Seven days. Emma would die at the stake in seven days.
Liron wanted to jump back on the bike and race to Kupferrang, but Angin refused. They would need less than a day to get to the city. Without the proper preparations, they would die without ever coming close to saving Emma.
The Alchemist contacted the Resistance, speaking with several people for hours, stretching from friendly greetings to spiteful yelling. In the end, Angin collapsed on his bed, sighing.
"We'll get their help," he said. "But it's not much. They have three men in Kupferrang already. They will be assigned to help us. A friend of mine will also come. Ragnar. He'll make a big difference. But we're not just supposed to free your sister. We're also supposed to cause as much harm and chaos to the Inquisition and Empire as possible. Maximize the embarrassment for them."
Liron could breathe easier after hearing this. He had spent most of his time watching Angin. At first, he had tried to read of practice with his knife on a smaller scale, causing no attention to them in the inn. It all had failed, images of his sister burning haunting his mind. Knowing they had the support they needed calmed his sorrow, sharpening his focus.
He trained on his fencing, repeating the haus and forms he was taught.
"The what?" Angin asked after Liron had mentioned them.
"A hau. That's what Lance had called them. You know, the sword slashes."
"Just call them a slash then."
Liron frowned. "No. It's called a hau."
Liron turned his knife into his black blade but kept the sword short, making sure it didn't come too close to anything in their room. It was spacious enough to guarantee he could perform his attacks, repeating them until his legs ached.
Angin watched him, raising his eyebrow. "You've improved. Already."
Liron panted, sitting on his bed, wiping away the sweat. "Thanks. I just repeat what I'm shown in the dreams."
Angin nodded, rubbing his chin. His eyes sparkled, burning bright with something curious. "Fascinating. The experiences in the dreams are not simply helping you improve. They function as a different set of gained experiences."
"So… I have, like, two days of training in one."
"Yes, Liron, yes! You train in your dream by experiencing what your other self has gone through, and then you repeat the same when you're awake. If you and your other self keep this up, you will improve twice as fast as normal. Thrice, considering you will also gain real combat experience."
Angin profited from this, too. "Hah, I can skip entire books, Liron. My other self is reading them for me! I will become the greatest Alchemist of all time. With that, I can achieve a Magnum Opus in no time!"
As the Silvermoon was descending when Angin had finished his negotiations with the Resistance, they decided to postpone their travel to Kupferrang until tomorrow. "Will look suspicious. An Alchemist and his apprentice race towards Kupferrang, arriving there in the middle of the night. For what? No, they'll know we'll go there. We need to stay hidden as long as possible."
Liron struggled to sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what Emma would see if she looked up. The ceiling of a dungeon? The black eyes of an Inquisitor, torturing her? Nothing, as she was blinded already?
He managed to slumber for a few hours, his eyes heavy when Angin shook him awake. The Silvermoon had dawned, bathing the town in pale silver. As Liron groaned, rising, Angin handed him a phial.
"Will help," he said. "Wakes you up and keeps you awake."
Angin squeezed Liron's shoulder, giving him a knowing smile before returning to gather his possessions. Liron returned the smile, downing the phial's contents in one go. It tasted bitter and made him shiver, but it kicked into effect immediately afterward. A jolt of energy went through his body, fighting off the exhaustion that had claimed supremacy. Liron jumped to his feet, feeling like he had slept for days.
"Be careful," Angin said without turning to him. "I know it feels great, but it will wear off faster if you overdo it. And we have a long ride ahead of us. We can't afford many breaks. That means hours on my bike."
Angin hadn't lied. They drove off when the town started to rise from their beds. The area around the border had a higher ratio of travel, as the foreign goods from Lorsos would take the same routes as them, delivering them to the cities. In these early hours, they only crossed paths with caravans transporting the basic resources the towns nearby produced.
Liron had seen them only a few times from far away. Massive Machinas, the size of a smaller house. Unlike Angin's bike, they had wheels on both sides, ten in total. Liron could have stretched out his arm and wouldn't have been able to reach either end of one. It had a similar green color to Angin's Machina, the head burning bright with the same runes.
While impressive, it lacked the slick look their bike had. Caravans were meant for efficiency alone, shaped as a box, covered in countless slits and metallic components like pipes. It pulled three wagons. They were filled with grain, having enough weight to crush both of them.
Angin made space for them, the driver raising their hand in gratitude as they passed. The Alchemist responded in kind, accelerating back to top speed as the caravan had passed. Liron trembled once the bike roared forward again, but the Machina had lost the impact it had on him. A miracle of human ingenuity, blowing past all he had considered possible. It made the wind during a storm look slow and could have outpaced the strongest horse only the Emperor himself could afford. And yet, being on it three times, Liron grew accustomed to it.
But with his fear numbed, Liron enjoyed the thrill of it for the first time. His hair slapped around like Angin's. The Alchemist kept it bound in a long ponytail. Because of all the preparations, he hadn't had the time to groom it, weathering the battle-hardened Alchemist more than facing the Promised Dawn. Liron raised his head, enjoying the wind.
"Keep your head down!" Angin said. "Can't have you risk getting hit by a branch or some other bullock."
Liron rolled his eyes but followed his command. The Silvermoon climbed towards its zenith before they came near Kupferrang. Liron had killed time by watching the surroundings. It had an exciting aspect to it, seeing the surrounding forests become a blur. But as with his panic of riding on the bike, it lost its edge, too. The forests in Nordland all looked the same. The Silverlight drowned out their glow, but even they would have bored him by now. They only kept their beauty because he didn't see them as much as he might have wanted to. Indulging in all he desired washed out their taste, dulling them like an overused blade.
Angin allowed them a few breaks, but only when he needed to orient themselves, leaning over his maps while Liron stretched. The Alchemist had plenty of experience reading maps, so they never stayed still for too long.
Liron readjusted his goggles, hissing at the discomfort they caused from wearing them for hours. There had been several ones in the outpost, and Angin demanded of him to always wear them. "You will regret having one when something gets in your eyes. And I don't want to hear your crying, not if it happens, but when it does."
As Liron had nothing to occupy himself with, his mind occupied itself with Emma. He played dozens of scenarios of what had happened to her and their parents since Liron had fled Eisenrahm. When they became too dark, images of torture and disfigured corpses, Liron pictured himself victorious, saving his family. He loved to dramatize them as much as possible, fighting the Inquisition and all the Empire's evils. A heroic tale of a Ravenspawn proving himself better than his curse.
Once he played them through, providing their catharsis, their ridiculous nature left a spoiled taste in his mouth. The sharp contrast between them and the reality he lived in emphasized his many shortcomings, impeding his fantasies of becoming true. The act alone to imagine them, a desperate act done by a desperate boy. A void followed this realization, becoming a burden on his chest, threatening to drag him down from where he couldn't rise again. Scavengares didn't eat alone, and so the other dark thoughts returned, too. To fend them off again, he retold his tales of victory to himself.
This back and forth continued until they ran into the first bigger waves of travelers. They had encountered a few up until now, but the density of the people was unusual. They all varied slightly in their clothes and methods of transport, but they were all highborn. Thin fabrics, colored in the pale blues and silver, unaffordable to any plebeians. Some had chosen Machinas, driving on four wheels, adorned in gold, but others were in carriages pulled by horses. Tamed beasts of strength and majesty. Besides lions and hawks, they were the animals the Empire associated with. Having them was a sign of great wealth, preferring them to the Machina despite their worse performance.
The horses had all-white skin and a mane of silver. Liron had seen lesser highborns riding horses of different complexions, but a lack of color was preferred. The most expensive horses were bred to have this specific appearance. They were taller than the deer in Lichtwald. Their six legs were muscular, speaking of the vigor in them. Unlike many other herbivores, they had no natural defenses. But they had no need for such, as their speed couldn't be matched by many carnivores. And even if they caught up to them, a horse's bite, kick, or stomp could tear through whatever fool dared to challenge them.
Angin and Liron got stuck in a queue, nothing but highborns ahead, blocking the path. Based on the well-maintained condition of the road, Kupferrang had to be near. They were travelling up a hill, blocking the view of what was to come, so he couldn't confirm his guess. But Angin did so for him.
"Ah, fuck me, we're right there," he groaned. He stretched his back, his spine cracking. "Oh, that felt good."
Liron leaned forward, keeping his voice low, as another Machina drove up to them, taking the place behind them. "What is going on, Angin? Are they here for the execution?"
"Yes, Liron, good."
"But why? It's still six days until then."
"Well, yes, but Kupferrang will be filled to the brim with people. An execution is quite extreme. They barely happen, so they tend to attract a lot of people. If the Inquisition lets it happen, Kupferrang will be turned into a circus."
"A what?"
"A… festivity with artists, performers, and trained animals that entertain the audience. They're popular in Lorsos and still new. I don't think one has reached into Nordland yet. Whatever. The highborns want to watch the execution from a good spot without the plebeians intruding on them.
"This is why they show up now. To get a position. No one else can, as they can't just stop working for nearly a week. I expected those lowlifes to show up early, but not this early. At least, not all important highborns will show up, or this street would have been even more crowded."
"What do you mean?"
"Powerful highborns are good at surviving. Like vermin or insects that won't die regardless of what you do. They've developed a seventh sense to avoid danger, as they are often the target of Resistance attacks. The execution of your sister is obviously a trap, so they know this will likely end as a shitshow."
"Then why are all these highborns here? Are they just dumb?"
"They are, but not in that regard. For highborns, it's all about appearance. Appearing powerful, royal, and pure is one of the best defenses they have against their kind. They all backstab each other. The ones that are perceived as the weakest are used as a black sheep that you can blame for something you have done.
"It's also meant to impress the normal folks. Their thin clothes are to prove that they are above the plebeians. That the cold doesn't affect them the same. So, they wanted to watch the execution to send a message. I'm not afraid. All bullocks. That's why you won't find a single powerful highborn, as they don't need to prove anything. All of them here are on the lower levels of the hierarchy, always at the risk of becoming another victim of a Warpriest in a midnight mass in some small town."
Liron thought back to the highborn, claiming to be innocent. Perhaps he was. Not in the eye of the Empire, though.
"Liron?" Angin asked, his head looking ahead, driving forward in slow, short intervals as the queue moved forward. "How are you holding up?"
"Good," Liron said. "Whatever you gave me still works. It's really…"
"That's not what I meant."
Despite Angin not looking at him, Liron lowered his gaze, chewing on his lip. "I'm fine. I can handle myself, I promise."
Angin didn't reply immediately, Liron thinking the conversation had come to an end. "Don't lie," Angin said, his voice softening. "I've been through similar situations. Older, more hardened people than you, Liron, cracked under less. They weren't fine. So, there is no need to pretend otherwise. There is no shame in that."
"Thanks," Liron mumbled. He wanted to leave it at that, but his tongue moved on its own, his thoughts escaping his grasp. "It's just this feeling… that this is all for nothing, you know. That I can't save my sister and that my parents are already… gone. I… don't want to drag you down with me."
Angin laughed at that. "Your concern for my safety is truly touching, Liron, but you don't have to."
"Why not? I don't want you to end up dead because I fucked up. You still can do some good. Make some real change. And it all might get wasted on something… that can't be done…"
"You wonder whether we should skip Kupferrang?" Angin asked. There was no judgment in his words. "Whether we should abandon your sister to not step into the Inquisition's trap."
Liron's face burned bright, and his voice threatened to fail him. "Yes," he said. The admission, a knife to his heart. That the thought had crossed his mind was a betrayal in itself. Speaking it out loud was worse.
"I will be honest," Angin said. "On any other occasion, I would have refused to help you. I would have told you to forget your sister, as painful as this would have been, and dragged you to Sannara. But Liron, we have a chance to save her. Normally, there would be Draconists and members of the Sacred Houses guarding the execution. Assassinating the Emperor would have been as likely as getting your sister out. But there will be minimal security. The Resistance keeps up the pressure. We can save her."
His words were kind, nestling against Liron. The throbbing in his head didn't vanish, but it became tolerable. "Thanks. It's good to know." His words were kind indeed, but they couldn't alleviate his heart.
Angin glanced at Liron, only for a moment before looking away again, like a child touching a heated oven, pulling away his hand in pain. But the Alchemist didn't cry like one.
"It will get easier," Angin said, minutes of silence before he found the strength to speak. "It will never get away, you know. The fear… of failing. But it does get easier. Once you have proof that you can do it, that winning is possible, it becomes bearable.
"You know, I felt quite lost when I was a child. I never… fit in. Nowhere I went. I was snow, and the world around me was fire. It just wasn't meant to be. Until I learned Alchemy. It taught me that I'm not at the mercy of the world. That my actions can have an impact and that I can change the world. Even if it's not much, my hands can turn snow into fire. Not directly, but in principle at least.
"My mother… she encouraged me to pursue it. Without her, I would have never become an Alchemist. Liron… it's not your fault. The world has wronged us all. You more in many regards. You are not to blame for what you were born into. Only what you will leave behind. That's on you. It can be frightening, realizing how much you can change. If you're not careful, you can take the light from someone, making them less. One wrong word can break a heart, and it might never heal again. But it can also set one free. We fight for a better tomorrow. And it can only be one with your sister in it. So, look up. We will save her."
The kindest words. Ones he had to cherish as they were never said in vain.
"Thank you," Liron said, and he meant it. "I… I believe you."
Angin didn't respond, their bike climbing the hill to its zenith as the queue moved forward. At its peak, a new horizon expanded in front of them. Liron pressed his legs against the Machina and his feet on the rest, put his hands on Angin's shoulder, and stood up.
Drenched in Silverlight, Kupferrang claimed the lands as its own. From this far away, the entire city fit into Liron's palm, but its magnitude was undeniable. Eisenrahm could have been swallowed whole by Kupferrang, a fly in a lion's maw. As they came closer, the queue pressing forward, the beauty of the city became noticeable.
Its walls, giants of white stone, carried the holy cups and the burning sword, the religious symbols carved into them. The banners of House Lockram, a wild boar, hang for all to see at the wall. While a border city, Nordland had supremacy over it. Statues of angels stood guard at the watchtowers, crafted from a copper alloy. Which exactly, Liron couldn't say.
Red roofs lurked out behind the walls, greeting them like a wolf did its prey. The gate was heavily armed, soldiers controlling all that desired to enter. The majority of the guests were highborns, but the guards fulfilled their duty with the required prejudice to all outsiders. They examined both Angin and Liron with open contempt, a long shift having eroded all good manners they might have had.
Angin handed them the forged papers, and they were let in. They made their way through the main road leading through Kupferrang. The half-timbered houses were colorful, painted in all that was available. Framed white and the craftsmanship behind it always looked pleasing to the eye.
Though Liron learned, while impressive, the buildings near the gate belonged to the poorest region of Kupferrang. The further they headed into the city, the more the wealth mirrored itself openly in the surface of the houses. Gold and silver wherever Liron turned. Figures of angels, Harras, the Emperor, and the many famed heroes of the Empire. All immortalized in the pieces of art that adorned the surrounding buildings. And where the visage of pomp grew tired, paintings offered the needed variety. They depicted images of soldiers and the holy war against the Qilesh, allowing the population no rest from the military. They had to feel watched by the ones that fell for them, so they might feel the need to join them.
Liron had lived in the poorest section in Eisenrahm, too, but seeing the same in a place like Kupferrahm, he came to realize something. The outer rims of the city, housing the majority of the population, served as a second wall. The poor protected the highborn with their bodies and lives, a duty no one had informed them of or offered any pay for. An honor, some might claim, to sacrifice their lives for the chosen ones of Harras. But Liron didn't believe it would feel like one should the need for it come.
The houses reached towards the sky, shadows filling the streets as the Silvermoon descended. "Angin," Liron said. "How many live here?"
"I can only guess," he said, taking a turn into a smaller street, leaving the crowded main one, the queue still stretching on. "But I'd say around 100,000 people."
Liron had pictured the magnitude of the Empire many times, but the figures were nothing but blurred silhouettes. Having a real number gave it more weight. Liron shielded his eyes from the Silverlight reflecting in the many statues attached to the roofs. That no one had stolen them yet.
"Is that a lot?"
"Yes and no. 100,000 is massive, but the biggest cities in the Empire dwarf them. Millions upon millions, Liron."
He didn't know what millions meant, but with Kupferrang as a reference, he could grasp the sheer immensity. As they took another turn, driving towards the nearest inn, the Inquisition bureau became visible. Liron had noticed it already, but seeing it so close was different. Unlike its surroundings, it refused all beauty and pomp. A sleek white shape with windows. An ugly giant, staining its surroundings. But its simple nature, its box shape, had an oppressive nature, too. The shadow it threw drowned Kupferrang. Even the church tower, the heart of the city, appeared like an insignificant speck compared to it.
The bureau stood on the other side of Kupferrang, watching over it all. Angin had explained that Kupferrang used to be known for its copper work, necessary for all bigger cities in the empire. Trade kept Kupferrang alive, but it also brought too much traffic, providing the perfect soil for heresy and rebellious elements to gather. So, the Inquisition erected its bureau in all cities of the Empire. A constant reminder of the hounds standing ready to hunt down all those that would dare to oppose the Harras' chosen rulers.
Now Liron knew why no one had stolen the statues.