A Well-Earned Reputation

Once she was finished gloating, Adantia explained the full tale of what had transpired with the Clan Heinrich mages.

The Great Plains guilds were a very loose sort of association. Even the war had not yet united them under a single leader, or a formal chain of command. A war council had been formed from the leaders of the various Federations—a formal title given to any regional guild that managed to put enough smaller guilds under their control.

There were thirty-nine of them in total, commanders and a full retinue of advisors working to form short- and long-term strategies for the war. Adantia refused to refer to their process as anything more dignified than 'sixteen hours a day of verbal dick-swinging'. She knew of the council, had visited it when she first arrived in their territory a month ago. What she had gotten from the woman that had warped out to assess the situation – aside from an earful – was their new location.

Following the loss of Adantia and the collapse of the battle lines, the Great Plains leaders had made the brave decision to flee as fast as their legs could carry them. A new base of operations now stood in central Nebraska, due west of where the Springfield forces had been halted at the border. The distance left would've made for a relaxing day trip, under less trying circumstances.

John foolishly allowed himself to think that meant their journey would be swift.

Traveling through the territory of the Great Plains mages was a series of stops and starts that nearly drove John to madness. The reality of how prideful and stubbornly self-managed each individual guild was sunk in a little further with each time they were brought to a halt, each time their convoy was pulled into yet another Trap Barrier and **** to submit to inspection, or to explain itself.

And each time, John was left to seethe in the back of their transport while Adantia, Lord Brighton, and Moira retold the same story. "Loose association" was too generous a description for the level of trust and communication that John witnessed during what should have been less than a three hour drive. "Disjointed" and "incompetent" were actually looking a little weak.

The most infuriating aspect of it was that a number of them outright admitted they had been informed of the Springfield forces' purpose in their territory, many even given a rough time of arrival. They simply refused to take the word of another guild when it came to the safety and integrity of their territory. With each delay, Adantia's (allegedly) humorous threats of **** sounded more appealing to John.

"You met with their leadership before. Can't you try calling someone on the council?" John's plea came as Adantia seated herself once more.

"I know them. Doesn't mean they like me." Adantia shrugged. She treated each new ensemble of low-tier mages with as much disrespect as she deemed appropriate for the occasion, but she never showed signs of fatigue or irritation with the repeated interruptions. "Besides, these morons don't care about orders. They just care about marking their territory. They're not gonna let any opportunity like that pass by. Even if I got all thirty nine of the head morons to call them up personally, they'd make up an excuse. Their bosses have bigger things to worry about than local guilds and border guards with egos bigger than their turf."

John suppressed a remark about knocking some sense into them, and settled for a low grunt instead. Adantia responded with a sigh every bit as amused as he was impatient.

"It's annoying. I know it, you know it, we all know it. No need to make it worse by griping the whole way there," Adantia chided lightly. "But at the end of the day, they're the ones losing lives and territory by delaying us. Not our circus, not our monkeys. Besides, right now, you look more impatient than I am—believe me, that's not a good look. Save your energy for when you're really going to need it."

"I'll tone it down. But I don't think a little griping is going to steal away the energy I need for the battlefield."

"Battlefield? Oh, no. I'm talking about the council." Adantia's grin turned wolfish. She turned around to make sure John could see every tooth. "You think these idiots are bad? Wait until we get to the head morons. I wish I could figure out how to make armor half as dense as they are."

John's frown grew in equal and opposite measure to Adantia's widening smirk. The caravan rolled onward, inching across the map toward their eventual destination.

"-tuck around just long enough for us to start depending on you, then waltzed off into the goddamn forest!"

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry," Adantia droned out. "Next time, instead of waltzing off, I'll just go ahead and die. I didn't realize I was inconveniencing you by saving my ass so I could come back to save yours. Again."

"You saved nothing! Our people are barely holding it together because of the breach caused by your fall!" The man in front of Adantia had nearly reached the point of rabid screaming, spittle flying from his lips with every other word. Only a thin mana barrier protected Adantia from the ill-tempered projectiles, leaving her to deadpan at the man until he stopped for breath.

"Yeah, I dunno if you noticed – probably not, since you haven't even dreamed about the battlefield in a couple decades," Adantia began, a brow stretched toward her hairline, "but I fought off their leader, their second-in-command, one of my own friends turned against me, and the fucking monstrosity of a secret weapon they'd been preparing to turn you and all your little friends here into lunch meat."

"And you failed!" The man roared.

"Even in an ambush, even in the worst case scenario, I took everything they could throw at me, and I'm ninety percent sure I fractured the mana core in that oversized lizard to boot. You have anyone in your guild that could do that? You have anyone that could've even gotten a spell off before they were halfway to being reanimated? No?" Adantia stepped closer, until the man's nose nearly brushed her own, the shield that had been deflecting his disgusting expectoration actually pushing him back without the woman herself needing to lay a finger on him. "Then how about you shut the fuck up and be grateful I was there. Because I lost an arm. You would have lost a whole fucking guild to that thing."

"We have lost guilds," another man interjected. He was an older fellow, wearing strange armor layered in feathers of a dozen different varieties. "Several of them, in fact."

"You see? Had we been prepared with our own men, we would have-"

"We would have lost all of them, and more, because the beast would have continued its rampage." The older man's voice was angry in a patient sort of way, the kind that made it clear he would not be spoken over by fools, if indeed by anyone at all. "Lady Adantia, the dragon you speak of was spotted shortly after your disappearance, but it has not been seen since. Only the assassin remains, though she alone has been carving a deadly path through the ranks of our commanders. I believe you are correct in your assessment of dealing that foul thing some great wound—they do not seem eager to risk it against us, even when our forces were in full withdrawal."

The voices continued in that back-and-forth, as they had been since the moment their troupe entered the meeting hall of the Great Plains leadership. Virtually nothing of actual tactical relevance had yet been discussed, save for what Adantia was able to pry out of them indirectly—like the absence of the dragon. The rest of the Springfield ensemble was assembled at one of the nearby tables, alternating between watching the spectacle and conversing among themselves.

"At least a handful of their leadership have some sense about them," Moira muttered. "I cannot tell which among the rest are attempting to curry favor or reputation by standing up to an outsider like her, and which are simply **** to have the failure lie at someone else's feet."

"It need not be one or the other." Her father's gaze never left Adantia, even when he chose to participate in their brief utterances. "Many of them hold no ties to this land save the fact that it is theirs. Their soldiers are wounded, despondent, and no doubt as furious as they are demoralized. They will seek to place blame somewhere, and anyone that does not point their followers in a certain direction risks them directing that ire toward them, instead. Better to portray themselves as the ones who can salvage the ruins of this stretch of their campaign and cast aspersions on a mage in poor position to strike them back."

"I know of their motivations, but I cannot claim to understand them."

"It is the way of the Abyss," Kim responded evenly. Her posture was relaxed and calm, though she had not resumed full meditation. She hardly closed her eyes even to blink, now that they were within the stronghold.

Kwang nodded sagely. His eyes were just as sharp as his daughter's. He lacked the eternal tension that Kim seemed to exude in situations like these, the coiled strength of a viper. Yet that stillness did not stifle the same sense of lethality; he gave the impression of a statue that might slit your throat before you realized it had begun to move.

"It is rare for any circle of mages to be particularly loyal, even to their own. Were we not new arrivals ourselves, they would surely place blame upon us as well."

"I might have preferred blame to what I see when they do glance our way." John longed for the touch of steel in his hand, but his blade grudgingly remained stowed. "Especially the way a few of them keep glancing at Moira."

"I'm afraid I have to agree," Vallya groaned. She was fully disguised, a glamour replacing her ostentatious clothes with a more mundane affair and concealing her vulpine ears and tails entirely. "I rather enjoy being the center of attention, but the only one that should be looking at us with that much thirst is you, Master."

Vallya was in good company. Sophia's wings were tucked, Shishun's own concealment left her walking rather than slithering, and even Lerianna's ears were awkwardly stuffed inside of a helmet, much to her chagrin. John wasn't fool enough to think there wasn't at least one mage among the gathered guilds that could see through their best efforts, but having a proper show of **** seemed more important than concealment. Especially given that all of them would be revealed on the battlefield in time, and without even the attempt at subtlety.

Still, every time he caught one of the mages' eyes wandering, it brought up old memories of those who sought to steal him away—or worse, his creations. Without a blade to grip, his fingers curled against his thigh hard enough to flex the enchanted plate there. Wordlessly, Moira's fingers slipped over his own. The touch of her armored hand against his stopped the **** clenching and brought John's eyes up.

"I cannot say I feel particularly at ease myself," Moira admitted. "And I will welcome the return to our home when the time comes. But that is why we are here together. What trust we cannot place in our other allies must be redoubled in what we give to each other."

There was an appreciation in Moira's emerald pools, an understanding buried almost as deeply as the contempt. Kim eyed the table as though she could see through it to the fond touch beyond the roughshod wood. She shifted slightly and allowed her eyes to drift over to her father before composing herself again. Silence wove itself across the table once more, lingering for a long breath, until the arrival of a new figure drew their attention from the eternal bickering once more.

"Pardon me. You are John Newman, yes?" The lilting voice was overplayed, too deliberately drawn out to be quite natural. "The Borman Circle extends its regards."

The woman that had approached looked to be at least ten years John's senior, as little as that meant in the Abyss. She was short and thin, but she held a wide stance that left her swaying as she came to a halt. Red hair was braided and casually tossed over her shoulder in a manner just controlled enough that the messy edges felt purposeful. She was a meek looking woman in a fierce looking outfit, a full set of formal battle regalia that didn't quite suit her frame, and which she seemed just slightly ill at ease wearing. The plate hung awkwardly at her joints in ways John would've missed a year ago, but couldn't miss after so much time spent among the Order's pragmatic knights.

"That's me, yes," John verified. His eyes flickered to the others at the table reflexively. He berated himself for making his own feelings of uncertainty so obvious. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"We understand that your journey here was made rather frustrating by some of our brothers in arms. We wish to extend our sincerest apologies; as you can imagine, the strain of the past several months has worn on our colleagues." The woman gave a half-bow, clasping her hand over her chest. Her fingers flinched awkwardly when they clattered against her own breastplate. "My commander wishes to offer you the hospitality that our fellow mages have done such a poor job of showing. She would love to speak with you directly, John Newman, in private, if you would-"

"You will have to wait in line, Cyrval." A taller, slightly more imposing woman strode up beside the first with a look of annoyance on her face. She was dressed similarly, though her armor draped itself without awkward slack or gaps around her figure. "These warriors are clearly awaiting the resolution of the meeting, and we had no intention of interrupting them. I had thought a fellow Chiron would have the decorum to wait as well, but it would seem that the Borman Circle is as unrefined as ever."

"Unrefined?" The first woman – Cyrval? – spun on her heel, fire and brimstone igniting in her heated stare. "What would you know of refinement? The sharpest part of you is your blade, you Tarwinnian brute!"

"These are mages of action. They didn't come up here to talk over tea, they came to fight in a war." Cyrval's anger only seemed to amuse the taller woman, who grinned down at her with a wolfish sort of glee. "So go return that armor to whatever fool you stole it from and let the warriors talk."

"And what exactly would we be talking about?" John inserted himself back into the conversation before the bickering could rise to rival the griping that continued in the background even now.

"About you, of course!" Metal rattled as the tall woman clapped her hands together. "The name's Elena Tarwin. My father is Elmar Tarwin—leader of the Tarwin Circle, and commander of the twenty-... whatever the hell designation they gave us for this gathering."

"The twenty-second," the original arrival seethed.

"Yeah, thanks, Vally…" The taller woman didn't as much as glance her way. "As I was saying, we believe we're best suited to-"

"What on earth are you brutes doing to the poor boy?"

John saw the movement in his peripheral before it was too late – he even began to jolt from his seat as the figure approached – but the sight of yet another woman swiveling to turn her generous rear his way made him hesitate. That was enough for her to plant that admittedly fabulous ass directly on his lap, paying no mind to the armor he was wearing as she splayed herself over his lap.

"Really, you brutes are so uncouth," the black-haired woman purred as she draped an arm over John's shoulders. "This man came to help us. He's going to be up to his neck in corpses within the week! Let him relax a little. You know, John, our guild leader understands the finer things in life – if you come with me, I can show you my private quarters. They're far more appealing than whatever barracks these fools would-"

"Adrianna! Keep your slutty hands where we can see them, and get off the boy's lap!" Elena growled.

"Yeah, we were here first!"

John looked across the table for aid, but found none to be coming – not quickly, at least. Sophia and Shishun were calm. Lerianna looked to be in utter disbelief. Vallya was fighting back giggles. Kim and Moira were at least annoyed about the whole ordeal; there was enough vitriol between them to carve a bloody path through the entire meeting hall, but an abundance of restraint kept them seated. Lord Brighton looked almost amused, though his eyes scanned over each woman in turn, the first thing that had truly stolen his attention away from Adantia's meeting.

"I will be remaining with the rest of my allies." John did his best to sound stern without resorting to outright hostility. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I have other matters to attend to."

When the woman that had seated herself upon him made no move to extricate herself, John helped her along with a gentle push on the small of her back. She made a noise of indignation, but went anyway, followed shortly by the others, leaving John unmolested by the Great Plains mages once more, in a far more literal sense than he had expected.

"Was that–"

"I'm not the only one being stared at like a piece of meat," Moira muttered without amusement. "At least they appear to have full intent on gaining your consent for the lecherous acts they have in mind. Most do not come to claim the Blessing with seduction."

"...No way." John glanced over his shoulder at the retreating women, back to the table, and then toward the women once more. "We only just got here. Why would they even think to approach me like that?"

"Your abilities have always made you a target. Be grateful that these approaches were at least peaceful, even if they did decide to appeal to your baser instincts." There was more dancing behind the axinite gems of Kim's eyes, but she chose her words carefully. "It's not as though you're difficult to read."

"Wha–" John glanced around the table. Lord Brighton was smirking, and both fathers were studiously avoiding his gaze. Kim and Moira were sharing the sort of look that made him wish they were bickering again. "I'm not that easy to read, am I?"

"Master. Really?" Two words from Vallya pierced like a dagger.

"You keep a certain sort of company. There is no shame in understanding your tastes, Father." Rather than mocking, Sophia sat up a little taller. Her eyes had lingered on the taller woman, the one who actually fit into her armor.

"I'm surprised more people don't give that way a shot. Lot more likely to work, if you ask me," Lerianna noted, tilting her body, challenging John to disagree. John settled for a sigh.