They had known going in that it was dangerous. The mission had been simple. Gather information and try to find a weakness. They knew the cost if they failed and the price if they were discovered. Retaliation.
So they had planned accordingly.
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Mr. Bates woke with a gasp as the building shook and shuddered, coughing up blood. Never had a dream battle exhausted him so much as to physically hurt him but he had what they needed. He knew the secret.
Beside him, the Summer courtiers awakened and stirred before abruptly throwing off their sheets when they realized what was going on. All around the hotel groaned like a great beast dying, while outside a great roar could be heard of above the din. Spartan sprang to his feet, grabbing his spear and shield and taking the steps up two at a time. Anya and Rook were close behind with their weapons of choice. Mr. Bates tried to follow but he collapsed after only a few steps from weariness. Terri, who had just woken up, saw and hurried to his side.
“Take it easy,” she said, her friendly voice masking her terror. She was the Autumn Queen after all and master of her own fears. “Don’t worry, they have the cold iron tips. They’ll defeat the Dragon.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Mr. Bates coughed “I know how to defeat him. I know what he fears.”
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On the roof three figures stood defiant. One cast his spear at the dragon, which roared with a voice of angry flame. Yet even a wound from a single cold iron weapon wasn’t enough to stop the onslaught. Slowly, the Four Seasons begins to burn. Spartan seemed about to hurling himself off the tower and grapple with the monster, when a Steepscrambler rushed up the stairs on all fours, her red hair looking like flame.
“Wait.” She cried to her fellow monarch, seeing what he is about to do. Then without pausing for breath, she started to sing. A song that carried the Blessing (or in Fairweather’s case a curse) of the Wyrd. It sounded like the tune of life song by the spirit’s voice. Wondrous and awesome and terrible. As heart felted as a badly sung karaoke.
A cry of pain and fear issued from the dragon, which wheeled in the air, heading for the source of its frailty. The leader of the Leaden mirror stood defiant and proud, belting out music while fighting for breath as the smoke from the fires below started to rise.
As the dragon came into range, the Summer warriors fell upon it. Fire mixed with cold iron and the heat of Summer mantles and baking bread. Skin and scales blistered. Fur burned. The drake bellowed. And then it shrieked like a collapsing bonfire and was no more.
For a moment everything seemed to be still. Then the floor beneath their feet shifted as the structure began to collapse. Mr. Bates finally made it to the top of the stairs as a section of the roof collapsed. Seeing the opportunity, he called on the last of his reserves and rushed forward.
“Let us in,” he yelled above the noise. Then he slammed into Terri pushing her into the chasm as it shimmered green. The Spears soon followed. Yet even in the Hedge, the Thorns burned.
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Fairweather continued to haunt the Freehold. In the wake of the Dragon’s defeat, rumors of books of fantastic power circulated. Gregory had appeared with his unexpectedly powerful Summer mantle with one of them to challenge Spartan for control of the Summer court. However, Brother Lucas now stood (or rather, was recumbently) defeated. Blood streamed down his nose after their ‘heated’ debate. The Ogre only wondered briefly how the former Autumn priest had so quickly gain such a potent connection to his Season as he picked up the heavy tome and cast in the fire.
“We don’t need any Fey words to lead us to victory!” he shouted. The cheers of the crowd drowned out Gregory’s brimstone glare as he wiped the blood from his mouth.
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“The Dragon Cult continues to grow in power,” Mr. Bates stated politely “They’ve attacked the Hollows of Hedge denizens and even the Flesh Market in their search for the books. I have little doubt they plan to attack the Freehold next, in the hopes of gaining one to resurrect their master. Despite having destroyed one already,” he added with a polite glance to the Summer King.
There was an uncomfortable silence that followed as the monarchs all knew what the destruction of the Spear had cost them.
“If I may make a suggestion,” the Winter Queen finally spoke for the first time in the meeting. Even then it was the softness of royalty.
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"You may have heard rumors that the Kings and Queens intend to take a step back for actively working to shape the Freehold," he stated. That's what the council of monarchs had 'voted' but Spartan was never one to back down from a fight.
"That is not true. Until our city is safe from all threats. I'll continue to fight its enemies."
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Gianna considered the board. Pieces, everything was pieces. Or cards, or whatever fit. People, places, things. Everything, just pieces on a board. They all had their part to play. It was all a matter of what one was willing to risk to what could be gained. Moves and counter moves. The king for to A2. Enemy rook to F2. Friendly Rook to E2? What pawn was she willing to risk? There were multiple games and many boards being played at once. Since Spartan had refused the Winter Queen’s plea to take a back seat things had only escalated. Sal moved here aggressively. HAL moved there passively.
The Gameplayer needed to make her choice soon or her turn would be forfeit. She typed up her flyer to post. HAL would have to be ignored for now. The blues could still out maneuver him. Spartan’s vendetta against Sal what had been done to Terri dominated the game but the Wizened had to cut off the cult’s actions before they interfered. She really should be playing Chinese checkers.
With a deft hand, Gianna placed some lower value players in their way and moved Rick and his group over to the Goblin Market’s board.
Now came time for the hidden strategy. Gianna placed a few words here. A comment there. Then her turn ended and all she could do was wait.
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“You’re being an idiot,” the Witch of the Bitter Winds said as she patched the wounds. Ramona’s hand gripped her weapon harder at the Autumn Ogress insulting her Sovereign. However, a glare from both fellows in her seeming convinced her to stand down. Spartan seemed to have a rocky relationship with Betony while at the same time respecting her. Mrs. Jason seemed ready to rip the Sentinel’s guts out if she gave her a reason. Ever since Terri and Rick had died in a raid on the Flesh Market, things seemed to have change in the Autumn/Summer relationship. Queen Jasons still gave healing aid to the Summers that came to her door, but there was a noticeable harshness to the Ogress’s manner. For Betony that was saying something.
“The cost is too great. Marcus, Duncan, Anya, Rick, Terri.” Mrs. Jason’s voice was severe between her jagged teeth. “They’ve all died because of this vendetta against the Market and Cult.” Her nimble finger worked the cotton bandage despite the bony hooks protruding from them. “It needs to end.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m calling in your debt.”
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Dear Freehold Members of Sacramento,
It comes with great joy that we have decided to seek our own endeavors away from the Freehold. We have enjoyed working with all of you and will remember the years we have spent with many of you.
Those whose Mantles are strong may be able to contact us should the need arise. Although, we hope it will not come to cause. There is some Treasured knowledge available to a few of you, and some that has yet to Blow away with the Wind. At times you may even find it within the Sunlight amidst a warm Flowerbed.
Chose wisely your new Seasonal leaders for they should know the tomes of your Wyrd and Mantles. Exert temperance for your new Sovereigns, they may make mistakes along the way. This is what separates Us from Them.
Be well, and may the all the Seasons Blessings be upon you.
Spartan
Violet LeBlanc
Betony Rue Jasons
Katrin Byeli
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Ramona read the letter again. The others would be here soon. Yet, as much as she wanted to blame her Sovereign for abandoning her, she alone probably knew the truth of why they had left and how it hadn’t really been Spartan’s choice but one force upon him by old promises. At least he’d been there as a leader since the beginning.
But now with Rook in the background to the point of nonexistence (and everyone else dead), she was the obvious choice for becoming Queen. Still she had brought along some deadly prompts to make sure she would be the biggest badass at the meeting. An intricate spear she’d hand grafted for the previous Summer king. Her first attempt he proven unsatisfactory. He said he wouldn’t accept anything less than a cold iron tip for a weapon to be used against the fey.
She had no experience hammering raw iron. No Changeling did. Still, she researched and labored and crafted a work of art and practicality just in time for him to leave.
She sighed and put down the spear and paper. There was nothing left but to pick them back up and see who would challenge her.
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