it to hide the wrinkles?

The weather here is very different from Lynncardine. It's suppressed, heavy, the gloom of rain and fog ever present.

I just want to—

She does not let me finish.

She puts her hand on my head without patting it, but I know this is her way of showing affection.

With that, Her Grace departs. She's always swift and decisive. I have no chance to say any more.

I scratch my slightly untidy head.

The words that come out of my own mouth surprise me.

Was it not because of my call for help that she came?

How could I say that.

She dismisses me with a wave, perhaps telling me not to think too much about it.

Her silhouette remains sharp, making me feel like I'm worrying too much, and that she can take handle it all.

Sigh. She's right.

I'm not much taller at all.

Lots of people are looking at us. I can tell Vina is busy.

Mother's ship is one of the biggest of the Victorian ships-of-the-line, but it was never designed to evacuate civilians. Certainly not this many.

The people of Norport are squeezed into holds meant to store ammunition and weapons, trying their best to find a clean place to sit down.

This is not the best accommodation, even if the most dangerous weapons have been removed. Vina's gang are doing their best to maintain order.

The refugees whisper about her amongst themselves. The officers on the ship pay no heed, nor does Vina respond to their calls of 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Royal Highness'.

Regardless, she has become the heart and soul of this place.

Perhaps the civilians don't even realize themselves, but the reason they trust Vina is not so much because of her status, but because she is the only one they can rely on in this unfamiliar environment.

A canyon.

I feel even less at ease.

I know where mother's confidence comes from. This ship is defended by Windermere's pride, her Swordguards.

If the Sarkaz think this merely a reckless act by the Duke of Windermere, they will find themselves on the receiving end of blades that have been honed since the War of the Four Emperors.

But do we truly know the Sarkaz?

Abandoned factories. Yes, this place has been abandoned since before Londinium fell into chaos.

Why? Because of Catastrophe.

The massive crystal formations that Catastrophe left behind...

Something's not right.

There's a different smell in the air.

I look around instinctively. All the elite soldiers in the hold are gone.

This is not right!

Siege pulls her back before I can.

I see the soldier smiling at me.

It's too late.

Blood seeps from the gaps in the ceiling, dripping into the infiltrator's eyes.

Drip.

Merge.

Spread.

Blood?

Where did this blood come from?

Siege pushes me away. An instant later, a blood mist bursts where I stood.

Soon, the entire hold is engulfed in crimson.

The four of them exchange gazes, and take up positions around the frightened crowd.

The emotions in the crowd ranges from shock to panic. Some in the corners begin to scream, without even seeing exactly what happened.

A claw slaps away the sword that was inches from his throat.

The blood mist disperses, then reconverges, taking a gooey, wet form.

A Sarkaz emerges from the bloody shadow.

For an instant, I wished I was with them.

Like when I first joined Slobberknocker Gym, when I went from being alone to being in a community.

Cador, and... Baird.

We stood together.

The swing of the hammer compresses the air in the passage. It roars.

......

......

Tiny drops of liquid fall on my face.

My vision blurs.

A shadow draws near.

I try to wipe my eyes.

I see another pair of eyes right there in front of me.

Red flows from their sockets.

I draw my sword.

She is still conscious. I should not do this to her. But I see the relief in her eyes.

She grabs my sword, sending it into her own body.

I'm trembling. I can't see clearly.

I look down and see the red eyes.

She gives up breathing, smiling to the end.

My feet cannot move. Worry, unease, and fear grip them.

The lights go out. The only light comes from above deck.

There is only silence amongst the bodies. Rain solidifies as it falls.

Flowing backwards, evaporating, converging.

A red-black sun rises into the sky, obscuring its white counterpart.

A bloodless complexion emerges from the black sun, not a speck of blood on it.

He descends from the black sun.

I avert my gaze.

Am I afraid?

How shameful...

Rain begins to fall again.

Drip. Drop.

Mother... the Duke of Windermere points her sword towards the invading Sarkaz leader.

I cannot see the expression on her face, but I know that is not the mother I know so well.

The soldier was right. I would only be in the way.

A blue blade cuts through the rain of blood.

A tiny drop of rain cuts open Mother's cheek.

Was it the red rain, or blood seeping out? I could not see.

There is no change in Mother's expression, but... have I ever seen her get hurt before?

The Vampire's movement starts to slow.

No, the Swordguards are too fast.

I've received formal military training. I did not go to Londinium unprepared.

But here and now, I realize the weight of the words 'Duke of Windermere'.

My mother never let her daughter see the kinds of battlefields that she knew.

Stay calm.

Take a deep breath.

My throat is coarse. I cannot speak. I try to gasp for air, but the smell of blood is all there is.

Vampire and... Confessarius.

This is Mother's flagship. Lynncardine's most experienced commanders, bravest sailors and most steadfast warriors are gathered here.

Mother once told me that war is not about heroes, about charging into danger. A commander must see the whole battlefield, in order to see the way to victory.

But—

I realize why this ship sailed deep behind enemy lines without support.

Because of me.

No...

This is no time for self-flagellation.

I have to do something. If there is no place on Mother's battlefield for me... someone must bring order.

One of the Kings of the Sarkaz Court is here. But would they really attack us so recklessly?

My espionage background tells me that something is missing from this puzzle.

I have to do something.

Think!

Damazti.

I encountered him personally when leaving Norport. I had heard about this terrible King of the Sarkaz Court from Amiya. But he was defeated. How could he...?

Still, this is the most likely answer.

There are two Kings of the Sarkaz Court on this ship.

A truly terrifying conclusion.

The Swordguards' weapons impale the Vampire.

The light of Arts penetrate the Sarkaz's twisted visage. The Arts of the Swordguards of Windermere, passed down from generation to generation, are simple, but brutally effective.

Mother quickly sets her sights back on the target.

I draw my sword.

The Swordguards do not hear my cry, but Mother is ready.

The Vampire laughs.

The massive Blood Arts explode before it can be cast.

A gust of wind sweeps through the sticky air, blowing away the sanguine rain and wind.

Death falls silent. True terror begins to spread, slowly but surely.

Blood converges upon the hand of the silhouette, forming a crystal. Then...

The other, the true—

The Swordguards pull back instantly.

Even so, two of them are late by an eyelash, and their flesh takes incomprehensible form in a split second.

I can feel my sword hand trembling, my throat seizing up. This is a battle beyond my comprehension.

He looks towards me, then towards Mother.

I'm trembling.

She pats my shoulder with an injured hand.

Only then do I notice that she has many more scars on her than I remembered.

I turn around and run for the communications tower.

Pride overcame fear in that instant. Mother said, 'I'm counting on you.'

I see the Confessarii trying to blow the communications tower, and our soldiers still resisting.

Has failed? So easily?

I turn around.

The front of the deck has been completely engulfed in red fog, with only the flashing of sword and vampiric Arts to penetrate it.

Why do I feel so uneasy?

I—

A pair of eyes peer at me, in the infinite raindrops, in the reflection of blood on the deck.

The Vampire's hand brushes my neck. Why? Is he not fighting Mother?

Vina tries to push me away, but it's too late.

My sword. I still have my sword.

I am her daughter.

She is counting on me.

The blood-woven crimson witchcraft vanishes into thin air.

That attack was not a Damazti feint. It was true blue vampiric witchcraft.

If the King of the Sarkaz Court had intended to kill me, there is no reason I should still be alive.

It was not my own strength that allowed me to resist.

He had other plans. There's no doubt about that.

Once again, I look towards the Swordguards. Their swords are still flashing. I can faintly see their silhouettes converging—

Something's not right.

They are falling, one by one.

They're backing up?

This is not right!

Where is Mother?

Impossible.

Even if the fight against the fake Vampire had taken its toll, Mother and her Swordguards could not have fallen so easily.

I know the legends of Windermere's sword which no wall could stop, the blade of light that struck down the spires, one of Victoria's two sharpest swords.

I grew up listening to them.

Why? How?

I charge into the fog of blood, hearing only my accelerating heartbeat.

Finally, I spy a figure.

One glance from that devil is enough to freeze my blood.

But he does not kill me.

He disappears into the blood.

He smiles at me with Mother's face.

Then, with an identical sword—Mother's sword—

He impales his own chest.

In my fury I try to charge, but my body refuses to move.

He whispers in my ear, wearing my own face.

Mother's sword is still in his chest.

In 'my' chest.

He falls, then familiar blood witchcraft covers him, consuming him.

After the blood boils and evaporates, it is as though nothing had ever happened.

All I can do is pick up Mother's sword.

I...

I catch sight of Mother.

The sound of fighting has stopped. The wind has calmed. The ship has stopped.

I see blue hair on the ground. Mother is bleeding.