Глава 13

My mother never let her daughter see the kinds of battlefields that she knew.

Hm.

Not bad, not bad... you aren't a duke of Victoria for nothing.

How many Sarkaz have you eaten?

I don't have any such disgusting habits.

No.

You and your ancestors reveled in war, from Kazimierz to Leithanien.

A Duke of Windermere once had an army of Sarkaz. In the War of the Four Nations, which engulfed most of the land...

How did you or your ancestor use them?

Parlor tricks, the theft of witchcraft, a favorite of the Nachzehrer.

The blood and flesh of Sarkaz spread across the battlefield, becoming yet another bulwark for your glorious armada.

You ate them up, alright.

Are you after revenge, Sarkaz?

Of course.

How dare you trifle with the methods of my creation, the property of the Crimson Court?

He's being strengthened by the blood of the fallen?

No.

It is no longer bodily fluids, but a part of the curse.

Prepare counter-Arts.

Stay calm.

Take a deep breath.

My throat is coarse. I cannot speak. I try to gasp for air, but the smell of blood is all there is.

Vampire and... Confessarius.

This is Mother's flagship. Lynncardine's most experienced commanders, bravest sailors and most steadfast warriors are gathered here.

Mother once told me that war is not about heroes, about charging into danger. A commander must see the whole battlefield, in order to see the way to victory.

But—

I realize why this ship sailed deep behind enemy lines without support.

Because of me.

I...

No...

This is no time for self-flagellation.

I have to do something. If there is no place on Mother's battlefield for me... someone must bring order.

One of the Kings of the Sarkaz Court is here. But would they really attack us so recklessly?

My espionage background tells me that something is missing from this puzzle.

I have to do something.

Think!

Could it be...? No, Arts that can teleport an entire army are unheard of... our ship fell from within...

I know this feeling...

Damazti.

I encountered him personally when leaving Norport. I had heard about this terrible King of the Sarkaz Court from Amiya. But he was defeated. How could he...?

Still, this is the most likely answer.

There are two Kings of the Sarkaz Court on this ship.

A truly terrifying conclusion.

But what about the Vampire? Why didn't he go straight to his target, if he could use his witchcraft on the officers?

Attacking secondary targets with witchcraft, then creating disorder with assassins... that's too inefficient.

But the Sarkaz fighting with Mother...

The Damazti... did he simply infiltrate us by taking the face of a Victorian?

If...

—Damn it!

Mother!

Delphine?! Stay back—

That one's fake!

The Swordguards' weapons impale the Vampire.

The light of Arts penetrate the Sarkaz's twisted visage. The Arts of the Swordguards of Windermere, passed down from generation to generation, are simple, but brutally effective.

Mother quickly sets her sights back on the target.

I draw my sword.

The Swordguards do not hear my cry, but Mother is ready.

The Vampire laughs.

The massive Blood Arts explode before it can be cast.

A gust of wind sweeps through the sticky air, blowing away the sanguine rain and wind.

Death falls silent. True terror begins to spread, slowly but surely.

Blood converges upon the hand of the silhouette, forming a crystal. Then...

The other, the true—

Enough.

I don't enjoy seeing another wear my face.

The Swordguards pull back instantly.

Even so, two of them are late by an eyelash, and their flesh takes incomprehensible form in a split second.

I can feel my sword hand trembling, my throat seizing up. This is a battle beyond my comprehension.

A little girl saw through your disguise.

You're losing your touch, Damazti. The previous you would have been more convincing.

Is that so?

These Arts are merely a poor imitation by the Confessarius.

Foul, uncouth, vulgar killing.

He looks towards me, then towards Mother.

I'm trembling.

Delphine.

Y-Yes!

Good job seeing through the trick. All the Swordguards would have been lost.

But there's nothing more you can do here now.

I, I—

The escort fleet is approaching. We must ensure that communication with the fleet is maintained.

The communications tower... it's behind the deck!

The enemy is few in number. Go.

...I'm counting on you.

She pats my shoulder with an injured hand.

Only then do I notice that she has many more scars on her than I remembered.

Understood.

I turn around and run for the communications tower.

Pride overcame fear in that instant. Mother said, 'I'm counting on you.'

I see the Confessarii trying to blow the communications tower, and our soldiers still resisting.

Thank goodness, the communications tower hasn't fallen yet—

The ship's slowing down?

It's the engines! They're attacking the engine room!

D-Damn it!

Grab my hand!

Don't look back! Get up!

Thank you! Oh, L-Lady Delphine—

We must regroup and counterattack. Reinforcements are on the way.

Listen up, men!

Dust clouds in the distance! Help is on the way!