Bearskull turned her red, burning gaze to Conrad. In the quiet of the night, he could still hear Sir Robert's footsteps echoing against the cobbles.
"Are you a child?" she asked. Her voice rasping, undulating like the shadows she had convened with the night before.
"He found us," Conrad said. "What were we supposed to do?"
A look towards Arten, then back to Conrad. Bearskull's rage showed no signs of dwindling. "You could have done as the man said and ran," she said. "Fighting him, forcing me to show myself, you don't know what you've done."
"I didn't ask for your help," Conrad protested.
"No mate," Arten said, admiring the rifle he'd picked off of one of the corpses nearby. "But you needed it. Don't try and act all mighty. You were getting your arse handed to you by Wisser."
"What does that matter? I can't die. We've all seen it, had I a few more moments I would've brought him down."
"Pah," Bearskull scoffed. "You'd need a year or more to wear away at that man, darling. With a bit more finesse, if I'm honest."
Conrad felt something stir in his belly. It had been there before, when Sir Robert had been talking. An unfamiliar feeling, something that had been missing for so long it felt almost unnatural. Anger. Sadness. Emotions wended their way through Conrad, creating a confusing concoction he wasn't quite sure how to deal with.
"I couldn't just walk away," Conrad said. "He'd killed Biter."
"So now you can care about something?" Bearskull asked. "Only when things have gone too far, and your friend is dead can you bring yourself to decide those at the head of Drevon deserve to be ripped to shreds."
"That's about it yeah," Conrad said.
"Sometimes dear, I do wonder if you'd have been best left as a feast for worms."
Bearskull said the words quietly, without any of her added tones and rasping. She hesitated while saying them, pausing between each word as if they should never have been spoken. Arten finally looked up from the rifle he'd been inspecting. He was practically in love with the bloody thing.
Conrad thought about throwing Bearskull's words back at her, but he didn't have the strength. He'd never been much good at arguing. His words got twisted, and he'd end up being laughed at more times than not. A simple sigh was all that escaped him.
"We'll have to push things forward now," Bearskull said, ushering Conrad and Arten back into the house. Arten kept the rifle with him. "Perhaps even tomorrow we strike, I'm not sure."
"Would you be ready for tomorrow?" Conrad said, knowing full well he was the one who wouldn't be ready, no matter what day Bearskull decided to declare her war against the whole of Drevon.
Bearskull shook her head slightly. "You know, darling, I'm not sure on that either. I don't even know if I'd be sure on the originally planned day, or any day after that."
"Well why did you plan the first day?" Arten asked.
From her amorphous robes Bearskull pulled a handful of seeds. There weren't many, and they weren't big either. "I planted one of these deep beneath the city last year. Over that time I'd cultivated the plant, imbuing it with what strength I had so that on my fated day I could add its strength to mine, use it as a source along with my sisters' strength."
"That walk we went on," Conrad said. "That's why you were throwing seeds around."
Bearskull nodded.
"Still sounds like a load of bollocks to me," Conrad said.
"That's because mostly darling, it is a load of bollocks," Bearskull removed her mask, letting it clatter to the floor. "I was just putting off doing what I needed to do. If I'd have been the witch I make myself out to be, I would've snuck a few poisoned mushrooms into little Thomas' dinner and be done with it all."
Both Bearskull and Conrad slumped into separate chairs across the living room. With a flick of her hand and a muttered whisper Bearskull lit the fireplace, letting orange warmth flood the space. Neither Conrad nor the witch looked at each other.
"This has turned into a right mess," Conrad said.
"Magic is chaos, darling. I just thought I could control that chaos for long enough."
"We've had one minor setback," Arten said bluntly. "Sooner or later, one of us was going to get found. Yes, it's unlucky that Robert bloody Wisser of all people found us out, but it's not impossible to work around. Bearskull, you said whatever's under the city has power, correct?"
"Yes dear."
"I'm guessing with a year of growth it's going to do more than just tickle the Patriarch?"
"It was set to deal with any force he brought with him."
"Then why in all the gods that watch our piddling existence are we moping about? We stick to the plan as it was. Who cares if they know we're coming if we can deal with them all anyways? Make a show of crushing the world's finest army even on their best day and you'll force Drevon into taking on new leadership, new ways of thinking."
"You are a fanatical little weed, aren't you?" Bearskull said. "Perhaps we didn't quite wipe all the Pale Boy from you after all."
"Bit of a sore topic," Arten admitted. "But yes, I won't be letting Drevon continue as it does, and I think you can help with that."
"So, I'm just a pawn in your game, little weed?"
Arten nodded. "You're not the only one who can plan, witch."
"I can see why you'd want revenge," Bearskull observed, gesturing to Arten's body. "But why such grandeur? Why try to fight a country? Ambition, is it? You think you can rule yourself?"
"I'm no egotist," Arten said. "I always had my questions about Atoth, about Drevon but I never doubted that the people at the top had hearts. Now, after realising I've been lied to, that the people have been lied to, it doesn't sit right with me just claiming a personal vengeance and letting things stay the same. Those at Drevon's head have proven themselves unfit, I just need the people to know that."
"How noble of you," Bearskull said. "A shame your people are all miles and miles away across the Giant's Arm."
"You mean the Arch," Conrad stated. "No one's called it the Giant's Arm for years." He still wasn't looking at Bearskull, nor Arten for that matter. He rubbed his thumb and finger together, feeling the roughness of both digits as they passed over one another.
"Shows my age I suppose," Bearskull said. "Anyone else itching for some wine? Vodka perhaps?"
Conrad stood up and walked to the kitchen. Since her last bout of drinking, Bearskull had managed to restock the cupboards somewhat, though with each night after she'd slowly drained those stocks dry too. There was one half-finished bottle of vodka and two bottles of wine. Both were full of watered-down slosh, or at least they tasted like they were. Grabbing an ale mug, a goblet, and a small wooden cup about the size of his fist, Conrad returned to the living room and placed his collection of drinks and receptacles on a nearby table. Bearskull grabbed the goblet almost instantly, and Arten took the small cup, splashing some of the weak wine into it. Conrad didn't grab the mug or anything to drink, instead he resumed his staring. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. They were all good things to stare at, with constant little details to be found. A small painting Conrad had never seen, occasional cracks in the ceiling and floorboards that were clearly newer than the rest. Boring stuff, all of it, but Conrad was used to boring things. He needed them to get away from all this bloody excitement.
"Conrad?" Bearskull said. Conrad turned his head. The movement was quick, he hadn't had time to process it and so couldn't be sure whether he'd wanted to turn his head or Bearskull had turned it for him.
"Yes?"
"This is the last time I'll ask. Are you with us? You're not my slave or servant, and if you don't want to fight you are more than welcome to stay put. I know how you feel about all of this."
Honest, open, Bearskull spoke as she never had before. Gone was her passive aggressiveness, along with the patronising tone. For the first time since he'd known the witch, Conrad didn't feel as though he were being talked down to.
"Us?" Conrad asked. "Meaning you've changed your mind on Arten?"
Bearskull looked to Arten. "I believe if he wants to make a change in the world, he might as well be around to see the start of it. Besides, with that disgusting little thing he's picked up, he can stay far away from the fighting."
Arten turned his newly acquired rifle over in his hands. "Don't really know what I'm doing with this, but I suppose I could always learn."
"In a day?" Bearskull asked.
"Perhaps not then."
"Wisser," Conrad said, breaking the flow of conversation. "I'll fight with you, but I want Robert Wisser."
"So do half the women of Drevon it seems," Bearskull chuckled. A look at Conrad's face and she stopped laughing. "You're serious? By my knowledge he's already beaten you twice."
"Call it jealousy," Conrad said, wiping his face with a tired hand. "Or hubris, or whatever you like but I'm sick of the man. His pomp and superiority get under my skin and after what he's done to Biter, he simply doesn't deserve to draw breath."
Bearskull slammed her goblet against the end table next to her. Both the table and goblet rocked from the force. Wine sloshed from its container, staining the floor and carpets. "Well, we finally have it!" she cheered. "Though it was like drawing blood from a stone, I believe we've finally cracked what makes you tick, dear Conrad. You're a conspirator now, truly. One of us."
"Here, here!" chimed Arten.
Conrad stood from his seat. It wasn't as smooth a motion as he'd have liked; the cushions littered about his chair sucked him into it, making the exit more of an effort than he'd first anticipated. He could tell Bearskull was resisting the urge to smile.
"Will that be all?" he said. "I've some sleep to be catching up on. I'll leave the planning to you two."
"You'll know when we start," Bearskull said. "I'll make it obvious, even for you dear. From that signal, you'll run to the Bastille, and there you'll have Wisser."
Conrad nodded to Arten, then to the witch. Strangely, even with the knowledge of what was coming, Conrad felt vaguely at ease. Gone were the stresses and worries of before. Now, he truly felt unkillable, as though he could face all of Drevon and return the victor.
With an easy heart Conrad found his bed. Removing his sweaty, bloodied clothes he tucked himself into the furs atop his feather bed and listened to the winds outside. Again, he knew this bed wasn't his exactly, nor were the clothes he wore or even the sword he wielded. With time though, he was coming to accept them as his own, alongside the new life and body he'd been granted. Conrad was beginning to believe as though he had been reborn, and could now do as he pleased for the first time in his life.