Interlude 3-1: The General (2/2)

“Ghosts in golem bodies. Ghosts in... golem...” The Inquisitor's eyes slammed open, and her already-pale skin blanched even further. “Oh. Oh you... you little... you BEAR! HER! YOU FUCKING SOULSTONED HER...” She slammed her mouth shut.

“Yes, they did have a bear with them. Funny thing, she said she was a paladin.”

The Inquisitor's jaw worked, and she hissed, turning her head to the side. “I'll want a full debriefing on my desk tomorrow.” She finally said, turning and walking away, shaking with every step. “Clean up this mess. The assault will be delayed now, due to your incompetence.”

“My apologies, Ma'am,” Mastoya said.

“Insufficient,” Anise barked, reaching the Princess' side, and putting her hand on her shoulder.

The Princess looked from the Inquisitor's hand, back to Mastoya.

Her face was as red and burned as the Inquisitor's hand, Mastoya realized. And a cold feeling ran down her spine. “I'll go and get that ready for you.” Mastoya husked, and saluted.

A few steps toward the door, and she expected Anise to order her dead.

Just at the door, and she expected the command to be given, and the Hand to spring into action.

Then she was through the door, and out, and sweat rolled down her face as she realized how close she'd come.

It was only a suspicion, no proof at all, but those burns had been way too similar. And the implications that arose...

I have my duty. I have no proof. I have to move carefully here, she knew. And before all of that, I have an assault plan to salvage She sighed, as more mundane concerns trickled down. And also a letter to write to the King, to try and save my career.

She rather thought the odds were good. She was the best general he had, and he needed her for the assault that would end this fucking war for good. But the Inquisitor was a thing of malice, and whatever had happened here tonight, she'd never forget the insults that Mastoya had given her. Blood would come of it.

Blood.

She looked down at her blade, which still dripped with ichor. Taking a cloth, she swiped it along the sword, and sheathed her holy symbol. Then it was a quick turn, back to the Courtyard, picking up her honor guard along the way.

“Ma'am? Everything all right?” Myers said, saluting, slamming her fist into her breastplate.

“Walk with me,” she said. Once they were back in the keep, in a lonesome hallway between checkpoints, she gave the gory rag to Wedge. “Go to the enchanters. Get them to analyze this. It's darkspawn blood, but I need to know what kind.”

“Ma'am?”

“No one else is to know of this. Especially the Inquisitor.”

“That's... yes Ma'am.”

If it was from the old ones, well, that was problematic, but it was the Inquisitor's problem.

If it was from something daemonic, though...

If it was daemonic she had a great, big problem, and no clear way to solve it.

“Garon, you little shit,” she muttered to herself. Things weren't perfect before he'd shown up, but they'd been simple, and that had been enough. With the booze, and her duty to lose herself in, that had been enough.

Now she stood on the edge of a deep, dark precipice, with not just herself, but everything she'd built, everyone she'd trained and supported, everyone who looked up to her at risk. And worse, was the possibility that she'd erred, badly. No general likes to face that possibility. But the bad ones hide from it, cover it up.

Good ones owned what they'd done, and adapted the strategy so they didn't make the same mistake twice.

Mastoya desperately hoped that when this was all said and done, that she had been a good one.

*****

Crouched over her desk, midway through the Inquisitor's report, at the darkest hour of the night, she looked up as heavy metal footsteps clanged on the hallway outside. Heavier than any of her guards. She reached for her sword.

Then metal rapped on wood. Knocking.

“Enter,” she called, keeping her hand around the sword's hilt.

Emmet stood there, literally filling the doorway. Mastoya let go of the sword. If the Inquisitor had sent him to kill her, it wouldn't help. She shot a glance at her window, and scooted her chair to the side for easy defenestration if it came down to it.

“Does the Inquisitor need me?” Mastoya asked.

Behind him, the two of her honor guard on duty did their best to peer around him, faces looking to her, awaiting her order.

“No.” Emmet ground. “The message I am to deliver is private.”

She glanced back to the honor guard, and nodded. “Hicks, Myers, turn in for the night. You, big guy, come in, shut the door, and lower your voice.”

Emmet did, moving oddly daintily for something so massive, something that she was pretty sure could punch down her entire Fort one wall at a time.

“Your message?”

“It is not actually a message,” The golem confessed. “I have doubts. I must talk of them. And you are the only other person in this fort that I am permitted to talk with freely if the need arises.”

“I am? Who told you that?”

“King Melos. In his secret instructions. I am permitted to reveal my sapience to Princess Cecelia, Anise Layd'i, and you. You are the only three confirmed one hundred percent loyal to the Crown here.”

“Before tonight I'd agree with that,” Mastoya said, opening up her drawer. “Do you have an extra stomach compartment for drinking?”

“No. Why? Such a thing seems foolish to install upon a golem.”

“I'd figured there was more to you than just a silent machine. You don't move like the old war golems we have down in the Machine bay... had.” Mastoya sighed. “Shattered to bits without even being able to react, since their handlers told them to stand still until ordered otherwise. You're a pretty shitty actor, Emmet.”

“Charisma has not been a priority in my training. Aside from my Knight levels.”

“What all do you have, exactly?” She said to buy herself time and think.

“Archer. Alchemist. And Grenadier for ranged attacks.” Emmet rumbled, his voice as low as it could go, and still filling the room. “Berserker. Juggernaut. Knight. And Mercenary for close-combat engagements.”

Sweet fucking Ritaxis' assplate. Yeah I wouldn't make it out the window.

“And just to be clear, you follow the orders of the Inquisitor? So she could order you to tell her about anything we talk about here, and you'd have to obey?”

“Yes. Although...” he leaned forward. “I have been ordered to put the orders of Princess Cecelia above hers, and not tell Anise Layd'i about this fact. You are third in order priority.”

“Okay. I'll watch what I say.” Mastoya kicked back a shot, feeling her spent moxie restore a bit. “So why are you here?”

For a while, he was silent, the gems behind his helm flickering.

“Your brother came to you tonight. And he is now a golem.”

“Yes.” It had been him, she was sure of that. Not a trick, not a test. That had been Garon, she'd stake her command on it.

Shit, maybe I'll have to.

“My brother came to me tonight as well.” Emmet said. “I did not know I had one. He is also a golem. And I very much wish to know more about him and I thought that since your brother came to YOU tonight as a golem, that perhaps you could tell me more about this, and help me decide how to resolve the conflict.”

“The conflict?” Mastoya asked.

“Per Inquisitor Layd'i's orders, confirmed by Princess Cecelia, the next time I see my brother I am to quote unquote rip his fucking head off and burn all his remains and make him suffer if at all possible through every step of the process and kill or destroy everything that he ever loved within his sight before he dies if at all possible you massive metal meathead.”

Mastoya laughed, sardonically. “Yeah, sounds like one of my brother's friends, all right.”

“But my earliest command, was to protect my family. And he is on the list.”

Mastoya sighed, got up, and looked out the window. No imps, the courtyard was bare, save for the watchers she had stationed to make sure nobody spied on her.

Then she nodded, and turned back to Emmet. “Okay. First thing I should tell you? I am absolutely the last person you should be asking on how to NOT kill your relatives...”