The Chain-Smoker's Reckoning (11)
The faint blue whirlpool suddenly flared wide, morphing into a vertical oval vortex. From it stepped a woman in a brown robe. The short-haired woman with pale sky-blue locks stood atop a tiger pelt, gazing down at Grancis.
"You're Gallia Grancis, acting head of the Grancis Merchant Company, right?"
"Wh... who...?"
In the face of this absurd spectacle, Grancis stammered with a cigar still clamped between her lips.
"Brione, royal palace mage."
"Royal... palace... mage? What the hell are you doing here...?"
Brione didn't answer. Instead, she scanned the tent's interior and muttered, "Fancy setup. Rivals the palace. Where'd all this money come from?"
"A trading company makes its coin through trade, obviously."
Gallia Grancis took a deep drag on her cigar, exhaling slowly to steady herself. The familiar acrid smoke quickly calmed her nerves.
"So what brings a royal palace mage all the way out here?"
"Talking down to me right off the bat? You're one rude bitch."
Mages were an arrogant breed, lording over everyone with their noses in the air. Brione was no exception, and she wasn't about to let Grancis's casual tone slide.
"You still haven't figured it out? Don't you get why a dimensional gate opened in your tent? How the hell did someone with a brain like that end up as acting head?"
Grancis's lips quivered at Brione's blunt words. Born the only daughter of a wealthy merchant lord, she'd never endured such humiliation. Keeping her opposite hand out of sight, she inched it toward the glass ashtray and asked, "No clue. You alone?"
"For now."
The moment Brione finished speaking, Grancis seized the ashtray and hurled it at her with all her might. The heavy, high-end crystal piece was a lethal weapon—straight to the head, and it'd do serious damage.
But the flying ashtray halted midair as Brione raised her hand.
"Empty head, but you've got guts. Daring to mess with a mage? You really think I'd come alone?"
At that instant, blue flashes erupted outside the tent.
"We're under attack!"
Crashing sounds, shouts, screams, footsteps. Shadows darted chaotically in the dim light.
"Royal guard! Drop your weapons and get on the ground!"
Grancis's face drained of color at the words "royal guard." A palace mage and the guard? But how...? She'd poured so much gold into the palace...!
Guards poured from multiple dimensional gates, sweeping through the camp and smashing everything in sight. Resisters were cut down on the spot; runners were pierced through head and back by arrows.
Brione eyed the trembling Grancis. "Gallia Grancis, acting head of the Grancis Merchant Company. You're under arrest for bribery, illegal dumping and unfair trade practices, assault, and incitement to murder—too many charges to list 'em all. You get the idea."
Just then, company soldiers burst through the tent flap—loyalists come to protect her. As Brione turned to blast them with magic, Grancis yanked a dagger from under her pillow. She dove from the bed, slashing the tent fabric and fleeing outside.
The camp was in chaos. Flames licked everywhere; heavily armored guards with axes and spears cleaved company soldiers' heads like firewood.
Grancis crawled on all fours, dodging the mayhem. Luckily, the guards ignored the scantily clad woman, letting her slip out of the camp.
On the outskirts stood carriages, where other escapees like her were piling in. Her luxury carriage's driver was just climbing aboard, reins in hand.
"Take me too!"
Grancis sprinted and leaped inside. "South! Go, now!"
Several carriages peeled out southward in unison. Grancis leaned out the window, glancing back at the burning camp.
It's fine. This was just a fraction of the company. No big loss. The main operation's intact. Just escape this mess...
"Aaaah!!"
The driver's sudden scream made her look ahead. A lead carriage exploded into shards, soaring skyward. It plummeted at its peak, shattering completely.
Grancis gaped at the unreal sight.
"Gaaah! Get outta the way! Move!"
The driver flailed wildly. Ahead on the road stood a man on a black horse. Recognizing him, Grancis felt her blood turn to ice.
Innkeeper Bertrand Balder drew the ornate sword from his belt. He tilted the blade sideways and spurred his mount forward. The hell horse, wreathed in flickering black flames, glided silently like ice over frozen ground.
As Bertrand's blade severed the lead carriage horse's head, Grancis threw herself flat. A chill wind grazed her back; someone pinned her protectively.
The carriage slowed abruptly and halted. Shaking like a leaf, Grancis lifted her head. Her carriage was sliced clean above her prone height. Cold autumn wind whistled through the vanished upper half.
The draft horses' heads were all gone. Tethered by harnesses, they stood at grotesque angles. Blood spurted rhythmically from severed necks.
Grancis turned to see who'd shielded her. The driver slumped off her back—chest neatly bisected.
"KyaAAAAAAAHHHH—!!!!!!!"
I reined in the hell horse and shook the blood from the Holy Sword. Grancis screamed from the roofless carriage.
I guided the hell horse toward her slowly.
"KyaAAAAAAAHHHH—!!!"
Grancis shrieked in near-madness, body convulsing wildly.
"H-Hurk! Huuuurk!"
Gasping, she scrambled away from the corpse on hands and knees.
"H-Hurk... H-Hurk... Haaahk..."
"Gallia Grancis."
At her name, she jolted like she'd been stung, whipping her head around. Meeting my eyes from the hell horse, her hands shook as she stammered, "P-Please... spare me... please... have mercy..."
Grancis clawed at her face desperately. Blood streamed down instantly.
"Please... I beg you... just spare my life... I was wrong... so wrong..."
I stared silently. She forced a grotesque smile and began stripping off her undergarments.
"F-Fuck me... use me... just spare my life... like this, I beg you..."
Spreading her legs to bare herself, she repulsed me—no lust, just disgust.
"If you were gonna crumble this easy, you never should've started."
I raised the Holy Sword slowly. Unbearable terror and despair filled her eyes as they tracked the blade.
Then a flash—Brione appeared beside the carriage. She grimaced at Grancis's pathetic state.
"Brione? What're you doing here?"
"Her Majesty sent me."
"Elua?"
"Yeah. Got your letter and immediately tasked the royal guard and me. Said grab the whole Grancis crew lurking around Rosens."
Grancis crawled toward Brione, pleading. "Mercy, mage lady... I know all sorts of ways to please a woman...! So please..."
"She's lost it completely."
Brione grabbed Grancis's head. She slumped unconscious instantly.
"Always got her way, so no wonder she snapped in a pinch like this."
Brione tsked at the fainted woman. "I'll take her. Her Majesty said kill the rest, but bring this one alive."
"Better off dead than facing Elua."
"Who knows. Anyway... I'll handle it. Her Majesty did you a favor, so yield this one."
I chuckled at Brione's words. "Never asked for help."
"Still, she went out of her way..."
"Fine. Take her. Once these scum are gone, I don't care what happens."
I sheathed the Holy Sword. Brione stared at me intently.
"What."
"Nothing. Just... been a while. You look healthy."
"Never healthier. Don't worry about it."
"Right..."
Brione paced, eyeing the wrecked carriage and corpses. Nothing for her till the guards finished cleanup.
She hemmed and hawed, then spoke. "No aches lately? Oh, you said you're healthy."
"Nothing else? I'm off. See ya."
"Uh, yeah."
I turned the hell horse, then remembered. "Tell Elua: Rosens took heavy damage, so have the palace send reconstruction aid via dimensional gate. It's a direct territory, after all."
"Got it. I'll pass it on."
"And... tell her to quit the crazy shit and behave."
"Say that to her face later."
I laughed and spurred the hell horse. Brione mumbled something too quiet to catch, so I headed straight for the inn.
Guards were herding bound company folk into a group. Off to the palace via gate. Poor bastards.
Damn... Elua's something else. One letter, and she sends the whole royal guard. With palace backing, this wraps clean.
Grancis's old man won't touch Rosens again unless he's suicidal. Hell, the company might fold entirely if the treasury audits their books.
Farewell, Grancis... Plan and execution were flawless. Biggest mistake? Not digging deep enough on me.
Back from the job past midnight. A few guards on horseback raced past, having spotted the southern flames. At the inn, the dark hall held only Idwild, waiting alone.
"Bertrand... you're back...?"
"Why're you up?"
"Worried... so I waited..."
Idwild rose and approached. Her eyes were puffy from crying.
"No worries. All done. Company folk are gone."
"Really...? Thank goodness... You took the Holy Sword... I was scared you'd get hurt..."
"Me? Hurt? Come on."
She beamed and nodded. "Yeah... you're... so strong..."
I smiled, stroking her hair. "Upstairs. Bedtime."
"Mm..."
On the third floor, before parting to our rooms, Idwild tugged my sleeve.
"Bertrand... thank you..."
"For what?"
"Getting mad... for my sake..."
Head bowed, gripping my sleeve, she said, "No one's ever gotten angry for me before... That's why... I'm grateful to you..."
"You're precious to me. It's natural."
"Ah... precious..."
Idwild looked up, stunned like she'd been smacked. Then tears poured.
"Crying again...?"
"It's nothing... Goodnight, Bertrand..."
She wiped her eyes with my sleeve and slipped inside.
"Oh? Idwild? Why're you crying? What happened?"
Della's voice from within. "Nothin'... Happy tears... so happy..."
Sheesh... that cow... Who'd believe she once lopped heads for talismans?
I crashed into bed. Drifting off to Idwild's sobs and Della's comforts next door.
In the palace's deepest underground dungeon—for heinous criminals and political foes too thorny for public trial—Gallia Grancis lay naked, bound to a contraption that splayed her legs wide, exposing everything.
The cell door creaked open. A shadowy woman entered. Snake-like eyes, scars riddling wrists and neck.
"You're Gallia Grancis?"
The woman stroked Grancis's thigh with a grin.