XI

“Any word from the scouts?” Adrian asked, eyeing the group of men that were currently standing and waiting on the road a good forty feet away, with their horses behind them another twenty feet, making it amply clear that they were waiting to be approached. Adrian looked them up and down, the scout had been right, they were whitecoats, soldiers of Kurtz apparently here to deliver some sort of message. It was rather worrisome that they were so lightly provisioned, none of their mounts seemed to have anything in the way of packs or food, which meant the soldiers were within short riding distance of support, and perhaps that support was of a full army.

For all Adrian knew they could be up against 40,000 troops stationed just around the corner. Well, perhaps not seeing as even a blind man could have seen such a force as that if it was on the move.

There were four of them, all wearing the uniforms of officers in the Kurtz army which consisted of white cavalry pants tucked into black boots that rose to knee hight studded on the side with a row of silver buttons, black leather belts, the eponymous white coats with black cuffs on the sleeves, black high collars that covered the majority of the neck, black officers epaulets pinned with their ranks and a tall plumed hat, the shape triangular with the central triangle golden and the plumage that followed its shape black. From the looks of it, there were two Leutinits, a Sargent and an ensign present.

“No sir,” Torin said unhappily, “that squad should have reported in an hour ago,” he eyed the white coats with disgust. “What are your orders, sir?” Adrian didn't answer, he simply dismounted and helped Isi off of the mount. “Sir?”

“Dismount, we are going to see what this is all about,” Helheim and Kurtz might not be friends, but they were currently not at war, thanks in part to the treaties that both empires had agreed to. Adrian heard the three other men dismount and he held up his hand. “Sargent, you and only one other will be joining me,” he said.

“Sir?” Torin asked confused.

“It would be improper for us to approach with more people than they have,” he said, looking down at Isi who was in the process of straightening her borrowed uniforms. Adrian decided that he would need to get ahold of one of the seamstress’s after they were done here to tailor the uniform for her…

“Yes sir,” Torin said after a pause, “Yackob you stay here with the horses,” he handed his reins to the ensign as did everyone else. Turning his back to the whitecoats Adrian pulled out his reagents and licked two fingers, pressing the first into the Nitre, and the second into the Sulfer. He concentrated and pre cast the spell, hoping the distance and the fact that it was daytime hid the light of his sorcery. The cooling burn ate away at the reagents and he felt the spell fall into place, like a name that he needed to remember and had to keep on his mind or he would lose it forever. He pulled the pistol out of the chest holder and checked to make sure the pan was primed and the hammer was fully cocked, satisfied with that he replaced it and loosened his sword in the scabbard, unclipping the leather thong that held it in place across the quillions. “Ready?” he asked, and he received three nods in confirmation. “Alright, let's go see what we can learn.” he turned on his heels and lead the way to the apparent neutral ground where the Kurtz empire officers waited for them. Adrian was back in his full uniform, his dark blue woolen coat that went past his knees with a red stripe on the right shoulder, the high collar of the mantle standing up to block the wind, and draped over both shoulders along with a tricorn hat of the same color. Under the overcoat, he wore a full black iron breastplate and a set of black iron grieves. It was hot and stifling, but it was the image he needed to present, he stopped around twenty paces away from them, Isi at his side practically growling at them. It would seem as though she hated the white coats as much as Adrian did, no surprise there…

“Greetings Sir, I am Lukas Maxillium Alexander the third, an officer of the fifth battalion in the royal army of the Emperor his holyness Numero Tilinura Matillis Haruta-” he took a deep breath and went on with his announcement of his emperor’s name and honor and how it was his sovereign right to rule over all men and- his voice cut out as Isi raised her hand, her eyes glowing brightly. Slowly she closed her fingers into a fist, the whitecoat’s eyes grew wide. Adrian took one step back unconsciously as the man began to shimmer, he fell to his knees, his mouth open in a scream, no sound came out as his mouth kept opening farther and father. His jaw fell and then the rest of him began to drop like a wax figure melting before a blazing fire. His clothes burned off in an instant in the fireless heat, the saber at his belt dripping down his leg and covering the dirt path as molten steel. His body dissolved into a puddle at the other whitecoat’s feet.

He had seen her do that once before, when they had been escaping, and it as just as disturbing this time around. It was hard, very very hard for him to reconcile the image of Isi he had formed in his head, the playful but faithful and gentle Isi with what she could do to a man with a wave of her hands. To make matters worse he didn't understand her magic, it didn't seem to follow the rules all other spells did, she had no need for reagents, she simply did and her magic behaved, no chants, no ritual movements, just raw magical power. Not understanding it made it hard to trust it, so instead, he decided to trust she knew what she was doing.

The alternative was too terrifying to even consider...

“Shit-” Adrian growled as time seemed to slow down as everything devolved into chaos. He pushed Isi out of the way pointing his fingers at a whitecoat desperately attempting to pull a pistol out of a belt holster. The spell reached the man just as he finished clearing the holster a great wave of heat that instantly cooked him, vaporizing the moisture in his veins and leaving him standing there, still holding the pistol and still standing but petrified with sunken skin over a skeletal body. Two shots rang out the roar of musket fire loud in his ears Adrian rolled, pulling the pistol out of the chest holster and aiming it. His target was right there, no more than ten yards away, he was a small bareheaded man, his plumed hat having fallen away at some point without Adrian's noticing. He was serious-faced, he had his gun out, the musket that had been slung onto his back, a discarded pistol at his feet still belching blackened grey smoke from the spent shot. He had it to shoulder, squinting at his target, sighting along it at something, sighting at one of his comrades. He raised his pistol straight arm and looked along the barrel focusing in and in on his target until it almost seemed he could poke him in the eye with it.

The whitecoat registered his movement just out of the corner of his eye at first, and then he was looking straight at Adrian his eyes widened as he knew he had been outmaneuvered. The swamp held it’s breath, he could hear nothing, not the flies, nor the sound of firing as his men aimed at the one who had decided to attempt to flee, not even the horse’s pained cry as a stray ball had taken it in the back leg, screaming as it toppled over in a frantic heap of agony and thrashing limbs.

The world had gone silent for him in that one moment.

On his face there came a lost expression, one of terrible peace and acceptance and he looked Adrian in the eye. There was that dreadful heartbeat as the hammer was released and a spark thrown into the waiting pan. In the silence inside his head gun roared louder than it could have possibly been. The stock bucked hard against his hand, as the pistol jumped slightly in his grip, the front arching up just enough to block the view of his face for the briefest of moments as smoke belched from the muzzle and the chamber to mingle with the already dissipating streams in the filthy air.

And suddenly he was gone.

Obscured by the smoke he did not see his body tumble backward off the road and into the swamp proper, the musket falling from his hands. Compared to the roar of his pistol, the whitecoat’s death was a study in silence.

When the smoke cleared he found himself on one knee his blade drawn one-handed prepared to charge any enemy he could see, but there was no need. Isi looked up from the spot he had shoved her to a smear of mud on her cheek but much to his relief she appeared to be alright. He glanced over at his men. Torin was crouched one knee to the ground a musket pointed at the sky with the last few fingers of smoke wisping away in the soft breeze above him. The other two behind him seemed fine, so Adrian cast his glance back further, and cursed.

Yackob was dead, no doubt the result of the musket ball the last man Adrian had taken out, Adrain didn't know if it had been pure bad luck or good aim of that man but Yackob had a hole the size of Isi’s fist in the side of his head, and all the horses he had been holding had bolted, fleeing in gods knows what direction.

“Shit,” Adrian growled again, climbing to his feet, his hands automatically going through the motion of recharging the pistol. He reached down and pulled Isi up to her feet and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled.

“Ki nunu lihura,” she said with a shrug.

“Yes I know he talked too much!” Adrain growled, “But did you not hear the words that came from my mouth not two minutes ago?” he narrowed his eyes at her, in fact, if he narrowed them anymore he might as well had them shut. “How the hell are we supposed to learn anything now?” Sh just shrugged again before walking over to what was left of the man she had melted and used the tip of her boot to prod at the bone of his skull.

It turned to dust, crumbling away into a nothingness that blew away on the soft breeze.

“Now what sir?” Torin asked, eyeing Isi with a good deal more trepidation than he ever had before. He turned his gaze towards his commanding officer, and in that gaze it seemed to Adrian there was a good deal of reproach, as though it was Adrian's fault that he had never cleared up the Sargent’s misconception that Isi was simply a normal woman, Albeit a Scraeling one but still, not a person who could reduce men to puddles with the simple wave of her hand. Adrian shrugged, after all, he was not responsible for the misconceptions of others.

“Now Sargent we go to war, let us just hope that those scouts were more successful at gathering information than we were...”