"Yggdrasil-sama… give me strength."
Another impact, another tremble, another flash of pain as her aching shoulder struck the unyielding surface of her prison. More than anything, Botan wished she could lay down, she felt so tired, her lungs burning in her chest. But she couldn't stop, if she stopped, she didn't think she'd be able to get started again, and then… and then she would die… and lots of other people along with her.
That was why she was doing this, wasn't it? Waiting instead of racing to find leads, risking herself and gambling the fate of her sisters on behalf of the Kingdom of Tristain.
Botan had watched these past weeks, and listened, and learned, more than she ever could have known. Just how vast the world was, how many hundreds of hundreds of hundreds of hundreds of people that existed in it. And how both the Fae and Nobility saw her and her sisters.
She had learned, that as bad as the Nobility might be, as cruel as humans like Fernand and de'Martou were, there were ones that were worse. Ones whose very image of the world would demand that every trace of ALfheim down to the last shoot, blossom, and Pixie, be erased or enslaved to their will. Ones like Lord Cromwell of Reconquista.
If Tristain fell to Albion, then their would be no safe place anywhere in the world for her or her sisters. The Faeries at least could be sent into exile and take their chances as nomads, but the small lives of the Gardens were inextricably linked to their homes and could be born nowhere else.
"The strength to preserve myself and my Sisters…" She stumbled back, giving herself what little distance she could to pick up speed before throwing herself once more at the barrier. Again she rebounded, and again she moved a bare hairs breath closer, closer to the edge, and closer to the drop that would either free her, or kill her
"… the wisdom to guide me on the right path…"
Desperation drove her now, desperation, and what she had seen beneath the country manor of the traitor and poacher Terrance de'Martou.
Almost there, just a few more pushes, she could already see the floor, far, far below, through the clear bottom of the glass. "… And the fortitude to see it done…"
It had all been up to her, to do what only she could do. The mansion was surrounded now, a hidden cordon of Royal guards, Faeries, and even a Faerie Lord to keep watch on the conspirators, ready to take action at a moments notice.
Botan had been filled with approval when she had seen the Faerie contributions, a small team of Sylph skirmishers, an Undine healer, a pair of Imp casters, three skilled Cait Syth trackers, and a trio of Spriggans led by Lady Morgiana herself. The presence of the last had renewed her confidence, the Spriggan Lord was everything that an Elder Sister ought to be and just as impatient as Botan herself to end this awful mess.
But still there was danger, the Royal Guards were not so numerous that they could afford to heavily cordon the perimeter, not without their absence elsewhere drawing suspicion. The Fae were likewise limited. Although keen of eye and swift of foot, the Faeries were unable to fly lest they draw attention from the mansion, and their magic was less suited to probing beneath the earth for signs of movement in the way that the mages could.
There were gaps in their perimeter, Botan understood why, but she didn't like it.
The idea of treachery, or assassination, it had taken time to wrap her mind around it. If she were still un-blossomed, she doubted she could have understood it at all. The idea one would turn on their home, it was alien,  evil . And the ideas of how to fight it made her no more comfortable, sneaking about rather than walking in the light, lying, and spying rather than confronting the Traitors in the open. This was not the way she knew things should be, and her heart rebelled.
But if it was to be this way, she had thought she would have to bare it, if only for a little while longer, and do the most honorable thing she could think of.
So long as the conspirators could seek refuge underground, there were still places that they could hide their secrets. But there were few places that remained off limits if you were small, and you were determined enough.
Her obsessive exploration of the manor had finally born fruit just a few days ago. In the supply room adjacent to the stairway leading underground, she had found a place where a faint air current wafted up, carrying with it many of the scents she had smelled during her brief exploration of the safe room with Kirche.
There must have been a leak some time during the winter months, snow on the roof melting from the cooking heat of the adjacent kitchen, water dripping in from above and then freezing on the cold floor near the outside walls. The years of neglect had given icy fingers time to work their ruin, separating stone and mortar, splitting rock, until, at last, a narrow fissure had been opened, barely wide enough for a mouse. Barely wide enough for Botan as it turned out.
She had surged with excitement as she realized what she had found. Her past attempts to return to the underground had been thwarted time after time. Only the tunnels provided an alternative means of entry, and they were just as impenetrable thanks to their labyrinthine layout and many gates and doors.
It appeared that the de'Martou estate had been built over the ruins of a much older fortification that had guarded this area centuries ago, and over the years, the foundations and tunnels of that previous construction had been restored and added to so that the escape tunnels infested the entire area like mole rat dens.
The earth mages had assured Lady Morgiana that they had uncovered all of the exit points, but there were a worrying number of places where the tunnels plunged deeper into the rock strata and it could only be guessed what was down there.
When Digby had started to gather up the others, ordering them down into the 'safe room', Botan had seen her opportunity. Watching them with desperate voirism, the Vespid Knight had grown familiar with the mages, their habits, and their routines. This broke from the normal pattern where only a handful would go down into the safe room at a time, and if beings were like Pixies and other animals, then that definitely meant something was about to happen.
Following them through the door wasn't an option, Digby closely watched each of them as they descended the stairs, giving the treacherous Faerie assassin a doubly hard look before gesturing for him to continue on his way. The corridor beyond descended straight down into the safe room, there would be no place for her to hide. That left only one other option.
And so, not knowing what she would find to report back, Botan had climbed down into the dark, squeezing into a place that no Pixie ought ever go. Claustrophobic blackness closing in on her on every side, so dark that she was blind with only hearing and smell to guide the way.
Judging only by the distance she had traveled and the noise from ahead, Botan had been forced to correct herself, the space was not quite enough for her to squeeze through. Not without a good deal of discomfort anyway.
Privately, she was quite pleased with how her blossoming had turned out, she was even taller than Kigiku, which had mattered quite a lot to her when she'd been a Little Sister, though now she wasn't quite sure why. On the other hand, she sucked in her chest until she felt like she would implode, the slighter Knight would have had an easier time making it through this place.
"Just hurry up with that." Digby instructed from around a curve in the chasm ahead, lit by flickering candle light. "We're already behind schedule as it is."
"Don't be such a bother, 'Old Boy'," The voice that Botan had come to associate with the Faerie Assassin answered back, "Once we're down in the corridor, it'll be a straight shot just East of Tristania. Though mind the antlions, it's spawning season!"
Grunts and gasps from the other mages were followed by a loud cackling and the sound of a hand striking fabric. "I joke of course… they spawn all the time."
She tried to suppress a shiver. Rip Jack was the only one here that scarred her. She despised the mages, what they stood for, and respected their power to kill her if she was discovered, but otherwise, they were just beings that she was here to observe, learning about them so that she could complete her mission.
Jack was different, erratic, she was never sure if what he did was with purpose or done on a whim.
Sometimes, he would simply stand in a corner, waving his hands about as if there was something there that Botan couldn't see. Other times, he would murmur under his breath while sitting in a stupor until someone walked along to speak with him about something specific. Mostly, he simply slept through the day and much of the night, unless he was needed for something. In which case, the others would wake him very,  very  carefully.
After a while, Botan had figured it out. Jack was a Direwolf hiding in a pack of dagger dog mutts, and the rest of the pack knew it. There was only one other who dared to court him, either a Wolf himself or maybe Kidfox.
"Some lot of elite troops you all are." That one was Chadric again, sounding confident as always, a lot more confident than Digby, even though he insisted he was  just an actor. "I do believe Miss Isabella and I could manage this well enough on our own, if you'd all like to run with your tails back to the good Lord Cromwell."
"I do believe Monsieur Jack is simply trying to up his rate again." The dark haired water mage, Isabella purred.
Another laugh. "Can't blame a man for trying!"
Botan peaked around the corner and into the gloom. It was like she had thought, they were all here now. More importantly they were  all here now, standing together among the crates and boxes, leaning over the table illuminated by mage light. She'd been able to catch snatches of conversation here and there, but the different mages were seemingly divided into groups and only knew a very little about the greater plan. And almost always, whenever it got really good, Digby would find them out and berate them. It had never left her with any answers, only more questions.
Nor had the Fae or Tristanians been able to figure it out either. Frustrating!
Now though, they were all gathered for a meeting, talking in hushed voices, swiftly, and with Digby's approval. And the air, the scent of sweat heavy with pheromones, fear, anger, an edge of fight or flight instinct waiting impatiently to be let out.
She had to hear this, had to see everything. So cautiously, carefully, Botan found her way to the mouth of the crevice and out into the room itself. The opening was near the back of the room, everyone had their backs turned to her. If she was going to get closer to see what was going on, now was her chance.
A short hop, wings spread to slow her fall, and needle sword at the ready to sink into surface of the wooden crate. She was completely concealed once more by the shadows. Just a little further, through these gaps, and she would be able to see from between the boxes that a bored looking Rip Jack was leaning against.
She crept closer, the Nightcrawler scent of the illusion Fae filling her nostrils.
"You three are being compensated more than handsomely for your services." Digby grumbled. "You shouldn't complain."
"Mmm ah, perhaps, but then again perhaps not." Jack leaned against one of the crates. "Unless you'd like this whole plan to fall apart. I'd say we've been rather instrumental. Crucial even, savvy?"
"Tch." Digby reached for his sword-wand, eliciting a quick retreat from Jack who raised his hands easily.
"Now now 'Old Boy', no need for that! Naturally I'd be happy to have it bumped a bit higher, but I'll be happier still when I'm payed."
Oddly, between the two, Digby was the only one who seemed frightened, Rip Jack was relaxed all the while. The Mages sensed it too, Digby nodded slowly, more to reassure himsel. "First, lets see if your man is as dependable as you claim, leaving this until now… "
"There wasn't much of a choice." Isabella said as she opened a small box that she had set on the table, extracting an ornate, silver ring. "Getting just this much was difficult enough, more might have raised suspicion. And," she raised the ring to the light, holding her wand close to a blood red gem at its center, "Even with powerful magic like this, you saw how quickly they rot away with the other blood, and that has been with all of my talents." Breathing a chant, the gem began to lose its color, revealing itself for the miniscule crystal orb it was as a thin stream of vivid red fluid was drawn from within like a streamer by Isabella's magic. The water mage glanced to Chadric. "Are you ready?"
"As one ever can be to walk into a den of lions." The 'Thespian' said, extracting a crystal orb from a nearby sack and taking an offered seat cross legged atop a stone bench.
Without further comment, he placed the tips of his fingers carefully against the orb and pressed inward firmly, the crystal surface resisted at first and then began to give way, his hands sinking in to the palms. Small flickers of light began to flash across the orbs surface, from Chadric's palms, burrowing down to its dark center and then vanishing.
Carefully skirting the table with the red streamer following behind her, Isabella waved two of the other mages aside, hardly noticing Jack at all as she came to stand right next to Botan.
A flash of fright. Had she been seen? But now, Isabella was looking up beside her to the contents of a crate. It was the figure she and Kirche had seen before, the Golem, or mannequin that had been left partly unpacked in straw, its doughy white limbs hanging lifelessly at its sides. Now, almost completely unpacked, Botan could see the pegs that suspended it from beneath the arms, holding the Golem erect.
Isabella reached out, cupping the featureless ovoid of a head with a look of affection. "To think we've had to go through this many just to get it right!"
"Isabella." Digby grunted.
The water mage sighed. "But of course."
Returning to her chant, Isabella pointed her wand at the forehead of the Golem, the bloody red streamer obeying, striking the surface and burrowing inwards until it had vanished. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, but Isabella's chanting continued, growing more forceful with each word.
The orb in Chadric's hands flashed and the Golem's crude hands twitched and then twitched again, closing spasmodically into fists and then beginning to split and separate. The gripping pad squeezing itself into four, meaty, sausage like fingers that thinned and flowed. The changes reached upward, the forearms straightening and stiffening to only bend at the elbow, and then the upper arms going rigid to rotate solely at the shoulder. The process repeating from the toes of the feet, splitting and bending at ankle, knee, and hip.
Another flash from Chadric's crystal ball, a sympathetic hiss of discomfort. The golem trembled, taking its first step, doughy flesh peeled from the surfaces of the holding pegs as it stumbled free from its crate reaching its hands to its featureless head. It doubled over as if in pain.
Watching, it was like the sculptors Botan had seen working in the Market with Louise. The Golem was reducing, shrinking down, body taking on definiton. Physique emerged from indistinct flesh, muscle, vertebrate, genitals, fingernails, lips, nose, eyes and ears. It was a like a statue was coming to life, and becoming more and more lifelike with every breath.
In the shadows, Botan leaned forward, the mages did too, everyone was trying to see. Or so it seemed, almost everyone…
Botan's first and last warning was a sharp, painful tugging on her wings as she was pulled bodily back through her hiding space. A Little One would have screamed, anyplace else, Botan would have screamed too. As it was, it took all of her restraint not to raise her voice as the scene spun away from her and into shadows.
By the time she understood what was a happening, she found herself hanging, wriggling like a worm on a hook before a pale, hatchet faced Faerie. She was frozen in terror. This close, she could smell Rip Jack's rancid breath, even tell what he'd last eaten. Eyes like dirty gold studied her, free hand reaching up to pluck away her sword before she could regain her senses and stab to free herself.
"I thought my perception skill had been acting up. That  buzzing in the walls." He whispered seemingly to himself.
She looked past Jack fearfully, only to realize that in the space of a heartbeat he had snatched her from her vantage and slipped into a shadowed corner, out of sight, and out of mind of his mage accomplices still watching whatever was happening with wrapt fascination.
"And what do was have here? Do my eyes deceive me, or do I have myself a little Pixie Girl wondered off from the nest?" It took all the bravery she had at that moment not to answer, instead shooting the Spriggan a hateful glare as she squirmed.
The anger was good, it let her forget that she was terrified. Of everyone here, the mages would simply kill her. But Rip Jack… she didn't  know what he would do. Squish her like a bug, or pull her wings off?
And then it sank in, beyond the personal danger, failure, complete  failure!  Her incompetence, her stupidity! And with it, the horror of her mistake. She trembled as she felt her limbs going limp in defeat.
"Still, strange for you to spawn here of all places." Jack muttered to himself, glancing over his shoulder. "I suppose you're some sort of Quest NPC then. Like the other Noobs kept for themselves."
Botan's head shot up. Others?!
"Where are they? Where are they?!" She half shouted, small voice not carrying far, and blessedly not carrying over the the sounds of Isabella's fevered chanting. Not that it could matter now, but she would not stop until the life was finally taken from her. "What did you do with them?!" And why was he using those words, the ones that Yui had asked her about before?
The Spriggan starred at her blankly, and the his smile widened victoriously. "So you are part of that quest! Wonderful. Those Noobs must want the loot for themselves." He looked over his shoulder suspiciously. "Should be interesting anyways, but this is a well paying job so… What to do… What to do?"
"Monsieur Jack?" Digby was calling, seemingly for the firs time aware that Jack was missing from the group. "Monsieur Jack, where have you run off to now?" Under his breath, as if somehow thinking the Spriggan couldn't hear, digby added, "You blasted crow!"
"What do think? Amusing myself, 'Old Boy'." Jack rolled his eyes. "I've already seen this done enough times helping Isabella-san and Chad-kun, nothing new to me."
"Whatever." Digby grunted. "We need you to verify the likeness. And don't tamper with anything!"
Sighing quietly, Jack looked around the small space, the rows of bottles and specimen jars until he found one that was empty. Without another word, Botan found herself flicked unceremoniously into one of these jars, the lid screwed tightly and returned to the shelf. "That should keep you until I get back." She heard Jack say in a voice muffled by the bottle.
Cut off from the world by a clear barrier that might as well have been an impenetrable wall for all her ability to pierce it. Beating her fists against the glass of her prison, Botan had never been more humiliated.
"Marvelous work as always Isabella." A cool and unfamiliar voice was heard above the murmurs of the mages, echoing distantly against the lid above her. "Only a shame that I cannot work the wings."
"Perhaps you lack the instincts for it." Isabella's voice replied. "It is likely just as how Elf magics cannot be used simply by duplicating the form of an elf. Or perhaps you can learn to use them, but not in the time we have now."
"I wouldn't bother." Jack said as he returned from the shadow alcove to the group. "This one's hopeless at ever managing it."
"So?" The cool voice asked. "Does it pass muster."
A moment of silence. "Seems convincing enough to me. Gotta admit, that magic is totally hax."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Monsieur Jack." Isabella praised.
"Enough of this!" Dibgy interrupted. "We've no more time for delays. It worked, wonderful. The Gala proper starts in only a few hours, even with the shortcut through that blasted Faerie terrain, we must leave now to make it to our rendezvous. Wyatt, take your team and make sure that the escape path that little worm de'Martou has secured for us stays clear. There can be no mistakes."
"But isn't that a job for Janglers and his men?"
"And you trust a Tristanian to do the job?" Said with a note of contempt. "No, I want this done properly. We must be out of the city and disposed of that… thing that Chadric is puppeteering before the Royal Guard has time to make sense of it."
"Then I should hope you keep my body safe and close enough for me to keep control of this puppet, Old Boy." The cool voice said.
"And what about de'Martou?" The one who had answered to Wyatt asked.
"As if it isn't obvious?" Digby said out loud. "Once he's served his purpose, kill him."
"NO!" Botan shrieked within her glass prison, perhaps glad that she could not be heard. She needed the traitor alive. If he died before she could rip the next clue from him, then it was all for nothing. She almost didn't hear the rest in her despair.
"Now then, you all know your parts. Our agents are in position on the barge. The Fae have been most proud of their contributions to the night's display. And finally, Monsieur Jack, the last part of your contract."
"Yes, of course." Rip jack chuckled. "You want the real one taken out of commission."
"Swiftly." Digby confirmed. "If your man could get us his blood, then I'm sure his information about the route that he will take is accurate. Go to the team we've stationed along the road, make sure that he and his guards die tonight and that no word Reaches Tristanian ears. It would be most inconvenient for us."
"As you wish, Old Boy." Rip Jack snickered softly. "Oh, and Chad-kun, while it's nice of you to prove what they say about Salamanders, perhaps you should put your pants on now. I do believe Mart-kun went to a lot of trouble to get that ensemble for tonight. Ta ta!"
The sounds of foot steps, of rustling and of people leaving, but not by the way they had came, echoes growing fainter as one by one, the mages filed though the door that lead into the escape tunnel. The last through were Isabella, Digby, and… a second Faerie, Botan grimaced, as she saw him from her hidden vantage. A Fae male, she didn't think he would be unattractive by the standards used to judge males, dressed in a uniform like the ones preferred by the Tristanian army. And at last, a Golem, though not the one she had seen earlier. This one in no way resembled a human, Fae, or Pixie, but instead was armless, pot bellied, with four small legs that had to work furiously to keep up at a waddling trot.
At last they had disappeared into the darkness, the door shut and locked behind them, leaving Botan in a near catatonia. Only when the echoes at last faded was shock replaced by something more productive. Rage!
She had shrieked until her lungs were horse, beating and striking the walls around her until her palms and fists had been raw, until at last reason had started to return. She had to get out, she had to tell that Spriggan Elder Sister what was happening, had to tel everyone what she had seen.
That thing, the second Faerie, it… she didn't think it was a Faerie at all… or a Golem really… but what? It was important! And they'd said something about the Royal Guard. The attempt had to be tonight. Worse, they'd mentioned… mentioned a corridor!
The corridors, deep passages that ran along Yggdrasil's roots, often for many kilometers, the upper underground that lay above the domain of Jottunheim and separated the world of light from the domain of the evil gods. If de'Martous tunnels had found a corridor then it would possibly be too deep for the Earth Mages to detect. They'd never know!
Desperation had set in, and desperation had driven her purpose. And quickly, she had discovered something worse. She had less time then she had expected. The air was fast growing hot and humid, stifling with every breath. The lid above her head was opaque, no screening, no air holes. This wasn't a prison, it was coffin! And with every second she was using up what little air she had left.
And damnably, it was a coffin she could not break free from. Not with her strength, and not with her magic. A Wind Shrike would have shattered the glass, or burst the lid, but in these confines, doing so would smash her own body to jelly in the back wash. Using a flame spell would do much the same, if it didnt use up her air first.
That only left gravity, and the long fall to the floor, and the dim hope that she would land just so not to be sliced to ribbons by shattering glass all around her.
She didn't know how long her efforts took, long enough she supposed, long enough for the air to grow painfully thin, until she could barely even think save for the litanies she had committed to heart. Inching, further, blow by blow, until one last push sent her over the edge.
Botan felt herself grow weightless, but by now she was too weak to care. She pressed against the lid, and then, like a kick, there was a shattering of glass, slices of pain, and a rush of blessedly cool clean air sucked greedily into her lungs.
The Vespid Knight turned over, gripping at her arms as rivulets of blood streamed from lacerations, the legacy of two close calls with shards of glass, a third that might well have decapitated her if she had still had the strength to brace herself. She didn't waste any time counting her blessings. The fresh air returned enough of her senses and strength.
In the darkness she saw nothing, but she heard distant foot steps, a sentry left behind to keep watch no doubt. They must have heard the braking glass. By the tame the heavy iron door was grating open, Botan was already worming her way back up through the crevice, back to the surface, to light, and to her allies. They had to move quickly or they would be too late!
From crevice to the store room, and from there through the ceiling to a gap in the thatch on the roof of the kitchen. Fresh air, real fresh air this time, almost caused Botan to faint and she had to pause to take her breath and her bearings. First, Triage, she couldn't risk flying while she was still losing blood. Whistling in a shrill note for Schwartz she turned to her wounds. She'd lost her sword, but Rip Jack hadn't thought to take the Willow Wasp Stinger knife she kept in her boot. The serrated implement blade was enough to cut off strips from her skirt and tie a rough bandage. That would do until she could make her report…
A shadow passed over head, not Schwartz, too big and coming in too fast. Botan looked over her shoulder to see the ugly silhouette of a hawk. Not an archeopterror, not a feathered dragon, not even a proper Spirrow, a native Tristanian hawk, raking its talons forward as it saw a tempting bit of pray laying out on the roof in the noon light…