《Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial》


 Arc 1: Execution || Chapter 1: Headsman

    Arc 1: Execution || Chapter 1: Headsman


    Angels are good at wielding guilt. Devils are sometimes better, but you¡¯d need a priest to explain the difference between the two. As far as I can tell, it¡¯s mostly a matter of aesthetics.


    I stood near the back of a crowd gathered in a storm-shadowed square. The cobblestones at my feet were slick with the rain rolling across the steepled roofs of the surrounding buildings. The crowd was silent, their eyes fixed on a raised wooden platform where several figures stood and one knelt. Armored guards with tall poleaxes, their eyes shadowed by the brims of their helms, held the rain-slick blades of their weapons to the throat of a kneeling man.


    The town¡¯s earl watched with grim silence, his shoulders draped with a black cloak as though in mourning. At his side stood a thickset man in a crude leather vest, a hood shadowing his face almost in mockery of the elegant helms of the guardsmen, a long-hafted axe in his hands. He stood over the kneeling prisoner, waiting for the order to bring his weapon down.


    I don¡¯t know what the kneeling man was condemned for. A beheading was usually the punishment for treason. From the mutters of the crowd I caught beneath the storm, I gathered he had been a knight. He glared up from the block they¡¯d pressed him to, eyes piercing through the haze of rain without even a hint of pleading.


    Regardless, I wasn¡¯t there for him.


    There was another man on the platform. A priest clad in the crimson robes of the Priory. He called out to the Heir and her Heralds in a brassy orators voice, speaking between rumbling peels of thunder passing high overhead. The rain falling down his cheeks made it seem like he was weeping and, indeed, his speech on behalf of the soul of the man they were about to execute seemed genuinely remorseful.


    The storm picked up. I¡¯m not sure if it was that or the impatient expression on the earl¡¯s face that spurred the bishop to end his speech. The nobleman nodded to the headsman, who wasted no more time. The axe came down, its wide blade splitting rain to form a blurring arc of motion so even the untrained eye could follow its path. Some in the crowd gasped. I noted the skill of the swing with a professional eye. The executioner was good. The head came free on the first blow, as surely as if they¡¯d used a guillotine. The sharp crack as the axe split bone and sunk into the wooden block the prisoner¡¯s neck rested on could be heard even over the rain, echoing across the square.


    There was no more ceremony once the condemned man¡¯s blood was mixing with rain on the stone beneath the scaffolding. The earl provided no words of his own, but at a signal the crowd began to part. The headless corpse was left where it lay, bleeding over the wooden platform, and the soldiers escorted the nobles back to their fortress. The bishop, and some guards and attendants, moved to the looming cathedral rising up over the surrounding township.


    I adjusted the wrapped bundle resting on my shoulder and melted into the alleyways, following the bishop like a distant shadow. He had claimed a life on behalf of the divine today, or so he¡¯d convinced himself.


    Little did he know that I would claim his.


    ******


    Leonis Chancer, the Bishop of Vinhithe, always performed a private prayer in the cathedral¡¯s main chapel after executions. It was a cavernous room, ostentatious, with towering pillars carved in exquisite detail and a vaulted ceiling rising overhead like a brooding night sky. The chapel was empty save for the bishop. He knelt beneath a towering statue of the Heir. The God-Queen was represented in Her classical form as a saintly woman with heavily lidded eyes, arms fallen to her sides with palms open and forward facing. She was silent as the clericon murmured his prayers, head bowed and arms crossed to enfold his shoulders. His red robes, still damp from the rain, pooled around him, almost mimicking how the blood had spread from the condemned man¡¯s body.


    I waited until near the end to walk out into the central aisle, stopping between the rows of pews where, on another day, the townsfolk would sit to listen to this man preach. I was his only audience now, and I let him reach the final invocation. When he gave those final words, ¡°in faith we wait for the gates to open,¡± I let my voice mingle with the bishop¡¯s.


    Leonis Chancer startled, turning. When he saw me standing in the aisle, his brows knit in confusion. He was young for his position, not yet fifty. Though his hair was hidden by a deep cowl bound close to his skull by a golden band, the hair on his brow was still dark. I wondered if the band helped draw attention away from the lack of gold in his eyes. They were deep blue, almost black in the poor lighting. They studied me without fear, taking in my red-brown cloak, soaked from the rain, and the pointed cowl shadowing my face. I said nothing as his eyes noticed other details; the wrapped bundle resting on my left shoulder, the poor quality of my cloth, the ring set on my left forefinger.


    It was that last that his eyes rested on. The ring was a smooth band of ivory set with a black stone. I didn¡¯t bother hiding it.


    Leonis Chancer swallowed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my son, but the chapel is closed at the moment... I¡¯m certain I can make time for you another day, but I am in private prayer.¡±


    I glared, silent. There was no getting through to this man. I don¡¯t know why I even bothered trying; I hadn¡¯t been sent to reform him, just to kill him. Even still I spoke, the words coming unbidden to my lips. ¡°Urn burned because men like you turned power mad.¡±


    The Bishop pointed a trembling finger at me. ¡°Devil! Crowfriar! You were sent to test my faith.¡±


    ¡°Afraid not,¡± I said, and took my axe in both hands. Maybe he was right, I mused. But I wouldn¡¯t be the one to tell him whether he passed that test or not.


    The Bishop shook in terror, and then steeled himself and drew a dagger from within his robes. If he thought this was a test of faith, then it seemed he wasn¡¯t willing to leave his fate fully in its hands. I couldn¡¯t blame him. I suppose that the real difference between me and the priest was that he had murdered for faith, and I¡¯d lost mine a long time ago.


    The rest happened swiftly. The Bishop didn¡¯t bring any powers to bear, either divine or dark. Instead, he lunged at me with the dagger, a prayer on his lips. Stupid, but I guess he didn¡¯t want to die fleeing for his life. For my part, I tried to make it quick. I sidestepped his strike, but he attacked with a speed and fervor I hadn¡¯t expected. His blade put a shallow cut on the side of my neck. Baring my teeth I smashed a fist into his nose, sending him sprawling down the stairs of the dais. His golden headband came loose and clattered across the floor.


    Of all the things he might have done in that moment, he reached for the band. He missed it by inches, his fingers clutching at empty air.


    When my shadow fell over him, he closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. A prayer? An apology? An admonition? I didn¡¯t catch the words. Then he met my eyes and his face set in cold stone.


    ¡°Your judgment will come soon enough, traitor.¡± He bared bloody teeth at me, his face masked with red deeper than his Priory robes. ¡°I know who you are! What your order did.¡± He spat out a glob of red. ¡°We will see which of us is truly damned when all is said and done.¡±


    I hesitated only a moment. It was brief, perhaps forgivable to an onlooker as the pause one takes to gather their breath or muster a thought. But, in that moment, I didn¡¯t see the monster who¡¯d condemned hundreds to iron and flame on the mosaic floor where Leonis Chancer sprawled. I didn¡¯t see the dangerous zealot who could push the Faith into a dark new age. I knew that creature was there, beneath the mask, but all I saw was a frightened old man who did not wish to die.


    He was that monster, though, and had chosen to be it over and over throughout his life. His actions had consequences.


    I was that consequence.


    I adjusted my stance. ¡°I already know where I¡¯m bound, Preoster. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll see each other there.¡±


    My swing was a mirror of the earl¡¯s executioner. A long arc, high over my head, before the axe fell in a hiss of parting air.


    As the body, now headless, stilled, the winglike folds of the Heir¡¯s stone-carved sleeves seemed to enfold it from above. Red robes darkened further with blood until it seemed a pool of it was all that remained of the priest. The head rolled unbelievably far, and I followed its movement with my eyes. It seemed to keep rolling forever, until its path finally came to an end in the shadows of a pillar.


    Where it came to rest near the feet of a young acolyte, who stared at the scene in wide-eyed horror.

 1.2: Red Rain

    1.2: Red Rain


    I cannot say how long that moment lasted, as the novice and I stared at one another. It can¡¯t have been longer than seconds, but it felt like time froze. The acolyte was young. A boy, I think, though it could be hard to tell with priests. His white robes weren¡¯t yet darkened by red dye, and his head was encircled by a band of copper rather than gold. His pale face, made sheet-white by horror, stared at me in frozen shock.


    I should have killed him. I tensed to do it, fingers tightening around the shallow bend in my weapon¡¯s haft. A sudden dash, or even a throw of the axe, and the acolyte would be silenced. He wouldn¡¯t be faster than me in those layered robes. I could stop him with a spellcant, just long enough to cut him down. The words formed on my lips. If I spoke, I knew I¡¯d have to do the rest.


    I hesitated. And, like a spell breaking, the acolyte ran.


    I watched him run, telling myself all the while to stop him. Then, cursing myself for a fool, I ran the opposite way.


    ***


    The bells began to toll before I made it even a block from the cathedral.


    I crouched in an alley as armored soldiers poured through the street beyond, rain pattering off their armor. Vinhithe had come alive like a kicked beehive, armored guardsmen emerging from barracks and towers across the settlement to scour the streets for whoever had beheaded their bishop. The streets had been emptied of the townsfolk, leaving the cobblestone paths of every block clear for ranks of poleaxe bearing foot troops or mounted cavalry.


    As the one who¡¯d done the beheading, I was inclined not to satisfy them. The gates would be closed, and every wall and tower manned, which left me a rat scurrying in a maze riddled with packs of vengeful cats. High above, the bells of the cathedral struck mournful tones across the streets. The sky rumbled forth an echoing peel of thunder. I turned my eyes up to the clouds, sullen. ¡°Didn¡¯t you want this?¡± I muttered. The sky didn¡¯t answer, and I hadn¡¯t expected it to. When the patrol had moved down the street and vanished into another block, I dashed across to the opposite alley, boots splattering through puddles with every step. I poised my axe on my shoulder, held in a tense grip.


    ¡°There!¡± Someone called from a window. I expected an archer, and flinched. But it was just an old man peering out of a third floor window, pointing with a gnarled finger. ¡°He¡¯s there!¡±


    Great. Even the citizenry were against me. I¡¯d botched this badly.


    I didn¡¯t know if any guards were near enough to hear, and didn¡¯t wait to find out. I reached the mouth of the alley and moved into the relative shadow between craftsmen shops and townhomes. Vinhithe was a big town, built along a major river winding through the fertile heartlands of the subcontinent. Its streets merged and twisted with little order, buildings packed tight together.


    Some of the alleys were narrow enough that even a small man might struggle to move quickly through them. I am not a small man. I had to turn sideways deeper down the alley as it dipped into a lower side street, my weapon and cloak becoming obstacles as I moved cautiously on the slick ground. The rain cascaded down off the roofs above, running in a shallow stream down the alley as though it were a miniature canal.


    I reached the end of the alley and stopped, listening through the rain. Water dripped off the edge of my cowl, the dull roar of the storm making it difficult to tell if the next street was empty. There could be soldiers waiting for me to emerge, hidden in a hundred places. The town was a maze, and as much a danger to me as an advantage. The guards would know these streets, know how to head off an intruder. No doubt they were already putting up barricades and checkpoints.


    I should have killed the damn acolyte. Why hadn¡¯t I?


    Because the war is over, I reminded myself, and you want to keep it that way.


    I ran instead, making the decision instinctively. I wasn¡¯t here to wage war on the garrison. I¡¯d completed my task. Now I needed to escape. I¡¯d planned for this, in a loose fashion ¡ª I had an escape. But I needed to reach the river.


    One of the surviving guards from the group that had tried to head me off moved into my path. He was young, his face tight with fear beneath his helm. I lifted my axe and saw him flinch. He lifted his poleaxe and prepared to die. Brave lad.


    I¡¯d spilled enough blood already today. Instead of cutting the boy down, I gathered my aura and shaped it. To the naked eye, it would look as though a soft ray of golden sunlight pale as an autumn dusk illuminated my form for a single moment. I brought the power to my lips and cast it forth with a word.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    The guardsman froze, lips parting in a breath he didn¡¯t draw in. I¡¯d put very little power into the cant, so it would only last a few seconds. Otherwise the boy might suffocate or die from a stopped heart.


    I dashed past the immobile soldier and continued on, the crossbowman hesitating as their comrade got in their line of fire.


    The bolt in my shoulder screamed with every step, but I ignored it. I¡¯d been trained to focus through pain. As the sky darkened with the setting of the sun and the worsening storm, I made my way to the river. Behind me, blood ran with rain in the street.


    ***


    I avoided further encounters with the guard. My goal was not to leave a bloodbath in my wake ¡ª truly, my goal had been to be gone from the city before anyone had known I was there ¡ª and I made an effort not to kill more of the garrison as I navigated the winding alleys and streets until I reached the river. By then night was falling, and the already overcast sky left my flight in darkness broken only by the flare of lanterns and torches as the earl¡¯s men continued their hunt. That, and the frequent flashes of lightning forking half-seen through roiling black clouds.


    The storm was growing worse, and that did not bode well for my planned method of escape ¡ª especially since the city was still full of soldiers. The earl sent his knights out in force to reinforce the garrison, and more than once I found myself sinking into the shadows as armored riders tore across my path, arms shining with odlight to pierce the veil of rain and stormcast dusk, their war chimera made into nightmare shapes by the deepening gloom.


    I¡¯d hidden a raft beneath one of the river docks, having intended to let the current sweep me miles from the township before a proper manhunt could get underway. Half of that plan was already botched, but I wasn¡¯t about to try fleeing into the wilderness on foot from chimera-mounted knights. I ghosted through alleyways, flinching at every distant shout and beat of claw or hoof that reached me through the storm. The wound in my shoulder burned with each step. I¡¯d removed the bolt, and used a healing cant to slow the bleeding, but it¡¯s not a talent of mine. The injury throbbed with pain, and I¡¯d lost too much blood.


    It was in this state I finally reached the docks.


    There I found three figures waiting for me, starkly visible from arms and armor shining softly silver.


    Knights.

 1.3: Glorysworn

    1.3: Glorysworn


    They were knights. I could tell at a glance, from the visible enchantments on their gear to the artistry apparent in the fashion of their weapons and armor. Two held swords, and one a warhammer with a cruel backspike. It was that last who stepped forward. I couldn¡¯t see their face; The same magic illuminating their helm made the interior of the visor impenetrably dark, granting the illusion that there might have been nothing at all inside.


    The armor was of a new fashion, more complex in design than anything I¡¯d seen in the war. Possibly even made outside the subcontinent. The guilds were bringing all sorts of interesting new toys across the Riven Sea. I suspected it was alchemy, and not elf-craft, that had fashioned the arms for these.


    I didn¡¯t bother hiding. I could tell they were waiting for me, arrayed on the narrow street between the last block of homes and the river docks. I stepped forward, forcing my breath to steady from my long flight, and rested my bloodstained axe on my shoulder.


    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± the knight with the hammer said. Their voice was androgynous, made brassy and inhuman through the slits in their visor. I couldn¡¯t guess at gender. I could hear the voice clear through the storm, but couldn¡¯t tell if that was their own aura or some property of the foreign armor. ¡°The Headsman himself, come out of hiding to plague us. What have you to say for yourself, blackguard?¡±


    I shrugged, and let a bit of aura leak into my voice so it would carry as clear as the knight¡¯s. ¡°I say you¡¯re in my way, and you should move aside. We¡¯ve no quarrel, and I¡¯d rather not kill you.¡±


    The other two knights shifted at that, agitated. One of them growled something I didn¡¯t catch. The one with the hammer gave a sharp nod, causing the faint light around them to shimmer like a mirage. ¡°But we¡¯ve quarrel with you, O¡¯ Headsman. Two, in fact; The Earl holds our service at present, so that one is professional. The other...¡± They shrugged, making their asymmetrical pauldrons rise and fall. ¡°My brothers and I are eager to test the legend. Are you man or devil? You will let us see your blood so we may be sure.¡±


    Mercenaries, then. Glorysworn. I knew the type, and knew there¡¯d be no negotiating my way out of this. Glorysworn Knights, nobleborn fighters with little prospect for inheritance, drifted from liege to liege, going wherever hospitality and excitement took them. Adventurers of a fashion, though they tended to form their own fraternities and were disdainful of partying with more common fellowships. They weren¡¯t paladins ¡ª I¡¯d heard no hint of an Oath in that little speech. But they would be skilled, and their magical arms could be trouble. I wore no armor, so they had the advantage in war gear as well as number.


    This wouldn¡¯t be as one-sided as the guardsmen from before.


    I pointed my axe at the leader, showing them the blood splattered across the bearded blade. Even in the downpour, it wasn¡¯t washing off. The hammer-wielder knew a challenge when they saw one. They stepped forward, harness clattering, and took a stance. A metallic silver sheen encased their hammer, drowning out the paler light from before.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°No introductions?¡±


    They might have snorted beneath the helm. ¡°I would normally be honored, but I hear you are no longer a knight.¡±


    I will admit, now, the retort bothered me a little. Not least of all because it was true. I took my own stance, axe held low to the ground at an angle. My gloved hand slid down the curve of the haft, until it hovered near where the blade fused with wood. The weapon began to emit a dour amber light.


    There was little drama in our first meeting, me and that nameless knight. We waited ten beats of a heart, and then we were both running forward. I don¡¯t know who moved first. My leather boots slapped the rain-slick stone, and the knight¡¯s sabatons struck a piercing note with each step. Axe met hammer, elf-bronze and alchesteel sliding together, and then we went past one another in a brief flash of sparks quickly dead in the rain.


    The other two knights watched, silent, their features unreadable beneath their helms.


    I turned, and then twisted to avoid a chasing blow following within an instant of the first. The next I parried, and this time our weapons tolled like twin bells striking as they met. Silver and amber magic collided along with physical steel¡ª


    And the silver sliced through the amber, sharp as a blade through cheese. The bell-toll of our meeting weapons continued, a keening note, and I felt a rippling force pass through my weapon and into my hands, my bones¡ª


    The knight¡¯s magic ripped through me with what felt like a hundred hammers striking every major bone and organ in my body at once. The force carried on, rippling through rain and stone, until what seemed like an invisible fist struck the street. Stone cracked. Water scattered. I leaped back on pure instinct, parting from the knight, and drew my aura back into an aegis. It is difficult to describe, the wielding of one¡¯s soul. With thought and will and hard-earned experience I shaped mine, focusing on defense rather than attack.


    But damage was done.


    I stayed on my feet, barely, reeling. When bile rose in my throat and I coughed up blood, I knew I was badly hurt. What was that? I thought, on the verge of panic. Their Art? I¡¯d never felt sorcery like it. It had cut through my own defenses with ease.


    Gargoyle advanced with an artful downward stroke, almost a fencer¡¯s technique despite his heavy weapon. I saw Fishhead through the rain, a step behind, bringing up his tall blade to follow his sibling in a two-pronged attack. They were content to keep this going, advancing and retreating in turn, Gargoyle harrying me while Fishhead focused on killing strikes. Eventually, one would land. But I was done with this game, and batted the broadsword away almost negligently as I leaped back, opening my guard. Fishhead hesitated, likely sensing a trap. But his brother was not so cautious and turned his blade into a thrust, positioning it again atop his vambrace, intending to stab forward into my exposed chest.


    Which was when I used the sickle-blade of my axe to jerk the hammer-wielder in front of me from where he¡¯d been laying stunned on the ground. The inner curve of the axe-blade was not sharp, so I didn¡¯t cut his neck as I lifted him, hooking the blade under his chin beneath the helm.


    Lucky for us both Gargoyle froze. I used the opportunity to adjust my grip, twisting the captive knight¡¯s head sharply to one side. He let out a cry of pain that came ethereal through the helm. The threat was clear enough without words; If either of the other two came at me, I¡¯d break their sibling¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask again,¡± I said, breathing hard. ¡°Fucking move.¡±


    Fishhead stood stock still, a titan in steel with a sword near as tall as he was, and was silent. Gargoyle drew up and, even through all the armor, I knew he was enraged. ¡°Blackguard!¡± He snarled through his monstrous helm. ¡°She¡¯s already fallen. Let her go.¡±


    A sister, then. I didn¡¯t comply, instead meeting the shadowed gaze of the Glorysworn evenly. ¡°She said it herself; I¡¯m no knight. I won¡¯t ask again.¡±


    To make my point, I gave the axe a slight twist. Through the helm¡¯s mask, I could hear the hammer-wielder begin to choke. I knew her brothers heard it too.


    I don¡¯t know what expression the two Glorysworn wore beneath their eerie helms, but I could guess well enough. Gargoyle gestured sharply with his sword at his brother. ¡°Let him,¡± he said, voice strained.


    To my relief, Fishhead complied. They both moved, clearing a path toward the edge of the river. I moved, cautious, never taking my eyes from the two knights. I kept their sibling in custody, hearing her occasionally give out a pained sound as the movement disturbed her broken collarbone. I didn¡¯t feel much sympathy, considering she¡¯d been trying to kill me only minutes before. Or so I convinced myself in the moment, heart pounding from the tension of battle.


    I had been a knight, once. I won¡¯t pretend like I felt good about how I¡¯d handled this. But I also wanted to live, so I hardened my heart and kept moving until I reached the river.


    The town met the river as a stone wharf, with docks extending out over the churning waters. I came to a sheer drop, seeing black waters running swiftly below. The storm had sped the current, and made it deeper too. I swallowed, but knew this was my only escape. I¡¯d steal a boat, and trust myself to the current. At least they wouldn¡¯t follow me in this weather.


    I caught shouting from across the wharf and looked up to see guardsmen moving into position. Many had crossbows. I cursed. Unhooking my axe from around the Glorysworn¡¯s neck, I placed a hand on her backplate to shove her toward her brothers. I didn¡¯t think the hostage would be as effective against the Earl¡¯s men.


    Which was when she drove a dagger into my leg.


    The blade went deep. A rondel with a long spike of a blade, made to punch through gaps in armor. I wasn¡¯t wearing armor, and all it found was muscle and meat. I shouted, more in surprise than pain, and slammed the butt end of my axe into the back of the Glorysworn¡¯s helm. She went down flat on the stone, leaving the dagger embedded in my leg.


    That was when the crossbowmen fired.


    A volley of bolts slapped through the rain. Most missed. Not all. I felt an impact in my hip, jerking me back. That one saved my life, for the next bolt scraped across my scalp rather than going through my skull. Red flashed through my mind. Shock. Pain.


    I fell backward.


    Into the raging river.

 1.4: Memory of a Dream鈥檚 End

    1.4: Memory of a Dream¡¯s End


    In my dream, I see fire raining from the sky.


    Not a dream. A memory. But, in the manner of dreams, visions flash before my eyes without order or sense. I relive fragmented moments of time, become lost in them until I feel as though I am descending into an ever-deepening whirlpool. Spinning, spinning, and all the while I see¡ª


    A regal figure pierced by a dozen blades, made to kneel as his crown slips from silver hair to shatter on a floor carved from living crystal¡ª


    Flame raining from a tortured sky to fall on a dream-wrought city, white towers crashing down as armies clash in the burning fields beyond¡ª


    Golden forests blackening as fire sweeps across them, trees twisting into nightmare shapes as a great shadow strides through the destruction, winged in cinders and crowned by a smoldering sky¡ª


    Columns of ash-masked figures trailing across the land, fleeing the destruction, beginning to scream as the sky darkens moments before arrows and things worse begin to fall¡ª


    An elven warrior wearing a bronze circlet and armor of furs and hides, blood-soaked and fell-eyed, turning his back on me¡ª


    A woman reaching for me as I back away. I raise a sword between us. Her eyes melting into red tears as fire bursts from them and she lunges, clawed fingers stretching, her form coming undone to reveal what lies beneath¡ª


    The flow of images are unceasing, until I fear my mind will come apart with them, that I will become nothing but fragments of moments, shards of mistakes.


    Is this death?


    ******


    ¡°¡ªAnd so it is the judgment of this court that you are to be stripped of your titles and any inheritance they may allow. Your knighthood is hereby revoked, your name stricken from canon. You may not bear your own mark or wear the mark of any member of the peerage, either in this or any other land, under pain of death. You are declared anathema to all divisions of the Church, whose servants will not grant you aid or succor so long as you are bound by the terms of your excommunication. Do you understand these terms as I have read them, Alken Hewer?¡±


    I looked up from where I knelt in the center of the hall. I met the eyes of the man ¡ª the king ¡ª who stood foremost amid a ring of stern faces. He was dressed for war, as were most of those who stood in the hall, even though it had been months since the last battle. An iron crown rested on his charcoal hair and his scarred face may as well have been wrought from the same.


    He was not the only monarch in that room. Dale kings, earls from the heartlands and the northern coasts, counts, barons, chieftains ¡ª a score or more great nobles formed large portions of the ring in which I was enclosed. But it wasn¡¯t just nobles in that court. I met the eyes of Wildedale rangers, militia captains, clericons, and adventurer fellowships. Dwarven axelords glowered at me alongside furtive shadowgnomes, the latter group¡¯s eyes gleaming eerily from their dim nooks. Some elves were there too, their beautiful faces made wolfish from a decade of war and grief.


    There were so few of them left.


    The war had brought together the peoples of Urn like nothing had in half a millennium. Among them were faces I knew well. Friends, once ¡ª now they seemed barely more than strangers. I saw Maerlys standing with her people, face etched with a cold sorrow. No sign of her brother. Lias was with her, face shrouded in a midnight blue cowl so only his mouth and chin were visible, hand gripping a twisted blackwood staff. Donnelly, or his shade, slouched in half-solid form in the shadow of a pillar. Josric, clad like an old Cymrinorean myrmidon, his leonine features troubled.


    Rosanna. She stood by the king who passed my sentence. She would not meet my eyes.


    Regretted it. Pain shot through my body from so many sources I couldn¡¯t guess where each ache originated. I groaned. Froze.


    I didn¡¯t fall back down, though that¡¯s all I wanted to do. I made myself keep moving, ignoring the pain, until I was on my knees. I opened my eyes and saw only darkness. I began to panic. Was I blind? Had I lost my sight? I brought my hands up to my face, feeling tentatively, and realized it was only mud. I wiped as much of it as I could away ¡ª my hands were just as filthy ¡ª and then blinked at my surroundings.


    I was in a forest. It was a cheerily bright day, which was nearly as disorienting as the temporary blindness had been. The sun pierced through the canopy as so many golden blades to dapple the woods in light. I could hear the river at my back.


    It all came back to me in a rush. Vinhithe. The abbot. My flight through the streets, the garrison, the knights. The storm. Getting shot and falling into the river. I reached down, winced, and found the crossbow bolt still embedded in my hip.


    Still alive. Though, judging by the bruising and myriad other injuries I felt beneath all the mud, I was in a bad way. The river hadn¡¯t been gentle.


    How far had it taken me?


    Judging by the sun it was midday. Night had just fallen when I¡¯d been taken by the river. I had brief memories of being in the water, being swept along its current, unable to do anything. Terror, helplessness... I shuddered at the memory. I couldn¡¯t remember if I¡¯d pulled myself onto the shore by some stroke of luck or if I¡¯d just washed ashore and fallen unconscious then. It was all a jumble.


    In a surge of sudden panic I checked for my ring. When I found it still where it always was on my left forefinger, I breathed a sigh of relief. I took the time to brush mud away from it to reveal the ivory band. I ran a thumb along the smooth black stone set in the ring, and felt calmer.


    It was only then I flexed the fingers of my right hand and, finding them empty, looked around for my weapon. I found it quickly enough, stuck in some driftwood near the edge of the water. It had been jammed into a broken segment of a small tree, and another memory flashed through my thoughts. Tumbling through the river along with bits of wreckage. I¡¯d kept hold of the axe and sunk it into a broken segment of tree, using it to keep aloft and keep hold of my weapon.


    I¡¯d like to call it quick thinking, but it had been little more than dumb luck.


    Wincing, I stood and limped over to the axe. Every step disturbed the bolt stuck into my hip and I collapsed halfway, breathing hard and sweating. I stood after several minutes and reached the axe what felt like an eternity later. I pried it from the driftwood where, of course, it was stuck. I finally had it free with a shout of effort and pain that echoed through the forest. When it was done I collapsed on the dead tree, gasping for breath and lifted the axe up to the sunlight. As my heart calmed I found myself glowering at the weapon. I could still see the bloodstains, old and fresh, patterned across the blade in varying shades of deep red and brown. Even the river hadn¡¯t washed them off.


    ¡°Can¡¯t get rid of you, can I?¡± I said to the axe. ¡°You bastard thing.¡±


    I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d expected. It was my burden and one I¡¯d chosen willingly enough. Not that the alternative had been more appealing. I¡¯d come close to that this time. I botched that one badly I thought, thinking of Vinhithe. And now I was in the woods, possibly miles downriver from the town, with a bolt stuck in me and the whole earldom probably out for my blood. Perhaps they¡¯d assume me dead, but I wouldn¡¯t count on it.


    Then, when the sun went down, things would get worse. I needed to find shelter and get my injuries treated, or...


    Or nothing. There was no use considering the alternative. I would survive. I had to.


    I had not yet done enough.

 1.5: The Fallen

    1.5: The Fallen


    I stumbled through the woods, every step an agony. I knew, subconsciously, that I wasn¡¯t going to last. My wound ¡ª wounds ¡ª were bad.


    The bolt was lodged in bone, which I discovered when I tried pulling it out the first time and nearly passed out. Not long after I started coughing up blood, possibly from whatever the Glorysworn with the hammer had done to me with her unfamiliar magic. The wound in my shoulder burned and I might have had a fractured rib or three.


    I wouldn¡¯t last. Yet still, stubbornly, implacably, I put one foot in front of the other. Again and again, each step celebrated by the crunching of leaves.


    Step. Crunch.


    Step. Crunch.


    Step...


    I stumbled and caught myself on the rotten trunk of an ivy-covered tree, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down my face to trickle onto the undergrowth below. I vomited, wiped my mouth, and continued on my way.


    Step. Crunch.


    ¡°Look how the mighty have fallen.¡±


    The voice whispered from the shadows, so faint I thought at first it was my own thought. But then more voices answered it, drifting from the gloom of the wild like whispering insects.


    ¡°He killed him! The old man. Cut off his head and left him there to rot on holy ground.¡±


    ¡°Almost killed the boy, too. Should have done it. Who¡¯s he kidding?¡±


    ¡°Think¡¯s he still on the side of the angels.¡±


    ¡°He is! That¡¯s just the trouble, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Do his oaths warm him?¡±


    I clenched my teeth against the tide of evil whispers. I shouldn¡¯t have reacted. The trees filled with trilling laughter.


    Damn elves.


    Step. Crunch.


    ¡°This is not what you were meant for.¡±


    It was several labored breaths before I could speak. ¡°I know that.¡±


    It was perhaps another fifty steps before another presence drifted into the forest. A shadow seemed to fall over the trees like a cloud moving overhead and the air grew noticeably cooler. The wind died. The birds ended their singing and even the distant song of the river died.


    The ground beneath me began to reverberate with what felt like the beating of an enormous, subterranean heart, the sensation traveling up through my legs.


    I steeled myself and felt a shudder of fear.


    An iron-shod hoof stamped the grass within the sudden darkness of the deeper forest, so heavy I could feel the thud in my chest. A horse snorted, the sound somehow evoking a deep, guttural growl. Leather creaked and a towering shape seemed to form amid the shadowed trees. I took a deep breath, schooling my face and forcing my pounding heart to still. I didn¡¯t stop walking, and it was the only thing that kept my legs from visibly trembling.


    Still that great heart beat, warning me of danger.


    Warning me that something not of this world had come.


    The horse, a great destrier, emerged from the darkened woods at an unhurried walk. It was clad in the remnants of war barding, rotten chain-mail and scraps of rusted plates covering most of its leathery hide, its equine head crowned by a cruelly designed helm set with a long blade so the beast resembled a fiendish unicorn. Its hide sported rusted iron thorns and protruding hilts from blades sheathed into its flesh ¡ª a full arsenal ¡ª the wounds from these weeping blood with every movement of its ever-shifting muscles. It twitched and flexed, never for even a moment still. Its bloodshot eyes were disturbingly human and full of an insane malice as it regarded me.


    The rider of the fell warhorse, on the other hand, could not have been more mismatched to the steed. She was beautiful, with a heart-shaped face and slender build, riding sidesaddle to accommodate a flowing gown seemingly spun from foam and starlight. Her hair was raven dark and so long it seemed a cloak. A gentle smile formed on her lips even as she looked down at me, letting her nightmare-steed match my unsteady pace.


    I took all of this in with a sideways glance and kept walking. ¡°Nath,¡± I greeted the rider.


    Nath¡¯s berry red lips curled into a frown. She leaned forward over her steed¡¯s head to inspect me. Her eyes told the lie to her beauty. They were twin hollow pits, like the empty sockets of a porcelain mask. Nothing but shadow lay within. She lifted two artfully curved eyebrows, apparently seeing well enough. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. ¡°Alken, my dear, what have you done to yourself? You¡¯re covered in mud and bruises like a little boy.¡±


    I chose to forgo laughter.


    ¡°Point is,¡± I continued, ¡°my soul isn¡¯t for sale, metaphorically or literally. I¡¯ll help you about as soon as the stars freeze over. Now, are you going to move?¡± I tightened my grip on the Hithlen forged axe. ¡°Or am I going to have to move you?¡±


    It was an idle threat, and we both knew it. Even at the top of my form, taking on a being of Nath¡¯s caliber would be tantamount to suicide. In my experience, however, it never paid to let the world¡¯s monsters see you sweat.


    Well, I was plastered in sweat then. But you take my point.


    Nath snorted in disdainful amusement. ¡°Oh, knightling. If vapid bravado wasn¡¯t part and parcel of your ilk, I might weep for you. But hear me; you will die. Soon. There is no one else who can save you, no one else who cares to. Your old allies have long since dismissed you from their thoughts. My brethren think of you as a disposable tool. Many of the lords of Urn would happily see you dead as a murderer and a renegade.¡±


    A touch of genuine emotion laced her next two words. ¡°Be reasonable. You need help, Alder Knight. You and I are not so different, after all. We were both outcast. We both long for a home we can never return to.¡±


    I opened my mouth for an angry retort, and then closed it as her words settled on me. Perhaps there was a touch of aura in the Fallen¡¯s voice, but...


    But she was right, damn it. For the rest of Urn, the violence of the Fall of Seydis was years gone now. The Accord had instituted something like peace across the land, though its authority varied from region to region. But for me, the fighting had never truly ended. Vinhithe had just been the most recent in a long parade of bloody, terrifying tasks.


    I had served. I had bled. Would it be so wrong to accept an offer of aid, even from a being so untrustworthy as Bloody Nath?


    I didn¡¯t know. Doubt gnawed at me, as it often did. The Church of Urn taught that those who lived outside the light of the Heir were not to be trusted or heeded under any circumstances. But I had just killed a bishop. I lived outside that light as an excommunicate. I had refused to heed the words of another such, long ago, and a kingdom had burned.


    It was several minutes before I spoke. When I did, it was in a quiet, tired voice. There was no anger, no righteous fire. Just hard-earned weariness and bitter resignation. ¡°The difference,¡± I said, ¡°is that I didn¡¯t spend the last four centuries trying to conquer the subcontinent, or make friends with the Briar. You¡¯ve left mountains of corpses in your wake.¡± I took a steadying breath and spoke as calmly as I could, making certain my words left no room for doubt. ¡°The answer is no, Nath. I don¡¯t want your help. Get thee behind me.¡±


    ¡°Fool,¡± Nath said with no particular emotion. ¡°You will die.¡±


    I began to walk, not caring that the enormous fiend-horse blocked my path. ¡°So be it. But I¡¯ll die me, not as one of your monsters.¡±


    Nath did not move her steed. ¡°They already see you as one of the monsters.¡±


    I stopped and stared pointedly forward, standing nearly underneath her now. Her feet and the hem of her white gown were coated in blood, I noted.


    I began to gather my will, focusing my aura until it thrummed within my chest. I didn¡¯t have much left, and definitely not enough to hurt her, but I could kill her nightmare horse. It was petty, but it was all I had in me then.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care how they see me,¡± I said. ¡°I swore oaths to protect the realms from things like you. I fight monsters.¡±


    Nath lifted her narrow chin. ¡°And yet you kill your fellow men.¡±


    ¡°I fight monsters,¡± I repeated. ¡°Even human ones. Now are you going to move, or am I going to have to axe your pet?¡±


    We stood there a while, in that still forest where even the wind held its breath. I counted each breath, wondering which would be my last. After what seemed an eternity, Nath inclined her head and tightened her grip on the horse¡¯s reins, spurring it to move aside. I moved past her.


    Step. Crunch. Step. Crunch.


    Step¡ª


    My vision went blurry, and at a remove I realized I¡¯d lost too much blood. The world began to spin.


    Damn it. Not now. Not in front of her.


    I fell. I didn¡¯t really feel myself hitting the ground. I lost my grip on my weapon and my fingers stretched for it.


    I have an old nightmare, of dark things catching me before my hand can grasp a weapon.


    The nightmare came true. A monstrous hoof slammed into the ground near my head. I could feel the world shudder beneath me with that impact. Nath¡¯s voice was a low, soothing murmur above.


    ¡°Such a shame. You had potential, Goldeye, but your stubborn pride has proved your bane. As it has so often been for the True Knights. Farewell. I would wish you peace in death, but I assure you there will be none.¡±


    I expected that hellborn creature to bring an iron-shod hoof down and flatten my skull.


    It did not. Instead, cruelly, it began to move away. Nath left me there to die slowly.Updated chapters at novelhall.com

 Arc 1: Chapter 2: Red Rain

    Arc 1: Chapter 2: Red Rain


    I cannot say how long that moment lasted, as the novice and I stared at one another. It can¡¯t have been longer than seconds, but it felt like time froze. The acolyte was young. A boy, I think, though it could be hard to tell with priests. His white robes weren¡¯t yet darkened by red dye, and his head was encircled by a band of copper rather than gold. His pale face, made sheet-white by horror, stared at me in frozen shock.


    I should have killed him. I tensed to do it, fingers tightening around the shallow bend in my weapon¡¯s haft. A sudden dash, or even a throw of the axe, and the acolyte would be silenced. He wouldn¡¯t be faster than me in those layered robes. I could stop him with a spellcant, just long enough to cut him down. The words formed on my lips. If I spoke, I knew I¡¯d have to do the rest.


    I hesitated. And, like a spell breaking, the acolyte ran.


    I watched him run, telling myself all the while to stop him. Then, cursing myself for a fool, I ran the opposite way.


    ***


    The bells began to toll before I made it even a block from the cathedral.


    I crouched in an alley as armored soldiers poured through the street beyond, rain pattering off their armor. Vinhithe had come alive like a kicked beehive, armored guardsmen emerging from barracks and towers across the settlement to scour the streets for whoever had beheaded their bishop. The streets had been emptied of the townsfolk, leaving the cobblestone paths of every block clear for ranks of poleaxe bearing foot troops or mounted cavalry.


    As the one who¡¯d done the beheading, I was inclined not to satisfy them. The gates would be closed, and every wall and tower manned, which left me a rat scurrying in a maze riddled with packs of vengeful cats. High above, the bells of the cathedral struck mournful tones across the streets. The sky rumbled forth an echoing peel of thunder. I turned my eyes up to the clouds, sullen. ¡°Didn¡¯t you want this?¡± I muttered. The sky didn¡¯t answer, and I hadn¡¯t expected it to. When the patrol had moved down the street and vanished into another block, I dashed across to the opposite alley, boots splattering through puddles with every step. I poised my axe on my shoulder, held in a tense grip.


    ¡°There!¡± Someone called from a window. I expected an archer, and flinched. But it was just an old man peering out of a third floor window, pointing with a gnarled finger. ¡°He¡¯s there!¡±


    Great. Even the citizenry were against me. I¡¯d botched this badly.


    I didn¡¯t know if any guards were near enough to hear, and didn¡¯t wait to find out. I reached the mouth of the alley and moved into the relative shadow between craftsmen shops and townhomes. Vinhithe was a big town, built along a major river winding through the fertile heartlands of the subcontinent. Its streets merged and twisted with little order, buildings packed tight together.


    Some of the alleys were narrow enough that even a small man might struggle to move quickly through them. I am not a small man. I had to turn sideways deeper down the alley as it dipped into a lower side street, my weapon and cloak becoming obstacles as I moved cautiously on the slick ground. The rain cascaded down off the roofs above, running in a shallow stream down the alley as though it were a miniature canal.


    I reached the end of the alley and stopped, listening through the rain. Water dripped off the edge of my cowl, the dull roar of the storm making it difficult to tell if the next street was empty. There could be soldiers waiting for me to emerge, hidden in a hundred places. The town was a maze, and as much a danger to me as an advantage. The guards would know these streets, know how to head off an intruder. No doubt they were already putting up barricades and checkpoints.


    I should have killed the damn acolyte. Why hadn¡¯t I?


    Because the war is over, I reminded myself, and you want to keep it that way.


    I ran instead, making the decision instinctively. I wasn¡¯t here to wage war on the garrison. I¡¯d completed my task. Now I needed to escape. I¡¯d planned for this, in a loose fashion ¡ª I had an escape. But I needed to reach the river.


    One of the surviving guards from the group that had tried to head me off moved into my path. He was young, his face tight with fear beneath his helm. I lifted my axe and saw him flinch. He lifted his poleaxe and prepared to die. Brave lad.


    I¡¯d spilled enough blood already today. Instead of cutting the boy down, I gathered my aura and shaped it. To the naked eye, it would look as though a soft ray of golden sunlight pale as an autumn dusk illuminated my form for a single moment. I brought the power to my lips and cast it forth with a word.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    The guardsman froze, lips parting in a breath he didn¡¯t draw in. I¡¯d put very little power into the cant, so it would only last a few seconds. Otherwise the boy might suffocate or die from a stopped heart.


    I dashed past the immobile soldier and continued on, the crossbowman hesitating as their comrade got in their line of fire.


    The bolt in my shoulder screamed with every step, but I ignored it. I¡¯d been trained to focus through pain. As the sky darkened with the setting of the sun and the worsening storm, I made my way to the river. Behind me, blood ran with rain in the street.


    ***


    I avoided further encounters with the guard. My goal was not to leave a bloodbath in my wake ¡ª truly, my goal had been to be gone from the city before anyone had known I was there ¡ª and I made an effort not to kill more of the garrison as I navigated the winding alleys and streets until I reached the river. By then night was falling, and the already overcast sky left my flight in darkness broken only by the flare of lanterns and torches as the earl¡¯s men continued their hunt. That, and the frequent flashes of lightning forking half-seen through roiling black clouds.


    The storm was growing worse, and that did not bode well for my planned method of escape ¡ª especially since the city was still full of soldiers. The earl sent his knights out in force to reinforce the garrison, and more than once I found myself sinking into the shadows as armored riders tore across my path, arms shining with odlight to pierce the veil of rain and stormcast dusk, their war chimera made into nightmare shapes by the deepening gloom.


    I¡¯d hidden a raft beneath one of the river docks, having intended to let the current sweep me miles from the township before a proper manhunt could get underway. Half of that plan was already botched, but I wasn¡¯t about to try fleeing into the wilderness on foot from chimera-mounted knights. I ghosted through alleyways, flinching at every distant shout and beat of claw or hoof that reached me through the storm. The wound in my shoulder burned with each step. I¡¯d removed the bolt, and used a healing cant to slow the bleeding, but it¡¯s not a talent of mine. The injury throbbed with pain, and I¡¯d lost too much blood.


    It was in this state I finally reached the docks.


    There I found three figures waiting for me, starkly visible from arms and armor shining softly silver.


    Knights.

 Arc 1: Chapter 3: Glorysworn

    Arc 1: Chapter 3: Glorysworn


    They were knights. I could tell at a glance, from the visible enchantments on their gear to the artistry apparent in the fashion of their weapons and armor. Two held swords, and one a warhammer with a cruel backspike. It was that last who stepped forward. I couldn¡¯t see their face; The same magic illuminating their helm made the interior of the visor impenetrably dark, granting the illusion that there might have been nothing at all inside.


    The armor was of a new fashion, more complex in design than anything I¡¯d seen in the war. Possibly even made outside the subcontinent. The guilds were bringing all sorts of interesting new toys across the Riven Sea. I suspected it was alchemy, and not elf-craft, that had fashioned the arms for these.


    I didn¡¯t bother hiding. I could tell they were waiting for me, arrayed on the narrow street between the last block of homes and the river docks. I stepped forward, forcing my breath to steady from my long flight, and rested my bloodstained axe on my shoulder.


    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± the knight with the hammer said. Their voice was androgynous, made brassy and inhuman through the slits in their visor. I couldn¡¯t guess at gender. I could hear the voice clear through the storm, but couldn¡¯t tell if that was their own aura or some property of the foreign armor. ¡°The Headsman himself, come out of hiding to plague us. What have you to say for yourself, blackguard?¡±


    I shrugged, and let a bit of aura leak into my voice so it would carry as clear as the knight¡¯s. ¡°I say you¡¯re in my way, and you should move aside. We¡¯ve no quarrel, and I¡¯d rather not kill you.¡±


    The other two knights shifted at that, agitated. One of them growled something I didn¡¯t catch. The one with the hammer gave a sharp nod, causing the faint light around them to shimmer like a mirage. ¡°But we¡¯ve quarrel with you, O¡¯ Headsman. Two, in fact; The Earl holds our service at present, so that one is professional. The other...¡± They shrugged, making their asymmetrical pauldrons rise and fall. ¡°My brothers and I are eager to test the legend. Are you man or devil? You will let us see your blood so we may be sure.¡±


    Mercenaries, then. Glorysworn. I knew the type, and knew there¡¯d be no negotiating my way out of this. Glorysworn Knights, nobleborn fighters with little prospect for inheritance, drifted from liege to liege, going wherever hospitality and excitement took them. Adventurers of a fashion, though they tended to form their own fraternities and were disdainful of partying with more common fellowships. They weren¡¯t paladins ¡ª I¡¯d heard no hint of an Oath in that little speech. But they would be skilled, and their magical arms could be trouble. I wore no armor, so they had the advantage in war gear as well as number.


    This wouldn¡¯t be as one-sided as the guardsmen from before.


    I pointed my axe at the leader, showing them the blood splattered across the bearded blade. Even in the downpour, it wasn¡¯t washing off. The hammer-wielder knew a challenge when they saw one. They stepped forward, harness clattering, and took a stance. A metallic silver sheen encased their hammer, drowning out the paler light from before.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°No introductions?¡±


    They might have snorted beneath the helm. ¡°I would normally be honored, but I hear you are no longer a knight.¡±


    I will admit, now, the retort bothered me a little. Not least of all because it was true. I took my own stance, axe held low to the ground at an angle. My gloved hand slid down the curve of the haft, until it hovered near where the blade fused with wood. The weapon began to emit a dour amber light.


    There was little drama in our first meeting, me and that nameless knight. We waited ten beats of a heart, and then we were both running forward. I don¡¯t know who moved first. My leather boots slapped the rain-slick stone, and the knight¡¯s sabatons struck a piercing note with each step. Axe met hammer, elf-bronze and alchesteel sliding together, and then we went past one another in a brief flash of sparks quickly dead in the rain.


    The other two knights watched, silent, their features unreadable beneath their helms.


    I turned, and then twisted to avoid a chasing blow following within an instant of the first. The next I parried, and this time our weapons tolled like twin bells striking as they met. Silver and amber magic collided along with physical steel¡ª


    And the silver sliced through the amber, sharp as a blade through cheese. The bell-toll of our meeting weapons continued, a keening note, and I felt a rippling force pass through my weapon and into my hands, my bones¡ª


    The knight¡¯s magic ripped through me with what felt like a hundred hammers striking every major bone and organ in my body at once. The force carried on, rippling through rain and stone, until what seemed like an invisible fist struck the street. Stone cracked. Water scattered. I leaped back on pure instinct, parting from the knight, and drew my aura back into an aegis. It is difficult to describe, the wielding of one¡¯s soul. With thought and will and hard-earned experience I shaped mine, focusing on defense rather than attack.


    But damage was done.


    I stayed on my feet, barely, reeling. When bile rose in my throat and I coughed up blood, I knew I was badly hurt. What was that? I thought, on the verge of panic. Their Art? I¡¯d never felt sorcery like it. It had cut through my own defenses with ease.


    Gargoyle advanced with an artful downward stroke, almost a fencer¡¯s technique despite his heavy weapon. I saw Fishhead through the rain, a step behind, bringing up his tall blade to follow his sibling in a two-pronged attack. They were content to keep this going, advancing and retreating in turn, Gargoyle harrying me while Fishhead focused on killing strikes. Eventually, one would land. But I was done with this game, and batted the broadsword away almost negligently as I leaped back, opening my guard. Fishhead hesitated, likely sensing a trap. But his brother was not so cautious and turned his blade into a thrust, positioning it again atop his vambrace, intending to stab forward into my exposed chest.


    Which was when I used the sickle-blade of my axe to jerk the hammer-wielder in front of me from where he¡¯d been laying stunned on the ground. The inner curve of the axe-blade was not sharp, so I didn¡¯t cut his neck as I lifted him, hooking the blade under his chin beneath the helm.


    Lucky for us both Gargoyle froze. I used the opportunity to adjust my grip, twisting the captive knight¡¯s head sharply to one side. He let out a cry of pain that came ethereal through the helm. The threat was clear enough without words; If either of the other two came at me, I¡¯d break their sibling¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask again,¡± I said, breathing hard. ¡°Fucking move.¡±


    Fishhead stood stock still, a titan in steel with a sword near as tall as he was, and was silent. Gargoyle drew up and, even through all the armor, I knew he was enraged. ¡°Blackguard!¡± He snarled through his monstrous helm. ¡°She¡¯s already fallen. Let her go.¡±


    A sister, then. I didn¡¯t comply, instead meeting the shadowed gaze of the Glorysworn evenly. ¡°She said it herself; I¡¯m no knight. I won¡¯t ask again.¡±


    To make my point, I gave the axe a slight twist. Through the helm¡¯s mask, I could hear the hammer-wielder begin to choke. I knew her brothers heard it too.


    I don¡¯t know what expression the two Glorysworn wore beneath their eerie helms, but I could guess well enough. Gargoyle gestured sharply with his sword at his brother. ¡°Let him,¡± he said, voice strained.


    To my relief, Fishhead complied. They both moved, clearing a path toward the edge of the river. I moved, cautious, never taking my eyes from the two knights. I kept their sibling in custody, hearing her occasionally give out a pained sound as the movement disturbed her broken collarbone. I didn¡¯t feel much sympathy, considering she¡¯d been trying to kill me only minutes before. Or so I convinced myself in the moment, heart pounding from the tension of battle.


    I had been a knight, once. I won¡¯t pretend like I felt good about how I¡¯d handled this. But I also wanted to live, so I hardened my heart and kept moving until I reached the river.


    The town met the river as a stone wharf, with docks extending out over the churning waters. I came to a sheer drop, seeing black waters running swiftly below. The storm had sped the current, and made it deeper too. I swallowed, but knew this was my only escape. I¡¯d steal a boat, and trust myself to the current. At least they wouldn¡¯t follow me in this weather.


    I caught shouting from across the wharf and looked up to see guardsmen moving into position. Many had crossbows. I cursed. Unhooking my axe from around the Glorysworn¡¯s neck, I placed a hand on her backplate to shove her toward her brothers. I didn¡¯t think the hostage would be as effective against the Earl¡¯s men.


    Which was when she drove a dagger into my leg.


    The blade went deep. A rondel with a long spike of a blade, made to punch through gaps in armor. I wasn¡¯t wearing armor, and all it found was muscle and meat. I shouted, more in surprise than pain, and slammed the butt end of my axe into the back of the Glorysworn¡¯s helm. She went down flat on the stone, leaving the dagger embedded in my leg.


    That was when the crossbowmen fired.


    A volley of bolts slapped through the rain. Most missed. Not all. I felt an impact in my hip, jerking me back. That one saved my life, for the next bolt scraped across my scalp rather than going through my skull. Red flashed through my mind. Shock. Pain.


    I fell backward.


    Into the raging river.

 Arc 1: Chapter 4: Memory of a Dream鈥檚 End

    Arc 1: Chapter 4: Memory of a Dream¡¯s End


    In my dream, I see fire raining from the sky.


    Not a dream. A memory. But, in the manner of dreams, visions flash before my eyes without order or sense. I relive fragmented moments of time, become lost in them until I feel as though I am descending into an ever-deepening whirlpool. Spinning, spinning, and all the while I see¡ª


    A regal figure pierced by a dozen blades, made to kneel as his crown slips from silver hair to shatter on a floor carved from living crystal¡ª


    Flame raining from a tortured sky to fall on a dream-wrought city, white towers crashing down as armies clash in the burning fields beyond¡ª


    Golden forests blackening as fire sweeps across them, trees twisting into nightmare shapes as a great shadow strides through the destruction, winged in cinders and crowned by a smoldering sky¡ª


    Columns of ash-masked figures trailing across the land, fleeing the destruction, beginning to scream as the sky darkens moments before arrows and things worse begin to fall¡ª


    An elven warrior wearing a bronze circlet and armor of furs and hides, blood-soaked and fell-eyed, turning his back on me¡ªUpdated chapters at novelhall.com


    A woman reaching for me as I back away. I raise a sword between us. Her eyes melting into red tears as fire bursts from them and she lunges, clawed fingers stretching, her form coming undone to reveal what lies beneath¡ª


    The flow of images are unceasing, until I fear my mind will come apart with them, that I will become nothing but fragments of moments, shards of mistakes.


    Is this death?


    ******


    ¡°¡ªAnd so it is the judgment of this court that you are to be stripped of your titles and any inheritance they may allow. Your knighthood is hereby revoked, your name stricken from canon. You may not bear your own mark or wear the mark of any member of the peerage, either in this or any other land, under pain of death. You are declared anathema to all divisions of the Church, whose servants will not grant you aid or succor so long as you are bound by the terms of your excommunication. Do you understand these terms as I have read them, Alken Hewer?¡±


    I looked up from where I knelt in the center of the hall. I met the eyes of the man ¡ª the king ¡ª who stood foremost amid a ring of stern faces. He was dressed for war, as were most of those who stood in the hall, even though it had been months since the last battle. An iron crown rested on his charcoal hair and his scarred face may as well have been wrought from the same.


    He was not the only monarch in that room. Dale kings, earls from the heartlands and the northern coasts, counts, barons, chieftains ¡ª a score or more great nobles formed large portions of the ring in which I was enclosed. But it wasn¡¯t just nobles in that court. I met the eyes of Wildedale rangers, militia captains, clericons, and adventurer fellowships. Dwarven axelords glowered at me alongside furtive shadowgnomes, the latter group¡¯s eyes gleaming eerily from their dim nooks. Some elves were there too, their beautiful faces made wolfish from a decade of war and grief.


    There were so few of them left.


    The war had brought together the peoples of Urn like nothing had in half a millennium. Among them were faces I knew well. Friends, once ¡ª now they seemed barely more than strangers. I saw Maerlys standing with her people, face etched with a cold sorrow. No sign of her brother. Lias was with her, face shrouded in a midnight blue cowl so only his mouth and chin were visible, hand gripping a twisted blackwood staff. Donnelly, or his shade, slouched in half-solid form in the shadow of a pillar. Josric, clad like an old Cymrinorean myrmidon, his leonine features troubled.


    Rosanna. She stood by the king who passed my sentence. She would not meet my eyes.


    Regretted it. Pain shot through my body from so many sources I couldn¡¯t guess where each ache originated. I groaned. Froze.


    I didn¡¯t fall back down, though that¡¯s all I wanted to do. I made myself keep moving, ignoring the pain, until I was on my knees. I opened my eyes and saw only darkness. I began to panic. Was I blind? Had I lost my sight? I brought my hands up to my face, feeling tentatively, and realized it was only mud. I wiped as much of it as I could away ¡ª my hands were just as filthy ¡ª and then blinked at my surroundings.


    I was in a forest. It was a cheerily bright day, which was nearly as disorienting as the temporary blindness had been. The sun pierced through the canopy as so many golden blades to dapple the woods in light. I could hear the river at my back.


    It all came back to me in a rush. Vinhithe. The abbot. My flight through the streets, the garrison, the knights. The storm. Getting shot and falling into the river. I reached down, winced, and found the crossbow bolt still embedded in my hip.


    Still alive. Though, judging by the bruising and myriad other injuries I felt beneath all the mud, I was in a bad way. The river hadn¡¯t been gentle.


    How far had it taken me?


    Judging by the sun it was midday. Night had just fallen when I¡¯d been taken by the river. I had brief memories of being in the water, being swept along its current, unable to do anything. Terror, helplessness... I shuddered at the memory. I couldn¡¯t remember if I¡¯d pulled myself onto the shore by some stroke of luck or if I¡¯d just washed ashore and fallen unconscious then. It was all a jumble.


    In a surge of sudden panic I checked for my ring. When I found it still where it always was on my left forefinger, I breathed a sigh of relief. I took the time to brush mud away from it to reveal the ivory band. I ran a thumb along the smooth black stone set in the ring, and felt calmer.


    It was only then I flexed the fingers of my right hand and, finding them empty, looked around for my weapon. I found it quickly enough, stuck in some driftwood near the edge of the water. It had been jammed into a broken segment of a small tree, and another memory flashed through my thoughts. Tumbling through the river along with bits of wreckage. I¡¯d kept hold of the axe and sunk it into a broken segment of tree, using it to keep aloft and keep hold of my weapon.


    I¡¯d like to call it quick thinking, but it had been little more than dumb luck.


    Wincing, I stood and limped over to the axe. Every step disturbed the bolt stuck into my hip and I collapsed halfway, breathing hard and sweating. I stood after several minutes and reached the axe what felt like an eternity later. I pried it from the driftwood where, of course, it was stuck. I finally had it free with a shout of effort and pain that echoed through the forest. When it was done I collapsed on the dead tree, gasping for breath and lifted the axe up to the sunlight. As my heart calmed I found myself glowering at the weapon. I could still see the bloodstains, old and fresh, patterned across the blade in varying shades of deep red and brown. Even the river hadn¡¯t washed them off.


    ¡°Can¡¯t get rid of you, can I?¡± I said to the axe. ¡°You bastard thing.¡±


    I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d expected. It was my burden and one I¡¯d chosen willingly enough. Not that the alternative had been more appealing. I¡¯d come close to that this time. I botched that one badly I thought, thinking of Vinhithe. And now I was in the woods, possibly miles downriver from the town, with a bolt stuck in me and the whole earldom probably out for my blood. Perhaps they¡¯d assume me dead, but I wouldn¡¯t count on it.


    Then, when the sun went down, things would get worse. I needed to find shelter and get my injuries treated, or...


    Or nothing. There was no use considering the alternative. I would survive. I had to.


    I had not yet done enough.

 Arc 1: Chapter 5: The Fallen

    Arc 1: Chapter 5: The Fallen


    I stumbled through the woods, every step an agony. I knew, subconsciously, that I wasn¡¯t going to last. My wound ¡ª wounds ¡ª were bad.


    The bolt was lodged in bone, which I discovered when I tried pulling it out the first time and nearly passed out. Not long after I started coughing up blood, possibly from whatever the Glorysworn with the hammer had done to me with her unfamiliar magic. The wound in my shoulder burned and I might have had a fractured rib or three.


    I wouldn¡¯t last. Yet still, stubbornly, implacably, I put one foot in front of the other. Again and again, each step celebrated by the crunching of leaves.


    Step. Crunch.


    Step. Crunch.


    Step...


    I stumbled and caught myself on the rotten trunk of an ivy-covered tree, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down my face to trickle onto the undergrowth below. I vomited, wiped my mouth, and continued on my way.


    Step. Crunch.Updated chapters at novelhall.com


    ¡°Look how the mighty have fallen.¡±


    The voice whispered from the shadows, so faint I thought at first it was my own thought. But then more voices answered it, drifting from the gloom of the wild like whispering insects.


    ¡°He killed him! The old man. Cut off his head and left him there to rot on holy ground.¡±


    ¡°Almost killed the boy, too. Should have done it. Who¡¯s he kidding?¡±


    ¡°Think¡¯s he still on the side of the angels.¡±


    ¡°He is! That¡¯s just the trouble, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Do his oaths warm him?¡±


    I clenched my teeth against the tide of evil whispers. I shouldn¡¯t have reacted. The trees filled with trilling laughter.


    Damn elves.


    Step. Crunch.


    ¡°This is not what you were meant for.¡±


    It was several labored breaths before I could speak. ¡°I know that.¡±


    It was perhaps another fifty steps before another presence drifted into the forest. A shadow seemed to fall over the trees like a cloud moving overhead and the air grew noticeably cooler. The wind died. The birds ended their singing and even the distant song of the river died.


    The ground beneath me began to reverberate with what felt like the beating of an enormous, subterranean heart, the sensation traveling up through my legs.


    I steeled myself and felt a shudder of fear.


    An iron-shod hoof stamped the grass within the sudden darkness of the deeper forest, so heavy I could feel the thud in my chest. A horse snorted, the sound somehow evoking a deep, guttural growl. Leather creaked and a towering shape seemed to form amid the shadowed trees. I took a deep breath, schooling my face and forcing my pounding heart to still. I didn¡¯t stop walking, and it was the only thing that kept my legs from visibly trembling.


    Still that great heart beat, warning me of danger.


    Warning me that something not of this world had come.


    The horse, a great destrier, emerged from the darkened woods at an unhurried walk. It was clad in the remnants of war barding, rotten chain-mail and scraps of rusted plates covering most of its leathery hide, its equine head crowned by a cruelly designed helm set with a long blade so the beast resembled a fiendish unicorn. Its hide sported rusted iron thorns and protruding hilts from blades sheathed into its flesh ¡ª a full arsenal ¡ª the wounds from these weeping blood with every movement of its ever-shifting muscles. It twitched and flexed, never for even a moment still. Its bloodshot eyes were disturbingly human and full of an insane malice as it regarded me.


    The rider of the fell warhorse, on the other hand, could not have been more mismatched to the steed. She was beautiful, with a heart-shaped face and slender build, riding sidesaddle to accommodate a flowing gown seemingly spun from foam and starlight. Her hair was raven dark and so long it seemed a cloak. A gentle smile formed on her lips even as she looked down at me, letting her nightmare-steed match my unsteady pace.


    I took all of this in with a sideways glance and kept walking. ¡°Nath,¡± I greeted the rider.


    Nath¡¯s berry red lips curled into a frown. She leaned forward over her steed¡¯s head to inspect me. Her eyes told the lie to her beauty. They were twin hollow pits, like the empty sockets of a porcelain mask. Nothing but shadow lay within. She lifted two artfully curved eyebrows, apparently seeing well enough. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. ¡°Alken, my dear, what have you done to yourself? You¡¯re covered in mud and bruises like a little boy.¡±


    I chose to forgo laughter.


    ¡°Point is,¡± I continued, ¡°my soul isn¡¯t for sale, metaphorically or literally. I¡¯ll help you about as soon as the stars freeze over. Now, are you going to move?¡± I tightened my grip on the Hithlen forged axe. ¡°Or am I going to have to move you?¡±


    It was an idle threat, and we both knew it. Even at the top of my form, taking on a being of Nath¡¯s caliber would be tantamount to suicide. In my experience, however, it never paid to let the world¡¯s monsters see you sweat.


    Well, I was plastered in sweat then. But you take my point.


    Nath snorted in disdainful amusement. ¡°Oh, knightling. If vapid bravado wasn¡¯t part and parcel of your ilk, I might weep for you. But hear me; you will die. Soon. There is no one else who can save you, no one else who cares to. Your old allies have long since dismissed you from their thoughts. My brethren think of you as a disposable tool. Many of the lords of Urn would happily see you dead as a murderer and a renegade.¡±


    A touch of genuine emotion laced her next two words. ¡°Be reasonable. You need help, Alder Knight. You and I are not so different, after all. We were both outcast. We both long for a home we can never return to.¡±


    I opened my mouth for an angry retort, and then closed it as her words settled on me. Perhaps there was a touch of aura in the Fallen¡¯s voice, but...


    But she was right, damn it. For the rest of Urn, the violence of the Fall of Seydis was years gone now. The Accord had instituted something like peace across the land, though its authority varied from region to region. But for me, the fighting had never truly ended. Vinhithe had just been the most recent in a long parade of bloody, terrifying tasks.


    I had served. I had bled. Would it be so wrong to accept an offer of aid, even from a being so untrustworthy as Bloody Nath?


    I didn¡¯t know. Doubt gnawed at me, as it often did. The Church of Urn taught that those who lived outside the light of the Heir were not to be trusted or heeded under any circumstances. But I had just killed a bishop. I lived outside that light as an excommunicate. I had refused to heed the words of another such, long ago, and a kingdom had burned.


    It was several minutes before I spoke. When I did, it was in a quiet, tired voice. There was no anger, no righteous fire. Just hard-earned weariness and bitter resignation. ¡°The difference,¡± I said, ¡°is that I didn¡¯t spend the last four centuries trying to conquer the subcontinent, or make friends with the Briar. You¡¯ve left mountains of corpses in your wake.¡± I took a steadying breath and spoke as calmly as I could, making certain my words left no room for doubt. ¡°The answer is no, Nath. I don¡¯t want your help. Get thee behind me.¡±


    ¡°Fool,¡± Nath said with no particular emotion. ¡°You will die.¡±


    I began to walk, not caring that the enormous fiend-horse blocked my path. ¡°So be it. But I¡¯ll die me, not as one of your monsters.¡±


    Nath did not move her steed. ¡°They already see you as one of the monsters.¡±


    I stopped and stared pointedly forward, standing nearly underneath her now. Her feet and the hem of her white gown were coated in blood, I noted.


    I began to gather my will, focusing my aura until it thrummed within my chest. I didn¡¯t have much left, and definitely not enough to hurt her, but I could kill her nightmare horse. It was petty, but it was all I had in me then.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care how they see me,¡± I said. ¡°I swore oaths to protect the realms from things like you. I fight monsters.¡±


    Nath lifted her narrow chin. ¡°And yet you kill your fellow men.¡±


    ¡°I fight monsters,¡± I repeated. ¡°Even human ones. Now are you going to move, or am I going to have to axe your pet?¡±


    We stood there a while, in that still forest where even the wind held its breath. I counted each breath, wondering which would be my last. After what seemed an eternity, Nath inclined her head and tightened her grip on the horse¡¯s reins, spurring it to move aside. I moved past her.


    Step. Crunch. Step. Crunch.


    Step¡ª


    My vision went blurry, and at a remove I realized I¡¯d lost too much blood. The world began to spin.


    Damn it. Not now. Not in front of her.


    I fell. I didn¡¯t really feel myself hitting the ground. I lost my grip on my weapon and my fingers stretched for it.


    I have an old nightmare, of dark things catching me before my hand can grasp a weapon.


    The nightmare came true. A monstrous hoof slammed into the ground near my head. I could feel the world shudder beneath me with that impact. Nath¡¯s voice was a low, soothing murmur above.


    ¡°Such a shame. You had potential, Goldeye, but your stubborn pride has proved your bane. As it has so often been for the True Knights. Farewell. I would wish you peace in death, but I assure you there will be none.¡±


    I expected that hellborn creature to bring an iron-shod hoof down and flatten my skull.


    It did not. Instead, cruelly, it began to move away. Nath left me there to die slowly.

 Arc 1: Chapter 6: Kindness of Strangers

    Arc 1: Chapter 6: Kindness of Strangers


    The first thought I had, when I had any again, was that Hell wasn¡¯t quite as warm as I¡¯d thought it would be.


    Hearing came after thought. I could hear the crackling of fire, and that seemed appropriate. Insects chirped and wind whispered through leaves, which seemed a bit out of place. The surface beneath me was hard and uneven, but I rested on a rough cloak or blanket. My hands searched and I found grass.


    Alive. I was still alive. The thought gave me more worry than relief. Where was¡ª


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t suggest moving too much,¡± a scratchy, mellow voice said. ¡°You¡¯re in a bad way, son, and I put a lot of effort into those stitches.¡±


    I opened my eyes and ran them over my surroundings. I was in the forest still, and there were stars overhead. A campfire crackled nearby, and I had been stripped naked. My body was covered in layers of bandaging and, though sore, I was no longer bleeding my life out into the woodland undergrowth.


    I was not alone. A figure sat opposite the fire, watching me. He was an old man, somewhere in the uncertain years beyond fifty, with a fringe of gray hair around a wide, leathery face tanned by sun. He was clad in a thick brown robe and watched me with deep-set, patient eyes the color of a moonlit lake. a pair of spectacles covered those eyes, making them appear huge and owlish.


    ¡°You,¡± the old man said, ¡°should not be awake. I gave you some very strong poultices.¡± He frowned as though annoyed at me.


    I didn¡¯t reply, instead testing my own body. I wiggled my toes, then my fingers, making sure everything worked. Everything hurt, but that wasn¡¯t necessarily a bad sign. There was a curious numbness throughout my whole body, and something in the back of my mind muttered a panicked warning at that. I tried to speak and my voice emerged as a dull, nearly sub-audible croak.


    The old man ¡ª a monk I thought, by his woolen robes ¡ª stood to hand me a skin I found to be full of water. He helped me drink it, and I was familiar enough with being wounded to let him. When I was able to speak, I did so in a hoarse whisper. ¡°You¡¯re a healer?¡± I swallowed, trying to better wet my throat. ¡°A priest?¡±


    The old man¡¯s thin lips twitched. ¡°A doctor, actually. Olliard of Kell, at your service.¡± His eyelids lowered and he inclined his head in something approximating a bow.


    A potion brewer, I thought. An herbalist. He¡¯d mentioned poultices, which explained the numbness in my limbs and my blurry thoughts. ¡°How...¡± I tried to sit up and nearly blacked out as a lance of agony went through my hip.


    Olliard of Kell laid a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. He was gentle, but surprisingly strong for his age and size. When I was back in position he nodded and said, ¡°you¡¯ve been down for nearly a day. I found you not far from the road. Or, Brume did.¡±


    I frowned and looked around. There was no one else in the camp.


    Olliard chuckled at my confusion. ¡°My chimera. She and my apprentice are collecting water presently, at the stream nearby. They should return shortly.¡± He gestured toward one edge of the clearing.


    ¡°Ah.¡± I settled back, feeling myself relax a bit. A big part of me wanted to leap up and grab the nearest weapon, but I sensed I wasn¡¯t in any danger. Stay calm, Al. If this man wanted you dead, you¡¯d be dead.


    The kindness of strangers. It seemed something more than a miracle, in the post-Fall world.


    Olliard shuffled off and began to sort through the contents of a large pack. The fire crackled, and the wind played lazily through the leaves. I took the opportunity while the doctor¡¯s back was turned to search for my equipment. I saw a suspicious cloth bundle nearby the right size for my weapon, but no sign of my clothes.


    ¡°My apprentice has your clothes drying near the stream,¡± Olliard said without turning. ¡°They are quite ruined, but I¡¯m afraid I had nothing else which can fit a man your size. Your weapon is there.¡± A long, calloused finger pointed toward the bundle I¡¯d noticed.


    I idly ran a thumb along my ring, checking it was still there. He¡¯s not a thief then, I thought, and relaxed more.


    ¡°Then I owe you thanks,¡± I mumbled, still struggling to get much volume.


    ¡°You owe me nothing,¡± Olliard said. ¡°This is my profession. We should both thank the Heir that I found you when I did. Another few hours, and there wouldn¡¯t have been anything I could do.¡±


    I was glad his back was turned and he couldn¡¯t see me go still. A man of piety, then. I quelled the surge of shame I felt and settled back on the blanket, closing my eyes.


    I lost time. When I was aware of the world again, Olliard was speaking with someone else in a low tone, his scratchy voice tinged with frustration.


    ¡°What would you have me do? Leave him there to die?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not.¡± The second voice was higher pitched, younger. A young woman¡¯s, I thought, or even a girl. ¡°But you don¡¯t know who he is. He looks like some kind of brigand, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°And that matters?¡± Olliard¡¯s voice was arched, impatient. ¡°We do not pick and choose who we help, Lisette. We are healers, not judges.¡±


    ¡°And if he was one of the men who attacked the monastery?¡± The girl, Lisette, asked. Her voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. ¡°Who murdered my sisters and put my home to the torch? Would you heal him even then?¡±


    ¡°If not a war, then how were you injured?¡± The question was mild, remote.


    I suppressed a sigh. ¡°I had a disagreement. Weapons were involved.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The young healer¡¯s fingers worked more stiffly, and I had to suppress another wince of pain as she tugged at my abused skin. ¡°We also found tracks where we picked you up. A chimera, Olliard thinks, and a very large one. Yours?¡±


    ¡°Never much cared for them,¡± I said, shrugging the shoulder that didn¡¯t have a hole in it.


    ¡°Then who did it belong to?¡±


    I turned a sour look on the girl. She returned it without a hint of apology and lifted a golden eyebrow.


    I showed the neophyte my teeth in a humorless smile. ¡°An angel.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s cheeks reddened and I spat out an involuntary curse as she tugged on the threads and broke one, leaving the edges of my wound neatly stitched together. She stood, brushed down the skirts of her woolen robes, and stalked off without a backward glance.


    A low chuckle drew my attention to another blanket nearby, where Olliard lay. His eyes were on his apprentice, his lips pursed. He glanced at me and rolled one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°Try not to tease the girl. She has very little humor in her, I¡¯m afraid, and for good reason.¡±


    I recalled another part of the conversation I had heard. ¡°Her monastery was attacked?¡±


    Olliard winced as he propped himself up on one elbow. There were shadows under his eyes despite the early hour, and his age showed, but he nodded in answer to my question. ¡°Only a couple of months ago, now. Bad business.¡±


    ¡°You mentioned brigands.¡±


    ¡°Of a kind,¡± Olliard confirmed, his lips setting into a thin line. ¡°It isn¡¯t a tale to sully a fine day like this.¡±


    ¡°...Fair enough.¡± I leaned back and closed my eyes, sweating a bit from pain. I still needed to piss, but didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be standing just then. Two days... probably the two physicians had already cleaned me more than once.


    Still, I held it.


    Olliard spoke again after a few minutes. ¡°So what¡¯s your name, stranger?¡±


    Sleep was approaching fast. Lisette must have given me more medicine. I mumbled a reply. ¡°Alken.¡±


    ¡°Shame we met under these circumstances, Alken.¡± There was a rustling of dead leaves as the doctor shifted again. ¡°We¡¯ll be heading off soon, and intend to take you with us. The road will be rough, but you need a proper bed to recover in. There¡¯s a small village perhaps a day or more north of here where I know some people. It will be safe.¡±


    I opened my mouth to speak. Closed it. It wouldn¡¯t be safe, though my hazy brain was struggling to come up with a reason why.


    ¡°Should leave me,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°You should leave me behind,¡± I said.


    ¡°Nonsense. You can¡¯t even walk!¡± Olliard sounded offended at the suggestion.


    ¡°Could be trouble for you,¡± I said. My thoughts were growing more distant, but some kernel of urgency kept me awake. Hunted. Vinhithe. Bishop. Don¡¯t want them to get caught up in¡ª


    ¡°Should leave me,¡± I whispered.


    But he didn¡¯t hear, and I fell back into a dreamless blackness.

 Arc 1: Chapter 7: Ill-omened Road

    Arc 1: Chapter 7: Ill-omened Road


    We went northward, and though I had wanted to be left behind in my half-delirious state, I kept my mouth shut once I¡¯d come to. I wasn¡¯t in much of a position to be turning down free care and a ride out of the demesne.


    I rode on a small cart pulled by the itinerant doctor¡¯s chimera. It was an ugly beast, big, with a mottled gray hide covered in coarse fur and an enormous hog¡¯s head. It had a dense mop of hair hanging low over its four glassy eyes and huge curling horns hanging low to the ground, their weight bowing its head so it seemed to walk in a perpetual depressive fugue. Its humped back blocked my view of the road. It smelled bad, shat a lot, and its brassy lows had me gritting my teeth halfway through the first day of the journey.


    Olliard sat on the cart¡¯s bench, guiding the smelly beast with a grandfatherly fondness that spoke of long familiarity. His gentle murmuring lulled me to sleep more than once despite the rough ride. His apprentice sat next to me in the cart, ignoring me.


    Perhaps the angel comment had been in poor taste.


    The landscape drifted by in a surreal blur of images. First dense woodland, then rolling hills, then a gentler patchwork of lighter woods and wide, cultivated fields. It was a clear day, pleasantly warm, the recent storms having washed the land in an emerald sheen. Shallow lakes had formed here and there from rainfall. At one point I saw brooding clouds and flickering lightning in the distant horizon, and felt a tug in my chest. Instinctively, I knew that direction was east.


    Not long after, clouds rolled over the land to cast that shining, emerald world in gloom. A gentle snow of pale gray flecks began to fall in a lazy dance from on high.


    ¡°Ash rain,¡± Olliard commented darkly. ¡°Been a few months since the last one. Thought we were done with these.¡±


    ¡°There are parts of the subcontinent still burning,¡± I said.


    Olliard shook his head, grimacing. ¡°It¡¯s been years now since the fighting ended. Nearly a decade since the old capital burned.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply. It wouldn¡¯t do my traveling companions any good to know that much of the destruction wrought by the death of Elfhome was supernatural in nature, and that some of those wounds might never heal. Nor did I want to explain that there were demons still loose, keeping the storms of choking smog and ever-burning flames lit even after ten years.


    We hadn¡¯t managed to hunt down all of them. There were too few members of the Table left.


    Lisette pulled something from beneath the collar of her woolen robes and clutched it tightly. It was a medallion worked of pale gold, fashioned into the image of an arc pierced by three converging lines. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer over the auremark, and I felt a gentle tug in that direction. I closed my eyes and tried not to show my discomfort.


    ¡°This is a fertile land,¡± Olliard continued, his eyes roaming the green countryside. ¡°But there are fewer like it every year. I hear the famine has become so bad in the Dale Kingdoms that the Accord had to intervene.¡± He glanced back at me and casually asked, ¡°you from the Dales, Alken?¡±


    I glanced at him. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°You talk like a Corelander,¡± the doctor noted, ¡°but there¡¯s a subtle accent you¡¯ve not quite hidden. My mother was from Karledale originally.¡± He tapped one ear. ¡°I¡¯ve still got the sense for it.¡±


    I settled back, trying and failing to find a comfortable position in the bumpy cart. The old man was fishing for more information about me, and not very subtly. Well, I could humor him. ¡°I was born in Eryndale, but I¡¯ve lived more than half my life elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Olliard was all innocent interest. His apprentice, however, was a bit too intent on the conversation, her idle gaze too stiff as it lingered on the distant hills. Her master adjusted his grip on the chimera¡¯s reins and said, ¡°I know the life of the itinerant well. I¡¯ve traveled all over, from the foggy shores of Farredale to the sunlit cities of Cymrinor. I¡¯ve even been outside the subcontinent. Made the crossing over the Riven Sea more than once in my time.¡± He chuckled, a low and throaty sound. ¡°They call me Olliard of Kell. You know where Kell is? Little duchy in the continent where I studied for a time, and now folk see me as a foreigner.¡± He shook his head in amusement. ¡°Wasn¡¯t there longer than a year.¡±


    ¡°Funny where life can take us,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Olliard kept his gaze on the road as he spoke, so I couldn¡¯t see his expression. ¡°Funny indeed. I imagine our travels have been quite different though, you and I. You¡¯re a mercenary?¡±


    The question was abrupt, and it took me a moment to muster a response. ¡°Of a sort.¡±


    Lisette finally stopped pretending to ignore the conversation. Her nose scrunched in annoyance. ¡°There¡¯s only one sort of sellsword.¡±


    ¡°That a fact?¡± I arched an eyebrow at her. The girl¡¯s expression turned sour and she averted her gaze.


    ¡°As you can imagine,¡± Olliard said with wry amusement, ¡°us healers don¡¯t tend to have much fondness for men, or women, who¡¯ve taken on violent lives. Yet the two often find themselves joined at the hip. Ironic, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You get good business from us,¡± I said, ¡°and we need you to keep fighting. Makes sense.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about business,¡± Lisette said acidly.


    ¡°Peace, Lisette.¡± Olliard¡¯s voice was gentle, but firm. His apprentice glared at me a moment longer, then snorted and propped her chin in one palm, returning her attention to the countryside.


    There wasn¡¯t much conversation after that. The land rolled by, and the sky grew steadily darker.


    The ash rain wasn¡¯t the last dark omen on that journey.


    ******


    ¡°We¡¯re getting close now,¡± Olliard said cheerily. His mood had improved once the ash had stopped falling in mid-afternoon. The rolling fields beyond Vinhithe had steadily become more forested as the doctor¡¯s chimera stoically plodded along. Ugly as the beast was, it had stamina, and we ate through the miles.


    Lisette leaned forward, her dour mood and annoyance at me momentarily forgotten. ¡°Is he near, master?¡±


    Olliard flashed yellow teeth in a knowing smile. ¡°Indeed! Ah, Alken, I nearly forgot to warn you. There¡¯s a troll bridge ahead. Harmless fellow, but we¡¯ll need to pay his toll to get on. Just don¡¯t panic when you see him. Shy fellow, blessed big as he is.¡±


    Olliard blinked at me through his spectacles. ¡°Curses?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Hold on a moment.¡± Then I stepped forward, raised the hand not gripping my weapon, and reached out with my aura.


    Immediately I regretted it as a wavefront of sensation passed into me. For a moment, I wasn¡¯t Alken Hewer. I was¡ª


    Fear. Pain. Rage. Betrayal. A collection of nerves and sinew bursting with stars of agony as cold steel punched into me, over and over. The sleeping forest alive with the sound of laughing, shouting men, of weaponry, and of my own guttural howls.


    Even cautious and knowing what to expect, the wavefront of psychic trauma hit me hard. I realized, dimly, that Olliard was speaking to me.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I gasped. I had fallen to one knee, and my face was covered in cold sweat. I wiped some of it away and stood on only somewhat unsteady legs.


    ¡°What just happened?¡± Olliard¡¯s expression was tense with worry and confusion. ¡°One moment you lifted your hand, and the next you fell. You really shouldn¡¯t be standing with your injuries. Let¡¯s get back to the cart.¡±


    I waved the doctor off. ¡°I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s not that. I just...¡± I wasn¡¯t sure how to explain, and before I had the chance to say anything more I felt a sudden queasiness rise up through my gut. I barely made it to the edge of the road before vomiting.


    When I could speak again, my voice was hoarse. ¡°This bridge might not be usable for months.¡± I grimaced. ¡°Maybe years.¡±


    ¡°Who would do this?¡± Olliard pressed a sleeve to his nose against the smell, his attention wandering back to the dead troll. ¡°Why? He¡¯s been living here peacefully for generations.¡±


    ¡°Maybe someone didn¡¯t want to pay his toll,¡± I suggested, studying the scene. I wiped my mouth and nodded toward the head. ¡°See that? Its horns were removed. Elfhorn is a valuable commodity in a lot of places. They didn¡¯t take the buds,¡± I noted, studying the smaller growths of pale, slightly shimmering horn on other parts of the troll¡¯s corpse. ¡°It grows even after death. Probably they intended to come back and harvest it in a few weeks.¡±


    Olliard¡¯s face was twisted with horror and disgust. ¡°Barbaric.¡±


    ¡°Hm...¡± I looked for more clues as to the identity of the sentinel¡¯s murderers. ¡°They took trophies, but left this as a warning. Those weapons are good quality, but I¡¯m not seeing any House signet or knight¡¯s mark.¡± I tapped my axe against a shoulder, thinking. ¡°Mercenaries, I¡¯m guessing, or bandits.¡± I glanced at the doctor and waited until I was certain he was paying attention. ¡°The village nearby.¡± I jerked my chin toward the remains of the troll. ¡°You think they hired some sellswords to chop up your friend here?¡±


    Olliard looked affronted at the suggestion. ¡°He¡¯s practically a member of the community! Defended them during the Fall, and was living here near two centuries before that. They would never.¡±


    I sighed and turned back toward the cart. ¡°World¡¯s changed these past ten years, doc, and not for the better. Not the first time I¡¯ve seen the friendly local monster getting torn apart because the crops turned bad or a kid got dragged into the woods by something nasty.¡±


    Olliard just shook his head, eyes hard. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t. I know the preoster who councils the villagers well, and he wouldn¡¯t condone this.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much feel like arguing with the old man. ¡°In any case,¡± I said, ¡°we need to find a way through. You know another path?¡±


    Olliard¡¯s expression fell and he shook his head. ¡°No. More than thirty miles of wilderness in either direction, and no path I know of that we could get Brume and the cart through.¡±


    I ran my eyes over the darkening forest. ¡°I¡¯m not about to suggest going through those trees. The beings who dwell in these woods aren¡¯t going to be happy about the troll¡¯s death. We need to get moving, and quickly.¡±


    Olliard followed my eyes nervously. ¡°What do you suggest?¡±


    I directed our attention back to the carcass. ¡°We bury your friend there and hope that appeases his spirit. It won¡¯t lift the curses placed on his bridge, but it might give us a chance to get through them safely.¡± I met the doctor¡¯s eyes and held up a finger. ¡°That¡¯s not a guarantee. It¡¯d be safer to turn back the way we came.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much like suggesting it, since back the way we came was a hostile demesne where I¡¯d be executed if caught.


    ¡°No,¡± Olliard said. ¡°I must press on.¡±


    He didn¡¯t elaborate, even when I lifted a questioning eyebrow.


    ¡°Who are you, to know so much about curses and troll ways?¡± Olliard¡¯s eyes had narrowed as he regarded me.


    Smooth, I thought. Old man wasn¡¯t quick to give an excuse as to why he wouldn¡¯t turn back. It seemed like we were both hiding things from one another.


    ¡°Do you care?¡± I asked.


    Olliard¡¯s lips twitched in a small smile. ¡°I¡¯m curious. But I digress, and we are wasting what little light we have left. So we should bury the troll?¡±


    I nodded, inwardly grimacing at the task ahead. ¡°We¡¯ll need to make a grave of river stones and make sure it¡¯s in sight of the bridge. Does your apprentice know any wards against disease? Troll corpses rot fast.¡±


    Olliard shrugged and sighed. ¡°I have no idea. I suppose we will find out.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 8: Curse-burdened Wanderers

    Arc 1: Chapter 8: Curse-burdened Wanderers


    The clouds had cleared by the time we finished burying the troll, and red had bled across the sky. A thin gray silt had been left across scores of miles by the ashfall earlier in the day, giving the irkwood a dour, surreal quality.


    Lisette stood from the last of the markers we¡¯d made from river stone and shattered pieces of the old bridge, murmuring a preosta ¡ª a priest cant. She moved first to Olliard, pressing her auremark against his chest and cleansing him of both disease and malignant od that might have clung to him from handling the troll¡¯s carcass. He breathed a sigh of relief at the touch of her magic and smiled, murmuring thanks.


    When the young cleric moved to me to do the same, I held up a hand to stop her. ¡°No need,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m covered.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s apprentice frowned, studying me. When I didn¡¯t elaborate, she huffed in frustration. ¡°You¡¯re the one who told me I should do this,¡± she remarked pointedly.


    I didn¡¯t want to tell her I was largely immune to disease and had my own protections against curses, and I especially didn¡¯t want the cleric to make contact with my own aura. She¡¯d probably sense something off with it, and that wasn¡¯t a conversation I was interested in having.


    She was using her power to stitch up your wounds, I reminded myself. If she was going to notice anything, she¡¯d have done so already.Updated chapters at novelhall.com


    Maybe so, but it was still a risk I wasn¡¯t interested in taking. I¡¯d get myself cleansed later if I needed to. There were other ways besides the services of a priest.


    ¡°We need to get moving,¡± I said. I nodded toward the bridge. ¡°Now we¡¯ve buried the poor bastard who built that, it should be safe enough to cross it. Should be, mind. Your chimera warded?¡±


    Olliard nodded. ¡°Of course. I had her protections renewed only a few weeks ago by a mage in Isengotta.¡±


    With that, there wasn¡¯t much more to say. Olliard took another ten minutes to fuss over his beast, and I watched him add a few more small baubles to the array of charms tied either to the hog-headed creature¡¯s harness or woven into her coarse fur. Surreptitiously, I closed my eyes and inspected the wards with my auratic senses. They weren¡¯t the best work, but they were professionally done. They¡¯d serve.


    Lisette watched me the entire time Olliard was tending to Brume. I grew annoyed with the attention and glared at her. ¡°What?¡± Burying the troll had been foul work, and between that and my taste of the creature¡¯s dying trauma I wasn¡¯t in the best of moods.


    ¡°You¡¯re an adept,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ve been trained to wield your soul.¡±


    I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°Common enough.¡±


    Lisette shook her head slowly, more in thought than denial. ¡°Yours isn¡¯t some layman¡¯s talent. You knew about curses and burial rites, and a moment ago... you were feeling Brume¡¯s wards. I sensed you doing it.¡±


    I shifted, uncomfortable. Damn clerics, I thought. ¡°Surprised?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the novice said honestly. ¡°You don¡¯t look the type. Sorcerer or warlock?¡±


    I carefully set my face into a mask and averted my eyes, not wanting to give anything away. It was true enough I didn¡¯t much look like your typical mage; I am tall and broadly built, much of my weight a swordsman¡¯s hard-earned muscle. I keep my copper hair long to help hide the glint of gold in my eyes, and life on the move doesn¡¯t lend to regular grooming. My skin is sun-tanned and covered in the sort of dense accumulation of scars only gained through a life of physical violence. I¡¯ve got a long face with a heavy chin, deep-set eyes, and a nose many-times broken.


    I don¡¯t often get a look at myself, but I knew well enough what I looked like. A brute. A killer. Hard-edged. There were plenty of words for it, but it all boiled down to the same thing ¡ª I didn¡¯t much look like the type to know my way around an arcane conundrum. Or the type who¡¯d even know words like conundrum.


    Lisette¡¯s inquiry was a dangerous question. Sorcerers are common enough, and anyone with even a passing talent at magic could be described as such, usually if they¡¯re untrained or gained their power from some natural source. Warlocks are another matter entire. Not all are evil or draw their power from diabolical sources ¡ª the only prerequisite was to have gained power through some sort of ritualized pact or bargain ¡ª but the word still carried a certain stigma. Especially when talking to someone trained among the clergy.


    I decided for a half truth. ¡°I knew a magician back before the war.¡± There was only one war in recent history I could be referring to, so I didn¡¯t need to elaborate. ¡°A proper wizard. He taught me some tricks.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°He taught you sacred burial rites?¡±


    I folded my arms and suppressed a cough. ¡°Sure. The magi are supposed to be all-knowing, right?¡± I couldn¡¯t quite keep the questioning note from my voice.


    I could tell the girl wasn¡¯t convinced, but Olliard (bless him) chose that moment to approach and clap his hands together, startling both of us. ¡°I think we should be set! I put a few of the charms I bought last time I had the chance on the cart, too. I¡¯ve heard that wild magic can stick to objects as well as people.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Good idea. Cart¡¯s made of wood, and dead matter collects od like you wouldn¡¯t believe.¡±


    Olliard blinked in interest, his owlish eyes widening behind his foggy lenses. ¡°Is that so? I¡¯d never heard of this.¡±


    The apprentice nodded, tucking her chin on her knees. ¡°It¡¯s the detail. Whoever made it had an exquisite hand. Who gave it to you?¡±


    None of your business. I bit down on the thought before it became words. The girl hadn¡¯t done anything to deserve my anger, or create it. ¡°An ally," I said. "One who knows curses."


    Lisette frowned. ¡°Curses?"


    Olliard spoke up from the driver¡¯s bench. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Lisette. Leave the man in peace.¡±


    The apprentice blushed and cast an apologetic look at her master. The three of us fell into silence and the cart rolled along through the Irkwood, taking us deeper into the wild dark.


    I covered the ring with my other hand and tried to keep the pain from showing on my face.


    ¡°Lisette is right,¡± Olliard added without turning around. ¡°You should rest. Your miraculous recovery aside, you need to keep up your strength. You too.¡± He looked over his shoulder at his apprentice. ¡°Brume and I will keep watch.¡±


    Lisette glanced nervously at the darkness beyond the lantern light, but nodded. ¡°Yes, master.¡± She settled back against the side of the cart and closed her eyes. The doctor waited until her breathing had become regular before speaking again.


    ¡°Once you¡¯re healed, Alken, what¡¯s next for you? Not that I¡¯d mind having a strong arm keeping me and the girl safe, but I imagine you have your own roads to walk.¡±


    I closed my eyes, giving up the fight against sleep. ¡°Suppose I¡¯ll cross that bridge when I come to it. How about you? What¡¯s your business in this village we¡¯re heading to?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a traveling physician,¡± Olliard explained. ¡°I wander here and there, offering my services where they are needed. I have a few places I visit semi-regularly. Caelfall is one such. Been most of two years since I¡¯ve passed through, given, but I¡¯ve known the people there, oh...¡± he rubbed at the wiry growth of hair on his chin. ¡°Well. A long time. The preoster there is a good man.¡±


    More priests, I thought sourly. Aloud I said, ¡°and if they did have something to do with what happened to the troll?¡±


    Olliard was quiet a while. When he finally spoke, his words were nearly a whisper. ¡°Sometimes, good people do terrible things to protect the ones they love.¡±


    I shifted to be closer to the doctor, leaning an arm over the side of the cart. No matter how I sat or lay down, no position wasn¡¯t a torture. ¡°You think the troll went fell? It happens, sometimes.¡±


    Olliard shrugged and let out a tired sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I try to not act without facts. Misunderstandings sometimes create the saddest of tragedies.¡±


    I arched an eyebrow. ¡°That why you didn¡¯t just leave me to die, like your apprentice wanted?¡±


    Olliard glanced at me over one shoulder, and there was slight reprimand in that look. ¡°Lisette did not advocate to leave you to die. She is a kind-hearted girl, for all the horror she¡¯s seen. She may growl, but she could no more leave another soul to suffer than the moons could fail to rise.¡±


    ¡°And what if she was right?¡± I asked, keeping my tone casual. ¡°What if I was dangerous, and went on to hurt someone after you helped me?¡±


    Olliard turned his eyes back to the road and didn¡¯t reply for a while. Finally he said, ¡°then it would be my responsibility to stop you, and make amends for my sin.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯d do it?¡± I asked. ¡°Try to stop me?¡± I tried not to put any special emphasis on the word try. I was curious, not trying to intimidate the man.


    ¡°I would stop you,¡± Olliard said, very quiet. He spoke very calmly, without bravado or conceit.


    I waited, but the doctor didn¡¯t elaborate. Finally, in a lighter tone, he said, ¡°time to get some rest. Don¡¯t want you catching a fever now. Sleep. Doctor¡¯s orders.¡± He turned back and flashed a grin. ¡°Trust me, these wards are professionally done. No mischief will find you in your dreams.¡±


    I eyed the old man warily, but was tired and sore enough not to bother arguing. I settled into the cart and, despite my better judgment, closed my eyes.


    The doctor¡¯s wards were good, that much was true. But it wasn¡¯t forest spirits I was worried about. There were more dangerous things in the world, and a few charms and prayers weren¡¯t going to be enough to hold them at bay.

 Arc 1: Chapter 9: Onsolain

    Arc 1: Chapter 9: Onsolain


    When I woke, I wasn¡¯t feeling any pain. That was my first clue that something was off.


    The scent of flowers drew me from a dream whose details scattered to dust even as I was pulled from it. I heard birdsong, the flow of water over rock, and a woman¡¯s voice humming a quiet, nostalgic tune I was certain I¡¯d never heard before.


    I opened my eyes and found myself in a forest glade. The ground beneath me was soft, and the air was pleasantly cool. I didn¡¯t want to stand. I felt too good. For that reason more than any other I forced myself to get up and inspect my surroundings in more detail. I didn¡¯t trust anything that wanted me to be at peace.


    My eyes were met by a scene out of an ancient dream. Which, I suppose, it was. Everything in the grove was tinted in shades of emerald and sun-dappled gold, though the sky ¡ª where I could see it through the dome of a thick canopy ¡ª was utterly black and starless, the light within the grove seeming to have no discernible source. The sound of water came from a low waterfall which fed into a gleaming silver stream. Grass and moss covered nearly every surface, including the trunks of the ancient trees. All shone vibrant, abundant with growth, and untouched by rot.


    Put simply, it was a scene beautiful enough to make an artist weep and a poet grow tongue-tied. I closed my eyes and took shallow breaths, trying not to take in the heady scent of the flowers blooming across the grass. My body and mind were telling me I was safe, that this was a clean place, a refuge.


    I knew in my gut that it was dangerous.


    Instead of drinking in the fey-lit grove, I turned my eyes to the figure kneeling by the stream. She was as beautiful as the setting within which she was enthroned. In a way, it was her throne. She hadn¡¯t spoken as I¡¯d woken and stumbled to my feet, and I had time to take in details as I cautiously approached.


    She was dressed in a gown fashioned in shades of forest green and moon-silver. Flowers were woven into her midnight black hair, and her skin a shade of pale nothing in the natural world could replicate. Even kneeling, she was tall. Taller than me. Taller than any human. She was athletically built, her round shoulders displayed by the sleeveless cut of her dress, her long neck dappled with spray from the waterfall which glinted like beads of crystal. She exuded a very faint light.


    She was the source of the grove¡¯s light.


    The woman bowed her head over the form of a slumbering creature. It looked like a war chimera, though I knew that no mortal alchemist had crafted this beast. Its body was that of a wolf, all course gray fur and lean, muscular limbs, and its head had a distinctly canine aspect as well. Shining antlers grew from its head, and its back legs ended in cloven hooves. Its tail was long and bushy, like a fox. Its chest rose and fell in long, deliberate breaths, and its jaws hung slightly open to reveal long teeth sharp as any blade. It was larger than most bears.


    I approached to stand near the beautiful woman and the creature which was, in its own way, also striking. I studied it for a while longer and then said, ¡°it¡¯s dying.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes were closed. One of her thin-fingered hands rested on the creature¡¯s chest, the other on its neck. Her head bowed slightly, and I thought I noted a shade of weariness in the movement. ¡°She is.¡± Her voice was a breathy murmur, so low I shouldn¡¯t have been able to hear it, yet every leaf and tree in the grove quivered with the words.


    ¡°How long?¡± I asked.


    ¡°She was injured in the year the Gilded City fell,¡± the shining woman said. ¡°Most of ten years ago. Not long, I think.¡±


    Something wrenched in my chest. ¡°Is there anything I can do?¡± I asked.


    A smile touched the edges of the shining woman¡¯s roseberry lips. ¡°No, Alken Hewer, but it does you credit to offer.¡±


    A shudder went through me at the sound of my own name. There was power in that utterance, of a kind that made my whole essence respond like a plucked cord on a lute. It wasn¡¯t an altogether unpleasant feeling, but it made my guard go up again. I didn¡¯t much care for anything that made me react in a way I didn¡¯t want to.


    When I spoke again, I did my best to keep anything like anger or disrespect from my tone. ¡°If you and your brethren wanted to speak to me, you could have sent Donnelly. I¡¯m not fond of having my dreams tampered with.¡±


    The woman stood, and my initial of impression of her height was, if anything, conservative. She was more than seven and a half feet tall, probably most of a foot taller than me. Her hair hung in a black curtain nearly down to her bare feet, giving it the aspect of a shadowy cloak. She turned to me, and her eyes cracked open to reveal a clean silver light. I was careful not to look directly into them.


    She regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, and then nodded. ¡°Of course. You would resent having your dreams intruded upon, given your past...¡± she bowed her head, the gesture conveying apology. ¡°Forgive me. If it puts you at ease, this is not your dream but mine. I have invited you in as a guest, and I assure you that this place holds no danger for you, Knight of the Alder Table.¡±


    It didn¡¯t really put me at ease at all, but the apology was so formal and genuine that it made me feel guilty for saying anything. I scratched at the back of my neck and shuffled, then bowed my own head respectfully. ¡°Thank you, Lady Eanor.¡± I surprised myself by meaning it.


    My host placed delicate fingertips over her lips, hiding a wider smile. ¡°You know me?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°The grove and the chimera kind of gave it away. I¡¯ve been in more than a few churches.¡± I paused, then decided why not? I had been a knight, once, and flattering women was sort of a religion for the profession. ¡°The carvings don¡¯t do you justice.¡±


    ¡°You are most gallant,¡± Lady Eanor said with a light giggle that seemed to make the whole forest shudder in mirth. Even the trickling stream altered its music to match the sound. ¡°But Valharre is not a chimera, Sir Knight. She is much older than any of the mutants your kind has bred and spread across this sphere.¡±


    Valharre. Bleeding Gates, but that was a name I knew. I was standing in the presence of a legend.


    And she was dying. Right there, only a few feet away from me. Wary as I was, a tendril of sadness wove its way through my armor.


    Lady Eanor¡¯s eyes remained on the dying creature for a while. I waited patiently, feeling a strange lack of urgency. That, I was sure, had to do with the nature of the sanctuary my consciousness had been drawn into. I didn¡¯t believe I was truly there, at least not physically. No doubt my body was back in Olliard¡¯s cart, deep in sleep.


    ¡°By the way,¡± I said, wanting to change the subject from the dying demigod, ¡°I saw your sister recently.¡±


    I¡¯d thought I¡¯d be walking the shadows, fighting against shadows. Instead, I felt more like an assassin. A tool.


    Nothing ever changed.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be one of the most wanted men in the land,¡± I said, more sour than defiant. ¡°People have started to hate me nearly as much as the Briar.¡±


    ¡°Yours is a Penance of Blood,¡± Eanor said. ¡°You are the Headsman of Seydis. You accepted this path. Now you must walk to its end. You know the alternative.¡±


    I did, but I resented her for reminding me as though I¡¯d forgotten. My head was beginning to throb from looking into Eanor¡¯s eyes for too long. I turned away and walked toward the stream, staring into its clear waters. Precious gems glittered at the bottom rather than stones. After a minute, I sensed the goddess¡¯s presence over my shoulder. There had been no whisper of feet across grass, no rustle of fabric. She was just suddenly there, at my side. Light fingers touched my shoulder, and I shivered. There was the strength to break apart mountains in those hands, and even if the touch was meant to comfort I couldn¡¯t help but feel discomforted.


    ¡°You have been deeply wounded by war and betrayal.¡± Eanor¡¯s words rang with empathy. ¡°Had it been my choice, I would not have bestowed such a fell office upon an oathsworn member of the Alder Table.¡±


    I took a deep breath, calming myself. ¡°But you¡¯re just one voice in the Choir, right? I get it.¡± I turned and met her eyes. I had to look up to do it, and the onsolain met my gaze with eyes narrowed to near slits so I could barely see the light in them, her expression troubled.


    ¡°Who¡¯s my next target?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Orson Falconer,¡± Eanor said, the grove whispering the name along with her. ¡°The Baron of Caelfall.¡± She took her hand off my shoulder and clasped it with the other, the gesture almost one of prayer.


    I blinked in surprise, and she nodded. ¡°He rules the land you are traveling into even now.¡± A hint of anger crept into her soothing voice, the first display of it since the audience had begun. ¡°His men slew the sentinel.¡±


    ¡°The troll,¡± I muttered, realizing. ¡°One of yours?¡±


    Eanor nodded. ¡°He was an old friend and a valiant guardian. My own vassal. But his death is not why we give you this name, Alken Hewer.¡±


    I noted the use of we. I felt a twinge of disappointment at that. Part of me had hoped this was a case of personal vengeance on behalf of the being I spoke to. I could understand that. There was even a ring of chivalry to it.


    But no. This was another edict for the Headsman, direct from the Divine Choir itself.


    ¡°The baron has consorted with the Adversary,¡± Eanor said, drawing my attention back to her. ¡°He was once a just ruler, a valiant warrior, but that was many years ago. His dissolution began even before the burning of Elfhome, and he has grown ever bolder in his heresies of late. He gathers forces to him, and may threaten the peace of the Accorded Reams, already a tenuous thing.¡± Her expression grew distant, as though she were listening to some faraway voice. ¡°He must be stopped before he strengthens his ties to other Recusants and threatens war.¡±


    I pondered that for a time. There were many powers in the land who refused to respect the authority of the Accord, the alliance of nations and powerful factions formed to maintain order in a land broken by the Fall. Mostly they were warlords consigned to isolated demesnes where the Accord¡¯s influence couldn¡¯t easily reach, ruling small domains as they pleased and raiding the larger, battle-weary realms. But not all were merely petty warlords. Some were powerful warlocks, or militant groups posing as mercenary companies and bandit gangs. Some were wizards.


    Some were kings.


    In common parlance, these dissidents and warmongers were called Recusants. They were not a united force, but if they ever found common ground it could easily lead to another Fall.


    Part of my job was to prevent just that outcome. Even if many of the lords of the Accord basically thought of me as one of those Recusants.


    If Orson Falconer gathered forces to him here, practically in the heartlands of the Accorded Realms, and made nice with other rebel factions... things could get bad.


    ¡°You called him a heretic,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s a diabolist? A warlock?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Eanor confirmed. ¡°I have felt his darkness pressing on the edges of my own domain, especially here in this forest. I have urged my brethren to act before. It was fortunate that you were passing through when you did, and had just completed another task.¡±


    Yeah, I thought bitterly, real fortunate. Aloud I said, ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can. I¡¯m kind of a wreck right now.¡±


    Eanor only smiled softly. My eyes felt heavy, and I knew the end of this strange audience was approaching. I turned and began to move back toward the edge of the grove. I wasn¡¯t certain it would end the audience any faster, but I didn¡¯t really feel too at peace just then, and didn¡¯t want the enchanted grove taking my frustration away. It wasn¡¯t like I was proud of my bitter feelings, but they were mine.


    ¡°Do not forget,¡± the onsolain said at my back. ¡°You are still of the Alder Table, Sir Knight, bound to that office, and it is a calling greater than your penance as the Headsman.¡±


    I tried not to snort. ¡°The Table¡¯s broken,¡± I said. ¡°And my knighthood was stripped when I was excommunicated, so I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re supposed to be calling me sir anymore.¡±


    ¡°Mortal nations may not recognize you as such,¡± Eanor murmured, the words seeming to drift through my thoughts. ¡°But your vows are forever binding. Do not forsake them, Alken Hewer, for they have not forsaken you.¡±


    Damn immortals always end up having the last word.

 Arc 1: Chapter 10: Shadows Over Caelfall

    Arc 1: Chapter 10: Shadows Over Caelfall


    I woke just before dawn. We cleared the Irkwood not long after, and moved into the domain known as Caelfall.


    My first impression of that small country was that it was a gloomy sort of place. Small lakes and marshland were scattered across a dreary, mostly uncultivated stretch of pseudo-wilderness. Dead trees burst from murky, shallow water in many places, bare limbs stretching toward the sky like the grasping fingers of the dead, and hungry growth threatened to choke the narrow road. Morning mist coiled sullenly beyond the path, shrouding the terrain in a jealous haze.


    Maybe my opinion of the place was spoiled by the knowledge that a warlock ruled it. Even still, my companions didn¡¯t seem much more enthused than I did. Lisette watched the mist-veiled country with quiet concern, and Olliard kept his calm gaze fixed firmly forward, his eyes unreadable behind the semi-opaque lenses of his spectacles.


    As we moved closer to my destination, I considered the task ahead of me. My dream-audience with the onsolain was as clear in my memory as any real event ¡ª clearer, even. It had been no phantom theater of a sleeping mind, I knew. The way I saw it, I had two problems; the first was that I needed to learn more about the lord who ruled this dreary country. Unlike with Leonis Chancer, who I knew by well-established reputation as the instigator of terrible atrocities before his tenure as a bishop, I¡¯d never even heard of an Orson Falconer.


    I needed information. An enemy unknown was dangerous, and the only advantage I had was anonymity. The healers I traveled with helped in that regard.


    That was the second problem. Olliard of Kell and his apprentice had done me a good turn, and they were unknowingly traveling into danger. I doubted I could turn them away from it ¡ª what would I say? That a demigod had warned me this land was inhabited by a dangerous apostate and it was my task to stop him? They¡¯d think me a madman.


    But I didn¡¯t want the two to get wrapped up in my task, either. Because they had saved my life, I was obligated to protect them in turn.


    You are no longer a knight, I reminded myself. You said so to Eanor yourself. Stop pretending like you¡¯re still bound by that creed.


    Better to focus on my task, and keep the two of them from getting involved.


    My injuries might have posed a third problem but ¡ª as it turned out ¡ª Eanor¡¯s cryptic comment toward the end of our meeting hadn¡¯t just been idle banter. I realized soon after waking that my wounds no longer troubled me.


    The onsolain had healed me, I was certain. Perhaps I should have felt grateful for that, but it mostly just led me to suspect I had more pain to look forward to.


    ***


    ¡°Here we are,¡± Olliard said with forced cheer.


    I could hardly blame him for his lack of enthusiasm. The Village of Caelfall was well matched to the country for which it had been named. It was large, practically a small town, and hugged the shores of a wide, ominously still lake. Lengths of dock stretched out into those waters, moored fishing boats aimed into its foggy interior. Buildings of wood and gray stone pressed for space within the bounds of irregular marshland, or clustered at the edges of low canals fed by streams congregating from the surrounds. A low stone wall enclosed the village, and our road led right into the maw of its fortified gate.


    ¡°This used to be a significant trade town,¡± Olliard said in a more subdued voice, studying the grim looking settlement. ¡°The flooding didn¡¯t use to be this bad, even when I was a boy.¡± He ran his eyes across the sprawl of buildings a moment longer before pointing to a large gray structure with a belfry tower. ¡°That church there is where Preoster Micah lives. Lisette and I will probably be staying with him while we¡¯re here.¡± He glanced back at me. ¡°What of you, Alken? I¡¯m certain Micah won¡¯t mind you staying with him while you recover.¡±


    The doctor wasn¡¯t aware that I¡¯d already made a full recovery. ¡°I¡¯ll find an inn,¡± I told him. ¡°Soldiers and priests don¡¯t tend to mix well.¡±


    Olliard nodded slowly. ¡°Very well. In any case, don¡¯t be a stranger while we¡¯re all in town. I¡¯ll check on you when I¡¯m able. A good physician doesn¡¯t ignore a recovering patient, after all!¡±Alll latest novels at novelhall.com


    He flashed a smile that faded when I wasn¡¯t quick to return it. He cleared his throat and pointed to another larger building not far from the church. ¡°That¡¯s the Cymrian Sword. A reputable inn, at least back when the town had more traffic... the owner should treat you fair. Give him my name, tell him you¡¯re here as my hired hand, and he¡¯ll give you a fair price. You have money?¡±


    ¡°A little,¡± I said. ¡°And thank you. That¡¯s very kind.¡± I felt a pang of guilt at the doctor¡¯s generosity.


    We passed through the gates without incident. Lightly armored guards watched the cart from the wall, and three more questioned Olliard below. They showed no indication of recognizing the old man, but their suspicion seemed to lessen when their eyes fell on Lisette. Even still, they checked the cart with a calm, quick efficiency that didn¡¯t seem characteristic of an out-of-the-way fishing town. They eyed me warily, but none of them tried to start anything and they left the apprentice be.


    Professionals, I thought.


    Olliard was oddly quiet throughout the inspection, his talkative demeanor fading behind a neutral mask of patient indifference. The foggy surface of his spectacles didn¡¯t linger on the guards, seeming to remain fixed on some point in the far distance. Lisette similarly avoided the eyes of the guards, though her demeanor bespoke more of anxiety. She pulled the thin woolen cloak she wore over her brown robes tightly around her shoulders, her eyes downturned. I could tell she was afraid.


    So could the guards. I saw one of them nudge his fellow and turn a chin toward the doctor¡¯s apprentice. The other said something under his breath and they both snickered.


    I kept my hand carefully away from my axe and dagger. Starting something here would be bad, and I¡¯d seen behavior of the sort plenty often. They would stare and make rude comments, but they wouldn¡¯t try anything and I wasn¡¯t going to risk undo attention for the sake of the apprentice¡¯s honor.


    Olliard also noted the attention and Lisette¡¯s discomfiture. Casually, he told the captain of the watch ¡ª a broadly built, stark-faced man with the hard eyes of a veteran ¡ª that he intended to visit the settlement¡¯s head priest, and the guard captain¡¯s expression became remote.


    ¡°Father Micah is no longer with us, physiker.¡± The guardsman used an older term for a head priest, one occasionally used in more rural settlements like this one. ¡°He died nearly three months ago from an ague.¡± His cold soldier¡¯s eyes fixed on the doctor.


    Olliard looked stunned. ¡°Dead?¡± The old man shook his head, as though denying the fact. ¡°But... no. He was a trained cleric, disease wouldn¡¯t have easily taken him. Are you quite certain?¡±


    ¡°Deadly certain,¡± the guard captain said lightly, looking bored. One of the guards stifled a laugh at his joke before the dead-eyed man added, ¡°maybe he wasn¡¯t quite as faithful as you thought? Probably could have used your brews, eh?¡±


    Lisette stiffened at the guardsman¡¯s words and started to say something. I placed a hand on her shoulder, stalling her heated words. I noted two of the guards fixing the girl in their attention, and there was less humor in those looks.


    I lifted an eyebrow and ran an eye over the nearly empty room. ¡°Let me guess ¡ª guards buy those out too?¡±


    The innkeeper snorted. ¡°Sure. Bought em.¡± He nodded to the mostly empty tables. ¡°Listen, I can¡¯t offer you a bed. You can sleep out in the common room if you buy a meal in the bargain.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡± I asked. He told me, and my eyebrows went higher again. He was charging me practically nothing.


    ¡°Seems fair,¡± I said. I paid him for three nights, deciding not to be too optimistic about how long I¡¯d be staying. The exchange was quick and perfunctory, the innkeeper dispensing with old traditions of his profession like idle banter and thinly veiled questions about my business. I decided I liked him.


    Before I moved off to one of the tables to rest ¡ª endless hours riding in a cart on rough roads had left me feeling like that same road after an army trod on it ¡ª the innkeeper drew my attention.


    ¡°Not going to ask you your business stranger,¡± he murmured low enough the fishermen sitting nearby couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t linger in town too long.¡±


    I regarded the man thoughtfully and decided to risk getting more information. ¡°This have to do with your gate watchmen?¡±


    The heavyset man immediately went still, his lips drawing into a thin line. I lowered my voice and leaned closer, matching his own tone. ¡°I came here with two companions who did me a good turn. Healers. If you think I should warn them to skip town because of some trouble, they¡¯re going to want to know why.¡±


    ¡°Healers...¡± the man¡¯s eyes grew distant. He had dark blue eyes, more thoughtful than his burly appearance let on. ¡°A doctor, you mean? Old man, keeps this ugly old chimera with a boar¡¯s head?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s him. We met on the road, traveled here together.¡±


    Immediately the wary suspicion in the man¡¯s expression eased, and he might have even drawn in a breath of relief. ¡°Olliard¡¯s a good man,¡± he said. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen him in years. Glad he¡¯s still alive.¡±


    I lowered my voice even further. ¡°He said he didn¡¯t recognize the men at the gate.¡±


    The innkeeper¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°No, I imagine he wouldn¡¯t.¡± His eyes flicked to the people sitting at the nearby table. I followed his gaze as casually as I could and saw an older woman with sun-leathered skin nod to the innkeeper. She murmured something to her companions and the lot of them stood and moved closer to the door, away from the bar, spreading into smaller groups at various tables.


    Somehow, I knew they were keeping watch.


    ¡°Listen stranger,¡± the innkeeper said to me, speaking more pointedly. ¡°I don¡¯t know you, but Doctor Olliard has done more than a few good turns for this town, for people all over the demesne. Saved my girl when she was still on her mother¡¯s milk.¡± He nodded to the teenager sweeping the common room¡¯s floors. ¡°So when I tell you this, I hope you understand that I don¡¯t mean him or his any ill.¡±


    He waited, and I nodded my understanding. The burly innkeeper continued after a moment¡¯s pause.


    ¡°You should tell the doctor to get out of Caelfall, fast as fast.¡± His eyes focused on me. ¡°Things have changed in the demesne. Those men at the gate...¡± he blew out a tired breath. ¡°Mercenaries. Don¡¯t know much about them, but I hear they¡¯re part of some company based out west. Baron hired them and ordered the rest of us to cooperate.¡± His expression hardened. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the type, back during the House Wars. Killers.¡±


    I guessed that cooperate included providing the mercenaries free room and board. Aloud I said, ¡°usually lords hire sellswords when they¡¯re planning to attack a rival or being attacked in turn. There a border war I should be worried about?¡±


    The innkeeper¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°No. Strangest thing, but none of us know why the baron brought them in and gave them the run of the place. We haven¡¯t been raided by any neighboring fiefs, and Lord Orson would have sent out a call for levies if we were, or if he was planning to start a fight himself. Nothing like that.¡±


    ¡°The baron give the order to keep the fishing boats moored, too?¡± I asked, pointedly not looking at the locals lingering in the inn in midday.


    The innkeeper opened his mouth to speak, then closed it so abruptly I could hear his teeth click. His eyes went distant again. ¡°Just tell the doctor to move on,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯d suggest the same to you, stranger.¡±


    I knew I wasn¡¯t going to get anything more out of the man. I could press, but I didn¡¯t want him getting suspicious. I moved to one of the tables and sat. Soon after, the innkeeper¡¯s tired-eyed daughter brought me a plate of food and some mead. I¡¯d been on the road a long time. My mouth immediately began to water. I started to thank the girl, but she¡¯d already scurried off. I shrugged and began to eat.


    As I did, I considered what I¡¯d learned so far. The villagers weren¡¯t plying the lake, likely their main source or revenue in this barren, marsh-infested country, and the local baron had recently hired a gang of professional thugs to guard the settlement. The local cleric had died of illness, though I didn¡¯t put too much weight on that news. It could be a coincidence.


    Olliard spoke of the preoster like his was a local leader, I reminded myself. It was common enough in many smaller settlements for a member of the clergy to act in the role of mayor.


    So, maybe not a coincidence. Especially since I knew from the lips of a member of the Choir Concilium itself that the local nobleman was a warlock.


    I was also certain that these mercenaries were the ones responsible for killing the troll who guarded the woodland road beyond Caelfall. The same troll who was a vassal of the being whose domain, or at least part of it, comprised that ancient forest.


    I didn¡¯t know everything that was going on. I didn¡¯t know why the members of a fishing town were avoiding their own waters, or the identity of the baron¡¯s hired mercenaries. But some of the facts I¡¯d gathered were already forming a clear and disturbing picture in my mind.


    Orson Falconer, Lord of Caelfall, was securing his domain against the onsolain and their servants. I had a feeling he¡¯d be just as aggressive when he learned they¡¯d sent their executioner.


    And there wasn¡¯t even a nice big river to whisk me away this time.

 Arc 1: Chapter 11: Amid the Mists

    Arc 1: Chapter 11: Amid the Mists


    I ate the food that was brought to me, and left the mead less than half empty. I avoid impaired judgment at the most peaceful times, and wanted myself especially sharp then.


    I sat. I waited. As the day grew later, I noticed a few things. For one, the locals started clearing out of the Cymrian Sword not long after I showed up. Secondly, perhaps three hours before sundown, the innkeeper sent his daughter back into the kitchens and she didn¡¯t come back out. He took up the girl¡¯s broom himself and busied himself tidying, ignoring me.


    Then, about two hours before sundown, the mercenaries started filtering in. They came in twos and threes at first, small patrols or watchmen coming off their shifts. They stank of sweat and leather, calling for drinks the moment they laid eyes on the innkeep.


    By dusk, the taproom was more than halfway to crowded.


    From a corner table I observed the front door open for perhaps the fiftieth time. A group of five men ¡ª no, four men and one woman ¡ª stomped into the Cymrian Sword. They were more heavily armored than most of the other mercenaries, with scarred breastplates, vambraces, and greaves decorating their gray uniforms. They exuded the same bitter scent as the stables I¡¯d noticed before, and their eyes were shadowed with fatigue.


    ¡°Captain!¡± At this word, every chattering voice in the inn went silent and nearly thirty mercenaries stood, some so abruptly their chairs clattered to the floor. The innkeeper was sorting glassware on the wall behind his bar and carefully gave no reaction to this new arrival.


    It was the one woman in the group who stepped forward. She was a grizzled old hawk of a soldier. Her armor was simple, expensive, and marked by many failed attempts to kill her. Her uniform was finer than any of the others, the flinty gray material of her knee-length coat accented by silver thread. She wore a long cloak of such a pale shade of foggy gray it was nearly white, nearly the same color as her hair, and tucked a crested helm with a plume of white chimera hair under one arm.


    She waved a lazy hand, and the entire room once again returned to its previous relaxed air. The old woman had large, intense eyes of a very deep shade of blue. The rest of her was so colorless that they seemed to glow within the stark lines of her skull. They fixed on another man who¡¯d arrived perhaps half an hour earlier, a huge man wearing more armor than the rest. The captain made a beeline for him, and a few other sellswords with the look of company veterans gathered around that table.


    I folded my arms, tucked my chin against my chest, and closed my eyes. To the casual observer, it would appear I dozed in the shadows at the corner of the inn¡¯s common room. I was not asleep. I focused my senses, drowned out the din of conversation, and listened to the captain speak with her lieutenants.


    ¡°New orders from his lordship,¡± the captain said. She sounded younger than she looked, her voice lacking the rough edges one gained over the course of a long life. ¡°He wants third company pulled back to the island.¡±


    One of the men cursed. The big one waited a beat before saying, ¡°we¡¯re already stretched thin in this marsh.¡± His voice was a deep basso, polar opposite to his commander. ¡°The irks have been out for blood ever since we got rid of the troll.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a suggestion, Vaughn.¡± The captain¡¯s tone was more one of weary acceptance than reprimand. ¡°More of the baron¡¯s guests are expected soon, and he wants to make sure there are no...¡± she seemed to chew on her words a moment. ¡°Misunderstandings.¡±


    ¡°You mean he wants to let his would-be courtiers know who¡¯s in charge,¡± one of the other lieutenants said, snickering. I recognized him from the gate. The reedy man who¡¯d made Lisette uncomfortable. ¡°Nothing better for it than a wall of steel.¡±


    The big man snorted. The captain said something else I didn¡¯t catch across through the din. ¡°Just see it done,¡± she said. ¡°Have Berregon¡¯s men take over patrols in the eastern marshes, keep the damn spiders away from our throats. I¡¯ll talk to the baron, see if I can get him to deal with our eld problem. Devil knows he has the means.¡±


    ¡°You think he¡¯ll send his pet?¡± The reedy man asked, eager.


    The captain made a hissing sound. ¡°Keep your mouth shut, Tarkley, or I¡¯ll have it sewn. With wire. We don¡¯t need the local stock more tense than they already are.¡±


    ¡°...Yes, Captain.¡±


    The group split then. The aged captain moved to the bar and began to speak to the innkeeper, who turned his somber regard on her with the sort of wary calm one uses with large dogs and angry drunks. The other mercenaries she¡¯d spoken to lingered, save for the big man, the one called Vaughn. He gathered two men and left the inn through the front door.


    I saw all of it through slitted eyes. I considered for a minute, waited a moment longer, and then left the inn myself, drawing as little attention to myself as I could.


    Night had settled over the town, and a chill that did not belong to early summer lingered in the streets of Caelfall Village. A thin mist accompanied it, clinging low to the shadowed streets and hungrily devouring what light filtered through from the stars and moons so it seemed to nearly glow with a spectral luminescence all its own.


    I pulled my cloak more tightly around my shoulders and glanced up and down the street. I caught the shadow of movement in the direction of the gate, along with the dim flicker of torch-flame, and moved in that direction. The moons were out, so I pulled my cowl up to cover my head. Last thing I needed just then was od sickness.


    I tailed the big lieutenant to the gate, where I saw him speaking to the watch ¡ª a different group than had welcomed the doctor. I ducked into the alley between two shops, but I caught only the end of their conversation. It sounded like the big mercenary was passing along the same order he¡¯d been given by his commander. After a minute or two, he turned down another street, and his two followers followed just behind and to either side.


    I moved along with them, a shadow within the night and mist. Their armor made them easy to follow, especially the big man¡¯s ¡ª he wore nearly a full set of plate mail, and its echoing clanks enticed me on.


    My plan, as it was, was still developing. I needed to know more ¡ª about the baron, the forces he had at his disposal, his plans and knowledge ¡ª in order to carry out my mission. Weeks of observation and waiting had gone into the death of the Bishop of Vinhithe, and I suspected the Baron of Caelfall would be an entirely unique challenge.


    Green Hood was silent a moment, pondering this. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the name. Keep an eye on him. If he grows suspicious of the priest¡¯s death, it could spell trouble for us. Kill him if he proves to be trouble, and only then. What of the other? You said there were three.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t catch his name,¡± Vaughn said. ¡°Just a bodyguard, I think. Big brute, red hair, in his thirties. Has scars over his left eye, like claw marks.¡± He ran a thumb over his left eye at an angle, to demonstrate. ¡°He¡¯s staying at the inn. Want I should off him, too?¡±


    ¡°If he proves to be trouble,¡± Green Hood said. ¡°The deaths of outsiders will not draw much attention, and we can afford no interference from the Accord. The baron is wary of spies. Question this hired guard, find out if aught seems amiss.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye,¡± Vaughn drawled. He motioned to his men and turned back toward the street. Green Hood turned the opposite way, beginning to move toward a boat moored near the shore. Two figures, similarly cloaked and hooded, sat in the boat with readied oars.


    Vaughn paused, waiting until the boat was out over the water. The boat vanished into the night-darkened lake, mist coiling like hungry tendrils around its hull until they seemed to swallow it.


    ¡°Creepy bitch,¡± Vaughn said to his men. They muttered agreement, and he jerked his head back toward the direction of the inn. ¡°Go find that merc who came in with the doctor. Take him somewhere quiet and get him talking. Give his body to the marsh when you¡¯re done.¡±


    The two sellswords began to head back toward the Cymrian Sword. I didn¡¯t intend to be there, among more than a score of their friends, when they arrived. I silently cursed. I¡¯d hoped for more time, but this village was too hot.


    Time to go. I¡¯d find a place to hole up in the marsh until I came up with another plan. I had enough clues to suspect the baron¡¯s keep was probably on an island out in the lake. I¡¯d come up with a plan of attack after I got away from these mercenaries. I moved into another street, using the buildings to block line of sight between me and the mercenaries.


    As I walked, part of me considered going to the church and warning Olliard of the danger. It was a dangerous use of my time, and likely to lose me the window I had to get out safely.


    Olliard and his young disciple had saved my life.


    I had a duty, and my bloody work wasn¡¯t going to be doable while protecting anyone. If I wanted to succeed, to survive, to win, I couldn¡¯t afford any baggage.


    But they saved you.


    People died all the time. The world was an unjust place. There wasn¡¯t anything I could do about that.


    Tell yourself that all you want, but you have the power to help them.


    I¡¯d just get them deeper into danger if I went near them again.


    You owe them.


    Damn it.


    Distracted by these thoughts, I was taken off guard when a lance of startling cold shot through me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and in a flash of instinct I knew something Dark had taken notice of me. The mist had condensed into a deepening fog. That fog had an oily quality, slow and languorous, and it was gathering more thickly around me.


    ¡°Well well,¡± a deep, gravelly voice said from directly behind me. ¡°What have we here? A little jackal snooping in the shadows?¡±


    I tensed and turned, and found the three mercenaries I¡¯d followed standing directly behind me. They¡¯d approached without sound. They stood relaxed, gray uniforms nearly blending with the fog as it swirled around their legs.


    Impossible. I would have noticed their approach. How had they cleared the distance so fast?


    The leader ¡ª the big man who¡¯d spoken to the captain before ¡ª watched me with a lazy, calm indifference. My earlier impression of his size held true. He was near my own height, with thickly muscled arms and a broader midsection. His armor was just as battered and professionally made as his commander¡¯s, and his head was shrouded in a thick mane of brown hair lined with ghostly gray. His face was clean-shaven, square-jawed, and set with eyes dark as two pieces of coal.


    He lifted a heavy sword between us, flashed pale yellow teeth, and said ¡°hello, jackal.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 12: The Hungry Dead

    Arc 1: Chapter 12: The Hungry Dead


    We faced each other in silence, me and those three killers, as the night grew older and the nearly lambent mist coiled around our legs.


    It was one of Vaughn¡¯s cronies who broke that silence. ¡°Looks more like a bear than a jackal, vice-captain. Big fucker.¡±


    ¡°Lot of meat on him,¡± the other lackey said, eyeing me with an uncomfortably hungry attention.


    ¡°Not enough fat,¡± the first said. ¡°These vagabond types never eat right, makes them too tough. Too thin.¡± He clicked his teeth together. They were big, yellow teeth, and made an audible snap as they met.


    ¡°Now now, boys.¡± Vaughn had a more reserved expression than the other two, a more relaxed posture, but his gaze held a similar tint of tension, like a starved hound taught at its master¡¯s leash. ¡°Funny, but we were just coming to have a chat with you, stranger. It¡¯s mighty indulgent of you to save us the walk.¡±


    My hand flexed for the axe hidden under my cloak. I kept it hung on a metal ring, easy to get into my hand, but the cloak was in the way and I¡¯d have to be fast. I didn¡¯t draw just yet. Once I did, there would be no going back. ¡°What can I say,¡± I said, matching the mercenary leader¡¯s lazy Corelander drawl. ¡°I hate it when anyone goes out of their way for me.¡±


    Vaughn snorted. He didn¡¯t do anything so cocky as flourish his sword ¡ª a heavy, short blade of simple dark steel with a distinctly archaic design. It was very well used judging by the nicks and scratches along its weathered surface. He held it low in one heavy fist, slightly in front of him and ready to come up into a guard with an easy movement. The other two hadn¡¯t drawn their weapons, but their hands lingered on the swords sheathed at their hips.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t have to be difficult,¡± Vaughn said. ¡°We just have some questions about the old man you arrived with. Why don¡¯t you come with us, and we¡¯ll go somewhere warmer to chat? You can be back at the Cymrian with a full tankard of mead within the hour. My word of honor on it.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I said. ¡°Because I¡¯d trust the honor of a ghoul.¡±


    Vaughn went very still. Too still, which made sense ¡ª he didn¡¯t need to breathe. How I hadn¡¯t sensed the true nature of the mercenaries earlier, I didn¡¯t know. My powers allowed me to feel the presence of Creatures of Darkness, but it wasn¡¯t a perfect awareness. I hadn¡¯t been looking for them, for one thing, and the stagnant atmosphere of the marshland had dulled my senses, given me a general air of paranoia while also muffling the true natures of those who inhabited it.


    I¡¯d been trained to be wary in places like this. Too often in history had Alder Knights, and other champions, ventured into environs more suited to their adversaries and found what blessings they had ¡ª be they artifacts or innate abilities ¡ª weakened or even nullified. The witch hunter who found his quarry seeming no more threatening than a young woman living in the woods, only to end up in her cauldron. The paladin who didn¡¯t sense the fiendish thing lurking in his own shadow because the twisted labyrinth about him was so full of the echoes of horror.


    I¡¯d been unwary, impatient, and too focused on distractions. Now I was going to pay for it.


    ¡°You know what we are,¡± Vaughn said. Even as he spoke, his skin seemed to take on a grayish pallor, his eyes becoming less vibrant. He bared his teeth. They were overlarge and yellow, heavy and strong enough to crack bone.


    ¡°Your stooges weren¡¯t too subtle about it just a moment ago,¡± I said, nodding to the two nameless soldiers. ¡°Unless they were trying to flirt with me? Sorry, but I¡¯m afraid none of you are my type.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re funny, stranger.¡± Vaughn jerked his chin at me. ¡°Kill him. We¡¯ll do the other two next.¡±


    Swords slid from their sheaths with predatory, whispering hisses. Vaughn brought his own heavy blade up in a guard as the other two ghouls spread out to flank me.


    I freed my axe from beneath my cloak and held it up. I murmured the words of an Oath. Clean, warm power surged up inside of me and through the uncarved alderwood branch that formed the haft of my weapon, then into its elf-bronze blade. The blade began to burn with an amber flame. The mist recoiled away from me as though it were a living thing repulsed by that light, leaving a near perfect circle about ten feet in diameter around me clear.


    The eyes of my would-be murderers widened at the sight, and their sudden advance stopped.


    ¡°He¡¯s a fucking adept!¡± One of them hissed. That one¡¯s eye sockets seemed too large for the rest of his face, his eyes deeply recessed so they seemed lost within shadowy pits. He bared teeth too big for the mouth in which they were set.


    I wasn¡¯t about to hold back with ghouls. I didn¡¯t know how these had been made, exactly, but I could guess ¡ª usually, ghouls were the product of starving or nearly dead men who, in their desperation for life, devoured the freshly dead. The lingering traces of aura left in those bodies kept the cannibal alive, strengthened them, and left them hungry for more power to stave off their encroaching end. The more they ate, the more they hungered for that energy, until they even went so far as to break into crypts and dig up graveyards, seeking any trace of soul-essence they could from rotting flesh and bone marrow.


    They became trapped, forever, in a state very near death. Not of the living, not of the dead, but some purgatorial state between the two. They were always dying, always at its very edge, and always kept from that end by the aura they consumed. That stubborn grip on their ruined bodies, and the power they ate, made them very hard to kill.


    Worse, my display of power had stopped them briefly, but the glint of monstrous hunger in their eyes grew even brighter. I¡¯d just shown them I was a much tastier meal than they¡¯d anticipated. The energy of an awakened soul was like a king¡¯s feast to their kind.


    I stared at her, nonplussed. This hadn¡¯t been a conversation I¡¯d been anticipating. I spoke without thinking, acting on a gut feeling. ¡°I heard the call,¡± I said, and shrugged. ¡°That Lord Orson was challenging the Church, maybe even taking the fight to the Accord. I was curious.¡± I turned my gaze back to the ghouls. ¡°Wanted to know more before I threw in on a rumor.¡±


    Vaughn narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. Catrin, however, was nodding.


    ¡°Those healers you came with aren¡¯t here for the council,¡± Vaughn said to me.


    I met his eyes without flinching. ¡°Met them on the road and hitched a ride. Looked less suspicious to the locals that way. I don¡¯t think they know about the gathering.¡± It was close enough to the truth. I was careful not to say too much, not wanting to give away that I had no idea what this ¡°call¡± they were referring to was, nor did I have any clue what this council entailed.


    Eanor had told me the baron was gathering forces to him. I hadn¡¯t considered playing at being one of those who¡¯d heard this summons ¡ª there were too many details I wasn¡¯t privy to, too many variables I couldn¡¯t anticipate.


    It wasn¡¯t the plan, but I wasn¡¯t above improvising.


    Vaughn glared at me, his fingers wrapped tightly around his ancient sword. The muscles of his face shifted dramatically, almost as though they were trying to break free of the skin. I could see anger, suspicion, and sheer ghoulish hunger all urging him to kill me. I tensed, waiting for him and his comrades to attack.


    Catrin rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed huff. ¡°Bleeding Stars, Vaughn, are you that hungry? You going to act like I didn¡¯t see you and your Mistwalkers raiding the graveyard the other night?¡±


    To my surprise, Vaughn and his cronies suddenly looked chagrined. He glanced at Catrin sidelong. ¡°It¡¯s not the same as eating an adept.¡± He looked at me again and his voice lowered into a bestial growl. ¡°Fresh.¡±


    I bared my own teeth at him. ¡°Try it. Might burn, though.¡± I lifted my axe to show him the golden flames playing along its edge.


    ¡°If everyone¡¯s done comparing their cocks,¡± Catrin said in a dry tone, ¡°this little spectacle is going to draw a lot of attention. The mist won¡¯t keep the villagers asleep through anything.¡±


    I paused at that. Tentatively, I felt at the coiling eddies of pale, ever-so-slightly lambent mist in the street with my magical senses. It was subtle. I hadn¡¯t detected it until I had looked, but there was a power in the mist. That explained why none of the locals had come out to investigate the commotion me and the mercenary ghouls had caused.


    Almost as though responding to this, a man came out of the door at Catrin¡¯s back. He was leanly muscled and just above average height, his brown hair mussed. He was shirtless. ¡°Cat?¡± He said groggily, rubbing at one eye with a fist. ¡°What¡¯s all this noise?¡±


    Catrin arched an eyebrow at us. Vaughn cursed and sheathed his sword. He made a sharp gesture, and the other two ghouls did the same, albeit reluctantly. The more talkative one, still with a bit of spittle on his chin, didn¡¯t take his eyes off me. He was trembling, I noted, physically forcing himself not to lunge for my throat.


    I¡¯d never met ghouls this disciplined, or even this sane. Though my guard was up, part of me was in awe that the half-dead soldiers had actually listened to reason and stopped the fight. Vaughn growled an order to his men, threw one last glare at me, and then the three of them marched off. He turned his head and spoke to Catrin as he walked.


    ¡°He¡¯s your problem then, Catrin. Next time he crosses the company, he¡¯s ours. Been too long since we¡¯ve feasted well.¡±


    With that disturbing remark, they vanished into the mist.


    Catrin said something to the man who¡¯d emerged from the house. He glanced at me and the retreating mercenaries, and his confusion evolved into alert concern. Catrin murmured into his ear, and his eyes became glazed. She laughed quietly, turned him toward the door, and gently pushed him back inside. Then she turned to me and the amusement in her eyes faded.


    ¡°You,¡± she said, ¡°should get to the keep before the Mistwalkers decide to make a meal of you.¡±


    While my mind was trying to catch up to events, my mouth said, ¡°I don¡¯t know the way.¡±


    The woman studied me a moment, pursing her lips. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 13: Castle Cael

    Arc 1: Chapter 13: Castle Cael


    The mist lingered ¡ª I imagined it would so long as whatever will was behind it wanted it to. It writhed and curled around the edges of the boat as the vessel cut the murky water of the lake, the wispy tendrils parting only sullenly around the wooden hull. Lanterns attached to the hull of the boat helped light our path, but I moved us forward slow and cautious all the same.


    I propelled us through the mist with a long oar while Catrin sat at the front, occasionally giving me direction. She seemed to know her way well through the fog-laden expanse of the those waters. Which was, I was certain, a problem. She¡¯d known the ghoul mercenaries by name. She knew the baron was gathering Things of Darkness to him... which led me to suspect she might be one of those things.


    But what, exactly? Not a ghoul, I thought. But I didn¡¯t think she was just an ordinary resident of the village, either. She seemed very human, but that meant little for some beings. I could try to use my powers to look through that mask, but if she was something inhuman then she¡¯d sense me doing it.


    Better to pick my moment.


    ¡°You listening?¡±


    The question ripped me from my thoughts. The slow, steady rhythm of my rowing faltered, and it took me a moment to realize I¡¯d missed the last thing Catrin had said. I glanced at her where she sat at the front of the small fishing vessel. She¡¯d donned a yellow dress and brown bodice over her night garment, though she was still underdressed for the chill air over the lake, the skin of her neck and shoulders exposed. I felt chilled even under the weight of my heavy cloak.


    When I still failed to reply, Catrin arched an eyebrow at me. ¡°I asked you what your name was, big man.¡±


    I hesitated a beat before replying. ¡°Alken.¡±


    ¡°Ooo...¡± Catrin lifted both eyebrows then, leaning forward with interest. ¡°Haven¡¯t heard that before. Sounds fancy. You some kind of lord?


    I was struggling to place her accent. It sounded like a Marchlander a bit, though she spoke with an impatient, breathy haste that made her words blend together. It seemed more the product of a verbal tic than a dialect.


    ¡°Not a lord,¡± I said in response to her question.


    Catrin folded her arms, studying me as though I represented some interesting puzzle. ¡°So what are you? I don¡¯t think mysterious wanderer is an official profession. Tends to be more of a cover for something, right?¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply. I doubted she¡¯d take too kindly to learning I was an assassin, or that she was guiding me right to my target. I could have made up a story, but the more fiction I wove the more suspicion I might draw. I¡¯d never been a good liar.


    Silence was easier.


    Catrin narrowed her eyes at me. She had large eyes, expressive and a shade of brown only a touch lighter than her hair. ¡°Not much of a talker, are you big man?¡±


    I turned my eyes back to the lake and sent the boat forward with another rotation of the oar. ¡°No.¡±


    Catrin snorted. ¡°Suit yourself then, but I¡¯ll tell you this ¡ª you¡¯re about to go into a nest of vipers. You¡¯ve got a mighty fine cutter there, but where you¡¯re going, this castle?¡± She lifted one pale shoulder in a shrug. ¡°Lot of nasty in those walls. Falconer¡¯s been putting out the word nearly a year now, and those corpse-eaters aren¡¯t the only ones who¡¯ve answered.¡±


    She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. I avoided her eyes, looking out over the lake instead, but her gaze was intent. ¡°Just want to make sure you¡¯re sure about this, big man. Don¡¯t know if you¡¯re some hard killer or warlock, but you can always turn this boat another way. I¡¯ll lead you safely from the marsh and have you gone before sunup, my word on it.¡±


    I did look at her then. ¡°Why? You don¡¯t know me.¡± I paused and added, ¡°for that matter, why did you intervene with those ghouls?¡±


    Catrin spread her hands out in a helpless gesture. ¡°Because they were going to eat you? Even if they didn¡¯t, the rest of their band of killers would have.¡±


    ¡°So it was altruism?¡± I asked, spurring the boat forward with another push. The water rippled beneath us, our boat the lone disturbance in its black stillness.


    Catrin leaned back against the edge of the boat and made a shooing gesture. ¡°Sure. Why not? You think I¡¯ve got some ulterior motive?¡±


    ¡°You knew that one by name,¡± I said. ¡°That vice-captain. Maybe you¡¯re one of them. Maybe you¡¯re taking me somewhere private to make a meal of me yourself.¡±


    Catrin was silent a while. My comment hadn¡¯t been a joke ¡ª I had every reason to suspect she was dangerous. If so, I¡¯d rather know before she brought me into the midst of a den of creatures. Out here on the lake, with just the two of us, I might have a chance.


    I focused on the words of an Oath in my mind, feeling the first crackle of power flow through my limbs, anticipatory and ready to surge forth in a burst of amber flame. Even the wooden oar in my hands could prove a deadly enough weapon if I imbued it with aura.


    I waited, and was ready.


    Catrin nodded slowly. ¡°You feel it, don¡¯t you?¡± She licked her lips and glanced nervously around the walls. Though, I thought perhaps there was a glimmer of something besides fear in her eyes. A nervous excitement. ¡°Lot of bad¡¯s happened here,¡± she said. ¡°Heard about some of it from my aunt, when I was just a girl. She used to say the walls of Castle Cael are made as much from bone as stone.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a local?¡± I asked. I¡¯d thought she was like the Mistwalkers, here for the Baron¡¯s gathering.


    Catrin shook her head. ¡°Not a local, but I¡¯ve got relatives about. I¡¯ve never called any place home for long, really.¡± She considered a moment before adding, ¡°I guess that¡¯s part of why I¡¯m here. If the Baron¡¯s not full of shit ¡ª and I¡¯m not saying he isn¡¯t ¡ª might be that could change.¡±


    ¡°What do you think about what he¡¯s doing?¡± I asked. I tried to say it lightly, conversationally. ¡°The Baron, I mean. This gathering.¡±


    Catrin shrugged one freckled shoulder. ¡°Do I think a House-born recluse who¡¯s dabbled in the Forbidden Arts can bloody the Church¡¯s nose? I don¡¯t know. Wouldn¡¯t mind seeing it done, though.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not fond of the Church.¡± I didn¡¯t make it a question, or put any special emphasis on the statement.


    Catrin¡¯s voice turned bitter. ¡°It¡¯s more like they¡¯re not fond of me.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t any conversation after that. I followed in the wake of Catrin¡¯s swishing yellow skirts until we finally reached the end of the long stairway. It brought us to a short tunnel with a heavy oak door at the end. Catrin rapped on it three times with her knuckles, and it opened to reveal a large chamber with the look of a foyer. Halls branched off in various directions, and an intricate chandelier of ancient design hung from the ceiling.


    The door had been opened by a gray-uniformed Mistwalker. I tensed, knowing instinctively that he was also a ghoul, but the mercenary ¡ª a younger-looking man who¡¯s half-dead state was hinted at only by an unnaturally gray pallor ¡ª ignored me and dipped his head at Catrin.


    ¡°Cat! Thought you were working in the village tonight.¡±


    ¡°I was,¡± Catrin said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at me. ¡°But one of the baron¡¯s guests got lost. Thought I¡¯d bring him over before the rest of you tin-heads got the wrong idea.¡±


    ¡°Guest, huh?¡± The guard turned his attention on me, and his welcoming attitude vanished. He studied me with a casual disinterest, as all the best sentries do. He was tall, leanly built, and somehow made his drab uniform and battered cuirass look fashionable. He had long, lank hair a very pale blond, and his thin face was dominated by a crooked nose.


    He fixed ice-chip blue eyes on me and pursed his lips. ¡°Fashionably late, is it? His lordship is hosting some others who just arrived from the north.¡±


    Catrin scrunched her nose. ¡°More?¡±


    The Mistwalker, Quinn, just shrugged. He laid a hand on the sword at his hip in a casual, easy gesture. ¡°Scared, Cat? Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re safe enough.¡± He patted his weapon and flashed an easy smile, though it was perhaps too wide and manic to look quite human. His teeth were the color of old ivory.


    Catrin snorted in contempt. ¡°I¡¯d rather swim with sharks than trust a corpse eater to keep me safe.¡± Her expression tightened with concern. ¡°Quinn, there¡¯s not many people in Caelfall, If all of these predators Falconer is bringing in start getting hungry...¡±


    Quinn scratched at his neck. ¡°They¡¯re not all maneaters. I think one of them is just a necromancer, or something.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°Don¡¯t be dense. If the baron loses control of his guests, people will start dying. He promised he would keep his subjects safe.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s lazy smile returned and he leaned forward, his voice turning conspiratorial. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Cat, I¡¯m sure there will be plenty enough for you. Speaking of, you free tomorrow night? I¡¯ve got a shift in the village.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s voice emerged encrusted with a layer of frost. ¡°I¡¯ll be occupied.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bet.¡± Quinn flashed his too-wide grin again, then turned to me and jerked his head toward the stairs. ¡°This way. Dinner¡¯s just started.¡±


    I started to follow the ghoul, but paused and turned back to Catrin. She was staring into the castle with a worried look in her eyes, her lips still forming a thin line.


    I hesitated a moment longer. Then, before I could convince myself to let it go I said, ¡°I should apologize for how I acted on the boat. For frightening you.¡± I dipped my head into a bow. ¡°You brought me here safely. You have my thanks.¡±


    Catrin tilted her head to one side, a strange look passing over her face. ¡°It was nothing. Good luck, big man.¡±


    Somehow, I sensed she meant it. Bemused by the chance encounter and suspecting I¡¯d probably never see the strange woman again, I turned to follow the ghoul deeper into that house of darkness and dark things.

 Arc 1: Chapter 14: Dark Things

    Arc 1: Chapter 14: Dark Things


    I left Catrin in the foyer and followed Quinn up several flights of stairs and through a winding series of corridors. The castle was dimly lit and cold. A silence filled the halls, so deep that the echoing clicks of my and the Mistwalker¡¯s boots seemed a violent intrusion. The halls were clean, lined with faded carpets and hangings depicting what I imagined to be scenes from House Falconer¡¯s history.


    I lingered by one such tapestry, which showed a knight brandishing a broken spear as a dread wyrm threatened her, curved teeth flickering with sickly flame. It was a strange image, seemingly not fashioned to glorify. The knight looked old, tired, and afraid. The dragon was an enormous thing, its jaws large enough to swallow the warrior ¡ª no larger than my thumb in the image ¡ª whole. Yet it was to her my eyes were drawn, and not the fell thing which dominated the wall.


    That was not to say the dragon itself was uninspiring. It was captivating in a grotesque way, a thing all of cancerous scale and bursting horn, wreathed in fire and the souls of its victims, stylized ¡ª or so I assumed ¡ª by the artist as disintegrating skeletal shapes. Unlike the knight, who was simplistically portrayed, the wyrm was done in gruesome detail.


    I inhaled deeply and ¡ª for a moment ¡ª found I could smell the sulfurous reek of it, hear the painful grinding of its ill-formed mass.


    I had never laid eyes on a dragon. It was a memory of older knights, I was sure, echoing through the power sewn into me.


    Quinn made a noise of impatience. ¡°Baron¡¯s waiting. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to enjoy the art, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    I lingered a moment longer. ¡°This has been here a long time.¡± I studied the brass workings the tapestry had been hung on. They were badly weathered, affixed to the wall for generations. ¡°I¡¯ve rarely seen a dragon depicted like this. The Church frowns on it.¡± I¡¯d last seen something similar in Seydis, in the Gilded City itself before it burned.


    Quinn eyed the tapestry nervously and shuffled, clearly eager to move on. ¡°Imagine you¡¯re going to see a lot of things the Church frowns on here, stranger.¡±


    I reached out to feel the material of the hanging, but stopped just before laying my fingers against it. I didn¡¯t want the subtle impression of realness I¡¯d gotten from the ancient work to become something more visceral, as had happened when I¡¯d felt the troll¡¯s death. This wasn¡¯t the time for that.


    I turned back to the Mistwalker, who waited with a bemused patience, one eyebrow lifted. He gave me a long, appraising look. ¡°Not going to ask your story, stranger. All the Baron¡¯s guests got one, and they¡¯re all fit to give me bad sleep. Still, it was odd to see Cat bringing you in. Skittish, that one, and she¡¯s avoided getting too involved with all of this.¡± He waved a hand at the castle around us. ¡°You one of her regulars or something?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Quinn¡¯s eyebrows lifted further. ¡°What, you mean you don¡¯t know?¡±


    Before I could ask him to elaborate, the whisper of cloth drew my attention to the far end of the hall. A figure had appeared there. They were slim, short, and clad in an emerald cloak, a deep hood shadowing their features.


    I recognized them. The messenger who¡¯d spoken to Vaughn in the village.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± Green Cloak, as I¡¯d dubbed them, asked the ghoul guardsman.


    Quinn glanced at me uncertainly. ¡°Honestly don¡¯t know, Ma¡¯am. Catrin brought him in from the village.¡±


    Green Cloak glided forward. I meant that literally. There was no indication that feet touched the floor. The cloak, such a deep green it was nearly black in the poor lighting, slid across the ground in near total silence, a smooth and unnerving effect that made me inwardly tense.


    ¡°Hm...¡± Green Cloak drew within arm¡¯s reach in the space of an indrawn breath, shadowed gaze peering up at me. I couldn¡¯t make out even the hint of features beneath the cloak. The darkness within was unnaturally deep. An enchantment of some kind, I guessed, meant to obscure identity. I¡¯d seen the like before. I held carefully still, forcing myself to meet that murky gaze.


    Green Cloak peered at me for a short time, and then seemed to shudder. The shudder was dramatic, causing the entire concealing garment to ripple and flutter. ¡°Human, but with an awakened spirit.¡± Their ¡ª her, I recalled the uncouth way Vaughn had referred to her ¡ª voice was high pitched and oddly warbling, more androgynous than effeminate. ¡°You have come to see my lord. Why? What do you seek in this place?¡±


    I sensed I was speaking to something not entirely human. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time such a being had sensed my true nature, and I knew I needed to be cautious here. ¡°I heard a rumor that the Lord of Caelfall was gathering allies to fight the Onsolain and their followers. I wanted to know if they were true.¡±


    Green Cloak was quiet a moment. ¡°And if they are?¡±


    ¡°And who is this?¡± The old woman said in a hissing, nasal voice. ¡°We were not expecting more guests, were we Orson?¡± Her nostrils flared beneath a hooked nose, as though she were inhaling my scent or preparing to charge.


    The Baron¡¯s gaze never left me, but he pursed his lips. ¡°No.¡± He said in a sonorous, light, and subtly musical voice. ¡°I was not. Who brought him here, Priska?¡±


    Green Hood replied from where she stood near the door still, behind and to the left of me. ¡°It was Catrin, my lord.¡±


    A snort came from a man sitting across the table from the old woman in the red gown. He was clad in simpler garb than the baron or the vulture-faced woman, all in simple greens and browns like a hunter. He even wore a tricorn low over his shaggy blond hair, shadowing his eyes. He had pushed his chair back and had kicked his feet up on the table, a gross breech in propriety for any lord¡¯s hall I¡¯d ever known.


    The man in the tricorn didn¡¯t elaborate on his derision, but the old woman bared tiny black teeth at me. Her eyes were huge and a very pale blue, the flesh around them dominated by dark veins. ¡°One of the little strumpet¡¯s toys, is it?¡± She waved a skeletal hand enclosed in a beautifully tailored sleeve. ¡°Be rid of him. We have no need of that half-breed, and much less for the vagrants she beds.¡± She turned to the Baron then. ¡°I told you the Keeper would cause mischief if you allowed him a voice in this affair. He sent one of his wenches to you as an insult.¡±


    The Baron did not reply, instead keeping his eyes studiously on me. The others at the table who had not yet spoken looked between me, the red-gowned woman, and the lord, no one speaking up.


    They were a strange and misfit sort of gathering. With the exception of Orson Falconer himself and the old woman, none of them looked like the sort to reside within a formal hall. Two figures made into twins by their matching black robes and cowls whispered to one another, the hems of their hoods nearly pressed together. A dark-haired, heavily bearded man in sooty armor at the far end of the table from the baron ignored everyone, focusing intently on the plate of meat in front of him. He ate loudly and messily, heedless of the hush that¡¯d fallen over the room.


    There were others. A thing out of nightmare sat in the deeper shadows opposite the table from the door. It had gray-green skin and a malformed aspect, with a lumpy head that merged with a neck that vanished into a formal aristocratic outfit very much too small for it. The ensemble was held together by crude stitchwork and ill-matched pieces of salvaged cloth. Its hands ended in four long, gnarled fingers tipped in green nails, and green were the glassy orbs of its eyes as they peered at me from the gloom.


    A goblin, and one of their noble caste by the look of it. Six feet tall, or the next best thing to it, nearly a giant among their kind. Instead of buttons or lace, its bright doublet was sewn with pieces of bone.


    Monsters. In that room I stood surrounded by monsters. Even, I suspected, of the human variety.


    A rumbling, basso growl rippled through the room. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my muscles went tight with instinctive fear. A heavy foot came down on the floor, large and heavy enough to make the stones of the ancient castle shudder, and something enormous emerged from the shadows at the edge of the room. This one had not been sitting at the table, but lurking between the marble pillars that supported the ceiling.


    Calling it big was like calling a redwood tall. A hulking mass of muscle more than nine feet in height approached me with steady, thunderous steps. Its skin was the color of old rust, and it was clad all in heavy furs and hides, a few pieces of metal sewn here or there. They seemed more decorative than armor. Skulls, some human, hung from a heavy belt.


    The hulk¡¯s brutish face wasn¡¯t quite human. It had a simian aspect, with a slightly elongated muzzle and a sloping forehead. Its features emerged from a neck set lower on its torso than a human¡¯s. Deep-set yellow eyes ¡ª piss yellow, ringed in deeper orange ¡ª burned with a manic, violent intelligence.


    I took a step back. I couldn¡¯t help it. The fear I felt was primal, instinctive, woven into the fabric of my blood and bones. Prey animal fear. There were few things in all the Alderes more deadly than an ogre.


    A city garrison worth of muscle and pent up rage loomed over me. Yellow eyes burned like the cores of candle flames, scorching me with malice. The ogre leaned forward and sniffed. Then it growled again.


    ¡°He smells of sun-stained groves and gilded trees.¡± The ogre¡¯s voice rumbled in my chest, more something I felt than heard. Again, that rippling growl filled the room. ¡°He reeks of elf.¡±


    The room became very still. I became very aware in that moment of the green-cloaked herald at my back, and the closed door. Most of my attention, however, remained fixed on the monster in front of me.


    I didn¡¯t mean monster in the poetic sense. Ogres are, to put it mildly, nightmares. Bred in dark lands in dark days in distant edges of the world beyond the shores of Urn, they had been made for a singular purpose ¡ª to kill, and to do so without restraint or mercy. They were more fey than mortal, much like the goblin watching us even then, and lived for a very long time ¡ª every year of that centuries long life dedicated to the arts of violence.


    Worse, some of the skulls the ogre wore belonged to its own kind. Its craggy exterior, marred by countless scars, hinted at a long and terrible succession of battles it had won. I sensed this particular ogre was old. No runt of the litter.


    ¡°Elf-friend,¡± the ogre accused. It bared yellowed, wolf-like teeth. ¡°Spy.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 15: Shadow Council

    Arc 1: Chapter 15: Shadow Council


    I¡¯ve been in danger many times in my life. I have escaped death by the narrowest of margins, danced with it, even gone beyond its threshold.


    Few times have I been as near to it as in that room.


    All eyes, human and eld alike, fixed on me. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck. In my mind, I moved through the series of actions I would take next ¡ª draw my dagger, move under the ogre¡¯s legs and hamstring it. If Green Cloak comes at me, I use the ogre as a shield and get my axe out. Make for the window on the far side of the room, cut down anyone who gets in my way. Use Art if I have to.


    The ogre bared its yellowed fangs and flexed fingers near as thick as my wrists. I tensed.


    ¡°Hold, Karog.¡± The Baron¡¯s melodic voice filled the room. ¡°He is here under my invitation, and bound by the protections I offer all guests in my house until he proves himself unworthy of them through action. Stay your hand.¡±


    ¡°You said yourself you did not know him,¡± the old woman said to the lord.


    Orson Falconer nodded. ¡°Indeed. But, as you recall, my invitation to this gathering was not specific. He is late and unknown, true, but that does not change the fact that this is my house. It is my judgment that will pass here. Karog?¡±


    The ogre hadn¡¯t taken his burning yellow eyes off of me. To be fair, I hadn¡¯t taken mine off of him. He growled again, the sound low and threatening. His reek hammered my senses ¡ª I had no idea how I hadn¡¯t noticed it when I¡¯d first entered the room. Like a furnace beating with the stench of copper, sweat, and rotting meat.


    A significant part of me wanted to tremble, to run, to attack. It took every ounce of my will and training to remain still, calm, and composed. I¡¯d faced ogres before ¡ª the Briar often allied with them. They were the enforcers, bodyguards, and even the assassins of many of the most ancient and deadly of the Eld, the favored warriors of fey lords and darker powers in the continent.


    Dangerous.


    The Baron¡¯s voiced hardened. ¡°Karog. I will not ask again.¡±


    I noticed something else then. The shadows around me and the ogre had deepened, the already wan flames of the chandelier seeming to retreat from us. There was a heaviness to the air, and the very faint sound of many tiny, scuttling legs.


    The same thing I had felt in the lower levels of the castle.


    Karog seemed to sense it too. He went very still, his eyes flickering to the baron, and then he clenched his enormous hands into fists.


    ¡°You are bound by the word and trust of your employers,¡± the Baron said in a reasonable tone. ¡°And by the guest rights I have extended to you on their behalf. Shall I inform them that you will not obey my wishes while within my own hall?¡±


    Karog¡¯s stillness took on a different aspect then. He didn¡¯t reply with disgust, or anger, or even shame. His savage features relaxed, as did the tension in his scarred muscles. He grew calm and stepped back. ¡°Then on your head be it.¡±


    The Baron inclined his head, his eyes heavily lidded in an expression of almost sleepy calm. ¡°Thank you.¡± He turned that distant gaze on me, not quite meeting my eyes. ¡°If you would join us, Alken, we were just beginning this council.¡±


    ¡°Point of order.¡± Lady Vulture, as I¡¯d dubbed her in my mind, held up a crooked finger. ¡°Murdering those here under guest right is perhaps brash, but I will not overlook this. The mercenary sensed elven magic on this man. Will you not address this, Orson?¡±


    All eyes turned to the Baron, with the exception of Karog. The ogre had receded back into the pillars along the wall, leaning against the stonework between them. His eyes remained on me, dimly glowing within the heavy shadows at the hall¡¯s edge.


    Orson Falconer nodded slowly. ¡°Such magic suffuses the lands far and wide. It is not that uncommon, Lillian, nor does it mean he is a danger to us. But I should allow our new guest to speak for himself.¡± He beckoned to me. ¡°Tell us, Alken of Losdale, why you have answered my summons.¡±


    I stepped toward the table but did not sit. Hostility beat off of it like summer heat off a cobblestone street, and I didn¡¯t want to get burned. ¡°I¡¯m here to fight the seraphs and their pawns,¡± I said. ¡°I heard you were gathering allies to bloody the Church¡¯s nose.¡±


    ¡°Heard from who?¡± Lady Vulture, or Lillian, asked. Her voice snapped off the walls, harsh and grating and impossible to ignore.


    I¡¯d never been much of an actor. I wanted to take a long breath, get some air, anything to steady my nerves. I couldn¡¯t. My life rode on what I said next, and I¡¯d committed to this charade. Shouldn¡¯t have come here, I thought. This was stupid.


    Too late for regrets.


    ¡°As the kin fomori said,¡± I nodded to Karog, whose yellow eyes widened in surprise. ¡°I have a touch of high sidhe magic on me. I¡¯m what the Church would dub a warlock.¡± I smiled shallowly, hoping it looked bitter. It wasn¡¯t technically a lie ¡ª many powerful sects of the Faith had not gotten on with my order. ¡°I made bargains I didn¡¯t fully understand, some of which I¡¯m still paying dues on.¡±


    The goblin lord nodded thoughtfully. His collar crackled, as though it were stiff as dry parchment. ¡°A bargain made must be honored. That is true for my people as much as for the Favored.¡±


    I inclined my head to the goblin, swallowing my discomfort. I¡¯d never heard a goblin speak the common tongue before. It felt profane, somehow. Its voices was a warbling sound, full of strange pauses and rises punctuated by subtle croaks. Like a toad trying to mimic human speech. I continued. ¡°I heard of this council through rumor and heresay, from those wiser than myself. I can say no more. As you said yourself, my lord...¡± I nodded to the baron. ¡°Your invitation was unspecific. Word travels. I am a traveler. You could say I am here by chance.¡±


    Lillian scowled. ¡°This is not enough. What if he is a spy for our adversary?¡±


    At my side, the blond man in the tricorn shifted. It was a subtle motion, his slouching posture still relaxed, but I sensed he was more alert than he let on.


    ¡°I have had enough.¡± Orson Falconer drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ¡°Enough of my people worrying over whether their crops will die because they did not direct their prayers to the east with enough fervor. Enough of bending to the fey whims of lesser immortals whose petty, childish antics are enabled by the world¡¯s insistence on wallowing in nostalgia. Enough of fearing for the souls of mine own blood, whose very peace in death isn¡¯t even a guarantee.¡±


    Layers of cloth rustled as the two black-robed figures stirred in their seats.


    Lillian leaned forward, her feverish eyes intense with interest. ¡°Is this why you had the bridge troll butchered?¡±


    Issachar let out a hollow, rasping laugh. ¡°Fucking thing kept trying to get my men to pay his toll. Never heard that old saying, you and what army, I suppose.¡±


    The huntsman at my side tensed and adjusted his cap.


    ¡°That was a stupid thing to do.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until all eyes present turned to me that I realized I had been the one to say the words.


    The commander of the ghoul mercenaries fixed his hungry eyes on me. ¡°Come again?¡±


    Inwardly, I winced. I¡¯d meant to draw as little attention to myself as possible. The troll¡¯s death flashed through my mind. The brutal way it had been dismembered, the callous cruelty of the display made from that violence. I recalled its terror and confusion as it had been killed, that echo passed into my aura now, part of it ¡ª possibly forever.


    ¡°It was a stupid thing to do,¡± I said again, letting my own voice drop into an angry growl. ¡°Settled trolls are arbiters for their domains, centers of balance. Magically, and socially. I crossed that bridge on my way here. Saw what your men did.¡± I met the ghoul¡¯s eyes and held them. ¡°You didn¡¯t just kill it. You desecrated it. That bridge will become a locus of hostile od, probably for centuries, and that¡¯s not even mentioning the attention it drew. I heard your Mistwalkers talking before I arrived at the castle. Something about irks raiding from the forests? Why do you think that¡¯s started up all the sudden, corpse-eater?¡±


    The ghoul¡¯s chair screeched as he stood and he slammed his palms down on either side of his mostly empty plate. He glared at me, too-big teeth bared, his face a rictus mask of maddened anger.


    A chuckle coiled mockingly through the room. It had come from Lillian. ¡°Ah, so our vagabond friend here is not just a thug who caught the Backroad wench¡¯s eye. I misjudged you, Master Alken.¡± She dipped her head in my direction, the elaborate coils of her silver hair remaining fixed in place as firmly as if they were made of ceramic. Then she turned to the Baron. ¡°The newcomer is right. Killing the troll was preemptive and poorly done. It exposed us before we were ready.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± said the young hunter at my side. His voice surprised me. It was very young, quiet, and had a distinct note of uncertainty woven through it. Not at all like the confidant woodsman he presented as.


    ¡°It was the most dangerous threat in this region,¡± Issachar said, almost sullenly. He hadn¡¯t sat down. ¡°And it had wendgates all over the damn wilderness. I need my troops to be able to move freely, and not have to worry about paying every time.¡±


    ¡°What was its toll?¡± I asked.


    Issachar glared at me, his lips forming a thin line. I met his stare and asked again. ¡°What was its toll? No troll¡¯s passage price is ever the same. What did it ask for the use of its bridges?¡±


    I could nearly hear the ghoul¡¯s teeth grinding.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, do you?¡± I asked, flashing my own teeth at him. ¡°Didn¡¯t even bother finding out. He might have just wanted a riddle, or a cup of spring water. They don¡¯t always ask for coin.¡±


    ¡°Fingernails.¡±


    I glanced at the Baron, who¡¯d been the one to speak. The aging nobleman met my gaze and shrugged. ¡°Fingernails. That was his price. He preferred those from the left forefinger.¡± He held up his left hand to demonstrate.


    Lillian laughed. It was a severely unpleasant sound, a screeching cackle that echoed off the ancient castle walls, a show of mirth to put even the most fell witch to shame. ¡°What, you death eaters prize your pretty nails that much? Oh, that¡¯s rich!¡±


    Issachar¡¯s face turned read. ¡°He was an Onsolain bondsman. He would have challenged us in time.¡±


    ¡°Fingernails!¡± Lillian chortled, still caught up in her amusement. Issachar growled and reached for the sword at his hip.


    Another, much deeper growl filled the chamber. It came from the ogre still lurking in the shadows. The ghoul froze.


    ¡°Peace!¡± Orson held up his hand. He sighed. ¡°I think, perhaps, we should retire this discussion for now. The matter of the bridge troll is not an insignificant one. I must consider. I will speak to you of it later, Captain.¡±


    Issachar looked to the baron and nodded sharply. He looked half caught between rabbit terror and canine rage, and unable to decide which beast to be.


    ¡°I will speak to you now, Alken.¡± The Baron looked to me. ¡°In private.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 16: The Lord of House Falconer

    Arc 1: Chapter 16: The Lord of House Falconer


    I followed the Baron, accompanied by his green-cloaked servant, deeper into Castle Cael. Braziers clutched in iron hands along the walls burst alive as the lord passed them, the castle responding to his presence.


    Not a bad trick.


    He brought me to a small, comfortably furnished room with the air of a study. The door shut behind us and Orson Falconer turned to face me.


    ¡°You upstaged me,¡± he said. The words held no heat, no petulance. The lord seemed, if anything, curious.


    I tilted my head to one side. ¡°When I interrupted your speech to talk about the troll, you mean.¡±


    The Baron shrugged. ¡°That, and your entrance. I dare say you were the focal point of that entire discussion. I do not criticize you...¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Are you a knight? Shall I call you Sir Alken?¡±


    I hesitated, then shook my head. ¡°No, lord. Just Alken will do.¡±


    The Baron¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°You will tell me why you are here, and whether it is on another¡¯s behalf. You will speak truth.¡±


    The fingers of my right hand flexed. The motion was hidden by my cloak, and I clenched that hand into a fist before I gave away my tension.


    The Baron wasn¡¯t aware that outright lies weren¡¯t something I could easily conjure, not without cost. It wasn¡¯t like I could tell him that, however, so I had to try and convince him. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking.


    ¡°I spent much of my life fighting for the realms of Urn,¡± I said. ¡°For lords, for the priests. I was loyal.¡± I folded my arms, as though it could quell my steadily rising heartbeat. ¡°I fought and fought, and it didn¡¯t earn me gratitude, or peace.¡±


    The bitterness in my voice wasn¡¯t entirely feigned. It put bile into my throat to admit these things to this man, even in order to mislead him. ¡°I risked my life countless times, and they called me to account for sin.¡± I showed the lord my teeth. It wasn¡¯t a smile. ¡°Eventually I decided that, if I couldn¡¯t live without sin, couldn¡¯t make the world better without it, why bother avoiding it? The realms wanted me to be a fighter, a killer... let them reap what they¡¯ve sown.¡±


    ¡°Revenge, is it?¡± The Baron nodded, taking this in stride. ¡°Yes, I can understand that. I can ally myself with that. You do understand ¡ª should you decide to join this affair ¡ª it will be under my leadership. I have enough conflicting motives out there.¡± He waved in the direction of the dinner hall. ¡°If you are truly independent, truly in this for your own ends, I will have your agreement to obey me. I don¡¯t expect loyalty ¡ª that, I know, I must earn. But I will have obedience so long as you are a guest in my hall.¡± for new novels


    I inclined my head. ¡°So long as I am a guest in your hall.¡± Inwardly, I was amazed at how easily he¡¯d accepted my shallow justifications for rebellion. Were all Recusants so vapid in their motives, in their petty vengeances? I¡¯d thought my hodge podge argument flimsy at best, had expected him to challenge it.


    Perhaps I needed to lower my expectations.


    ¡°This gathering is a delicate affair,¡± the Baron said, smoothly moving on from the topic of my own motives. He paced to the far side of the room to stand in front of the hearth, which had also lit of its own volition upon our entry. My back tingled, thanks to the presence of Priska ¡ª as Orson had called his hooded servant ¡ª who had not left the room. She remained by the door. Silent. Watchful.


    ¡°Not much of an army,¡± I said. ¡°I admit, I was expecting more.¡±


    The Baron let out a snort. ¡°Some war council of Recusants, you mean, like back during the Fall? No. Those armies are scattered, their captains dead or diminished. This is something more...¡± he waved a hand, and Priska glided forward to place a wine cup in it. He nodded his thanks to her. I noted a ring set on the thumb of his right hand. A signet, I thought, stamped with the image of a diving falcon.


    He didn¡¯t finish his thought. He sipped from the goblet, thought a moment longer, and then turned to me. ¡°I have no allusions that I may sweep aside the Accord and the Church in some glorious crusade. No. I am the backwater ruler of a small fiefdom.¡± His eyes narrowed with some subtle emotion. They were violet, I noticed. Many Houseborn have vibrant eye and hair colors, the product of old alchemy in their blood. The nearly red shade of Orson Falconer¡¯s eyes stood out from his darker skin. ¡°I am ill prepared for open war,¡± he said, ¡°and it is hardly something I want in any case. It is them against whom I rebel, not my fellow men.¡±


    He waved a hand vaguely skyward and eastward and sipped wine before continuing. ¡°I am connected. With elements of the highborn, yes, but also with factions within the occult world, and among the Eld. I believe, with enough time and coordination, a sort of... resistance, I suppose you could call it, can be formed.¡±


    He whirled on me. ¡°Are you a ranger?¡±


    I was taken aback a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve learned from them, but no.¡±


    The Baron nodded. ¡°That explains some of your knowledge, and the High Sidhe magic Karog sensed on you. I won¡¯t pry into your personal affairs, Alken, but I won¡¯t deny that I¡¯m suspicious of you. You arrived out of nowhere, without announcing yourself, and have skills and motives that are of great value to me...¡± His lips curled up at the corners. ¡°But I am not in much of a position to look a gift chimera in the mouth.¡±


    Realization struck me. ¡°You don¡¯t trust the others.¡±


    The Baron¡¯s smile became more genuine and he inclined his head in a brief nod. ¡°They are either working toward their own ends or representing other factions with goals only tangentially aligned with my own. Many of them see me as a safe bet... a petty mortal lord with some knowledge of the occult, who can act as a neutral intermediary. They have nothing to lose by indulging me, and much to gain by using me. My connections among the Houses are of special interest to many of them. My family is very old, very tied to the land.¡±


    ¡°So where does that place me?¡± I asked. Idly, I observed that Orson Falconer had barely for a moment stopped pacing, while I¡¯d remained planted and still throughout this interview.


    ¡°You have not proclaimed yourself representative of any other interest,¡± the Baron said. ¡°You claim to seek retribution against the Faith. And the powers behind it?¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply. The Baron seemed to take that for confirmation and smiled. ¡°That is what is arrayed against us, Alken. This is not just a petty rebellion against a mortal theocracy. The clericons and preosters of the Church are but one arm of the denizens of Heavensreach.¡± His smile fled, and his nearly red gaze became intent. ¡°So I must ask ¡ª are you and I kindred spirits?¡±


    A coldness crept into me. Don¡¯t deny it, I thought. This is what you need.


    I wanted to deny it. Very badly. To growl that he was nothing like me.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to call you mad,¡± I said. I very much wanted to. ¡°But I don¡¯t imagine I¡¯d have taken an interest in anything less. You have my attention, lord baron.¡±


    Orson Falconer looked pleased. ¡°The first step is securing my own land from their influence. I¡¯ve committed to this, now that the Mistwalkers have forced it...¡± he sighed and rubbed at his temple. ¡°I intended something slower, more subtle, but I have waited long enough. You want to strike against our mutual enemy? I intend to send you at them, and sooner rather than later.¡±


    I schooled my features, not wanting to let him or his servant see the frustration I felt then. I wasn¡¯t there to fight against the Baron¡¯s enemies ¡ª the further I was from him, the fewer chances I would gain to complete my true objective.


    On the other hand, gaining his trust could get me more information, more opportunity.


    Politics. I suppressed the scowl the thought nearly brought to my lips. I¡¯d believed I was done with all of that.


    Aloud I said, ¡°what would you have of me, lord?¡±


    The Baron studied me a moment, thinking. ¡°I will consider. For now, however, I believe you¡¯ve had a long journey and could use rest. Priska will see you to a room where you will be able to refresh yourself.¡±


    He didn¡¯t quite wrinkle his nose, but I got the message. I inclined my head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind a bath,¡± I said.


    ¡°A bath, fresh clothes, and a clean bed.¡± Orson Falconer quirked a smile. ¡°The hospitality of my house is not what it once was, but I will not be called a poor host. You are my guest. You will be taken care of.¡±


    I tried not to read too deeply into that statement as I was led from the study.

 Arc 1: Chapter 17: Night Visitor

    Arc 1: Chapter 17: Night Visitor


    Living on the road for weeks at a time, it is easy to forget how divine simple pleasures can be.


    Even as I was given new clothes, allowed to bathe and shave, I did not forget that I intended to kill the man who offered these indulgences. I took no satisfaction in the thought, no irony. It only made me feel dirty, ill-at ease.


    The Baron¡¯s a madman and a murderer, I reminded myself. He¡¯s trying to fashion himself into a nascent Dark Lord. This isn¡¯t the time for misplaced honor.


    As a distraction, I stared into the mirror in the comfortable chambers Priska had led me to. Like much in the castle, it was old, over-designed, and beautiful ¡ª a piece near half as tall as I was, its bronze border worked into the shapes of dozens of entwining serpents.


    It had been a long time since I¡¯d taken a good look at myself. I ran a hand along the freshly smoothed edges of my jaw, trying to remember the last time I¡¯d made use of a razor. My own skin felt cool and unfamiliar.


    I looked... not old, precisely. My skin was still smooth and my red-blond hair still untouched by any traces of silver. I looked ten years or more younger than I was, and would for decades yet ¡ª another of the Table¡¯s blessings. No, it was something else that made me see age in that tired reflection. Myriad faint scars, a permanent furrowing in the center of my brow, a weary distance in my gold-flecked eyes.


    I ran a hand along the scars crossing my left eye. They began just above the eyebrow, running over it and my temple at a sharp angle in four thin, long grooves. The marks ended below my cheekbone, a single line of scar nearly touching the corner of my lip. They were not so faded as my other scars, still dimly burning with a touch of red.


    They never really had stopped burning.


    I tore my eyes from my own tired image as a knock rapped against the door. I finished lacing the shirt I¡¯d been provided along with the room ¡ª a dark green piece with roomy sleeves, comfortable if old fashioned ¡ª and cautiously approached the door. I listened, waiting for the telltale signs of heavy breathing, the creak of a great weight, or even a betraying stench. Anything to let me know if it was the ogre or something similarly dangerous on the other side.


    Nothing of the sort. I spoke through the door. ¡°What is it?¡±


    The answer came without pause. ¡°It¡¯s me. Just wanted to check in on you.¡±


    I hesitated, then ¡ª against my better judgment ¡ª opened the door.


    Catrin stood on the other side. Like me, she¡¯d changed into a finer set of clothes. The yellow commoner¡¯s dress and bodice had been replaced by a dress gone out of fashion in some previous century, foggy blue in color, with winglike sleeves and silver-green trim. Her unkempt main of chestnut hair had been combed, making it seem longer, nearly down to her shoulders now.


    She studied me a moment and made an appreciative sound. ¡°Heh. You clean up well, big man.¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite hide the glance I threw to the hall, checking to see if she¡¯d brought anyone else. Armed guards, or the like.


    She didn¡¯t miss the suspicion. ¡°Not here to put you under arrest.¡± She quirked a misshapen smile very at odds with the courtier¡¯s dress. ¡°Though, I think I could make the look work. Me in a breastplate, little cape maybe? Long boots.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked. ¡°I thought you¡¯d returned to the village.¡±


    Catrin arched an eyebrow and, without another word, ducked under my arm to move into the room. I tensed, but the movement was so fast and smooth I barely registered it before she was past me.


    ¡°They gave you a nicer room,¡± Catrin noted studiously. She glanced at the mirror and let out a small laugh. ¡°Classic.¡±


    I suppressed an annoyed growl.


    Catrin spoke as she began turning the mirror around, so its face was toward the wall. Its weight made her next words strained. ¡°Wanted to check in on you, big man, make sure you were still... alive.¡± She finished turning the mirror with a grunt of effort.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Making sure we¡¯re not being spied on,¡± Catrin said, adjusting the sleeves of her dress. ¡°Mirrors, you know? Baron¡¯s a sorcerer. So¡¯s that creepy old crone, Lillian.¡±


    A spike of cold shot through me. Idiot, I thought. You should have thought of that.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± I asked.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes flicked to the door. ¡°You gonna leave that open? Walls have ears.¡±


    I glared at her and, after a deliberate pause, shut the door. I folded my arms and waited.


    She took a step closer. Dangerously close, blocking me from my weapon. I tensed, but she caught my eyes in hers and suddenly I felt... at ease. It¡¯s difficult to explain what happened. All my tension, my fear, my uncertainty, it all faded away like morning fog. I felt relaxed. Safe.


    And more than a bit enraptured. Catrin had large, expressive eyes, and I noted for the first time they were mismatched ¡ª it was subtle, but one eye was closer to hazel than the other. It was distracting. Even interesting.


    ¡°I¡¯m your friend,¡± she said, lowering her voice. It wasn¡¯t quite seductive ¡ª her voice wasn¡¯t smooth or liquid enough for that, but there was a comforting quality to it. She sounded kind, quick of wit, confident. ¡°Leonis Chancer killed people I knew back in the west. I¡¯m glad someone finally called him to account. Anyone who¡¯s willing to anger the priests to make the world right again is someone I¡¯d like to know better.¡±


    She reached out a hand. The motion was slow, hesitant. It made me want to take her hand and let her know it was alright, that I didn¡¯t mind. She brushed long fingers over the material of my shirt, so lightly I only felt it as a rustle of cloth against my skin.


    It had been a long time since anyone had touched me. Wanted me. My reaction was... not controlled. I inhaled sharply, closing my eyes. Catrin noted this and let out a breathy little laugh. It wasn¡¯t a pretty sound, but I found myself wanting to hear more of it.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Catrin murmured. ¡°It¡¯s alright. You can tell me.¡±


    I opened my eyes, and once again they were caught in that mismatched gaze. Catrin had stepped closer. She was much shorter than me, and had to look up to meet my gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for the Baron,¡± I said, my voice near as quiet as hers. ¡°Because he killed the troll, and because...¡± here I hesitated, some remnant of caution tying my tongue. ¡°He¡¯s dangerous. He needs to be stopped.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re some kind of vigilante, are you?¡± Catrin¡¯s asymmetrical smile returned. She still barely touched me. Teasing. ¡°It fits. I like it.¡±


    I shook my head slowly. My thoughts were coming slower than usual, like there was a mist in my skull. ¡°It¡¯s a curse. I don¡¯t want to be here, don¡¯t want to...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to what?¡± She asked, eyes narrowing. Her words were so quiet I found myself leaning down to hear them better, bringing our faces closer.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here by choice,¡± I finished lamely. I wanted to tell her, to tell someone about my burden, my Penance of Blood.


    And why not tell someone? There was no vow against it, no oath I¡¯d sworn to keep the truth of my duty a secret. I¡¯d only done so out of necessity.


    Out of shame.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Catrin said. ¡°It won¡¯t leave this room, I promise. You can tell me. You can trust me, Alken.¡±


    Our lips were nearly brushing now. Again she flashed that thin smile, and my eyes were drawn to her teeth. Strangely clean teeth, pale, with very sharp canines.


    Her words cut through the fog in my thoughts. She was not the first to say them to me.


    The scars on my face were burning.


    With an effort of will, I shut my eyes tightly to block out the sight of hers and focused inward. It was only then I realized how loudly my senses were warning me of danger. The core of golden power in me was practically blazing in alarm.


    I inhaled through my nose, breathing in Catrin¡¯s clean scent ¡ª a subtle perfume, clean linen, woodsmoke... and something else beneath it all.


    Blood.


    I opened my eyes, and golden elf-light shone through them. The shadows in the room crumbled away, every line of furniture and wall sharpening. And I saw Catrin, not as she¡¯d been, but as she truly was.


    She was a pallid thing, her gray-tinted skin hugging her bones, her mismatched eyes clarified into bloody spheres. Her teeth were all pointed and dipped in red, and pointed were her ears where they protruded from hair that was frost white instead of chestnut brown. Dark veins crawled across her flesh, poisonous, webbed. Her neck was too long and her mouth too wide.


    Without thought, without hesitation, words snapped from my lips. Not a prayer, but similar ¡ª an invocation of repulsion against the Adversary. The creature in front of me was not a demon ¡ª not truly ¡ª but it wasn¡¯t many steps removed.


    There was a flash of nearly white light, and Catrin let out a shout of surprise. She recoiled faster than I could follow, retreating to the window on the far side of the room in the time it took me to blink. Her masque was gone now in truth, not just in my auratic sight, revealing the thin, macabre thing that was only superficially like a woman, the folds of her blue-green dress hanging from thin bones and thinner skin.


    I lunged for my axe and had it between us by the time she recovered. The creature¡¯s pointed features shot up, recovering from the backhand of power I¡¯d hit it with. It let out a loud, serpentine hiss through wolf-sharp teeth.


    ¡°Stay out of my head,¡± I growled, lifting my axe and letting amber flame play along its edges as I channeled aura through it. ¡°Vampire.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 18: The Dhampir

    Arc 1: Chapter 18: The Dhampir


    Catrin stared at me, bloody eyes wide with shock. She lifted the fingers of her left hand and studied them. They were blackened and blistered, trailing smoke. The same fingers she¡¯d touched me with.


    Her true form was very different from the ¡°girl next door¡± look she¡¯d had before. Her hair had bleached to silver, her skin corpse pale, her eyes vermillion in the room¡¯s dim light. Even the sclera had darkened to red. The pointed ears and narrow features made her look like a gothic artist¡¯s paranoid depiction of an elf.


    Her fangs had been so close to my neck. I breathed to calm my racing heart, aware how close I¡¯d just been to disaster. Fool, I berated myself. You let your guard down in the enemy¡¯s own house.


    I expected her to attack, tensed for it. I knew she could move faster than the human eye could track, perhaps even do nastier things like assume a bestial form or become a devouring mist. There was no room for mistakes or hesitation.


    She didn¡¯t do any of those things. Instead, Catrin clutched her burnt hand to her chest, wincing. ¡°The fuck was that?¡± She asked, distress coloring her voice. ¡°Are you some kind of priest? That hurt.¡±


    The pain and disbelief in her ghoulish features were genuine enough to give me pause, despite my better sense. I frowned, watching her. Another trick? Trying to get me to let down my guard?


    ¡°Bastard!¡± Catrin scowled at me. ¡°And I¡¯m not a vampire, fucker. Rip your arms off if I was. Ow.¡± She shook the injured hand, wincing.


    What is this? I stepped to one side, giving myself space from the bed so I could move more freely. ¡°I¡¯ve faced your kind before,¡± I growled. ¡°You were about to go for my neck.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s transformed features shifted into something almost petulant. ¡°I mean, sure. I might have gone in for a sip, but I wouldn¡¯t have hurt you. Not much, anyway. Already fed tonight.¡±


    ¡°You were in my head,¡± I snarled. I could still hear her voice in my thoughts, drifting there like a stain of oil through water.


    The fear struck fast and venomous as a viper. Not again, I silently pleaded. Never again. I took a step forward and amber flame boiled along the axe, causing the vampire to flinch away.


    ¡°It was just a trance,¡± Catrin corrected hastily. ¡°Not so different from being drunk, really. It¡¯s not like I can read your thoughts or anything. Never quite managed to pick up that trick. And you were being so vague, dodging all my questions or giving me half answers.¡± She patted down her dress and sat against the window, folding her arms. ¡°I got impatient, you know? I shouldn¡¯t have gone in for the whole dark seductress act so hard. I¡¯m sorry, alright? So can you put the axe down?¡±


    The axe remained between us, dimly burning with golden flame. I did not lower it. ¡°I should kill you,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ll go right to the baron.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Catrin insisted. She stood then. When I tensed, she lifted both of her hands in a gesture of surrender. Her vampiric form was starting to fade away, I noted, her hair darkening to its normal chestnut hue, her skin taking on a healthier pallor. ¡°Listen, big man, everything I said to you was true. Besides, from where I¡¯m standing you¡¯re pretty short on friends ¡ª you want to make it out of this alive?¡±


    She studied me a long moment, one eyebrow lifted. She finished when I kept my silence. ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of days before his lordship hears about what happened in Vinhithe and takes the half-step of logic he needs to figure out you¡¯re the same man who killed Red Leonis. If you¡¯re really here to bring him down, then I can help you... but you¡¯re going to need to put the cutter down and talk to me.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t trust a word out of your mouth.¡± I took another step toward the door ¡ª I wouldn¡¯t let her retreat to rouse the castle. She was near the window. I didn¡¯t think using a cant to stop her would be very effective ¡ª the magic she used to lower my guard was stronger than any command I could muster, and mine were only effective on an unsuspecting foe in any case.


    Vampires were proto-fiends ¡ª not quite demons, but most of halfway there. Damned souls fashioned in the world rather than in the boiling darkness of the Abyss, hungering for blood, undead, vicious. I¡¯d faced my share of the creatures, and had learned to hate them.


    They were repelled by sanctified aura same as demons too, which was a fine thing to me. My magic was made to fight such creatures. I showed the intruder that power. ¡°You chose the wrong man to try to make your thrall,¡± I growled. ¡°I¡¯ll send you back into the Dark.¡±


    There was a long pause. ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s just...¡±


    I heard the rustling of cloth at my back and turned. Catrin stood there, fully human again, her hair a bit disheveled so it half covered one eye. She took a long, shuddering breath. ¡°I¡¯m not going to pretend like I don¡¯t make impulsive decisions sometimes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a blood drinker,¡± I accused. ¡°You¡¯re driven by impulse.¡±


    Anger hardened the malleable edges of Catrin¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯m a changeling, you cockwart. I was born this way. Now do you want my help or not?¡±


    That gave me pause. Changeling. It was a catch-all term for any variety of creature with nonspecific origin. They might be a Sidhe switched out with a human child in the cradle, raised by unsuspecting human parents, or a half-breed born of mixed ancestors. Sometimes a darker entity could corrupt a seed in the womb, giving birth to something terrible, a parasite with unknowing human parents who became little more than haunted victims to the demon babe.


    Regardless of the kind, they were often preternaturally strong, driven by unnatural hungers, and difficult to destroy. Their most dangerous ability, however, was their predilection for creating a masque ¡ª a nearly perfect human disguise. They learned the trick in infancy in order to survive and got better at it as they aged.


    But they were not all wholly evil. Not always, anyway. Unlike true vampires, who were little more than hateful souls bound inside a corpse, changelings were misbegotten children tossed into the world. There¡¯d been one in the woods near the village I¡¯d grown up in. Old, mad, and harmless as a leaf.


    Catrin was not harmless. Even if everything she said was true, she¡¯d still tried to subdue my will with her own. She¡¯d tried to taste my blood.


    When I still hesitated, she let out a contemptuous snort and turned back toward the shadows.


    I grit my teeth. ¡°Wait.¡±


    She stopped and half turned to glare at me.


    ¡°Do you have some kind of plan?¡±


    The smile that touched the corners of Catrin¡¯s lips was sharp as razors, revealing teeth sharper still. ¡°Maybe. If you¡¯re still alive by sundown tomorrow, we¡¯ll talk again. Keep your head until then, big man.¡±


    Then, before I could stop her, she walked into the wall and vanished. I took a step forward, lifting a hand as though to grab her shoulder, but it was too late.


    ¡°Shit,¡± I said aloud. My eyes went to my axe, which was still dimly burning with amber flames. I quenched the flow of power and let them fade. I set it down against the wall by the bed and then sat myself. I took a few minutes to calm myself and think, twisting the ring on my right forefinger in idle habit.


    Had I just made a devil¡¯s bargain? Because Catrin was certainly a kind of devil. I wasn¡¯t certain exactly what she was. There was a veritable legion of vampiric beings in the world, though relatively few who could wield supernatural charm or travel through shadows.


    A dhampir, I thought grimly. It wasn¡¯t the only possibility, but the most likely one. Very dangerous. I would have to keep my guard up, and hope I hadn¡¯t just been duped.

 Arc 1: Chapter 19: Barons Order, Headsmans Path

    Arc 1: Chapter 19: Baron''s Order, Headsman''s Path


    ¡°I have a task for you.¡±


    The Baron turned to me as the doors of the same dining hall where the council had been held the night before closed at my back. He was standing near the same chair he¡¯d occupied the previous night, his green-cloaked attendant at his side. Otherwise, the hall was empty.


    I supposed the others wouldn¡¯t be morning people.


    I approached the table and nodded to Orson Falconer. ¡°That was fast. What do you have in mind?¡±


    The Baron quirked an elegant eyebrow at my lack of decorum, but didn¡¯t otherwise comment. He sat and studied the breakfast that had been laid out before him. He gestured and I sat as well.


    ¡°I trust you rested well?¡± The lord asked, tucking into his meal.


    I studied the breakfast set out in front of my own seat. My eyes fixed on strips of seasoned bacon. Some kind of sauce had been artfully lathered across them. My mouth began to water at the smell, and I tried not to think about the last time I¡¯d had a decent meal. I¡¯d been too anxious to eat during the council the night before. ¡°Well enough, lord.¡± I hadn¡¯t slept at all, actually, but I was used to going without sleep.


    ¡°Good, good.¡± The Baron ate for a while, patted at his mouth with a cloth, and then laced his fingers over a half empty plate. ¡°A few months ago, the preoster of my domain¡¯s largest village passed in his sleep. He only had one disciple, who is too young for the role.. The Church is sending a new one to replace him.¡± A cold smile tightened the corners of his lips. ¡°I¡¯m certain they wish to have their tithes secured.¡±


    ¡°When¡¯s this new preoster set to arrive?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Sometime tomorrow morning,¡± the Baron said. ¡°Tragically, the Church¡¯s representative met an ill fate on the road. The wild chimera in this region can be quite fierce.¡± His violet eyes flickered to meet mine.


    My appetite fled, and I set down the strip of meat I¡¯d been about to finish. I drummed my fingers on the table a moment. ¡°You want me to kill him before he arrives.¡±


    The Baron inclined his head. ¡°Can I trust you to see it done?¡±


    I leaned back in my seat and folded my arms, thinking. ¡°Won¡¯t the Church just send another one? If your priests keep dying, it¡¯s going to rouse suspicion. They might even end up sending the Priorguard.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± the Baron said, nodding his agreement. ¡°But what I need now is time.¡± He stood and moved to one of the thin, fog-glassed windows on the far side of the room. Pale morning sunlight tinted the blue glass with eddies of bright silver and gold. ¡°I don¡¯t need the clericons questioning the presence of my mercenaries. Once my guests have departed, I will send the Mistwalkers to garrison some of my family¡¯s old holdings in the south. For now I need them here, as a show of strength.¡±


    ¡°Why not disguise them as your own house guard?¡± I asked. ¡°Change of uniform is all it would take.¡±


    ¡°I considered it,¡± the Baron said. ¡°But it is important for some of the factions represented here to see that I¡¯ve bought the Mistwalker legion... even if only a single cohort of it. Appearances matter right now. Besides, many of the Church¡¯s preosters are proper clerics ¡ª I can¡¯t risk them sensing the guards¡¯ true nature.¡±


    I pushed my seat back and stood, wiping my hands on a cloth set with the dishware. I needed a moment to think ¡ª more than a moment.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± I said. I wouldn¡¯t, but I¡¯d have to figure out how I¡¯d make that work later. For now I needed the lord not to be suspicious of me.


    The Baron turned and graced me with a bright smile. ¡°Good! And, just to ensure there are no complications, I will have one of the Mistwalkers accompany you.¡±


    The lord held up a hand and a gray-uniformed figure clad in a battered breastplate stepped from the shadows between two pillars. Tall, lanky, and wheat-haired, the mercenary dipped into a lazy bow before straightening smartly. I recognized him ¡ª Quinn, the guard who¡¯d welcomed Catrin and me to the castle.


    ¡°I¡¯ll expect news before nightfall,¡± Orson Falconer said, returning to his seat and turning his attention back to his unfinished meal. ¡°Good luck. And if you need to make confession for killing a priest, you¡¯re welcome to use the castle¡¯s chapel.¡±


    ***


    The mist followed us as we road down the winding dirt trails beyond Caelfall Village. Part of me believed it was following us. Something told me there was a touch of sorcery in the creeping fingers of vapor which chased the padding feet of our chimera.


    ¡°You ride well,¡± Quinn noted, bringing his own beast to a halt as we crested a shallow hill. Hazy woods and marshland stretched as far as the eye could see, which was not far. The land of Cael seemed choked by skeletal trees and cancerous wetland.


    I tugged on the chimera¡¯s reins with a savage jerk, forcing it to stop next to the Mistwalker¡¯s own mount. It let loose a low, bubbling snarl, baring a mouthful of teeth thicker than my fingers. It was a ghastly thing born in the far reaches of the west ¡ª front heavy, with a huge head and powerful jaws, as well as a tendency to produce an eerie, undulating yip uncomfortably like a laugh. It was dark gray and dust brown, spotted, with a mohawk strip of course hair running from the back of its heavy skull to the spiky tuft at the end of its long, lashing tail.


    Quinn laughed at the strained look on my face. ¡°Feisty beasts, aren¡¯t they? Damn good in a fight, though. You won¡¯t see them break a phalanx like the war chimera you Urnic knights ride, but they can tear across rough terrain like you wouldn¡¯t believe and snap steel plate with those jaws.¡±


    I tried not to look at the jaws in question, forcing the angry chimera under control before turning my attention to the landscape beyond. ¡°The preoster is supposed to arrive by this road,¡± I said. ¡°If something in the wild didn¡¯t get him first.¡± Perhaps I¡¯d get lucky, and the baron¡¯s quip about wild beasts killing the new priest would end up being prophetic.


    Quinn leaned forward, squinting with pale blue eyes into the fog. ¡°Can hardly see a thing.¡±


    Quinn moved his own beast around the carriage, letting it sniff as mine did. The creature let out a doglike whine and the mercenary shook his head. ¡°No one inside.¡±


    I dismounted and checked the carriage, as cautious of my own mount¡¯s sharp teeth as any threat that may lay inside. Quinn was right. The comfortable interior of the transport was barren.


    ¡°This held our preoster, right?¡± Quinn glanced at the auremark, blue eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Doubtless,¡± I said. I moved to the shaft, studying the damp ground. The road was mostly just a cleared path along higher ground less prone to flooding, stones spaced unevenly to mark it. It was damp, and I saw signs of clawed feet furrowing the moss. And human boots.


    ¡°There wasn¡¯t an attack,¡± I said. ¡°If this was bandits, then the preoster and his driver gave up without a fight.¡± My eyes tracked more signs scattered across the road. ¡°They didn¡¯t take the chimera. See there?¡± I pointed to a spot off the path. ¡°And there,¡± I pointed to another. ¡°They let the animals run off into the wild in random directions, probably to keep pursuers off the trail.¡±


    Quinn stroked his goatee, impressed. ¡°You think they were being chased?¡±


    I moved along the road behind the carriage, considering the signs. ¡°No,¡± I said, then cursed. ¡°Maybe. Something¡¯s off.¡± I knelt and studied a cluster of prints near the tall grass that marked the path¡¯s boundary. ¡°It¡¯s like they just let their animals go and wandered off into the wild. I don¡¯t see enough marks here for a band of thieves, and if a monster attacked them there would be blood.¡±


    Quinn had also dismounted, and moved to stand at my side. He couldn¡¯t see what I did, the telltale signs that told the story of what might have happened on that lonely road, but he looked for them all the same. ¡°Irks?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡± I hid my discomfort at Quinn¡¯s casual use of the word ¡ª I¡¯d known more than a few wood elves, and they weren¡¯t fond of the term. Standing, I turned to the Mistwalker and adjusted my red cloak, the only piece of clothing I hadn¡¯t replaced in the castle. ¡°If it was wyldefae, they wouldn¡¯t leave tracks unless they wanted to.¡±


    Quinn nodded. ¡°If our priest was kidnapped by the Sidhe, I don¡¯t think you and I are going to get him back. We should head back to Cael, let the baron know.¡±


    I took a few steps off the road, my eyes fixed on the edge of dark forest beyond. I knelt and studied the trampled grass at the road¡¯s edge. There were tracks. Several sets of them, heading off into the countryside. ¡°I think someone warned the priest about us,¡± I said. I showed the mercenary what I¡¯d seen.


    Quinn scowled. ¡°Damn. A traitor?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Looks like they went in there.¡± I nodded toward the distant lines of trees, half obscured by rolling banks of mist.


    Quinn blew out a breath and gripped the pommel of his sword. ¡°The Irkwood.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± I said, matching the mercenaries sigh. Had Catrin warned the priest? She¡¯d admitted to eavesdropping already.


    If so, why hadn¡¯t she warned me? Was this part of her mysterious plan?


    Perhaps part of it was getting rid of me.


    ¡°You head back to the castle,¡± I said. ¡°Tell the Baron what we found and that I¡¯m dealing with it.¡±


    Quinn hesitated, uncertain. ¡°I can¡¯t just let you wander off alone. You¡¯ll get yourself killed. We should get more steel from the cohort, go in with strength.¡±


    ¡°You can send an army into those woods and have not a man come back,¡± I told him, not bothering to hide the harsh edge in my voice. ¡°That¡¯s wyldefae territory, and your company murdered one of their own ¡ª they will be out for blood.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s face, already deathly pale, turned to ash. ¡°What makes you think you can come out alive?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with the Sidhe before,¡± I said. ¡°And I¡¯m not a Mistwalker.¡± I smiled and added, ¡°this is what the Baron wanted of me. It won¡¯t be my first time dealing with elves, trust me.¡±


    Uncertainty stalled the mercenary¡¯s decision. For a moment, I considered just killing him. I could handle the situation with the missing preoster as I pleased, and tell Orson Falconer whatever story I wanted.


    I dismissed the idea. I didn¡¯t need more suspicion from the castle¡¯s inhabitants, and Quinn was more useful as a messenger.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure the preoster doesn¡¯t come back alive,¡± I said. ¡°If he isn¡¯t dead already.¡±


    With that show of bravado, I left the mercenary on the road and forged into the wild. I had no intention of killing the missing priest if he was still alive. I wasn¡¯t certain the forest dwellers were actually saving him from the grim fate the Baron had in mind ¡ª they were just as likely taking their vengeance on any human they found near their woods. Whatever the case, I could send the man back with a warning for the Church, and perhaps give others a chance to stop Orson Falconer if I failed.


    I¡¯d have to convince the beings who dwelt in the forest of that, and hope they weren¡¯t too angry to give me a chance to explain myself.

 Arc 1: Chapter 20: The Hunters

    Arc 1: Chapter 20: The Hunters


    I have an old memory that¡¯s never left me. It¡¯s from when I was a boy, back home in the Dales.


    I wasn¡¯t born a lord. I earned my knighthood through deed, a touch of luck, and the whim of a certain iron-willed highborn. Half my relatives were woodcutters. I¡¯d even taken my House name from those roots ¡ª Hewer. I¡¯d thought it a fine jest at the time, though Rose had rolled her royal eyes.


    When I was still a commoner lad, I¡¯d gotten lost in an elfwood near my village. It had been my first experience of just how strange the world could truly be, how frightening. I¡¯d gone from the tedium of hard work and pleasant summer days into a world of whispering shadows and dreaming trees. A world without death. One that didn¡¯t forget.


    There¡¯d been wisdom in the roots of those ancient trees. And horror. The priests say the elves mentored humankind when we first came to these shores, took us under their wing and taught us how to wield our souls, the best weapon we have against the Adversary.


    I¡¯d once thought of elves as my father talked about them ¡ª kind, whimsical, beautiful, and bearing the wisdom of immortals.


    He never mentioned how immortality can make you go goring mad.


    The hem of my worn red cloak glided over twisting roots and undergrowth. The air was heavy and thick in the shadowed depths of the Irkwood, stinking of rot. My eyes kept wanting to track movement at the edges of my vision, flitting phantom shapes which might have been mist, or my nerves, or the wraiths I knew would haunt the trees.


    I could hear whispering too. There was no wind, no singing birds or insect sounds, so the murmuring voices in the near distance provided the only ambience besides my own crunching boots.


    I knew better than to try to listen to those voices. Elves don¡¯t die ¡ª immortal is immortal ¡ª but their flesh can still expire just as a human¡¯s can. Their souls are made of hardier stuff than a man¡¯s. Anywhere I¡¯d find the Old Children, I¡¯d find their shades lingering. Whispering.


    Bitter.


    So many of them had died during the Fall. Most of them, so far as I knew. The land was infested with fey ghosts, undying, refusing to forget.


    ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± a voice muttered, louder than the rest.


    ¡°He¡¯s come!¡± Another answered, outrage and excitement melting together in the words.


    ¡°Which one is he?¡± A third asked.?iscover new chapters at novelhall.com


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, they¡¯re all oathbreakers. They let the towers burn, let the Archon die.¡±


    ¡°Betrayers!¡±


    ¡°Liars.¡±


    ¡°Murderers.¡±


    I ignored the vague shapes in the deeper shadows and moved on, further into the wood.


    ¡°He bears the Axe of Hithlen.¡±


    ¡°The Headsman.¡±


    ¡°Headsman!¡±


    ¡°The Headsman has come.¡±


    I ignored the whispering voices and stopped in a small clearing. Mist wrapped around the forest floor, curling around the trees and clinging to the hem of my cloak. I wore my hood up to shadow my features ¡ª not to disguise, but so the mild enchantments woven into the garment would help keep the wraiths and wild od from interfering with my senses.


    I spotted something half lost amid the undergrowth and knelt. It was a saddlebag, likely taken from a chimera or perhaps the preoster¡¯s carriage. It was old, worn, and ¡ª when I inspected it ¡ª empty.


    There was something vaguely familiar about the pack. I frowned, wondering if I was going insane. It looked completely ordinary, unassuming, but...


    I froze as I realized something had changed in the surrounding forest. The wraiths had stopped their constant murmuring, and its absence was like a scream. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.


    I tightened my grip on my axe, freeing it from the folds of my cloak where I¡¯d been concealing it. I kept it low, out of sight, lightly resting the fingers of my right hand closer to the head.


    ¡°So that story about you just passing through Caelfall on your rounds as an itinerant healer was troll shit,¡± I said. I narrowed my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re hunters.¡±


    Not just any hunters. Vampire hunters. I could think of no other reason why the doctor would be packing weaponized moonsilver.


    ¡°I received a letter from Preoster Micah many months ago, while I was still in the continent. He feared a growing darkness in the land, and believed House Falconer was at the root of it. I have some experience hunting monsters in well guarded dens.¡± Olliard was loading another missile into the strange crossbow. The weapon had four arms instead of the customary two, several strings, and what looked like an iron tube in the gap where a bolt would normally go. Instead of a bolt, he placed a small gray ball inside before pulling a latch, producing a solid ka-clank.


    ¡°The Baron isn¡¯t a vampire,¡± I said. I felt certain of that ¡ª I¡¯d watched him eat regular food, and I¡¯d sensed no corruption in him even when we¡¯d been face to face. Unlike with Catrin, I¡¯d looked for such signs the moment we¡¯d been face to face.


    It wouldn¡¯t be the first time you¡¯d missed it, I reminded myself.


    ¡°No,¡± Olliard agreed, surprising me. ¡°He isn¡¯t. But he does ally himself with such creatures, and he¡¯s responsible for Micah¡¯s death. Or, at least, his disciple in the village is certain of the fact. Brother Edgar believed the Baron would threaten the life of Micah¡¯s replacement, so we came out to steer him away from the village and into safety, then waited for one of the lord¡¯s dogs to pick up the trail...¡±


    The doctor¡¯s foggy eyes fell on me, and they were far sharper than I¡¯d first thought. Harder, and less kind. ¡°And look at what came sniffing.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t work for the baron,¡± I said.


    ¡°Save it.¡± Olliard¡¯s voice was cold. ¡°We know you went into the castle. Who are you, really? Not a ghoul, like those guards, or this would have hurt quite a bit more.¡± He nodded to his odd weapon.


    ¡°I came to warn the priest, just as you did.¡± I tried to straighten, at least so I could talk to them from my knees rather than face down in the wet grass, but Lisette¡¯s litany suddenly rose into a harsh onslaught of words and the golden bonds around my arms tightened. I gasped, fearing for a moment my arms would break, then slammed against the tree again as the auratic tethers dragged me to it like a magnet.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t move,¡± Olliard suggested thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯ve seen her use those to break bones. The same technique she used to stitch your wounds, you know. People never consider how easily the healing arts can be turned to the purpose of unmaking the body. The alchemists in the West know this fact well. They¡¯ve made all sorts of tools just as potent as any elf magic in this land...¡± He lifted his quicksilver crossbow and aimed it at my skull. ¡°What I shot at you before was just glass. This one is iron.¡±


    I opened my mouth to say more, to tell them they had me wrong and that I was Orson Falconer¡¯s enemy as much as they ¡ª but I stopped. They wouldn¡¯t trust anything I said while held prisoner with a weapon aimed at my skull, and the truth wasn¡¯t something they¡¯d easily believe in any circumstance.


    Better to show them. I gathered will for a Command, shaping my aura to freeze the doctor in place before he could shoot me. After, I¡¯d break Lisette¡¯s auratic bonds and we¡¯d continue the conversation on more equitable ground. Her magic was good, clever, but not terribly strong as far as I could tell.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened, and in a flash her fingers danced through a series of complicated motions. The thin strings in her hands altered their pattern, and the quality of her murmured prayers changed.


    Before I could speak a word, golden light shot through my lips. Down, then, up, and then repeating the process a dozen times in the blink of an eye. My lips slammed together and stayed there, neatly stitched.


    Olliard frowned and glanced at his apprentice.


    ¡°He was about to use magic on us,¡± she explained. ¡°Not sure what kind.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Good thinking then, my dear.¡±


    ¡°What are we going to do with him, doctor?¡± Lisette asked, as I struggled futilely against the bonds. I tried to speak, but my words just came out as an incoherent mumble.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to interrogate him. We need to get back to the village and check in on Brother Edgar, see if he managed to find those old maps for us. Our time is short, and our enemy watchful.¡± He pondered a moment before asking, ¡°how long will your magic hold him, once we¡¯ve departed?¡±


    Lisette grimaced. ¡°Not long.¡±


    Olliard nodded and lowered his weapon, then approached me. He pulled something from within the layered folds of his monkish robes ¡ª a metal syringe.


    I struggled, but the small man was quick, decisive, and stronger than he seemed. He plunged the metal needle into my neck. Within the space of three breaths my eyes were growing heavy.


    ¡°Not a deadly concoction,¡± Olliard muttered. ¡°I just need to make certain you don¡¯t interfere. I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re involved in all of this, and I¡¯ve no time or patience to sift your lies from truth. You¡¯ll sleep for a while, and when you awake... Well.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t imagine we¡¯re likely to meet again. By this time tomorrow, either I or Orson Falconer will be dead.¡±


    No, I thought through the spreading thickness in my blood. You don¡¯t know what¡¯s in the castle, how bad things are. You can¡¯t handle him alone, can¡¯t¡ª


    I couldn¡¯t say any of it aloud, not with my aura-stitched lips.


    Lisette said something, but I didn¡¯t hear it through the spreading haze in my thoughts. I closed my eyes, and everything became dark.

 Arc 1: Chapter 21: Bane

    Arc 1: Chapter 21: Bane


    When I woke again, the light in the woods had changed. Must be near dusk, I thought. Fell asleep again. Brassard¡¯s going to give me a lecture.


    As the fog in my skull cleared, I realized in a flash where I was. The following realization ¡ª that the old ranger was long dead ¡ª was like physical pain.


    I lay in damp undergrowth in the sickly woods of Caelfall, not on the borderlands of Harodell. I was in my middle years, world-worn and tired, and not an eager young man set to challenge all the tyrants and monsters of Urn with nothing but a sword in hand.


    Everything ached. I guessed I had whatever the doctor had injected me with to thank for that. Bastard old man, I thought. Not that I could blame him much ¡ª he had every reason to believe I was one of Orson Falconer¡¯s agents. Still, if he¡¯d only let me explain...


    But I hadn¡¯t really tried to explain, had I? I¡¯d tried intimidating them instead, and the old physik¡¯s clever apprentice had shut me down hard. I¡¯d underestimated them both. Even still, they¡¯d get themselves killed if I didn¡¯t get back to the village and stop them from trying the castle¡¯s defenses. If I wasn¡¯t too late already.


    I started to get up, but some subtle noise in the surrounding forest stopped me. I went still. Instinctively, the fingers of my right hand searched for my axe. Cold logic told me the doctor had probably taken my weapons, so I was surprised when I found it lying at my side.


    Must not have wanted to leave me defenseless, I thought. Soft heartedness seemed a foolish trait for a pair of fiend hunters. They should have killed me.


    Carefully, without a sound, I shifted my muscles to readiness and tightened my grip on the axe. There was another rustle. I felt a subtle coldness, an itch along my skin. Small voices whispered through my blood.


    Something of the Dark was approaching. Some beast of the woods, perhaps, or one of the Baron¡¯s creatures sent to deal with a loose end.


    It wouldn¡¯t find an easy meal. I waited, and when my instincts told me it was near I twisted, spinning into a low and savage kick. My boot connected with something. It fell with a yelp. I was on my feet and had my axe up in a flash.


    For the second time that day I froze before delivering the killing blow. Instead I lowered the axe and stepped clear, biting off a curse. ¡°Vampire.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Catrin, you arse. Have trouble keeping names in that hard skull of yours? All the knocks you¡¯ve taken to it, maybe?¡±


    The young woman stood, wincing and lifting one foot clear of her skirts to rub at the ankle I¡¯d bruised. She¡¯d returned to her commoner¡¯s garb, opting for a dark green dress that better blended with the shadowed woods and a pale gray bodice. Though, if she wanted to move unseen, the white frills along the various lines of the garment somewhat ruined the effect. ¡°Bleeding Gates, you¡¯re a jumpy one. Is every conversation with you going to involve violence?¡±


    ¡°How did you find me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I turned into a varbat and flew around until I saw you lying in the mud.¡±


    I glowered, unamused.


    Catrin sighed and held up her hands in surrender. ¡°I heard you got sent out on some errand for the baron and didn¡¯t return with the Mistwalker who rode out with you. I put the screws to Quinn and he admitted you¡¯d gone into an Irkwood. Alone. Whole castle suspects you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°So you came all the way out here?¡± I asked. We were several miles from the lake.


    ¡°I can move around quicklike if I want,¡± Catrin said with an evil little smile. ¡°Maybe I can¡¯t grow wings like some of my kind, but I¡¯ve got my ways.¡±


    I remembered how she¡¯d moved through shadows during our conversation in the castle the previous night and didn¡¯t comment. I turned and started walking, guessing at the direction of the road.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Catrin scurried to catch up, her skirts rustling through the brush. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°Back to the village,¡± I said. Before that old fool gets himself and his apprentice killed.


    ¡°Alright, fine enough, but could you at least tell me what happened out here? Why I found you lying on your face in the bloody wilderness?¡± She sniffed, then scrunched up her face in disgust. ¡°Did you shit yourself?¡±


    I paused, then sighed. I had. ¡°I was drugged,¡± I told her.


    Maybe I¡¯d just let Olliard die.


    ¡°Drugged?¡± Catrin asked, confused. Her eyes fell like well trained arrows on the puncture wound in my neck.


    I didn¡¯t miss where her eyes lingered and turned, half raising the axe. She stepped back out of my reach, both of us going on guard at once.


    ¡°Not here to fight,¡± Catrin said slowly, watching me with wary eyes that shone just a touch too bright in the deepening forest gloom. ¡°Came to make sure you were alive, not finish the job. You have my word, big man.¡±


    ¡°We are no threat to you,¡± I said. ¡°If you seek revenge for the Sentinel, neither I nor this changeling were responsible.¡±


    ¡°We know this,¡± the hidden elf said. The slithering words were punctuated by more fey laughter from the wisps. ¡°But there are grievances besides those held against Falconer to be answered. You have much to answer for, Alder Knight.¡±


    A cold shiver ran through my blood. They knew what I was.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I muttered to Catrin.


    The dhampir was shivering in my arm, pressed against my side. She was very cold, though I wasn¡¯t sure if that was her injury or her natural state. The arrow in her shoulder was black and fletched with pale green feathers. A subtle silver-hued light radiated from the wound, as though the dart had been a burning comet fallen from the stars.


    ¡°I feel sick,¡± she said. She looked very pale, almost so much as when she¡¯d briefly taken her true form in my room the night before.


    I clenched my jaw. The elves had hit her with azsilver. Banemetal, as humans called it. An alloy that harmed the soul along with the flesh, and was especially effective against the undead. Had Catrin been a true vampire, it would have scorched her spirit from her body and sent it hurtling into the Wend to burn for an age.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯ll get us out of this.¡± I wanted to rip the arrow out, but didn¡¯t dare take my other hand off my weapon. Had she been human, I¡¯d have left it in to avoid blood loss, but the magic dart was doing harm for every second it was embedded in her.


    ¡°Knew you were some kind o¡¯ lord,¡± Catrin said with a weak smile. There was blood on her teeth, and the whites of her eyes had darkened to red. She shivered violently, as though from deadly fever. Her accent had thickened ¡ª definitely a Marchlander. ¡°Just my luck.¡±


    I tore my attention from the dhampir and fixed it on the darkening woods. ¡°I was sent by the Lady Eanor of the Choir Concilium to execute Orson Falconer. We are on the same side, my word of honor on it.¡±


    ¡°...Honor?¡±


    The wisps ceased their laughter. The forest went deadly silent. The chill in my blood became a winter wind, ice crackling through my veins.


    The immortal voice in the darkness spoke, and each word was a brand, each sentence a pronouncement of doom.


    ¡°You think to claim honor now? You, who wields the Faen Orgis?¡±


    ¡°You, who let the greatest of our havens burn?¡±


    ¡°You, whose order betrayed our archon?¡±


    ¡°You, who allowed the Enemy into the very heart of our most sacred places?¡±


    ¡°Even now you bear its mark upon your flesh.¡±


    The scars on my face burned. I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn¡¯t muster a word. What could I say?


    It was all true.


    ¡°I was deceived,¡± I croaked. ¡°I didn¡¯t know¡ª¡±


    ¡°You should not have come here,¡± the elf said. ¡°You will not leave alive.¡±


    Movement in the surrounding trees. More Wil-O¡¯ Wisps, and only then did the true Sidhe make their appearance.


    They were all tall as lords, all graceful, and an unearthly light clung to them. They were so beautiful it hurt the eyes, their weapons and armor shining with witchlight. Their faces were stern, wolfish, and utterly without mercy. They had the strength of ages, and a hatred born of the death of their civilization.


    A death I¡¯d helped bring about.


    They gathered close, aiming shining spears at my neck.


    ¡°We will bring you to our lord for judgment.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 22: The Oradyn

    Arc 1: Chapter 22: The Oradyn


    The elves brought us deep into the Irkwood. So deep, in fact, that I suspected we drew very close to the border of one world and the precipice of another.


    I knew the signs. The trees grew taller, and less quiet. More Wil-O¡¯ Wisps and wraiths began to gather, their ethereal voices intermixing to form a ghostly ambiance. The shadows sunk into depthless pools of liquid shadow, and light clung to the woods from no apparent source, as though it grew as moss or mushrooms might, or gathered in lambent springs.


    It might have been beautiful, but there was a dreadful alien quality to the hidden realm. My eyes were tormented by confusing shapes, overwhelmed by half-heard sounds or phantom scents.


    I focused on the elves who¡¯d taken us captive instead. They were unearthly in their own way, but in a manner I was at least somewhat familiar with. ¡°My companion needs that arrow taken out,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s hurting her.¡±


    Catrin was being guided along by two elven warriors, both clad in light armor of a pale metal inscribed with intricate patterns like overlaid leaves. What was visible of the bodies beneath were tightly bound in strips of cloth, as though they were mimicking the mummies of ancient human kings. Each held one of the dhampir¡¯s arms in an ungentle grip. She shivered violently, her flesh pallid and coated with a thin sheen of sweat. Her form seemed nearly liquid, shifting from the mildly pretty young woman she usually resembled to the ghastly creature I¡¯d glimpsed the night before, then back again. The bane-metal arrow remained embedded in her left shoulder.


    The one leading the band was a tall elf clad in armor fashioned of a pale blue starmetal, beautifully made, with a horned helm revealing nothing of the face beneath. A faerie knight wrapped in moonlight. They had been the one to shoot the dhampir, and the towering warbow in the elf¡¯s hand quietly hummed with sorcery.


    The elf knight turned an eye that shone like distant starlight from the depths of their helm¡¯s eye slits on the changeling. Though I couldn''t see it beneath the helm, I could almost imagine immortal lips curling into a sneer.


    ¡°The half breed will live. The azsilver tortures the dark spirit in her, but it is bound in her tightly as any living mortal¡¯s essence. Her fate is for the oradyn to decide.¡±


    That word took me aback. Oradyn was an elven word for one of their military commanders. It meant something close to captain, but had a deeper meaning than mere rank. A champion. A hero of their people.


    My trepidation grew teeth.


    They hadn¡¯t taken my axe. None of the elves seemed willing to touch it, but neither had they allowed me to put it away beneath my cloak.


    ¡°You are the bearer of Faen Orgis, mortal, and our lord will see as much when we bring you before him.¡±


    ¡°If he isn¡¯t too distracted by the smell of you,¡± another had added. They¡¯d all laughed, and that preternatural sound had been pain on my mortal ears.


    I ignored their jibes, instead considering the weapon I held. Faen Orgis. The Doomsman¡¯s Arm. It was the first time I¡¯d heard the Axe of Hithlen¡¯s true name since it had been given to me along with my penance.


    We were brought deeper into the heart of the Irkwood until we reached a great manorhall. It was built atop a low cliff where a waterfall fed a forest stream, rising among the trees like a fragment of the moon. Light seeped from the very stone of the hall, obscuring the spaces within as much as any amount of gloom might have. It was nearly too bright to look at, but my eyes began to adjust as we drew closer ¡ª or some trick of distance made the light fade into something more subtle ¡ª until I could make out more details of the building.


    It reminded me of the Gilded City. I could see similarities in the painstaking detail of the craftsmenship, in the way each pillar or overhang blended seamlessly with the whole. Every coiling arm of ivy, each fragment of glowing moss that clung to the lower walls, even the branches of trees tall as castle towers seemed a deliberate part of the structure, as though the forest had grown itself in accordance with the maker¡¯s vision rather than the other way around. Platforms mingled with curling boughs to form a complex series of walkways encircling a central structure capped by a crystalline dome.


    We were guided up a switchback formed of smooth jutting stone along the cliff until we reached the entrance to the manor, which was doorless. Living wood entwined around supporting pillars on either side of an arch more than ten feet in height. Wisps chased us like carefree children as we were pressed inside the manor, whispering nonsense syllables in voices like little bells.


    And there were wraiths too. Many of them. Though the great hall that formed the central core of the structure¡¯s interior was nearly empty, shadows filled every wall and corner as though reflecting a great congregation. They murmured, sullen, their voices just barely on the edge of hearing and beyond the edge of understanding. A sullen chorus.


    If I go on so long, understand I say less than a fraction of what there was to say about that house of immortals. It¡¯s always the way with such. And this was a single small house in an isolated domain, a shadow fragment of the great haven men call Elfhome, which itself is a faded replicate of even older, more fabled places.


    I have said much less than I could.


    ¡°Big man?¡±


    I glanced aside and saw that Catrin had managed to open her eyes somewhat. Her guards held her up, and I suspected without them she wouldn¡¯t be able to stand on her own.


    Elven spirits grew larger as they aged, until their shells of flesh and bone could no longer contain their own aura. I guessed this elf was very old. Not the oldest I¡¯d met, but no youth either.


    He¡¯d be powerful, and maybe a touch mad. Most of the older Sidhe were.


    ¡°I am Oradyn Irn Bale,¡± the elf said. ¡°Lord of this haven, one of few left from your order¡¯s failure. It is my judgment which will pass here, not that of the Lady Eanor.¡±


    I wanted to show him my empty hands, but I was still holding the damned axe. I settled for keeping it at my side, my grip loose, as nonthreatening as I could be. ¡°I am bound to the service of the Choir, not just to Eanor alone.¡±


    Irn Bale snorted, his marred lips twisting with contempt. ¡°I know who you are, Alken Hewer, Headsman of Seydis, and why you are here. Do you even know the lineage you pretend to? The thought of a mortal man holding that title twists my gut, and you dare to enter these woods uninvited, trample grass which has grown undisturbed since before your brutish kin first benighted these lands, claiming such ancient names?¡±


    I swallowed my frustration and took a step forward. Guards moved to stop me, but their lord made a cutting gesture with one hand and they remained at bay.


    ¡°I am honorbound to this duty,¡± I said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t one I chose, wasn¡¯t one I sought ¡ª it¡¯s a penance. I¡¯m trying to atone for my failures. Lord Irn Bale, the man known as Orson Falconer is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your treacherous order lost any claim it had to honor ten years ago, when they let Tiir Ilyasven burn.¡± Irn Bale¡¯s voice was cold as glaciers. He used the Sidhe word for the city humans called Elfhome ¡ª The Haven of the Falls. ¡°There are even rumors that some among the Table assisted in the murder of the archon. It is difficult to pick apart the truths from the babblings of those scorched wraiths who managed to escape the city¡¯s destruction...¡±


    ¡°I would be willing to give you my own account,¡± I said, cautious of my tone but wanting to say the words through gritted teeth. ¡°But I am here for a purpose, and every moment I am away puts more people at risk, and raises the chances our enemy might learn my purpose and take precautions.¡±


    Irn Bale shrugged. ¡°That is no moment to me. You mortals spread like flies, and you¡¯re always in a rush. Another can take up this burden.¡±


    ¡°And if Orson Falconer strikes at you?¡± I challenged him. ¡°His allies already murdered the Troll of Caelfall.¡±


    Irn Bale¡¯s marred face hardened. His scars exaggerated the small show of anger, making it seem a devil¡¯s snarl.


    Another figure at the elf lord¡¯s side stirred before he could say more. In a moment of shock, I realized I¡¯d missed their presence entirely ¡ª they¡¯d been sitting within the tangle of roots that made up one section of the throne, so still and unassuming they¡¯d blended with it.


    They ¡ª he or she I couldn¡¯t tell ¡ª was a tall, rake thin elf dressed as a minstrel might, in brightly dyed garments of forest green and sunburst yellow, a lumpy hat shadowing lean features. Their long hair was blue-black, like the Oradyn¡¯s. They leaned toward the elf lord and murmured something, then caught my gaze. They had mismatched eyes. One was shadow blue, the other molten gold.


    Irn Bale calmed, though with obvious reluctance. ¡°I am aware of this misdeed. The old sentinel was my friend... The baron will answer for his death. His crimes, however, are not why you stand before me now.¡±


    He pointed a finger at the weapon in my hand. ¡°That arm does not belong to you. You will surrender it.¡±


    I closed my eyes, swallowing the sigh that wanted to escape my lips. This was what all this theater had been leading to ¡ª the old captain wanted the weapon of power I carried. Everything else was minor in his eyes, a fleeting problem for a passing season.


    I watched him in silence a moment before lifting the axe. The weapon softly hummed with magic as potent as any that clung to the elder wood and ensorceled stone all around me. It had been forged long ago, far in the west, wrought of strange alloys for a grim purpose.


    I held the axe out, letting it rest on my upraised palms. The elf¡¯s eyes narrowed, the fey light in them subtly changing hue with the motion. Sea blue to venom green.


    ¡°I never wanted this,¡± I told him, meaning it. ¡°It¡¯s been nothing but a burden.¡±


    Irn Bale nodded sharply. ¡°Then I shall free you from it.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 23: Clash in the Elf Lords Hall

    Arc 1: Chapter 23: Clash in the Elf Lord''s Hall


    ¡°Care to catch me up?¡± Catrin asked.


    Her voice was strained, but still had some strength. I knelt at the dhampir woman¡¯s side near one pillar of Irn Bale¡¯s hall while a goblin tutted over her wound.


    ¡°The scarred elf wants my weapon,¡± I said, indicating the axe I held. ¡°It¡¯s a relic of their people.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh.¡± Catrin nodded, then winced as the goblin physik pulled a fragment of azsilver from her shoulder with long, scalpel-sharp claws. ¡°That doesn¡¯t tell me why my wound¡¯s being treated. Why doesn¡¯t he just take it from you?¡±


    I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°Custom. The elves ¡ª all the eld really ¡ª bind themselves to old traditions. If he takes the axe from me by force, he loses face, tells his whole court that he¡¯s a tyrant who does as he pleases... gives them implicit permission to do the same. You can¡¯t afford that sort of recklessness in a society with memories as long as theirs.¡±


    ¡°So, what, he¡¯s trying to butter you up? Get you to give it to him?¡± Catrin eyed the congregation of Eld and spirits. ¡°Funny way of going about it.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Not quite. He¡¯s going to fight me for it, but I have to agree to do it of my own will. He can¡¯t just attack me.¡±


    Catrin winced again. The goblin said something in its own language, its voice a bubbling hiss. It wasn¡¯t one of the Disfavored, like the goblin noble at the Falconer keep ¡ª the od that clung to it was cleaner, less hateful. I spoke back to it in the same tongue, and it grumbled incoherently back. Catrin eyed me and I coughed.


    ¡°You¡¯re full of surprises, aren¡¯t you? First you show up as a vagabond looking to join Falconer¡¯s little fraternity, then you¡¯re a spy and assassin, then some sort of noble warrior... now I find out you speak goblin.¡±


    ¡°Sidhecant,¡± I corrected. ¡°All the Eld know it.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure. So why don¡¯t you just refuse to give it to him?¡± Catrin asked, eyeing the axe.


    I grimaced. ¡°If I refuse, he can just keep me here long as he wants. I¡¯ll die of old age eventually, and he isn¡¯t going to mind waiting. I¡¯m the only one on a time table, and he knows it. So if I want to leave, I accept his bargain.¡± I sighed. ¡°We fight.¡±


    ¡°Any chance you just give him the axe?¡± Catrin asked. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s a fine cutter big man, but I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s worth our lives.¡±


    I contemplated the weapon a moment. The faecraft bronze reflected my tired features back at me. ¡°If I did, they¡¯d tear me apart. They hate the axe, but it¡¯s also precious to them. Part of their history. I treat it with disrespect, they won¡¯t take it well.¡±


    Catrin sighed. ¡°Fucking elves.¡±


    The goblin said something and let out a bubbling chuckle. Catrin glanced at me and arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°He agrees with the sentiment.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Catrin said to me. ¡°For catching me back in the woods when I got shot, and asking them to take the Banemetal out. Thought I was done for.¡± She frowned. ¡°Thought I repulsed you, though.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t trust you. Still don¡¯t. I¡¯m willing to believe you¡¯re not just after my blood, though.¡±


    Catrin nodded graciously, though the mockery was somewhat subdued by the way she stiffened with pain. ¡°Mighty understanding of you, milord.¡±


    I winced.


    The dhampir flashed her sharp teeth. ¡°I knew you were a noble. You had the look, even with all those scars, those dire eyes.¡±


    I stood, adjusting my red cloak. ¡°I¡¯m barely a noble. I¡¯m the only member of my House, and I¡¯ve been living as a vagabond for most of a decade. There¡¯s no point standing on ceremony.¡±


    ¡°As you say, big man.¡± The humor fled from Catrin¡¯s face. ¡°So what now?¡±


    I turned to the elf lord¡¯s throne. ¡°Now I try to survive.¡±


    I moved to stand again in front of the root throne. Irn Bale still sat, consulting with his council. The elf with the golden eye reclined at his side, toying with the strings of a lute and seeming to ignore everything. An enormous faerie spider lurked in the shadows above, an eerie whisper emerging from within its mandibles. Wraiths murmured into the elf lord¡¯s ears. His ancestors, maybe. Parents, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandsires, all eternal advisors.


    His eyes were closed, but they opened as I moved to stand before him. ¡°Your companion has been seen to. Are you prepared?¡±


    I just nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°So be it.¡±


    Oradyn Irn Bale stood. As he did he drew something from within the depths of the roots. It was a short sword forged of volcanic glass, yellow-green, a dim light smoldering within. The hilt was brass and iron, the grip wrapped in white leather.


    The elf brandished the sword. It emitted an audible hum, and my auratic senses quivered at the sensation that passed over me. That is a potent arm, I thought.


    ¡°You were one of the Archon¡¯s warriors,¡± I said. ¡°A Knight of the Falls.¡±


    The elf followed my gaze to his sword. A pale smile touched his lips. ¡°No. My sister was. I took this from her hand and used it to slay the same demon who ate her spirit.¡± He held up the blade, which flashed as though touched by a beam of sunlight that wasn¡¯t there. Liquid shapes curled beneath the transparent surface of the faerie sword.


    I unclasped my red cloak and let it fall to the ground. Neither I nor the elf wore armor, though his garb was much finer than my borrowed clothes. He also didn¡¯t smell like half-day old shit, but I¡¯d fought in discomfort before.


    I put all from my mind except the next few minutes. All my weariness, my uncertainty, my worry for the future and my regrets... I pushed them all down and locked them away, at least for the moment. Energy sung through my limbs as my instincts, honed through many wars and countless fights, took hold of my more cautious mind.


    It was a thrill. A familiar, welcome one at that. Fighting had always been simpler than all the complexities of the world, all its vagueness and disappointments. I didn¡¯t have to concern myself with uncertain motives or self-doubt. There was no room for doubt and no purpose in empathy.


    It was live or die. Kill or be killed. Simple. Clean.


    Pure.


    The elf and I had both agreed to this, both of us knew the consequences and had accepted them. We didn¡¯t have to pity one another or worry about whether the other deserved death. There was no deceit in us, no ulterior motives or mistrust. Irn Bale had made plain what he wanted, and I had done the same.


    I twirled the axe in my hands ¡ª a needless bit of theater, but that was part of these sorts of confrontations. There is a poetry in war, no matter what any cynic might tell you. It fills a dark need in the human soul. To fight. To struggle and triumph. Hate can be a balm to the spirit.


    I felt hatred in the elf. It was in me too, though I felt none toward him. Mine was all a mirror.


    I sucked in a breath and stood, turning. The elf stood about ten feet away, shimmering slightly with that telltale distortion of mirage. ¡°Have I hit you even once?¡± I asked.


    He held up his broken right wrist. I realized he was holding his sword in his left hand now. ¡°Was that your own Art?¡± he asked in curiosity. ¡°Or the axe¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°One of the Table¡¯s,¡± I said. ¡°So was the one I used to dispel your illusions earlier.¡±


    ¡°You can still use them, even with the Table broken.¡± Irn Bale lifted his chin. He seemed impressed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t certain.¡±


    I could, but they cost me a lot more than they once had. I managed to steady my breathing and took my axe in both hands, bringing it up so the blade was level with my head. It flickered with aureflame.


    Irn Bale dipped into a fighting crouch, smooth as a reed, his blade parallel with one outstretched leg. His weapon glowed with faerie light.


    Round two.


    Irn Bale flickered forward. He was preternaturally fast. His speed combined with his illusory bodies made him seem to teleport with each small movement. One scarred elven warrior blurred toward me, and another went low to swipe at my legs. There was no telling which one¡¯s blade had the cutting edge ¡ª both, perhaps.


    I swung the axe without the graceful finesse the elf displayed, sweeping the mirages away in a flare of auratic flame. Less dramatic than my earlier blast wave, more concentrated, but it did the trick. The illusions vanished, and the real Irn Bale spun through the fire like a top, swiping at my eyes with a savage cut. I batted the attack away, the impact jarring my bones and making my teeth clack together.


    His blade had grown. Not literally, but the light in it was brighter, encompassing the glass casing and effectively extending the weapon. When had that happened?


    Heat flared across my right arm. The blade had cut me. No time to see how badly.


    Some magic weapons could have Art wrought into them, to give a fighter more tricks in their arsenal. It was very rare for anyone, even an ageless elf, to develop more than one Art from the fabric of their own aura. My guess was that the trick with the mirage bodies was Irn Bale¡¯s own magic, and the blade of light he wielded was a property of the glass sword.


    Combat between two adepts was often a mix of skill and the potency of their Art ¡ª sheer power could make a difference, but the more refined magic, wielded more competently, would tend to have the advantage.


    I had a whole arsenal of Soul Arts I could wield, but none of them were my own. They were all phantasms carved into the Alder Table, lent to me when I swore my oaths. Some were more difficult to access than others, and some were beyond me. I didn¡¯t have much subtlety or skill with more than a handful of them, because I lacked the intimate understanding you¡¯d normally gain manifesting your own inborn magic.


    I¡¯d never be able to wield anything so complex as Lisette¡¯s trick with her golden threads, or so graceful as Irn Bale¡¯s illusions. My powers were more about brute force. Blasts of light, bursts of golden flame, repelling auras, and smiting blows.


    I had one I thought might work well against this elusive elf.


    While Irn Bale was dancing away from my aura of flame ¡ª more a deterrent than a real shield ¡ª I narrowed my eyes to near slits and concentrated. I murmured more words under my breath, and once again my aura reshaped itself. Unseen forces rearranged themselves, becoming denser, blunter. To my mind it was like a tall shadow formed above me, holding aloft a warhammer.


    I brought my axe down, using the dense rectangular back end of the head, and that ethereal hammer came down with it. My axe struck, and the shadow struck, and the floor cracked. Lightning bolt fractures raced across the center of the elven hall, intermingling or scattering, each filled with a fast-fading glow.


    All of the Irn Bales around me continued their eerie dance, save one. One stumbled and lost his balance along with the rest of the watching fae as the entire structure trembled.


    I locked eyes on that one, dashed forward, and slammed an elbow into his jaw. He went down hard, but the elf lord was tough. He twisted into an acrobatic spin, lashing out at me with a kick. I caught the blow in the shin, growled, but kept my feet. I sunk my axe into the ground by Irn Bale¡¯s head, making him flinch, then pressed a knee to his chest.


    I slammed a fist into his face. Once. twice.


    Again.


    On the fifth blow he let his sword drop and went still.


    I paused, my bloodied knuckles still poised. ¡°Do you yield?¡± My words came out as a bestial snarl. I was breathing like a beast too, nostrils flaring.


    The oradyn looked more amused than anything. His nose was broken from my fist, and I¡¯d cracked one of his immortal teeth. He held up one hand in limp surrender. ¡°I yield, Sir Knight, I yield.¡±


    I stood, walked several feet, then staggered drunkenly. My entire body was shaking with fatigue, as though I¡¯d been fighting for hours without stop. Using so much Art so quickly had been a foolish idea, but I¡¯d wanted this over.


    Wanted to win.


    The crowd murmured from the shadows along the hall¡¯s sides. By their reactions, I might have just made a scandalous remark rather than won a life or death bout with their leader. There was no fanfare in the victory, no drama. It felt more like I¡¯d completed a tiring chore.


    Catrin appeared at my side as I ripped my axe from the ground. ¡°Are you alright?¡± She asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I grunted.


    Oradyn Irn Bale picked up his own sword and limped back to his throne. Wraiths congregated around him the whole while, their muted whisperings forming its own sort of weather around him. He sat, wiped at the mask of blood on his face, and regarded me thoughtfully.


    ¡°I did not believe you could still wield the power granted to you by the Archon,¡± Irn Bale said as I faced him. ¡°The axe is in worthy hands, Knight Alder. Keep it, with my blessing.¡±


    I nodded, too tired to speak. His sudden change in attitude didn''t confuse me, or satisfy -- he was fey, and it was his nature. The wounds on my hip and arm burned with pain I was just truly starting to feel.


    Irn Bale sheathed his glass sword in the roots, lifted his broken wrist and ¡ª with an audible pop ¡ª corrected it. He tested the fingers. The skin beneath the hand was purpling and swollen.


    ¡°It heartens me that the rumors surrounding the First Sword of Harodell were not exaggerated,¡± Irn Bale continued, rubbing at his swollen wrist. ¡°You fight like a warrior of the Fall. You will need that ferocity, to face the evil Orson Falconer has unleashed on this land.¡±


    ¡°Quick to praise you now, isn¡¯t he?¡± Catrin muttered sullenly. ¡°Now you¡¯ve whipped him in front of his court.¡±


    I hushed her. In truth, Irn Bale looked hardly winded, and I was struggling not to sway on my feet.


    ¡°So you¡¯ll let us leave?¡± I asked. My voice came out hoarse.


    The elf lord nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. First, though, I will have your wounds tended and your hunger eased.¡± The ghost of a smile flickered along the half of his lips not ruined by scars. ¡°Perhaps a bath, as well.¡±


    The whole court erupted with inhuman titters.


    I¡¯d have laughed with them, if the sound of it hadn¡¯t been so damn unsettling.

 Arc 1: Chapter 24: Irn Bale

    Arc 1: Chapter 24: Irn Bale


    An hour later, I was clean and in a fresh set of clothes. They were plainer than what I¡¯d borrowed from Castle Cael, but sturdier and more comfortable, the sort I was more used to.


    Catrin and I were brought to a smaller hall. A round table of deep blue marble waited for us, set with dishes of food and drink. Pretty elf maids with silver leaves in their hair guided us, sitting us on stools carved of elder wood and whispering conspiratorially to one another. Their laughter was like the Wil-O¡¯ Wisps ¡ª fey, carefree, and a touch unsettling.


    We were left alone for a long time. Music drifted from somewhere, bitterly sweet. There was wine on the table, and I drank some. It helped ease the ache in my freshly stitched wounds.


    They¡¯d stitched my wounds with strings of moonlight.


    Catrin eyed the wine dubiously. ¡°Aren¡¯t we not supposed to touch this stuff?¡± She asked, poking at the food.


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to ensorcel us, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡± I took another sip, wincing as the movement disturbed an injury. ¡°Not unless we have too much, leastways. A lot of the stories are true, but we¡¯ve been given hospitality. They won¡¯t try to trick us unless we prove ourselves ungracious guests.¡±


    Catrin lifted her drink, hesitated, then shrugged. She downed it fast enough I lifted an eyebrow.


    ¡°They¡¯re not at all how I imagined,¡± Catrin said after lowering the cup and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°And... everything like I imagined.¡±


    I nodded once.


    ¡°When I was a girl...¡± Catrin fell quiet, though the hall had been emptied. Only a few wisps bobbed in and out of the open windows. ¡°When I was young, I daydreamed about who my real parents might be. I liked to imagine my real father might be a great elf lord, like in the stories. Wise, just, good. I liked to think he¡¯d come and find me someday, take me away to be some sort of great lady. Or maybe my mother was the eld, and she¡¯d teach me all her magics and songs...¡±


    Catrin laughed, and there was a subtle note of grief in the sound. ¡°Or maybe both my parents were false, and ¡ª when I found my true family ¡ª it would be a full set. Happily ever after.¡±


    She fell silent. I studied the food in front of me. Kingly fair. I had no appetite, but I methodically dismantled the food, old habit compelling me to eat when I had the chance.


    ¡°You ever find out who they were?¡± I asked, after I¡¯d eaten a while. ¡°Your eld parent?¡±


    This time, Catrin made no effort to hide her bitterness. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m no faerie princess, that¡¯s for certain.¡±


    When I didn¡¯t respond, she threw a withering look my way that I caught in the corner of my vision. ¡°Disappointed?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born noble. My relatives were mostly all woodcutters.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±


    I nodded. When I refused to elaborate, she leaned back and folded her arms, studying me. I carefully refused to meet her gaze, instead focusing on getting enough wine and elf-food in me to take my mind off my wounds.


    But she wasn¡¯t going to let me off the hook.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d imagined some of what the elves were saying earlier,¡± Catrin began. ¡°That the Banemetal made me delirious. But it¡¯s true. You¡¯re not just a knight. You¡¯re a bloody Knight. A paladin of the Alder Table. You¡¯re...¡± She seemed to struggle for words. ¡°I mean, they¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gone,¡± I said. ¡°Most of us, anyway. Lot of the knights died when Elfhome burned, and the rest...¡± I shook my head, a grimace forming. ¡°Order was founded to safeguard the city and serve the Archon, the elf king, act as a bridge between the eld and human realms. Their broken oaths turned on them, turned them mad. Most of the rest died that way, after the fighting. There¡¯s no Table anymore, no order. It all just...¡± I stared into my cup. ¡°Faded away.¡±


    ¡°Not you, though.¡±


    Catrin and I looked up as Irn Bale entered the hall. He¡¯d also changed into garments free of blood and sweat, and entered the dining chamber trailed by a gaggle of whispering wraiths, all lurking in his shadow like ghostly courtiers.


    I followed his entry with my eyes. ¡°I swore a new oath after the war. Helped keep me sane.¡±


    The Oradyn nodded thoughtfully as he sat along one edge of the round table. ¡°Your penance. Yes, I heard aught of it.¡±


    Catrin glanced between me and the elf, curious, but I refused to meet her eye. This was something I wouldn¡¯t speak of. Not to her.


    Irn Bale didn¡¯t miss the dhampir¡¯s confusion. ¡°Your paramour knows nothing of this?¡±


    Catrin and I both spoke at once.


    ¡°Maybe once,¡± I sighed. ¡°Nowadays I feel more like a shadow. I¡¯ve... done things. Things I¡¯m not proud of.¡±


    Irn Bale nodded. ¡°It is a fell role, that of Headsman. It was not meant to be bestowed on the True Knights. But this was not my choice, and I cannot gainsay it. Nor can I stop what must come to pass.¡±


    More elven prophecy, I thought, annoyed. Irn Bale smiled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like having my thoughts read,¡± I snapped.


    ¡°I do not need to be in your mind to see them,¡± the elf said. ¡°You wear them on your face.¡± The smile died and he placed both hands on the railing. ¡°Orson Falconer must die. I do not wish it ¡ª his family has suffered enough harm they did not earn. But we cannot have his poison spreading, and he threatens my people. You know what he intends for these dyghul soldiers from the continent?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I said. ¡°He implied it was for prestige.¡±


    ¡°In part, I imagine.¡± Irn Bale nodded to the forest. ¡°They are for me, or so I believe. He wants the magic in this place ¡ª it is an old fountain of Light, preserved since the Dawn Days. He is a petty threat now, but with this power he could become as dangerous as the traitor magi in the west.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°What drove him Recusant?¡±


    Irn Bale turned his eyes upward and closed them, as though drinking in old memories from the primeval light. ¡°He is the scion of a once great house. Caelfall was not always the sick land it is now. Once it was bountiful, the Falconers mighty among Men. But the city now called Vinhithe, and other enclaves of your kindred at the time, were suffering great famine. The priests cried out for aid, and the Onsolain answered. They diverted rivers, changed the wind, raised hills... all to save larger lands from ruin.¡±


    He opened his eyes and turned them to me, speaking with a weary, immortal sadness. ¡°It was ill considered. The Onsolain are not infallible. My people know this truth better than yours, I think, for we have seen such things through the ages of this world. It is why we venerate them, but do not worship them as your people do. Tens of thousands were saved, but Caelfall... it suffered. The changing of climate, the restructuring of the land, it turned it into the marsh it is today.¡±


    I considered this, a bit disturbed at the idea that the Onsolain might be responsible for such woes. ¡°When did all this happen?¡±


    ¡°Long ago,¡± Irn Bale said. ¡°Many lifetimes of your kind. But House Falconer never recovered, and darker forces began to take advantage of their fall. Orson¡¯s mother was a Briar witch who seduced his father, and taught her son the truth of his blood¡¯s history. She poisoned his mind against the world that took his birthright, made him believe his destiny had been snatched. He might have been a king... instead he is a backwater noble of little worth in the eyes of the wider world.¡±


    ¡°So this is revenge for his ancestors,¡± I said, ¡°and his ploy to regain what he thinks he deserves.¡±


    ¡°He has the potential to become a new dark lord,¡± Irn Bale agreed. ¡°We¡¯ve had enough of those, I think. He must be stopped.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already sworn to do it,¡± I said. ¡°Or been sworn. Whatever.¡± I leaned my hands against the railing to mimic the elf, sighing. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯ll do it. That castle is full of monsters. I¡¯ve gone up against long odds before, but...¡± I shook my head, grimacing. ¡°He¡¯s protected. Some kind of dark spirit. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll catch him by surprise.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t try,¡± Irn Bale suggested. When I turned to him, surprised, the elf shrugged with one lean shoulder. ¡°You are no assassin, Alken Hewer. You are an Alder Knight and the Headsman of Seydis ¡ª the chosen executioner of the Powers. You are no thief in the night, and it diminishes you to act like one. Face the evil.¡±


    He laid a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Punish it.¡±


    He stepped back and turned his gaze once more to the forest. ¡°I sense a darkness in the forest. The Baron is searching for you, I think. You and her.¡± He nodded to Catrin.


    ¡°He sent me out to see if I¡¯d murder a man for him and I ended up vanishing among the wyldefae,¡± I said, folding my arms. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to have a warm welcome back.¡±


    ¡°Do you intend to continue your ploy of alliance?¡± Irn Bale asked, curious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I glanced at Catrin. ¡°You never told me what your plan was.¡±


    The dhampir shuffled, glancing nervously at the elf lord. ¡°Might still work, but we need to get back to the castle.¡±


    ¡°I have slowed time in the forest,¡± Irn Bale said. He said it casually, as though he were saying he¡¯d put out more guards or felt confident about the weather. ¡°I cannot do so for long, but it should give you the time to recover and return to the castle well before dawn. From there, you will be on your own. I have something for you as well, Sir Knight.¡±


    I turned to the old elf, surprised.


    ¡°Your enemies are many, and strong.¡± The oradyn moved to stand in a column of moonlight. ¡°I am forbidden from leading my people to war against a human lord, though I would gladly take vengeance for the death of my friend. All I can do is prepare to defend myself.¡±


    His expression became stern, and for a moment I saw a glimpse of what old humanity must have seen when they first encountered the elves ¡ª a grim, deathless hunter, terrible and ageless. No less than a god to those ancient men.


    ¡°It is your task to deliver Orson Falconer his doom,¡± Irn Bale told me. ¡°I will arm you for the task.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 25: Executioners

    Arc 1: Chapter 25: Executioners


    When Catrin and I were alone in a room within the elven manor, she whirled on me.


    ¡°What the fuck was all that?¡±


    I met her glare, bemused. ¡°What was what?¡±


    The dhampir lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction of the dining terrace and the Sidhe lord. ¡°That. These bastards took us prisoner, shot me, forced you into a fight for your life in front of an audience, then sent you on your merry way to fight their enemy. And you just... just...¡± She made a clawing motion with her hands, baring her teeth in frustration. ¡°You just nodded and thanked the scarred bastard like he was the blessed emperor of Urn!¡±


    I turned and walked toward the single window in the room. It was more spacious than the one I¡¯d used at the Falconer castle, all blue stone walls and faerie lights, a narrow window without glass cut into the far wall. There was a bed, a small fountain, and an armoire.


    ¡°Well?¡± Catrin asked at my back, when I pressed an eye to the little window and didn¡¯t reply.


    I sighed. ¡°They¡¯re immortals. There¡¯s no point getting mad about anything they do ¡ª it won¡¯t sway them, and won¡¯t get us what we need.¡± Also, I thought tiredly, they had good reason to treat me like they did.


    ¡°It just doesn¡¯t seem right,¡± Catrin groused.


    ¡°Yeah, well...¡± I turned to the armoire and checked it. No wisps or wraiths. I knocked on the inside in several places. No illusions. ¡°If you want quick justice from the elves, you¡¯re going to be disappointed. You want to call in a debt with them, do it, but I¡¯m not going to sit around waiting for the oradyn to balance the scales. We¡¯re lucky I won that duel.¡±


    ¡°Lucky?¡± Catrin propped a fist on her hip, watching me search the room. ¡°Looked like you thumped him good from where I was sitting, big man.¡±


    ¡°He wanted me to win,¡± I said. ¡°I think. Not real clear on that point. Anyway, if he was truly trying to kill me I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have made it out of that intact.¡± I turned a hard look on the dhampir. ¡°And you need to be careful how you talk to the Sidhe. They¡¯re quick to forget trivial things, but not slights. Irn Bale was giving you slack because his people shot you with banemetal, but his indulgence will only go so far.¡±


    Catrin scoffed. ¡°To the Pits with that. I don¡¯t let human nobles treat me like I¡¯m mud to be stepped on, and I won¡¯t let him do it just because he¡¯s ancient and glowy.¡± She folded her arms and studied me thoughtfully. ¡°Though, I suppose you¡¯re used to dealing with the like, being some sort of holy crusader.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± I snapped. Catrin reeled back, surprised at the venom in my voice. ¡°I¡¯m not some dogmatic zealot, persecuting heretics in the God-Queen¡¯s name. That is not what the Table was for.¡±


    Catrin watched me in neutral silence. In a flash of guilt, I realized I¡¯d been very quick to persecute her for what she was.


    I was born this way, she¡¯d said.


    ¡°What was that he called me before?¡± Catrin asked. Her brow furrowed as she searched for the word. ¡°Malcathe?¡±


    ¡°It means misbegotten,¡± I said. ¡°They use it for most things that aren¡¯t men or eld.¡± Mostly things of fiendish origin, I added silently. One more reason not to entirely trust the changeling.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bet,¡± Catrin said. A bitter smile curled her lips.


    ¡°We need to get ready to leave,¡± I said, changing the subject. ¡°What¡¯s this plan of yours? You left before I could ask last night.¡±


    ¡°Yeah...¡± I could tell Catrin hadn¡¯t forgotten the subject, but she let it pass for the moment. She moved to the bed, sat, then let out a small sound of surprise as she nearly sank into it. She patted it a few times, marveling at the softness.


    When she caught me glowering in impatience, she coughed self-consciously and crossed her legs beneath her long skirts. ¡°Remember when I thought we were both going to die and I told you about the baron¡¯s pet?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°You said it was some kind of demon.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s face drained of some of its color. ¡°Yeah. I can... I don¡¯t know. Feel it. Like it¡¯s making my blood shiver.¡± She did shiver, as though to demonstrate. ¡°But it¡¯s not just my hunch. All these factions sending representatives to treat with Falconer are taking him seriously because he bound some dark spirit leftover from the wars in the east. And... you don¡¯t look shocked.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I sensed it too, with my powers. Remember when you brought me to the castle?¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I thought you were some kind of mage. That was because of this paladin thing?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the gift of the Table,¡± I confirmed. ¡°I can sense Things of Darkness.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s smile turned a touch shy. ¡°Didn¡¯t sense me.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said quietly. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You must,¡± Irn Bale said, his immortal voice melancholy. ¡°You cannot afford to refuse it.¡±


    I raised a hand ¡ª one that trembled slightly ¡ª to feel the mesh of metal links that formed the armor. The coat of chainmail, a hauberk made to fall from neck to calf, was of elven make. Each ring was riveted with a master¡¯s hand, wrought of an iron alloy so dark it was nearly black, though the faerie light of the oradyn¡¯s home made shades of green and blue undulate along its length, so the armor almost seemed to be fashioned of liquid shadow or the water at the bottom of a deep lake.


    Considering I had threads of literal moonlight fastening my wounds together just then, I considered the possibility that was exactly what it was made of. Shadow, water, and aura. The elves rarely used only ordinary materials for their craft.


    ¡°My sister wore this over a thousand years ago,¡± Irn Bale said, ¡°in our war against the Cambion.¡± He brushed his hand along the metal, and its substance seemed to ripple at his touch. ¡°Its magic has faded, but it will guard you well all the same. It will not weigh you down, even in water, nor will it make sound to give you away in stealth.¡±


    Elven chainmail. I¡¯d seen the like before, but it was exceedingly rare, especially nowadays. Some of the other members of the Table had worn the like, preferring it even over dwarf craft.


    It was an invaluable gift, and not one I deserved.


    ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for us,¡± I said, voice bitter, ¡°your sister would still be alive.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Irn Bale said thoughtfully. ¡°Perhaps not. Do not bear all the failures of the world on your back, Alken Hewer, lest it break. You are but one man, and your battles are not done.¡± He nodded to the armor. ¡°Hers are.¡±


    Several elves fitted the armor. The sides of the hauberk¡¯s long lower half were slitted on the sides, allowing more freedom of movement for the legs ¡ª my thighs and waist were instead protected by a heavy belt strung with faulds. On its original wearer, the chainmail would have fallen to mid calf, like a robe or gown. On me, it barely passed my knees. The sleeves were short and topped by a pair of spaulders, and a harness of heavy elf-iron disks was hung over my chest. The set came with greaves and vambraces of the same shadowy metal, which were adjusted for my size.


    I was much bigger than Irn Bale¡¯s sister would have been, but somehow the elven armorers made the whole thing fit, and fit well. It was like a second skin, even with the clothing I wore underneath.


    The armor had seen many, many battles. I could see scars along the closely riveted links of each and every ring, and deeper grooves on the finely detailed segments that were made of more solid plate. Links were missing along the sleeves and skirt, giving the whole thing a somewhat frayed appearance.


    ¡°I will not give you her helm,¡± Irn Bale said. ¡°That, I keep for my house.¡±


    I nodded, accepting this without question. ¡°It is a kingly gift.¡±


    ¡°No gift,¡± the oradyn corrected. ¡°Our nations are sending you to war against the Adversary. This is a loan for that purpose.¡±


    Even still. ¡°What was your sister¡¯s name?¡± I asked. ¡°So I can remember.¡±


    ¡°Irn Raya.¡±


    Finally I donned my blood-red cloak, wrapping it around my neck twice before letting the rest fall about my new armaments. Catrin watched by the door of the fitting room. As I took my axe and approached her, I saw her eyes widen slightly.


    ¡°The Baron¡¯s going to piss himself,¡± she said. ¡°You look like Death¡¯s own executioner.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the idea,¡± I agreed.


    Catrin turned to one of the elves. ¡°Where¡¯s my fancy armor? I¡¯m going in there with the big man too.¡±


    In answer, Irn Bale handed her a dagger. The blade was banemetal, the grip trollbone.


    ¡°The arrow we struck you with was worked into that blade,¡± the oradyn told her. ¡°And the handle is from the bridge troll Orson Falconer¡¯s minions slew. You will deliver its justice to him, I trust.¡±


    Catrin swallowed, all the humor fled from her. ¡°... Yeah. Sure thing.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I told her. ¡°If you still want to be part of this.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I was part of this before you showed up.¡± The dhampir sheathed the dagger at her belt, careful not to touch the cursed metal. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯ve got no qualms about sticking this thing into that bastard¡¯s heart.¡±


    More serious she said, ¡°Alken... All this new gear is going to make it pretty obvious to the Baron that you¡¯re tight with the elves. Once you make it back to the village, they¡¯re not going to just let you through the front door.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I know.¡±


    So armed, we went to war.

 Arc 1: Chapter 26: Unhallowed

    Arc 1: Chapter 26: Unhallowed


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± Catrin said, as we approached the village in the hour preceding dawn.


    I had noticed the same. There were no guards at the gate, as there¡¯d been when I¡¯d arrived with the doctor. The streets of the lakeside community seemed quiet. Empty.


    Out over the lake, the black towers of the Falconer castle jutted from a shifting haze of fog, cast in its own eerie glow against the black horizon. A ghost castle, brooding and watchful.


    I wondered if the Baron was watching us even then.


    ¡°Maybe something¡¯s happening at the keep,¡± I said.


    ¡°Or maybe your hunter friends killed everyone,¡± Catrin suggested, half joking.


    I grunted a non-reply. I didn¡¯t think the doctor was that dangerous, but it paid to be ready for anything.


    We approached the village cautiously, but openly. Tiny blue lights flitted around us, illuminating the overcast gloom. They giggled like little bells and chased one another, toying with the frayed hem of my cloak or flitting in and out of my raised hood. They played with Catrin¡¯s hair too, though she swatted at them, half-annoyed and half charmed. They¡¯d followed us from Irn Bale¡¯s manor.


    ¡°You remind them of the Gilded City,¡± Irn Bale had said. ¡°They are fickle creatures, but perhaps they will give you some comfort. Remember, Sir Knight, there is beauty in this world still worth fighting for.¡±


    I wish I could believe it.


    We passed through the gates, and no one challenged us. It wasn¡¯t until we were in the village square that we found anyone.


    ¡°Bleeding Heaven,¡± Catrin cursed.


    I guessed it was the priest the Baron had sent me and Quinn to kill. He¡¯d been strung up on a post above the square¡¯s fountain. The fountain was old, some remnant of more bountiful days, a piece of clever masonry bearing the image of an Onsolemite herald, which had likely once filled itself from some underground spring.


    Now the stone basin was filled with blood. The priest had been beheaded and disemboweled, though his gold-brown preoster robes remained. The head adorned the fountain itself, eyeless and tongueless. Night insects swarmed it.


    Whatever Olliard had done to rescue the man, it hadn¡¯t worked. Had they been caught out in the marsh? Were the doctor and his adept apprentice dead too?


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing this was the Mistwalkers,¡± I said. It reminded me of the butchered bridge troll.


    ¡°Fucking butchers,¡± Catrin said. There was a strained note in her voice, almost desparate. She inhaled sharply through her nose, taking in the fountain¡¯s gory scent. She shuddered, and a blush formed on her cheeks. ¡°We...¡± she licked her lips. ¡°We should get moving. Get away from this.¡± She cast her gaze around, and it was obvious she was trying to look anywhere but at the fountain. ¡°Where do you think everyone else is?¡±


    I swallowed my disgust at her reaction and started moving toward the village church. ¡°I can guess.¡±


    The chapel, like the fountain, was older than much of the rest of the settlement. Its bell tower rose high above the rest of the structures around it, made even higher by the low hill it sat on. A single gargoyle perched atop the overhang of the oak doors, its beaked face contemplative, almost sleepy.


    I paused and reached out with my aura toward the gargoyle. Dead, or so long dormant it may as well have been.


    Catrin eyed the chapel dubiously. ¡°Need a quick pray before we head back to the keep? I¡¯m not judging, but I think I¡¯ll wait out here.¡±Vissit  for updates


    Legend. History. The long march of history and legend, inscribed into ivy-wrapped stone.


    Blood had been splattered across all of it.


    My eyes took in more scenes, more wars, more fables I¡¯d known since childhood stretching across those walls. My gaze lingered on one pillar which showed a group of knights surrounding a tall, regal figure with flowing hair and pointed ears. The elf held an axe, very much like the one I carried, his image superimposed over a towering tree encompassing most of the stone pillar¡¯s length. Lines of gold had been worked into the stone to add definition and color to the great tree.


    I knew the elf. I knew the tale. And the greatest lord of the Eld, wisest among all who walk the world in flesh, took an axe to the great golden alder which had stood in that place since the silence of the world was broken. And he, the elf king, hewed down that tree, and from its ruin shaped a power then bequeathed upon Men, so they may hold a candle against the hungering dark.


    My heart began to beat faster. I blinked, and the image changed.


    The stone-etched image of the elf had fallen. The knights had driven their swords into his back, pinning him to the ground. The tree became a blackened, charred husk half its original length. The scenes of war carved along the other pillars took on a more visceral aspect, until I was certain blood was beginning to trickle down like miniature waterfalls, pooling onto the open space in the room¡¯s center, even dripping from the ceiling to form a macabre rain. Fiendish things danced within the chaos, crouched on the shoulders of kings, spurring on scenes of slaughter, laughing.


    I could hear them laughing.


    I blinked again, and images were as they had been. The knights bowed before the elf king, who stood tall again, their swords held in supplicant hands. The rest of it was just cold stone, unmoving. Dead.


    Profaned.


    I moved closer to the basin. I used some of my cloak to cover my mouth and nose, though my gorge gibbered threats with every step. There was something in the stone hollow. Something moving.


    I leaned over the piled bodies and looked into the receptacle. It was full of crawling insects. Centipedes, spiders, maggots, beetles... they swarmed over one another, devouring, breeding, dying. Many had spilled into the piled corpses of the villagers and the same horror was occuring there.


    Somehow I knew ¡ª though I couldn¡¯t say whether it was some insight from my oaths or a more primal instinct ¡ª that there was a hollow within the basin, an emptiness just under that crawling, writhing mass. A hole in the world.


    Something had been born here. Something terrible.


    Too late.


    ¡°He said this was justice.¡±


    I whirled, a snarl half-formed on my lips, only to see a figure slumped against one of the pillars encompassing the room¡¯s center. He was young, overweight, dressed in the plain brown robes of a chapel brother. His brown hair was matted to his head. Blood and worse soiled his robes.


    The young priest¡¯s eyes slid up to me. They were bloodshot. ¡°He said this was justice for our sycophancy, that the Onsolain would not save us for all our prayers.¡± He lifted cracked fingernails to his temple and clawed at the raw flesh there. His words took on a hysterical edge. ¡°He made me pray as he killed them. He said they could not hear me.¡±


    I approached the monk and knelt at his side. He shied away from me.


    I showed him the Faen Orgis. The Doomsman¡¯s Arm. Wil-O¡¯ Wisps emerged from the shadows of my cloak to flit about the weapon, illuminating the elven patterns engraved to the axe blade. The monk¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡°They heard you,¡± I told him.

 Arc 1: Chapter 27: Smite

    Arc 1: Chapter 27: Smite


    When I stepped outside of the church, I no longer stood alone in Caelfall¡¯s streets. The restless dead gathered in the bell tower¡¯s shadow. Mistwalkers all, clad in the raiments of a dead kingdom, pallid faces framing hungry eyes.


    Thunder rumbled above. A light rain began to fall.


    ¡°You were a fool to come back.¡± Vaughn, the Mistwalker commander I¡¯d tailed on my first night in the village, faced me from the center of the street. Encased in a set of old, battered armor, he was near as tall as me, his wide shoulders made into metal hills by studded pauldrons. He held a heavy broadsword in his fist, the nicks of many campaigns marking its blade. He rode one of the brutish chimera the continental company had brought, which snickered at me, a purple tongue lolling.


    Others surrounded him. A dozen or more, all of them forming a half ring around the front of the church, many lurking in the shadows of homes and shops. In the rain and mist, their armor seemed formed of pale shadows and their eyes gleamed with odlight.


    There was no sign of Catrin. She¡¯d betrayed me, then.


    Perhaps this had always been her plan. Had she known what was inside of the church?


    It didn¡¯t matter. All that mattered was the task I¡¯d been given. The doom in my hand. I tightened my grip on the axe.


    I regarded them all, and saw a few take nervous steps back. The Wil-O¡¯ Wisps lurking within my pointed cowl made the inside of the hood glow with eerie blue light, masking my face. More of that light spilled from the narrow gap down the front of my cloak, which I¡¯d wrapped about myself. I couldn¡¯t see the effect myself, but I imagined it was uncanny.


    The Wil-O¡¯ Wisps giggled playfully, the sound just on the edge of hearing, and more of the ghouls began to lose hold of their bravado.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for Orson Falconer,¡± I said, my voice emerging from the elf light with a faint echo. ¡°Step aside.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Vaughn lifted his scarred blade. Unlike the others, he was unimpressed. ¡°We¡¯ll do that.¡±


    Fine then.


    I lifted my axe, and amber fire played along its edge. I ran the fingers of my right hand along the fae alloy, leaving tiny trails of golden light where I touched. ¡°This is pure aura,¡± I said to the Mistwalkers. ¡°It cuts you, and your spirits will lose their grip on those borrowed bones. Won¡¯t take much more than a nick.¡±


    Vaughn bared his yellow teeth in a snarl. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this. Take him.¡±


    The Mistwalkers were veteran soldiers to a man. They didn¡¯t hesitate, didn¡¯t falter. I hadn¡¯t expected my attempt at intimidation to work. Hadn¡¯t wanted it to, really.


    They¡¯d earned this for the old troll, for the villagers, and for five centuries of murder.


    I waited until the nearest ghouls were perhaps five paces away, then flashed into motion. I went forward in a rippling flurry of blood-red cloak and dancing faerie light, lashing out with the elfbronze axe.


    The bell atop the chapel tolled. To this day, I have no idea who was responsible. Maybe it was Brother Edgar, the one survivor of that nightmare I¡¯d failed to stop. Maybe it was the wind, or the tortured spirits bound forever within that desecrated hall.


    Maybe it was the ghost of Father Micah, Caelfall¡¯s last preoster.


    The gladius of the nearest ghoul shattered, along with the hand holding it. The mercenary stumbled back, maimed hand burning with a molten light. I stopped my forward motion, brought the axe up, then down to cleave into the undead soldier¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Orson told us you were some kind of holy killer,¡± the ghoul said, still laughing. ¡°I admit, you put on a good show, but we¡¯ve killed your like before. You tire like any man. Still...¡± He clacked his yellow teeth together. ¡°I bet that¡¯s some ripe aura in those bones.¡±


    ¡°I want one of his ribs,¡± another ghoul said. He was drooling like a hound.


    ¡°We¡¯ll all get our share,¡± Vaughn growled, the same hunger making his voice rough. ¡°Company rules.¡±


    Discipline broke, and several of the undead mercenaries lunged forward ahead of their leader. Ready, I swung my axe up, and a sunburst of auratic light blazed to life from the runic blade. The ghouls stumbled back, screeching and blind. I sprinted at Vaughn ¡ª he was the most dangerous enemy present. If I killed him, the others would fall like chaff.


    Eyes scorched, the Mistwalker commander spat something in a language I didn¡¯t recognize. It was grating, harsh, a blemish on the fabric of the world. His iron sword began to boil with a green-black smog, the same power writhing up one steel-clad arm. He swung, and the smog boiled across the ground in front of him, erupting in a curtain of poisonous fumes. I barely stopped before barreling straight into the curtain, the edges of my cloak carried forward by wind and momentum. The edges of the red cloak sizzled where they touched.


    Art. I should have expected a fighter as experienced as the ghoul vice-captain to have one. It reminded me of the choking smoke of battlefields, of alchemical craft erupting in toxic clouds that scalded the lungs and blistered the skin. A manifestation of a soul steeped in gore and iron hate.


    I threw an arm over my face to shield myself from the fumes and leapt away, silently cursing. It was too late. Some of the fumes had gotten into my hood. My mouth became suddenly, horribly dry, and my eyes started to itch, then burn. Two or three of the wisps withered and died, dimming the light inside my cloak.


    ¡°Stings, doesn¡¯t it!?¡±


    Vaughn came through the black fumes, a titan of iron with yellow teeth bared in a macabre grin. The fumes clung to his armor and shaved scalp, writhing around his huge frame in a protective cloud.


    The wisps in the cloak with me whispered fearfully. I couldn¡¯t understand them, but got the message well enough ¡ª I was in trouble.


    Vaughn brought up his sword, and once again it boiled with hateful fumes. His grin widened until it seemed to split his face in half. His skin was pallid as the corpse he should have been centuries before.


    Before he could bring that finishing blow down, he staggered to one side. A look of confusion crossed his twisted features, then pain. He reached up with his free left hand, and found the elf-forged dagger embedded into his neck just below the right ear.


    His neck twisted to one side, his features contorted into something truly nightmarish, and he fell to one knee. A strange keening sound came from his lips as the Banemetal tormented the ghost trapped inside his body.


    ¡°Thanks for giving me a bunch of darkness to hide in, you marrow-licking bitch.¡±


    Catrin emerged from the billowing well of fumes, apparently unaffected by their bite. I could barely see her through the red haze my vision had become from that same poisonous smog, but her expression was nearly as frightening as those of the ghoul¡¯s ¡ª her skin was paler, her hair bleached of color. When she peeled back her lips, her canines had elongated into sharp fangs.


    She knelt down, ripped the Banemetal dagger from Vaughn¡¯s neck, then plunged it into the back of his bald skull. I heard the sickening crack as the little blade punctured his cranium. A tinny scream escaped the ghoul¡¯s jaws as his spirit finally came free of the body, twisting as silver flames devoured it.


    It took another moment for my own magic to counteract Vaughn¡¯s. My mouth and eyes still burned. I could see well enough, though the edges of my vision hazed. I turned to the rest of the ghouls, who were still recovering from my own flash of light.


    My glove voiced a leathery whisper as it tightened around the axe¡¯s grip.


    The Mistwalkers stared at me and the dhampir, blank-eyed and bestial.


    They fled.

 Arc 1: Chapter 28: Return to Castle Cael

    Arc 1: Chapter 28: Return to Castle Cael


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d betrayed me,¡± I said as Catrin cleaned ghoul blood from her dagger.


    She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°No way I was going to stall all those marrow-eaters on my own, big man. I knew you could handle yourself. Just needed to pick my moment.¡±


    She reclined against the edge of a fence lining one of the village gardens. It would go untended now, and already ivy crept from its bounds. She had one ankle crossed beneath her long skirts, an elbow propped on the fence. The image of casual indifference. Her eyes were on the Banemetal blade, distant and aloof.


    That aloof mask cracked as I went down on one knee at her side, that neutrality scattering into shock.


    ¡°Hey, big man, what are you...¡± A nervous laugh escaped Catrin¡¯s lips. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, really, but it¡¯s just so sudden!¡±


    ¡°I owe you an apology,¡± I said, ignoring her jest. I bowed my head, just as I might have done before a great lady in the court of a High House. ¡°I¡¯ve treated you with suspicion and distrust this entire time. Twice I nearly attacked you, and my words and thoughts have been... unkind.¡± I lifted my face to meet her gaze. ¡°It was not worthy of me. I am sorry.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s cheeks were bright pink. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be so dramatic about it, big man, I forgive you. Bleeding Gates, you really are some shining knight, aren¡¯t you? I¡¯m not one of your high ladies, so there¡¯s no need to...¡±


    I shook my head, voice firm. ¡°Yes. There is a need. I owe you, and you¡¯re the only ally I have in all of this.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Catrin¡¯s expression turned sly. ¡°Tell you what, you do something for me and I¡¯ll call us even.¡±Ge?t latest novel chapters on nov(e)lbj/n(.)c/om


    I hesitated, my contrition evaporating to be replaced by trepidation. ¡°What?¡±


    Catrin sheathed the dagger at her belt and hopped off the fence. ¡°Call me Cat. Not vampire, or bloodsucker, or malcathe. None of that.¡± She met my eyes. ¡°Just Cat.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s what I prefer friends call me.¡±


    Friends. When was the last time I had one of those?


    I stood and looked down at her. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you want me as a friend. This...¡± I gestured at all the carnage. Ghoul bodies, smoldering and butchered, lay scattered in front of the village chapel. ¡°This is the world I live in.¡±


    ¡°Al...¡± Catrin ¡ª Cat ¡ª sighed and patted my elbow. ¡°Can I call you Al?¡±


    My lips pressed into a thin line. I¡¯m going to regret this, I thought. ¡°I¡¯d rather you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Listen, Al, because this is important.¡± Catrin pressed her forefinger and thumb together and held them to her lips, which widened into an exaggerated smile. That grin revealed long, needle-sharp canines. ¡°I¡¯m a dhampir, boyo. I drink blood, and more than half the time I like it. You really think all this is going to scare me off?¡± She waved at the bodies. When she saw my expression she laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum. I¡¯m sure you were trying for the whole noble sacrifice thing, but save it. You¡¯re stuck with me, least until this mess is done with.¡±


    I turned my back to her, mainly so she couldn¡¯t see the smile threatening the corners of my lips.


    How long had it been since I¡¯d smiled at anything, without it being bitter or mocking?


    ¡°So...¡± Catrin coughed and glided to my side. ¡°You looked like a devil coming out of that church, big man. What did you see in there?¡±


    Any thought of smiling was forgotten then. ¡°They killed the villagers,¡± I said. ¡°All of them, I think.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s face bled what little color it had. ¡°No...¡± She looked to the chapel, and hate twisted her face. ¡°That bastard,¡± she spat. ¡°He said he was doing this for them.¡±


    She blinked several times, but a tear still fell.


    I recalled, on my first night in the village, she¡¯d been with a local. ¡°You were close with one of them?¡± I asked softly.


    Catrin wiped at her eye with the back of a hand. ¡°Not really. I haven¡¯t been here longer than a few months. Not much time to get close, you know?¡±


    ¡°I remember there was a man,¡± I said. ¡°That night we first met.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Catrin let out a shaky laugh. ¡°Just a bit of blood and warmth. I can¡¯t even remember his name.¡± Her gaze went distant. ¡°That¡¯s awful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It does you credit to weep for those you didn¡¯t know well.¡± The admission she¡¯d been feeding off the man unsettled me, but I let it go. This wasn¡¯t the time.


    ¡°The Baron will be ready for us,¡± I said. ¡°You should¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you tell me to stay behind, I¡¯m going to bite you.¡± Catrin glowered at me and bared her sharp teeth. ¡°I¡¯m going. That blueblood prick is going to get Shivers right in his gut.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Shivers?¡±


    The dhampir woman patted her elven blade and flashed a wicked smile. ¡°Your cutter has a fancy name, so mine gets one too. Shivers. Cuz the Banemetal makes the dead shiver, ya¡¯ know?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then. I¡¯m sure they¡¯re already shivering.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I saved your ass back there, big man, so don¡¯t go making fun.¡±


    Before I could reply, I heard the doors of the church opening. I turned to see Brother Edgar standing there, eyes wide as he surveyed the carnage.


    ¡°You...¡± the young monk¡¯s voice trembled as he pointed a finger at me. ¡°You wield the Heir¡¯s own fire. You...¡±


    I sighed, having encountered enough piety in the past to have a stomach full of it.


    However, rather than proclaiming some devout supplication, the monk¡¯s features twisted with rage. ¡°Where were you?¡± He spat. ¡°Where were you when we needed you? When he was butchering them?¡± He began to descend the steps, flinging one wide sleeve toward the dead ghouls. ¡°What does all this do now? What¡¯s the point?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to tell the young man. I had no words that could assuage his grief. Had I been even half the man I¡¯d wanted to be ¡ª a true paladin, a proper knight ¡ª I¡¯d have told him something to calm his fears, give purpose to his anger. I would have sworn some noble oath and breathed a bit of light back into that darkness.


    ¡°This might be uncomfortable for you,¡± I told Catrin. I felt her worried eyes on my back. I narrowed my eyes and murmured the words of one of my oaths.


    An oath ¡ª or I should say an Oath ¡ª is the core of a paladin¡¯s power. It is a sort of pact made with the self, sometimes with a supernatural intermediary which can back the vow to make it more potent, as in my case with the Alder Table. It is not always necessary, and there are True Knights in the world whose vows are entirely personal, born of their own convictions, but those are very rare. The rituals involved in the calling are old, and much of the magical might granted to us comes from that long refining.


    ¡°The flame is mine aegis,¡± I whispered, my words causing the very air to shudder. ¡°The flame is my sword. I kindle the flame so the world may know its warmth. Its light is our shelter against the Dark.¡±


    Saying the words aloud was not necessary to draw on my powers, not always. But saying a thing can do much to make it real.


    You do not believe me? I am certain you have experienced this yourself. Have you not apologized to someone you¡¯ve hurt, and known even as the words passed your lips you felt genuine contrition? Have you not told someone that you love them, and felt the utter certainty that it is true?


    To keep a thing locked inside is to never let it be born into the world.


    I felt my aura reshape itself in response, the process fast and smooth. My soul had been restructured by the Table for this very purpose, after all.


    I lifted my axe up with one hand so its length was parallel to the water below, as though measuring the width of the tunnel ahead. Dark golden flames flickered across the rough length of uncarved wood that formed its hilt, illuminating the complex patterns etched long the sickle-moon blade. Those flames raced up my arm, my shoulder, enwrapping me until I became a living torch of amber-hued fire.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Catrin said.


    Indeed.


    Light spilled through the tunnel, illuminating the flock of monsters lurking within. They were hideous things, gray-skinned and emaciated, with most of their muscle powering long, avian legs and huge leathery wings. Their heads were like sinuous worms, ending in tiny, sucking mouths lined in needle teeth. They recoiled from the light and screeched, filling the tunnel with tremendous sound.


    None attacked. When the boat drew close, they practically fought each other to pull away from the crackling bonfire of aureflame I¡¯d become. Sweat beaded on my face as I maintained the aura, knowing I couldn¡¯t do it for long. I was burning my own spirit away with every second I maintained it.


    Catrin whimpered behind me. That was what I¡¯d been worried about ¡ª she was only part fiend, but the holy fire was near as repulsive to her as to the Baron¡¯s chimera, born of dark sorcery as they were. I¡¯d suspected as much when she¡¯d refused to enter the chapel.


    The tunnel began to widen into a larger cave. I caught sight of the dock ahead, which would lead us up into narrow hallways where these creatures, with their huge wings, wouldn¡¯t be able to follow. ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± I said to my companion. I was beginning to feel cold, and breathing was getting more difficult.


    There was a time I could have let that power burn for several minutes without effort, but that was back when the Table was still intact and the elves still ruled their own city. It was like a cracked fountain basin that drained as fast as it filled, now.


    ¡°It¡¯s too bright,¡± Catrin hissed. ¡°It burns. I can¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. ¡°Just hold on. We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    The dhampir steeled herself and rowed forward. The monsters watched us from the shadows, their eyeless heads chewing at the air.


    We passed into the cave. Another half a minute, maybe, and we¡¯d reach the dock. I grit my teeth, fighting to keep the aureflame burning. It had died down somewhat, letting the shadows fill in to half-conceal the hellish swarm around us. In this wide space the chimera could take wing more easily. Several of them cracked their leathery wings in anticipation, as though sensing my strength failing.


    We reached the dock. There was barely a flicker of the flame now, wisps of it running across my body so I was more a gently shining figure in the darkness rather than a blazing one.


    ¡°Run!¡± I snapped at Catrin. She shot toward the doorway in the cave wall, faster than any human could have run, bare feet slapping against the dock.


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I spun, swung, and carved the wing from a chimera that hadn¡¯t deigned to wait for my Art to fully fade. It crashed into the dock in a flailing, snarling chaos, cracking the wood and nearly upturning the boat. The edges of its wing-arm¡¯s severed stump exuded a molten glow.


    I rolled onto the dock. Red heat flared across my left arm ¡ª the thing had managed to graze me with its claws. No time to tell how bad the wound was. More screeches and more wingbeats filled the cave.


    I ran to the door. As Irn Bale had promised, my new armor didn¡¯t slow me down, the shadowy links of elf-metal like a second skin beneath my red cloak.


    Something heavy landed on the dock at my side. I turned, ducked the thing¡¯s head as it snapped at me. Their wrinkled necks could extend incredibly far, I noted. Charming.


    I took the chimera¡¯s head off with an upward swing, shouting, my weapon leaving a white-gold blur in the air. The creature fell, its headless body writhing in its death throes. More of its kin beat their wings, and I knew they¡¯d pile on me and bring me down, their leech mouths finding the gaps in my armor as they devoured me alive.


    ¡°Alken!¡± Catrin was at the door, waiting for me. Her dagger was clutched in her hand, but the small weapon was of little use against that hellswarm.


    I wouldn¡¯t make it. With a surge of will I made the aureflame aegis burn again, hoping to repel the swarm even for a moment. Most of them balked. One didn¡¯t, its momentum carrying it forward.


    The chimera hit me in the back. It was smaller than me, but dense with muscle and heavy enough I was thrown forward through the door. I felt its claws scrabble at my back, tearing my cloak but fouling on the armor. It hissed in rage and ¡ª even as its flesh sizzled and burned at the touch of my aura ¡ª bit at my neck with its sucking mouth.


    I reached back with my wounded left hand ¡ª there was a flash of pain as the gouges near my elbow were pulled ¡ª and its teeth clamped down on my vambrace. It snarled and shook its head viciously, nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. I couldn¡¯t turn, couldn¡¯t get its weight off my back or bring my weapon to bear.


    Catrin saved me, again. Screaming in fury, she hit the thing from the side and stabbed at it with her dagger. It wasn¡¯t undead, and the Banemetal did little to hurt it more than regular steel would have, but neither was it preternatural enough for that to matter. She ripped the blade out, stabbed again, then again. Eventually she found its small brain.


    The chimera went still. Catrin helped me get its weight off. As I stood, I saw she was covered in brackish gore. The creatures had purple, almost mossy blood. My eyes flickered to the still open doorway. More of the monsters were advancing on it.


    I took a single step froward, swung, and hewed through the membranous flesh of one leech-like head as it darted through the doorway. My weapon hummed musically as it parted the air, where a normal weapon might have only whistled. I kicked the dead thing away to get it clear, then slammed the door closed and latched it. There were several heavy thuds as the creatures slammed against the barrier, but it was a siege door. It held.


    It was several minutes before either of us caught our breath.


    ¡°Alken...¡±


    I turned. The hallway would have been pitch black, but my axe still glowed dimly to illuminate Catrin. Her brown hair was disheveled, her peasant¡¯s dress ruined with chimera blood.


    Her eyes were fixed on my wounded left arm. They burned with a hungry red light.

 Arc 1: Chapter 29: Catrin

    Arc 1: Chapter 29: Catrin


    ¡°You¡¯re wounded.¡±


    Normally, those words would have held a note of concern or panic. Catrin said them like it was something erotic. She stepped forward on light feet, heedless of the chimera blood on the floor. She left one purplish footprint on the stone as she advanced.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said, heart quickening in my chest. The young woman ¡ª was she truly young? ¡ª brushed my left arm with her fingers. The chimera had left two deep, ugly gouges just above my elbow. The elven armor I¡¯d received from the oradyn was of an archaic design, not a full set of plate, and there were parts of me it didn¡¯t protect. In this case, I only had metal covering my upper arm from the spaulders and short sleeves of the hauberk, then a gap until the vambrace strapped to my forearm. The monster had found that gap.


    So did Catrin. Her fingers curled around my elbow, her red eyes fixing on the wound. They were unnaturally bright in the gloom, a feverish shade of crimson. She seemed to be breathing quicker.


    Then, before I had even quite realized what was happening, she brought her face down to nuzzle the wound. Her tongue ran across the slashes and her whole body shivered.


    I shoved her. I did it harder than I meant to ¡ª the stress of the cave had us both not thinking straight, and I didn¡¯t truly believe she¡¯d meant to hurt me. But there was still my lingering distrust of her, my instinct that part of her ¡ª a part as dark as any battle instinct in me ¡ª did want to hurt me, and I shouldn¡¯t let my guard down. She¡¯d already tried once.


    Catrin slammed against the opposite wall of the hallway. She recovered instantly, glaring up at me ¡ª her face had turned corpse-pale, her eyes into milky white spheres ¡ª and hissed like an animal, revealing needle-sharp teeth.


    She lunged at me, or tried to. With a furnace growl I summoned my aura again, filling the passageway with dim amber flame. Catrin recoiled from it just as the chimera had, letting out a noise of frustration.


    I kept it up until she got her breathing under control. With it came her senses. She knelt against the wall, her corpse eyes unfocused, but I saw a hint of the mischievous spy I¡¯d come to know over the past several days peek through the bloodlust. Her eyes, still empty, widened as she met mine.


    ¡°Alken...¡± She shuddered. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. Bleeding Gates, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t... I can¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°Are you in control?¡± I asked. I still burned my aura, not quite trusting she was in control of herself. This might be a trick, a vampire¡¯s ploy to make me let my guard down. I had no way to know how much influence that part of her had over her words as well as her actions.


    Catrin considered a moment, then shook her head. ¡°I haven¡¯t fed in days. I think...¡± she shivered and grit her sharp teeth, hissing the words through them. ¡°I think you should go on. Leave me here.¡±


    I considered doing just that. I didn¡¯t much like the idea of heading into what came next with a hungry dhampir at my side... but having that same treacherous companion at my back wasn¡¯t any more appealing.


    I could only think of one thing to do, and it was a goring stupid idea.


    I let the flames fade. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, and held up my wounded left arm. ¡°Take enough to keep your head. Not a drop more. I need to be able to fight.¡±


    There was a second of hesitation. No more. She darted forward, fast enough to make me flinch, and dug sharp nails into my arm. It took every ounce of my self control not to hurl her away again. She pressed her lips to the gashes ¡ª I feared for a moment she¡¯d bite and make the injury worse ¡ª but she only suckled at it, a soft moan escaping in the act.


    It felt... strange. Not as bad as I would have thought, though even that realization disturbed me. I could feel my blood pumping through my arm, feel her warm tongue pressing against my flesh, soaking it up like a sponge. I tried to relax, knowing clenching my arm would only make the blood loss worse. I felt revulsion, and guilt at the revulsion.


    I felt pity for her, that she¡¯d been born this way. And anger, at whatever creature had been responsible.


    When I knew she shouldn¡¯t take anymore, I still didn¡¯t pull away or shove her. I needed to know I could trust this... not creature. This woman, this person who¡¯d been born with this dark hunger. I needed to know she could make the choice to pull away.


    If she couldn¡¯t... My fingers tightened on the oaken handle of the axe in my right hand. I didn¡¯t want to do it, but I¡¯d done worse.


    ¡°Catrin,¡± I said. Then, softer, ¡°Cat.¡±


    There was a moment where I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d pull away. Her eyes, previously that ghoulish empty white, had slowly filled with red as she fed. Her fingers tightened on my arm...


    She dragged red lips away and stepped back. She clenched stained teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and hugged herself. She shivered violently and said, ¡°I¡¯m alright. I¡¯m..¡± She sighed in satisfaction. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Ruby eyes wide with disbelief met mine. ¡°You really just let me do that?¡±


    I tore off a strip of my cloak and started tying it around the wound, turning my gaze away from hers. Her eyes had become entirely red, no sclera or pupil to see, and I felt a subtle pull there I recognized from that night in the castle chamber. I didn¡¯t want to get mesmerized again. ¡°I need you in your right mind,¡± I said. ¡°We have work to do.¡±


    ¡°...Right.¡± Did I hear a note of disappointment in her voice? ¡°Well, anyway.¡± She wiped at her mouth with one arm, smearing the blood more than cleaning it. ¡°Thanks for that, then.¡±


    I passed her another strip of my cloak. She accepted it and dabbed at her face, though it still did little to clean the blood. My blood, I thought.


    Then, shocking me, Catrin stood up on her toes and pecked me on the cheek. When she¡¯d lowered herself, her fiendish eyes were warm as they looked up into mine.


    ¡°Thank you for that,¡± she said, more genuinely this time. ¡°For trusting me.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t trusted her. Swallowing my guilt, I just nodded, not sure what to say. ¡°You ready to go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll lead,¡± she said. ¡°I know the castle a bit better than you, big man.¡± Then she turned and started down the hallway, moving with a touch too much haste. She seemed almost chipper.


    I felt at the spot on my cheek where she¡¯d kissed me. When I pulled my hand away, my fingertips were stained red.


    ***


    The halls of Castle Cael were far too quiet.


    ¡°I will not ask again,¡± I said quietly, feeling a strange calm. The memory of the slaughtered villagers a slow-running blood in my thoughts. ¡°Where is Orson Falconer?¡±


    Quinn cursed again, this time less intelligibly. I showed him the burning edge of Faen Orgis and fear flickered in his too-pale eyes. ¡°Above!¡± He hissed. ¡°In his study. It¡¯s a tower room.¡±


    I glanced at Catrin, and she nodded. ¡°I know where it is.¡±


    I turned back to Quinn. He was clutching at his burnt wrist stub, breathing heavily. The breaths looked forced, almost theatrical, like a bad actor trying to mimic distress.


    He¡¯s pretending to be more alive, I thought. It was a way he could keep his soul tethered ¡ª my weapon¡¯s hallowed bite could exorcise his ghost. ¡°Where are the others?¡± I asked. ¡°The Baron¡¯s guests.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s eyes moved back to me, narrowing. ¡°Gone,¡± he said. ¡°They have what they came for.¡±


    I frowned, not understanding. ¡°What do you mean? When did they leave?¡±


    ¡°After,¡± Quinn spat. ¡°After the Baron¡¯s ritual.¡±


    I began to understand, in the same way I might begin to take note of a cut artery and realize, even as I felt very little pain, that it was a lethal wound.


    Quinn saw my dawning realization and laughed, revealing macabre yellow teeth in a too-dry mouth. ¡°You¡¯re too late, paladin.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Catrin asked from behind me. ¡°What does he mean?¡±


    Quinn and I both ignored her. The ghoul was too busy gloating, and I was too preoccupied with the coiling tendril of horror in my gut.


    ¡°What did you think this was going to be?¡± Quinn hissed, corpse eyes going wide with fury. ¡°Some heroic tale where you¡¯d slay the monster and stop the evil sorcerer? This was never about Orson Falconer.¡± He winced in pain, a shudder rippling through his body as the holy fire I¡¯d struck him with scalded his spirit. ¡°He was just an intermediary. No more than a merchant.¡±


    ¡°What are you babbling about!?¡± Catrin¡¯s voice had turned frustrated.


    ¡°The demon,¡± I said. To my own ears my voice sounded more tired than angry. ¡°I was wrong about all of this. I thought he was going to bind the spirit to him and use it as a weapon against the Church. That was never his plan.¡±


    ¡°Falconer knew you could stop him,¡± Quinn chortled. ¡°He knew who you were an hour after he met you here in the castle. You really thought he was going to just take your word? He consulted with that old hag, Lillian, and they interrogated some lesser fiends called up from the Wend. I had orders to kill you that day we rode out, then you went and wandered into an Irkwood all on your own... I didn¡¯t figure you¡¯d come out. Guess I should have known the elves would kiss your holy ass, paladin.¡± His eyes went to my new armor.


    I should have killed the baron that first night. I tried to be clever, but I¡¯m a damned fool who can¡¯t tell a lie from a song. It was just like before. Just like ten years before. I was a gullible fool.


    The only thing I¡¯d ever been good at was swinging a blade. I should have cut my way to my enemy from the start, my own life be damned.


    That¡¯s what was expected of me.


    ¡°Look at you,¡± Quinn laughed. It was an ugly, wheezing sound, half pained and half maliciously cheerful. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s a fine expression. Some hero you found yourself, Cat. Then again, you always did like the big, dumb ones.¡± He returned his attention to me and his voice turned conspiratorial. ¡°She let you fuck her yet? She will. It¡¯s the blood, turns her into a loose¡ª¡±


    He never finished whatever ugly thing he¡¯d been about to say. My axe came down on his skull, splitting it and sinking an inch into the stone beneath. There was a low rumble of fire, and the body immediately began to disintegrate as hallowed aura tore through it.


    I stood, planting a boot on the dead mercenaries breastplate to rip my weapon from the floor. I spent a minute watching the body burn. I didn¡¯t really see it. My mind wasn¡¯t in that hall.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Catrin¡¯s voice drew me from my stupor. She had a sad look, though whether it was for our situation or for the death of the Mistwalker she¡¯d formerly been acquainted with, I couldn¡¯t say. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Orson Falconer never intended to use the demon as his own personal minion,¡± I said. ¡°He was just a merchant. A trader. All those Recusants who were here...¡± I cursed savagely. ¡°I should have seen it! A backwater sorcerer gathering so many allies. He prepared the fiend for them. They¡¯re all gone... and they have one of the nightmares that helped destroy the elves for their own uses.¡±


    I¡¯d failed to stop the calamity Lady Eanor had feared.


    ¡°Damn.¡± Catrin bowed her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Alken. Really. If I¡¯d known... I swear if I¡¯d known what he was planning, I would have tried to stop it. I think Quinn played me too, letting me know where you¡¯d gone so I¡¯d go off and not be there to stall the ritual. He knew I wanted the villagers left out of all this.¡±


    I turned to her and nodded. ¡°I believe you.¡±


    Catrin shuffled, averting her eyes. They were still red, I noted, not having darkened to their usual soft brown. ¡°You...¡± she licked her lips, wetting some of the drying blood still there. ¡°What he said about me, it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I told her.


    ¡°But it¡¯s true,¡± Catrin said, squeezing her eyes shut and folding her arms. ¡°I work for the Keeper of the Backroad Inn, and... that¡¯s how I get most of my blood.¡±


    ¡°And I should prefer you prey on unsuspecting villagers?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve no right to judge you, Catrin. I saw you weep for the people Orson Falconer slaughtered. I¡¯ve seen real monsters many times in my life...¡± My voice hardened. ¡°You are not one.¡±


    A tear fell from the dhampir¡¯s ruby eye. She closed those eyes and shuddered.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to waste,¡± I said. ¡°I still have a job to do.¡±


    Even if I¡¯d failed to stop a tragedy in Caelfall, its mad lord still needed to die.

 Arc 1: Chapter 30: Recusant

    Arc 1: Chapter 30: Recusant


    There were other Mistwalkers in the castle. None of them were as dangerous as Vaughn had been, and I slew every half-dead in my path. By the time we were in the upper sections of the castle, my bloodstained axe smoldered with molten light.


    The little victories felt hollow, after what Quinn had revealed. Even still I advanced, and killed.


    Catrin, for her part, didn¡¯t slow me down so much as a beat. She was no fighter, so far as I could tell, but her sharp senses and awareness of the massive castle¡¯s layout were indispensable. She¡¯d warn me when danger was approaching, melt into the shadows, then reappear by the time I¡¯d dispatched a group of guards to warn me of more threats. More than once I managed to avoid a nasty ambush that way.


    It felt strange, having a comrade backing me up. I¡¯d fought alone for so many years. It reminded me of the old days. I¡¯d had allies back then, too. Donnelly. Lias.


    Donnelly would have liked Catrin. Her skills were much like his, as was her sense of humor.


    And this was no time to be thinking about a different life. I put my mind on the task at hand, as loathsome as it may have been,


    ¡°There are too few of them,¡± I said with a grunt, pulling my axe from the skull of a ghoul. We stood in a nexus chamber connecting several parts of the castle. Three branching hallways, all splitting from a cylindrical space guarded by time-worn statues. The stone faces watched us in sullen hostility.


    Orson was watching us. Or, his haunted castle watched us. Like many old halls, the entire edifice was an extension of his will.


    This is too easy, a voice in the back of my thoughts warned me.


    ¡°Yeah...¡± Catrin looked at the smoldering bodies of the three Mistwalkers I¡¯d just dispatched. ¡°It¡¯s like there¡¯s just a skeleton crew. There were over a hundred of the bastards here just a couple days ago.¡±


    I considered the idea that the gluttonous commander I¡¯d spoken to at the council, Issachar, had taken the brunt of his troops and left with the other Recusants. Where had they all gone? What did they plan with the monster the Baron had conjured for them?


    That was not my task, though I desperately wanted it to be. I was here to perform an execution.


    Even still, I fretted over it.Vissit  for updates


    ¡°We¡¯re getting close,¡± Catrin said. Then, more dryly, ¡°unless that bastard Quinn was lying to us. Maybe Orson¡¯s gone, too.¡±


    I¡¯d also considered the possibility. Even still, I wouldn¡¯t leave without making sure.


    We approached the mouth of an ascending stairway. A body lay sprawled beneath it, limbs akimbo. Far too many limbs. I approached cautiously, taking in the strange sight.


    It ¡ª she ¡ª had been some kind of changeling, like Catrin. Her skin was a dark shade of gray-blue, and she was bald. Her body was small and skinny, almost childlike, with long, jointed appendages sprouting from behind the shoulders of more human arms. Each was tipped in barbed claws, and were longer than the whole length of her body. She had too many eyes, all glassy green spheres on a face only vaguely human in shape.


    I remembered how she¡¯d seemed to glide while clad in her concealing green cloak. I could imagine those spider legs scuttling beneath, hidden from sight.


    She was dead, alien eyes unblinkingly fixed on one wall. It looked like she¡¯d fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Though, with those inhuman limbs, I somehow doubted that had been what truly killed her.


    ¡°Priska,¡± Catrin sighed, a touch of sadness in her voice. ¡°I thought maybe she was like me, but I never saw her under that cloak.¡± She took a cautious step forward. ¡°What do you think happened?¡±


    I knelt by the broken corpse and found a small, neat hole punched through the dead changeling¡¯s forehead, just above the eyebrows. Black blood oozed from the wound.


    ¡°Looks like someone beat us here,¡± I said, standing and fixing my attention on the stairs.


    We ascended a spiraling stairway encircling the guts of a tall tower, practically a spire. Catrin tensed at my back, but she didn¡¯t need to tell me she¡¯d heard something this time. Noise echoed down the shaft. An angry shout, then furniture crashing.


    I recognized the voice. It wasn¡¯t the Baron¡¯s.


    We reached the top of the stairway. An open door lay at the top, and beyond it a set of chambers. Looking inside, I saw furniture scattered about, and a splatter of blood on the carpeted floors. Mahogany desks and brass candelabras were scattered across the space, many upturned. Parchment, books, and precious materials were strewn everywhere.


    Across the length of a spacious room, near one unshuttered window overlooking the lake, stood two figures. One was Orson Falconer. He was still clad in his kingly robes, precious gems glinting like little stars along the shoulders. He leaned against the wall by the window, one hand pressed to one shoulder. Blood dripped through his fingers, dampening the expensive material of his overcoat.


    The other was Olliard of Kell. He had his strange foreign weapon trained on the Baron, a terrible expression hardening his wizened face. He looked like he hadn¡¯t slept in days, but his hands were steady.


    He noted my arrival and bared his teeth. ¡°Lisette!¡± He barked.


    Movement in the corner of my vision, and the hasty muttering of ritual words. The young cleric stood near one wall, out of sight from the door. Her fingers played with strings done Cat¡¯s Cradle style, aura flickering like half-visible flame around them.


    I was ready for the trick this time. Furrowing my brow in concentration, I made an effort of will and lifted my axe. A pale, nearly invisible sphere of pale amber light appeared around me. Lisette¡¯s magic enwrapped the sphere and stopped inches from my actual body, an instant before they would have ensnared me. The strings, a paler gold than my own shield, strained with a sound like crackling lightning. I grit my teeth at the effort.


    Damn, but the kid was strong.


    ¡°Cat.¡± My voice was a strained growl.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Catrin said. She stepped into a dark spot of a nearby wall and melted into the shadows. She appeared a moment later beside the apprentice and, shocking me as much as the girl, rabbit punched her in the back of the head. Lisette crumpled to the ground. As her concentration broke, the golden tethers flickered from existence. I lowered my axe, sighing in relief. Sweat beaded across my brow from the effort of holding the Art at bay for mere seconds.


    Olliard lifted his crossbow higher, aiming at the Baron¡¯s skull. ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡±


    The Baron wheezed out a laugh. ¡°Oh, this is a rich irony!¡± The doctor glared at him, not understanding.


    I paused, half-amused by the situation myself. ¡°I¡¯m not here to stop you from killing him,¡± I said. I waved a hand to the lord. ¡°By all means. Just let me ask him some questions first.¡±


    Suspicion and confusion warred in the vampire hunter¡¯s features. He glanced at Catrin, and a look of revulsion formed there. ¡°You¡¯ve been enthralled. I know what she is. Snap out of it, man, or I¡¯ll have to kill you.¡±


    I exchanged a glance with Catrin. She shrugged, and knelt to place her dagger to Lisette¡¯s neck. ¡°This is a hostage situation, right?¡± She didn¡¯t quite keep the questioning note from her voice. ¡°Listen, young lady, just don¡¯t try that trick again.¡±


    Lisette groaned, dazed.


    ¡°Get away from her!¡± Olliard snapped.


    ¡°Calm down, doctor.¡± I took a step further into the room, clearing the doorway. I didn¡¯t want anyone sneaking up behind me. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to get snared by your apprentice¡¯s Art again. And I need him alive to answer some questions.¡±


    I turned my attention from the hunter and pointed at Orson Falconer with my axe. ¡°Where did the others take that thing you summoned?¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Come over here, Lisette.¡± The doctor didn¡¯t take his eyes off me.


    Catrin threw me a questioning look. I lifted a hand, telling her to wait. Lisette shuffled over to the doctor and turned to face us. I noted that Catrin had confiscated her little finger strings, and felt a surge of gratitude for the changeling¡¯s quick thinking.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Olliard demanded. ¡°What do you have to do with any of this?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a long story,¡± I said.


    Olliard¡¯s lips tightened. ¡°Summarize.¡±


    ¡°I serve the Lords of Heavensreach,¡± I said.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened. The doctor only sighed, clearly believing I was being obstinate.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m an agent of the Choir Concilium. They sent me to serve a sentence of execution on Orson Falconer.¡± I pointed at the dead nobleman with my axe. ¡°You ended up delivering that, but it was my purpose since the night after we found the dead troll.¡±


    ¡°You sound as mad as him,¡± Olliard spat. ¡°You serve the Choir of God? They are stories. He speaks of afterlives, and you tell me you were sent by angels... this is all madness.¡±


    Lisette glanced uncertainly at her mentor. ¡°Master...¡± she began.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he snapped. The young cleric flinched.


    ¡°Then, that commotion in Vinhithe...¡± Olliard¡¯s expression went distant with thought. ¡°That was you, wasn¡¯t it? He called you Headsman. I¡¯ve heard that name.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t willing to give all my secrets to this man. ¡°You came here to hunt monsters. I assure you, we¡¯re on the same side.¡±


    Catrin shifted at my side. I didn¡¯t want to take my eyes off the old physik and his alchecraft crossbow, but I sensed a subtle tension from the dhampir.


    ¡°And yet you keep their company,¡± the doctor said, eyeing the changeling. ¡°How do I know it has not enthralled you?¡±


    ¡°She was Micah¡¯s friend, same as you.¡±


    ¡°Is that what it told you?¡± Olliard asked, amused. ¡°You were his friend, were you? Catrin of Ergoth?¡±


    Catrin drew in a sharp breath. I risked a glance at her. Her whole body seemed wire-taut with tension.


    Ergoth... The name sounded familiar. But where had I¡ª


    I hadn¡¯t ever heard it, I realized. Not with my own ears. The strange, ghostly nostalgia of my Alder-given magic knew the name, not I.


    It had been a small kingdom, long ago. It had fallen. Not to war, but to...


    The ghost-memory faded.


    ¡°He knew what I was,¡± Catrin said with a quiet panic in her voice. ¡°He treated me well all the same.¡±


    ¡°He was addicted to you, leech.¡± Olliard¡¯s expression was almost imperious with disdain. ¡°I warned him your nature ruled you, but he always turned a blind eye. I should have killed you when you were still young and human enough for it to stick.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°Was it you who¡ª¡±


    ¡°Never!¡± Catrin cried, angry in her denial. ¡°I would never have hurt him, not like that.¡±


    ¡°But all those years you fed on him aged him past his time,¡± the vampire hunter accused. ¡°When I last saw him, he was weak. Ill. He should have been strong enough to stand up to the likes of Orson Falconer.¡±


    His eyes went to the corpse by the window. The kindly old man I¡¯d met beyond the woods of Caelfall was gone. I didn¡¯t recognize this bitter, accusatory hunter for that altruistic healer.


    But I did recognize him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough,¡± I said, quiet. All eyes turned to me, and I waited a beat before continuing. ¡°My work is done here. Are you going to push this, Olliard?¡±


    The doctor glanced between me and Catrin. ¡°She is a dangerous predator ruled by her hunger. I have seen it a thousand times. They can become true vampires, you know, these half-dead. The older she gets, the worse her hunger. If you are truly a warrior of the divine, you will heed me.¡±


    ¡°If you try to slay her,¡± I said, still surprising myself with how calm I sounded, ¡°I will fight you. I owe her a debt, whatever she may become.¡±


    All of us in that room were a sort of monster already. Except Lisette, perhaps.


    Olliard spoke an ugly oath. ¡°On your head be it, then.¡±


    I nodded and glanced at Catrin, then jerked my head to the door. She looked shaken, but went ahead of me. I put my back between her and the hunters.


    ¡°Alken.¡±


    I turned toward the doctor. The old man had lowered his alchebow, and his posture was slumped with exhaustion. Even still, there was a steely confidence in his eyes.


    ¡°Should we meet again, I will consider you an enemy. I have heard of you... The Headsman of Seydis.¡± He lifted his chin. ¡°You are a murderer.¡±


    ¡°And you aren¡¯t?¡± I asked, gesturing again to the dead lord.


    ¡°I hunt monsters,¡± the doctor said. ¡°I protect innocents. You are a butcher.¡±


    What a sad mirror we made. I wonder if he understood the irony.


    I just nodded. ¡°Until next time, then. If there is a next time.¡±


    I turned and left.

 Arc 1: Chapter 31: Departure, Duty, Dream

    Arc 1: Chapter 31: Departure, Duty, Dream


    ¡°Ready?¡± Brother Edgar asked. The young priest breathed hard, his pudgy features covered in dirt and sweat, but his expression remained determined.


    I nodded, and we both lifted the heavy corpse of Caelfall¡¯s only innkeeper into the pit. It settled into place in the darkness below, half-hidden in the failing light.


    The mist had burned away, and the onset of dusk cast the marshes in a somber red light. I stood behind the village chapel with Edgar, and there were already many fresh graves. We were both filthy with gore and mud, and neither of us cared.


    We¡¯d survived.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know them,¡± Edgar said suddenly, as we stared down into the most recent pit. ¡°They were strangers.¡±


    Strange he was asking me now, after we¡¯d been at it most of two days.


    I shrugged and grabbed a spade off the ground, starting in on filling the grave. How could I explain it to him? That I was sworn to protect everyone, and I¡¯d failed.


    My whole blasted order had failed.


    There was work I couldn¡¯t help with and didn¡¯t have time to remain for. The graves needed to be soaked in blessed water. Gravestones had to be carved and set over the mounds, each inscribed with lines of scripture and blessed to draw in the ghosts of the dead and hold them, so they wouldn¡¯t fade or be eaten in the wilderness. It was painstaking work, and the monk might not have the strength.


    I didn¡¯t mention as much. I just helped, knowing it wasn¡¯t enough.


    After we¡¯d finished the most recent grave, the shuffling of cloth from the edge of the graveyard drew my attention. I turned to see Lisette standing there, clad in the same humble brown robes, a heavy satchel tied to her back. She lingered by the gate.


    I looked around, but saw no signs of the old doctor. I walked over to her.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t with me,¡± Lisette said, having seen my survey. ¡°He¡¯s waiting out on the road with the wagon.¡± She waved off beyond the village.


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t mean to be unkind ¡ª I didn¡¯t blame the girl for anything, but her power made me wary. She¡¯d been strong, and she¡¯d nearly gotten the better of me twice.


    ¡°I wanted to help.¡± Lisette said. ¡°I¡¯m ordained. I can hallow the graves.¡± She licked her lips and shuffled. ¡°It¡¯s... the least I can do.¡± Her next words were bitter. ¡°We didn¡¯t help anyone here.¡±


    I nodded, not arguing, and let her go to the monk. They conversed for a while, then Lisette began to walk among the graves, her auremark in hand. Edgar marched behind her, having produced a jar of incense hanging from a long chain, which he swung back and forth. A pleasant scent, I imagined, to draw in the lost souls.


    Draw them in so they can be bound, I thought darkly. Perhaps some of Orson Falconer¡¯s mad ravings had stuck in my thoughts, after all.


    ¡°It was good of you,¡± a voice behind me said. ¡°To stay and help bury them.¡±


    I turned to see a shadowed shape lurking at the edge of the woods, leaning against a tree. There wasn¡¯t much daylight left, but Catrin still needed to be wary of it.


    ¡°I¡¯d have helped,¡± she said. ¡°But...¡± she waved toward the setting sun with one hand. Though her expression was nonchalant, I saw the tension in her shoulders. The frustration.


    ¡°You did help,¡± I said. ¡°We both noticed there were more graves dug this morning. That was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Catrin shrugged, not meeting my eyes. ¡°Maybe it was the elves?¡±


    I just snorted and moved to stand next to her, folding my arms as I watched the young cleric work.


    ¡°This was a dark thing, big man.¡± Catrin sighed. ¡°I feel like we just watched a tragedy happen from the sidelines.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it often is,¡± I said. ¡°I wish...¡±


    When I paused, Catrin stirred at my side. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°When I started this path, it was to punish people like Orson... but, I thought, it was also to stop them. To prevent things like this. But, almost every time, I feel like I¡¯m just putting down a mad dog after they¡¯ve already spread their sickness into the world. It¡¯s like trying to stop a river with my hands.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to pretend like I understand all this stuff about elves and holy knights and the bloody God-Queen,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Sounded like madness... but there was something about you. I saw it that first night when I took you to the castle. Like you¡¯d just stepped out of a story.¡±


    ¡°Sad story,¡± I noted, eyeing the graves.


    ¡°So what¡¯s next for the mighty Headsman?¡± Catrin asked.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t call me that,¡± I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s just Alken.¡±


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Alright then. What¡¯s next for you, Alken?¡±


    I closed my eyes, breathing in the last of the fading daylight. ¡°I wander. I wait for the Onsolain to send me some sign or messenger... then I do this again.¡± Less badly next time, I thought.


    ¡°And this demon Orson unleashed?¡± Catrin asked. ¡°All those other bastards who were part of this?¡±


    I glanced toward the castle. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sworn by oath to my duty, and the consequences for ignoring it would be... unpleasant.¡±


    Catrin was quiet a moment. Then, as though tossing a leaf onto the wind she said, ¡°let me see what I can dig up. All sorts of strange sorts and stories pass through the Backroad. I¡¯ll keep an ear to the wind, see if something of your Council of Darkness comes up.¡±


    I winced. ¡°That¡¯s a terrible name.¡±


    ¡°Works though, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Catrin laughed, then shifted closer to me. I noted it and went on guard. Not because I thought I was in danger, but because I sensed something in the movement, and didn¡¯t want to encourage her.


    I had no room for it in my life.


    Catrin must have sensed my lack of response, because she drifted away again, the movement casual, as if she were just adjusting her balance. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you how to find the inn. There¡¯s a trick to it, but once you know the way you can find it any time, any place. I¡¯m there most times.¡± She didn¡¯t quite keep the hopeful note from her next words. ¡°You¡¯ll stop by sometime, right?¡±


    I looked up from the fire to see a figure leaning against one of the ruined temple¡¯s walls, just outside the true radius of the firelight. A short man in his late thirties, with a homely face covered in dense dark-brown stubble and a mop of hair loosely tied behind his head. He wore studded leathers over a lean frame.


    I could almost see the stone wall through him.


    ¡°Donnelly,¡± I greeted the ghost. ¡°You can share my fire. Just you.¡±


    Donnelly lurched forward and sat cross-legged across the fire from me, holding his hands out. It wasn¡¯t a cold night ¡ª we were well into Summer ¡ª but he shivered as violently as if he¡¯d come out of a blizzard, shaking his hands in gratitude for the warmth. Immediately he began to grow more substantial, until he seemed the man he¡¯d been in life ¡ª below average in height, all wiry muscle and cocky attitude, his peasant¡¯s features tanned by sun.


    He didn¡¯t much look like a hero of the Ardent Bough.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the roguish man said. ¡°Been a while since I got some flame in me. Thought I was starting to fade, like them.¡± He jerked a thumb toward the shadows.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡± I asked, tossing a twig into the fire. Sparks danced into the air, and a few elf-wisps emerged with them to twirl playfully. They¡¯d followed me from Caelfall, too, though most had wandered off into the wilds over the weeks.


    A sour expression crossed the ghost¡¯s face. ¡°Working. Feels like all Urn¡¯s bloody burning, some days. Parts of it still are, in truth...¡± his gray eyes went distant, then snapped to me. ¡°I heard you did a job for a member of the Choir.¡±


    I nodded, and told him about what had happened in Caelfall. I left some details out, such as my alliance with a dhampir and confrontation with the itinerant monster hunter.


    ¡°Damn...¡± Donnelly folded his arms, rubbing warmth into them. ¡°You really think it¡¯s one of the demons from the Fall?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It felt like it. My powers aren¡¯t always reliable... Could have been a stray, or something lurking in the Wend. But I think... I think it was one of the monsters the Archmagus released, yes.¡± I shook my head, setting my jaw. ¡°We should have worked harder to seal them all.¡±


    ¡°Without ol¡¯ Tuvon, it¡¯s a tall order.¡± Donnelly shrugged, and I had to suppress a smile at his casual mention of the elven king.


    ¡°I want you to ask them to let me hunt those other Recusants,¡± I told him.


    Donnelly¡¯s expression fell into neutrality. ¡°You know it doesn¡¯t work that way, Al.¡±


    ¡°Tell them what happened,¡± I insisted. ¡°This is what I¡¯m meant for. I need to follow through on what happened at that lake.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a knight anymore,¡± Donnelly said bluntly. He ignored the angry look that passed over my face, holding up a hand to stall my next words. ¡°You¡¯re the Headsman. Your job is to carry out sentences of execution when and where the Choir tells you to, just like my job is to be their courier.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Neither of us have a fine gig, kid.¡±


    I scoffed at that. I was old as Donnelly had been when he¡¯d died.


    The ghost sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them what you¡¯ve told me, but no promises. You know the Onsolain don¡¯t see everything. Besides...¡± here he hesitated.


    I leaned forward and clasped my hands, eyes on the fire to watch the wisps play. ¡°You have another mark for me.¡±


    Donnelly spread out his hands in a what can I do? gesture. ¡°Guilty.¡±


    A while passed before I replied. To his credit, Donnelly didn¡¯t try to make excuses or hurry me.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± I said after several minutes.


    ¡°They want you to head west, to Reynwell,¡± Donnelly said. ¡°Can¡¯t say much more as of yet.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Reynwell?¡± A large kingdom that bordered the coastlands. The new capital stood there.


    I hadn¡¯t been since the wars.


    ¡°That¡¯s a populated country,¡± I said after some thought. ¡°Not the kind of place I¡¯d think they would send me. Lot of towns. Lot of nobles.¡± Lot of soldiers, I thought darkly. I wouldn¡¯t be able to vanish into the wilderness so easily in a realm that densely populated.


    ¡°Even still,¡± Donnelly said unapologetically, ¡°that¡¯s where you¡¯re bound. Once you¡¯ve crossed the border, perform the rites. You know the drill.¡±


    His eyes went to the woods. ¡°Too many ears here. No telling if any of these wild ghosts are reporting to some necromancer somewhere. Better to give you the rest of it in a church, or in a dream. Either way, head toward the capital.¡±


    Donnelly left not long after. Vanished like a mirage, as was his wont. That suited my mood. The ghosts whispered in the shadows, wild chimera hooted in the deeper darkness beyond, and the dark clouds rolled above. The whole world seemed to be made of night and monsters. Sometimes, it could be hard to remember there were other little islands of light beyond all that fang-filled black.


    I sat by the fire for a long while, thinking. The wisps kept it warm. Handy little creatures. Part of me had been glad of their company, but they were fey. No telling when they¡¯d wander off. Perhaps, when Irn Bale had closed the ways to his hall, they¡¯d been stranded.


    ¡°You can stay with me long as you like,¡± I said to them, not sure they understood. ¡°Might see some nasty things, though.¡±


    One little mote of faerie-light danced toward my face, spun around my head once, then returned to the fire. I almost smiled. Almost.


    Part of me regretted not asking Catrin to stick with me. I think she might have, had I asked. Of most anyone I¡¯d met, she may not have minded my grim work.


    But she¡¯d also need to feed, and I wasn¡¯t willing to let her use me that way, or other innocents in my presence. Better for her to stay at her strange devil¡¯s inn, where she could get her blood from those who offered it freely.


    It wouldn¡¯t have worked. We would have resented one another, eventually.


    I tossed another twig into the fire, watching the tiny lights dance through the dark until they cooled. I lifted my right hand and ran the thumb of my left over my ring. The stone had gone almost entirely to red over the past weeks. It had fed well.


    I slipped it off my finger, settled against the shattered temple wall at my back, and closed my eyes.


    I let myself dream.


    End of Arc 1

 Arc 1 Retrospective

    Arc 1 Retrospective


    Hi! SovWrites here. So, this project has been a long time in the making. And I don¡¯t just mean that in the sense of actually writing it. What do I mean by that?


    Well, I¡¯ve been writing a long time. I started out with really bad Halo/Half-life crossover fan fiction in middle school, and kept branching from there. As a kid I wrote for the same reason I read, or binge watched tv dramas, or played video games ¡ª as an escape from a difficult home life. I¡¯m sure many folks have a similar story.


    As I got older, I realized I enjoyed writing. I was just as entertained by the stories in my head as the ones I consumed on screen or in print. I wanted to be good at it ¡ª probably because I wasn¡¯t good at much else. I started getting into the hobby as a craft, trying to figure out how other story tellers pulled off their stunts, how I could do it. I worked hard to find a voice.


    I started getting interested in web serials about seven years back, when a friend hooked me onto works like A Practical Guide to Evil and Worm (plus other Wildbow content). I had this epiphany ¡ª I could be sharing my work with people online, without the stresses of publishing and editors. I started rewiring my plots into more episodic content, stopped worrying about traditional divisions by book or trilogy. It made things a lot looser, made me enjoy the process more. But that wasn¡¯t the end of the uphill climb ¡ª I spent years with false starts, not finding a project I felt truly passionate about or enjoyed for more than a few chapters. I drove my writing workshop crazy, changing my stories or dropping stories every few months.


    Why am I reminiscing like this? Well, I¡¯ve got my writing out on the internets now. I¡¯ve got a single arc of this story successfully published online. I¡¯ve proven to myself that I can do this. There were some pitfalls, some things I¡¯m not satisfied with, some hiccups and instances of poor planning on my part, but I¡¯ve done a thing that, a few years ago, seemed like it might never happen. I almost gave up on my writing, convinced myself it sucked and I¡¯d have to accept perpetual writer¡¯s block.


    Glad to know I was wrong!


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    My original idea was that this would be a very Ravenloft/Castlevania inspired plot, with this band of misfit do-gooders struggling through a back country full of monsters, their own monstrous tendencies eventually compromising them. What ended up happening was that I sort of meandered my way to a conclusion. Solid premise, shaky execution. Another thing I need to work on.


    All that being said, this is web fiction. I didn¡¯t expect it to be perfect. Hopefully, the plot is still parsable enough to keep people invested through the little hiccups. These are issues I¡¯ll be taking into account going forward. I think I became wrapped up in wanting my arcs to be shorter, say 20 chapters or so each, when what I need to do is let an arc take as long as it needs to in order to get the story I want to tell across. I need to work on my character building as well.


    Finally, the protagonist himself. Alken can be tough to write. I do stand by my decision to do a first person POV ¡ª Al is simply too taciturn to work as a main perspective unless you¡¯re in his head, getting that internal monologue. My original draft was in third person, and he wasn¡¯t such a sad sack then, but I need him to be kind of a sad sack considering his job involves ritualized murder... otherwise, it¡¯s a bit hard to draw sympathy for him. His voice is something I¡¯m constantly working on.


    With all that navel-gazing out of the way, I do really appreciate anyone who¡¯s been following the story. If you took the additional time to read this, then I doubly thank you. As of right now, I do not have anything like a patreon ¡ª I don¡¯t want finances to be a motivator for my writing, and I work an hourly job that keeps me fed. That being said, it¡¯s something I may do in the future, when I have more of my stuff online.


    For now though, I¡¯m currently editing the next arc, revising some chapters, adding new ones. I don¡¯t expect it to slow down my posting schedule. I may drop down to two chapters a week if I feel like I¡¯m getting burnt, but that isn¡¯t much of a risk presently. I¡¯m going to post an interlude with a bit of a teaser for the next arc, some foreshadowing and lore tidbits, and then I expect to have the first chapter of the next part of the story up next Monday.


    Thanks guys,


    SovWrites

 The Accursed Ones

    The Accursed Ones


    I shall tell you a story.


    A tale of elder days, when all the world was cast in blessed shadow.


    When light hid in the depths of forests, in the roots of mountains.


    When the Blessed Ones first came down from their shining kingdom and raised their halls in the land men would one day call the Alderes.


    In those days, Man had not yet found his way through the dark by lantern-light.


    Elf-kind learned at the feet of their elders, and the venom of the Briar had not yet found them.Upstodatee from


    But the Dark Ones lurked in the shadows, drawn by the light.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    They were weak then, and full of malice.


    They hungered for light, and hated it.


    Lord and dupe of the Abgru?dai.


    Whose spawn we call the Cambion, ruiner of the world.


    And the Dark Ones grew strong.


    Many are those still who fight them.


    But they ruin what they touch, and fill all things with poison.


    There is no greater sin than to heed their lies, for they know our hearts and hate us.


    After all, they were born of us.


    As accounted by the bard Tzanith


    A Song of the Nameless

 Arc 2: Crow | Chapter 1: The Owl of Strekke

    Arc 2: Crow | Chapter 1: The Owl of Strekke


    The halberd slashed through the air, its barbed hook seeking my neck. I batted it aside, lunged forward, and then retreated again with half a curse bitten off as the polearm stabbed at my ankles.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Headsman?¡± Lord Emery Planter, the Earl of Strekke, mocked me with a contemptuous disdain only an aristo could conjure. ¡°Not used to your victims fighting back?¡±


    We stood in the great hall of Emery¡¯s own castle, lit by the silver moonlight beaming through the high windows and the orange flames of chandeliers above. The Earl of Strekke had fully arrayed himself in his accoutrements of war ¡ª a suit of armor fashioned into the likeness of an owl. The ¡°eyes¡± of his helm ¡ª two circular depressions of darker metal with narrow slits in the center for the eyes beneath ¡ª seemed fixed in an expression of perplexed suspicion. Steel points meant to resemble the raised ears of a horned owl crowned the intricate helm.


    The armor was ridiculous ¡ª and the man wearing it was making a fool of me. Visitt  for the latest updates


    To be fair, my own armor consisted only of an archaic set of maille, spaulders and bracers the only additions to the long coat of shadowy links, and I¡¯d barely slept in days. I¡¯d been too busy evading the Earl¡¯s minions.


    They surrounded me even then, an array of pale, ghost-eyed faces. Many already displayed signs of rot, especially the soldiers, but some were more pristine in their reanimation. Undead guards jabbed at me with pikes and halberds when I strayed too far from the center of the hall. Men and women in the livery of servants stood beyond the uniformed guardsmen, their bloodless faces watching with the implacable stoicism of statues.


    Even the Earl¡¯s family watched, standing at the top of a short flight of steps before the throne. The Earl¡¯s wife clutched the shoulders of her son with near skeletal hands. The boy, no older than twelve, was one of only a handful in that room still among the living. I could see him trembling beneath his dead mother¡¯s grip even halfway across the chamber.


    Just hold on. I directed the thought at him, unable to catch a breath to say the words aloud. I¡¯ll get you out of this.


    Only one other living soul dwelt in the room besides the earl, the boy, and myself. A middle aged man dressed in charcoal gray robes like a mendicant of old, a rope belt tied about his waist. He watched me tentatively, a strange light in his eyes the rest of the ghoulish congregation didn¡¯t possess.


    I didn¡¯t have time to ponder that just then. The earl seemed to dance despite the weight of his armor with an acrobat¡¯s grace as he and I circled one another, my opponent¡¯s halberd tracing mocking figure eights as he goaded me to press him. I struggled just to keep myself from getting skewered, either by him or by one of the animated soldiers forming our duelist¡¯s ring with their rotting bodies.


    ¡°Ho hoo!¡± The Earl laughed, shuffled forward, and then drove his weapon toward my midriff in a move that twisted his entire body. His armor, well-made, allowed a full range of unrestricted motion. My armor took the blow, metal grinding against metal with a dull shriek, but it didn¡¯t stop me from losing my breath. I stumbled back, gasping for air.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Lord Emery backed away, his eyes squinting within the slits of his helm to match the expression the visor seemed to be making. Honestly, it resembled the face of a toad more than an owl, but I didn¡¯t have much time for artistic criticism just then. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± The earl repeated, his brassy voice muffled by the helm. ¡°Are you not the Headsman of Seydis, the one they call Blackbough? I thought you would provide me a challenge! I went to all this trouble for you ¡ª sent out my knights, dusted off my armor, even invited you into my home to settle this man to man! And this is all you can do? I guess the rumors about you Table knights were drivel, ho hoo!¡±


    He had a bizarre laugh, like the hooting of an owl. It had to be an intentional affect, with that stupid armor. He even had his pauldrons shaped into an approximation of feathered wings.


    I was losing to this man.


    My eyes slid past my opponent to the figures standing before the ornate chairs where the earl and his lady would sit while holding court. I locked eyes with the boy there, frozen in the undead grip of his reanimated mother. His pale face stared back, his limbs stiffened with fear as though he, too, were dead. But he still very much lived.


    Did I see pleading in his eyes? Even hope?


    I turned my full attention back on my opponent. Too much to ask that he fit the stereotype of a necromancer, I supposed ¡ª a dangerous but physically weak madman hiding away in a dungeon or tower, vulnerable once one broke through his ghoulish minions. No, Emery Planter was a member of the Peerage, a lord of an Urnic House and a warrior born and bred.


    His halberd had found more than maille. He¡¯d given me more scars on my arms, my legs. At this rate, he¡¯d bleed me to death.


    Perhaps sensing my growing weariness, the earl pressed me harder. He drove me back to the edge of the ring of wights. I had to plant my feet and fend off his sweeping slashes and jabs in order to prevent myself from being impaled by the spears bristling at my back. The nobleman had the reach on me with his weapon and the distinct advantage garnered by his armor. It had been foolish of me to fight him like this. Cocky. I¡¯d believed I could win despite the handicaps.


    The earl brought his polearm up high over his head, the steel mittens encasing his hands shifting with surprising dexterity, and then he cleaved down with his weapon¡¯s small axe-blade, back-ended by a cruel steel spike. It descended like the bird of prey the knight meant to resemble, air whistling as it parted. Cursing, I brought my left hand up and shaped my aura into a shield, causing a gently curved, intricately shaped barrier of amber light to appear several inches before my closed fist. The halberd slammed into it, causing nearly golden plumes of flame to scatter like the sparks from an anvil.


    ¡°Ho hoo!¡± The earl chuckled and stepped back, prodding at the shield as I gasped for breath, sweating with the effort of maintaining it. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty thing. Is that your Art?¡±


    It was, but not my own. The aureshield is one of several techniques inherited from the Alder Table, a phantom manifestation of knights from bygone days imprinted into my aura.


    ¡°No.¡± The word came as a dry whisper, the sound of a late autumn wind through dead branches. I paused and turned to the undead noblewoman. She had spoken. The dead face beneath the veil turned to me, eyes nearly shining through the barrier of cloth.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± The earl patted his reanimated wife¡¯s withered hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright, beloved. We knew this may be the price of our little rebellion, eh?¡±


    I frowned at his words. I knew the undead, in any variety, were never mindless puppets even under the geas of a necromancer. They were spirits, the remnants of will and memory created when mortal flesh expired and aura faded into a self-aware entity made purely of od. Odsouls, they were properly called. The flame of aura burned out, but an impression of it scorched permanently into the fabric of reality.


    A necromancer could bind these shadow-souls to something physical, then compel them through ritual or leverage, the manner of the manipulation varying wildly. More often than not a poor or incautious necromancer is killed or even enslaved by the very beings they sought to use. The Dead are dangerous. There is a reason the Church is strict in regulating it, besides the moral implications.


    Still, the word rebellion sparked something in me. The earl made it seem as though this hadn¡¯t all been his idea, and they reminded me of the ravings of another of his sort from many months before.


    Putting such thoughts out of my mind I advanced, preparing myself for the killing blow. The veiled wight stood and stepped between me and her necromantic master, perhaps compelled by some lingering echo of her feelings from life or by his will.


    I couldn¡¯t say. I would have cut her down ¡ª she was already dead, and it would release her soul to return to her own kinds lands ¡ª but I felt something then. A tension in the air. The undead guards didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t so much as blink, but I felt their attentions fix on me more sharply than they had before, almost as though they were all waking at once from a half-sleep.


    Frustrated and a bit disturbed, I shoved the wight out of the way. She wasn¡¯t any heavier than she had been alive, perhaps much less so, and she went to the ground in a sprawl of fine silks. I tensed, but no attack came. I stood above Emery Planter than, who glared at me defiantly.


    ¡°I have honored the terms of our duel,¡± the nobleman said, spitting blood. It was running down his broken nose in bubbling gushes, and his teeth were red as he bared them at me. ¡°Now I ask you recall some modicum of honor. Spare my family. They have done you no wrong.¡±


    I paused, curious. I hadn¡¯t been tasked with destroying the undead here, only killing their master. I had no plans to purge this place, but he didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°Once you¡¯re dead,¡± I said, ¡°they¡¯ll return to their realm. The Law of Draubard¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dictates that the dead must leave the lands of the living once the conditions of their errantry are fulfilled or face reprisal from their own, yes I know.¡± The earl spat bloody phlegm onto the beautifully carved stone of his great hall again. ¡°But these had no conditions on their return. I only opened the door. They are...¡± he sighed. ¡°They are escapees. They will be punished if you send them back. So please...¡± he took a ragged breath, the fight having done worse to him in his old age than he¡¯d let on while masked. ¡°Please let them be.¡±


    I stared at the man, dumbfounded. Of all the stupid, irresponsible, dangerous things he might have done, calling up the dead with no stipulations had to be among the most severely foolish. I glanced nervously around at the desiccated faces watching me, sensing again that dire attention from them. The soldiers clutched their poleaxes in skeletal hands, waiting with eerie, perfect stillness.


    Nothing stopped them from tearing me to pieces. Not the earl, not the enigmatic laws of the Underworld, not anything. I turned my gaze back to Emery. ¡°You¡¯re a goring idiot,¡± I said.


    The earl laughed his weird laugh again, though it seemed half-hearted. ¡°Yes. But I don¡¯t owe you my story, butcher. Be done with it. I¡¯ll face my punishment soon enough.¡±


    I glanced again at the man¡¯s reanimated wife. She still knelt on the floor where I¡¯d shoved her, skirts spread around as though she were rising from an island of fine silks. Her eyes were on the earl, not on me.


    Maybe I should have heard the man¡¯s story. Maybe, in another life, we might have even been allies. I¡¯ve thought many times on that night since, and I still don¡¯t know if I made the right choice. I think I would have made a different one later, as the man I would eventually become. But I was the Headsman of Seydis then, who some called Blackbough and others Bloody Al. I¡¯d been bound by my role and my prejudices.


    Emery Planter, the necromancer, the Recusant, had endangered many lives regardless of the reasons. His ghoulish court was a mockery, I believed.


    I made many excuses, then and later. But, in the end, I just didn¡¯t want to believe I had a choice. So I killed him.


    It happened without much drama. I took my stance above him and slightly to the side, just as I¡¯d done at the cathedral in Vinhithe. Just as that far-away executioner in a rain-soaked square had executed the knight whose name I¡¯d never learned.


    The earl removed his helmet and bared his neck obligingly, proud as any lord I¡¯d ever met. My axe came down. Cutting off someone¡¯s head isn¡¯t easy. Even a good blade can foul on bone. But I am no ordinary warrior, and Table-given prowess and elven bronze did their work. It was clean and quick as I could make it.


    The head rolled to a stop next to the kneeling countess. She picked up her husband¡¯s head, cradling it with near skeletal hands in her lap, even adjusting his gray hair. Then, without a word, the dead woman looked to her son. I followed her gaze and saw the boy staring at the decapitated corpse of his mad father. His pale, haggard face twisted with some emotion I couldn¡¯t name. Mixed grief and relief, I thought. The nightmare had ended. I would have to drive the dead out, perhaps take him out of here if I couldn¡¯t fight them all. No clue what I¡¯d do after. I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d decided to save the boy until that moment.


    The new earl of Strekke looked at the corpse of his predecessor for a long moment. He glanced at the monk standing near his side, who may have nodded. Then the young lord took a deep breath, a calm settling over his young shoulders. Then he looked at me with hard eyes said, ¡°kill him.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 2: The Drowning Dead

    Arc 2: Chapter 2: The Drowning Dead


    I burst through the castle window, dead hands clinging to me.


    That moment then might have lasted forever, and it did last in my memory, stark and crisp as a waking dream even now. I remember the two moons, emerald and cerulean in the sky, dominating that great cathedral of stars. I remember the woods and fields and hills of Strekke spread out beneath the silver odlight shining from the sunless heavens, an oddly beautiful scene, startling next to the macabre darkness I¡¯d just escaped.


    Then, with a startling sense of deja vu, I beheld the river below. Its dark waters expanded in my vision as I fell. When I struck the river¡¯s surface I hit hard and felt all the breath go out of me, knew my body would be badly bruised later. I had more to worry about than bruises then.


    The wights wouldn¡¯t let go, even when one of the skeletal creatures broke near in half from the impact of striking water at speed. There were three of them ¡ª no, four of them, as one still animate hand gripped tightly to my elbow ¡ª and they doggedly kept trying to subdue me even as we hit the mud of the riverbed.


    I was blind. I¡¯d managed to get a breath in me before going under, but it had been lost in that first moment of striking the water, driven out as surely as if an ogre¡¯s fist had slammed into my chest. I struggled not to breath, struggled against the dead hands trying to keep me from moving. They pressed me into the mud, brown water turning the world black. I thrashed. One of those skeletal hands found the edge of my neck, scraping at skin with broken fingernails. It shifted again, managed to wrap around my throat.


    I panicked. Couldn¡¯t use my aura, couldn¡¯t focus ¡ª I could burn it, but I had so little left after days of fighting. It could kill me.


    The hand around my neck squeezed harder. In a flash of terror and rage I let my essence flare, filling the muddy water with golden-red light. The hands around me loosened, and I kicked at one armored carcass so it went tumbling along the river bed, carried off by the current. I turned, lost my sense of up and down, managed to get my fingers around the hand at my neck and tear it away. Skin came away with it, the pain like bad sunburn along my throat.


    My armor ¡ª elf made ¡ª didn¡¯t weigh me down in the water, but my natural weight did. There are times being a big man has its advantages, and times it did not.


    But I was free. The dead ¡ª anything powered purely by od ¡ª don¡¯t like the touch of pure aura, and mine is more potent than most.


    I fought the urge to suck in an involuntary breath, my lungs screaming for air. All I would get was filthy river-water, but my body rebelled against the logic of my mind. Fear and need grappled in me with all the hateful violence of two wolves snarling over a diseased carcass. My vision started to blur. I grasped for something, anything, to hold onto. My hands went through liquid mud and nothing else.


    I was going to die. Die on that riverbed, beneath that old castle in the middle of a haunted provincial countryside. I was weak, cold to my bones, flailing as I tumbled with the current.


    Then, when I died, things would get much worse. No peaceful rest for me, not after what I¡¯d done, what I¡¯d failed to do.


    My fingers managed to grasp something. Even in that drowning haze I instinctively tightened my grip, jerking to a stop. I nearly lost my hold. I tried to get my other hand around it ¡ª I didn¡¯t have my axe, didn¡¯t care just then ¡ª and slipped further. A branch, I think, some piece of gnarled, rotted driftwood. I kicked off the riverbed, managed not to get my foot trapped in the deep mud, and got both hands on the branch. I pulled, using every scrap of my failing strength.


    A moment later ¡ª what felt like an eternity ¡ª I broke the surface of the water. I sucked in moonlit air, then nearly went under again as a dead hand tightened around my ankle. One of the wights had managed to keep close. I kicked, connected with a brittle skull, then kicked again. The hand wouldn¡¯t let go. I started pulling myself along the branch instead, seeing that it connected to most of a fallen tree at the river¡¯s edge. My arms trembling from exhaustion, strain, and that soul-deep cold of burning too much aura, I managed to reach the river, tumbling along rocks and muddy silt.


    I closed my eyes, holding tight to the tree and taking as long as I dared to gather my strength. It was a warm summer night, but I shivered violently from the river and from aurechill. My wound bled into the dirty water. I would have despaired of infection if I didn¡¯t know I was mostly immune.


    My mind flashed back to the earl¡¯s hall. The boy, seeing his father beheaded and then looking to me with hate in his young eyes. All of the fear I¡¯d seen in him recontextualized as my mind calmed and caught up with the past hour of bodily struggle. Not fear of the undead and his mad father, but fear for them. And of me.


    Another head claimed. Another enemy made. I didn¡¯t feel truly guilty in killing the earl, just as I hadn¡¯t felt it with the bishop or more than two score others. They were monsters. Murderers. The earl might have seemed a clown, even shown tenderness to his family, but his creatures had attacked villages in the region, even put the castle of another lesser lord to torch. He was a warlord, and one who played with occult powers even as Leonis Chancer had played with faith, neither understanding nor caring just how far that flame could spread if left unchecked. Both had acted beneath the Accord¡¯s knowledge, hidden cancers in the tapestry of the realms.


    And when had I started helping the Choir justify all of this? I wasn¡¯t some righteous crusader. I¡¯d never wanted that. Knighthood had meant something different to me than bloody-handed zealotry, something... Something...


    What had it meant? When had I lost that thread?


    A glint of moonlight on metal drew my eye. I saw, a ways down the river, an object caught in an outcrop of tangled roots. My axe.


    ¡°Bastard thing,¡± I muttered. ¡°Too much to ask you get lost in the mud, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The axe had no response. Despite my bitter feelings, it was just an axe. But it was also attuned to my own aura, and I couldn¡¯t lose it unless I or someone else deliberately tried. And, if I did that, I¡¯d may as well throw myself on a sword. Besides, I¡¯d be without a very good weapon.


    I needed to retrieve it. Cursing, I began pulling myself out of the river. When that was done I would need to get out of Strekke, tend my injuries, and then...


    And then wait for another task from the Onsolain. Perhaps they would send me after the new earl of Strekke. I felt as though I¡¯d accomplished nothing here. Less than nothing. Why am I doing this? I asked myself as I pulled myself out of the water, sodden and limping. Is it to make a difference, or save my own soul?


    I didn¡¯t know. Not then. Thinking about it so often had become a relatively new and more frequent experience. I didn¡¯t mind fighting evil, had dedicated my life to it, but this role as Headsman, the past five years... it was assassin¡¯s work. I was a terrible assassin. I¡¯d fought the earl in a duel, for Onsolem¡¯s sake.


    As I pulled my axe free of the tanglewood and began limping into the woods, I heard a distant hunting horn emit a mournful call over the land. Tightening my grip on my weapon, I pushed forward into the wilderness.


    I had a long road ahead of me. If I¡¯d known then what lay at the end of it, what answers the questions and doubts burning in my mind would stumble onto, I might have let the dead have me.

 Arc 2: Chapter 3: Oathbound

    Arc 2: Chapter 3: Oathbound


    The hunting horns sounded before I¡¯d drawn within three miles of Strekke¡¯s border. Wounded, limping my way through the scattered woods, I knew I couldn¡¯t outrun them.Fo?ll0w current novE?ls on n/o/(v)/3l/b((in).(co/m)


    Didn¡¯t matter if I could move fast, as much blood as I left in my wake. The child necromancer¡¯s undead bloodhounds could track me until I collapsed.


    I needed a way out.


    Ghosts haunted my steps as I drew deeper into the wilderness. Drawn by the scent of my blood and my Alder-alloyed soul, they congregated in the shadows until the woods seemed nearly alive with their writhing shapes. Some mocked me, or begged for my help, or muttered in confusion. A few tried to encourage me along, but the more benign voices became lost in the din.


    The horns sounded again, closer.


    I needed a way out.


    There wasn¡¯t one. I felt a cold tendril of despair coil its way through me.


    It shouldn¡¯t have surprised me then, when she appeared.


    A black cloud moved over the moons, casting all the woods and fields in shadow. That shadow was a tangible thing, an aura just as real as my own magic and countless times more potent. It made its presence known in the forest with the impact of a heavy, bloodied hoof against the ground, with a guttural snort and the rattling of rusted chains.


    I stopped my march as an enormous destrier, of the kind once used in war before the myriad breeds of chimera had proliferated, moved to block the field in front of me. It snorted, bloodshot eyes rolling to fix on me with eager malice.


    ¡°Do you have anything better to do than follow me around?¡± I asked the nightmare¡¯s rider, even as a cold dread ate its way into my veins.


    A porcelain mask resembling a beautiful face smiled down at me, empty eyes narrowing with mirth. The slow spreading of that smile was like a wound cutting its way across a moon. Though dark clouds had drawn a curtain over the stars, the fallen angel exuded her own eerie light.


    Nath patted the head of her enormous warhorse and tilted her own to one side, waves of black hair rippling as though underwater. ¡°This is but one of my many shadows, knightling. Unlike my brethren on their high mountain, I have not diminished myself for the sake of you mortals, and can divide myself as I please.¡±


    I stared warily up at the shining figure. She¡¯d dressed differently since the last time we¡¯d met. In the woods beyond Vinhithe, she¡¯d worn a flowing white gown like some faerie queen out of legend. This time, the Dark Lady of Urn had donned a suit of plate mail fashioned all of poisonous green metal, its seams glowing faintly as though lit from within.


    Noticing that I¡¯d noticed the change in wardrobe, Nath laughed. The sound made night flowers wither in the grass. ¡°I told you when last we met, knightling! I am refashioning myself as a warlord. For war does approach. Powers are stirring, my sweet, and we had best all be prepared.¡±


    Horns sounded again. Closer. I tensed and grit my teeth. ¡°If you¡¯re here to make the same offer as last time¡ª¡±


    Nath waved a hand, as though batting my words aside. ¡°Last time we met, you were on the brink of death. No, I don¡¯t expect you to make reasonable choices, Alken Hewer, not when it is only your own body and soul on the line.¡±


    ¡°Then are you just here to watch me die?¡± I asked. It seemed likely.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Nath said, flashing ivory teeth. ¡°I am here to give you your next task, Headsman. You have delivered the Choir¡¯s doom to Emery Planter, Earl of Strekke. You are now free to conduct other business, yes?¡±


    ¡°Not your business,¡± I growled. ¡°You might be Onsolain, Nath, but you aren¡¯t Choir anymore. I don¡¯t take orders from you.¡±


    ¡°Tsk, tsk.¡± Nath waved a finger back and forth. ¡°I imagine, if it were my sister here instead of I, you would not speak so rudely. Discourtesy does not become a knight of the Alder.¡±


    Nath¡¯s sister, the Lady Eanor, had the benefit of not being a tyrannical devil who¡¯d haunted the land for centuries. I tightened my lips into a thin line rather than saying as much out loud, mainly because she had a point about courtesy. There¡¯d been a time I wouldn¡¯t have spoken to anyone that way.


    When had I lost that chivalric mien? Sometime during the past decade, in my tenure as the Headsman of Seydis, executioner and doomsman of the Divine Choir?


    Earlier?


    ¡°You have been badly wounded,¡± Nath said, touching her breast. Any sympathy there meant little when she inhaled and shuddered, as though drunk on my discomfort. ¡°But you should not forget what you are. We have not.¡±


    Damn it.


    I could refuse, and face the consequences. Could I get away with that?


    ¡°What do you need me to do?¡± I asked the Fallen, returning to the conversation at hand.


    Nath leaned forward on her saddle, unsettling her steed. The fiendish horse seemed to hate its rider as much as it hated everything else. ¡°I have a... disciple. I suppose you would call such a one a warlock. I grant this mortal favors and knowledge, and in return my own interests are served. Most recently, my intervention has been requested in a particular matter. I cannot intervene directly... I am still Onsolain.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like where this was going. ¡°So you want me to intervene on your behalf.¡±


    ¡°Precisely!¡± Nath smiled and inclined her head. ¡°I need a representative to act in my name, to serve my warlock where I may not. So, as my kin have loaned your service to me, I am loaning your service to my vassal. You will go, speak in my name, act as my arm, and do as my disciple commands. Do this to my satisfaction, and I shall be well pleased.¡±


    ¡°And if they ask me to slaughter a village?¡± I asked, not quite keeping the bite from my voice. ¡°Assassinate a rival? I won¡¯t be your bloody patsy, Nath.¡±


    ¡°You will do as I command,¡± Nath replied, cold. ¡°Or I shall take umbrage with the Choir for loaning me such an ill instrument, and you and they both shall reap the consequences.¡±


    Donnelly winced. I bit off a curse. As far as threats went, she¡¯d made an effective one. The consequences for abandoning my oath, not to mention renewing tensions between Heavensreach and the Briar, were not ones I wanted to contemplate.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Nath continued in a bored tone, as though she hadn¡¯t just threatened to drag the whole subcontinent into another war, ¡°I am not unreasonable. My warlock has asked for my aid in a specific matter, and your services are being granted in pursuit of that selfsame issue. My vassal shall be made aware that you are not a slave to be ordered about, and you hold the right of refusal for any request which threatens to compromise your existent oaths. Does this please you, Sir Headsman?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t please me,¡± I groused. ¡°But...¡± I glanced at Donnelly. ¡°Do I have a choice?¡±


    Donnelly shrugged. ¡°You heard the devil woman, Al. I don¡¯t think the Choir will be too happy if you snub her... just like they won¡¯t be happy if you abuse their agent.¡± He directed that last at the Fallen. Nath only inclined her head, gracing him with a beatific smile.


    I closed my eyes. The hunting horns sounded again, but they¡¯d drawn further away. Nath¡¯s shadows must have headed them off. Whatever else, she was good for her word. And dangerous as Hell.


    Key word on Hell. I didn¡¯t use hyperbole.


    Even still, this felt like a fresh sort of compromise of what I¡¯d once been. Perhaps it¡¯s self indulgent of me to keep thinking of myself as a blessed paladin ¡ª I¡¯d gone far down the lefthand path by that point. Even still, serving the whims of fallen demigods and their warlocks?


    It didn¡¯t sit right. And I didn¡¯t see a way out of it.


    I was oathbound.


    Lias could have talked his way out of this, I thought. What I wouldn¡¯t give to have the clever wizard around.


    What I wouldn¡¯t give to have any of my old comrades around. Donnelly was more a co-worker, and we hadn¡¯t been close before the Fall.


    ¡°Tell me more about this warlock,¡± I said, squaring my shoulders. ¡°Who are they, and where am I supposed to go?¡±


    Nath¡¯s smile broadened, until it seemed to consume the whole of her face. A grinning shadow. ¡°I will not have my proxy look so... battered.¡± She pursed her gray lips, studying me critically. ¡°Take the time you need to make yourself presentable. I shall send a messenger with details soon.¡±


    She turned her horse and vanished into the woods.


    ¡°Alken¡ª¡± Donnelly started to speak.


    ¡°Save it.¡± Anger smoldered in me, heavy and poisonous. I started limping toward the woods. ¡°Get me a path through the Wend. I¡¯m going home.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 4: Orias Fane

    Arc 2: Chapter 4: Oria''s Fane


    Dusk drew near as I approached the familiar bridge, the fifth since I had departed the Planter demesne. Autumnal light filtered through the shedding trees, orange as a dying candle flame. Leaves crunched under my iron-weighted boots, or played in wind-caught eddies around the hem of my red cloak. I rested my axe on my shoulder as I advanced, unbound. No need to hide it where I headed.


    I paused at the entrance to the bridge, running my eyes over the ancient green stone. Moss and ivy covered nearly every inch of the structure, grown so dense in some places I could barely make out the engravings on the three high arches. I took a moment to rifle through the satchels tied to my belt, found what I needed, then waited a while.


    My ears caught a sound beneath. Claws on stone. Then, fast and clever as an ape, a diminutive shape scurried up the arches, swung from one to leap several feet in the air, then land dexterously on all fours. Pale, glinting eyes shone down at me from a gnarled, ancient face set above a squat body. Short, bent legs with long claws grasped the mossy stone as a gnarled hand attached to an over-long arm came up to stroke a tuft of gray goatee. The creature was all gray and green, the same colors as the bridge, with a pot belly and horny growths sprouting from every limb.


    I inclined my head respectfully. ¡°Hezrobog.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still alive.¡± The bridge troll muttered, sniffing contemptuously. ¡°Figures.¡±


    ¡°Only barely,¡± I offered, then gestured to the bridge. ¡°May I cross?¡±


    ¡°Depends,¡± Hezrobog said, propping his cheek on a fist nearly large as his round head. ¡°Do you have the toll?¡±


    My lips tightened into a thin line. ¡°I live here, Hez.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Hezrobog of the Fane Bridge to you, you half baked knight. And you don¡¯t live here more than a month or three out of every year. You¡¯re a free loader, you and the old man...¡± His deeply recessed eyes, nearly shining in the gloom, studied me critically. ¡°You know the customs. Toll for crossing, or you can find your way through the forest.¡± He waved a hand toward the darkening woods.


    I sighed, and began fishing around in my cloak. ¡°You¡¯re a stodgy old wart, Hezrobog.¡±


    The troll clucked his tongue impatiently. I produced a closed fist and proffered it, opening my fingers to reveal a single mottled gray petal. ¡°An Ash Rose, from the Tempering Hills in Oshelm.¡±


    As if on cue, a gust of wind took the petal from my hand. Hezrobog caught it, sniffed suspiciously, then studied it with more interest. ¡°I have not known this scent before,¡± he admitted. ¡°It suffices. Cross.¡±


    I moved across the bridge, feeling the ancient sentinel¡¯s eyes on my back. The woodland path changed as I moved into the forest beyond the troll bridge. The sun finished its decline, and the greater moon rose full to cast the woods in shades of black and silver. My boots clipped over slabs of river stone placed in a meandering trail through the trees, and the music of a stream found my ears. Enormous webs linked many of the trees, the dew clinging to them catching the moonlight.


    Witch-light guided me into the Fane. Some of it came from the elf-made structures, tall arches and meandering walkways circumnavigating a winding stream and those trees which grew along its path. Some of it came from blue lanterns hung here and there, or from wild wisps blinking through the woods. I crossed another bridge, smaller and lacking a sentry, and passed into...


    Home, I suppose. At least for a brief time.


    I crossed into the shrine proper as I passed beneath a tall arch. A fountain trickled in something like a village square. Its waters fed a narrow channel which emptied into several small pools, fed also by the stream. Under the rising moon, they seemed like little patches of molten silver. Quiet string music played through the space, soothing and subtly sad. A temple fashioned in amphitheater style lay beyond the pools, its interior lost in shadow. Not far off, a path ascended a gentle slope deeper into the woods.


    I began to move toward that slope. I stopped when a voice cracked the night¡¯s serenity.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re still alive. And you decided to come crawling back.¡±


    I still had my cloak¡¯s pointed cowl up, which hopefully masked the grimace that flickered across my face. I turned, smoothing my expression into polite neutrality. ¡°Oraeke. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be back from the south so soon.¡±


    It isn¡¯t often anyone is tall enough to glare down at me. I¡¯m most of two meters tall, and I¡¯m used to looming. The figure standing beneath the arches of the temple pushed seven feet, and had me beat in sheer brawn as well. She wore a loose garment of deep blue cloth laden with decoratives of brass and iron hung about a frame solid as mountain stone. Ceremonial armbands strained against biceps thick as my legs. A single calloused hand clutched a tall, broad-headed spear in a tight grip. Fiery red hair framed an angular face set with two bright, glaring eyes dark as obsidian, save for the tiny pricks of faerie light shining at their centers.


    When I met that fell gaze, Oraeke bared teeth framed by wolfish canines, the lower jutting up long enough nearly to protrude from the lips even when closed.


    Elves are not of singular form. Sure, people might think of them as lithe, graceful, eternally young sprites of the woodland, and many appear that way. It¡¯s half glamour, at least half the time. The pointy eared youths we think of when we think elf make up only one of countless forms the Sidhe can take. In truth, many of the ¡°monsters¡± men think of when they think of the ancients ¡ª goblins, trolls, dryads, satyrs, some varieties of vampire, and stranger things still ¡ª these are all close kindred, all Elden.


    And, sometimes, an elf maid might be seven feet tall and built like a war chimera. Just because they¡¯re called ¡°The Fair Folk¡± doesn¡¯t mean they conform to a single definition of fair.


    ¡°I thought for certain you¡¯d died some ignominious death out there,¡± Oraeke said, studying me through slitted eyes.


    I was too tired to spar with the elf. ¡°Life¡¯s full of little disappointments.¡± I turned my eyes forward and started walking again.


    ¡°It¡¯s no matter for jest,¡± she said. Something about her tone made me pause and glance back. Oraeke had an odd expression. Her lips were pressed tight, her brow furrowed. Anger and concern warring for their place. She glanced up the hill. ¡°He¡¯s gotten worse since you left.¡±


    I understood the expression then. Hurt. I drew in a breath and turned to face her more fully. ¡°How bad is it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± the old man said. His voice rasped from dry lips. When the fire caught the edge of his face, the gold riddling an eye that had once been all green glinted with feverish intensity, ringed in bruised layers of shadow. He hadn¡¯t been sleeping.


    I decided not to comment on his astute observation. I doffed my cloak and hung it by the door. My eyes caught on the glint of gilded steel on the bed. The pieces of a beautiful set of armor had been strewn haphazardly across it, including a helm set with elfhorn, its angles enwrapped in vines wrought from gold. The metal was shadow green, every inch of it etched with flowing script, a single pauldron sporting the ascending figure of an androgynous angel with wings outstretched. Worlds prettier than my black chainmail, which I also started to strip out of.


    At the clinking of iron links, the old man frowned and turned more fully in his chair. His skin was a map of wrinkles, once well tanned but now ashen from lack of sun. His long hair had gone all to gray in the last few years, time catching up to him. I still remembered when it had been vibrant auburn, when his face had not been so withered. He looked sunken in on himself, the eyes deeply recessed, the bones stark against papery skin.


    He had more scars since I¡¯d last seen him, too. On his arms, and on his face. Nail marks. When I saw his fingers, the nails were torn nearly down to their roots.


    Oraeke had said he¡¯d gotten worse, but I hadn¡¯t expected the evidence to be so visible.


    ¡°You have new armor,¡± he said. He sniffed, as though he could scent the metal from across the room. ¡°That¡¯s dark elf make.¡±


    ¡°A gift from an oradyn,¡± I said, as I took a blanket tossed against one wall to use as a satchel for the armor.


    The old man grunted, then turned back to his carving. He took up the blade and the sound of steel scraping against wood once again filled the room. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t clad ourselves in black. It¡¯s not right, not right at all. That¡¯s not who we are, Ser Alken.¡±


    I shrugged, finished removing my gear so I only wore my worn shirt and leggings, then walked to the small bed. I studied the masterwork armor thrown carelessly across it. ¡°I thought this had been locked away in the shrine, for safekeeping.¡± I glanced at the weapon above the hearth. ¡°Your sword, too.¡±


    Impatience crept into the old man¡¯s voice. ¡°What good would it do locked away by the elves? It¡¯s mine, I earned it, swore to wear it all the rest of my days.¡±


    He stole it back, I realized, feeling something in my chest tighten. ¡°Maxim¡ª¡±


    The knight¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Ser Maxim, Lord Alken. Just because we live in exile among these faeries doesn¡¯t mean we must forget proper form. Our mien during benighted times shows our true worth, you mustn¡¯t forget that.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re safe here,¡± I told him, resisting the urge to remind him he was no longer my captain, and that neither of us were proper knights anymore. ¡°You¡¯re safe. This place is guarded, and Oraeke and the others don¡¯t mean us any harm.¡±


    ¡°If you think that,¡± Maxim hissed, ¡°then you are a fool. They keep me here to watch me. They think I¡¯ll go mad, like Alicia and the rest.¡±


    I moved to the edge of the table. He ignored me, hacking violently at the carving, mutilating the half-finished king he¡¯d been coaxing from the block. With mild horror, I realized the kingly effigy had been carved with a sword in its heart. Maxim¡¯s golden eyes shone in the dim light, just as I knew mine did.


    ¡°When did you last sleep, Sir?¡± I asked quietly, not wanting to sound accusing.


    ¡°Can¡¯t sleep,¡± the knight rasped, a hint of despair creeping through the anger. ¡°The dreams don¡¯t relent.¡±


    I ran a thumb along the ring on my right hand. Set on my forefinger, the ivory band clasped a shard of fomorisite, a stone resembling black glass. It was cold to the touch, with eddies of red swirling deep within the black, like rivulets of blood. It still had a few nights left in it, before it needed cleansing.


    I slipped it off and proffered it. ¡°You need to rest, Sir.¡±


    Maxim¡¯s eyes flickered to the ring. He swallowed, setting his tools down. He hesitated a moment, then snatched it. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, screwing it onto his own gnarled knuckle. ¡°Need to keep my strength up. Never know when the call will come.¡±


    I can last one night without it, I told myself. The Fane was safe, my dreams wouldn¡¯t be intruded on. Even still, it was a struggle not to close my fingers around the talisman and pull it back.


    Maxim glanced at me, a hint of shame creeping into his atrophied features. ¡°You¡¯ve been gone a long time.¡± He nodded and started to stand. ¡°There¡¯s still some stew left in the pot. I¡¯ll get you a bowl.¡±


    I resisted the urge to help him stand. It would have been one of the more cutting offenses I could have given to any knight, and especially to a man who¡¯d been Alder. He struggled, failed twice to stand, then hefted himself, grabbing a gnarled cane off the wall. He began to limp toward the hearth. He¡¯d become very frail, his woolen shirt hanging limp over near skeletal shoulders. I could see more scabbed wounds peeking like creeping vines above the collar of his shirt. Had he been scourging himself, again? One of my hands tightened into a fist. I¡¯d asked the shrine¡¯s keepers to watch him for that.


    He¡¯d been among the older knights, when I¡¯d joined the Table. After its breaking, the long years of health the elven magic had given him had begun to take their due. How old was he? A century? More?


    ¡°Could use more water to boil,¡± Maxim said, lifting the pot. ¡°I¡¯ll get more vegetables from the garden.¡±


    I nodded, glad of the opportunity to get some fresh air. Five minutes in that cottage, and I felt desperate to escape again. ¡°I¡¯ll go down to the stream.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 5: They Who Deal Death

    Arc 2: Chapter 5: They Who Deal Death


    I grabbed a bucket and started down the hill, moving a ways off from the path. I could see easily through the shadowed woods, even in those places where the trees grew too dense for the moons to peek through. The stream shone like molten silver to my Alder-blessed eyes, the horned hares and night crows easy to spot amid the trees. The darkness gathered deeper beyond the bounds of the shrine, thick with restless shades, but I wouldn¡¯t need to go that far. I could see the Fane¡¯s barrier, where the huge webs had been woven dense through the canopy.


    I took my time filling the bucket. Gentle music filled the woods, deep and resonant, like a giant strumming at a lyre. I closed my eyes and drank it in, drank in the starlight too, feeling both more at ease than I had in months and aching terribly. I studied my reflection in the water, seeing my own long, morose face staring back at me. My copper hair, touched lightly with gold, had grown very long during my frequent travels. My amber eyes, bright with aura, sat in rings of shadow disturbingly alike to the old man in the cottage. My gaze lingered on the four long, fever-red scars running from my left temple to just above my mouth. I touched them lightly, and the ever-present burn itched along the marks.


    Only when I realized ten minutes or more had passed, me wasting that time staring into my scarred reflection in the water, did I know consciously I stalled.


    ¡°It is always painful to see the old lose themselves,¡± a gentle voice said.


    I glanced to the speaker. She sat against a large stone along the stream¡¯s edge, and like Oraeke she was an elf. However, unlike the Fane¡¯s guardian, she looked more akin to the classical idea of the Sidhe. Slender and young, standing at perhaps five and a half feet tall, her pale skin shining brightly even though she sat beneath the shadow of a tree and no moonlight touched her. She wore a short dress of pale green silk clasped at one shoulder, the style ancient, leaving her legs bare.Upstodatee from


    ¡°Lady Rysanthe.¡± I stood hastily to my full height and turned to face her, dipping into a bow much more formal than I¡¯d given the bridge troll or even the master smith. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you¡¯d returned.¡±


    The she-elf laughed softly, the motion causing the plates of silver around her neck to jingle softly. She had similar plates belted around her slim waist, with smaller disks like large coins draped over her chest and shoulders. Sandals laced up to mid-calf wrapped her small feet, and bands weighed down her arms, each fashioned from silver or ivory. A thin silver circlet, depicting a sleepy-eyed skull, bound bluntly cut bangs, the rest of her white-blond hair secured in a tight braid bound at each link with what looked like shards of pale bone.


    ¡°Always so gallant," she teased. "Am I to proffer my hand for a kiss, like one of your noble ladies?¡±


    When I blushed, she laughed again, though there was no mockery in it. ¡°It heartens me that you can still be teased, dear Alken. Our work is fell, my friend, and it is good not to lose yourself to it. Still, just call me Rys. We are friends and comrades in Their service, are we not?¡±


    I opened my mouth, words failing me. The idea of referring to the closest thing our strange order had to a leader so informally went against my low birth and all my training. ¡°You¡¯re my captain,¡± I said at last. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be proper.¡±


    Rysanthe scoffed. ¡°We have no captains, and we are only an order in the most informal of senses. Let us not stand on ceremony, you and I.¡± Relenting, the elf leaned forward and clasped her hands together. ¡°I have been back a few days. You only just arrived?¡±


    At my nod, Rysanthe leapt gracefully from the stone and paced across the bank to stand at my side, hands clasped behind her back. She stopped at the edge of the shadowed canopy, sniffing at the pale grass touched by the rising moons. Her violet eyes drifted to the cottage at the top of the hill, then to the pale patch of skin on my right forefinger. ¡°Ah,¡± she said, a sad smile of understanding forming on her lips.


    I shuffled, resisting the urge to hide the hand. ¡°He... isn¡¯t well. I just want him to get some rest.¡±


    ¡°I understand, Alken, but I made that talisman to protect you. It is attuned to your soul, and will resent being shared.¡± She lifted a hand, displaying several rings all similar to the one I usually wore, each fashioned from bone or ivory. One had even been woven from what looked like gray wood. ¡°I deal in curses,¡± she said. ¡°They have a tendency to cling tightly to whatever they touch. Besides...¡± she sighed and glanced toward the cabin. ¡°What troubles the good knight¡¯s mind comes from within himself, and my talismans can do little to ease that burden.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. ¡°But it might at least get him to try to sleep. As for the dangers... well, I don¡¯t expect to be here long.¡±


    Rysanthe canted her head to one side, the motion oddly birdlike. ¡°The Choir has given you another task so soon?¡±


    This time, I did grimace. ¡°In a way.¡± Then, in brief, I told her about Nath. By the time I had finished, the pale elf¡¯s lips had tightened into a frown. She spat a foul oath in draus, nasty enough some of the leaves withered on their branches nearby. I lifted an eyebrow at the show of blasphemy from the elf.


    ¡°So,¡± Rysanthe said musingly, ¡°the lords of Heavensreach seek to make peace with the Angel of the Briar. The ways of the gods are strange indeed, and in strange times withstand all scrutiny.¡±


    It sounded like a quote, but many things elves say do. Half joking I said, ¡°I thought you eld didn¡¯t think of the Onsolain as gods?¡±


    Rysanthe shrugged. ¡°We do not. And... we do. It is complicated. They are our fathers and mothers, our aunts and uncles, our cousins. Our lords. Do you mortals not worship your elders?¡±


    I spread out my fingers in a nonplussed gesture. ¡°Whatever the case, it seems odd they¡¯d have me running a diplomatic errand. I¡¯m their executioner.¡±


    ¡°You are a Doomsman,¡± Rysanthe said, her fey manner becoming grave. ¡°Same as I.¡± One of her bracelet-laden hands dropped to a tool at her hip, an ornately carved rod fashioned of black wood banded in silver. The head had been fashioned into a crown of sorts, with a hollow in its center. ¡°Our duty is to dispense the judgement of the gods, to be their hands, and if needed, their blades. Humans have lost the meaning of this, I think. You think of the word doom, and you think of death, calamity. It also means judgment. Fate.¡±


    I frowned, considering her words. ¡°You think they have some judgment they want me to pass while I¡¯m carrying out Nath¡¯s bidding?¡±


    Rysanthe lifted one pale shoulder, then dropped it. ¡°Perhaps. Yours is a new role... and an old one. New, because you are the first mortal to hold it, and old, because there have been other Headsmen in ages past. Just as I am not the first to be Death To The Deathless.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± I said, curling the fingers of my left hand as though to accept those words like a tossed parcel. ¡°But, so far as I know, it¡¯s always been a drow elf who¡¯s been Death.¡±


    Rysanthe spread her hands, mimicking my earlier gesture. She stepped into the moonlight, grimacing, to stand at my side. Odd, how so small a figure could be a reaper of immortals. She breathed in the night air, discomfort and satisfaction warring on her ivory pale face. ¡°A gorgeous night,¡± she said. ¡°The false stars we light in Draubard are not half so grand as the real thing, for all the art my people put in them.¡±


    Rysanthe blinked, surprised. As a nymph, even one born in the gloom of the Underworld, I¡¯m certain she¡¯d become accustomed to mortal men gladly accepting her immortal enchantments. Realization flashed in her eyes and she winced. ¡°I forgot. Forgive me.¡±


    I swallowed my anger. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll rest, Rys, but on my own terms.¡±


    When I turned back toward the hill, I saw another ghost-lit figure standing amid the trees. Donnelly still wore his regal adventurer¡¯s garb, patterned cape slung over one shoulder, medals dangling from his chest. He inclined his head in a gentlemanly fashion to the elf-maid, who dipped into a graceful curtsy in response.


    ¡°Lord Herald,¡± Rysanthe greeted the spirit.


    ¡°Lady Death,¡± Donnelly said, flashing a roguish smile.


    I hefted the bucket of water and made to move past him. Donnelly followed me with his gray eyes and spoke before I¡¯d reached the bottom of the hill.


    ¡°I¡¯ve managed to get more information about your next task,¡± the ghost said. ¡°We could discuss it and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, interrupting him without meeting his eyes or stopping. ¡°No need to ruin the surprise.¡±


    ¡°Al...¡± Donnelly stepped out of another shadow ahead of me. Damn ghost tricks. I stopped and turned my best glower on him. As a spirit, even one touched by divinity, the touch of my aura-laced eyes made him wince as though caught by a bright light.


    ¡°Every time I¡¯ve gone into anything the past year,¡± I said quietly, enunciating each word with sharp clarity, ¡°I¡¯ve been caught by some nasty twist. The Glorysworn in Vinhithe. A whole pack of Recusants in Caelfall. The necromancer lord in Strekke turned out to be a little boy, rather than the earl himself, and now this insanity with Nath, and thank you for not giving me any warning on that, by the way. In all these situations I nearly died because I didn¡¯t know what I was going into.¡±


    I let those words sink in. Donnelly shifted in discomfort. Rysanthe watched our exchange from a distance, but I didn¡¯t care. I jabbed a finger at the ghost, feeling the anger I¡¯d been holding for months boil up and out of my lips.


    ¡°I expect vague nonsense and pretty manipulations from them,¡± I said, ¡°but I thought you and I had each other¡¯s backs.¡±


    ¡°I do have your back Al,¡± Donnelly insisted, spreading his hands, perhaps to show he held no blades in them. ¡°But I¡¯m just one man ¡ª spirit, whatever. If I could have warned you about all those things, I would have. I¡¯m their messenger, not their spymaster.¡±


    ¡°The old herald did plenty of spying,¡± I said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not him,¡± Donnelly insisted, growing angry himself now.


    ¡°I¡¯m sick of getting caught by things with my trousers down,¡± I snapped. I knew I was taking my frustration at the gods out on the messenger. I knew I was being unfair, that he hadn¡¯t acted maliciously. I didn¡¯t care just then. In my mind, all I could see was blood, blood, blood. Dead faces, dead hands, a child¡¯s eyes cold with hatred as he pointed a finger at me and ordered his ghastly minions to kill.


    I thought of Ser Maxim, tormented from within by his own altered soul. I didn¡¯t know if the Choir could heal him, but they certainly hadn¡¯t tried, and it was their power scorching him inside out.


    ¡°You knew about Nath,¡± I said, making my voice cold. ¡°Her finding me in the woods last Spring wasn¡¯t a coincidence, was it? She was sizing me up even then, negotiating with her siblings. You could have warned me any of the times we¡¯ve spoken since.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t allowed to,¡± Donnelly said, clenching his jaw.


    I stared at him hard. He winced, realizing he¡¯d just admitted I¡¯d been right. ¡°Alken¡ª¡±


    ¡°Save it,¡± I said, tired of the conversation. ¡°I need rest.¡±


    I left him standing there in the woods. He didn¡¯t try to follow, but Rysanthe did.


    ¡°That was unworthy,¡± she said.


    I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, already feeling the beginnings of contrition despite the anger still churning in my gut. I sighed and squared my shoulders. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    The elf¡¯s voice was gentle, but not a word failed to find my ears. ¡°Friends and comrades are rare treasures for the likes of us, Alken Hewer, and easy to lose in the dark. It is best we do not toss them away.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 6: A Dream of Dei

    Arc 2: Chapter 6: A Dream of Dei


    I try not to dream. There are too many things in the world that can use them as doors into you, and in my line of work it¡¯s best not to take the risk.


    Charms and spells can help keep your mind safe from intrusion. Travelers and farmers will ward their beasts for the same reason. Knights will inscribe their armaments with holy scrawls or embed them with blessed medals to ward off unwelcome spirits in the wild.


    The world¡¯s thick with old memories, old wrongs, and all those ghosts are more than ready to complain at you about it. Traveling anywhere can be a risk. Near every village has a witch or hedge mage who will make curse traps for a pittance.


    I have my ring. It traps the dark dreams, and the dark things that might use them as doors into my psyche ¡ª but it traps the good ones as well, rips them right out of my head. I don¡¯t ever remember them when I wake. When I sleep, I sleep black.


    Sometimes, when I can¡¯t stand the quiet in myself any longer, despite the danger, I¡¯ll take the ring off and welcome it all in. The dreams, the nightmares, the memories that can feel like both. Doesn¡¯t matter much. My waking life is often a nightmare ugly as anything my mind can conjure.


    Often, anyway.


    I¡¯d given my ring to Maxim to help the old knight find some rest. He slept on the small bed in the cottage¡¯s one room. Though he stirred and muttered, he¡¯d managed to fall unconscious sometime in the night. I sat awake against one wall, content with a blanket and a roof over my head, rubbing at my naked finger, watching the wisps play in the hearth. The fire crackled, warm and welcoming.


    I fell into it.


    ***


    Bird song tickled my ears. Warm sunlight kissed my skin. A soft breeze brushed against my cheek.


    No. The soft breeze was a teasing breath pushed through pursed lips.


    ¡°Stop that,¡± I muttered. ¡°I¡¯m trying to sleep.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep an hour. Sun¡¯s almost above the Beryglass.¡±


    I took that in a moment. ¡°Damn.¡± I craned my neck, winced as I felt it pop, then started to stand. A firm hand pressed me back against the eardtree. The hand¡¯s touch softened, thin fingers gliding up the ivy-chased contours of my armor to trace my jaw.


    ¡°I need to go, Dei.¡± I opened my eyes to fix her with a stern look. Any sternness I might have felt scattered when, even as my eyes began to open, she pressed forward to kiss me. The kiss was not chaste, or brief, and for a moment I became lost in a storm of pale hair and warmth and hungry lips. When she pulled back, I had to take a moment to catch my breath. Gray eyes speckled with green twinkled knowingly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to go anywhere,¡± Dei said against my cheek, breath warm as summer sun. ¡°You¡¯re already where I want you.¡±


    Again, my eyes nearly slid shut ¡ª this time in an effort to muster a thought. ¡°Table¡¯s gathering,¡± I said, voice rough. ¡°I should be there.¡±


    The holy sister clucked her tongue in disapproval. ¡°Let those old men talk. I have you less and less lately ¡ª let me enjoy it a while longer.¡±


    She settled against me, pressing her cheek and one hand to the smooth surface of my breastplate. Even warmed by the sun, it couldn¡¯t have been comfortable. Still, she relaxed as easily as if my armor were a downy pillow, sighing in content. My gold-and-green cloak and rich surcoat intermingled with the gray-and-silver of her clerical vestments. She¡¯d removed her clericon circlet ¡ª a band of silver, gold, and brass intertwined ¡ª and hung it on the crossguard of my sword, which leaned against the tree nearby. I felt certain that was some kind of infraction in her order.


    It would all be done soon, anyway. I couldn¡¯t quite remember why.


    ¡°Longer we stay,¡± I said, trying to be reasonable, ¡°the more chance someone will see us.¡±


    She scoffed without opening her eyes. ¡°Let them.¡±


    ¡°Dei...¡± I shifted lightly. She was small, pushing slight, and hardly a weight even with all my war gear and Alder accoutrements. ¡°You¡¯re a holy sister of the Cenocastia, and my confessor. It wouldn¡¯t be...¡± I struggled for a word.


    ¡°Seemly?¡± She arched a light brown eyebrow, enunciating the word strangely, as though she were tasting it. ¡°It¡¯s not like all the members of my order swear vows of celibacy. We¡¯re not a gaggle of repressed old buggers like those zealots in the Priory. Besides, it¡¯s not like anyone¡¯s going to stumble on us rutting under the boughs. We¡¯re just enjoying the sun.¡±


    I shifted again. When the priestess opened a single lid to inspect my face through her lashes and saw my blush, she let out a breathy laugh. ¡°Oh dear. Now I¡¯ve put that idea in your head. Do try to keep your calm, Ser Knight, ¡®twas only a jest.¡±


    ¡°You are perfectly safe with me, Sister Fidei.¡±


    ¡°I am grateful to hear it, Ser Alken. Still, if you see these trysts of ours as sin, then perhaps I should assign you penance.¡±


    ¡°This one is,¡± I said softly, stroking her blond hair. In the real city, she¡¯d cut her hair into a medium-length bob, not let it grow long like this. The feminine mane was my own fancy, just as the real Fidei hadn¡¯t been nearly as flirtatious. My mind had conjured a more seductive version of her.


    It didn¡¯t compare.


    Dei¡¯s voice turned bitter. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to find you. You were lost to me in the dark.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because I didn¡¯t want to see this,¡± I said. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to remember.¡±


    ¡°Liar.¡±


    The sky changed color as we lay together in the grove. From blue and white and gold to something more molten.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t we dream?¡± Dei asked softly, her words almost a whisper, almost quiet enough to hide the edge of pain in them. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t know if you are my memory,¡± I said, ¡°or a shadow.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer.¡±


    I pressed my lips together, frustrated. Dei lifted herself by her arms, studying my face fondly. Possessively. She twined several strands of my hair ¡ª red touched with gold, like gilded copper ¡ª around her long fingers. It¡¯d gained that sheen after I¡¯d sworn my oaths.


    ¡°My golden knight,¡± she said, smiling warmly.


    I focused hard on her face, drinking in the details, burning them into my memory. Part of me had feared I¡¯d never see her like this again, that I¡¯d always remember how she¡¯d looked at the end ¡ª that my memory of her would always be a poison.


    Fidei was pretty, more than she could have been called beautiful. She had soft features, nearing delicate, with sleepy eyes and a convex nose just a bit too long for her face. I¡¯d enjoyed that minor imperfection ¡ª it made her seem more studious, more mature. She was slim as a reed, her large gray-green eyes and paleness making the overall effect almost ghostly, and indeed she¡¯d often been less than hale.


    A sharp contrast to me, built tall and heavy, sharp-eyed and angular as I was. Our differences went beyond the physical. Where I tended to stray easily into idle thoughts and brooding, the world at large tugging at me with a hundred invisible strings, her mind had an easy focus, a way of looking into you and seeing, knowing, understanding, without judgement or mockery. She¡¯d been kind. Patient. I¡¯d too often been a bore, full of stress and suspicion, lost as I¡¯d been among elven illusions and lordly politics.


    It made her an astute confessor. It hadn¡¯t taken her long to break through my walls. Had there been anything I hadn¡¯t told her, once?


    Ten years of sin now. I wouldn¡¯t even know where to start.


    My jaw clenched, unclenched, tightened again. My lips trembled. When I managed to speak, the ache in me made my words a rasp. ¡°I miss you.¡±


    She rose then to straddle me, adjusting her silver-trimmed robes until she¡¯d settled again. Her silhouette helped block the sight of the sky turning to blood, of the glow of flame rising beyond tree and tower. She placed both hands to either side of my face before leaning forward to kiss my forehead, just above the left eyebrow. Her lips drifted lower, patient. She stopped when our mouths brushed together, breathing her next words into me.


    ¡°There are few worse hells than being alone even amid plentiful company.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been lost in the dark so long,¡± I hissed, voice strained. ¡°I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going, where this path ends. It started here, with you... how did it all get so twisted? Why did you have to¡ª¡±


    She silenced me with another kiss, this one brief. She fixed her eyes on mine when she pulled away, so they filled my vision. ¡°Look too deep into anything, Alken, and you will find rot. The past can¡¯t be changed, and there is no threshold pain cannot exceed, no height to which debris cannot stack. I have seen the gates of Onsolem ¡ª filth can tower into eternity itself. There are times you must climb it, if you wish to see the sun.¡±


    I wanted more than anything to weep. The tears wouldn¡¯t come, and that dry pressure was a small hell. ¡°I cannot climb this. There¡¯s nothing above it I care about ¡ª I¡¯ve seen the gods, seen the dead. The world is broken.¡±


    ¡°If you cannot find happiness in paradise,¡± Dei said, eyes impossibly wide, her slender frame backlit by the rising flames so it seemed cast in deep shadow, so that she was a shadow, ¡°then seek it elsewhere. There are worlds in the darkness, my knight.¡±


    She pressed her forehead against mine, locking our eyes. ¡°I am waiting for you there.¡±


    The grove around us turned to ashes as fire consumed the dream.


    I woke to a panicked shout, and the sight of an object hurtling towards my face.

 Arc 2: Chapter 7: Golden Elder, Briar Brother

    Arc 2: Chapter 7: Golden Elder, Briar Brother


    I woke with a start, unsure at first of what had ripped me from sleep. I thought I was dreaming still, for a moment ¡ª as I got my bearings. The left side of my face itched, more than usual. Fire, a molten shade of angry gold, filled my vision, searing my eyes.


    Then something flew across the room and crashed against the wall a foot from my head. A decanter of water. It drenched me, but I had no attention to pay a bit of damp. Maxim was up, and he stumbled through the room, gibbering nonsense. His graying hair hung wild around his ravaged face, sweat darkened his night shirt, and his eyes¡ª


    They burned. Golden flame filled the old knight¡¯s eyes, spilling out in flickering bursts. I could smell burning flesh, see his skin blistering around the blazing sockets. He turned to me, opened his mouth, and more of that gold flame was in it.


    ¡°I did not break faith!¡± Maxim wailed at me, clawing at the air. His nails were bloody. ¡°I did not! I did not heed him! I would have stopped it, I would have stopped it.¡±


    His words echoed with auratic power. The man¡¯s blazing eyes went to the hearth, and up, alighting on the sword there. He grit his teeth, trapping the fire inside for a moment. When he spoke again, more plumes burst forth like a wyrm¡¯s spit. ¡°I must show them. I will redeem myself.¡±


    He went for the sword. I leapt to my feet and was across the room in an instant, grabbing him. The old man snarled and struck at me, catching me in the teeth. He was hellish strong ¡ª even bent with ill health, he¡¯d been near as tall as me and just as strong once. One of my teeth cracked. I hissed in pain, managed to get the man¡¯s arms in my grip, and took him to the ground.


    ¡°Enough!¡± I snapped into his ear. ¡°Enough, captain. The war is over, we¡¯re not in Seydis.¡±


    ¡°I will kill them!¡± Maxim twisted like an injured beast, spitting gilded flame with every word. ¡°Alicia, Ghislain, Hildebres, Lishan, all of those traitors, those butchers!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re dead!¡± I didn¡¯t know if it was true, not for certain, but I shouted the words anyway. ¡°They¡¯re all dead, Maxim! It¡¯s just us.¡±


    ¡°They killed him,¡± the old man sobbed. His struggles had become less frantic. Molten tears carved wounds into his cheeks. ¡°Queen of Heaven, they killed him. He was so beautiful. I¡¯m so sorry, your majesty. I did not know.¡±


    In that moment, the old man¡¯s memory filled my own vision, overlapping with my own, as the maimed oaths hammered into both our souls flared as one. I could still see it, clear as clean water. A royal elf, crowned in holly and gold, kneeling on a marble floor. A dozen blades ran him through. His blood ran like rivers along the platform¡¯s many depressions, painting the images carved there red.


    Ordinary trauma is hell enough, without supernatural trauma to engorge it. I fought against the images, concentrating on the now. It was like wrestling with a solar flare. Even still I fought, asserting my own will, my own reality, over that festering wound carved into the world that bled through me and that other broken knight.


    I returned to the cottage, to the old man in my arms. He sobbed, spilling molten gold tears onto the floor. They carved into the wooden floor where they landed, embedding and cooling there. Any priest in all the land would call it a miracle ¡ª water turned to gold. I grimaced at the sight.Visitt  for the latest updates


    ¡°Rysanthe.¡± I didn¡¯t speak loudly, couldn¡¯t. It was all I could do to keep myself grounded, and keep the struggling Maxim in my grasp.


    Even still, she heard me. I didn¡¯t even hear the door open. She was just there, a pale lantern in the cottage¡¯s gloom. She knelt, silver-touched hands reaching out toward the knight.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening to him?¡± I asked her, pleading.


    The elf¡¯s corpse-pale lips were pressed tight with concern. ¡°His oaths are burning him from within. We need to take him to the pools, or he will come undone.¡±


    She reached out and touched the paladin between his eyebrows with one silver finger. Immediately the amber flames receded, his eyes fluttered, and he fell unconscious. She looked into my eyes, her own gleaming magenta in the dark. ¡°Can you carry him?¡±


    I nodded, and lifted my once-captain as though he were a child. He¡¯d become disturbingly light, his limbs near skeletal. Eaten from within by hunger, age, and that scourging auratic fire.


    I carried Maxim down to the shrine with Rysanthe leading. Oraeka met us at the edge of the fountain circle, looking as though she¡¯d been sprinting moments before. She had her spear in hand.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± She asked the older elf, glancing at me and the unconscious man in my arms. ¡°I saw light up on the hill. Are we under attack?¡±


    Rysanthe shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s Ser Maxim. We¡¯re taking him into the temple, but the aura he burned might have attracted attention from afar. Warn Hezrobog and the cant spiders, and be on guard.¡±


    Oraeka¡¯s brow furrowed, and she cast a worried look at Maxim. Without sparing me a glance, she strode off into the woods.


    ¡°Come,¡± Rysanthe ordered. I followed her into the temple. An open, circular space lay within, dipping toward the middle to form a perfectly centered pool perhaps ten feet across. A matching hole in the roof would have allowed moonlight in, but clouds had rolled over the sky to cast the woods in darkness.


    It didn¡¯t impede my sight, or the elf¡¯s. Even still, the dark seemed to press uncomfortably close. Rysanthe went to the pool, knelt, and touched her silver-nailed fingers to the water. Light spread from the point of contact, until the pool gleamed as though lit from beneath by blue flames. She ushered me forward, and I laid Maxim gently in the water. I made sure the edge of the pool supported his head, then let him go.


    Rysanthe¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the old knight. ¡°He needs rest. I will watch him until morn.¡±


    I folded my arms, still shaken by my own dream and Maxim¡¯s madness. He¡¯d once been a hero. A champion worthy of any legend. All the Alder had been.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t this happening to me?¡± I asked her. ¡°I don¡¯t understand this, Rys. When the Table was broken, when our oaths turned on us, I felt the backlash... still do, at times, but never like this.¡±


    The drow¡¯s palms hovered near the pool, as though she were warming herself by a fire. Her expression seemed strained. ¡°You swore a new oath. It helped sew some of those tears back together, even if it¡¯s not as it once was.¡±


    ¡°That came years later,¡± I said, remembering. ¡°I saw some of the other knights after the Fall. They were just like this... burning from the inside.¡±


    The helm... the helm was the worst part. It had been fused to the knight¡¯s face, parts of it hammered in to conform to the shape of the skull beneath. The faceplate, once an impassive mask framed by a sagely brass beard, had twisted into an implement of torture for the wearer. Fresh blood seeped through the warped seams, as though the armor itself sweated red.


    And, over all of him, there grew a twisting tangle of thorned vines.


    ¡°A Brother of the Briar,¡± Donnelly breathed. ¡°Heir of Heaven preserve us, I thought we¡¯d killed them all.¡±


    The Briar Knight spurred his mount forward ¡ª a creature not unlike a kynedeer, with cloven hooves and a rack of antlers. However, this beast stared at us with a nearly fleshless skull, the bone beneath mottled as though made of half-melted wax. Its prehensile tail lashed behind it like an angry feline¡¯s. Small vestigial wings with transparent membranes flexed as it inhaled with a wet snort. The chimera was big ¡ª bigger than the hyena-things the Mistwalkers had used back in Caelfall.


    ¡°Step no closer, Thornsworn.¡± Donnelly¡¯s voice had a strange quality to it. It echoed subtly with preternatural authority, as mine did when I channeled my powers. He was the Herald of Heavensreach in truth then, not just the rakish pirate he¡¯d been in life.


    To my surprise, the Brother of the Briar did halt his mount. He regarded us in eerie silence, then lifted a gauntleted hand to point. The Briar Knight¡¯s crooked finger fixed on me. Worse, he spoke. The voice that emerged from the warped helmet did not at all belong to that nightmare visage ¡ª it was light, almost musical.


    ¡°You have been promised to the service of my lady,¡± the Briar Knight said. ¡°The time has come for that duty to be fulfilled.¡±


    I glanced at my companions, seeing the worry on their face ¡ª except for Hezrobog, who just looked curmudgeonly at the commotion on his front lawn. I squared my shoulders and stepped forward, stopping at the mouth of the bridge. ¡°You¡¯re here to take me to Nath¡¯s warlock?¡± I asked, suspicious. I¡¯d spent many long, grim years of my life fighting the Briar. They couldn¡¯t be trusted ¡ª they hated everything, and my order had been their antithesis.


    The Briar Knight only inclined his head, causing tortured metal to creak. It wasn¡¯t exactly an answer.


    I tightened my jaw and let a bit of my own power leak into my voice. ¡°Speak truth, Thornsworn. Did Nath the Fallen send you to escort me to her servant? Can I expect you to provide me safe conduct?¡±


    This time, the voice had no music in it. A hissing rasp emerged from the helm, gravid with resentment. ¡°Yes.¡±


    I let out a breath, not exactly mollified but as sure as I could be the corrupted knight spoke the truth. The Briar were fey, not fiend, and tied to the land by ancient magics just as I was. They could lie and mislead, but breaking oaths would break them.


    It was a possibility I couldn¡¯t ignore. I¡¯d need to be on my guard. I turned back to the others. ¡°Rysanthe is with Ser Maxim. We can¡¯t trust the Briar to play nice, not if they know about this place ¡ª be on your guard.¡±


    Donnelly nodded, clearly worried, but Oraeka stepped forward with bared teeth. ¡°You¡¯re just going to leave?¡± She hissed. ¡°With Ser Maxim hurt?¡±


    I squared my jaw and met her eyes. I had to look up to do it, but I didn¡¯t back down. ¡°I¡¯m oathbound, Oraeka. I don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    The shieldmaiden¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°You have a choice. You could do the right thing. The honorable thing, not...¡± she glanced past me to the Briar Knight and hissed her next words. ¡°This is wrong. Nath and the Briar are wicked.¡±


    My emotions were already stretched taut, from the lucid dream I¡¯d had of Seydis and from Maxim¡¯s predicament. I wanted to tell the elf she was being a child, that the world wasn¡¯t so simple as good and evil.


    But hadn¡¯t I made just the same argument to Donnelly when he¡¯d told me I¡¯d be working for Nath?


    Hadn¡¯t I convinced myself of it ten years ago?


    In truth, I didn¡¯t want to go. Maxim might need my help, and leaving the old man to battle with his inner demons alone while I went off on another quest felt irresponsible and wrong. But the consequences of snubbing Nath were dire.


    I grabbled with the indecision a moment before quieting my mind. When I met Oraeka¡¯s angry gaze, my voice had become calm. ¡°I have my duty, and you have yours. Protect the Fane. Protect the captain.¡±


    Oraeka¡¯s expression grew remote. ¡°As you will, Headsman,¡± she said coldly. Only her tight grip on her spear told me she hadn¡¯t fully mastered herself, but I turned my eyes to Donnelly.


    ¡°I¡¯m off, then.¡±


    The herald nodded. ¡°Good luck to you. I¡¯ll keep an eye on things around here.¡± He shrugged, projecting nonchalance. ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    I studied him a moment. He stood tall, confidant as the worldly adventurer he¡¯d once been. Ghost that he was, it could be difficult to read him at times. Yet, I felt certain he wanted to say more. I still felt angry with him, perhaps unfairly so. It wasn¡¯t truly Donnelly I felt anger toward ¡ª or at least, not just him. My resentment toward the world, my dull despair, my growing apathy, I¡¯d let it turn to bitterness toward those few people still close to me.


    Donnelly had suffered too, much and more. Rysanthe¡¯s words about discarding friends floated in my thoughts.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said. It seemed the best thing.


    Donnelly nodded, a small smile quirking his ghostly lips. ¡°Go get them, Hewer.¡±


    I nodded, and might have clasped his hand had I not known mine would just pass through. I turned to the fiendish rider and, steeling myself for whatever came next, stepped beyond the bridge.

 Map of the Alderes #1

    Map of the Alderes #1


    This is a map of the setting. I shared an early version in the forums, but this one includes more labels. It''s not comprehensive, but I thought it would be fun to give an idea of what the world of Oathbreaker looks like, show some locations that''ve been mentioned in the story so far, and tease future ones. I''ll post this again in the future as the story progresses, with updates for new locations. Because I need a certain word count to post chapters, and because I thought it might be fun to summarize some lore we know so far, I''ve also included some blurbs on a few locations.


    Urn: A subcontinent of Edaea and the locale of much of Oathbreaker''s story. Long ago, a great exodus brought the armies of Edaean kings from the west into this land, where they established many fair kingdoms under the leadership of an exiled goddess.


    Briarland: Once a proud realm known by another name, this thorn-blighted dominion is now home to the bloodthirsty Briar Elves and their favored servants, the fallen knights known as the Brothers of the Briar.


    Reynwell: While all realms are equal under the Accord, Reynwell is the current governmental seat of the realms at large, and of various other interests. Its capital, Garihelm, is the throne city of the Urnic Emperor, Markham Forger, leader of the Accorded Realms.


    Edaea: The West, the Greater Continent, the Old World. This vast stretch of grave kingdoms and warring nation-states goes by many names, but much of the world''s history has been made and buried here. Dark things stir in its most battle-scarred corners.

 Arc 2: Chapter 8: The Warlock

    Arc 2: Chapter 8: The Warlock


    I followed the Briar knight into the woods. His macabre chimera moved at a slow, steady pace, allowing me to keep up on foot. He didn¡¯t speak, or so much as acknowledge me.


    I wasn¡¯t certain I could keep my measure traveling with that creature for days or weeks to wherever he intended to lead me. He reeked of battlefields and rotting plant matter.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked after a time, breaking the night¡¯s silence.


    ¡°To a meeting,¡± the Briar Brother said.


    ¡°And how far must we travel for that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Not far,¡± the fallen knight said vaguely.


    I decided it wasn¡¯t worth pressing the nightmarish cavalier for information and followed in silence, still wary of treachery. I hadn¡¯t faced the Briar so long as many of my fellow Alder Knights, and hadn¡¯t learned to hate them to the same degree, but it still felt strange to deal with one without immediate violence.


    They¡¯d been the Enemy, for many long and bitter generations. Indeed, they¡¯d taken advantage of the Fall, but they hadn¡¯t perpetrated it. Still, the idea that the Choir might be willing to make peace with the Briar sat uneasy on me. Surely they knew that Nath would claw for every advantage she could get?


    Another thought struck me then ¡ª had Nath sent this fallen chevalier as some sort of message, or grim jest? A warped mirror of what the Alder Knights had been, and a potential future for me if I kept tiptoeing along the lefthand path? It seemed to fit her sense of irony.


    We walked for nearly an hour. The night aged, and a few scattered clouds began to crawl across the starry sky. The woods held an eerie silence. I could see ghost-lights in the distance, but unlike normal they didn¡¯t approach, as though repelled by the foul company I traveled with. Eventually we stopped at an old crossroads, one I recognized as being near the edge of the haunted woods surrounding the Fane. There were villages not far, little more than small hamlets dotting the nearer countryside. Most of our food and supplies came from them, usually collected by Oraeka in the guise of a common traveler.


    ¡°Prepare,¡± the Briar Brother rasped. ¡°They approach.¡±


    I frowned, peering into the night¡¯s gloom. ¡°Who approaches?¡± I asked.


    ¡°My ladies client,¡± he said, his voice changing again.


    Client. The warlock. I narrowed my eyes, inwardly steeling myself.


    Before long, I heard an odd sound. Wheels, I realized. The sound grew louder, along with the noise of clopping hooves. The light of several lanterns appeared in the distant woods. Those lights, as they drew near, revealed themselves to be attached to a black coach. The vehicle, pulled by two chimera, stopped in front of us.


    It had aristocrat written all over it ¡ª smooth ebony wood caged in a frame of silver worked into the shape of spear-wielding riders and horned hawks chasing kynedeer and direwolves. The rider wore all black, their features obscured by an almost comically large tricorn.


    The two beasts were a breed of chimera I didn¡¯t recognize. Many noble houses kept their own unique stocks, guarding them jealously. Usually only the richest ones. They looked close to the classic horse, but were near as big as Nath¡¯s monstrous destrier. Their limbs ended in iron-shod hooves, their tails clipped to short nubs, their hides covered in a mix of coarse gray fur and brown feathers, wings folded at their side. They reminded me of griffons, the classic epitome of all chimeric beasts. I¡¯d seen real griffons though, and these seemed like pale imitations. Their heads were more like crows than eagles, with straight black beaks. The beaks, like the hooves, were clad in iron.


    The rider watched us through the shadow of their hat and a cloth mask pulled up to their nose, though I caught the glint of pale eyes. Those eyes studied me a moment before the rider dismounted and moved to the carriage door, opening it and extending a hand to help the one inside step down.


    My eyes followed that second figure as they alighted easily on the woodland road on black leather boots. I had to stop my eyes from widening in shock.


    The girl couldn¡¯t have been older than seventeen. She was tall, long-limbed and slim, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. She wore an ensemble which evoked both aristocratic arrogance and militant practicality ¡ª trousers rather than a dress, with knee-high boots and a doublet, all of it in shades of black and red. She wore a sword at her right hip, a half-cape, and studied me with light brown eyes.


    Her height, outfit, and conservative hairstyle made her seem more mature, yet she was young. Barely more than a child.Could this really be Nath¡¯s acolyte?


    ¡°This is him?¡± The girl¡¯s voice had a controlled quality, clipped and confidant, sharp with aristocratic inflection. ¡°Lady Nath¡¯s proxy?¡±


    I wore my blood-red cloak wrapped about my lower face, the pointed cowl up. Like the black-clad driver, my features would be cast in shadow, especially in the pale light of the moons. I doubted she¡¯d be able to see more distinguishing features than my broad frame and height.


    The Briar Brother nodded. ¡°It is.¡±


    Again the girl studied me. I looked for some insignia on her dress or carriage that might indicate what house she belonged to. I noted a pin on her short cape, fashioned into the image of a horned hawk in flight. I¡¯m no herald ¡ª I know many of the greater houses, but didn¡¯t recognize hers, leastways not by the mark she wore.


    She lifted her chin, set her mouth in a determined line, and addressed me. ¡°I bid you greetings. I am the Lady Emma of House Carreon.¡± She lifted her hand, palm down, displaying a ring set with a bloody red ruby.


    House Carreon. The name rang a familiar tune, but the details remained distant. I glanced at her hand. A test? She hadn¡¯t addressed me by any title, which made me think she didn¡¯t know who I was, or whether I was a knight or lord. Had Nath given her my identity at all, or did she think me some nameless servant of the Dark Lady?


    I needed to make a decision as to what masque to project. The grim mercenary, the eldritch minion, or the chivalrous man-at-arms?


    Only one role seemed honest. I¡¯d been passed off by the Choir to Nath, who¡¯d instructed me to assist her client, not kowtow to her. The Lady Emma needed to know that I was no drone, no hollow minion to serve at her will. I was a contractor, and no gallantknight ¡ª not anymore.


    I turned to the Briar Brother, ignoring the girl¡¯s proffered hand. ¡°Nath didn¡¯t tell me I¡¯d be babysitting.¡±


    The carriage driver¡¯s bright eyes narrowed. Lady Emma, on the other hand, went pale with rage.


    Again, the noble youth¡¯s lips tightened in poorly disguised frustration. ¡°My business with Lady Nath is none of yours.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s exactly my business,¡± I rejoined. ¡°I¡¯ve known your lady for many years.¡±


    That drew Emma¡¯s interest, her anger forgotten. She leaned forward. ¡°Then you are, what? Her apprentice? A magus?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a soldier,¡± I answered honestly. ¡°You noticed the axe?¡± I drummed my fingers against the weapon¡¯s bronze head.


    Emma rolled her eyes. ¡°Please. I know wizards aren¡¯t all bearded old men with staves. I know some sorcery, and yet I still use this.¡± She drummed her fingers against the silver-inlayed hilt of her slender sword, miming my own gesture. ¡°But I think I understand. You are a mercenary, yes? Or indebted to Lady Nath in such a way that makes you the next best thing.¡± She nodded sharply. ¡°You ask me if I know who the Lady is as though you have the answer. So tell me, Ser Red, who is she?¡±


    Ser Red. Well, it fit well enough. ¡°Nath,¡± I began quietly, ignoring the flippant epithet for the time, ¡°Nath the Fallen, that is, has been trying to claim a great kingdom of her own for many centuries. I know stories, but I don¡¯t think anyone understands the whole reason. She believes it¡¯s her destiny ¡ª or maybe she just decided she wants a thing, and never let it go. She collects people for her court, and she¡¯s very selective. She¡¯s tried recruiting me a few times.¡±


    She¡¯d made a good part of her fame trying to corrupt Oathsworn, and the members of the Alder Table in particular. I¡¯d only become her focus after I¡¯d become the last active member of that order. I didn¡¯t say as much to the girl ¡ª she didn¡¯t need to know my story, not in full.


    ¡°Tried,¡± Emma repeated, frowning. ¡°You... don¡¯t serve her? Then why are you here?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m on loan. I serve...¡± here I hedged. ¡°Well, a request made by Nath is hard to refuse. She¡¯s Onsolain.¡±


    To my shock, Emma snorted with laughter. ¡°Are you serious?¡± She said, almost giggling. ¡°You¡¯re telling me she¡¯s an angel? I know she¡¯s a powerful witch, but I¡¯m not that naive.¡±


    I frowned then. ¡°The Onsolain are real,¡± I said. ¡°The Church¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Church is an institution built to keep the commonfolk appeased while they wait for some fabled promised day,¡± Emma said, looking bored. ¡°It¡¯s all just ceremony. Tradition. The Houses have the real power, especially now the faeries are all gone.¡±


    ¡°Surely you¡¯ve seen clerics wielding power?¡± I asked, disturbed by this blithe heresy. I didn¡¯t consider myself particularly devout, but the divine were real. I¡¯d served them all my life, in one form or another.


    Emma waved a dismissive hand. ¡°I know how aura works. Even a village blacksmith can make a magic sword, if he awakens his soul. Just because a preoster adds prayer to the process doesn¡¯t make him special. I¡¯m willing to believe Lady Nath might be Sidhe, or versed in magic that grants her their longevity. But a demigod? Please.¡±


    I was so taken aback by this I didn¡¯t speak for several minutes. ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked, changing the subject.


    A line formed between Emma¡¯s long eyebrows. She leaned back and shrugged, adopting a bored expression. ¡°I am presently living in a manor along the southern border of Venturmoor. We are going there.¡±


    It was my turn to frown. ¡°Venturmoor? That¡¯s a week¡¯s travel away.¡±


    Emma flashed her teeth in a grin. ¡°This is a very special coach.¡± With that she leaned back and rapped on the wall. Immediately I felt a change. A sound came from outside ¡ª a series of snaps ¡ª and I heard the two chimera let out croaking shouts. The coach suddenly tilted beneath me, and I had to grab my weapon and press a hand to one wall to keep both me and it from getting thrown across the cabin.


    What in all the hells...


    Emma had barely reacted to the sudden shifting, save that she¡¯d grabbed an iron bar set on the roof. She smiled slyly, pleased by my reaction, then reached over to slide the small window open.


    The rolling countrysides and forested hills of Urn¡¯s heartlands, cast in shades of black and pale blue by the starry sky, rolled beneath us, growing further and wider by the moment. I could hear the snap of great wings, feel the rush of wind in my face. The shadow of distant mountains clarified itself in the far horizon, and lakes and rivers gleamed like silver veins across the tapestry.


    A flying coach. I turned my eyes to the young aristocrat, who watched me with almost predatory anticipation. She wants me to be impressed, I realized.


    I was. I¡¯d seen sky-born transports before, but not often and not lately. The Sidhe once blessed the skies many nights, descending from clouds on chariots or coaches just like this one, clad in starlight as they hunted or picked the stray lucky mortal to join them. Mortal nobility sometimes owned beautiful carriages, using flying chimera and sorcerous craftsmanship to propel them across the lands at speed.


    The world had grown more dangerous since the wars. The few surviving elves had retreated into hiding, traumatized by the death of their civilization and wary of further attack, and the lords of the Accord kept to their private manors and castles, fearful of a tenuous peace. The skies had grown darker, more foreboding. I¡¯d seen very few such transports in recent years.


    Just who was this young woman, to own such a precious thing? To have the personal favor of the Angel of the Briar?


    Perhaps my flippancy before had been hasty. Even still, I settled back in my seat and folded my arms, bowing my hooded head.


    Emma frowned. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Getting some sleep,¡± I said. ¡°I barely rested before I got dragged to that crossroads. Wake me when we get there.¡±


    She spluttered, outraged. ¡°But, we have more to discuss! You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t do anything for you if I¡¯m too exhausted to stand,¡± I growled. ¡°I¡¯ve been on the road for weeks. We¡¯ll talk tomorrow. You should find rest while you have it, milady. No need to waste the pleasant ride on dire talk.¡±


    Through one cracked eye, I watched Emma settled back, grinding her teeth. I had to suppress a smile. Just because I¡¯d been strong-armed into serving Nath and assisting this arrogant noble didn¡¯t mean I had to be polite about it.

 Arc 2: Chapter 9: Condemnation and Dawn

    Arc 2: Chapter 9: Condemnation and Dawn


    The miles passed quick as trees in a forest. Soon enough, the sun lit the east, filtering wan through the omnipresent gloom squatting jealously over those lands.


    I usually couldn¡¯t see the bleak clouds of ash and storm above Seydis so clearly. I ended up shutting the coach¡¯s window and turning to the girl.


    I¡¯d woken an hour or so before, my dreamless rest leaving me quick as a dissatisfied lover. I ran a thumb along my dream-trap ring, secure now in its usual place on my right index finger. I felt half relieved that it still worked, and half disappointed.


    That dream had been so vivid. So had the pain. I clenched my jaw, shutting the memory out with an effort of will. Those visions were poison.


    Emma had fallen asleep after I had. She slept still, her head pressed against one wall of the coach¡¯s interior. Several strands of dark hair had escaped from her conservative bun to fall over her face. She looked even younger in sleep, the sharp lines of her avian face softening.


    Too young for this nonsense. She¡¯d still be a handmaiden or squire in any noble family at her age. What had drawn her into Bloody Nath¡¯s clutches? I needed to try and get her to tell me what this was all about, find out what danger she was in, and deal with it quickly so I could return to the Fane and check on the knight-captain. I should have done it during the night, but I¡¯d let my frustration get the better of me.


    It could wait until she woke on her own. I¡¯d meant what I¡¯d said, about getting rest before whatever trial the two of us faced came our way.


    That trial came sooner than I¡¯d thought. Without warning, the coach dipped. I had to grab my weapon and the girl¡¯s to keep either of us from getting injured.


    On closer inspection, her sword was a truly beautiful weapon. Very nearly a longsword, with a surprising heft to it and an intricate basket-hilt pommel. The straight, double-edged blade was long as my arm and hand together. Silver designs enwrapped the hilt, done in ivy patterns ending in intricate spirals. They matched similar motifs on the black leather sheath. The image of a hawk with wings outstretched dominated the crossguard, a small red teardrop stone clutched in its talons. The ruby matched the ring Emma wore on her hand.


    Emma slid in her seat and woke with a start, catching a hand on one wall. Her eyes landed on her sword.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch that,¡± she snarled, reaching for it. I let her snatch it back, bemused.


    ¡°We¡¯re descending,¡± I told her.


    Emma frowned. ¡°We must be near Hunting lands.¡±


    I frowned, recognizing the name. ¡°That¡¯s House Hunting?¡±


    Emma nodded. ¡°Lord Brenner is my guardian. I live on a manor in his lands.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I said, rubbing at the stubble on my face. ¡°You¡¯re his ward?¡±


    Emma shrugged, adopting a remote expression. ¡°I suppose.¡±


    That implied she didn¡¯t have parents, or at least didn¡¯t live with them. More mystery.


    The girl¡¯s circumstances were less important to me than the task she needed my services for. Leaning forward as the flying coach continued its descent I said, ¡°so, tell me why Nath handed me off to you. What trouble are you in, lass?¡±


    At her wrathful expression I held up my hands in a placating gesture. ¡°What trouble are you in, my lady.¡±


    Though hardly mollified, Emma didn¡¯t press the issue. She crossed one leg, adopting the arrogant posture she¡¯d maintained the past night. ¡°We¡¯ll speak of it when we¡¯re safe in my manor. I have some questions of my own.¡±


    She ignored the irritated set of my mouth, studying me thoughtfully. ¡°First,¡± she said, ¡°why do you keep that hood up? Are you hideous? Scarred?¡±


    I¡¯d completely forgotten about the cowl. I¡¯d become so used to wearing it. I traveled often at night, or in dark places heavy with od, and the need to keep myself wrapped in shadow to ward off wild magic had become necessity. I¡¯d kept it up the previous night half for dramatics.


    I reached up and doffed my cloak¡¯s pointed cowl, letting my copper hair fall freely down to my shoulders. I met the girl¡¯s eyes, letting her see my scars, the unnaturally bright touch of gold in my eyes.


    If it affected her at all, she hid it well. Emma pursed her lips critically. ¡°Well, I was right about the scars, at least. You¡¯re not nearly as hideous as I expected.¡±


    ¡°Disappointed?¡± I asked.


    She shrugged. ¡°When Nath told me she¡¯d loan me an agent, I¡¯d half expected some deformed brute or demon. You...¡± she canted her head to one side. ¡°Just seem a man. You aren¡¯t a changeling, are you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said.


    ¡°Vampire?¡±


    The corners of my lips tightened. ¡°No.¡±


    Emma started counting off fingers. ¡°Deathless warrior risen from the grave? A faerie prince? Demon bound in a man¡¯s flesh? Automaton? Disguised deva? Lycanthrope? Homunculus?¡±


    When I¡¯d refuted all of these, the young noble huffed and propped her cheek on one fist. ¡°Boring. You¡¯re boring.¡±


    ¡°Life¡¯s full of little disappointments, milady.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Emma said with a sigh, leaning back again. ¡°So long as that pretty axe of yours isn¡¯t for show, I suppose you¡¯ll have to do.¡±


    I started to ask her for clarification when the coach landed. I grit my teeth, grabbing the iron handhold on the ceiling now I knew its purpose. After another minute of rough going, the coach stopped.


    Agnes¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°If you don¡¯t believe me, then surely you¡¯ll believe the word of a holy man! He¡¯s seen it with his own eyes. Eskinder!¡±


    She had an impressive voice. Several of those standing near her winced at the shout. After a moment, a scrawny man in his middle years with a tuft of prematurely gray hair and dark skin slid into view. He¡¯d been cowering behind several of the villagers. He adjusted his golden-brown preacher robes and made a visible effort to stand straighter, though his features looked ashen with nervousness.


    ¡°I saw it,¡± he said. ¡°Near the lake south of our village. She spoke with a dark apparition there, a fiend right out of the smoldering Pits.¡± He swallowed, clutching the auremark dangling from his neck. ¡°A she-elf upon a monstrous steed pierced by many blades, with black wounds for eyes and hair like spindle-woven shadow about her pale dress. Fair she was, and terrible to behold!¡± He¡¯d started to breathe heavier during his speech, and clutched his auremark tightly.


    I lifted an eyebrow, and the old soldier threw a sidelong glance at the preoster.


    Agnes didn¡¯t seem to note the edge of infatuation in Eskander¡¯s speech. She squared her shoulders in triumph. ¡°There! Consorting with witch-elves and fiends out of Hell. Do you need more proof than that of a priest¡¯s own word?¡±


    Dennic sighed, scratching at a neck red with rash-marks. ¡°This business about a dark spirit haunting our land is true, stranger. It showed up around the same time her clan did, and it¡¯s haunted us for years. If we don¡¯t act, we¡¯ll all end up on the spit.¡±


    ¡°The Burnt Rider will leave us alone if we hand her over!¡± One of the others cried out.


    ¡°Nay,¡± another growled, ¡°we need a cleansing. Llynspring and Kilcast were spared the wars because we burned the Recusant out before their rot could set in.¡±


    ¡°A Recusant, am I?¡±


    All went silent. I sighed and turned to meet Emma¡¯s angry amber eyes. ¡°I told you to wait in the coach.¡±


    The young noble met my gaze evenly. ¡°I am of the blood of a High House. I do not cower from peasants.¡±


    I winced. The reaction from the ¡°peasants¡± was immediate, and predictable.


    ¡°It¡¯s her!¡±


    ¡°Heir of Heaven preserve us¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now everyone, calm¡ª¡±


    ¡°Surrender, Carreon fiend!¡±


    Hard to say who said what. I stepped in front of the girl and brandished my axe. As I drew on power, a ghost wind stirred my red cloak around me.


    ¡°Do not move.¡±


    My auratic command struck the forest road like a thunderclap. All sound ceased. The leaves stopped dancing in the wind, the forest animals stopped chittering. Every person on the road froze. Agnes had lifted her axe and stepped forward as though to cleave me or Emma in twain, and I saw her eyes go wide as the magic washed over her.


    Emma twitched at my side, gasping. She lurched, one hand on the sword she¡¯d half drawn from its sheath. I hadn¡¯t directed my Command to any specific person, knowing she¡¯d do something stupid too. That lack of focus made it briefer and less powerful ¡ª I needed to figure something out, and fast.


    Diplomacy seemed to have gone out the window with the young noble¡¯s appearance. I made my voice commanding, though lessened the weight of aura in it. ¡°Get back in the coach.¡±


    Emma blinked, turning to me. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now!¡± I snapped. She flinched. I didn¡¯t have time to make sure she followed my order. Instead, I turned toward the local commonfolk and their barricade and focused on my inner wellspring of power ¡ª my Shadow Self.


    All people, all things, have aura. Humans, Eld, beasts. Even trees and hills, rivers and mountains. Not every being is aware of their own soul, and fewer still know how to wield it like a second limb, or a blade.


    I made mine a guillotine. I muttered under my breath, increasing in volume as I felt my power shape itself. I have no Art of my own ¡ª I called on one of the myriad phantasms I¡¯d inherited from my vows, the memory of a long passed Knight Alder who¡¯s technique had been alloyed into the Table, and from it into me.


    I¡¯d once watched a member of my order use Godsven¡¯s Dawn to sever a hurricane in half, faltering the worst of the storm. I had nowhere near that potency, even before my powers had been crippled. Still, I believed it would be enough to smash an already fallen tree. I lifted my axe, and as I did an amber-tinted light bloomed around me. It condensed around my weapon, making the axe appear larger, brighter.


    The villagers let out cries of shock and awe. I¡¯d have to hope they¡¯d already overcome my Command, and would get out of the way. With an echoing shout, I swung the axe down in a movement that used every muscle in my body, nearly sinking the weapon¡¯s bit into the road. A column of pale golden light sliced down the roadway, barely thicker than the blade of the instrument I used. There was sound ¡ª a strange, surreal tone not unlike music ¡ª and a ripple as though a blade of narrow sunlight had broken through a gap in high clouds.


    The fallen ash erupted. Wood rippled and cracked, as thought it had been in a campfire for too long, and shrapnel scattered through the forest. I probably should have anticipated that, and inwardly winced.


    When the dust had cleared, the locals had scattered, or thrown themselves to the ground in panic, and the tree had a trench carved through it. The edges of that wound glowed with heat, and the woods were strewn with debris. It wouldn¡¯t be wide enough for the coach, not quite, but we¡¯d have to make do.


    ¡°Move!¡± I roared. Thankfully, the driver heard me. The chimera let loose angry squawks as reins cracked, and the wheels of the coach began to grind against the loose cobbles of the road. I dodged aside right before the claw-hooves of the beasts trampled me, grabbing one of the vehicle¡¯s ornate rungs to hoist myself up.


    We barreled toward the splintered tree. Gold-tinted fire still crawled across parts of the road, but I didn¡¯t worry about it setting the woods ablaze ¡ª mine wasn¡¯t a natural fire, and its touch on the natural world tended toward the gentle. The would-be bandits shouted curses at us. One even tossed their hatchet, bouncing it harmlessly off the side of the carriage.


    I kept clutching the vehicle¡¯s side, glaring at the ambushers as the chimera smashed through the blasted tree. I remained on alert until we¡¯d torn down two hundred feet or more of road, leaving them well in our wake. Only then did I peek into the coach¡¯s window. Lady Emma sat inside, glowering and sullen.


    ¡°You and I,¡± I told her, ¡°need to have a chat.¡±


    Emma scowled, propped her head on her fist, and tsk¡¯d.

 Arc 2: Chapter 10: Emmas Tale

    Arc 2: Chapter 10: Emma''s Tale


    Once we seemed out of immediate danger, I slipped into the still moving coach. I settled back, took a deep breath, and laid my axe on my lap to keep another surprise from sending it from my hand. Then I fixed Emma Carreon with a hard look.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s time for you to tell me exactly what¡¯s going on here,¡± I said. ¡°And why Nath loaned my services to you.¡±


    Rather than looking admonished or contrite, Emma appraised me with curious eyes. ¡°That power you wielded back there...¡± excitement sparked in her avian eyes. ¡°That was High Art.¡±


    ¡°No more deflections,¡± I said, swiping a hand through the air. ¡°Yes, I can wield Art, and you have a fallen angel as a benefactor. We both have secrets.¡± I ignored her scoff. ¡°I need to know what I¡¯m getting into, and I can promise you this, Lady Emma ¡ª If it comes to a choice between murdering commonfolk or leaving you to fend for yourself, I will stay my hand. I am not Nath¡¯s slave, and I am not a knight anymore. I have no chivalry in me for you to take advantage of.¡±


    I let her take that in a moment before continuing. ¡°What is this business about a curse? What¡¯s after you, that has the local villagers so afraid?¡±


    Emma remained quiet a long while, her eyes lowering to study the sheathed sword in her lap. She ran a hand over the metalwork on the scabbard. Perhaps five minutes passed before she squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and began to speak.


    ¡°My family was once very powerful. We made many enemies. One of those enemies hounds us still, even from beyond the grave.¡±


    She let that sink in. When I didn¡¯t jump in with more questions, she continued. ¡°House Carreon once ruled a great demesne, far south of this land. We were good as kings in the Westvales. But my ancestors were also...¡± she bobbed a finger in the air, as though conjuring the right word. ¡°Somewhat draconian. What friends we had were loyal more from fear than love, and we had our share of zealous enemies. One of those enemies found defeat and death to be little more than an inconvenience, it seems.¡±


    She met my eyes then. ¡°I am the last. The last Carreon. All the others have died, either from the rigors of time and the fall of my house, or from the vengeance of this spirit.¡±


    I folded my arms and leaned back, taking a deep breath. ¡°Damn. A revenant. This is the Burnt Rider those people spoke of?¡±


    Emma nodded. ¡°I believe that¡¯s the term, yes, and that is what the locals call him. Does this upset you?¡±


    ¡°It certainly doesn¡¯t please me,¡± I said. ¡°Revenants are monstrous bastards to deal with,¡± I laced my fingers together over the weapon on my lap. ¡°There are a thousand varieties of undead, and that¡¯s among the worst I can think of. They don¡¯t stop.¡±


    That seemed to disturb the young woman. ¡°Lady Nath assured me you could be of assistance.¡±


    I shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Revenants can be dealt with ¡ª bound, sealed, rendered nearly powerless, or sent back to Draubard. It¡¯s difficult.¡±


    ¡°Can you do it?¡± Emma asked, narrowing her eyes.


    Could I? I was no priest. My powers were meant to smite evil, not put it to rest, and smiting revenants could be counter productive at best. They had a nasty tendency to grow stronger the more you fought them and fed the curse they manifested.


    I had a question of my own as well. Why did Nath need me to protect her acolyte from a restless spirit? Surely, she had the power to destroy all but the most potent undead. I doubted Lady Emma had any answers to the rogue Onsolain¡¯s motives, so I kept my peace on that. Aloud I said, ¡°I can protect you from it. As for destroying it... well, I think Nath is probably more interested in me keeping you alive. Tell me more about this spirit. Do you know who they are, or were? How long have they been after you?¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes went distant. Her hand lingered on the artfully made pommel of her sword, which struck me as a nervous gesture. ¡°He started appearing in this region about five years ago. He¡¯s... killed many people close to me. He¡¯s terrorized the hamlets near the manor, sickened crops, raided traveling caravans... turned my life into a battlefield. It feels like I¡¯m besieged, oftentimes. I am besieged.¡±


    ¡°Has he attacked you directly?¡± I asked. I spoke less harshly than before.


    Emma shook her head. ¡°Not directly.¡±


    I took that in, frowning. Emma didn¡¯t miss my thoughtful look. ¡°What is it?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Not sure,¡± I admitted. ¡°Could be he¡¯s trying to drive you off your land, rather than kill you. Could be something else entirely. Revenants always have some kind of vendetta keeping them going, but it¡¯s not always about murder. They¡¯re like a living, sapient curse. You keep saying he. Do you know who he is?¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes slid from my face, her jaw tightening. ¡°I only know stories my grandmother used to tell me, before she passed. In life, he was a great lord and warrior, the scion of a rival house. Our families waged war for generations, and when we finally won that conflict, we treated our conquered foe... poorly. Now, his hate for my blood has spurred him from death itself. This all happened, oh...¡± she closed her eyes again. ¡°A century ago, or longer.¡±


    I tried not to wince. A vendetta that old would be grossly potent. Generational curses could be the hardest to deal with. I added that to my growing list of problems. ¡°Has he appeared before?¡± I asked. ¡°Haunted any of your ancestors?¡±


    Emma nodded. ¡°My parents and grandparents. He killed my grandfather in personal combat about thirty years ago. He forced my parents¡¯s carriage off a cliff a few years after I was born. My grandmother died of grief and illness when I was twelve. She was my last blood relative. Now he has appeared to haunt me personally.¡± She shrugged, as though unconcerned. The tenseness in her seated posture said otherwise.


    That uncertainty prodded something in me. I¡¯d told her I had no chivalry for her to take advantage of ¡ª a lie. I¡¯d never truly let go of that troublesome sense of honor, of that want to be a good knight. That sail had been ripped away in the wind long ago ¡ª all the blood on my hands, and I thought I could claim to be honorable?


    Yet I couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of sympathy for this imperious young woman, who had lost her entire family to an enemy who¡¯d decided to hate her long before her birth. It didn¡¯t make me like her more, but it did make me feel a touch guilty for my curtness.


    I sighed and said, ¡°my name is Alken. Whatever else may happen, I will protect you from this creature. Count on that.¡±


    Emma looked up at me, surprised. I¡¯d already drawn my eyes away from her, though, leaning back in my seat to digest what I¡¯d learned.


    A young noble lady, the last of her line, haunted by a deadly curse. A murderous spirit called up from the darkness of the Lands of the Dead to torment her family. That same noble¡¯s supernatural godmother charging a sorcerous warrior with a quest to protect the girl and slay the evil, or banish it.


    It had all the makings of a fairy tale, only... all the details were twisted, like some parody of the sort of quest I¡¯d have once undertaken as a Knight of the Alder Table. Was that why Nath wanted me involved? To fit her fell sense of aesthetics? Or did she have some other motive I couldn¡¯t guess at?


    Either way, if I failed, relations between the Onsolain and their renegade sister would sour. That would lead to far more trouble than a case of one orphaned aristocrat being haunted by a vengeful spirit. The world still hadn¡¯t recovered from the last war between immortal powers.


    I didn¡¯t want to be responsible for another one.


    The glass of Emma¡¯s calm shattered. Her face went pale with rage and she took a step forward, balling her fists. ¡°That carriage belongs to my family,¡± she snarled. ¡°My parents brought it from Castle Liutgarde, it is a heirloom of my House!¡±


    Again, Brenner bared his teeth. ¡°You have no House, girl. You are my ward, and all you have ¡ª this manor, your servants, your safety and well being ¡ª they are due to me. You seem to have forgotten all you owe me.¡±


    Emma drew herself up. ¡°Am I your prisoner then, my lord?¡±


    ¡°Insolent brat!¡± The nobleman stepped forward, half lifting one hand. With his broad frame and lordly clothing, he seemed to fill the room.


    I took a step forward to put myself between the wrathful lord and the stubborn girl. The armored man tracked me with his eyes and went for his sword.


    It was the third man in the room ¡ª fourth, counting me ¡ª who stopped things from turning ugly. He was a younger man, no older than twenty but big as the bearish noble. He had the same burly frame as Brenner, though leaner, and lacked the proud beard. His garb was of similar make to the older lord¡¯s but, like the rest of him, seemed more subdued. He¡¯d been quiet up to that point, lurking in the background with a watchful expression. He stepped forward, placing a hand on the older man¡¯s arm. He gripped tight, and Lord Brenner halted.


    ¡°Please, father.¡± The young man spoke softly. He had a calm voice, and a calm face, a quiet hill to his father¡¯s thundercloud.


    Lord Brenner glared at his son. Emma stood her ground, her demeanor proud, though I noted her hands shook. The armored knight kept his eyes on me, and I on him. He seemed very calm. No, not calm ¡ª amused. I decided I didn¡¯t like that one.


    The lord seemed to master himself, though by the way he jerked his arm from his son¡¯s hand I didn¡¯t think it a total submission. He studied Emma a moment, snorted derisively, then turned to me, dismissing the girl.


    ¡°I apologize for that unpleasantness,¡± he said to me, adjusting his sleeves before placing a hand over his chest and tucking the other behind his back. ¡°It has been a stressful past three days. We thought the young Lady Emma lost to us, fallen afoul of some evil. She is like a daughter to me, and I admit to a father¡¯s wrath in the wake of relief.¡±


    A dark expression passed over Emma¡¯s face.


    ¡°I am Brenner Hunting,¡± the nobleman continued, not noticing or not minding the lady¡¯s ire. ¡°Lord of this fief under the grace of his majesty, King Roland Marcher. Lady Emma introduced you as a ser. May I ask what land you hail from?¡±


    I folded my arms. My weapon remained stowed beneath my cloak ¡ª had the man attacked the girl, I¡¯d have gone for my knife. ¡°You said it yourself, lord.¡± I inclined my head, keeping my tone on the border of respectful. ¡°I¡¯m a vagabond.¡± Then, in a moment of inspiration I added, ¡°Alken of the Fane, they call me.¡±


    Lord Brenner¡¯s bushy eyebrows went up. ¡°Glorysworn, is it? Well, at least the girl didn¡¯t just take some hired thug off the street. I understand it is the habit of your calling not to reveal the name of your House until your errantry is done, so I won¡¯t bother asking.¡±


    How convenient, I noted wryly.


    ¡°And how much did Lady Emma tell you of matters here?¡± Brenner asked, glancing at the girl. ¡°About what exactly she needs protection from?¡±


    ¡°She told me there¡¯s a curse afflicting this land,¡± I said. ¡°A specter of death besieging your people. She sought a champion to face it, and found me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, that is true enough. Well, Ser Alken, have you faced such before?¡± He looked me up and down. ¡°Are you some great monster hunter?¡±


    ¡°He can wield Art,¡± Emma blurted. ¡°I saw it myself.¡± She saw my sidelong glare and turned her nose up.


    Brenner¡¯s eyebrows rose further. ¡°A magus, are you? Then you and Ser Kross have aught in common, I think.¡± He gestured to the man with the short-cropped hair. ¡°He is a Knight-Exorcist of the Priory.¡± When he noted Emma¡¯s surprised look, he chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s right, young lady, I have not been as lax as you claimed. While you were off finding some gallant ¡ª no offense to you, Ser Alken ¡ª I was seeking the aid of real professionals! This won¡¯t be the first Thing of Darkness Ser Kross has banished.¡±


    He looked to me then. ¡°Of course, if our Glorysworn friend wants to tag along and try his own skill in aid of this hunt, then that is well. I would hate for his time to have been wasted.¡± He said the last pointedly.


    I could almost hear Emma grinding her teeth. ¡°Of course, my lord.¡±


    Brenner studied me a moment longer, then turned his eyes to Emma. ¡°For now, we have all had a trying past few days. I am certain you will need rest after your... escapades. I would like you to join me at my keep on the morrow. We will discuss this matter more.¡±


    Emma bowed her head, managing to make the gesture look defiant. ¡°As you will, my lord.¡±


    Without a second glance, Brenner looked to his son and the Church knight and nodded. He swept out of the room. Ser Kross watched me with that half-smile on his face the whole time. When he drew near, his shadow passed over me. I went very still until he¡¯d departed.


    The lord¡¯s son, whose name I hadn¡¯t caught, paused near Emma. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that Em,¡± he said. Again, I noted how quiet and light his voice was, mismatched to his frame. He seemed like a shadow of his father, his presence a whisper echoing the older man¡¯s shout. ¡°We were all worried sick about you. We¡¯d thought the Burnt Rider had finally...¡± he shrugged his brawny shoulders. ¡°You know.¡±


    Emma¡¯s expression softened somewhat, though it didn¡¯t lose all its sourness. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Hendry. I¡¯m fine.¡± She waggled her fingers after the departed men, as though casting a spell, and her imperious inflections returned. ¡°Go. Wouldn¡¯t want to keep his lordship waiting.¡±


    The boy, Hendry, nodded to me as he passed, then departed.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± Emma snapped once they¡¯d gone. ¡°Waiting for me in my own parlor, like I¡¯m some errant child to be reprimanded. My parents paid him for this villa, earned his hospitality.¡±


    I kept my peace. Emma seemed to notice me still standing there and made a visible effort to calm herself. She lifted her narrow chin and made an odd gesture, sweeping her hand out to one side. ¡°I shall give you a tour of my court, then.¡±


    I nodded gravely. ¡°As you will, my lady.¡± My attention, however, wandered after the departed trio. When Ser Kross had passed me, I¡¯d felt a wash of power from him, brief, yet potent. His aura had smelled of incense and rang like a gentle choir in my ears.


    A Church paladin. I¡¯d have to be cautious around that one, lest he sense what I am.

 Arc 2: Chapter 11: Shrike

    Arc 2: Chapter 11: Shrike


    In truth, there wasn¡¯t much for Emma to show me in her ¡°court.¡± The manor, though old and worn down, was clean and comfortably furnished. It had little in the way of riches. It reminded me of a wealthy home stripped of its possessions to pay off debts.


    Given Brenner¡¯s possessive attitude toward the Carreon scion and her heirlooms, I wondered how much of her family¡¯s treasures he¡¯d claimed in return for his protection.


    The manor had few other residents. I noticed a dour-looking groundskeeper tending to the trees at the edge of the property, catching sight of him through a second floor window. I noticed no other servants. I met one resident when I nearly stepped on the second of its two long, fluffy red tails, and it rewarded me with a high-pitched yelp before darting off into the depths of the house.


    ¡°A hearthhound?¡± I asked.


    Emma¡¯s lips had quirked in amusement at my moment of fright. ¡°That was Valiant. Because he¡¯s our valiant protector, you see?¡±


    ¡°...Right. It¡¯s just, they¡¯re usually bigger.¡± I paused a beat and added, ¡°and braver.¡±


    Emma shrugged.


    Besides that, the manor seemed empty. No guards, no handmaids, no relatives. There were crop fields beyond the manor grounds tended by country folk from nearby villages, and the carriage driver Qoth who kept up the stables. The groundskeeper lived in a small cottage close to one of the hamlets, perhaps half an hours walk away. Vanya and Qoth seemed to be the only other permanent residents of the country manor.


    A lonely life. Alone in this coastland, at the mercy of an overbearing lord, without family or wealth, with a dynastic curse shadowing her through her life. I started to understand how Nath had gotten her in with the young Carreon.


    ¡°House Hunting doesn¡¯t offer you any men-at-arms?¡± I asked her, while we stood in the gardens following the brief tour. The sky had grown overcast, and I could smell rain on the cool wind.


    Emma pursed her lips, not replying immediately. I couldn¡¯t read her expression. She''d become remote, as she had during the lulls in our conversation during the journey. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned the fields. She paced out onto the grass, rolled her shoulders, then slid her ornate sword from its sheath, letting the ornate scabbard fall to the ground. Then she turned to face me, brandishing the blade.


    ¡°Let us see that fine battle axe of yours, then.¡± She lifted her chin.


    I didn¡¯t understand, at first. ¡°Sorry?¡±


    Emma rolled her eyes. ¡°Draw your weapon! Have at me.¡±


    ¡°You... want me to fight you?¡±


    In response, the Carreon girl flourished her blade, causing the fine steel to cut the air with an audible whistle. She had good control, I noted, the sort of poise only gained through training and confidence. ¡°You ask me why I keep no guards. I will show you. Besides, I want to see what you can do. That light show in the woods didn¡¯t give me a good idea.¡±


    I hesitated. I had no idea how competent a swordswoman Emma was, exactly, and we used real weaponry. Dangerous, for a test. More than that, I noted something in the aristocrat¡¯s eyes I didn¡¯t like, her cold calm vanishing the moment she drew steel. Frustration, anger, bitterness, all of it mixed with a hungry sense of anticipation. Her eyes were truly like a hawk¡¯s now, wide and unblinking.


    I didn¡¯t particularly want to waste the day helping the draconian teenager prove something. I had an undead nightmare to hunt and a fell godling to appease. Still, I¡¯d been ordered to play nice. Also, I didn¡¯t mind the idea of seeing what she could do. There had to be a good reason Nath had taken her under wing. Something told me her air of confidence wasn¡¯t all feigned.


    Emma noted the reluctance fade from my face and flashed her teeth in a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back now, Ser Red. I want to know why Lady Nath picked you.¡±


    And I want to know why she picked you, I thought. Without speaking, I unclasped my russet cloak and let it fall to the ground, revealing the long coat of frayed chainmail I wore beneath. Dark Elf forged from strange substances, the shadowed links shimmered oddly in the wan daylight of an overcast day.


    I¡¯d added a few of my own modifications over the months since Oradyn Irn Bale had given me the armor, the gift meant as an apology, and as a pretext to feed me secrets about a dangerous foe. I¡¯d added vambraces and spaulders of paler mortal steel, and wound my chest and waist with leather straps for various other accessories, including my dagger, axe-hook, and various pouches and packs. I wore dark brown trousers beneath the ragged strips of metal rings hanging below my belt, tucked into tough leather boots. I¡¯d had my tall boots armored as well, protecting my shins and the tops of my feet.


    Normally, I¡¯d have added an overcoat of some variety to help protect the metalwork, but the faerie armor didn¡¯t seem bothered by rain and wear the same as human craft.


    Emma swallowed at the sight, losing some of her bravado. I wasn¡¯t so mature as to not take some satisfaction in that. I stood most of six and a half feet tall to her five and eight inches, and I had a frame near burly as the Hunting lad¡¯s.


    ¡°Rules?¡± I asked.


    Emma shook her nervousness away and once more donned her own armor of aristocratic disdain. ¡°We stop when one yields.¡±


    I nodded, then unhooked my axe from the ring on my back and let its oaken handle slide through my fingers, so the crescent-moon blade hung low to the grass.


    We began to circle one another, some martial instinct compelling us both to begin pacing in the same instant. Emma didn¡¯t rush me. She held her blade in a low guard, the slender steel tip brushing along the grass. Her eyes never left mine.


    I noted we¡¯d attracted an audience. The coachman observed from the cover of a big apple tree some distance off, still wearing their black garments and tricorn despite the day¡¯s relative warmth. The servant, Vanya, watched from the manor¡¯s back door.


    Emma and I closed the distance between us as we circled, like two stones caught in a whirlpool, both spinning toward an inevitable conclusion. Then, without warning, she darted toward me, feinting high with her blade only to commit to a swiping cut from the left.


    It nearly scored. Surprised by her speed and unrestrained ferocity, I barely parried the blow with my axe, lifting it so the bit faced skyward near my right shoulder. The razor edge of Emma''s sword glided across the denser bronze edge of my own weapon. Rich mortal steel hissed against elven bronze, then we parted in two simultaneous and differently complex movements.


    I stared at the young aristo, not bothering to hide my impressed expression. ¡°Who taught you how to swing a blade?¡± I asked.


    ¡°My Lady!¡± A voice cried out. Vanya, who¡¯d been watching from the manor¡¯s back door, rushed to the fallen noble and collapsed to her knees between me and her mistress, as though to shield the girl. I stood there a moment, catching my breath and trying to catch up to what had just happened. Then, cursing, I went to them to help.


    ¡°Stay away!¡± Vanya spat. Her sad, tired face had twisted with rage and panic, transforming her entirely. ¡°Don¡¯t come near her.¡±


    I set my axe in the grass and held up both of my hands in a gesture of peace. ¡°I just want to see how badly she¡¯s hurt,¡± I said. ¡°Please.¡±


    Vanya¡¯s nostrils flared. Her eyes held nothing but distrust and fear at first, but as her momentary panic calmed she seemed to reassert control over herself. ¡°What did you do to her?¡± She demanded.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for this to happen, I swear it. I might be able to help her.¡±


    The maid stared at me a long moment. Fear and shock don¡¯t make for good pillars to rational thought, but she¡¯d watched our bout. She¡¯d seen how things had gotten out of hand. I saw the understanding break through her moment of panic. She nodded, moving aside.


    I knelt next to Emma. Her arms were a ruin, deep gouges carved from mid-forearm to shoulder, shredding the fine material of her clothes and the skin beneath. She looked pale, and trembled. Smaller cuts had scored her face, particularly around her eyes. It seemed a miracle she hadn¡¯t been blinded. She didn¡¯t seem aware of me or Vanya, her eyes locked on her injured arms.


    The wounds looked bad. My heart pounded in my chest. If I were responsible for killing the girl, even inadvertently in self defense, I¡¯d...


    I¡¯d come close to killing innocents in the past, but never had. For all her dark dealings and regal airs, Emma was innocent. I would not cross that line.


    I would not.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Vanya asked, her voice hushed.


    ¡°I disrupted her magic,¡± I said, not sure if Vanya knew anything about the Auratic Arts. ¡°She wasn¡¯t prepared for the backlash ¡ª it was probably the first time anyone¡¯s dispelled her Art like that. The power she channeled had nowhere to go but back into her.¡±


    "Her own magic did this?" Vanya asked, her face going pale with horror.


    Idiot, I cursed myself. I''d lost my cool in the moment, become brutally reactive rather than analytical. "It''s common with untrained adepts," I explained. "But it''s worse with her power. The Blood Arts -- they''re stronger than a typical Art, more real, but the power can be jealous. Rather than dissipating into harmless Od, it erupted. Like... like shrapnel from a cannonball, but all in one direction, back at its source."


    I babbled. The wounds were ugly, and everything had happened so fast...


    Vanya¡¯s eyes narrowed in thought. ¡°My...¡± she took a deep breath, shuddering slightly. ¡°My great-aunt was a witch who practiced healing. When I was a girl, she ripped the plague out of another child, but it went into her instead... it was like she sickened to death instantly, like the disease had turned into a living, hungry thing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like that,¡± I agreed. ¡°Her magic isn¡¯t a kind one.¡± I thought again of the cruel barbs on the pikes she¡¯d conjured.


    ¡°What can you do for her?¡± Vanya asked, her tone becoming curt.


    ¡°I...¡± I swallowed. ¡°I might be able to heal the injuries with my own magic.¡± I held out my hand, concentrating. I tried to clear my thoughts, let myself become like clear spring water. Once, I¡¯d had the power to heal with a touch ¡ª the Alder Table had been famed for that power, nearly so much as our battle Arts.


    I hadn¡¯t been able to heal since the Table had been broken. Since I¡¯d learned that¡ª


    Don¡¯t think about it, I ordered myself. You are clear water. You are a protector, a shield against evil, a wellspring of hope. You are the Dawn and the Warding Moon.


    You are a killer. A failure and a dupe.


    I grit my teeth with the effort of clearing my mind, fighting against the intrusive thoughts. I took the same magic I used to smite dead things and demons, and channeled it into something gentler. I recalled the bounty of Seydis, once shared with all of Urn. I thought of trees shining with gilded leaves, of vibrant prairies, of silver waterfalls. I thought of what I''d once been, and tried to make myself that again.


    When I lifted them to Emma¡¯s arm, my fingertips shone with pale golden light. Vanya gasped at the sight.


    I placed that golden hand on the girl¡¯s arm, and¡ª


    And...


    Nothing. The power faded. The wounds continued to bleed.


    I closed my eyes, shame and exhaustion making my shoulders slump. ¡°Are there any clerics in one of the villages nearby?¡± I asked Vanya.


    Vanya didn¡¯t seem to understand what I¡¯d just tried, or why it hadn¡¯t worked. ¡°There¡¯s a man who lives not far,¡± she said. ¡°A doctor. A physician.¡±


    ¡°Get him,¡± I said, frustration tightening my voice. ¡°I¡¯ll bring her inside.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 12: Silver For The Dead

    Arc 2: Chapter 12: Silver For The Dead


    Vanya returned within an hour with an aged man dressed as a monk, save for the apron and belt of tools he wore over his brown robes. I left him with Emma and Vanya in the young noble¡¯s bedroom, feeling useless and guilty.


    It didn¡¯t matter at all that I¡¯d been defending myself from Emma¡¯s magic. She was barely more than a child, and I¡¯d let her goad me into that duel. I¡¯d been dismissive and surly, knowing it ate at her pride ¡ª I¡¯d dealt with nobles before, and knew what might happen. I hadn¡¯t cared. I¡¯d been so angry at this situation with Nath¡¯s request, upset at what had happened in the Fane with Ser Maxim, and...


    And I made excuses. I¡¯d wanted to take the girl down a peg. I¡¯d shown off, toyed with her, and made it seem like I did so easily. I couldn¡¯t deny I¡¯d been at least in part malicious, intentionally poking at her pride until she¡¯d snapped.


    I walked outside. A light rain had begun to fall, but the grassy field where Emma and I had sparred still seemed vibrant and bright, as though caught in beams of post-storm sunlight. The grass seemed sharper, almost metallic. We¡¯d both used a lot of aura, and it lingered in the world, dramatizing it. It would fade before long.


    I picked up my cloak from where I¡¯d discarded it on the grass, then found my axe. I hooked the weapon onto the back of my hauberk, securing it in the iron ring there, then tossed my cloak over one shoulder without putting it on. I sighed, collecting myself, and turned back to the manor.


    A figure leaned against the porch, watching me with bright green eyes from beneath the brim of a tricorn.


    ¡°You¡¯re... Qoth.¡± I remembered what Emma had called the coachman.


    Qoth¡¯s expression remained unreadable, between the cloth bandanna and shady hat. I couldn¡¯t even tell if they were a man or woman. They were small, slight, made bulkier by the layered garments and heavy coat.


    ¡°You going to take umbrage with me for hurting your lady?¡± I asked, more resigned than challenging.


    ¡°Nah.¡± Qoth¡¯s light, slightly muffled voice seemed oddly chipper. ¡°Good show, though. Haven¡¯t seen Emma that angry in a while.¡± Their green eyes sparkled with interest, and perhaps a bit of mirth.


    Discomforted by the strange servant, I decided to change the subject. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t Lord Brenner have any guards here?¡± I asked.


    Qoth shrugged, folding their arms. ¡°He tried. Emma knew he was more interested in keeping eyes on her than keeping her safe. She played up the Devil Child angle, and soon enough none of the locals would come near this place, even the lord¡¯s men-at-arms. He sends knights sometimes, has more patrols in this area, but he got the message eventually. Even that physiker Vanya brought is only here because he owes her a favor. Honestly, if not for Vanya, we¡¯d be living a lot harder out in this back country. Woman¡¯s a lot more capable than she looks.¡±


    Remembering my brief conversation with the maidservant, I didn¡¯t doubt it. ¡°And what¡¯s Brenner¡¯s interest in the young lady?¡± I asked. ¡°Orphaned scion of a dead House... what¡¯s his angle?¡±


    Qoth, as I might have expected, just shrugged. I¡¯d mostly asked the question just to ask it, not expecting the coach driver to have any knowledge or interest in politics.


    The physik emerged a while later, looking nervous and a touch angry. ¡°The girl will live,¡± he told me. ¡°But she¡¯s lost much blood. I¡¯d keep her abed for the next week. Change her bandages regularly, and use the antiseptic I left in her room. She¡¯s resting now.¡± His expression became stern. ¡°And, by the love of the Heir, use practice swords when you¡¯re sparring. Of all the irresponsible...¡±


    With that, the physik departed in haste, grumbling and casting wary looks back over his shoulder. My own neck still bled too. He hadn¡¯t even so much as blinked at it, in his hurry to leave. Qoth glanced at me and lifted their dark eyebrows, as though to say see?


    I narrowed my eyes at the chimera handler. ¡°And what about you?¡±


    Qoth had produced an apple from their coat. They rubbed it on their sleeve, inspected it critically, then tucked it back under one arm without lowering their bandanna to take a bite. ¡°What about me?¡±


    ¡°For one thing, what are you?¡±


    Qoth went still.


    I maintained eye contact, more certain the longer I trained my golden eyes on the servant¡¯s own. ¡°You¡¯re not human,¡± I said. ¡°Or at least, not entirely. Your aura has a strange sense to it, and you keep slipping away from my vision when I¡¯m not focusing on you, like a shadow.¡±


    Qoth spread their hands out wide, the black sleeves of their coat flaring out like crow wings. ¡°Then what do you think I am, O¡¯ Knight?¡±


    I studied the figure another long moment, trying to see through the glamour I sensed about them. ¡°You¡¯re Emma¡¯s familiar,¡± I said at last, certain of it even as I said the words. ¡°Some kind of Briar faerie.¡±


    Qoth studied me perhaps half a minute, saying nothing, green eyes intense. Then, with slow deliberation, they took off their tricorn and lowered their mask. Black hair cascaded down, and sharp green teeth flashed in a too-wide grin ¡ª not from a human face, but an elongated muzzle. I thought at first that a green jewel had been embedded into the creature¡¯s forehead, but as it blinked at me I understood it to be a large, inhuman eye. Pointed ears poked from the mane of dark hair as it fell into place.


    The coachman dipped into an elaborate, courtly bow. His arms had become longer, his legs more bowed. His voice changed when he spoke next, becoming refined, losing some of that lowborn human dialect he¡¯d been feigning. ¡°Qoth of the Green Eye. At your service, O¡¯ Alder Knight.¡±


    I lifted my chin. ¡°You¡¯re one of Nath¡¯s.¡±


    The Briar elf chittered. The sound had a disturbingly insectile quality. ¡°For now, I belong to the girl. I am her eyes, her ears, and her fangs if need be. As you said ¡ª I am her familiar. Every self-respecting warlock has one, or didn¡¯t you know?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I admit, it¡¯s not a tradition I¡¯ve much experience in.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Qoth said dryly. ¡°I imagine you busied yourself hunting them, mostly.¡±


    I studied the Briarfae a moment longer. ¡°Does Emma know who I am?¡± I asked. ¡°What I am?¡±


    Qoth shook his too-large head. ¡°Nath did not reveal aught of your identity to the child. Secrets of that sort have power, Ser Knight, and are not given lightly.¡±


    No doubt Nath would leverage that indulgence against me, eventually. Snorting, I turned away.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Qoth asked, seeing me don my cloak.


    I rolled my shoulders, wincing as I pulled at the cut on my neck. It had already scabbed, and would turn into little more than scar tissue in an hour or two ¡ª I may not have been able to heal others anymore, but my own fast healing still worked well enough. ¡°I¡¯m not going to sit around waiting for this revenant to make its move,¡± I said. ¡°If its activity is concentrated in this fief, then I should be able to find signs of it.¡±


    ¡°Will you join Lord Hunting¡¯s hunt?¡± Qoth asked, giggling at the wordplay.


    I considered the idea. I didn¡¯t have any faith that a provincial lord and his entourage could track down a living curse on their own, but he¡¯d had the knight-exorcist. Ser Kross might have a few tricks up his sleeve.


    I swallowed. I knew better than to let her get to me ¡ª my fear could make her stronger. The silver I¡¯d offered and this conversation made her dangerous enough. It was the same as inviting her past a home¡¯s threshold, or letting her sit at my campfire. That invitation empowered the Dead. I¡¯d just have to hope the rites and laws that bound her kind still held strong enough to keep me safe through a brief conversation.


    That order had once been ironclad. Nowadays... I kept my guard up, just in case.


    ¡°There is a dark spirit at large in this land,¡± I said, once I¡¯d settled my nerves. ¡°I want to know what the Dead can tell me about it.¡±


    ¡°There are many dark spirits in this land,¡± the Lady of Strekke intoned, almost gleefully.


    I let some steel creep into my voice, along with a bit of magic. ¡°You know of whom I speak. The Burnt Rider, the one who haunts the bloodline of House Carreon. What does Draubard know of him?¡±


    The ghost flinched at the touch of the aura in my voice. ¡°You speak of the Heir of House Orley.¡± She paused a while, growing very still. Then, whisper-quiet she said, ¡°yes, the Dead know of him, though we do not claim him.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°You will see.¡±


    Clenching my jaw in frustration, I decided to let that comment go for the time being. The ghostly noble could keep me talking in circles without ever gaining anything of real use, and I suspected her of being fully willing to engage in malicious compliance. ¡°Fine,¡± I growled. ¡°Tell me more about this revenant. Who is he? Who was he?¡±


    The ghost¡¯s chortle echoed in the fog, making it seem as though a congregation of shades mocked me. ¡°You do not even know the sins committed by the family you defend! Oh, what a rich hypocrisy. You ruin my House for our blasphemies, and defend another despite theirs. Do you not see the cracks in the foundation you seek to uphold, O¡¯ Headsman?¡±


    I¡¯d had enough of the ghost¡¯s poison. ¡°Speak,¡± I ordered.


    The laughter died, and the spirit seemed to drift further away from me. She hugged her farmer¡¯s scythe close, as though for comfort. ¡°Very well. I will tell you a tale, then, so you may know your folly.¡±


    ¡°Once, in the Westvales, there were two great families. The mightiest, the most feared, was the High House of Carreon. They were called the Shrikes. For their penchant for impalement, you see?¡±


    I said nothing, remembering the phantasmal spears Emma had conjured and her fell name for them. Perhaps she hadn¡¯t been the one to name that inherited magic.


    ¡°The second power in the west were the lords of House Orley,¡± the Lady of Strekke continued. ¡°Half the lesser houses swore to Carreon, half to Orley. For many generations, they were in balance... yet they warred incessant. The hatred between those families ran deep as red seas.¡±


    ¡°A blood feud,¡± I said. ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°Damned indeed,¡± the ghost hissed. ¡°And dark was the end of that sanguine tale. It came to pass that a proposal for peace was arranged. A bond to end the feud, and bring the two powers of the Westvales together. A union of blood and dynasties.¡±


    A cold that had nothing to do with the ghostly mist began to creep through me. Trepidation. I had a feeling I wouldn¡¯t like where this tale traveled. ¡°A marriage,¡± I whispered.


    ¡°So common among my kind,¡± the Lady of Strekke said, her voice becoming pondering. ¡°Such a simple proposal, but mutual enmity had kept either side from extending that olive branch. The Carreon patriarch of the time offered his eldest daughter, then a young woman, to be wed to the young heir of House Orley, at the time an accomplished warrior despite his youth. The Orleys were House Carreon¡¯s equal in the arts of war, shrewd in diplomacy, blessed in allies. The lord¡¯s heir was well loved, by the commonfolk and lesser houses sworn to his family alike.¡±


    A ghoulish smile scarred the dead face I could just barely see through the dead woman¡¯s veil. ¡°But the Orleys had one weakness the Carreon lord was all too happy to take advantage of. A sense of honor. Orley valued the old ways, the ancient customs of the Edaean Kings of old. Offers of marriage are sacred, and would have joined both houses as one. They had every reason to believe the offer to be genuine.¡±


    ¡°The two families, and many of their vassal Low Houses, came together at the fortress monastery of Tol for the ceremony. The marriage took place. Then, on her wedding night, the Carreon bride slit the Orley heir¡¯s throat in their marriage bed. That same night, traitors hidden among House Orley¡¯s vassals and allies made their move even as the Carreon armies mobilized. They massacred their rival. They besieged and dismantled their castles. House Orley was destroyed, down to the last babe, the last maidservant, and displayed along the roads of the Westvales on pikes.¡±


    The Lady of Strekke bowed her head, again cradling the enormous scythe. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? That is Emma Carreon¡¯s legacy. That is the abomination you protect.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a dark tale,¡± I agreed. ¡°But this happened a long time ago. Emma¡¯s not responsible for her ancestors¡¯ crimes.¡±


    ¡°Wrong,¡± the ghost hissed. ¡°The land remembers. The Dead do not forget. The scion of House Carreon carries her families¡¯ sins in her blood even as she carries their magic. The Carreons trespassed against the sanctity of the Heir of Heaven¡¯s own laws, and all that bloodline will pay the price. He will come for her, and drag her soul into the flames. Just as you too are bound for the Fire for your own blasphemy.¡±


    I squeezed my left eye shut as a flare of pain went through the four long grooves carved there from temple to cheek. I held a hand to them, gritting my teeth against the pain.


    ¡°Yes!¡± The Lady of Strekke seemed to grow larger within the swirl of mist, rising to seven feet, eight, stretching into something out of nightmare. ¡°The Dead know of your sins as well, Alken Hewer, Knight of the Alder Table! We know of your blasphemous lust, of the role you played in the burning of Seydis. We know of the evil you courted, the betrayal you allowed to pass!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know.¡± I stumbled, still clutching at my burning eye. The lie tasted like ash on my tongue. ¡°I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply to the ghost, didn¡¯t care what she thought of me. I heard the echo of Ser Maxim¡¯s own pitiful wails in my own voice, when he¡¯d succumbed to the golden ghosts in his thoughts. The same ones who haunted me.


    Images flashed through my mind, burning as sharply as my scars in that moment. My captains encircling the Archon¡¯s fallen form, their own blades in his back. Gilded towers burning, hundreds of voices screaming, cackling demons glutting themselves on death. A woman¡¯s face ¡ª a stranger¡¯s face ¡ª caught between grief and fury.


    A sword in my hand, covered in smoking blood. I hadn¡¯t held a sword since that day.


    ¡°You cannot lie to the dead.¡± The ghost continued to grow, her features distorting. The scythe had become a crooked guillotine in her skeletal hands. ¡°There will be no redemption for you, oathbreaker, no peace! We will haunt you to the ends of Existence. I will never forgive you for murdering my husband, for orphaning my son!¡±


    I fought through the visions, bringing myself back to the graveyard. ¡°You can¡¯t touch me,¡± I told the ghost. ¡°The Law of Draubard¡ª¡±


    ¡°Does not hold me!¡± The Lady of Strekke cackled. She resembled nothing human anymore. ¡°I escaped the clutches of the drow! And I did not accept your silver.¡±


    My eyes caught a gleaming shape on the withered grass. My azsilver coin.


    The noblewoman¡¯s ghost rose above me, towering, wispy veil turned into a tattered crown of writhing mist about a stretched, ghoulish face. The rusted blade she held in her hand was as transparent as her, but it gleamed with od ¡ª its edge would cut true. Lesser ghosts boiled in the mist, murmuring, pressing in on me in the dozens.


    ¡°I am Lorena Starling,¡± the ghost boomed. ¡°And I will have my revenge, Headsman.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 13: The Paladin

    Arc 2: Chapter 13: The Paladin


    It got worse.


    As I unhooked my axe from beneath my cloak, stepping back from Lorena¡¯s towering gaunt form, the surrounding mist seemed to sink into the ground. I felt a shudder ripple through the earth, and a spike of dread shot through me.


    The ground heaved, and dead hands began to burst from the surrounding graves. Ragged shapes crawled up from below, pale light clinging to their desiccated forms and shining in their hollow eyes. Thin, stretched limbs twitched with unholy energy.


    Though they wore different bodies, I knew these dead. Lorena Starling hadn¡¯t been the only rogue spirit to escape the clutches of the Underworld. She¡¯d brought her castle¡¯s garrison along with her.


    Shit.


    Rotten corpses animated by disquiet spirits shambled through the graves. As the ghosts tightened their grip on those stolen bodies, they began to move with more vigor. Not grace, per se, but they possessed an eerie sort of dexterity. At first they held no weapons, and wore only the threadbare remnants of whatever funeral garb the commonfolk who¡¯d buried their loved ones here had dressed them in. However, as I watched, mist and witchlight began to form spears and axes, crested helms and breastplates, and all the accoutrements of a castle guard.


    There were dozens of them. I recalled my desperate escape from Castle Strekke, and steeled myself for a hard fight. I¡¯d been on my last legs when I¡¯d dueled Emery Planter. Now, rested and healed, I didn¡¯t feel like death and dismemberment were guaranteed.


    Only likely.


    The real threat towered above the others. Lorena Starling had become something worse than a mere ghost. I lifted my chin to her ghastly visage as it loomed over me, that serrated thing that resembled both a guillotine and a scythe clutched in her sharp claws.


    I focused on the core of golden power in me, conjuring the image of a wall of gleaming shields in my mind. I felt my aura reshape itself at my will and the murmuring of ritual words. Pale light spread out from me, small and wan compared to the overbearing presence of the undead, but steady. I lifted my axe, almost as though to kiss the top of the bit. With a flash of light and a scattering of gilded petals, that same circle of ornate shields I¡¯d imagined in my thoughts burst into life, each floating equidistant several feet from me to face in all directions, all circling me like orbiting bodies.


    All Auratic Arts have names. They are writ into the very fabric of reality, along with the deeds and wills that gave birth to them. The phantasmal kite shields I summoned were part of a versatile technique named the Aureate Aegis by its creator, one of my Alder forebears, or simply the Aureshield. It makes for a strong defense, especially against purely supernatural foes, but it is short lived and draining. I could only hold it for a few seconds.


    It is also very dramatic and flashy, which makes for an excellent cover.


    The undead horde, including their ghastly leader, recoiled from the flash of consecrated aura I brought forth. As soon as their eyes were no longer on me, I ducked down and lunged forward through the low-clinging mist, moving through a gap I¡¯d left within the circle of phantasmal shields. I went forward like a red wind, cloak fluttering, shimmering golden petals scattering around me. I took my axe in both hands and leapt, like a direwolf going for the kill, straight toward Lorena.


    One of her guards fouled the early victory I¡¯d hoped to claim. Valiant, or perhaps too far gone to disobey, a skeletal warrior stepped into my path with mist-formed shield raised. I clove through the shield, the gilded fire on my axe severing the ghost¡¯s own magic, and split the corpse¡¯s skull in the same blow.


    It fell. Its lady rose. With a scream that might have stopped the small hearts of birds, she lashed out at me with her enormous weapon. I caught its edge on my own, but it had tremendous force. The blow threw me, rolling several times over graveyard dirt before managing to catch myself in a crouch. I bared my teeth at Lorena, furious at my failure.


    Her own fury was far more impressive than my own, and my failed attempt at ending her had given the dead warriors time to surround me. The mob closed in, rictus grins leering large in my vision. The cold of their presence ate into my bones, and I suspected I¡¯d be shivering to death if not for the core of holy flame burning in my aura.


    I thought perhaps that might have been the end, then. I¡¯d faced it many times. Fate, however, had other plans, and a wicked sense of irony.


    ¡°Hark, ye¡¯ shades!¡±


    Something passed over the graveyard. I can only describe it as a sea wind, briefly lived, which sent the mist rolling back. A white light flared beyond the horde of wights, which Lorena, her guard, and I all turned our eyes toward. At the center of that pale nimbus stood a tall figure, framed in the brightness as a shape only barely distinguishable from their own radiance. I could just make out the image of four silver wings, and...


    A halo.


    A voice like cathedral bells tolled across the grave field, striking the undead as a gale. ¡°This land is not for you, restless ones. You have been offered sanctuary ¡ª you reject it at your peril.¡±


    Lorena Starling screeched at the shining figure. ¡°We have been offered a prison!¡±


    ¡°The Gates have yet to open,¡± the figure intoned. I heard the distinct sound of steel sliding against leather. The angelic presence lifted a sword blazing with white fire aloft. ¡°Return to your own lands, ye¡¯ dead. Return!¡±


    ¡°By whose authority?¡± Lorena hissed. Her warriors chattered, as though lifting their own cries in agreement with their lady.


    ¡°By Her authority. I compel you, in Queen Aureia¡¯s name. Return.¡±


    At the Command, and at the uttering of that most holy of all names, the Dead withered. Lorena shrank back to her original size, the reaper¡¯s scythe in her hands crumbling to ash. She threw up her gaunt arms against the flare of light, keening. Around her, her soldiers began to crumble as the ghosts clinging to rotten, stolen bodies ripped themselves free of bone and sinew, flitting into the mists.


    When Lorena saw her battalion in route, she let out a ghastly scream. ¡°You! I know you! I do not fear you, wretched hound.¡±


    I canted my head to one side. ¡°Maybe. I need to know exactly what I¡¯m dealing with. How about you? What have you learned?¡±


    ¡°Nothing much. I only arrived shortly before Lady Emma returned from her sojourn with you, and there have been no attacks in some weeks, so far as I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    ¡°But there have been attacks.¡± I tapped my axe against one shoulder, thinking about my next step. I suspected I might not have seen the last of Lorena Starling, but that wasn¡¯t a problem I could act on. I could protect my charge, ideally in a preemptive rather than reactionary way.


    After a moment of silence, Ser Kross drew himself up and placed a hand on his scarred breastplate. ¡°Allow me to make a proposition. We are both after the same creature, and both interested in protecting the people of this demesne. Why not join forces? The priests have lent me a small bit of Holy Light. Between that, and the faerie magic you possess, I believe we may be able to stand against this Thing of Darkness.¡±


    He stretched out a gauntlet-clad hand. I blinked at it, taken aback.


    In all honesty, I didn¡¯t want to agree, not at first. My knee-jerk reaction was to work alone, to not accept his help or risk him learning more about me. I imagined he wouldn¡¯t be so cordial if he found out exactly whose interests I served. But my mind flashed back to Caelfall, to Olliard and Lisette. Would things have gone differently if I¡¯d joined forces with them? Could we have prevented the tragedy that ruined that place?


    I don¡¯t know. All I know is that I saw an echo of what I¡¯d once been in Ser Renuart Kross, despite his unadorned armor and dour gray cloak.


    I reached out and we gripped one another¡¯s wrist. ¡°I¡¯m willing to hunt together, Ser Kross.¡±


    The man¡¯s angular face split into a grin. ¡°Excellent! For now, though, what of the girl? Is she not with you?¡±


    I pulled my hand back, folding it within my cloak. I fought down the wave of shame, like bile, that rose up in my throat. ¡°She¡¯s... resting.¡±


    Ser Kross lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±


    He¡¯ll find out eventually, I told myself, if we¡¯re going to be cooperating. I explained to him what had happened back at the manor.


    Ser Kross folded his arms, his expression troubled. ¡°I knew the Carreons had a reputation for being somewhat fell, but it seems that blood boils hotter than I would have guessed. How bad are her injuries?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re permanent,¡± I said, not sure if it were true. ¡°The physik her maidservant brought in didn¡¯t stay with her long.¡±


    ¡°Which could either mean they didn¡¯t think it emergent, or were too frightened to stay near the cursed scion of House Carreon.¡± Ser Kross scoffed. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s like they all think she¡¯s some sort of walking disaster.¡±


    ¡°She is cursed,¡± I said. ¡°And uses her powers recklessly. I regret injuring her, but she could have killed me.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have sparred with her,¡± Ser Kross agreed, becoming stern.


    I nodded, accepting the admonition. ¡°I know. Well, at least she can¡¯t get into much trouble confined to bed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer she be able to protect herself if necessary.¡± Ser Kross closed his eyes, lifting his chin as though seeking some answer in the night air. ¡°Perhaps I can do something for her. Would you take me back to the manor with you?¡±


    I glanced at him askance. Then I realized. ¡°You can heal?¡±


    He held up his hand. ¡°I do not have the healing touch ¡ª my powers are suited more for warding and banishments. I am an exorcist. My companion, on the other hand, is capable of such.¡±


    Companion? Furrowing my brow, I reached out with my senses toward the knight. I did feel... something. An unseen presence clinging to him, almost like an invisible cloak. I would have thought it just his aura, had I not been looking for something else. Once I did notice it, I could faintly see a slight shimmer of very pale light behind the man. I could make out folded wings, and thin arms wrapped about his neck as though he were carrying someone piggy-back style.


    I recalled the image of wings I¡¯d seen when he¡¯d revealed himself to the ghosts. A minor servant of the Onsolain, I guessed. A cherub, or perhaps even a seraph. In addition to the fae, the land had many such spirits.


    Mechanics aside, he was a paladin. A real one, not just the half functional remnants of one. He could heal.


    Swallowing, feeling ill at ease all the sudden, I nodded. ¡°I would be grateful for that, Ser Knight.¡±


    Ser Kross bowed his head, expression grave. ¡°It is the least I can do.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 14: Heal and Harm

    Arc 2: Chapter 14: Heal and Harm


    I returned to the manor with the knight-exorcist in tow several hours before dawn. Lights burned in several of the manor¡¯s windows. Vanya met us at the front door, and her eyes widened at the sight of Ser Kross. She dipped into a hasty curtsy.


    ¡°How¡¯s Emma?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Awake,¡± Vanya said, her eyes returning to me. ¡°She... well, you see...¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked, impatient.


    Vanya took a step back at the harshness in my tone. Ser Kross frowned at me as well. I ignored his look, though I knew the maid didn¡¯t deserve my irritation. Only, I¡¯d grown tired of constant problems, and long months wandering alone through back countries had degraded my social skills. Or perhaps I was just tired.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Vanya assured me. ¡°She¡¯s just acting strange. I haven¡¯t been able to get her to rest since the physik¡¯s medicine wore off. You should speak with her, I think.¡± She glanced at the knight-exorcist again. ¡°I will prepare some tea. And food.¡±


    Ser Kross inclined his head graciously. ¡°That would be lovely.¡±


    Vanya blushed, curtsied, then scurried back into the manor. I let Ser Kross follow her, going in search of Emma. I found her in her room, where she paced like a caged lioness. The window hung open, letting in moonlight and chill night air, and candles burned on various surfaces, little flames flickering in agitation.


    ¡°Where were you?¡± She snapped, without greeting me.


    I studied her a moment without responding, stopping at the open doorway. She wore a simple white shirt and trousers, men¡¯s clothes, with the shirt¡¯s sleeves rolled up past her elbow. Her hands were wrapped in dense layers of bandaging. My eyes lingered on the small cuts around her eyes. They made her hawkish gaze seem somehow feral.


    ¡°Hunting for your ghost,¡± I said. ¡°You should be resting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Emma said, turning her back and stalking over to the window. ¡°It¡¯s just a few cuts.¡±


    ¡°It could have been much worse,¡± I said.


    Emma stopped her pacing, her posture going stiff. I watched her collect herself, imagining the soup-pot of emotions that must be simmering inside her. Embarrassment, frustration, and wounded pride.


    I¡¯d done foolish things to prove something before, either to myself or others. I knew some of those feelings.


    Finally, with a mumbled curse, Emma turned to face me. Her angular features looked drawn wire-tight. ¡°How did you do it?¡±


    I tilted my head a bit to one side. ¡°Do what?¡±


    Emma tsk¡¯d. ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb. When you broke my magic. How did you do it?¡±


    I studied her a moment, then leaned against the door frame and folded my arms. ¡°Why? So you can try to win next time?¡± I let my voice become hard. ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time. I shouldn¡¯t have sparred with you in the first place, and I especially won¡¯t do it with sorcery. I¡¯m here to slay a monster for you, milady, not be a practice dummy for your Art.¡±


    Emma opened her mouth, then snapped it close. I didn¡¯t understand the expression on her face. Shock? Confusion?


    Why would this surprise her?


    ¡°But... Lady Nath said...¡± Emma clenched her jaw and turned her back on me again. She clasped her hands behind her back, like a commander hearing a report. ¡°Fine. So what did you accomplish, hunting for my parents¡¯ murderer?¡±


    ¡°First of all,¡± I said, ¡°that your own ancestor murdered him first.¡±


    Emma became still. ¡°How did you learn this?¡±


    ¡°I spoke with the Dead,¡± I said. ¡°There aren¡¯t many secrets the denizens of the Underworld aren¡¯t privy to. You¡¯re being hunted by the risen spirit of a man your family betrayed during a sacred union.¡±


    Emma shrugged. ¡°And what does this change? I told you the revenant was an old enemy of my House.¡±


    ¡°It changes a lot,¡± I said. ¡°I should have had these details from you, so I know what it is I¡¯m dealing with.¡± Then, sighing, I softened my tone. ¡°How are your arms?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fine,¡± Emma lied.


    In the corner of my vision, I caught a cloaked figure waiting at the end of the hall. I pushed off the door frame. ¡°I brought someone here who might be able to help. Will you let him take a look?¡±


    Emma turned to me, suspicion writ on her face. ¡°Brought who?¡±


    When Ser Kross stepped into view, Emma¡¯s face twisted into a scowl. ¡°Lord Brenner¡¯s hired witch hunter?¡±


    Kross let that comment roll off his steel clad shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t specialize in hunting witches in particular, my lady. House Hunting has employed me to help protect the people of this province, which presently includes you.¡± His gray eyes went to her bandaged arms. ¡°Will you allow me to see?¡± He held a hand out toward her, palm up.


    ¡°Did Lord Brenner send you?¡± Emma looked at me, her expression darkening. ¡°Did you tell him?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°Ser Kross is here by his own choice.¡±


    Uncertainty cracked the young Carreon¡¯s disdainful mask. I saw her wrapped fingers twitch. She put on a good show, but her posture was too controlled, her face too pale with discomfort.


    I knew Emma couldn¡¯t completely bend her pride. So it didn¡¯t surprise me when she just shrugged, as though it were no big matter. ¡°Very well. If you want to say a few prayers for me, father, then by all means.¡±


    Ser Kross¡¯s lips twitched into a small smile. ¡°I may at that, but let us see what we¡¯re dealing with first.¡±


    He had Emma sit on the bed, and knelt on the floor next to her. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages while I watched from the door. Vanya lingered in the hall as well, her face drawn with worry.


    I tried to hide my reaction, once the girl¡¯s arms were bare. They were lacerated with cuts, some of which still bled. Moving them seemed difficult, and she winced even at Ser Kross¡¯s light touch on her wrist.Visitt  for the latest updates


    ¡°You are very lucky an artery didn¡¯t get cut,¡± the knight murmured.


    I wanted to demand his oath not to try what he¡¯d suggested, but something told me this man had a will to match mine, and wouldn¡¯t back down. I decided to accept the compromise, though I still felt disgust and rage boiling in my gut. ¡°I agree.¡±


    Ser Kross turned, adjusting his cloak so it draped more over one shoulder than the other. ¡°For now, I will return to Antlerhall and report to Lord Brenner. Will you and the young lady be meeting us tomorrow, for his council?¡±


    I felt relieved he¡¯d decided to leave on his own. Now he¡¯d revealed his attitude toward Emma, I wouldn¡¯t have been comfortable with him staying in the manor. ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, keeping my tone neutral. ¡°I¡¯ll see what her ladyship thinks.¡±


    Ser Kross nodded, still with that pondering look on his face, as though I were a puzzle he couldn¡¯t quite solve. ¡°Get some rest then, Alken of the Fane. This is only the beginning.¡±


    ***


    ¡°You can sleep here,¡± Vanya said, showing me a small guest room. Stepping inside, I found it light on furnishing, clean, and comfortably cool. I liked it immediately.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.


    Vanya just nodded, face neutral, and turned to leave. I sighed and spoke to her back. ¡°I am sorry, about what happened today.¡±


    Vanya stopped, not immediately turning. I heard her take a deep breath, then she turned. Like with Ser Kross, this quieter moment gave me time to study the maid more closely. I¡¯d noted before that she seemed tired, her eyes shadowed by lack of sleep, her long, thin face set in perpetual worry. However, as she looked at me with eyes that didn¡¯t bother hiding their judgement, I felt like I had a stronger measure on the woman.


    She wasn¡¯t quite so old as I¡¯d first assumed, I thought then. In her mid thirties, perhaps a bit younger, and taller than average ¡ª taller than Emma, even. Her brown hair was poorly kept, but naturally straight, the braid that¡¯d been coiled around her neck before now left to fall down along the curve of one breast. She had bony shoulders, set wide to frame a long, thin neck, the effect subtly graceful, and I could imagine those tired eyes crinkled with laughter in happier times.


    No laughter in them now. ¡°I know Lady Emma can be... difficult.¡± Vanya swallowed, making a visible effort to control her emotions. ¡°But she is also very young. Even had things only been kept to swords, with no sorcery, and you¡¯d injured her, it would have been just as much your responsibility. You are much older, and much stronger.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I know. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°See that it doesn¡¯t.¡± Vanya started to turn away again.


    ¡°You care about her,¡± I said.


    Vanya paused. I watched a bit of the anger drain from her long face as it became reflective. ¡°I took care of her grandmother, before she passed. No one else in the villages near this manor were willing to work for the Carreons. Lord Brenner would send his own servants, or order the villagers to tend to the grounds, but rumors about Emma¡¯s family, not to mention the Burnt Rider, left very few willing. More than that, Anastasia Carreon was even more difficult than her granddaughter, if you can believe it. People thought her a witch, and she did little to dissuade them from that idea.¡±


    A tiny smile touched her mouth as she fell into recollection. ¡°I think it amused her.¡±


    ¡°But you stayed?¡± I asked.


    Vanya shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s good work, and the Huntings pay well. Especially since I don¡¯t have many other servants to share with. Just me and the tree trimmer. Oh, and Qoth. Honestly, I¡¯m not even sure he gets paid, or needs it.¡± She frowned.


    I doubted it. ¡°It¡¯s really just you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Well, me and my daughter.¡± Vanya fell quiet, her green eyes going distant.


    I tilted my head to one side. ¡°You¡¯re a mother?¡±


    The maid nodded. ¡°She¡¯s a few years younger than Emma. Good girl, better than I deserve.¡± I saw the warmth bloom in her face, and liked how much younger and gentler it made her look. ¡°I managed to get her work as a laundress at Antlerhall a few weeks ago, before things became... difficult.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s something I don¡¯t understand,¡± I interjected. ¡°Everyone keeps talking like this situation with the Burnt Rider just started up recently, but Emma told me it killed her parents and grandfather.¡±


    Vanya met my eyes again, folding her arms as though chilled. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. The Burnt Rider...¡± she shuddered even at the mention of the name. ¡°It can be a long time between when he appears. Years, or even decades. The last time happened when...¡±


    Her eyes drifted, stopping in the general direction of Emma¡¯s room. ¡°When he drove Emma¡¯s parents¡¯ carriage off a cliff. She was only eight years old, the poor girl.¡±


    ¡°Hard age to lose your parents,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard at any age,¡± Vanya corrected. ¡°But yes, she didn¡¯t take it well. Neither did Lady Anastasia. She might have seemed like a cruel old crone, but she loved her family dearly. She faded after that.¡±


    I folded my arms, much as Vanya had, pondering this.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Vanya asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking there¡¯s too much I don¡¯t understand about this spirit,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not unheard of for the sort of being this thing is to go dormant for long periods of time, but usually there¡¯s a pattern. It dueled Emma¡¯s grandfather to the death, then dropped her parents¡¯ off a cliff. There were years between both incidents. What has it done since it appeared this last time?¡±


    ¡°He burned Coppergrove about two weeks ago,¡± Vanya said. ¡°It was a village at the edge of Hunting lands.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Sorry? It burned an entire village?¡±


    Vanya nodded, expression grave. I adjusted my estimation of just how dangerous the spirit I protected Emma from was.


    The maid took a deep breath, and I watched some of that anger she¡¯d held through the day leave her. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Master Alken, I am glad you are here. I saw your sorcery in the yard ¡ª it is good to have an adept of real power protecting us, and not just Lord Brenner¡¯s knights. I do not wish to speak ill of his lordship, but I think he sees Lady Emma as an investment, and not a person.¡±


    I frowned at that. ¡°Exactly how is she an investment for him? She has nothing to her name, so far as I can tell, save that magic coach.¡±


    Vanya opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She blushed and dipped her head, averting her eyes from mine. ¡°I have said too much,¡± she said in a hushed voice. ¡°It has been a long day. We should both rest. Good night, Master Alken.¡±


    She curtsied, then scurried away before I could protest. I let out a sigh and shut the door. More mysteries, I groused. But the maid had a point. Time to sleep. And, this time, I would be leaving my ring on.


    Still, it took me time to find any rest, and I had little before morning came and the manor woke. When I returned to the waking world, feeling the usual sense of melancholy from my stolen dreams, the air in my second floor room had turned bitterly cold. Opening the window, I found the land outside had turned an eerie gray. The trees hasted to shed their leaves, and pale flecks drifted down from an overcast sky, settling over the land.


    Winter had arrived early to Venturmoor, and that proved only the first of another rotten batch of ill omens.

 Arc 2: Chapter 15: The Hunt

    Arc 2: Chapter 15: The Hunt


    ¡°It¡¯s too early for snow,¡± Vanya said, frowning up at the gray sky.


    Emma looked less impressed by the rain of pale flecks settling across the land in a thin film. She opened her mouth to speak, pausing mid-word as a cutting wind sent drifts of misting snow and dead leaves across the hill. ¡°We often had early winters back in the Westvales,¡± she said. ¡°I still remember them.¡±


    ¡°That was mountain country,¡± I noted. I knelt, took some of the skyfall on my fingertips, then pressed it to my tongue. I spat it back out. ¡°It¡¯s not just snow,¡± I said, standing. ¡°There¡¯s ash mixed in.¡±


    Emma pursed her lips. ¡°Explains the color. What do you think it means?¡±


    Vanya spoke before I could answer. ¡°We¡¯re too far west for ash rain.¡± She clasped her hands together, shivering at the bitter air.


    I didn¡¯t know what it meant, exactly. It could have been an ash storm blown in from the east, originating in those blighted lands where Golden Seydis once reigned. That didn¡¯t explain the sudden cold, though. I suspected something else, but kept my peace.


    Emma glared up at the sky as though it had personally offended her. Then, with a tsk, she turned to Qoth. The irk reclined in the shadow of an apple tree nearby, tossing one of its prematurely spoiled fruits between his gloved hands.


    ¡°Is the Night Coach ready?¡± She asked.


    ¡°For road travel, aye milady. Overcast skies won¡¯t put us in the air, though.¡±


    ¡°It will suffice,¡± the young Carreon said primly. ¡°Are you ready to depart, Ser Red?¡±


    ¡°Best be off,¡± I agreed.


    Emma nodded, then turned toward the path leading down from the manor hill. She frowned, narrowing her eyes. I followed her gaze and saw why. Several riders approached us. They rode sleek creatures with ruddy brown coats and proud antlers adorned with metalwork ¡ª domesticated kynedeer, bred for riding and war. Lightly armored soldiers in a mix of chain and plate rode them. House Hunting bannermen.


    We waited as they approached, and I recognized Hendry Hunting, Brenner¡¯s son, in the lead. He had two guards with him, both wearing peaked helms and carrying long spears, the weapons somehow evoking the kind one might use to hunt as much as they resembled the traditional lance.


    The big lad drew his crowned mount sidelong to us, removing his own tall helm. Unlike the guards, his helmet had two short antlers worked into its design, taken from pieces of the same material that grew naturally from his beast¡¯s skull. His steed¡¯s breaths plumed in the cold ¡ª it had been ridden hard to get here at speed.


    ¡°Hail, Lady Carreon.¡± The young lord tucked his helm under one arm, bowing his head to Emma. His mop of brown hair had been pressed flat by his helm. The effect made him seem even more melancholy, with that boyish face on his burly frame.


    ¡°Lord Hunting,¡± Emma greeted him, without as much gravitas.


    ¡°My lord father requests your presence,¡± Hendry said, his somber demeanor unchanged from my first encounter with him. ¡°You, and your Glorysworn attendant.¡±


    Emma glanced at me, a small frown quirking the side of her lips. ¡°We were already on our way to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not at Antlerhall,¡± Hendry interrupted her. He grimaced apologetically. ¡°At Orcswell.¡±


    ¡°Orcswell?¡± Emma asked, confused.


    ¡°One of the larger villages in the fiefdom,¡± Vanya whispered to me, though most of her attention remained fixed on the men-at-arms.


    ¡°But why is he at...¡± Emma¡¯s face went pale. Paler. ¡°You don¡¯t mean...¡±


    Hendry nodded, his expression cemetery grim. ¡°He¡¯s back. The Burnt Rider has attacked the village, driven its people into the hills.¡± He took a deep breath, letting it out in a frosting plume. ¡°My father has gone out in force to meet him along with Ser Kross, and he wants you and your champion there. He believes we can end the threat today, once and for all.¡±


    Emma looked at a loss for words. Her eyes wandered, as thought looking for a reply in her surroundings. She found me, and I saw the fear there ¡ª though, I thought perhaps I noted an excitement beneath it, a resolve to finally meet what haunted her.


    A dangerous emotion. I turned to the lordling, catching his attention. ¡°The Rider is at this village now?¡±


    Hendry nodded, lips pressed tight for a moment. ¡°The villagers say that, after he drove them from their homes, he remained in the village square. Almost as though waiting for something, or someone. My father believes the devil is calling him out. Even if not, he can¡¯t let an attack on his people go unanswered.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it¡¯s your lord father the spirit wants to see,¡± I said. In my own thoughts, I tried to understand the revenant¡¯s behavior. Why attack random villages far from its true target? Why stand on challenge against an entire fief¡¯s martial strength? Such spirits could be mighty, but they tended to only be truly dangerous in a more personal sense. I¡¯d never even heard of one trying to go to war.


    I didn¡¯t like it, and didn¡¯t trust it. I turned to Emma to speak, to tell her to stay behind and let me go with the Hunting lad, but she saw the demand coming and cut it down with brutal decisiveness.


    ¡°Ser Alken and I will be there,¡± she said, placing her hand on her heirloom sword. ¡°Let us meet this devil at last and see its measure. I am tired of waiting, of hiding.¡±


    I knew the look in her hawk¡¯s eyes. I¡¯d seen it often enough in my queen¡¯s eyes, back when I¡¯d still served as her sword. Rose had been impossible to argue with in those moments. I¡¯d learned the hard way to keep close, keep sharp, and keep anything with a sharp edge away from her neck.


    Just like old times, I thought with a sigh.


    ***


    We didn¡¯t take the coach. Instead, Emma and I rode the feathered chimera individually, accompanying Hendry¡¯s group. We rode hard for several hours, the House Hunting kynedeer gracefully bounding across the land while Emma¡¯s griffyn loped along, keeping pace with the sleeker beasts. Though their vestigial wings weren¡¯t capable of flight without the aid of the sorcerous coach, they were durable animals bred to carry the nobility over hard terrain. Both kinds of mounts, whether beaked or antlered, had been designed to replace the horses of olden times, and both evoked the image of that displaced breed. Whether for function or nostalgia, or a mix of both, I couldn¡¯t say.


    I¡¯d avoided using chimera since my tenure as a knight ¡ª a real one, not just this little farce with Emma¡¯s ¡°Ser Red.¡± They didn¡¯t abide me for long. Or, more accurately, they couldn¡¯t abide the gaggle of spirits that tended to shadow my steps through the land¡¯s back roads.


    More ash-mixed snow fell as we traveled, soon covering the whole land in a dour layer of pale, nearly white gray. Trees which had barely begun to feel the touch of Fall rained dead leaves, which blew across the fields in swirling eddies from the same biting winds that caught at our cloaks.


    Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, or of my own mind, but I felt like the world narrowed as we neared our destination, like the gray sky grew closer, the hills rising higher and pressing in on the road. Then, finally, we reached Orcswell.


    The vision came immediately, with ferocious aggression. I watched as¡ª


    A bolt of green lightning splits a high, verdant peak towering above the golden valleys. The ensuing shockwave is unlike anything I¡¯ve ever felt. When it passes, fire boils forth from the mountain, like blood from a sword stroke.


    More images flash, assaulting me with greater speed moment to moment. Molten rocks rain from the sky, splintering tall towers, cracking proud avenues. Droves of people, mortal and fae, flee in a mad rush from a threat that is all around, and can¡¯t be escaped. Knights in armor gilded or decorated with silver hold against Recusants wearing the colors of a hundred traitor lords, and monstrous things crawl across the smoldering walls, or feast on the ichor bubbling up from maimed eardetrees. Leathery wings and feral howls fill the air.


    Over all of it, standing on a high rampart, a towering warrior with the head of a lion watches, his rumbling laugh of mirth echoing through the streets like thunder.


    I see Fidei reaching out for me, trying to take my hand. I remember stepping away, horrified. I remember¡ª


    ¡°Keep your oaths then, and see if they warm you!¡±


    ¡°Alken?¡±


    I blinked, back in the village. It took me a moment to collect myself, and I winced as a spike of pain went through my skull. When I pressed my fingertips to my temple, I realized I¡¯d broken out into a cold sweat. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.


    Ser Kross had a strange look on his face as he stared at me. ¡°You froze for a minute there. And, your eyes...¡±


    Damn. I recalled when Ser Maxim had been taken by his own visions of the Fall, how golden aureflame had spilled out of him. What had the warrior priest seen?


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said. I took a deep breath, unable to keep the slight tremor from it. ¡°It¡¯s sulfur. I can smell sulfur in the air.¡±


    Ser Kross nodded slowly, though his gaze lingered on me. ¡°Yes, that is what I smell. I don¡¯t believe we are near any springs or active volcanoes, so...¡± he shrugged his armored shoulders. ¡°What are your thoughts?¡±


    I cast out with my senses, trying to pinpoint anything of note in our surrounds even as I shook away the remnants of the violent vision. I felt something, a strange tension, just as I had up on the hill. I still couldn¡¯t get a hold on it, but decided it wasn¡¯t just nerves. Something potent had been here, but whatever it was, I¡¯d never felt anything quite like it. I felt too quiet, not at all what I expected from the traces of a supernatural being, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.


    ¡°I think, whatever was here, it¡¯s gone now.¡± I frowned at the silent buildings. Snow still fell lazily from the sky, settling over the steepled roofs around the square, or on the abstract architecture of the old well.


    ¡°But possibly still nearby,¡± Ser Kross muttered. ¡°Shall we call the rest of them in, you think? Do a thorough search?¡±


    I nodded, not quite sure what to do next and still shaken by my memory-vision. We signaled Lord Brenner, and over the next twenty minutes his soldiers made their way down the hills and into the village bounds. After another half hour, the village had been declared clear.


    ¡°Goose chase!¡± Brenner scoffed. ¡°What a farce.¡± He wheeled on Emma, as though the girl were at personal fault for his wasted time. ¡°I am growing very tired of playing cat and mouse with this shadow of yours, little shrike.¡±


    Emma lifted her chin. ¡°You are welcome to wait for the Burnt Rider to find you in your castle, my lord. I do wonder, though, if you will have much of a fiefdom left in a month or two.¡±


    I watched Brenner master his anger. Snorting, he turned to Ser Lydia. ¡°I want the woods nearby thoroughly searched. If there¡¯s anything to find, we will find it.¡±


    He turned to the knight-exorcist then, lifting a hand to brush at his bristly beard. ¡°Ser Kross, was there anything here?¡± When speaking to the Church knight, his tone turned more respectful. I wondered if the brash lord was, in fact, devout.


    Ser Kross still looked half distracted. He had his head cocked to one side, as though listening to someone whispering in his ear, and seemed to be muttering to himself. The grayish snow falling on his dark garments made him look almost a statue, as artificial as the well nearby. ¡°I believe so, my lord.¡± He sighed. ¡°But, I cannot¡ª¡±


    We both felt it at once. To me, it seemed as though a great shadow suddenly stretched out from the distant horizon to flood the village with its touch. Nothing visibly changed, but to my less physical senses I suddenly felt as though I stood on a black lake, and I had to make an effort not to jerk on my steed¡¯s reins in panic.


    Then, a more familiar sensation struck me. From that impression of a titan shadow fallen on the land where I stood, I felt and heard the unsteady thumping of a great heart. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-ba-bump.


    A Thing of Darkness drew near.


    Ser Kross¡¯s head snapped up, his face stilling into an iron-hard mask. Emma, auratically aware as well, shivered suddenly as though struck by a chill wind. Only, the wind had gone dead. The snow had stopped falling as well, only a few tardy flecks still spinning down to settle on the village square as all went quiet.


    ¡°There!¡± One of the archers called out, breaking that spell of silence. Our eyes went to him, then followed his pointing finger to the northernmost hill overlooking the village.


    A light had appeared there. A dour, smoldering red light, like a great ember suddenly bursting to life on the ridge line. Squinting, I could barely make out a shape within. Tall, made all of jagged lines, I beheld an armored rider on a tall steed. The beast and rider both were clad in charcoal black armor, and the red light burned from them. I could see fire clinging to both, dully burning, but could make out few minute details from this distance.


    From that hill, the echoing sound of a bestial snort fell on us. It came from the thing the armored rider rode, which seemed to me very much the classical horse ¡ª only, it had curling ram horns emerging from its long skull, and eyes of smoldering flame.


    We all watched, as though in a trance, as the rider held aloft the object in their left hand ¡ª a tall lance, blackened and warped. As the rider lifted its barbed tip to the sky as though in challenge, there came a sudden flash. A cloak of flames sprouted from the armored rider¡¯s shoulders, flaring out behind them like a princely train.


    The Burnt Rider, it seemed, had arrived. But his appearance wasn¡¯t the source of the dread that struck me then.


    ¡°Queen of All Lands and Heir of Onsolem, protect us,¡± Lord Brenner¡¯s eyes had gone very wide. ¡°It¡¯s him. It¡¯s Jon Orley.¡±


    The revelation of the Rider¡¯s true name was of less import to me than what I realized as the full weight of the fire-cloaked knight¡¯s aura settled on me. His presence in the world was enormous, at least as weighty as Rysanthe¡¯s, or Lias toward the end of the wars. A being of true potency.


    But I also saw the burning rune that scarred the sky above the hill where the rider stood. Fashioned of angry flame, made all of writhing lines and jagged, claw like protrusions in the reverse of the converging arrows and rising arc of the holy Auremark, I knew the symbol, had learned it during my studies in Seydis as an Alder aspirant. This creature that haunted House Carreon was no revenant. Or at least, not one made in the bounds of my world, on its surface or beneath.


    We faced a Scorchknight of Orkael, an enforcer of the Iron Tribunal.


    An agent of Hell.

 Arc 2: Chapter 16: Infernal

    Arc 2: Chapter 16: Infernal


    Almost as soon as I understood what we faced, the Burnt Rider charged.


    It doesn¡¯t do the moment justice, to just say ¡°he charged.¡± The horned steed Jon Orley rode reared, letting out a terrible scream, then slammed its blazing hooves down on the hill. The hill rumbled. Then, with a burst of flame, the Rider began to tear down the slope. He moved faster with every passing moment, more of those concussive bursts of flame erupting in sequence, emitting echoing sounds like cannon shots, each one seeming to propel him forward with greater momentum like some misfiring alchemical rocket. He left a smoldering trail of steaming snow and burning grass in his wake.


    ¡°Brenner!¡± Ser Kross snapped. Only then did I realize we¡¯d all been frozen, transfixed by the sight. Even me ¡ª why? I¡¯d seen many terrible and supernatural things in my life.


    It¡¯s his aura, I realized. The Scorchknight had struck us with an enormous wavefront of power, of pure awe and terror. Not unlike my own ability to compel people with my voice, but done on an enormous scale. The kind of sorcerous might that would take...


    I''d rarely faced anything that potent. To be fair, I¡¯d never faced a Devil Cavalier before. The sight before me was almost an exact comparison to the drawings I¡¯d studied in the archives of Elfhome, preparing myself to face the horrors lurking within the hinterlands of my world.


    ¡°Form up! Lances!¡± Lord Brenner¡¯s roar pummeled the air, breaking through the wavefront of awe the Rider projected. No magic there, just charisma, training, and loyalty. The knights and lesser men-at-arms in the village scurried into motion, archers spreading out into loose packs, shieldbearers passing their burdens to their masters, and the Hunting knights themselves forming ranks with their war spears raised like a line of trees.


    Hendry tried joining the cavalry, but his father grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ¡°Rearguard,¡± was all he said, his voice a savage snarl. Then he donned his own helm, an elaborate piece with antlers of gently shining elfhorn and a white plume. He took his own spear, a broad-headed thing of ancient make with a black blade. To my auratic senses, it blazed near as strong as the oncoming threat.


    The Table ghosts in me knew the weapon¡¯s name. Ursinhunt. A mighty arm.


    Brenner took the lead of his knights. Ser Kross and I joined them on our own mounts, though we kept a ways apart. Without full plate or lance, I wasn¡¯t much use in that charge, and the knight-exorcist had armed himself with only his old sword, and wore no helm.


    The Burnt Rider had already cleared half the long slope, quickly bearing down on the village¡¯s bridge. Brenner ordered his retinue to a trot, and the kynedeer began to leap forward, quiet and graceful in comparison to that oncoming blaze. Ser Kross drew his blade, his face calm as a statue¡¯s, and spurred his lionhound after them.


    Before I joined the charge, a thought struck me and I looked for Emma. She still stood with the archers and rear guard, her face pale. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she seemed to be mouthing words. Her griffyn paced beneath her, clearly agitated.


    I moved my own chimera over to her. ¡°Emma?¡± When she didn¡¯t respond, I spoke more firmly. ¡°Lady Emma.¡±


    Emma blinked and looked at me. She swallowed, opened her mouth, then drew in a shuddering breath. ¡°It¡¯s him. He¡¯s here for me. I can hear his voice in my head.¡±


    I cursed. The damned revenant ¡ª and I meant that literally, in this case ¡ª hadn¡¯t just struck us all with a broad wave of magical power. He¡¯d gripped the young Carreon in some sort of psychic hold.


    I didn¡¯t have time to break it just then. At least it would keep her back, away from the fight. ¡°Stay here,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±


    She only blinked at me, eyes unfocused. I didn¡¯t know if she heard me, but I took my axe in a tight grip, turned my chimera, and spurred it after Brenner¡¯s knights.


    All the mystery and uncertainty, the mortal and supernatural politics, the fluid moralities in my life, I didn¡¯t know how to navigate all that. But my enemy had placed himself in front of me, placed himself in my reach.


    I could handle that.


    Having fallen behind the others, I saw what unfolded next. The Scorchknight tore down the snowy hill, leaving a blackened, steaming trail in his wake, framed by a red haze clinging to the ridge at his back. Above the hill, that evil rune still scarred the sky.


    A fell sight, juxtaposed by Brenner¡¯s own charge. Though he only had twenty odd cavaliers in his retinue, the archaic design of the House Hunting armaments and their elegant, almost fey beasts gave them a near mythical aspect. Led by Brenner, crowned in his shining helm and holding aloft his dire spear, they seemed a company of faerie knights out of some ancient war. They spread out as they cleared the bridge, their dextrous mounts leaping over the stream rather than bothering with the bridge itself, and took to the snowy field beyond Orcswell. They seemed to unfurl as they galloped, forming a pair of wide wings about Lord Brenner, making him seem himself something beyond mortal.


    And yet, the presence of the lone rider in black overwhelmed the scene. He blazed with infernal power, burning enough aura that even one without an awakened soul could have seen it. He surged forward, heedless of the numbers arrayed against him, and leveled the weapon in his left hand. The lance was far longer than conventional, practically tall as a small tree, and made all of warped black iron. Cruel barbs and branching protrusions, again reminding me of a tree, sprouted from it.


    I urged my mount forward, getting the avian-headed mammal to stride forward as fast as it could go. It let out a croaking squawk, not unlike a huge crow, and we gained.


    But not fast enough. Jon Orley couched his ridiculously long lance, and the Hunting knights did the same. Brenner led the charge, so he formed the tip of the arrow bravely closing in on the devil.Fo?ll0w current novE?ls on n/o/(v)/3l/b((in).(co/m)


    Brenner held a far shorter weapon than his opponent, more a boar spear than a cavalry lance, and he seemed to realize that well enough. When only twenty yards separated them, he lifted the ensorceled weapon and hurled it like a javelin. The black tip of the heirloom arm hurtled through the air, changing into a shadowy ripple as it completed its arc.


    Brenner had aimed for the horned destrier the Burnt Rider rode, and his aim was true. Or, it would have been. With impossible speed, the Scorchknight drew a slender sword from the horse¡¯s saddle and swiped it, leaving a blurring line of heat and embers in the blade¡¯s wake. A ripple passed over the fields, something part sound, part force, and the severed halves of Ursinhunt¡¯s haft fell into the snow.


    An anguished cry went up from many of the knights at the sight of the legendary weapon¡¯s breaking. Brenner, however, only grimly steered his mount aside, moving out of the way of Orley¡¯s charge. Though he¡¯d likely intended to land a crippling or even lethal blow, his throw had slowed the undead cavalier, even if just a bit, thanks to the blast from the spear''s destruction.


    Lords Hunting and Orley went by one another like two falcons streaking in opposite directions. Instead, the Scorchknight¡¯s heat-blackened lance went through one of the men-at-arms who¡¯d strayed from formation in the last moment, perhaps shocked by the magical eruption from the broken spear. Orley¡¯s lance went through him, and then the man behind him, and then through a third rider¡ª


    The world detonated. My vision filled with a flash of flame, just before I felt a wave of sulfurous heat wash over me in a sudden onrush of wind. When that blast cleared, I saw only a blackened patch of snowless, steaming, burning ground where three of the Hunting knights had been. Their remnants, along with their steeds, had been scattered across the snow in sizzling chunks of flesh and metal, both fused together by the heat.


    Jon Orley did not stop, barely slowed. He¡¯d broken through Brenner¡¯s charge with ease, and now he had an open path to the village, and his true target.


    ¡°Kross!¡± I bellowed. Then, spurring my griffyn forward, I brandished the elongated Faen Orgis.


    Too late. Orley finished his sketching and then once again aimed his lance at the sky, almost as though attempting to pierce the heavens with it.


    And he did pierce... something. I felt it, like a wound in myself. Two realms, two worlds fused together, for only a moment, one gnawing into the other with teeth of flaming iron, savaging it.


    And that other place, which I felt for only a moment, spat poison into the wound.


    Black ooze began to bubble up from the ground around Orley¡¯s horse. Like shadowy pustules they burst, revealing smoldering fire within, and something else rose out of them. Blunt, leathery heads split to reveal iron teeth, red eyes opened to glare out at the day with bloodshot hate. They were front heavy things with huge paws, each near large as a full grown man, their hides covered in patches of dark scale emerging tumorously from ash-filthed fur.


    Hounds. Hellhounds.


    One of the beasts shook itself like any ordinary dog, clearing away the tar clinging to it, then opened its mouth and seemed to cough. A plume of flame emerged from its jaws, catching one of the nearest knights. The man immolated, and I didn¡¯t even hear his scream as the heat scorched his lungs. He fell from the saddle as his kynedeer, also set ablaze, began bounding away in a mad panic.


    A score of the nightmares crawled out of the tar. What came next was chaos.


    The hellhounds began to leap from the sigil Orley had carved into the ground, flying through the air like smoldering shadows. Wherever they went, they brought death. One flew at me, and my mount would have panicked if I hadn¡¯t pressed my own will on it, keeping it calm. I brought my transformed weapon down, cleaving the infernal beast from spine to chest so one shoulder gaped open. It bled molten lead.


    It fell, and my chimera went over it. I chopped another, the longer reach I¡¯d gained letting me keep them at bay, then had a clear path to Orley.


    Kross had beaten me to him. His lionhound, previously placid, almost dopey in appearance, had one of the hell beasts in its jaws, its snout wrinkled as it crushed the smaller creature. I could smell sizzling flesh ¡ª the creature¡¯s burning blood was terribly hurting the chimera, but the knight-exorcist¡¯s mount endured it stoically.


    Ser Kross slashed at the Scorchknight, who caught the exorcist¡¯s sword on his lance in a spinning motion, wielding the cumbersome weapon with one hand as thought it were no heavier than a baton. The motion must have had incredible force behind it, because it nearly knocked Kross from his saddle. Orley continued that whirlwind motion, sweeping the iron pole in a downward slanting arc. The motion made an audible whoosh, generating a gust of blistering wind I felt even twenty feet away.


    The lionhound made a mournful, baritone sound, then slumped to the ground. A great gash had formed across its broad chest, just below its throat, the edges of the wound cauterized by the lance¡¯s heat.


    Orley brought his lance up above his head, spun it so the back end of the weapon ¡ª no less sharp than the other end ¡ª aimed square at Kross¡¯s throat. Never once did either he or his black steed make a sound, save for the low crackling of flames and the whistling wind of his weapon¡¯s motion. The Church knight looked up from his dying steed, blinking in mute shock.


    I reached them, and in a desperate, foolish move, hurled myself from my chimera¡¯s saddle. I slammed into Orley from the side, and we both went tumbling to the ground. I rolled, losing him in the tumble, and managed to stop in a crouch, breathing hard, bruised, but intact.


    My armor had protected me from the worst of it, but I¡¯d been burned wherever my skin had touched the more fully armored rider. I ignored the pain, adrenaline and focus keeping my edge sharp.


    Orley stood to his full, impressive height. Again, in silence, his iron-masked visage rotated as though to look at me sideline without actually fully facing me. That melodramatic cloak of flames had vanished, leaving him as little more than a charcoal shadow in the world.


    That is, until the seams of his armor began to glow red hot and he turned to face me fully.


    ¡°Pissed you off, did I?¡± I grinned wolfishly at him, tasting blood in my mouth. I¡¯d bitten my tongue during my tumble. I rested the butt of Faen Orgis on the ground. The weapon had become most of two feet taller than me, a true halberd now instead of the bearded battle-axe it normally resembled. My own blood ran in rivulets down the handle, where several branches still pierced my palm, curling back around as though the oaken haft were jealously holding my hand close. It still grew, though that change had slowed. The grating sound of breaking bark formed an odd music with Orley''s growling flames.


    In a whirl of wind and embers, Orley swept his lance down and aimed its tip at me. I could read no emotion in that metal-masked head, but the crackling heat in the air told me I¡¯d angered him.


    Good.


    However, before either of us could indulge in that meeting further, our attention was drawn by the sound of a sword hissing out of its sheath. I looked to one side, where I saw a dark-haired, hawk-eyed figure standing in a gap amid the dance of fiery hounds and fighting soldiers, striding toward the Scorchknight.


    ¡°You wanted me?¡± Emma Carreon snarled. A red haze writhed around her as her aura unfolded into the world. Sweat beaded across her skin, and she looked very pale, but her face was set with grim determination.


    No. ¡°Emma!¡± I shouted. ¡°Get back, you can¡¯t take him!¡±


    She ignored me. ¡°You killed my parents,¡± she said, her voice taking on a dim echo as she drew power. ¡°You murdered my grandfather, my mother, my father. You destroyed my family, and now you won¡¯t leave me alone.¡±


    Two slavering shadows approached the young noblewoman from behind. I started to shout a warning, panicked, as the hellhounds lunged.


    Emma lifted her chin, bared her teeth, and no less than six scarlet pikes erupted from the ground around her with banshee shrieks. They skewered the two monsters, suspending them in the air, breaking limbs as the auratic spears bent them with the force of impact.


    Emma swept her sword across the grass, and the pikes dissipated into red mist. The hellhounds fell to the ground, exploding into flame as they died. The last survivor of House Carreon never took her eyes off the infernal warrior.


    ¡°This ends today.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 17: Clash of Arts

    Arc 2: Chapter 17: Clash of Arts


    I admit, I was impressed. However, it didn¡¯t make me any less furious.


    ¡°Damn it, Emma, I¡¯m supposed to be protecting you!¡±


    The young aristo still refused to take her eyes from the silent Scorchknight, who watched her with passive stillness as she drew to a stop about twenty feet away. She spoke to me without meeting my eyes.


    ¡°That is not why she sent you, and you know it as well as I do.¡±


    I blinked, confused. What was she talking about? Nath had sent me to defend her from Orley, to keep the novice warlock safe ¡ª protecting an investment, I¡¯d assumed.


    But, I realized, Nath had never explicitly said that, had she? What had she said?


    ¡°You will go, speak in my name, act as my arm, and do as my disciple commands. Do this to my satisfaction, and I shall be well pleased.¡±


    Had Nath wanted me to back Emma, just as she would as the girl¡¯s dark patron? Had I only assumed my job was solely to fight her battle for her, because it seemed the sort of thing I¡¯d normally be tasked with? No, because it seemed the knightly thing to do.


    I kept making the same damn mistakes.


    Even still, this went beyond the bounds of reasonable. I stepped forward, tightening my grip on the transformed Faen Orgis, which still subtly changed. The pain in my hand had evolved from merely terrible to a throbbing agony. I could feel it sucking my blood away through the burs dug into my palm, a nauseating sensation. At least when Catrin had done it, there¡¯d been an element of fascination. This just hurt.


    I ignored the discomfort, focusing on Jon Orley. The sound of grinding metal cut the air as he turned his half melted helm from Emma to me, as though trying to keep both of us in his vision. He still hadn¡¯t moved, as though deciding which threat to focus on.


    The skirmish still raged around us between the bannermen of House Hunting and the hounds of Orkael. Both sides had taken losses, and smoldering beasts lay beside dismembered, fire-blackened riders and their chimera. Behind the infernal cavalier, Renuart Kross slid from his saddle and placed a hand to the side of his lionhound¡¯s neck. The great gray creature had already died of the wound Orley had given it, though the way it had sunk to its haunches and closed its eyes made it look as though it simply rested.


    Ser Kross whispered something to his slain companion, perhaps a prayer, then turned to face Jon Orley with his old bastard sword in hand. His weathered face had a stoic calm, but I sensed a subtle tension from him ¡ª he burned his aura, and he was angry.


    Three on one, then. Would it be enough?


    It only needed to give me time. My weapon¡¯s Art needed time to fully form. Time, and blood. I only hoped it would be ready before I expired from exsanguination.


    Orley¡¯s masked gaze passed slowly across the three of us, the gorget protecting his neck creaking ominously as its deformed mass twisted. He spread his legs out, one sabaton scorching the ground as it stomped down, and he swept his over-long weapon in a flourish.


    I got the message. Come at me.


    Ser Kross took his bastard sword in a two-handed grip, aiming its tip at the sky. Its dull, battle-scarred steel begin to emit a very faint shine. Emma bared her teeth like a young she-wolf, flourishing her single-edged sword before adopting a low guard, her off hand raising with fingers clawed as though she intended to swipe at the revenant with her nails.


    I simply tightened my grip on my halberd, letting its butt rest on the ground. The sound of stretching bark ripped the air as the weapon grew two more inches.


    Orley made the first move. In an impossibly fast motion he brandished his pike ¡ª it seemed more a pike then, since he¡¯d been knocked from his horse ¡ª then stepped forward to ram it through Ser Kross¡¯s skull.


    Sound travels faster even than devil knights. I opened my mouth into a perfect O, as though about to break into song, and shot Orley with an auratic arrow carried by my voice.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    He did. I hadn¡¯t been sure, but the Scorchknight had used an incredible amount of power early in the fight, during the bane he¡¯d set on the whole company and his deadly charge, not to mention the summoning he¡¯d performed. No matter how mighty, no being has infinite power, and he¡¯d used much.


    Orley froze, and instead of skewering the knight-exorcist through he found himself assailed by a sudden, furious assault. Kross came at him like a storm, batting the spear aside and swiping out in a two-handed blow in the same motion. His form was excellent, his aggression unbridled. He wasted no energy on flashy movements, instead opting to go for the kill as efficiently as possible.


    Kross lunged forward in a brutal jab, aiming at the very narrow slit in Orley¡¯s visor ¡ª the sword would be too thick for that gap, but the blow could crush the metal, break the skull beneath.


    Orley broke my cant almost the same instant it had struck him, but even that briefest instant of hesitation threw him into the defensive. Impossibly dextrous mounted, his towering spear proved less versatile at such intimate range, especially with only the one working arm I¡¯d left him. He stepped back into a parry, batting Kross¡¯s sword aside. Sparks scarred the air.


    Kross didn¡¯t so much as flinch this time. He carried into another cut, flowing his motions into a set ¡ª twice, three times, six he battered at Orley, forcing the undead nobleman back across the thin snow. Preternaturally quick and strong he might have been, Orley¡¯s spear proved more a hindrance in that dance.


    I saw the killing blow three motions before it came. Orley must have as well, because in an instant he flared with heat, transforming into a human bonfire. The stench of sulfur, hot iron, and charring flesh beat at the air. Kross snarled, flinching back and swiping out in a blind cut his opponent easily knocked aside.


    The sudden flash of heat and light only lasted a moment, but it gave Orley time to recover his stance. Again he prepared to run the Church paladin through¡ª


    Only to have a scarlet pike pierce him beneath the left armpit, where the armor is especially weak, with a dull cracking sound. Pinned, he turned his gaze on Emma. She held one of her magically formed blood-iron spears in hand, a smaller and brighter version of his own weapon, tucked under one arm like a couched lance. She had rushed forward to ram it into him while he¡¯d been distracted.


    Reckless and proud she might have been, but it turned out Emma Carreon could also be ruthless. She bared her teeth in a savage snarl as she glared at the fire-blackened visor above her.


    Again, Orley flared with heat, but Emma had been prepared. She leapt back, throwing her now empty left hand up to shield her face from the conflagration. She left the pike jammed into the Scorchknight¡¯s side, bringing her gently curved sword up in a guard as she took a low stance.


    Orley stepped forward to strike at her, but she swiped out with her off-hand ¡ª the one with fingers curled into an oddly stiff arrangement ¡ª and a cluster of red aurespears burst up from the ground between them, forcing Orley back lest he be pincushioned. Again I marveled at how real they looked, hardly distinguishable as phantasm save for their subtle shimmer. I¡¯d seen Blood Art before, but the young lady had real talent.


    Orley slashed with his lance, shattering the wall of pikes like glass, but Emma no longer stood where she¡¯d been a moment before. She rolled aside, out of his reach, and thrust out her hand again. A single long pike screamed forth with its eerie wail from the snow at a sharp angle, grinding against the Scorchknight¡¯s neck guard, nearly punching through his jugular.


    He started to flare with fiery force, preparing to erupt again. Ser Kross only pointed at him with his sword, his face serene. The world filled with the sound of unfurling wings and the sensation of gentle feathers brushing the air, then a terrible, deathly cold blew out from the knight-exorcist ¡ª not at all the sort of bright, warm magic I might have expected. It had the endless winter that exists at the tops of mountains in it, the immortal chill of ancient glaciers.Visitt  for the latest updates


    Not all angels wield fire, or dwell in warm places. In fact, that is true of very few of them.


    The hellish light rising from Jon Orley died, replaced by a crawling layer of frost. A low growl, very much like the sound a hot furnace might make, escaped from the Burnt Rider. His armor turned a dull shade of red, melting away the ice, and I felt the air grow sharply warmer. In a dramatic move he swept his spear around in a wide whirlwind above his head. It cut the grass near Emma¡¯s feet, revealed by melting snow, which immediately burst into flame. She yelped, falling back. Kross tried to block the swing, unable to move back in time, and the sword got knocked out of his hand. Its steel blade steamed where it landed and he let out a pained cry, stumbling to one side.


    Orley didn¡¯t stop the motion, carrying it through into a second great swing. The entire length of his iron lance glowed with heat, even where he held it.


    I caught it on the bronze bit of Faen Orgis before it finished that lethal second round. The force of impact might have knocked the weapon from my hand as well, if it hadn¡¯t been held to me by those piercing branches. Even still, I grit my teeth against the bone-shaking shock of impact. With a shout, I swept my halberd around in a tight spiral, forcing the burning head of the long-spear down into the steaming snow.


    Once done, I planted the butt of my own weapon back down and remained where I stood.


    Emma, seeing the opportunity, rushed in for an overhead swing of her sword. She used a strange stance I didn¡¯t recognize, taking the hilt in both hands and chopping down, almost like I would with my axe, a lumberjack motion. It should have looked awkward with such an elegant sword ¡ª I would have thought the blade more for fencing. But somehow, it seemed to match the shape of the weapon, which blurred through the air with eye-blink speed.


    His weapon, on the other hand, went directly through Hendry Hunting¡¯s collar bone. It broke through his breastplate, broke the bone beneath, then came out the other end. It made a sound like a tree branch cracking in the winter, giving in to the weight of too much ice. The boy flew from his saddle, and the way the snow muffled his fall made for a cruel anticlimax.


    Emma stared at the fallen boy with a look of dull shock. She didn¡¯t scream, or rage, or weep. All the anger seemed to drain out of her, replaced by something hollow.


    Sword still in hand, Jon Orley turned to face her. His breastplate smoked where the enchanted spear had struck him, and I could make out a very small dent. His voice didn¡¯t emanate from his warped, shadowed visage, so not a word was lost to the tumult of the violence around us.


    Do not pretend to grieve for him, Impaler Scion.


    You had no desire to bind yourself to his family.


    Emma squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear fell before she could trap it. She looked more frustrated than aggrieved. ¡°He didn¡¯t deserve to get caught up in this. He was kind. Kinder than I deserve.¡±


    This is your legacy, Daughter of Shrikes.


    Emma Carreon¡¯s eyes opened, and a scarlet light flickered in them. ¡°No.¡± She turned to face the Rider of Orkael. ¡°This is just your vendetta. Spit all the wicked names at me you want ¡ª you¡¯re the one who ended up in Hell.¡±


    Orley pointed his blackened sword at her. Fire ran down its length.


    Soon enough, you will join me in the flames with the rest of them.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made different arrangements,¡± Emma hissed. She lifted her own sword. My eyes followed the little pools of miasmic light beginning to appear across the half-melted snow and trampled grass ¡ª she was preparing something big, had been preparing it through the whole fight, letting little droplets of her arcane blood drop here and there.


    Orley noticed it too.


    Your bloodstained sorcery cannot kill me.


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°But you¡¯re missing something, Jon.¡±


    The Scorchknight only turned his helm slightly in my direction.


    My task does not involve you, mercenary. Do not interfere.


    I brushed off the unsubtle press of Command in those psychic words as easily as he¡¯d dismissed mine earlier. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that ship has sailed.¡±


    You are weak. You will fail.


    That hit closer to home. I had to focus to keep the Scorchknight out of my inner thoughts, to stop his aura from melding with my own, his thoughts from becoming mine. ¡°Not today,¡± I growled. ¡°I¡¯ve beaten worse than you. You¡¯ve got some skill at arms, I¡¯ll admit, but you¡¯re not so clever when it comes to sorcery.¡± Faen Orgis grew another several inches with a series of audible, boney cracks.


    Emma glanced at me, frowning. She didn¡¯t understand what I meant ¡ª she didn¡¯t have much experience in this kind of combat. And, I felt certain, neither did Jon Orley. He¡¯d been given preternatural might by whatever fell powers had sent him out of the Iron Realm, gifted hellfire and a few other tricks. But none of that was really his.


    If he had more experience fighting against adepts, he would have killed me, rather than just trying to wound and disable.


    ¡°When two sorcerers fight,¡± I said, showing him my teeth, ¡°the more refined Art has the advantage.¡±


    I struggled for breath, making my words come quick and gasping. My skin crawled with cold sweat, and I felt terribly dizzy. The pain from burns, bruises, and my mangled right hand had grown strangely distant. I¡¯d lost too much blood.


    Perhaps sensing the danger, Orley turned to face me fully. He took a step forward, his sword flickering with angry red fire. I would have enjoyed testing myself against him, on another day, in another life ¡ª but ten years fighting Recusants and worse had taught me to be ruthless, even underhanded when I needed to be. I¡¯d known I couldn¡¯t kill him, not truly, and I¡¯d had only one alternative at hand. I¡¯d gambled, risking anemia and slowed reflexes, giving up my martial edge.


    Emma and Kross had bought me the time I needed to make it worth that risk.


    ¡°This is Faen Orgis,¡± I said, tightening my grip on the gnarled haft of the cursed arm. ¡°The Axe of Hithlen, the Doomsman¡¯s Arm. It goes by another name, too ¡ª the Executioner¡¯s Tree.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t bothered dueling Orley for a reason. And I hadn¡¯t moved from where I stood for a good reason, either.


    Beneath me, the handle of Faen Orgis had rooted itself in the ground. Dark, slithering tendrils dug into the cold soil, sinking deep. From the weapon¡¯s head, where the gilded bronze of the blade had been grafted to wood, coiling branches sprouted to twist around the metal. They curled around my arm as well, two still punched through my palm.


    Orley must have understood, at least in part. Perhaps he didn¡¯t know what I intended, but even still he lunged forward, trying to lash out at me with his burning blade.


    He should have attacked my weapon. It was the real danger he faced. Either way, he never reached me. Emma knelt, stabbing her sword into the ground with a furious scream. More than thirty scarlet spears burst from the ground all around the Scorchknight with a horrendous cacophony, the sound indescribable. Each one emitted that ear-splitting scream of metal and wind, and they all came at once.


    Several went through Orley. He broke them, heedless of what should have been mortal or at least maiming injuries, but there were just too many. Those that didn¡¯t impale him formed barriers, keeping him from moving his arms, his legs. He burned with rage, trying to reach me.


    I unclenched my fist, and the wooden tendrils receded from my flesh. They left two gaping wounds in my palm, which produced disturbingly little blood.


    ¡°Jon of House Orley,¡± I said, my voice weakened to nearly a whisper. ¡°Rider of Orkael. I bind you, by my authority as Headsman of Seydis, until your doom is passed.¡±


    Roots burst from the ground at Orley¡¯s feet. Their sharp points pierced him, stabbing through solid steel easily as Emma¡¯s pikes did. Those that didn¡¯t stab wrapped about his limbs, trapping him, pulling...


    Orley struggled, smoldering with heat, but the evil roots seemed to drink that fire as hungrily as they had my own life. They pulled him toward the body of the axe, which was no longer an axe, or a halberd, or anything made by human hand. Stretching twelve feet tall, it had grown into a living tree of deeply dark wood, sickly, gnarled, and bare of any leaf.


    Orley turned, twisted, fought with everything he had. He roared, and that sound did come from within the helm, and was no human sound. But you can¡¯t brute force your way through a spell like that, not with just muscle.


    I¡¯d tried before. I knew.


    Finally, the twisting branches and hungering roots hugged the Scorchknight to the trunk of the tree. They continued to encircle him, until they crushed him against the cancerous bark. One tendril wrapped about his neck, more around his arms, much like manacles.


    When it was done, I could only see his head and shoulders. The rest had become little more than a nest of coiling branches. Orley¡¯s flame flickered out, leaving him a charred shadow barely distinguishable from the tree itself. His head slumped, and he grew still.


    The Burnt Rider had been bound.

 Arc 2: Chapter 18: Scion

    Arc 2: Chapter 18: Scion


    When the binding had been complete, I collapsed to one knee. My vision swam, split, tilted ¡ª I had to suppress the urge to vomit.


    Lost too much damn blood.


    I felt a strong hand grasp me under one arm. Kross. He helped lift me, and after a short time I managed to get the world back in one piece. A silence followed as we stared at the gnarled oak, and the black-armored warrior fused to its trunk.


    ¡°That...¡± The knight-exorcist stared in wonder at the tree, breaking the quiet. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Malison Oak,¡± I said, wincing as I made the mistake of flexing the fingers of my right hand. ¡°The elves use them in their sanctuaries to trap curses. This one was restructured into a weapon, given a binding rite.¡±


    ¡°A dark thing,¡± Kross noted.


    Before I could answer, a furious yell drew my attention. I realized the rest of the battle had ended as well ¡ª I¡¯d almost forgotten there had been a small war around us. When he¡¯d fallen into dormancy, Orley¡¯s hellhounds and infernal steed had melted into tar, which pooled in evil, hissing little puddles here and there.


    Nearly half of Brenner Hunting¡¯s retinue had been slaughtered before I¡¯d managed to subdue the Scorchknight. More were wounded. The mauled, burned corpses of soldiers and war chimera still smoked where they lay. Others had been badly wounded, some mortally, and their cries mixed with a fresh batch of falling snow. A terrible blow to the fiefdom¡¯s martial strength.


    My eyes went to Lord Hunting himself. Brenner dismounted his kynedeer in a rush, all but sprinting to the body of his fallen son. I cannot describe the look on his face ¡ª a father¡¯s grief. That says enough. He dropped to his knees, heedless of his armor, and let out an almost animal sound as he stared at the face of his son. I could not see it from a distance, still helmed as it was, but the boy was too still. Orley¡¯s spear remained embedded in his chest, just below the throat.


    I could have saved him. I¡¯d been close enough to attack Orley in that moment. Only, it would have stalled my binding, and possibly lost us the battle.


    Possibly. I clenched my jaw and brushed Kross off. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I told him. I looked for Emma, and found her staring at Brenner and Hendry rather than at her defeated foe. She took a hesitant step forward, swallowed, then started marching toward them.


    I followed, but didn¡¯t reach them before what I suspected might happen next came to pass.


    Brenner saw Emma approaching and stood, looming to his full towering height. The expression on his face... it went beyond anger.


    ¡°You,¡± he growled, voice low as the thunder of a distant hurricane. ¡°You brought this on us.¡±


    Emma stopped mid-step. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°You little witch.¡± Brenner began to stride towards her. His ursine visage and antlered helm gave him a grim aspect, the overcast sky and snowfall framing his wrath. ¡°Your parents came to me as beggars, and I gave you sanctuary, a place at my table, even offered to make you mine own family. Was it not enough? Is it true after all, that you Carreons are all devils?¡±


    Emma¡¯s face twisted with emotion. She seemed at a loss for words, finding them only with great effort. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for any of this!¡±


    ¡°You wanted this, didn¡¯t you?¡± Brenner¡¯s voice had grown hollow. His eyes glazed, as though he didn¡¯t truly see the young woman in front of him. ¡°The Rider hasn¡¯t ever touched you. Even now, when you were within his reach, you don¡¯t have so much as a scratch. He is your creature, isn¡¯t he? And that man...¡± his eyes went to me, and to the gnarled tree at my back. He bared his teeth. ¡°He is no Glorysworn, just a warlock you brought to help leash your pet.¡±


    Emma hissed in frustration, losing hold on some of her own anger. ¡°That is insane!¡±


    He pointed a trembling finger at the girl. ¡°You¡ª you are a blight on my house.¡±


    ¡°I never asked to be bound to it!¡± She nearly shouted, taking a step forward.


    ¡°So you would see us all slain to free yourself!?¡± Brenner finally stopped his own advance, towering over the young Carreon. ¡°Wretched, stupid child. We are your only allies.¡±


    ¡°In that,¡± Emma said coldly. ¡°You are mistaken, my lord.¡±


    Brenner¡¯s face darkened even further, and I saw his fingers tighten on the warhammer he held. Before things could go further, and before Emma¡¯s temper had her revealing more than she should, I stepped forward. ¡°Lady Emma didn¡¯t kill your son, my lord. She is as much a victim in all of this as he was.¡±


    That, I felt certain, was true. Emma might have the potential for brutality, the instinct for it ¡ª I¡¯d seen as much in how she fought ¡ª but she hadn¡¯t taken any lives, innocent or otherwise. She hadn¡¯t been part of her ancestors¡¯ atrocities, and I refused to believe her blood made her liable for them.


    Brenner wheeled on me, and for a moment I thought he¡¯d swing. I had no weapon to defend myself other than my dagger, and I somehow suspected that wouldn¡¯t be of much use.


    ¡°MY SON IS DEAD!¡± he roared.


    The surviving knights had begun to gather around us. The archers and lesser soldiers, too, who¡¯d joined the battle from the village once they¡¯d caught up. Though their numbers had been gutted, there were plenty enough to slaughter me and Emma if things came to violence.


    I was so tired of things moving to violence. Still, I wouldn¡¯t let them hurt the girl. I squared my jaw and held the nobleman¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Perhaps not.¡±


    All our eyes turned to Ser Renuart Kross. While the argument had been in full swing, he¡¯d moved over to Hendry¡¯s fallen form and knelt. Kross almost blended with the falling snow and ash in his dull armor and gray cloak. He held out a hand, palm hovering over the young lord¡¯s face as though feeling for warmth, or breath.


    I saw hope flicker in Brenner¡¯s eyes. ¡°He¡¯s alive?¡± He spoke in almost a whisper.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t yet been claimed by death, not fully.¡± Kross¡¯s flinty eyes narrowed. ¡°I will do what I can.¡± He closed his eyes and began to murmur under his breath. Again, I had the sensation of great wings unfurling into the world. Their touch against my aura was bitterly cold, far more so than the chill of the premature winter, and I shivered.


    We all watched, no one daring to break the sudden silence. Brenner had completely forgotten his rage, staring at the kneeling paladin with almost child-like hope, and more than a little fear. I saw several of the men-at-arms murmur prayers under their breath.


    Finally, without drama, Kross lifted his eyes to Brenner. ¡°I have...¡± he seemed to search for words. ¡°Placed him in stasis. He will need a physik. Understand, my lord, he is dead ¡ª I only trapped his spirit in him. Either we must revive him using mortal means, or I will have to perform a rite of exorcism, lest he become undead.¡±


    I noticed that an icy sheen had formed over the young man, making him seem slightly blue, like a frozen corpse.


    ¡°You are a preost,¡± Brenner said, again adopting his commanding baritone. ¡°You are authorized to use sacred necromancy. Revive him!¡±


    Ser Kross only shook his head, his expression passive. ¡°I am not permitted such rites, and those are only used for communion in any case. He needs a proper healer. I believe you have a clericon, back at Antlerhall?¡±


    I saw Brenner¡¯s impatience, his fear, urging him to brashness. He mastered himself and nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± He turned and began barking orders.


    She didn¡¯t scowl or scoff, only met my eyes steadily. ¡°That way you look at me. Like I¡¯m some mirror showing you all your own mistakes. You¡¯re not my father. For one thing, you¡¯re too young to be.¡±


    I sat down on the bench next to hers, so the narrow gap between the two pews separated us. Little more than an arm¡¯s length. ¡°How old do you think I am?¡±


    I could tell the question surprised her, by her silence. ¡°I don¡¯t know... thirty at most?¡±


    I inhaled a long breath. ¡°And I¡¯ll look this young for another thirty, probably. You shouldn¡¯t judge anything with just your eyes ¡ª there¡¯s too much phantasm in the world, my lady.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just like Nath,¡± Emma said bitterly. ¡°Always talking in riddles.¡± This time, she did scoff.


    It was the first time she¡¯d named the demigoddess without an honorific. The day must have truly shaken her.


    Instead of distracting her from her woes with argument, as she¡¯d probably wanted, I decided to cut to the meat of the matter. ¡°How¡¯s Hendry?¡±


    Emma drew in a sharp breath. I didn¡¯t push, letting her gather her thoughts, consult her own emotions. I knew how tangled they must be.


    ¡°Lord Brenner called in a physiker from one of the villages ¡ª the same who treated me. He and the castle clericon managed to revive Hendry, but he¡¯s in critical condition. They don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll last the night, much less the week. Ser Kross is with them, doing what he can, but it was a mortal injury. Even Art is not full-proof against death.¡±


    I heard her dress rustle as she shifted. ¡°Orley¡¯s fire turned some of his bones to iron. They say it¡¯s a curse, and that it¡¯s spreading.¡±


    The wound in my own shoulder still burned. My own magic would counteract any curse which might have been in that infernal weapon, but even still I shifted with discomfort at the idea. ¡°Damn.¡±


    Emma fell quiet again, and when she spoke her voice had become brittle. ¡°Did I do this? Is Brenner right?¡± Her mouth compressed into a thin line. ¡°Am I wicked?¡±


    I turned my eyes to the basin, tracing the lines of scripture etched into its stone. ¡°Your lineage doesn¡¯t define you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s chimera shit, and you know it.¡± She drew in a shuddering breath, some anger flickering through the grief. ¡°It defines everything. Even the afterlives hate me for what my family did in the past, and... and I know, don¡¯t you understand? I know I¡¯m not... not right.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Emma¡¯s words began to come out faster, in a rush, as though she¡¯d been holding them in so long they¡¯d become an unbearable pressure inside her. ¡°I hated him. Hendry. He¡¯s been in love with me since we were children, but even then I knew what Brenner wanted, why he kept me around even after my parents died and he didn¡¯t have them in his debt anymore. You understand, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°He wants you to marry his son, doesn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°For my bloodline,¡± Emma confirmed, almost seething. ¡°For my family¡¯s magic. A Blood Art in his descendants would finally give him the treasure he needs to become the leader of a High House, and Brenner is a proud man, obsessed with legacy.¡±


    Though I¡¯d already begun to suspect it, confirmation of the fact still unsettled me. It malformed Emma¡¯s situation from that of a tragic ward, protected by a stern but responsible guardian, into something very much like a prisoner.


    ¡°Not being in love with the man you¡¯re being coerced into marrying doesn¡¯t make you evil,¡± I said firmly.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that.¡± Emma huffed in frustration. ¡°I¡¯m angry all the time. It pleases me to be cruel, and I have dreams...¡± she winced. ¡°I have dark dreams, of blood and fire, and they excite me... and because she is still inside me.¡±


    Emma¡¯s voice had changed, becoming more weary, full of resignation and resentment. ¡°All of them are. All of House Carreon, in that great phalanx of bloody pikes that are my inheritance.¡± Her eyes slid past me to the wall. ¡°My grandmother, before she died, told me what we did to Jon Orley, why he hates us... and why he will never forgive us. She told me why he hounds us.¡± She shut her eyes, the muscles in her face tightening. ¡°She told me of my ancestors¡¯ sins.¡±


    And she began to talk of the past.


    ***


    ¡°You already know,¡± she began, ¡°that my family was at war with House Orley for many generations. It¡¯s said they warred even before the Exodus, when they were still Edaean families, and not Urnic. The ambushes, counter-plays, betrayals, and shifting alliances around that conflict are the stuff of legend in the Westvales. That was, until my great-grandmother¡¯s time. Oh, we still feuded during those days, but this was well after the House Wars. At the time, the heir of House Orley, Lord Jon, was still young... as was the heiress of the Carreons.¡±


    ¡°Every great house in Urn has its epithet. House Dance are the Wasps, House Wake the Mourners, and so on. You already know my family are sometimes called the Shrikes. You know what the Orleys were called?¡±


    She waited, and I realized the question wasn¡¯t rhetorical. When I shook my head, a sickly smile formed on Emma¡¯s lips. ¡°The Companions. They were among the first to swear to the God-Queen, if you believe the stories, and follow her over the mountains into this land. Stalwart, honorable, beloved by their allies... true heroes, all around.¡±


    She didn¡¯t quite hide the note of skepticism she laced those words with.


    ¡°Whatever the case, the Carreons ruled through fear and draconian tradition, and the Orleys through trust and honor. Both families boasted great warriors, but neither could overcome the other. Eventually this locked us into a stalemate ¡ª large wars became untenable, but there was always some bloodshed every few years, mostly instigated by my own house.¡±


    ¡°That is, until a chance meeting occurred. Jon Orley was riding in the forests beyond his family¡¯s land, hunting a wyrmblighted who¡¯d come down from the Fences, and came upon Astraea Carreon.¡±


    ¡°I am certain you can guess what happens next. By all accounts, my great-grandmother was a great beauty, and still a young woman at the time. Jon wanted to marry her, and she, it seemed, returned his feelings. The Orleys believed it an avenue to peace, to mending old wounds and building bridges between themselves and their ancient enemy. More of the nobles got involved, and even many commonfolk, who made it a game to help the two indulge in their secret trysts. Soon enough it became quite the to-do... a great romance, a meeting of true love that would end war and bring about an age of peace in the Westvales, perhaps even a shining new kingdom.¡±


    Knowing already where the tale ended from my conversation with the ghost of Lorena Starling, I felt a sick pit form in my stomach. I didn¡¯t interrupt, however, letting Emma bring her dark tale to a close.


    ¡°Jon Orley, though young, was the apple of his lord father¡¯s eye, his heir and champion both. And, though she had many older brothers, Lady Astraea was the eldest daughter of her own house. My family is matrilineal ¡ª our Art manifests more easily and more powerfully in the women of our line. Lord Jon and Lady Astraea would have been the future rulers of their families, and their joining would have ended many woes.¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes narrowed to near slits, though I could still see their pale brown color very vividly in the poor lighting. The sacred candles cast shifting shadows over her features, forming a crawling mask of intermixing light and dark.


    ¡°The lords and ladies of all houses, both Orley and Carreon, and all their vassals, met and approved the match. The celebrations were grand. The matriarch of House Carreon shared cups with the ruling Lord Orley, and hatchets were buried. Then, on their wedding night, Jon and Astraea made love one final time.¡±


    Emma closed her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. ¡°Then she killed him. My great-grandmother slit her husband¡¯s throat, cut out his heart, and had her guards display him on a spike from the castle walls. That same night, House Orley fell. They call it the Feast of Shrikes in my home country to this day.¡±


    She fell silent, and I was taken aback for a moment by the abrupt end to the tale. The realization had come well before it had ended, but even still I grasped for confirmation. ¡°Wait, Emma, are you trying to tell me that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Emma¡¯s lips formed a terrible smile. ¡°I¡¯m not just a Carreon. My great-grandfather is Jon Orley, the very monster we fought at Orcswell today.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 19: Confession

    Arc 2: Chapter 19: Confession


    I took in this new revelation for several minutes of silence, chewing it over along with all its implications. How had I not already guessed?


    I might have said many things in that moment ¡ª something comforting, some tasteful insight. Instead, because I couldn¡¯t quite get the thought out of my head I said, ¡°so before she killed him, they, uh...¡±


    Emma fixed me with a withering look. ¡°Do I really need to spell it out for you?¡±


    I held up a placating hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You aren¡¯t your great-grandmother.¡± Even still, I knew it did matter, at least some. Just as there are sacrosanct traditions concerning hospitality and the treatment of the dead, which can have dire repercussions if broken thanks to the magics placed over the land, what Emma revealed about her family¡¯s deeds couldn¡¯t simply be dismissed as a long-ago crime.


    She¡¯d been left a legacy of murder and betrayal, both done in the most intimate of circumstances. She¡¯d literally been born of that betrayal. It wasn¡¯t fair, or right, but it left a very real mark, like a wound in the world left to fester.


    Astraea Carreon couldn¡¯t have been much older than Emma at the time. Perhaps the stories of their house¡¯s vileness weren¡¯t so exaggerated.


    ¡°But I was raised by her get,¡± Emma said through clenched teeth. She closed her eyes then, breathing deep, and settled back into a hollow calm. ¡°My grandmother, the daughter of Lady Astraea, told me that story for the first time when I was seven. She¡¯d meant it as a lesson ¡ª our world might be built on pretty ideals of romance and chivalry, but it is all paint over a cracked canvas. Our history is a bloody march of one war after another. She once told me this: God did not want saints, She wanted an army. She called the Orleys fools for living in a dream, and applauded her mother¡¯s ruthlessness.¡±


    Emma inhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the bench with a quiet little thump.


    I closed my eyes as a vivid memory struck me, a fragment of my frequent visions. We could have lived in a dream. What¡¯s wrong with that?


    I pushed her voice back down into my memories, where it belonged.


    Emma¡¯s eyes opened after a time and went to the stain-glass window dominating the far wall of the chapel. The storm had broken, and moonlight turned the Heir silver, causing Her outstretched arms to softly shine, making the horned crown on Her brow a wreath of starlight.


    ¡°Bitch,¡± Emma said, without emotion. ¡°Why should I offer Her any of my prayers, when She¡¯s the one who fashioned these curses?¡±


    I winced. ¡°I think you have enough to deal with without angering the Blessed Dead. You know they might be listening.¡±


    The young noble shrugged and propped an arm up on the back of the bench. ¡°I had a warrior literally out of the depths of Hell try to kill me today. I¡¯m not scared of a few senile ghosts.¡±


    Which brought up something else I did not understand. ¡°You talk about Jon as though he were half a saint,¡± I said. ¡°How did he end up in the Iron Hell, of all places?¡±


    ¡°Lady Nath told me it was my great-grandmother¡¯s doing. She butchered his body with profane rites and cast his soul down where the Silver Lords of the Underworld couldn¡¯t reach it, not with all their valkyries and shepherd ferrymen.¡±


    A good way to get your entire dynasty cursed.


    ¡°And you and Nath... how did that happen?¡±


    Emma shrugged again with one shoulder. She lifted one slippered foot to rest on the bench, wrapping her arms around her knee. ¡°Not much of a story there. I met her in the woods near the manor. I thought her an elf, at first... indeed, she played the part of my faerie godmother. I began to suspect her to be more Fell than Fae, after she began to help me awaken my magic. She wanted me to embrace it, and I thought that¡¯s what I wanted as well for a while. To be powerful.¡±


    ¡°Power can be freedom,¡± I agreed. ¡°But it can also be a chain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so poetic. You need more of a beard to make that look work, O¡¯ Wise One.¡±


    ¡°What is it you do want?¡± I asked. ¡°When all this is done, I mean.¡±


    Emma stared at me a long moment, her expression unreadable. ¡°She really didn¡¯t say anything to you?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°Nath, of course. Who else?¡± Emma tch¡¯d when I only gave her a blank look. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. This isn¡¯t done, is it? You didn¡¯t actually kill Orley.¡±


    It was my turn to sigh. ¡°That is true. I¡¯m... still trying to decide what to do next. I assure you, though, I won¡¯t depart until this is done.¡±


    Emma only frowned, fixing her gaze on the floor.


    ¡°You should get some rest,¡± I said. ¡°Hendry won¡¯t heal faster because you¡¯re fretting over him, and She won¡¯t intervene no matter how much you try to bargain with Her.¡± I nodded to the window, and the goddess in it.


    Emma flushed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been sitting where you are now before,¡± I said quietly. ¡°More than a few times.¡±


    She snapped her mouth shut, caught between anger and embarrassment. Perhaps she didn¡¯t hate Hendry Hunting so much as she claimed, after all.


    Perhaps she wasn¡¯t as villainous as she wanted to believe.


    Finally, adopting her usual air of careless disdain, Emma shrugged. ¡°Very well. This place reeks of tallow and dust, anyway.¡± She stood, adjusted her skirts, and walked out. Her steps were just a touch too brisk.


    I turned my eyes back to the window, and the deity in it. After a while I said aloud, ¡°did you really weave these curses?¡±


    But, of course, She didn¡¯t answer.


    Scoffing, I stood to follow Emma out and find my own rest. I noticed a shadow seated near the door, candle-light dying on his gray garments. Ser Kross still wore his armor and cloak, still stained with ash and burn-marks from the fighting. His flint eyes stared at nothing.


    ¡°How much of that did you hear?¡± I asked him, stopping near where he sat.


    ¡°Not much,¡± the knight-exorcist said. ¡°And I knew much of it already, to be honest. I did research on the history of House Carreon when I was assigned to this mission. It is good of you, to not cast more doubt on her mind. She¡¯s had people treating her like a devil child her whole life.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Just speaking my mind.¡± I sat down next to him, settling in again and wincing. I kept finding new bruises every few minutes.


    ¡°I do apologize,¡± he said. ¡°For back at the manor, what I suggested concerning the girl. It wasn¡¯t my place.¡±


    I made a dismissive gesture. ¡°Honestly, Kross, after talking to her more I half think she¡¯d let the priests cut her Art out of her. She seems to hate it more than half as much as everyone else.¡±


    ¡°Still, it wasn¡¯t my place to suggest it. I gave you the wrong impression. I would not do such a thing to a child, not unless there were no other choice.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure I believed him. Still, it wasn¡¯t an argument I cared to have then. ¡°So, will he live? Hendry, I mean.¡±


    ¡°He is a strong lad,¡± Kross said. ¡°And Lord Brenner¡¯s clericon has some power. I think it¡¯s that village healer who will end up making the difference, though. He had some training in the Continent, and their medicine is far more advanced than anything you have here in Urn. Your land is too reliant on the Auratic Arts.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re from Edaea?¡± I asked, not missing his use of your rather than our.


    ¡°They passed me off as a Herder, aye. A bastard, to explain why I didn¡¯t commingle with my siblings too intimately. But I could fight, and that¡¯s what the refugee princess really needed. She was skeptical ¡ª Rose was never a fool ¡ª but she didn¡¯t have many options.¡±


    ¡°And how did young Alken feel about this honor?¡± Ser Kross asked.


    ¡°I knew it for what it was,¡± I said. ¡°Whole castle might have thought of me as the head clerk¡¯s simpleton son, but I paid attention. I heard my father¡¯s conversations with the baron, and I knew what they intended, the debt they planned to hold over this teenage queenling who¡¯d stumbled into their care. But, at the time, I hardly cared. All I knew was that I had an opportunity to make something of myself, to get out of that place, and see the world. I believed I could be a true knight, like in my mother¡¯s stories, false pretenses or no. I could help Rosanna reclaim her throne, earn her respect, be good at something. I was already good at fighting, so why not?¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± Kross prompted me, when I lapsed again.


    I looked down at my hands, trying not to sink into the memories. It felt like piloting a leaking raft on tumultuous waters, to look into those depths without letting them drag me down into them.


    ¡°We won,¡± I said, almost whispering. ¡°I beat them all. Rose¡¯s uncles, their soldiers, all their assassins. I won every fight, and before I knew it the girl at my side had become a young woman, and then a queen. And I became a goddamn champion. I had help, of course. There was this mage, Lias... I¡¯d have died a hundred times over without him. Point is, we did it. Somehow, I¡¯d gone from being the commonborn son of a backwater castle clerk, to the First Sword of a High House.¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°It was like a dream, a¡¯times. And a nightmare. War isn¡¯t a pretty thing, no matter the stories. There were times I loved fighting ¡ª whenever I faced another champion, battled them with sword in hand in fair circumstances, I shone. But Rosanna fought to keep hold of a realm at war, surrounded by enemies and opportunists, unable to trust any of her allies or courtiers, and more often than not I felt more like a butcher. And she could be ruthless, my queen. She¡¯d seen dark things, and embraced some of that cruelty.¡±


    She had a lot in common with Emma, now I thought about it.


    ¡°They called me Rosanna¡¯s Sword, when they wanted to be pretty. They called me Rosanna¡¯s Headsman, when they wanted to be honest. And, all the while, I kept wanting to believe that dream ¡ª that I could be an Icon of Chivalry, a knight out of some story. But the world is a cruel place, and House politics are a gory business. I...¡± I swallowed. ¡°I felt alone. Rosanna had to be a leader, and Lias kept getting more lost in his art, and I kept waiting for that day when I¡¯d wake up and find that things were as I wanted them to be. I wanted to be part of some fair court of heroes, to believe all the compromises and ugliness weren¡¯t just how things are.¡±


    Kross¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You did not gain Sacred Aura as a petty queen¡¯s champion.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I unclasped my hands and rested them palm down on my knees, bracing myself for what came next. ¡°Rose had too many enemies, and a realm too wounded to keep intact alone. The Recusants were growing in power, looking for any vulnerable conquest, and her own allies were hungry for advantage. You can¡¯t believe all the assassination attempts me and Lias fouled, all the aristos and opportunists we had to cow.¡±


    I smiled. Not all those memories were bad. Sometimes, things could even be fun.


    ¡°But Rose had less and less use for an able sword at her side. She needed power. And there is one sure way in Urn, leastways back then, to elevate your status as an Urnic Lord. There was one thing she could do that would leave all those sworn to the Faith unable to touch her.¡±


    I stared up at the window once more, meeting the silver eyes of the Heir. ¡°Every great lord in this land has the right to nominate a champion for the Alder Table.¡±


    Ser Kross went very still. ¡°You...¡± his voice had fallen into a breathy hush. ¡°You were one of the Archon¡¯s own knights?¡±


    I spoke through bared teeth. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°So, this sin you speak of...¡± Kross leaned forward, his expression grave. ¡°It is the burning of the Blessed Country, your failure to protect it?¡±


    I let out a bark of laughter, the sound a whip crack against the chapel walls. ¡°If only it were just that. If only it were just that, Kross. No, simple failure wasn¡¯t my sin, not my only one anyway. All the Table shares that burden, and a burden shared can be shouldered. No, you know what my sin was?¡±


    I stood, beginning to pace. My boots clicked on stone, echoing off the chapel walls. Kross remained seated, gray eyes following me.


    ¡°I had everything. You know what I might have been if I¡¯d stayed home? A thug. My father¡¯s man, a brute he could loan out to the baron to intimidate farmers, or guard investments. I¡¯d been born from nothing, and I became a knight, a champion, confidant to a goring queen. I was given honors, allowed to sit at a council of the land¡¯s greatest heroes, given access to magics and secret lore usually reserved for fucking kings!¡±


    I jabbed a finger at the window. ¡°I was given a share of Her own damned light! And I...¡±


    I clutched the hand to my chest, taking a deep breath to calm myself. I¡¯d nearly been shouting. ¡°I was miserable. I felt so alone. I could cope when I¡¯d been at my queen¡¯s side, she knew me, so did Lias ¡ª they were my friends, like a brother and a sister to me... but as one of the Table I felt like a fraud. I felt adrift, lost in this swirl of lore and legend and godsbedamned politics. And I had Rose¡¯s expectations on my shoulders, her whole realm¡¯s expectations. I was their First Sword, their voice to the Archon... and it scared me.¡±


    My display of emotion washed off Ser Kross as though he were a seaside cliff. He spread his hands out, still seated. ¡°Such feelings are not uncommon, nor are they evil. Kings and emperors are often lonely, Alken.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡± I shook my head. ¡°That is not my sin.¡±


    ¡°You keep toeing around it.¡± Kross¡¯s expression and voice hardened. ¡°Tell me, Alken. What is your sin?¡±


    For a moment, I dipped beneath the surface of the water. A memory took me.


    None of this makes any sense, Dei.


    I know. I know, Alken, but you have to believe me, it is all true, and we can stop it.


    I still don¡¯t understand any of this. It all sounds like madness.


    ...


    Dei?


    I didn¡¯t want to do it this way. I didn¡¯t want you to...


    I remember holding her, concerned. I remember the feel of her breath on my neck as she whispered to me, her voice the barest whisper.


    There¡¯s something you need to know, something I need to... I thought I had more time.


    I¡¯m here. I¡¯m listening. Just talk to me.


    I remember my confusion. My concern. I remember what she¡¯d told me swirling in my mind, but I couldn¡¯t wrap my head around it. It was all too big. All I could do was hold her, brush her pale hair, and try to decide what to do, what to believe.


    Perhaps my father had been right about me. Just a fool, too slow-witted to grasp what¡¯s right in front of me.


    I need to show you something. You need to promise me, before I do, that you will listen. And... you have to know that I do love you. That wasn¡¯t a lie.


    I remember how my blood had run cold at those words. I didn¡¯t like where they might lead, what they implied.


    Everything you¡¯re telling me, about the other knights, the king... how do you know all this?


    ...I will show you.


    My pacing brought me to the holy basin in the chapel¡¯s center. It still held some blessed water, cast into silver in the moonlight. It showed me my tired face, my unkempt copper hair, the four long scars over my left eye. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the prickle of heat in the old wounds that never truly faded.


    ¡°My sin...¡± I turned to face Kross, meeting his steady eyes. ¡°I knew what the other knights were planning. I knew war and chaos were about to break out. I could have stopped it. And I didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t do anything, because I believed it was all a lie.¡±


    ¡°The Fall is my fault.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 20: Council

    Arc 2: Chapter 20: Council


    The oaken table shuddered as Brenner slammed his fist down. ¡°I will not abide that thing on my land. What do you intend to do, Ser Kross?¡±


    The knight-exorcist remained unfazed by Brenner¡¯s anger. With his armor and cloak cleaned, he looked as gray and stoic as a castle gargoyle where he stood center-stage across the great table. All the knights and high-ranking servants who sat in the hall, a council chamber high in the largest tower of Antlerhall, turned their eyes to the warrior-priest.


    Emma sat at the table, though all those aged soldiers had contrived to make as much space around her as possible, so she seemed an island at one lonely corner. I leaned against a pillar fashioned into the shape of coiling serpents at her back, watchful.


    Ser Kross met the lord¡¯s angry eyes. He paused a moment before speaking, as though waiting for the last echo of a rumble of thunder to pass. ¡°I assure you, lord, I have no intention of keeping idle. You must understand, however, that this is not a threat you can overcome through force of arms ¡ª we have already made that mistake once.¡±


    The gathered knights shifted in discomfort. Many of them still bore burn wounds, and many chairs in the council hall sat empty.


    ¡°Then how, exactly, do you intend to rid us of this menace?¡± Brenner¡¯s glower could have intimidated an ursinwyrm. Indeed, no one else in the hall had dared to speak through his blustering. ¡°I called you here to banish Jon Orley with your Sacred Arts, only to lose a great portion of my bannermen yesterday.¡±


    I wonder if anyone¡¯s got the guts to mention he¡¯s the one who tried to joust with the Hellrider, I thought wryly. To be fair, I kept my mouth shut as well.


    He jabbed a calloused finger into the scarred wood of the ancient table. ¡°You tell me that Orley is merely bound, not dead, and that at some indefinite point ¡ª likely soon ¡ª he will break free.¡±


    Kross nodded calmly. ¡°That is my understanding as well, my lord.¡±


    ¡°And are we to understand that, all this time, the spirit plaguing us has been a Creature of Hell? That the Carreons brought a demon into our midst?¡±


    This interruption came from one of the knights, a long-necked, wheat-haired scarecrow of a man named Ser Gors. His eyes reminded me of an exotic lizard¡¯s ¡ª wide and bugging. At times I believed he might even produce a long tongue and try to lick them.


    Many eyes went to Emma. She ignored them, staring in bored indifference at some imperfection in the old table. However, I noted her jaw tightening at the allegation.


    ¡°Jon Orley is no demon, Ser Gors. He is a servant of the Zosite.¡±


    That word hung heavy as might the scent of sulfur in the air. Ser Kross remained passive to the shocked gazes directed his way, his eyes remaining locked on Brenner¡¯s.


    Even I shifted, surprised. I hadn¡¯t expected an agent of the Priory to know, or admit, to such a thing.


    The Lord of House Hunting slumped into his seat, scowling through his bristled beard. ¡°A servant of demons may as well be a fiend himself. It makes no difference.¡±


    ¡°It makes every difference.¡± Kross spoke with unwavering sternness. ¡°And the Lords of Orkael ¡ª the Iron Hell, as it is often called ¡ª are not demonic. They are kinfolk to the Onsolain. Estranged, yes, but their realm is vassal to Onsolem, one of the original Afterrealms.¡±


    A heavy silence fell, and I could tell his words had upset many of the knights. One or two made warding signs against evil. Even Brenner looked disturbed.


    The lord¡¯s cleric ¡ª an aged wisp of a woman in a white habit trimmed with gold thread, the brass circlet of her office set over her brow ¡ª frowned at the exorcist. ¡°That is not aligned with the Church¡¯s doctrine, Ser Kross. Need I remind you that the Iron Realm¡¯s influence was purged from Urn by the God-Queen¡¯s own edicts, that it can claim no souls in this land? There has not been a crowfriar allowed across the Riven Sea or the Fences in more than five centuries.¡±


    Kross held up a placating hand. ¡°I am aware of the Riven Order, clericon, I only mean to clarify that what we face is not demonic in nature. It might seem pedantic, but the distinction does matter, especially if we intend to face it with clear heads and open eyes.¡±


    He searched the gathered faces, eventually alighting his flint-gray eyes on mine. Without any particular emotion he said, ¡°I am not the only one here who is versed in such lore. If you do not believe me, perhaps it is best to consult the one who bound our enemy in the first place?¡±


    A dozen sets of begrudging eyes followed the knight-exorcist¡¯s gaze to me. I glared at Kross a moment, daring him to say more, to out me. He knew who I was now, what I had once been.


    He said nothing, only held my gaze with the same calm stoicism he seemed to treat everything, the ghost of a sad smile at one corner of his lips.


    Why had I told him all of that in the chapel? What had come over me? Idiot, idiot, idiot, I silently berated myself. But, once I¡¯d started talking, I hadn¡¯t been able to stop. It had been like a floodgate had opened, like the words had been pulled from me with a barbed hook.


    Still, I regretted it. It wasn¡¯t like I had any fear of him going to his masters in the Priory ¡ª the Church had already excommunicated me. But he could still cause me some trouble. Many domains wanted my head for plying my bloody work without royal sanctions. It wasn¡¯t like I went around telling people their beloved Divinity gave me my orders.


    Dark rumor the Headsman of Seydis might have been to most, but it didn¡¯t mean Kross wouldn¡¯t be smart enough to figure things out.


    ¡°Ser Alken?¡±


    Brenner¡¯s rumbling voice drew me from my thoughts. I glanced to him, then at the various eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to elaborate on Kross¡¯s words about demons and devils. Emma had emerged from her shroud of apathy, staring at me just as intently as the rest. She, at least, didn¡¯t look skeptical about what I might say.


    I dismissed my concerns about the exorcist for the moment and focused on the present conversation. I spoke into the silence. ¡°The Zosite are the jailers of the Abgru?dai.¡±


    Kross¡¯s use of the true name of Hell¡¯s dark lords had caused discomfiture, but my mention of the proper name for the beings who¡¯d sacked Heaven had a much harsher reaction. I wasn¡¯t surprised. Abgru?dai. The Dread and Awful Presences. The Ravening Ones. The Usurper¡¯s Coconspirators. Denizens of the First Gaol.


    They have many names, but only one really matters ¡ª The Demons of the Abyss. Once, I might have gotten a harsh look and a prayer from a priest for speaking that name, but no one in Urn could dismiss its shadow with memories of the Fall still so fresh. My own thoughts went to Caelfall, to the thing I¡¯d briefly encountered there. Flashes of a gore-ruined chapel filled my mind.


    Many faces went ghost-pale, even Emma¡¯s, and the old clericon made the sign of the auremark over her chest. A few prayers were whispered into the stale castle air. Brenner only closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. ¡°I will not have these names tossed about in my hall. They are profane.¡±


    Finally, sighing wearily, Brenner stood from his high-backed chair. ¡°We will not be turning Lady Emma over to this creature. Kross and Alken will expel Jon Orley, and that will be the end of it.¡±


    The knights stood and bowed to their lord. Brenner waved a hand in dismissal, stalking out of the chamber. His clericon followed him. No doubt he went to check on his son.


    After the knights and other attendants had all departed, Emma approached me. She wore a troubled expression. When she opened her mouth to speak, I cut her off before she¡¯d gotten out a word.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it.¡±


    She snapped her mouth closed, tilting her head in confusion. ¡°Say what?¡±


    ¡°You were about to say something like, what if that gecko-eyed fop is right, and I really do deserve to get whisked off to hell because of some fucked up stuff people related to me did a hundred years ago?¡±


    Emma blushed and shuffled. ¡°I was actually going to suggest leaving the castle. If Orley attacks this place¡ª¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t,¡± I said firmly. ¡°It won¡¯t come to that.¡±


    Emma¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°You have a plan?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± I half turned, then fixed her with my sharpest look. ¡°You¡¯re going to stay here until I get back.¡±


    ¡°I most certainly will not!¡± Emma took a step forward, lifting her chin stubbornly. ¡°If you¡¯re going back to Orcswell, I will be there as well.¡±


    I held her gaze a long moment, our mutual glares clashing like opposing shields. She did not back down, even after a full minute.


    I knew I should make her stay. I wanted her to stay ¡ª she was the noble lady, the damsel in the classical sense, the one in truest danger. My instincts shouted at me to keep her secure while I went to war on her behalf.


    But was it the responsible thing to do, or just how I wanted things to play out? Nath¡¯s orders might have been vague, but she hadn¡¯t told me to just keep her charge safe. Whatever else, I represented her interests.


    Doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t try for a positive outcome, I thought.


    Emma¡¯s amber eyes, huge and avian, didn¡¯t blink as she stared at me. She didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t beg or cajole. After a while I nodded.


    ¡°Fine. Bring your sword. We leave within the hour.¡±


    Emma let out a sigh, and there was a bit of relief in it. ¡°Good. I will meet you at the gate.¡±


    She marched off with determined vigor. Haughty and proud one moment, and as excited as a lad going on his first hunt the next. Snorting, I turned to go my own way. I had my own preparations to make.


    Kross barred my exit. Inclining his head, he gave me the smallest of smiles. ¡°Leaving?¡±


    I paused, eyeing him a moment before answering. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You and the young lady?¡± Kross¡¯s gray eyes drifted to where Emma had departed through the chamber¡¯s doors. ¡°I doubt his lordship would approve.¡±


    I held his gaze a long moment. ¡°And are you going to tell him, Ser Kross? Or try to stop us?¡±


    ¡°...No. I do question, however, the wisdom of this.¡±


    Admittedly, I questioned it too. ¡°She¡¯s not a damsel,¡± I said. ¡°And this is her curse. Best to let her face it head on, and keep her where my axe can reach. ¡®Sides, not sure I want to leave her here with the likes of Gors suggesting they all hand her over to the devils.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes, I noted your expression when he suggested that.¡±


    He said nothing for a while, and I felt the tension in the air like the afternote of a plucked harp string. He knew, now, that I was no simple vagabond adept. What would he do with the information? What did he think, or believe, or intend? After I¡¯d spilled everything in the chapel I¡¯d left in a hurry, angry at myself and more than a bit embarrassed at my display of emotion.


    Kross didn¡¯t bring it up. He simply said, ¡°you have a plan, then?¡±


    I grimaced. I¡¯d been able to pretend with Emma, but Kross saw too much. Dismissing other concerns I answered him. ¡°Not as such. Mainly, I just don¡¯t want to leave Orley there and have my binding fail while I¡¯m not present. More than that... I want answers, and I can¡¯t get them here at the castle.¡±


    Kross nodded, his expression becoming thoughtful. ¡°I have my own rite to prepare, though it may take me time. You should wait, so we can deal with this together.¡±


    I stepped past him to the door, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to join the fun whenever you¡¯re ready, Kross. For now, I¡¯ve got a devil to chat with.¡±


    Two, in fact. It was high time I had a conversation with Bloody Nath.

 Arc 2: Chapter 21: Thorned Wisdom

    Arc 2: Chapter 21: Thorned Wisdom


    I paid the castle smith to fix my armor. She had to use ordinary steel, which looked odd with the shadowy elf-iron links. The smith, a gnarled old woman with ashy gray hair and arms near thick as mine, kept grumbling about how sacrilegious it was to do such patchwork repairs to Sidhe work. Finally, after some cajoling, she ended up using an engraved iron plate as the centerpiece of the repair, mostly covering the mismatched metal, making it look like a deliberate touch.


    I liked it. It made the hauberk look less uniformly black, adding a small flare. I hadn¡¯t gone for aesthetic in my gear since I¡¯d been in the peerage, and part of me had missed those indulgences.


    I paid her well, thanked her, and quietly hoped whatever penance she assigned herself wouldn¡¯t be too harsh. That done, I made my way to the stables to meet Emma, passing through an inner courtyard of the keep. True to their aesthetic, House Hunting had turned it into a small wood, shadowing the interior with trees. I imagined an invading force would find the effect uncanny, and find many sharp spears waiting for them in the shadows.


    A figure lurking beneath one of those trees stopped me. ¡°Master Alken. Out late, are we?¡±


    I paused, instinctively reaching for the dagger beneath my cloak. I didn¡¯t draw it, only assured myself I could. ¡°Ser Lydia,¡± I greeted the Hunting bannerwoman who stepped out of the shade. I hadn¡¯t noticed her, which unnerved me.


    She still wore her brassy armor, with a breastplate reinforced with scale and a leather coat more reminiscent of a woodsman¡¯s than a soldier¡¯s. She no longer wore a helm, however, giving me my first good look at her face. She approached middle age, with a narrow face and thin lips, pale brown eyes bright in the dim light. A blistering mark covered the lower portion of one cheek, pulling at the corner of her mouth. It would probably remain as a nasty scar, a reminder of Jon Orley¡¯s wrath.


    ¡°If you intend to depart without being noticed,¡± the knight said, her tone politely neutral, ¡°you should know that most of this fiefdom¡¯s soldiery have very good night vision. Old blessings from the fae-folk who lived in this land in past times.¡±


    She tapped a gloved finger under one wolfish eye.


    I let out a small laugh, more a sound of tension breaking than humor. ¡°Right. Should have guessed. That Gors fellow looked like he had some erkish blood in him. You even have a town called Orcswell.¡±


    Lyda sneered at the name. ¡°I¡¯m half certain Gors himself is a changeling ¡ª some parents keep them, rather than leaving them in the wilds as they should. But I digress. You are leaving us?¡±


    The way she said it made me guess she¡¯d assumed I planned to abandon them. ¡°I¡¯m not fleeing,¡± I said, too hastily. Lydia only lifted a dark brown eyebrow.


    Taking a breath and choosing my words more carefully I added, ¡°I can¡¯t do any of you any good here. I¡¯m chasing down a lead, and hopefully it will give me a way to rid you all of Orley, so you can get back to your lives.¡±


    Lydia nodded slowly, though she still had some doubt on her face. ¡°Back at Orcswell... you saved us. Many of the others still think Lady Emma is responsible for this, perhaps even in control of the Burnt Rider somehow, but I have eyes.¡± She dipped into a martial bow of respect. ¡°You fought well, Ser. Whatever you are going to do, good luck to you.¡±


    I admit, it took me off guard. I¡¯d gotten so used to distrust and disdain, or to manipulation masked as admiration. For a moment, I didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Ser Lydia, for her part, didn¡¯t give the moment time to become awkward. After a precisely timed pause she turned on her heel, off to attend some duty.


    I stopped her when she¡¯d gone three steps away. ¡°Wait.¡±


    The knight turned, again lifting a quizzical eyebrow.


    ¡°There¡¯s a young girl in the keep, a laundry maid. Would be about fifteen, I think. She¡¯s one of Lady Emma¡¯s servants, her housekeeper¡¯s daughter. I think she¡¯s been cast adrift in this crisis ¡ª could you check in on her, see if she¡¯s alright?¡±


    I knew that checking in on maids wasn¡¯t the purview of knights, but Lydia seemed a good sort, opinions on changeling children notwithstanding.


    To my relief she nodded amicably. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll see to it. Any message you¡¯d like to give the child?¡±


    I thought about it a moment. ¡°Tell her this will all be done with soon, and then she¡¯ll be back with her ma¡¯. It¡¯s a promise, straight from the Lady Carreon herself.¡±


    The knight snorted. ¡°Right. Well, I can¡¯t make it a priority. One more thing ¡ª you should exit by the southeast wall. There¡¯s a hedge beneath it we haven¡¯t tended to, and I¡¯m in charge of it tonight.¡± She inclined her head again, then left.


    I stood there a moment, taking time to process. When had I last been given any honor by one of the peerage? Why did I still care? Even still, it made me feel a bit less tense. I scoffed at myself, then went to find my young charge.


    ***


    We went without chimera, secreting ourselves out of the castle in the night. Antlerhall had been placed on high alert with the ongoing crisis, but a touch of Cant and a few aura-laced words saw us through, along with Ser Lydia¡¯s advice. The guards were on the lookout for devils and monsters out of the night, not us.


    No, I happened to be the idiot going out hunting for what lurked in the dark beyond those torchlit walls.


    Two hours after our departure, deep into the night, I brought us into a woodland glade south of the keep. More snow had fallen, casting everything into silver shades beneath the rising moons. Ghost-lights guided our path, and spirits murmured drunkenly in the shadows, but none approached us. They must have sensed my intent, my destination, and wanted no part of it.


    Warlock and child of occultists she might be, but Emma had been raised in a sheltered lifestyle. Beneath the pointed cowl of her black cloak, a night-veil like mine fashioned to ward off od from the waxing moons, she watched the woods with nervous eyes.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± She whispered, working to keep pace with my longer strides. ¡°This isn¡¯t the way to Orcswell.¡±


    ¡°Small detour,¡± I said.


    She huffed in frustration, but cold and nervousness stalled her questions. Our breath formed nearly glowing plumes in the gloom, misting breath catching what light came down through the canopy.


    I found what I sought soon enough. Following subtle sensations pulling at my aura, a gut feeling, and the winking Wil-O¡¯ Wisps, I led us into a deep, old part of the woods beyond Antlerhall. The trees grew taller here, the shadows deeper. Strange sounds danced through the night, and eerie eyes seemed to occasionally blink through the trees, green and set in strange configurations.


    Emma noticed the change, though her own magic didn¡¯t give her the same acute senses as mine ¡ª hers was all human, or perhaps animal, instinct, the knowledge that she¡¯d passed into a dangerous place. ¡°Where are we?¡± She asked, casting anxious eyes into the night.


    ¡°The Wend,¡± I said.


    She blinked. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. How... Why¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a Burrow,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t panic. And don¡¯t look at them. They can ensorcel you.¡±


    She¡¯d been staring at the alien eyes in the darkness. Swallowing, she blinked and tore her gaze away. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves she said, in a way that had the edge of a noble¡¯s command in it, ¡°and why, pray tell, are we in a Burrow of the Wend?¡±


    A sound pierced the night. Something halfway between an avian screech and a human shout. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and Emma let out a yelp. My fingers flexed, but I had no enchanted axe to grap ¡ª it still formed the core of the Malison Tree that bound Jon Orley.


    ¡°Because I need to talk to your godmother,¡± I said. ¡°And I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯s been keeping an eye on things, which means she¡¯d want a nice, gloomy refuge somewhere nearby.¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes widened at this, and she fixed her gaze forward. ¡°We¡¯re going to see Lady Nath? But, she¡¯s always found me in the past. I...¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be alright,¡± I said, trying to be reassuring. ¡°Just stick close.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± the priest said. He¡¯d lost his shoes in the woods, and his feet were raw and blistered. His hands and face had been lacerated, as though the forest had tried to maul him on his way here. Perhaps it had ¡ª we were in the Wend, after all.


    Nath glanced at the priest, looking bemused. ¡°Interesting. I expected him to die in the forest.¡±


    I remembered another detail about the man then, even if I still couldn¡¯t place his name. ¡°He saw you and Emma together,¡± I said. I turned on the Onsolain, clenching my jaw in sudden anger. ¡°Did you lure him out here to silence him?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nath said, her expression mildly bemused as she watched the man stumble drunkenly toward us through the field of violet flowers. ¡°He has been trying to find me for many weeks. He is in love with me, I think.¡± She tittered, pressing the back of one hand to her lips. ¡°It¡¯s not the first time. Oh, but a priest? That is a fresh amusement.¡±


    I sighed and began to step toward the poor fool. I¡¯d have to guide him back through the wilderness. I didn¡¯t have time, damn it all, but I couldn¡¯t just leave him out here to get eaten by wyldefae, or worse.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Nath said. She held out a hand, and I stopped ¡ª though she spoke softly, something in her voice told me it would be a very bad idea to ignore her.


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± I asked, knowing I probably wouldn''t like the answer. I knew Nath¡¯s reputation.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Nath mused. She seemed surprised at the admission. ¡°A man of faith, guided to darkness? It is hardly a first, but still I wonder... will he balk when he sees just how twisted the briar behind this rose is, how sharp its thorns, or will it allure him all the more? I am curious.¡±


    The man jabbered, half-incoherent. I grimaced at the sight. ¡°This isn¡¯t love. He¡¯s just ensorcelled. You know you can have that effect on mortals.¡±


    Nath shrugged one silvered shoulder. ¡°And what does that matter? Do you think it matters to him?¡±


    ¡°It might,¡± I insisted. ¡°If he had half a brain to think it over just now.¡±


    ¡°I have not enchanted him,¡± Nath said, turning her empty eyes back to me. ¡°Not with any deliberate exertion of my power, in any case. I am surprised by you, Hewer. Were you not so enchanted yourself, once? Do you begrudge others such joy, now it has been lost to you?¡±


    I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my temper in check. ¡°That is not... Damn it, you don¡¯t feel anything for him! He¡¯s just some poor bastard you see as a toy, or a tool.¡± I could well imagine what kind of purposes the Angel of the Briar would put a corrupted preacher to.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Nath didn¡¯t have so much as a trace of shame on her immortally beautiful face. ¡°And you see yourself in him, and it angers you.¡±


    The blood went out of me then. I knew she could see my face drain of color, the cold rage on my face. It didn¡¯t impress her. Nath only lifted her chin, unmoved by how deep those words had cut.


    ¡°The world is hard and cruel, O¡¯ Fallen Knight. You may resent those of us who choose to indulge in dreams, but it is not your place to take them. Keep your waking nightmare until it breaks you, I care not.¡± She flicked two fingers to one side, causing a ripple of shadow to pass where her touch scarred the air. ¡°That man has had a long, difficult life, and he will spend his final days lonely and frustrated. I can show him wonders, and horrors... which do you think he will prefer?¡±


    ¡°You expect me to believe you¡¯re doing this for his sake?¡± I sneered.


    ¡°I care not a wit what you believe.¡± Nath shook her head. ¡°Will you challenge me for this soul, Headsman? Now, when you need my good will and my aid?¡±


    I glanced at the man. He¡¯d stopped halfway across the field, his knees giving way to exhaustion. He knelt there in the flowers, dazing in dreamy wonder at the shadow-maned angel who¡¯d probably haunted his every dream and waking moment since he first laid eyes on her. It made me sick, to think there were beings in the cosmos who could take our will away so easily. Had I really been like that, once?


    If I had, I¡¯d woken up. Perhaps it was best to let the priest find his own way out of the murk. Besides, Nath had a point. I had other problems, and I¡¯m no hero besides.


    ¡°Orley... how do I send him back to Hell? How do I stop him?¡± I dismissed the besotted fool from my attention.


    ¡°It depends on which Hell you speak of,¡± Nath said, returning her attention to the previous matter as well. ¡°There are many. If you wish to confine him once again to the Iron Pits, then that will be difficult ¡ª he is here lawfully, under the sanction of rites old as this world. The easiest method is to allow him to complete his work.¡±


    I hardened my voice. ¡°I will not let him take the girl.¡±


    ¡°Then there is only one way,¡± Nath said. ¡°You and he are both acting for different Realms Immortal. Your authority is as paramount as his.¡±


    She spread her hands out, falling silent. Imploring me to understand.


    I did. ¡°I can challenge him. One Doomsman to another.¡±


    Nath¡¯s smile held something of the fey humor of the Sidhe in it. ¡°That, O¡¯ Headsman, is true. Understand that to do so will tie Emma Carreon¡¯s fate to yours, which may not be a kindness. I need not mention it may also cause discontent between the Choir Concilium and the Iron Tribunal, two mighty realms of the Divinity.¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t,¡± I said cautiously, ¡°will Emma end up being consigned to Hell?¡±


    ¡°Without a doubt,¡± Nath said, very serious.


    I didn¡¯t trust her. Whatever else, she could lie, or at least use misleading truths. There had also been Orley¡¯s words when we¡¯d fought him. I am not here for you.


    What had that meant? And did it matter? Whatever else, he was a curse that would hound Emma for the rest of her days unless I did something. And...


    And I cared, I realized. Somewhere along the way, this had stopped being a job. As I¡¯d learned more about Emma¡¯s past, about her situation and struggles, I¡¯d grown invested in freeing her of it all. Perhaps I just didn¡¯t want to see one more monster born into the world, one I might one day have to face again in my official capacity as Headsman.


    I wanted no future where I¡¯d have to execute that troubled young woman. She hadn¡¯t earned any of her woes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it then,¡± I said.


    Nath leaned forward, so her empty eyes seemed to become enormous. ¡°This is a decision which may affect the rest of your life, Alken Hewer. Are you certain?¡±


    I set my jaw and stood to my fullest height, though it didn¡¯t come close to matching the Fallen¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ve made worse choices. I might regret this one, but that doesn¡¯t make it wrong.¡±


    Nath tilted her chin, inspecting me with a critical sidelong gaze. ¡°Then so mote it be. If you are to do this thing, you will need a voice within the Choir itself to represent you ¡ª the Iron Lords respect law and tradition, but they will ignore anything not backed by a force to match theirs.¡±


    Knowing she most certainly did, I asked the obvious question. ¡°You have any suggestions? I¡¯m not exactly on close speaking terms with any of the Onsolain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can think of one who¡¯d absolutely leap at the chance to aid in such a noble endeavor.¡± Nath¡¯s words and twisted lips had a truly poisonous humor in them. ¡°Oh, what a sweet irony! But the night ages. Make your preparations, Headsman. Soon enough, you will have to make your case on behalf of Emma Carreon¡¯s soul, and all the powers of Heaven and Hell shall hear it.¡±


    I turned to leave without a word, though my eyes strayed to the priest. Nath strode toward him, and I saw the effect it had on the man. The sight made my gut twist. I wondered how many of the Brothers of the Briar had started out just like him.

 Arc 2: Chapter 22: Crow

    Arc 2: Chapter 22: Crow


    I found Emma, as Nath had promised, wandering lost in the woods. She didn¡¯t look amused. Indeed, she¡¯d drawn her fine sword and was in the process of swiping it at Wil-O¡¯ Wisps.


    The ghostly spirits, for their part, seemed to be enjoying the game. They swept in and out of Emma¡¯s reach in turns, giggling like children. Sweat beaded on Emma¡¯s face, and she looked very pale ¡ª they¡¯d drawn some of her warmth out of her. These had little in common with the small, mostly harmless spirits I¡¯d encountered at the House of Irn Bale. In the Wend, the wisps had grown large and glowed a sickly blue-green, bloated from the stagnant od.


    Sighing, I stepped out of the shadows and drew on my aura. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± I said, my words carrying a slight echo of power. ¡°Begone.¡±


    The spirits scattered, vanishing into the forest. I stepped forward, taking a moment to make sure we had no more unwelcome company, then turned my attention on Emma. Winded, she took a moment to catch her breath before glaring at me. ¡°I had it under control.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°No doubt, but we¡¯re on a timetable. If you want to keep practicing swordplay on incorporeal spirits, though, be my guest.¡±


    Scowling, she sheathed her blade and cast a furtive look into the night. ¡°They are malicious things. I¡¯ve been going in circles, and...¡± she swallowed. ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t just them. I do not like this place. The air feels foul.¡± She returned her amber eyes to me. ¡°Where were you?¡±


    ¡°Talking to your benefactor,¡± I admitted. ¡°Nath wanted a private word.


    Emma¡¯s eyes widened at that. ¡°Then... what now?¡±


    ¡°Now...¡± I sighed. ¡°Now, we talk to your ancestor.¡±


    ***


    Fresh snow had fallen over the field beyond Orcswell, veiling the signs of the furious battle that had raged there little more than a day before. I could no longer see the patches of burnt ground, the ichorous sludge the hellhounds had dissolved into, the evil rune with which the Scorchknight had scarred the frozen earth.


    The tree, however, remained. Like a skeletal black appendage reaching up from clean white surrounds, its jagged, leafless limbs looked especially sharp under the moons, and starkly black.


    I took a deep breath of the night air, only mildly tainted still with the stench of sulfur. I steeled myself ¡ª not for the tree and the nightmare trapped in it, but for the conversation I needed to have with Emma.


    ¡°I need to talk to you about what happens next,¡± I said to her, stopping a distance away from the tree. ¡°I have a way to end this, but it might put you in even more danger.¡±


    Emma pursed her lips in a slight frown, taking this in. Whatever else might be said about the impetuous young noble, she wasn¡¯t slow. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°It will involve more powers,¡± I said. ¡°Once done... I might not be able to control what happens next. I¡¯ll do everything I can, but you have to understand that I¡¯m tossing a set of dice and seeing what numbers come up. I can¡¯t make you any guarantees.¡±


    I turned on her. Tall for her age and gender, she still had to look up to meet my eyes. We made an odd pair in that snowy field, me tall and garbed in a dull red cloak, frayed by many long miles and strange roads, pointed cowl shadowing my features. Her, clad all in black and velvet, the image of the shadowy aristocrat, almost vampiric under the moonlight.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to back you,¡± I said to her. ¡°Not to make your decisions for you. There are some things about me you should know, other... interests, pulling at me. Nath is just one of them, and I don¡¯t think she has any more control over the outcome here than I do. I can give you knowledge, let you make the choice with open eyes, but I can¡¯t promise you a happy ending.¡±


    Emma chewed on those words a while. She bit her lip in thought, her gaze wandering toward the black tree. Finally, in a quiet voice that hid none of her uncertainty she asked, ¡°can¡¯t it just be your choice? You¡¯ve known what to do until now.¡±


    I realized something then, seeing the indecision on the girl¡¯s face. She¡¯d spent her entire life at the mercy of others, that life dictated by choices people both in the present and the past made. Now I gave her the chance to take some agency back, and it scared her.


    I empathized. I¡¯d chosen to give away much of my own agency because of that same fear, and...


    I¡¯d regretted it every day since.


    ¡°I rarely ever know what to do,¡± I admitted. ¡°It¡¯s up to you, milady. It¡¯s your life.¡±


    She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then snapped her attention to me. Standing tall, chin up in aristocratic command she made her choice. ¡°Tell me. All of it.¡±


    And I did.


    ¡°I used to be a knight,¡± I said quietly, eyes drifting away in recollection. ¡°A knight, and a damn good fighter. But I made some bad choices, trusted the wrong people, and ended up getting excommunicated by the Church, stripped of my titles by the Accord. I wanted to make amends, try to fix some of the damage I¡¯d helped cause. I fought for the Accord during the war against the Recusants. For three years after Elfhome burned, I fought. When the war ended, I wandered, adrift, like a ghost. I took to drinking. I was aimless.¡±


    I remembered those days of mead-haze and emotional fugue. I¡¯d been like a living dead man, a wretch. I clenched a hand into a fist against my sternum, hating the memory, ashamed by it. Emma, for her part, only listened intently.


    ¡°One day, when I got close to... ending things, Nath¡¯s brethren offered me a road through the new world, which had become so dark in my eyes. I became their blade in the night, their executioner. I¡¯m still tied to what I was, though, and beings like Nath are drawn to that. Not just her, but ghosts, monsters... demons. It¡¯s the light they put in us. It¡¯s like a torch, guiding in moths.¡±


    Emma¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with what¡¯s happening here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you because what we do next might draw a lot of attention on me, and you. Not all of it pleasant. I want to dispute Orley¡¯s presence here, officially, which means getting immortals involved. I won¡¯t put you in that situation without your consent, and to truly give that you need to know what I am, and that my role in this could... change.¡±


    ¡°Is there an alternative?¡± Emma asked.


    I nodded. ¡°I fight everything that tries to come after you, and hope it buys you time to escape, to hide. I¡¯ll probably die, and you¡¯ll probably still end up getting hunted down, but it might give you a chance.¡± I shrugged.


    Emma¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°You would do that? For me? Why?¡±


    I inhaled deeply through my nose, feeling strangely calm. ¡°Because the gods can be assholes. I might fight where they tell me to, but I do it my way. And if they¡¯re willing to damn you for your family¡¯s crimes, then they¡¯re not worth following. I¡¯d rather be an oathbreaker than serve that.¡±


    The Priory had gotten involved to avoid inquisition and possible crusade, that was it. They wanted to deal with the situation quietly, so the presence of infernal powers didn¡¯t start religiously motivated panic. That had to be it. Because, if he was anything but what he appeared, and I¡¯d told him all of that, then...


    He crushed all of my hopes with brutal, dispassionate bluntness. ¡°I am afraid this farce has run its course. Understand, you did ask for this.¡±


    Feeling that pit in my chest form a hollow place, draining all my emotions into it, I spoke with the same lack of passion he did. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Emma had approached when Kross had made his sudden appearance, casting a confused look between us. ¡°Ser Kross? How did you... what is going on?¡±


    I heard metal grind, and knew Orley had stirred at Emma¡¯s nearness. My attention remained on Kross, who finally directed his gaze on me. His lips twisted into a malformed smile.


    ¡°You wish to challenge the right of Orkael to pass judgment on the scion of House Carreon? You understand, Jon Orley is but an iron fist. You must have expected there to be an advocate, just as you no doubt sought your own in that rebel seraph.¡±


    ¡°You fought with us against him!¡± I took a step forward, unable to contain the bitter emotion that welled up in me, despite my attempt to quench it.


    ¡°I had to maintain this cover,¡± Kross said with lifted eyebrows, unaffected by my anger. ¡°Though, I am certain Orley took satisfaction in wounding me. He hates us nearly as much as the ones who betrayed him. Then again, the armor was perhaps a bit much.¡± He glanced at the Scorchknight. ¡°I understand it is quite painful.¡±


    ¡°Us?¡± Emma had no clue what was going on. ¡°What is happening? Explain this, Ser Kross.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re carrying an angel around on your back!¡± I couldn¡¯t accept it, couldn¡¯t bring myself to fully admit I¡¯d been so easily duped, so starstruck by the image of a True Knight.


    ¡°Alken, Alken...¡± Kross sighed and lowered his head, shaking it in disappointment. ¡°I thought you knew this lore! As I said in the council, the followers of Zos are kinfolk to the Onsolain, no less holy than they.¡±


    Baring my teeth, I brought my aura to bear and looked, using my paladin powers to see through illusion, cleave through falsity. And I saw...


    The same thing I¡¯d seen in the graveyard. Around Kross bloomed a soft light, cold and clean, forming the shape of a winged figure holding his neck in an embrace. It opened its silver-white eyes and met my gaze, and¡ª


    I realized my mistake. I''d seen the beauty, and stopped looking there. The being who rode Kross was beautiful, yes, as much as any immortal I¡¯d ever laid eyes on save one. But it had a malice in its gaze, a metallic harshness even Nath did not possess. And Kross himself...


    I¡¯d been a fool. The spirit clinging to him masked his own aura. I¡¯d never felt his own presence, not once. How else could he walk freely among the faithful, disguised as a holy warrior?


    Kross watched my realization, then chuckled. ¡°Very well. I suppose it is only fair, since you removed your mask for me.¡±


    He bowed his head, and... changed. His gray cloak began to shift like liquid shadow, melting and reforming, coiling about his neck into a high scarf. The armor beneath rippled, softening into robes such a deep gray they were nearly black. The gauntlets became loose sleeves, the steel sabatons roughly made leather boots. The buckled sword belt frayed and wound into a simple rope tied about his waist.


    A very different man stood before me a moment later. He looked older, though not by much, and not so tall. He hunched beneath a worn, charcoal gray robe, similar to what a mendicant priest might wear. The garment, layered and badly frayed, soot-stained, looked ancient, and obscured the figure beneath in deep shadow. Still, I could see the eyes beneath the heavy cowl.


    They burned like twin embers.


    Emma took a step back from the transformed knight. ¡°What sorcery is this?¡±


    ¡°No sorcery,¡± the cowled monk said. His voice held none of Kross¡¯s warm, paternal airs. Cold, without emotion, with a hint of a throaty growl in it. ¡°Just a glamour. Honestly, I expected at several points your guardian would see through it. The power must be truly faded from you, Alder Knight.¡±


    ¡°Who exactly are you, sir?¡± Emma drew herself up, responding to uncertainty with haughty demand, an Urnic noble through and through. I failed to say anything, too busy putting together small details, little hints. The way his broken arm had healed so quickly in the middle of the fight with Jon Orley. His knowledge about esoteric lore, the scorn he¡¯d directed toward Brenner¡¯s clericon. He¡¯d practically told us what he was, in the council chamber.


    ¡°You may call me Vicar.¡± The monk bowed his head to Emma, folding his hands into his wide sleeves.


    I realized then that I recognized him. ¡°You were in Strekke,¡± I said. ¡°In Emery Planter¡¯s keep. The monk advising his son.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Vicar returned his attention to me. I could see very little of the face beneath the cowl ¡ª just the impression of a chin and wide mouth, and those two hot-coal eyes, red on black. ¡°Ah. You must be referring to one of my brothers. Yes, Emery Planter was one of ours, or very nearly so. My brother told me about you, Headsman. Quite uncouth of the Choir, to send you to poach his soul before we could lay full claim to it. Still, his son has proved quite cooperative.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Emma insisted, exasperated. ¡°What exactly is happening here?¡±


    ¡°He is a Crowfriar of Orkael,¡± I stated flatly. ¡°A missionary of Hell.¡±


    Emma blinked, then turned back to the creature who¡¯d called itself Renuart Kross. ¡°A missionary?¡±


    ¡°Among other things,¡± the devil monk said with a slight bow of his hooded head.


    I drew my blade. I didn¡¯t think about the action, didn¡¯t care about anything other than that I¡¯d told this man ¡ª no, not a man ¡ª everything. Nearly everything.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s too late for that.¡± Vicar didn¡¯t so much as flinch at the dagger. ¡°Thanks to your little stunt, force of arms will play no part in what happens next. We settle this now by precedent of law, by the Rite of Doom, with Emma Carreon¡¯s fate in the balance. You will speak for the Choir, and as Jon Orley¡¯s handler, I will speak for the Tribunal.¡± In an amused tone he added, ¡°you invoked this, Alken.¡±


    ¡°Fine then,¡± I spat. I sheathed the dagger, too angry to be embarrassed. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    The Devil nodded. ¡°So be it, Headsman.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 23: Debate For a Soul

    Arc 2: Chapter 23: Debate For a Soul


    For a long moment, the Crowfriar and I glared at one another. Emma, having no patience for the dramatics, broke the silence.


    ¡°So what now?¡± She glanced between us, brow furrowed in a mix of concern and frustration.


    That was a very good question. I hadn¡¯t ever done anything like this before. I¡¯d made my pronouncement, invoked the rite, and I knew I¡¯d done something. The aura I¡¯d used with the invocation had carried those words far, and I suspected someone, or something, would hear it.


    But would anyone answer? And how long would it take?


    ¡°Patience,¡± Vicar murmured. ¡°They will call us to them soon.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Emma frowned, casting her eyes around at the snowy fields, finding only white silence there. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    A wind stirred. It kicked up eddies of snow, which picked up speed, until a whirl of white swirled around the tree. I threw up one hand to shield my eyes as the wind-caught snow buffeted me, sending spikes of bitter cold through my skin. I lost sight of everything ¡ª Emma, the Crowfriar, Jon Orley, the fields of Venturmoor, and the village.


    It ended soon enough, and we stood... elsewhere. Snow still clung to everything, but it shone brighter, harsher, clinging like gleaming crystal to high juts of ice-encrusted stone. Ten pillars of frozen rock, bent inward like crooked fingers, formed a ring around a wide slab of smooth, moon-tinted marble. I stood at the center of that slab.


    On the high pillars stood a collection of ominous figures. Some were gnarled and bent, others tall and fair as lords, some resembling nothing human at all. I knew them for what they were immediately ¡ª Onsolain.


    Iron Wheels of Hell, there were five of them, filling half the high pillars. A full Hand. Just what had I done?


    The constellations looked different, the position of the moons, both greater and lesser, altered. I didn¡¯t know where we were exactly, but the landscape beyond the ring looked desolate, primeval. Somewhere in the deep south, I guessed, in the frozen isles beyond the coasts. The Sea of Ends. I could hear waves lapping against a shore, ice crackling in the tides, supporting my guess. The air had a razor edge to it.


    Emma, Vicar, and the Malison Oak that bound Jon Orley had been caught up in the transmigration. They stood in the same positions they had back in Venturmoor, though the tree now dug its roots into solid marble. How that trick had worked, I couldn¡¯t guess. I had other things to worry about then, anyway.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Emma asked, stepping close to me, her hand on her sword¡¯s hilt. ¡°Where are we?¡± She looked on the verge of panic as she stared at the inhuman figures arrayed above us. ¡°Who... what are they?¡±


    ¡°Members of the Choir of Onsolem,¡± I told her quietly. ¡°Keep steady. You¡¯re going to be alright.¡±


    Vicar snorted. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rich. You toss her into the lion¡¯s den, then tell her to be at peace?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I told him. He only shrugged and smiled beneath his hood.


    ¡°We bid you welcome, Headsman of Seydis.¡± This came from one of the fairer demigods on the pillars, possibly the fairest. I recognized her. She looked an exact twin to Nath, though her eyes shone with starlight rather than empty darkness, and her black tresses undulated smoothly, like liquid shadow, more gently than Nath¡¯s serpentine mane. She wore a cloak woven of gleaming transparent silk, and beneath it a dress green as an aurora. Pale, breathtakingly beautiful, she spread her shining hands out to show her empty palms.


    I lowered my head. ¡°Lady Eanor.¡±


    Nath¡¯s gentler sister graced me with a kind smile, of the sort some men might hunt dragons to see only once. ¡°This is strange for you, dear Alken. You do not normally value such attention.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I said honestly. ¡°But circumstances compelled me, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Did they, now?¡± One of the other immortals interjected. She took the shape of an ancient crone, warty nose and all, with a frame hunched beneath an elaborate shawl heavy with braids and bells. Branches covered in living growth protruded from her clothes, making her look half a tree. Her eyes seemed fashioned of green glass, with narrow lines of gold for the pupils. ¡°You have called for intervention in the matter of a single mortal soul, bringing two of the world¡¯s Powers at odds with one another. Do you have any idea the stakes with which you gamble, boy?¡±


    Keeping my tone respectful and my head lowered I said, ¡°it might be just one soul, Mother Urddha, but the precedent it would set to let the Infernal Realm have her isn¡¯t one I¡¯m prepared to let pass unchallenged.¡±


    The Saint of Witches lifted a single craggy brow. ¡°Well, you are a knower of names, aren¡¯t you?¡± The bells lining her layered garments sang as she shifted, three-toed feet like a bird¡¯s clutching at the rock for support. She pointed a clawed finger at me. ¡°Presumptuous of you, executioner, to think you have the right to challenge. Your job is to carry out sentences, not give the judge more work.¡±


    I risked lifting my eyes to the immortal. ¡°I had already been set on the case of Emma Carreon by the Choir¡¯s order. I acted to see the task through as I saw best.¡±


    I felt Emma¡¯s eyes on me, knew they must be wide with shock at these words. She said nothing, but I felt her gaze practically burning into the back of my skull.


    The Great Witch sniffed, then spat something foul into the ice, where it sizzled like acid. ¡°Mortals. So impetuous. Especially men.¡±


    ¡°Peace,¡± Eanor said in a soothing voice. ¡°Alken Hewer acts for our benefit in this, and by the council of his own heart. I will not fault him for that.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t,¡± Mother Urrdha grumbled, scowling down at me from her perch. ¡°You adore warriors, you gentle-hearted strumpet. You¡¯ve broken near as many of them as that lively twin of yours. Where is Nath, anyway? This is her show, I¡¯m led to believe.¡±


    ¡°She has not yet been welcome back to the fold,¡± an impossibly deep, hollow voice rumbled. ¡°It is not clear whether her efforts at reconciliation are genuine, or if this is more of her mischief.¡±


    My eyes were drawn to the largest of the assembled demigods. Upon the largest of the pillars ¡ª chosen no doubt to support his mass ¡ª hunched a powerfully built figure with a form far closer to beast than man. Though he stood on two legs, they were back-bent and ended in iron-shod hooves, and white fur showed where armor did not conceal. I could not quite see the face beneath the elaborate helm, but got the impression of an enormous mouth full of sharp teeth.


    I felt a shudder of dread, and wonder, as I recognized him. I¡¯d never seen Kaharn, Lord of the Hinterlands, in the flesh, but I knew his aspect.


    There were two others. A winged seraph, the classic angel, crouched with a rune-headed spear in one of four hands. Their body seemed fashioned from crystalline silver, naked save for levitating strips of cloth, the form beneath androgynous. The last looked like a kynedeer and direwolf conjoined, each creature represented by a different head. It curled placidly on its seat, both sets of eyes watchful, two serpentine tales wrapped about the pillar in a helix.


    ¡°My sister will make her appearance when and how she will,¡± Eanor said. ¡°Or she will not. That is her nature. For now, we should address the matter at hand.¡± She beckoned me, and I stepped forward. After a moment¡¯s pause she said, ¡°why have you invoked this Rite of Doom, Headsman?¡±


    Steadying myself, I addressed the whole collection of Onsolain. ¡°I wish to determine the fate of the lady Emma of House Carreon.¡±


    That name had a reaction. The seraph tilted its silver head to one side, and the two-headed beast leaned forward with both snouts, its four ears perking up.


    Kaharn growled, the sound making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. ¡°House Carreon... that is a cursed name. When did Nath become involved with that clan of malcontents?¡±


    Eanor sighed. ¡°I should have known. She kept hinting at... well, it is of no matter. Continue, Headsman.¡±


    I didn¡¯t feel too confident about the reaction I¡¯d gotten so far, but I had no choice but to see this through. I felt Emma¡¯s presence at my back, worried, confused. I wouldn¡¯t let her down.


    Vicar chuckled quietly, amused by the whole display.


    ¡°I am aware that House Carreon has committed many crimes in the past,¡± I said. ¡°Against their fellow mortals, against the land and its powers, but Lady Emma is not party to those deeds, not of her own will. She was born tied to a dark history, but she is innocent of any wrongdoing her ancestors might have perpetrated. Representatives from a foreign realm, acting on behalf of the Iron Tribunal of Orkael, hound her for that past. I wish to dispute their involvement, and see them barred from further interference. Further, I wish to absolve Emma Carreon of her family¡¯s crimes.¡±


    I felt the first hint of real fear then, that this might not go the way I¡¯d hoped.


    Desperate, I wheeled on the gathered Onsolain. ¡°You can¡¯t let this pass,¡± I implored them. ¡°You let it, and within a century the devils will own Urn as much as they do Edaea.¡± I focused my attention on Eanor, who¡¯d been quiet through most of the debate, her fair features troubled. ¡°More than that, it¡¯s not right.¡±


    Eanor opened her berry lips to speak, but paused, at a loss. She glanced at Mother Urddha. The Great Hag scowled, looking no less pleased than me with the situation. ¡°Right and fair hold no weight in this, Alken Hewer. The devil speaks truth. The Houses of Urn ¡ª especially the High Houses ¡ª maintain their power, their right to rule, by binding themselves to the land and its people through ancient pact. When one who rules such an edifice makes a vow to the Realms Immortal, it is binding. If we refuse Orkael this soul, it will have dire consequences.¡±


    ¡°It could mean war,¡± Vicar said in an almost sing-song voice. ¡°We would win.¡±


    Eanor fixed her shining face on the crowfriar, her uncertainty vanishing. I felt a shudder pass through the world, an invisible ripple of will. In a way, Gentle Eanor¡¯s anger held more terror in it than Kaharn¡¯s bestial wrath, or Urddha¡¯s spite.


    ¡°Do not overstep yourself, dog.¡± The Star-Made Lady, who¡¯d once been the Heir¡¯s confidant, her first handmaiden, fixed the crowfriar with eyes like twin silver blades. ¡°You are only a mouthpiece for that creature riding you.¡±


    To my surprise, Vicar didn¡¯t have any witty or sardonic comeback. He glared at Eanor, but his lips sealed shut.


    ¡°I have seen Onsolem,¡± Eanor said in a quiet, terrible voice. ¡°My sister and I were both there when the Cambion¡¯s armies attacked. We came to this land alongside our lady, with all the Abyss on our heels. Do not presume to lecture me, you burnt wretch. I do not remember seeing any Orkaelin legion come to our aid.¡±


    I felt the onset of a headache forming. I¡¯d known Orkael and Heavensreach were estranged, but I hadn¡¯t expected this situation to turn into a pissing match between immortals. Part of me felt ill, seeing these mighty beings quote mythical events and toss around old dirt like any squabbling group of courtiers. Further, I didn¡¯t feel any closer to getting Emma out of her bind.


    What did I do? What could I do? What loophole could I exploit, what precedent could I quote? I wracked my brain, but with a dull sense of hopelessness realized I just didn¡¯t know enough, hadn¡¯t researched enough. I was no wizard like Lias, no loremaster, no diplomat.


    I¡¯d said I would fight if I had to, but that had been a fool¡¯s boast. Any one of the beings here could dismantle me with a word.


    Shaking off his momentary unease, Vicar once more adopted his aloof sense of superiority. Adjusting his frayed sleeves before folding his hands into them again, he returned his attention to the whole of the godhand. ¡°All else aside, I believe it¡¯s clear that my presence here in Urn is perfectly lawful, as is my realm¡¯s claim over the child. Are we all in agreement on this?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said without hesitation.


    But the Onsolain remained silent.


    ¡°Lady Eanor...¡± I looked up at the only being there I could consider an ally. ¡°She is one of yours.¡±


    Eanor met my eyes a moment, then let her gaze fall. The dullness I felt in my chest grew into a leaden weight.


    ¡°Eanor is the Saint of Love,¡± Urddha said, not unkindly. ¡°And Emma Carreon owes her life to a betrayal of love most foul. I am sorry, Hewer, but the bloodline is forsaken.¡±


    Losing hold of my temper fully I spat, ¡°you would support this, wouldn¡¯t you, Urddha Curseweaver?¡±


    But my anger broke on that craggy visage without so much as a mark. ¡°I did not weave this one, child.¡±


    ¡°Then I trust our business is done?¡± Vicar asked in a chipper tone. ¡°When Emma Carreon passes, her soul will belong to Orkael. In the meantime, Jon Orley shall continue to wage his own lawful war against his betrayers.¡±


    In that moment, perhaps from my own intuition or some Alder-borne insight, I realized just how insidious this plot truly was.


    ¡°Orley¡¯s war...¡± I wheeled on Vicar. ¡°You don¡¯t want just one disenfranchised soul, do you? At Strekke, your people were trying to help the Planters form a new dominion. Powerful figures, desperate and isolated, who are in your debt.¡±


    Vicar shrugged and adjusted his sleeves. ¡°Your point?¡±


    I clenched my jaw, my brain still catching up with the thing I knew in my gut. That was why the crowfriars wouldn¡¯t just let Orley kill Emma and have done with it. By making her life a battlefield, forcing her to desperation, she would have to seek allies, tools. Her reliance on House Hunting, her future as a leader of that clan, her existent willingness to dabble with dark powers and deal with dark beings...


    They didn¡¯t want to destroy House Carreon. They wanted to force its resurrection.


    Was Nath cooperating with the devils as well? If so, why would she send me to help resolve the situation? Was she competing with Orkael for Emma¡¯s allegiance?


    I couldn¡¯t even guess at the Briar Angel¡¯s motives. I did know one thing, however; the Infernal Powers were attempting to plant roots in Urn, and they were willing to torment isolated souls, start small wars, even infiltrate the clergy to do it.


    And the Onsolain were too bound by old pacts or too afraid to do anything about it.


    ¡°You¡¯re sick,¡± I told him flatly. ¡°You, your whole organization. This entire thing is evil.¡±


    Vicar scorched me with a withering gaze. ¡°You think this evil? You, who have faced the degradations of the Abgru?dai?¡± He stepped back and swept an arm toward the tree. ¡°We make no choices for anyone ¡ª we only create circumstances, but every action, every thought? That belongs to you. Jon Orley is a mortal soul, damned and marred yes, but still with free choice. He can choose not to wage this war. He can choose not to torment the progeny of his betrayer. Why don¡¯t you ask him, and see what he says to that? I assure you, this vengeance is very personal to him.¡±


    He pointed to the Malison Oak. Through the whole of this, Orley had not said a word.


    I turned to the bound Scorchknight. ¡°Jon, she¡¯s your blood.¡±


    The iron head lifted, and for the first time a voice emerged from within, without any magic to carry it into my mind. I could barely hear it, and it had nothing human in it, each word a tortured effort. ¡°I... will... not... forgive. I will... give them endless war. Endless... hate. All Carreons... are... accursed.¡±


    ¡°Then it is clear to me what must be done.¡±


    I turned, slowly, to face Emma. She, too, had been silent through this entire farce. Now she stepped forward, pale and cold in the winter air, yet with her hawkish features set in grim determination. She was afraid, I could tell that much, but she lifted her chin and faced all those gathered immortals without flinching.


    ¡°I must no longer be Carreon,¡± she said.


    I blinked, nonplussed. No one else in the circle said anything, either. For a long moment, we just heard the sound of wind over wasteland seas, and the grinding of distant ice.


    Emma met my confused gaze, shrugged with one shoulder, and gave me a wistful smile. ¡°Thank you for all of that,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve never had anyone care so much... but this is something I need to do for myself. Choose for myself.¡±


    She faced the devils and the angels and said, ¡°I renounce my name. I renounce House Carreon. Let it be dissolved.¡±

 Arc 2: Chapter 24: Emma鈥檚 Doom

    Arc 2: Chapter 24: Emma¡¯s Doom


    The wind carried Emma¡¯s pronouncement away soon enough, though it seemed to hang in the frozen air, a nearly physical thing.


    ¡°It is not that simple,¡± Vicar said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. ¡°You cannot merely say a thing and have it change reality. You are bound, child.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Emma lifted a dark eyebrow, a touch of her usual haughty primness entering her tone. ¡°Well then, let us make it a bit more official, shall we?¡±


    She looked up to Lady Eanor. ¡°I will swear it. I, Emma of the Westvales, renounce the name Carreon. I will hold no lands or titles in that name, and I will have no children of my blood. I will be the last of the bloodline, the last to wield our Art, the last to bear our curse. I disavow all my ancestors and their deeds, I disown all their wealth and allegiances.¡±


    Eanor looked shocked, perhaps even awed. ¡°Child... you understand what this means? This is a curse unto itself, this thing. Should you renounce your ancestors, they will not forget, or forgive. Remember that dead is not gone.¡± She glanced at Jon Orley.


    ¡°I will bear their ire, then.¡± Emma folded her hands behind her back in a militant stance, one she¡¯d likely learned from her sword trainer, planting her feet.


    A low, throaty chuckle passed over the circle. It came from Mother Urddha, who cast an appreciative gold-and-green eye on the young noble. ¡°Well, this is unexpected. Dear girl, little Eanor speaks truth. If you renounce your house, all the privileges and sacred protections given to this land¡¯s nobility will be shorn from you. You will be at the mercy of all spirits and malisons. As it is, you at least have the certainty of knowing your fate. That is not a thing lightly discarded.¡±


    The demigoddess let those words settle before continuing. ¡°If you do this...¡± she shrugged. ¡°You will be adrift on tumultuous seas, which shall show you no mercy. Nor will you be rid of your Blood Art ¡ª that is part of you forever, and many wolves will find you an enticing feast.¡±


    ¡°It should also be mentioned,¡± Kaharn growled, ¡°that if you break this oath, this pact, and attempt to claim your titles once again, or pass your blood and magic on, you shall face dire consequence.¡±


    Emma nodded slowly, taking this in. ¡°I understand. Even still, I will swear it. I do swear it.¡±


    ¡°Emma...¡± I didn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°Are you sure? Do you understand what you¡¯re giving up?¡±


    ¡°Nothing that hasn¡¯t just been a burden,¡± Emma said, though she looked wistful.


    Even still, what she¡¯d just done boggled the mind. She hadn¡¯t just given up titles and privileges, her place among the aristocracy, she¡¯d also given up the magics that protected the nobility from various forces, allowed them to rule over domains riddled with supernatural beings. With her family¡¯s magic still in her, spirits of all kinds, many predatory, would be drawn to try to feed on that power, and she wouldn¡¯t have any authority to repel them, no certain protection. It would be like if I had all the gilded aura in me that attracted dark shades, with no preternatural command or sanctified arts to keep them at bay.


    House Hunting would disown her. She wouldn¡¯t be welcome among the nobles, who would ostracize her if they learned of her circumstances. She¡¯d just made herself a pariah, both in the magical and mortal spheres.


    I¡¯d rarely seen anything so brave, or so sad. It infuriated me, that the world had pushed her to this.


    ¡°This is madness,¡± Vicar hissed. ¡°It does not free her of us.¡±


    ¡°That, sir, is not correct.¡± Urddha grinned at the crowfriar, revealing green teeth as she threw his earlier words back at him. ¡°It is House Carreon to which your realm has ownership, and I believe, as of now...¡± she spread her gnarled hands out. ¡°You already have all of them. This child is no longer a Carreon. She is just Emma of the Westvales.¡±


    ¡°And you no longer have any business here,¡± Kaharn rumbled, glowering through his silver helm at the devil monk.


    Vicar looked around at the gathering, lips pressed tight beneath the shadow of his cowl. Then, after a frustrated sigh, he grew suddenly calm. ¡°Is this the Choir¡¯s decision, then?¡±


    Eanor clasped her hands together and nodded. ¡°It is. We shall accept the child¡¯s oath, and remember it. So long as Emma abides by her promise, then Astraea Carreon¡¯s pact with Orkael shall not bind her. This shall be her doom: She will no longer be a Lord of Urn, and shall never rule over others, shall pass on no blood. Her Art will die with her.¡±


    ¡°So mote it be,¡± all the assembled immortals said together in a thunderous echo. I gasped at the force of that pronouncement as it embedded itself into the world, becoming a real, tangible thing, a part of reality itself. Vicar¡¯s offhand comment, that one could not simply say a thing and have it be so, became a lie in that moment, proven false by the power of the Choir. I felt it settle into my own aura, joining the collection of memories and vows there, recorded by the Table.


    Emma only winced, feeling the barest touch of the magic.


    The crowfriar waited a moment, and I knew he consulted with the invisible spirit whispering into his ear ¡ª the true devil, the Zosite. His master, I realized. After a beat he bowed his hooded head. ¡°The Iron Tribunal has heard it. I will depart.¡±


    I saw the trap. ¡°Orley.¡±


    He paused, turning his darkened visage toward me. ¡°Pardon?¡±


    I nodded to the tree. ¡°Jon Orley. You said yourself that he¡¯s here by his own choice, for revenge. Were you planning to leave him to get a bit of your own payback?¡±


    Emma looked at me, frowned, then glanced to the tree with the bound Scorchknight.


    Vicar held my gaze a moment, then scoffed. ¡°Perhaps you aren¡¯t so slow as some like to believe, Hewer.¡±


    ¡°Take your dog back to Hell with you,¡± I told him coldly. ¡°And don¡¯t come back.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Emma stepped forward. ¡°Before that... let me talk to him.¡±


    I started to protest. ¡°Emma, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    The world fell out from under me. I barely heard his next words.


    ¡°We know what happened during your tenure with the Alder Table,¡± Vicar crooned. ¡°Before I began my work in this land, my masters briefed me thoroughly on you, knowing our paths might cross. We know all of it.¡±


    ¡°This is a trick,¡± I whispered in a hoarse voice. ¡°A lie.¡±


    ¡°Believe what you will,¡± Vicar told me. ¡°But I ask you this ¡ª where do you believe all the sinners and monsters you smite with that sacred fire go?¡±


    In my hand I held a scarred, burnt medallion bearing the image of a golden tree ringed in a silver sun. A knight¡¯s mark. My mark, once. Despite my verbal denial, I knew in my bones it was the same medallion I¡¯d lost in Seydis ten years before.


    Not lost. Given away.


    ¡°How did you get this?¡± I demanded, stepping forward. I reached out to grab the crowfriar by his robe, but he glided out of my reach.


    ¡°I think you can guess,¡± Vicar said, turning his back. He pointed at the medallion. ¡°Your world is filled with wounds, Alken Hewer, a battered, broken place, aged well past its time. Things have a tendency to slip through the cracks... and we catch them. Think on that.¡±


    The wind had picked up, sending flurries of snow over the circle. Already, the growing storm had obscured the pillars and the Onsolain, who I could no longer see. Jon Orley had gone, faded like a wraith. I distantly heard Emma¡¯s voice, calling out for me.


    We were being taken back. Vicar stepped into the storm, his form becoming hazy.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I stepped forward. ¡°Tell me how you got this, you bastard!¡±


    He laughed. His voice had grown very distant.


    I pushed forward, again trying to grab at him, but I only grasped frozen water and air. Then, it all faded away.


    I spent some time lost in a torrent of snow and wind. Then, suddenly, it all cleared. I stood on a desolate shore overlooking the frozen sea I¡¯d heard distantly through the debate with Vicar. Great hills of ice and depthless, black water spread out to the horizon. I¡¯d rarely seen anything so unsettlingly bleak.


    Perhaps it is true, that some of the worst hells are made of ice and water rather than fire and iron.


    ¡°You did well in this,¡± a soft voice said to me. Lady Eanor stood at my side, a towering, regal figure perfectly at home on the frozen shore. Somehow, she made the whole scene look less bleak, like a missing piece of a tapestry.


    I stared down at the medallion, lost in my own thoughts for a long moment. ¡°Did I?¡± I asked. ¡°Emma did the hard part.¡±


    ¡°She would never have had the chance without you,¡± the Onsolain said. ¡°Take some pride in that.¡± Her eyes fell down to the medallion, and she let out a small sound of heartfelt sympathy. ¡°Ah, my dear champion. That is a cruel thing. There is a reason my queen disavowed the Infernal Ones.¡± A shadow fell over her surreal beauty. ¡°Many.¡±


    ¡°Is what he said really true?¡± I asked. ¡°Are the agents of Hell allowed to operate freely in Urn again?¡±


    With a troubled look, Eanor nodded. ¡°Few are pleased by it... but, I think, some of the Choir secretly welcome this change. Orkael once served the First Realm most faithfully, though that was long ago, and a very different time. With this new era of chaos and uncertainty, some long for an uncompromising law. They forget so easily just how unfeeling Iron can be.¡±


    She looked down at me then, clasping bejeweled hands together. ¡°You must be vigilant, Alken Hewer. This shall not be the last time you will encounter the crowfriars, and now they will know and be cautious of you.¡±


    I took that warning to heart. ¡°Thank you. I can¡¯t help but wonder though...¡± tearing my eyes from the damaged medallion, I met the Onsolain¡¯s shining eyes. ¡°Did you and Nath plot this together? Getting me involved? I know you two are estranged, but I can¡¯t imagine you didn¡¯t have anything to do with your twin cooperating with the Choir.¡±


    Eanor lifted her chin, then looked out over the sea. With a sigh, she shook her head. ¡°My sister tells me nothing without a trace of poison, and I have long learned not to trust her. In this, she acted of her own volition... perhaps she believed her actions to be for some noble purpose, whatever twisted means she employed to accomplish it. That has always been her way ¡ª to veil every deed in a twisted bramble, so you can discern neither motive or intent. There is a very good reason why she gravitated toward the Briar.¡±


    She lifted her head toward some distant point, as though hearing a far away sound. ¡°Our time is done. I will leave you with this, Hewer ¡ª we shall not forget this service. We forget none of your work, but in this there is no mask of blood to sully the cause. You put faith where it was needed. In that, you have my support.¡±


    ¡°Just yours?¡± I asked wryly.


    ¡°No doubt many will be watching Emma for signs of corruption... with her fate untethered, who can say what she will become? But I shall have faith, for your sake and for hers.¡±


    It was as much as I could have asked. I bowed to her. ¡°Thank you, my lady.¡±


    The wind picked up once more, hazing the world in white. I knew I would be pulled back soon, to Venturmoor and all that would come after this night. Eanor¡¯s eyes pierced that gloom, fixing on the medallion.


    ¡°You should not keep that thing. It is a treacherous gift, and best left in the past.¡±


    Before I could reply, the world turned to white void. Even still, I clutched the medallion tightly.

 Arc 2: Chapter 25: Roads Untraveled

    Arc 2: Chapter 25: Roads Untraveled


    Three days later, I stood outside Emma¡¯s manor ¡ª or Brenner¡¯s manor, anyway. I leaned against one of the pillars supporting the main entrance¡¯s overhang. In my left hand I held the medallion Vicar had given me, running a calloused thumb over its marred surface. On my right hand, my drow-craft ring sat in its usual place on my forefinger, weighty for something so small. The sun rose over fields still half covered in snow, though it would melt quickly. The premature winter had retreated, at least for a time. True winter wouldn¡¯t be far off.


    The door opened, then soft shoes padded down the steps. Vanya paused next to me, wiping at her brow. She¡¯d been working for a day to get the place packed.


    ¡°I hear you¡¯ve gotten work at Antlerhall,¡± I said without taking my eyes off the medallion. ¡°Helping your kid with laundry?¡±


    The maid let out a huff of laughter. ¡°Maybe, for a start. Still...¡± She turned wistful eyes on the manor. ¡°I¡¯ll miss this place. I liked the quiet. I still don¡¯t understand why Lady Emma has to just leave. I tried to get her to explain, but she kept deflecting...¡±


    She paused, and I knew she hoped I¡¯d fill the silence with an explanation. When I didn¡¯t, she made a frustrated sound. ¡°You and she are just alike, you know that? You wrap yourself in mystery and think it impresses the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± I asked.


    She gave me a light shove. ¡°Maybe a bit, in your case. Are you certain you have to leave so soon? I¡¯d be willing to bet Lord Brenner would give you work, if you stayed.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Because of me, Brenner lost a marriage for his son and a Blood Art for his grandchildren. No, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea for me to stick around.¡±


    In truth, Brenner didn¡¯t know a lick of what was going on. I only felt glad his son had survived, though I didn¡¯t like to think on the broken heart the boy would be dealing with soon enough.


    Still, better a broken heart than a share of a lifelong curse.


    Vanya didn¡¯t reply immediately, and I glanced at her to find she wore a troubled look. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.


    The maid shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just... I don¡¯t understand any of this. Orley is gone, right? So why does Lady Emma have to leave?¡±


    I didn¡¯t correct her on the Lady part. Emma hadn¡¯t explained to anyone that she was no longer nobility ¡ª how would she explain anything that had happened that night, to anyone? Brenner didn¡¯t even know his ward planned to leave the fief, or where she intended to go.


    I didn¡¯t know, either. The fell young woman had been unusually terse in the past three days. I didn¡¯t even know why I had stuck around.


    Maybe because you know there are questions you need to ask once you¡¯ve gone, and that you won¡¯t like the answers.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said.


    Vanya blinked. ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For looking after her all these years. For not letting her be alone. I think...¡± I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think this all might have turned out very differently, if Emma had spent her life surrounded only by people like Brenner.¡±


    I left the maid with that thought, not certain I¡¯d ever see her again. Chance encounters, small roles... but how large a part had Vanya, no big player in the grand scheme, actually played in helping Emma Carreon choose her path?


    I pocketed the medallion as I walked, turning my thoughts to other matters. I caught sight of a figure lurking in the shadows at the edge of the woods. As I approached, Qoth the coach driver ¡ª and the Briar Elf ¡ª nodded to me.


    ¡°Headsman,¡± he greeted me.


    ¡°Wondering where you got off to.¡± I eyed the familiar warily. ¡°How much did you end up witnessing, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Most of it,¡± Qoth said, grinning with pointy teeth. He didn¡¯t wear his bandanna, leaving his bestial features on full display. ¡°I hid in little Emma¡¯s shadow. Had things turned to violence, I would have bared my fangs.¡±


    ¡°Half wish it had,¡± I groused. ¡°I never want to debate with a devil, again. They¡¯re real bastards.¡±


    Qoth cackled, then jerked his head toward the woods. ¡°She¡¯s waiting for you.¡±


    I followed him, and in the further part of the woods where the shadows pooled deep, I found the being whose dark whims had drawn me into this strange drama. Nath stood beneath the boughs of an ancient oak, running her hand along its diseased bark. She didn¡¯t look at me as I approached, waiting for me to step into a patch of light beneath the canopy. Qoth remained a ways behind, lurking.


    ¡°I am well pleased, Headsman. My dear godchild is free of the machinations of Orkael, her fate untethered. I could not have asked for a more interesting outcome.¡±


    I lifted my eyebrows, mildly surprised. ¡°I would have thought you¡¯d have been annoyed at this. Weren¡¯t you mentoring her because of her lineage?¡±


    Nath snorted, shaking her head. ¡°Perhaps at first, but do you truly believe I hold such value in the constructs of family and right of rule? I abandoned all of that. No, this only brings the dear child closer to my aspect.¡±


    That sent a shiver down my spine. ¡°If you¡¯re planning to bring her into the Briar,¡± I said, hardening my voice, ¡°I will take issue with that.¡±


    ¡°Have you learned nothing from all of this?¡± Nath finally turned to face me, her empty eyes narrowing into black slits. ¡°All that matters is her choice. Besides...¡± She sighed heavily, turning her attention back to the dying tree. ¡°I do not think she will choose to stay under my wing, loathe as I am to admit it. She seems enamored with a wholly different path, one I find most dull. But I am but her godmother, her teacher.¡± She shrugged.


    I frowned, not understanding. ¡°You know what she plans to do?¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t spoken to you? Ah, well, no matter. In any case, I have a reward for you.¡±


    I blinked, taken aback. ¡°A... reward?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.¡± The Fallen let out a low, chortling laugh. ¡°My kin don¡¯t really pay you, do they? Stingy, short-sighted creatures. Well, you will find that Nath always rewards good service. Qoth?¡±


    She beckoned, and the briarfae stepped out of the shadows. Qoth approached me, and I saw he held something in his hands ¡ª a folded bundle, the material darkly red.


    I took it, and in a moment I realized what I held. A new cloak, much the same as the one I¡¯d worn for many seasons, long enough to trail along the ground even with my height, with a pointed cowl. However, this one had a much deeper color, a red so dark it looked near black in the woodland gloom, closer to dried blood than scarlet. The material felt impossibly light and smooth.


    ¡°Made by Qoth¡¯s own kin,¡± Nath said. ¡°It will not easily fray from long roads, and many beings will find you harder to track by magical means. You may find the shades that haunt your steps less dogged, so long as you wear this. It has an Aspect of Fear woven into it.¡±


    I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hesitated, and Nath let out an eerie laugh.


    I turned fully to face her, frowning. Then, as I chewed on that statement, I started to put some facts and details together.


    Damn. How had I missed it?


    ¡°How long have you wanted this?¡± I asked, suspecting I knew the answer.


    ¡°Years.¡± Emma winced, clearly embarrassed. ¡°I hid it from grandmother, but Nath figured it out... she kept telling me she¡¯d send me someone who¡¯d show me what that path looked like. A shining example, she said.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± I thought that over a moment, then sighed. ¡°Ouch.¡±


    ¡°She does have a twisted sense of humor, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Emma¡¯s lips formed a crooked smile, then she became serious again. ¡°Even still...¡± she stepped forward, lifting her chin. ¡°It¡¯s what I want. I want to win glory, live with honor, face all the horrors of this world with naught but my sword and my mien. I want to be in touch with my blood ¡ª not just Carreon, but Orley too. They say my great-grandfather¡¯s house were among Urn¡¯s most honorable, most respected...¡± she closed her eyes. ¡°I want to prove it to myself, and everyone else. That I can make my own path, be more than my origin.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a hard road,¡± I said. ¡°And a crooked one. They say a lot of pretty things about knighthood, but it¡¯s a violent life, and honor can end up meaning nothing other than what you decide.¡± My voice turned bitter. ¡°Or what others decide for you.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± Emma said, serious and certain as she¡¯d been at the Circle of Doom, ¡°I want the chance to decide it for myself.¡±


    ¡°Will you join Brenner¡¯s guard, then?¡± I asked. ¡°Become one of his bannermen?¡±


    Emma opened her mouth, snapped it close, then almost spat in frustration. ¡°You really are a fucking idiot sometimes, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°Do I have to spell it out for you, oaf?¡± Emma made a clawing gesture, then let out an angry, almost catlike hiss. ¡°I do! I do, don¡¯t I? Fine then.¡±


    She stepped forward and pressed a hand to her chest. ¡°I want to go with you. I want to be your squire.¡±


    ¡°Emma...¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not a knight. I can''t have a squire.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give an erk¡¯s backside whether the Church acknowledges you as a knight or not,¡± Emma said in a hard voice, her eyes intensely wide, showing that hawk¡¯s glare she so often held. ¡°Or all the lords of Urn or all the sorcerer-kings of Edaea, for that matter. To hell with all of them, I¡¯ve renounced them. What I care about is what you¡¯ve shown me, and it¡¯s that you have honor. You fought for me even though it might have ended in your death and disgrace.¡±


    She took a deep breath. ¡°That matters to me.¡±


    ¡°There are knights all over the land,¡± I said, knowing it couldn¡¯t work, what she asked. ¡°Not just nobles and bannermen. There are Glorysworn, questing knights, hedge knights, free companies, chivalrous sellswords... hell, there are wizards who could use an apprentice with some sword skill. You don¡¯t have any lack of teachers, kid.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided,¡± she said, with no trace of doubt on her narrow features. ¡°This is what I want. Refuse me if you will, I will follow you from one edge of the world to the other, and learn by watching if I have to.¡±


    She trailed off, and much of the emotion in her drained away. ¡°Please. I... I don¡¯t know what to do next, or where to go.¡±


    My skull began to ache, and I massaged at it. What she wanted wouldn¡¯t work. I wasn¡¯t a knight, and hadn¡¯t been a particularly good one even when I had been. Even still, looking at the youth in front of me, I saw the fear in her, the doubt. She¡¯d just lost everything she¡¯d ever known or been. In every way that mattered, she¡¯d been cast adrift on, as Mother Urddha had put it, tumultuous seas.


    She wasn¡¯t out of danger, I knew that for certain. The crowfriars wouldn¡¯t forget being shown the door, and Vicar¡¯s threat that his faction would reclaim Emma¡¯s soul still bothered me. More, she still possessed the Carreon Blood Art. Dark things, ghosts and demons, might be drawn to feast on that power, and she wouldn¡¯t have any way to defend herself. Any lingering remnants of her own family might also seek revenge. I doubted a family with a history that dark would have restful dead.


    I¡¯d helped get her to this point. Perhaps things might have been even worse without my involvement, but I couldn¡¯t deny that I¡¯d played a part in how things had turned out. I had been the one to call for the Rite of Doom. I had been the one to bind Orley, and force Vicar to reveal himself. I¡¯d acted as Nath¡¯s hand.


    Could I really just walk away, and leave her to tread water alone?


    I could. I¡¯d just be a real bastard to do so. I could be that, and had been, but even still.


    I took my axe, bound and concealed in cloth like Emma¡¯s sword, off my shoulder and propped it on the ground. Resting my hand on the head, I studied the former noble down the length of my nose. ¡°You understand,¡± I said slowly, ¡°what I am?¡±


    Emma canted her head to one side, considering the question. ¡°They called you Headsman, and you were on speaking terms with those beings. Those... gods.¡± I knew it cost her something to use that term.


    ¡°I am an executioner,¡± I said bluntly. ¡°I¡¯m their axe man. I do dark work, ugly work, and honor doesn¡¯t tend to play much of a role in it. You stick with me, I can teach you things. I can train you to fight, teach you sorcery, maybe even give you some guidance on knighthood... but chances are, kid, you¡¯ll just as easily become an apprentice Headsman as a knight, and I don¡¯t want that for you.¡±


    I met her eyes, letting her see the sheen of auratic gold in mine, the ugly scars on my face. ¡°Are you sure I¡¯m the mentor you want?¡±


    Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath through her nose, then met my gaze evenly. ¡°Yes. I am certain.¡±


    I held her eyes a long while. Not once did she flinch, or avert her face.


    Nath had asked me, in that moonlit glade, if I would take responsibility for speaking on Emma¡¯s behalf to the forces of Heaven and Hell. I¡¯d said yes. Had the dark seraph known, even then, how far that decision would stretch?


    I certainly hadn¡¯t. Even still, I¡¯d made the choices I felt to be just. I might not have had a queen or an order of chivalry to tell me what justice is anymore. I just had to find my own path, navigating each situation as it came, hoping I had the strength to stand by my choices.


    Helping Emma hadn¡¯t felt wrong to me, not once. Ever since I¡¯d met her, I¡¯d understood one thing ¡ª she wasn¡¯t evil, and she didn¡¯t deserve damnation. She just needed someone to give her a bit of faith.


    I could do with a bit more faith in my life. Maybe not faith in gods or higher powers, or in nations, or ancient traditions. But I could have faith in people, in this young woman who wanted to make her own way through an unfair world. Maybe I could help her make better choices than I had, and avoid some of those more twisted paths.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a Carreon any longer...¡± I studied her, questioning. ¡°Emma of the Westvales is a bit of a mouthful. What should I call you now, anyway?¡±


    Emma thought about it a moment. Then, with a small smile and a shrug she said, ¡°How about Emma Orley? I¡¯d like to try being an honorable fool, see how it fits. Besides,¡± she added wryly, ¡°that name belonged to me as much as Astraea¡¯s ever did, and deserves to be remembered. Maybe I can give it some redemption?¡±


    That would piss off the ghosts of House Carreon, if anything did. And, more so, it struck me as a noble purpose far more than any want of glory or respect. I closed my eyes, feeling the chill wind on my face as the moment settled on me, and I reached a decision.


    ¡°Very well, then.¡± I shouldered my axe and turned toward the wilderness. ¡°Keep up, Emma Orley. We have a long road ahead of us.¡±


    End of Arc 2

 Interlude 2: Three Deaths

    Interlude 2: Three Deaths


    They brought out the king in a cocoon of chains. Overdoing it a bit, in Donnelly¡¯s opinion, but who cared what a ghost thought?


    Not just a ghost, he reminded himself, watching the procession from his shadowed nook. Shade that he was, very few in the grand grove would be able to see him as little more than a slight deepening of the gloom between the trees. He leaned against one towering trunk, arms folded beneath his dun traveler¡¯s cloak, quietly observing.


    A scene out of legend unfolded before him, a mural come to life. Beneath a tapestry of stars, the moons ¡ª both the living and the dead one ¡ª high in the sky, beings ageless and mortal gathered to watch a remnant of the last great war put to justice. They marched the prisoner through a path of stones set between scattered patches of violet flowers, whose petals drank the od shining down from the night so they shone, casting the scene in dreamlike illumination.


    Rhan Harrower had been a lion of a man, when Donnelly had last laid eyes on him. That had been... Bleeding Gates, has it really already been eight years? He thought, shaking his head. Eleven now since Elfhome burned, and eight since the last battle of the war against the Recusants had been fought. Rhan, King of Losdale, had been at that battle. So had Donnelly, though not in the flesh. Many of those who gathered amid the towering wrecks of the eardetrees or within the moonlit circle had also been there.


    No lion now, unless one imagined an old, sickly one, its mane of red hair gone all to pale gray, its proud head bowed by time, wear, and illness. Rhan hadn¡¯t cut his hair in a long time, and one of his eyes had been eaten away by some blight ¡ª ugly veins spread from the pale, cataract-ruined orb, making him look half mad. Perhaps he was, at that. They¡¯d let him keep his armor, a very Urnic custom, but its gilded frame had bled away, showing rusted, poorly tended steel beneath.


    Even still, bowed by age and the heavy chains, Rhan stood as tall as the Accord knights who formed his guard. Once he would have towered over them, even in their wing-crest helms. Of his famous war spear, Donnelly saw no sign.


    Elves, both Wyldefae and Seydii, watched like hungry wolves as the chained Recusant passed by them, their eyes shining near bright as the flowers. Human lords, representatives from the Accord, gathered in little groups here and there, whispering among themselves. Donnelly didn¡¯t like how spread those little packs were, the suspicious eyes they cast to other representatives ¡ª not a good look, for those once united by the oaths of the Ardent Bough. How had a mere decade divided them so much?


    Starting to think like an elf, Donnelly scoffed. Been Undying for a handful of years and you think everything is happening too fast, all the sudden.


    Tearing his eyes away from the representatives, Donnelly studied the heroes of this tableau. A group of adventurer-mercenaries, a true Fellowship, stood at the end of the path with the eldest of the Sidhe. Six members, each a story unto themself, but he focused on the leader ¡ª a woman near tall as Rhan, powerfully built, with steel armor gilded in archaic bronze. She¡¯d draped her broad shoulders with a cloak made of leathery hide, no doubt cut from some nasty thing Donnelly wouldn¡¯t have wanted to meet, living or dead.


    ¡°A sellsword from the northern islands,¡± Donnelly muttered, scratching at his incorporeal chin in a habit he hadn¡¯t lost along with his flesh. ¡°Now, after this stunt, a hero of the Accord to be knighted by Forger himself. Impressive.¡±


    ¡°She will play a part in what¡¯s to come,¡± the Other whispered. ¡°This is but the first test.¡±


    Donnelly winced. Damn insights. He¡¯d never put much stock in them, when the old Table knights had talked about it, but now that he had his own divine ghost whispering into his thoughts he half understood why they all seemed looney half the time, and grouchy as ogres the rest.


    ¡°What is to come?¡± Donnelly asked aloud. ¡°What¡¯s that even mean?¡±


    But he got no answer. The Other only spoke to him when he witnessed something important, or got near breaking some obscure supernatural rule. Damn frustrating thing, having the maimed remnants of a demigod sharing spiritual space with you.


    Still, better than being locked away in some sarcophagus in Draubard. Donnelly shuddered at the thought. ¡°No, thank you,¡± he said to no one in particular.


    ¡°Please tell me you aren¡¯t going insane like all the other wild ghosts,¡± a dry voice said behind him. ¡°The last thing they need is a mad Herald.¡±


    Donnelly glanced over his shoulder, and saw an elf approaching him from the deeper woods. He was one of the more typical sorts, appearing as a handsome man with pointed ears and narrow features. Despite his unlined face, the Sidhe walked like an old man, slightly stooped, and had very little immortal light in his eyes ¡ª it hung around him instead, as though he were the centerpiece of a dim lamp.


    Only the oldest got like that, their souls growing so big their bodies were hardly necessary anymore.


    ¡°Lord Irn Bale,¡± Donnelly said, turning and dipping his head into a hasty, half-proper bow. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be appearing for this.¡±


    The Oradyn ¡ª a great captain-hero of the Sidhe ¡ª held up a hand to indicate Donnelly didn¡¯t need to stand on ceremony. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to, but I started wandering the woods and...¡± he shrugged. ¡°Something drew me here.¡±


    His ageless eyes went to the slow walk of the Recusant lord. ¡°A legend passes tonight, lost like so many others to the entropy of time.¡±


    Donnelly glanced at the fallen king and sneered. ¡°Rhan is a bastard. I saw the sorts of things he did to his enemies during the war. Good riddance, I say.¡±


    ¡°Even dark dreams have worth,¡± Oradyn Irn Bale said with a sigh. ¡°Still, perhaps you are right. I see only a shadow where once I saw a great adversary.¡±


    ¡°Besides,¡± Donnelly noted, folding his arms and leaning back against the tree he¡¯d picked to watch the show. ¡°They say King Harrower is the last lynchpin holding the remnants of the Recusants together. Without him, whatever holdouts they still have in the Amberhorns and the southlands won¡¯t last long. We beat them at Kingsmeet, eight years ago, but the war never really ended. Maybe, today, it does.¡±


    ¡°There is still Talsyn.¡± The old elf seemed about as skeptical as Donnelly felt. ¡°Its king is old, but yet has strength in him. That aside, you know it is no warrior lord who truly brought our enemies together, Herald.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, old man Reynard went with the wind after this all started. Not that I¡¯d put it past a wizard to make a surprise comeback, but I think everyone has bigger problems than worrying about old bogeymen. Like famine.¡±


    Irn Bale quirked an eyebrow. ¡°A spirit, concerned about an empty belly?¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡± Donnelly jabbed a finger at the elf. ¡°I grew up an urchin during the Bantesian guild strikes. You don¡¯t forget being that hungry.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Irn Bale conceded.


    The scene below drew their attention again. The four Accord knights and their prisoner had reached the end of the grove path. Upon a tiered slab of river stone cut to form a sort of dais, the highest ranking members of the ceremony had gathered. These were great lords of the Accorded Realms, mostly, some of whom Donnelly recognized, had even interacted with in the past decade as the Herald of Heavensreach.


    But all eyes went to the deep shadows at the far end of the dais. Something stirred at the top, where the roots of two tall faerie trees, the once beautiful Earde, formed something half throne, half nest. Donnelly couldn¡¯t quite see the figure sitting in those roots, only a shadow in the vague shape of a person.


    Then the one sitting within the roots stood, stepping forward on bare feet. Deep blue cloth rustled, dry skin stretched like bad leather, and one of the most horrible crimes the Recusants could be held to account for entered the moonlight.


    She¡¯d been beautiful once, the Archon¡¯s only child and heir to all the Sidhe dominion. That had been before they¡¯d burned her alive. Now she looked a misshapen smudge on the world, bald skull sunken and cracked, limbs stretched into charcoal branches, blackened flesh covered in weeping blisters and open wounds. She¡¯d clad herself in a simple dress which left her arms and shoulders bare ¡ª no doubt a deliberate touch, so Rhan could see what his allies had done.


    ¡°We both know who¡¯s under that hood.¡± The elf nodded to the Headsman. ¡°It¡¯s a quieter death, but he was a hero too, once. This is a perversion of what he could have been.¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯d agree with you,¡± Donnelly noted. ¡°Leastways, now all the Accord will know the Headsman isn¡¯t just some ghost story. All these bureaucrats and old soldiers will spread the tale of what happened here tonight, and they¡¯ll talk, talk, talk. Sure, no one will know who he is exactly, but they¡¯ll have confirmation he exists.¡±


    And most of them will think he¡¯s working for the Accord, or the Sidhe, or both. Damn Al, who roped you into participating in this?


    Donnelly inwardly grimaced at the possibilities. The stubborn muscle-head had been adamant about sticking to the fringes, keeping the wider public from having any ability to guess at his identity or affiliations. It was part of his blasted fool¡¯s sense of honor ¡ª not wanting to throw anyone else under the wagon, or pass around the blame. Taking it all on himself, even if it left him in the cold.


    Now... things would change.


    The Headsman reached the bottom of the stone steps and knelt beneath the Sidhe lady. He, for his part, showed no sign of disgust, though who could tell under that cowl? He rested the misshapen butt of his weapon against the ground, taking one knee and lowering his hooded head.


    Maerlys¡¯s features changed. Donnelly couldn¡¯t quite read the emotions that passed over the ruin of her face. Hate, sadness, rage, fondness, possession... She knew the executioner¡¯s identity, Donnelly believed. The Table had been sworn to her as much as her father ¡ª she¡¯d been their High Priestess.


    She settled on something distant and weary, some of that light of madness fading from her. She knelt, her blue dress pooling across the stones, and placed her skeletal hands on either side of the Headsman¡¯s skull. She kissed his brow, cracked lips brushing beneath cloth, then seemed to whisper something in the red man¡¯s ear.


    She stepped back then, and the Headsman of Seydis rose to his full height. He stepped to the kneeling Recusant, and another perfect hush fell over the grove. Only the rustle of cloth and a gentle wind in the boughs remained.


    The Accord knights held Rhan Harrower in place. The Headsman lifted his strange weapon, and another sound disturbed the night air, a dry, crackling noise. The branch forming the axe¡¯s haft grew, like a living tree experiencing a year of time in a moment, until it stood near tall as the man who held it.


    The Headsman took his stance, judged his aim, and swung. He did it without further ceremony, without drawing the moment out. The weapon whistled as it parted the air, then came the sharp crack of impact, the rattling of chains and the sound of a body thumping to the ground.


    A legend, and a nightmare, died.


    The red-cloaked man bowed again to the faerie princess, then turned to depart. The grove came alive with whispered conversations. Most of those eyes stayed on the executioner, the dead king all but forgotten. No doubt a few of them are wondering when they¡¯ll end up falling under the axe, Donnelly thought darkly. Leaning to Irn Bale he said, ¡°excuse me.¡±


    The Oradyn nodded. ¡°By all means. Until next we meet, Herald.¡±


    Donnelly stepped forward, and appeared in another shadow across the grove. One of his favorite tricks, since becoming a spirit. If he¡¯d been able to do that when he¡¯d been a thief, oh, the trouble he could have gotten himself into...


    But all idle musings left him as he stepped out from beneath a tree near where the Headsman wandered back into the woods. Speaking just loud enough for the cloaked man to hear him he said, ¡°Alken.¡±


    The tall man stopped. He had his axe, its haft still in its long form, rested on his left shoulder. On his right hand he wore a ring, an ivory band set with a glassy black stone, which he rubbed at with one thumb in idle habit. He took a deep breath, as though steadying himself, then turned so Donnelly got a better look under the hood.


    It amazed Donnelly how little the man had aged since they¡¯d first met nearly fifteen years before. He remembered a young warrior from a backwater domain, looking bewildered, lost in a sea of myth. Donnelly almost smiled, remembering the times he¡¯d taken advantage of the youngest member of the Table, how Al had known he was being conned but couldn¡¯t quite decide how, or whether he minded.


    In truth, little had physically changed. The elves had given their chosen lasting youth, and Alken Hewer still looked in his prime, his hair holding a bright sheen, like gilded copper, his golden eyes dimly gleaming in the poor light.


    But he did look older, if one inspected further. His eyes were troubled, distant, his mouth pressed into an uncertain line ¡ª the look of a man who let his mind wander, focusing on anything other than the distasteful thing he presently did. Four thin, livid marks stood out on the left side of his face, from temple to just above the left corner of his mouth, half concealed by hair that¡¯d been left uncut, probably to help obscure the scars and the aura in his eyes.


    He looked tired, worn, and not at all happy to be where he stood. He did not look well.


    ¡°Al...¡± Donnelly tried for a smile, despite the circumstances. ¡°Been a few months.¡±


    Alken nodded. ¡°Yes. How¡¯s Heralding?¡± He had a dry, worn voice which emerged half whisper, yet carried that subtle intensity every being with a potent Aura seemed to possess.


    Donnelly shrugged. ¡°Strange.¡±


    An awkward silence fell. What was there to say between them? They¡¯d never really been more than professional acquaintances, and drinking companions for a brief time. A lifetime ago. Even still, Donnelly wanted to think of the ex-knight as a friend ¡ª who else could he call that, these days?


    Donnelly wanted to ask how the they¡¯d roped him into this situation, what had caused him to show himself to the nobility. He wanted to ask about the business with Bloody Nath several months back ¡ª he¡¯d been in part responsible for putting the man into that dubious business, and still felt some guilt for it. He wanted to ask about the rumors of the Headsman taking on an apprentice, and if they were true.


    Instead he asked, ¡°what did the princess say to you?¡±


    Alken frowned, thinking a moment. Then, in a quiet voice he said, ¡°she told me she¡¯d thought of a thousand ways to punish me, for failing to protect her father and her city...¡±


    The Headsman turned toward the woods, squaring his shoulders. ¡°But she couldn¡¯t think of a more fitting hell than the one I¡¯m already in.¡±


    Though he hadn¡¯t known the bite of winter or night since his death, Donnelly suddenly felt very cold.


    ¡°See you around, Don.¡± The fallen knight left then, vanishing into the dark.


    ¡°See you around Al,¡± Donnelly muttered into the night. ¡°Try to keep your head.¡±


    The death of three legends, Irn Bale had said. He hadn¡¯t mentioned how death didn¡¯t have much of a way of sticking in their world. Donnelly wasn¡¯t certain he wanted to see what would crawl out of this grave.

 Arc 3: Dogma || Chapter 1: Wounds

    Arc 3: Dogma || Chapter 1: Wounds


    The winter arrived early and lingered too long. It came down from the heights, and swept up from the cold seas in the south, blanketing all the land in bitter white. It choked passes, buried cities, and brought hungry things out of the deep woods.


    Oria¡¯s Fane did not escape the snow. Ice froze over the sacred pools, silenced the trickling streams, and fused the webs of the Cant Spiders to the trees so they seemed a crystalline hive encircling the sanctuary. It ate the sound of blades crossing, giving the scene in front of me a muted quality. Despite the chill, my apprentice ¡ª disciple? squire? ¡ª sweated from exertion, her hawkish features tense with concentration.


    ¡°Footwork,¡± Ser Maxim growled from where he sat on the steps leading up to the main shrine. Clad in a heavy fur cloak, he looked a grizzled mountaineer with his untrimmed beard and mass of gray hair. Despite that, the gold in his eyes shone bright in the overcast morning.


    Emma heard the old knight¡¯s surly criticism and hesitated a moment, a fatal mistake. Oraeka swept in with a savage downward swing of her broad-headed spear. More than a head taller than her opponent and built like an ogre, the she-elf¡¯s swing had enough power to cleave marble, and rend the air with an audible whistle.


    Emma misjudged the timing ¡ª not to mention the position of her feet ¡ª and nearly lost an ear to the elf¡¯s blade. Yelping, she stumbled back and slipped on a patch of ice only thinly buried by snow, collapsing into one of the frozen pools. She barely kept a grip on her ornate sword.


    Once she¡¯d found her feet again, Emma stood there a moment to catch her breath. Wheeling on the old knight she snapped, ¡°you can¡¯t just say vague things like footwork and expect that to be of any use.¡±


    ¡°You cahnt expect anyone to give you detailed instructions during a battle,¡± Maxim shot back, mocking her aristocratic inflections. They came out stronger when she was irritated. Returning to his normal gruff drawl he added, ¡°you weren¡¯t paying attention to the ground again. You¡¯re not always going to be fencing on a dueling ground, milady. Your old trainer might have given you some fancy swordplay, but we¡¯re teaching you real combat. It isn¡¯t clean.¡±


    Face red with effort and embarrassment, Emma turned to me for help. I leaned against one of the marble statues at the edge of the Fane¡¯s central circle, wrapped in the warmth of my cloak. My apprentice, on the other hand, only wore light sparring clothes in the winter air, warming herself with exercise instead.


    Instead of giving her any support, I nodded to the side. Emma glanced in that direction, then let out a surprised hiss as Oraeka made a jab at her.


    ¡°Pay attention,¡± Maxim mumbled in a bored voice, distracted a moment as he lit his pipe. ¡°Match isn¡¯t over.¡±


    ¡°You are...¡± Emma paused to parry a wasp-quick jab. ¡°A sadistic... curmudgeonly... wicked old... geezer!¡±


    With a shout, she ducked under a swing and came back up in a complex movement. I followed each individual motion of both fighters as they twisted around one another in a bizarre dance. Oraeka had height and power, and inhuman speed to boot, but Emma had the reflexes and speed of a darting bird, and a wicked sense of finesse. When done, my squire had the long steel blade of her masterwork sword aimed over one shoulder, its tip hovering a hair¡¯s width from Oraeka¡¯s jugular. She breathed heavily, each exhale sending out a plume of frost into the winter air.


    The elf, who looked barely winded, gave an impressed lift of her eyebrows. ¡°Very good, little hawk.¡±


    ¡°Damn right,¡± Emma breathed, then stepped back from their lock.


    ¡°Damn me,¡± Maxim muttered a while later when I¡¯d moved over to stand nearer, ¡°but I¡¯ve never seen a blade so keen at her age. Not a bad find, Hewer.¡±


    I grunted noncommittally, keeping my thoughts to myself. In truth, I¡¯d been impressed with Emma¡¯s sword-skill practically the same day I¡¯d met her. It wasn¡¯t her bladework that needed focus, but things less easy to drill or hone through repetition. Having a disciple wasn¡¯t something I had any real experience in.


    I felt grateful for Ser Maxim. The old knight had taken to training the young noble ¡ª former noble, I reminded myself ¡ª with a will. I think it helped him, gave him something to focus on and a sense of purpose he¡¯d been sorely lacking during the years he¡¯d spent lingering like a ghost in the Fane. His nightmares had become less frequent, as had his bouts of self-deprivation, since I¡¯d brought my charge back with me from Venturmoor several months back.


    As for Emma herself... well, it was a work in progress. It¡¯s difficult, becoming untethered from everyone you ever knew and everything you ever were. I understood some of what she must have been feeling.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been sleeping,¡± Maxim said, so only he and I could hear through the sound of clashing weapons.


    I grunted a half-coherent reply. Idly, I fidgeted with the ring on my right forefinger.


    The old knight sighed. ¡°Alken... I know this might not be easy to take well, coming from me, but you can¡¯t take care of anyone else if you can¡¯t take care of you.¡± He nodded to Emma. ¡°You¡¯ve got a charge now, a responsibility. That child is looking to you for guidance, and if you¡¯re walking about in a daze half the time, well...¡± he shrugged.


    Part of me, the reasonable part, knew Maxim was right. That voice got drowned out by the rush of irritation I felt out of nowhere, like a sudden gust of burning summer wind. ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from a man who can barely sleep without borrowing a magic ring.¡±


    I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. Maxim¡¯s wizened face darkened, though he kept hold of his own temper. He pressed his lips into a thin line, probably biting back a caustic reply.


    I didn¡¯t want to have that conversation just then. Stepping out of the shadows, I called out to my apprentice. ¡°Emma.¡±


    She paused mid cut, leaned back in a dodge as Oraeka took advantage of her distraction with a backswing, then held up a hand for a pause. The Sidhe warrior acquiesced, stepping back and planting the butt of her spear in the snow with a flourish.


    I jerked my head, and Emma jogged over, red-faced and looking pleased with herself. Once she¡¯d gotten the rhythm, she¡¯d managed to score twice on the Fane¡¯s sentinel. ¡°It¡¯s still early,¡± she said in a breathless voice. ¡°I can keep going.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have time for sparring another day,¡± I said. ¡°For now, we¡¯ve got work.¡±


    Her amber eyes widened. ¡°From them?¡±


    It had been many weeks since I¡¯d last heard from the immortal beings who gave me my orders, the collective of angelic spirits and demigods known as the Choir Concilium. They¡¯d had me act as the axeman during the execution of a captive Recusant leader, a holdover from the last great war. I¡¯d been picked by personal request of the Princess of the Seydii, the de facto leader of all elvendom in Urn and an honorary member of the Choir herself. It had been a public affair, as far as my work tended to go, with many lords and dignitaries of the Accord in witness.


    Other than that, the winter had been strangely quiet. Not that I minded being allowed to shelter in the Fane during the cold months, but the silence made me uneasy. I knew there couldn¡¯t be a lack of bloody work in the land, no matter how much I might like to think otherwise.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°Just a local problem. Rysanthe wanted me to look into something.¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes sparkled with interest. ¡°And when am I going to get to meet this mysterious second Doomsman?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t be eager to meet Death, squire. We¡¯re around it plenty enough already. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I felt Ser Maxim¡¯s eyes on me as we left the courtyard. I ignored him.


    ***


    We went south. Nestled in the wooded hills of Urn¡¯s deep heartlands, Oria¡¯s Fane is isolated from civilization at large. However, there are villages, even some small towns, in its vicinity. Most don¡¯t go near the haunted forests around the sanctuary, but we have to get food and other supplies from somewhere.


    That means keeping a good relationship with the locals, which includes everyone from the feudal lords who govern nearby domains to village councils to wyldefae. Not that I think anyone knows the inhabitants of the Fane are professional executioners, tasked by the Powers with bringing grim fates to the guilty. Living in a haunted forest tends to create its own host of rumors, and potential trouble besides.


    I hadn¡¯t seen Rysanthe, the only other operating Doomsman besides myself, since before the Winter had set in. However, the drow elf had sent me a message in the form of a whispering ghost some nights back, asking me to look into a small matter while she remained indisposed by another task from her subterranean masters. I¡¯d have gone earlier, but the last storm had cleared only the past night.


    I¡¯d started to go stir crazy in the Fane, so I didn¡¯t mind having something to do. Besides, I liked and respected Rysanthe, so I felt no qualms giving her a hand when able.


    ¡°So,¡± Emma said as we trudged through woodland roads, her step quick to keep up with my longer strides. Snow crunched beneath our boots, and wind set the frozen boughs above to creaking. My apprentice had dressed in cleaner, warmer clothes before we¡¯d left, an ensemble consisting of a drab brown hunter¡¯s coat and yellow scarf. The colors clashed terribly, which seemed to amuse her.


    Despite the bitter cut to the air, she seemed perfectly at ease beneath her light gear and heavy packs. Then again, she¡¯d been born in the mountainous Westvales. She¡¯d put on muscle over weeks of training and travel, and grown a bit too, possibly her last sprout.


    When she trailed off, I grunted. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this mysterious errand from Lady Rysanthe, hm?¡± Emma quickened her step, suddenly upbeat. ¡°Are we exorcising some dark spirit? Slaying a dread beast escaped from the roots of a mountain?¡±


    I bit off a laugh. ¡°Take a breath, Baralinbor.¡± I rolled my left shoulder, wincing at the spike of pain from an as-yet unhealed wound. I adjusted the weight of my hauberk, then resettled my wrapped axe in its usual position propped there. ¡°We¡¯re not undertaking a grand quest, just an errand.¡±


    Emma¡¯s narrow features twisted into a scowl. ¡°Baralinbor? Isn¡¯t that the one who got eaten by a dragon?¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Hey, he cut his way back out of the dragon.¡± Beowyn Baralinbor had been one of my favorite heroes as a lad, from my mother¡¯s stories.


    The fire laughed.


    You know better than anyone that dead does not mean gone.


    Did you think that the end of me?


    Of us?


    ¡°There is no us,¡± I told the flames, or the dark presence hiding in them.


    The flame roiled, rising up to fill the pit, lashing at the night. The sheltered nook¡¯s heat rose, yet seemed to become even darker, so the fire became a wound in a world of utter black. I felt a rush of wind against my face, of flesh-cracking heat, and threw a shielding hand up. Embers darted through the air, wood split, and a line of fire began to crawl from the flame toward me, scarring the ground.


    Is that what you think?


    ...What you want?


    Several flying embers touched the scars over my left eye. They erupted into red hot agony.


    ¡°I want to be rid of you,¡± I breathed, squeezing my eye shut and clamping a hand over it. ¡°I want my dreams back.¡±


    I could hear voices raised in horror and pain all around me. Towers crashing, flames roaring across gilded avenues, discordant bells tolling, swords ringing under a bloody sky. Cruel things laughing in the chaos, enjoying the carnage. I¡¯m not there, I told myself. I¡¯m not there anymore. It happened, I survived it, I need to put it behind me.


    Survived it!?


    You taint your dreams more with every head you take for them...


    ...I would have freed you of this.


    ¡°You would have made me a monster.¡±


    And what are you now?


    The words, like any well aimed arrow, found their mark.


    In the darkness, I heard the sound of leathery wings unfolding. I could hear membrane stretching, ill-formed muscles crackling. The darkness suddenly seemed made all of sharp edges, like a phalanx of claws spreading to take me. The scar of flame crawled over the snow, nearly touching my feet now. I could barely think through the burning torment cutting into the scars on my face.


    I wallow in darkness now...


    in iron...


    ...in f-fire.


    But not forever, Alder Knight, nothing is forever.


    I have dreamed of the day we will meet again.


    ...And that day will not be so long now.


    The seals are broken, the walls crumble...


    ...I will soon have you in my arms again.


    With a roar, with eyes wide with fear, I grabbed my axe ¡ª all it took was an exertion of will and the cloth wrappings came loose of their own accord, revealing the blade alloyed of bronze and mortal steel, its golden inlays blazing with aura. I slammed it down into the snow, right at the end of the creeping tendril of flame.


    Uselessly. The fire crawled up the blade and writhed down the oaken haft, then around my hand, hungry as centipedes. My skin began to blister, then bleed, then boil.


    And all the while, that dreaded voice crooned.


    Soon. So soon...


    They gave Yith flesh with maggots and meat...


    I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain of the burns, and against the onrush of images in my mind. I remembered the chapel in Caelfall, the villagers piled high and butchered around the sacred basin, their corpses wriggling with insects. Something had crawled out of that charnel. Something foul.


    I knew its name, now.


    What would you like to see me dressed in, my knight?


    Shall they stitch me new flesh with blood?


    With flame?


    Helpless, I watched the hungry flames climb my arm, reaching for me.


    Soon.


    ***


    Emma woke me in the middle of the night, her face pale with concern. I had my axe in my hand, still wrapped. There was no living fire, no sharp thing in the dark. Only a quiet, clean winter night. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cold cut deep. The scars over my left eye ached dully.


    ¡°You were mumbling in your sleep,¡± Emma said. She had a hand on my shoulder, probably to shake me awake. By her expression, I gathered it had been more dramatic than mere mumbling. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to wake you for a while,¡± she added.


    I took a moment to catch my breath. The night air had started to freeze the sweat to my skin. ¡°Get the fire going again,¡± I said after a time. ¡°Before I catch a chill.¡±


    Emma nodded. Lips pressed tight, she rushed to the fire and began to throw fresh wood onto the pile, stirring them. She whispered into the flames, using one of the Sidhecants I¡¯d taught her to get the wisps to help. They¡¯d hidden themselves in the ashes, either afraid of my sleep-talk or playing some trick. Faeries can be fickle companions.


    While her work distracted her, I collected myself. Just a dream, I told myself. Just another damn nightmare.


    I shifted, started to stand, then froze. I glanced down at my right hand.


    I still wore my ring.

 Arc 3: Chapter 2: Portents

    Arc 3: Chapter 2: Portents


    We saw the smoke before we came within sight of the village. I thought at first we just saw the vapors of chimneys, the signs of a community warming itself in the depths of winter.


    The truth became clearer the closer we got. Billensbrooke burned.


    ¡°Bandits?¡± Emma asked. She¡¯d been quiet for a long time, watching the black coils drifting lazily over the hills. ¡°Or...¡±


    She didn¡¯t need to say it. If not a band of thieves, there weren¡¯t many other options. Isolated conflicts periodically broke out between feudal lords, or even the armies of High Houses, and had since there¡¯d been any humans in Urn. The Accord had been formed to put a stop to that sort of thing, with mixed success at best. Other than that...


    We were far from any Recusant holdouts. Even still, I loosened the ropes binding my axe¡¯s cover. ¡°Keep close,¡± I told my apprentice. ¡°We¡¯ll see what we can, then decide.¡±


    We crested the last of the forested hills embracing the lowlands, and got our first good look at the wreckage below. Billensbrooke had been a peaceful, idyllic community, one I¡¯d seen in passing on a few occasions. Isolated from any major tradeways or realm roads, it didn¡¯t have any conveniences like an inn or well-stocked shops. Mostly farms, orchards, home grown wines.


    It had been a quiet place, a good place. Now...


    Now I only saw ruin. No building, from the tallest house to the humblest cottage, had been spared the flame. They¡¯d burned the orchards too, and the vineyards. Some of the flames had spread to the scattered woods nearby, leaving vast stretches of smoking waste.


    ¡°Rotting Moons,¡± Emma swore. ¡°What happened here, a war?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Don¡¯t know. But I intend to find out.¡±


    I turned to face her and lifted a finger. ¡°Stay here.¡±


    She started to protest, but I cut her off with a hard look.


    ¡°Stay. I¡¯ve no idea what I¡¯m going to find down there, and whoever did this might still be around.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason for me to come with!¡± Emma insisted. She pressed a hand to her chest, stepping forward to give what she said next more weight. ¡°I am no damsel, Alken. You agreed to teach me how to fight, how to be a knight. Will you force me to act like a craven now, when danger is at hand?¡± Her amber eyes flashed. ¡°I can handle myself.¡±


    We glared at one another for a time, two immovable objects at odds, neither willing to give ground. I wanted to command her to stay. I knew she would, if I put my foot down ¡ª she took the squire thing very seriously, and had sworn an oath to obey me. I could call on that oath now, and she¡¯d stay out of danger.


    However, I knew she was right. Besides, if there were still bandits or worse down in those fields, her Art would be invaluable. Though my magic had more versatility, Emma¡¯s power was especially adept at dealing with groups of enemies, effectively leveling the playing field when outnumbered.


    For that, and because I had a measure of respect for her resolve, I nodded. ¡°Fine. Stick close, obey my orders.¡±


    She nodded, lips pressed into a firm line. Despite her conviction, she did feel some fear. She¡¯d only been in a real battle once, and it had been a disaster.


    I¡¯d just have to hope there wasn¡¯t another Scorchknight down in those fields. The scene looked uncomfortably familiar already.


    We descended down into the village. The extent of the damage became more clear the closer we got ¡ª this community had been ruined. Even if there were survivors, they would have to start from scratch. I saw a few agrichimera wandering wild through the fields, free of their pens and shepherds, but no people. Much of the settlement consisted of satellite farmsteads spread across the cultivated lands beyond the village proper, and each had been put to the torch. Lean beasts with many curling horns and bright, unblinking eyes watched us from the fields. None approached, or startled ¡ª all going still like statues, half-obscured by curling bands of smoke from the scattered wreckage.


    Whatever had happened here, it had happened recently. Too recently for all the animals to go Woed. Even still, I tightened my grip on my axe, feeling my heart quicken.


    Then, before we¡¯d reached the settlement proper, Emma paused. ¡°What is that?¡± She asked.


    I followed her gaze, and sighed. ¡°That is our culprit.¡±


    Above the collapsed buildings rose a pale, shimmering thing. It seemed fashioned of nearly white-gold light, nearly invisible in the bright winter sun. Squinting, I could make out its shape ¡ª it seemed a long line, like a pole, stretching a hundred feet or more into the air. At the top, the pole split into a complex arrangement of sharp points.


    Emma¡¯s next words came out strained, almost horrified. ¡°That¡¯s an auremark, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I felt the lines of my face harden as I began to understand what must have happened here. ¡°It is,¡± I said, letting out a breath that misted in the frozen air. The Holy Auremark, the symbol of the Heir of Heaven and Her priesthood, came in many varieties. It usually always formed the same shape ¡ª a number of lines, usually three, rising up into a single arrow-point to pierce a rising arc.


    You can also hide more dangerous kinds of magic in them, placing them on castle ramparts or the like to give an attacker a nasty surprise. For that reason in particular, I was very cautious as I inspected the phantasm. I reached out a hand, keeping my fingers a hair¡¯s breadth from actually touching the thing. I could feel Emma¡¯s eyes on me, but she¡¯d learned a while back not to interrupt when I did anything arcane ¡ª as a sorceress herself, she knew the dangers of breaking my concentration.


    After a while I let go of the breath I¡¯d been holding. ¡°It¡¯s safe,¡± I said over my shoulder. ¡°Come take a look.¡±


    Emma had an odd look on her face, her eyes unfocused. She shook herself out of whatever reverie she¡¯d been in at the sound of my voice and climbed the rubble, stopping when she stood at my side.


    I stepped back and nodded to the pillar. ¡°Tell me what you sense.¡±


    No point in wasting a practical lesson. Emma frowned and stepped closer, cautiously reaching out a hand just as I had. She kept that pose a while, her eyes going distant. A while longer, and a dull red glow crept into the amber of her eyes as she began to draw on her own magic, just as the gold in mine had no doubt brightened when I¡¯d done the same.


    ¡°It feels...¡± Emma shivered. ¡°Sharp. Like something covered in little barbs. It... they feel very angry.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I said, nodding in approval. ¡°You¡¯re getting a sense for the adept who put this up. Aura is the emanation of the soul ¡ª this banner is a piece of the adept¡¯s own essence, fashioned into a shape they gestated in themselves before conjuring it. You can choose the form, but something of your innermost being is always in your Art. Hard to hide your true self when you do magic on this level.¡±


    Besides Nath¡¯s infrequent tutelage, Emma had never received a full education on sorcery, either in its practical or metaphysical aspects. I was no priest or wizard, but I did my best to pass on what I knew.


    Emma¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Like my spikes.¡±


    ¡°Those have as much of your ancestors in them as you,¡± I told her. ¡°Blood Art gets all sorts of things mixed in ¡ª don¡¯t go thinking it defines you.¡±


    She took in a steadying breath, casting me a grateful look.


    ¡°What else can you tell me?¡± I asked.


    My squire¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Whoever they are, they¡¯re damn skilled. This thing is a lot more complex than it looks at first glance.¡±


    ¡°I bet it¡¯ll last a long time,¡± I noted, staring up at the auremark high above us. ¡°That¡¯s hard to do, putting up something this solid for more than a few moments.¡°


    ¡°Fucking hypocrites,¡± Emma snarled, with surprising heat. ¡°They burn people out of their homes for practicing magic, but they have their own sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know why they were here,¡± I said, though I had a guess. ¡°Far as I know, the old Inquisition cared more about ideology than auratic practice.¡± I closed my eyes, frowning in thought, then shook my head. ¡°Let¡¯s look around some more.¡±


    For two hours we searched, but found nothing but scavengers. The empty silence unsettled me, more than I felt willing to let on in front of my disciple. What had happened here? Had the Church taken everyone with them? Were the attackers even connected to the Church? Had the inhabitants simply gone elsewhere, with the land itself spoiled?


    Too many unanswered questions, and the destruction only gave me a sense of foreboding in return for them.


    ¡°Something terrible happened here,¡± Emma said suddenly, after we¡¯d checked the last empty farmstead. Her eyes were fixed on the far distance, unfocused, her lips pressed together.


    I knew she was right. I felt it.


    ¡°We could ask the Dead?¡± Emma suggested.


    I grunted. I¡¯d taught her how to commune with the spirits of the Underworld, but I avoided doing it unless in desperate need. I still remembered the last time I¡¯d tried. Too many of the Dead didn¡¯t like me much, probably because I¡¯d put plenty of them in their grave in the first place.


    ¡°For now,¡± I sighed, ¡°let¡¯s return to the Fane. I want to warn the others, maybe have Oraeka check on some of the other settlements in the region.¡±


    Emma nodded, accepting this. She didn¡¯t look any more eager than I did to remain in that too-quiet place. ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°Then...¡± I rested my axe on my shoulder, turning to face the north. ¡°Then, I¡¯m going to talk to someone I know will have answers.¡±


    Trick was, I also knew I¡¯d have to pay for those answers.

 Arc 3: Chapter 3: The Backroad Inn

    Arc 3: Chapter 3: The Backroad Inn


    Urn is a land of secrets. One of the better kept ones is the Backroad Inn.


    I found it, as to its name, along an ill used woodland road. If not for its surroundings, it would have looked completely innocuous ¡ª a traveler¡¯s inn of a typical design, with three stories and some balconies on the higher level, its steepled roofs half hidden among the woodland boughs. Cheerful lights glowed dimly through foggy windows, and a lantern had been lit above the door to welcome weary travelers in through rain or fog.


    It looked too inviting, set amid mist-shrouded woods turned gray in winter. The overcast sky, growing dark with the aging day, loomed above a forest fast being consumed by a threatening darkness. The bare trees, skeletal and creaking, almost seemed to reach out for me, compelling me to seek shelter.


    A well laid honey trap, if ever I saw one. Even still, I approached the front door. Wrapped in my bloodred cloak, I wore my armor beneath and was alone. I¡¯d commanded Emma to stay at the Fane, despite her protests. She¡¯d had enough temptations in her life, and I didn¡¯t want to draw the attention of certain beings on her if I could avoid it.


    Walking through the front door, I was met by the strangely mixed signals of inviting warmth and a chilly quieting of conversation. I took a moment to inspect the common room.


    A large common room greeted me, taking up two of the establishment¡¯s three floors, with a U shaped bar dominating the far end from the entrance and a central fire pit. The high ceiling allowed room for a second level, comprised of a ring of walkways encircled by a low railing, where one could look down into the taproom.


    Nearly every piece of furniture, railing, pillar, and section of wall had been carved in odd shapes, mixing the serpentine and the abstract. It gave the walls, fashioned of seemingly ordinary materials, a disconcertingly organic quality not evident on the outside. The inconsistent lighting added to that uncanny effect.


    The many alcoves and nooks in the common room were dimly lit, casting much of the space in varying levels of shadow, giving guests at least the illusion of privacy. I¡¯d only been here a handful of times in the past year, and didn¡¯t know that the Backroad had anything like regulars.


    The current stock of patrons seemed typical enough. Shadowy shapes clustered around tables or peered from the deeper shadows of nooks and alcoves. Faces shrouded by hoods, helms, scarves, or hats of myriad design huddled over drinks or games of dice, muttering to one another in a dozen tongues, not all of them sounding like they came from human lips.


    The flames in the fire pit danced strangely as I approached the bar, flickering tongues licking out to almost catch at the hem of my cloak like curious feelers. I lifted one hand toward the flames so the being within could take my scent. If the tips of my fingers were mildly singed, then it was still better than the risk of being rude.


    Few of the patrons showed their face, some unspoken tradition of the place, and for that same reason I kept my hood up. I ignored the eyes on me as I approached the bar and leaned the rope-wrapped bundle concealing my axe against it.


    A lone man stood behind the bar, cleaning an already spotless cup with a rag. He was the very image of an innkeeper, in garb at least; he wore a clean white shirt beneath a stained apron, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows.


    He was tall, nearly as tall as I am, even with a noticeable stoop to his posture, partly thanks to a long-neck and long limbs. Wrinkled, with a glowering face sporting a single milky white eye alongside a black one, long gray hair recoiled from his pate as though in disgust of the face beneath.


    He resembled, of all things, an old vulture. His mismatched eyes regarded me as though measuring how long it would be before I became carrion.


    ¡°Keeper,¡± I greeted him, then slipped a single coin onto the bar, bronze and featureless. It was gone in a flash of movement as the Keeper of the Backroad swept it from the bar¡¯s surface with a movement nearly too fast for the eye to follow.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve learned to pay ahead,¡± the Keeper muttered sullenly. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll be wanting room and board?¡±


    I considered, drumming my fingers against the scarred wood. Some of the marks on the bar had a worrying resemblance to claw wounds, though others were clearly made from blades or just the rough handling of cups and pounding fists.


    ¡°One night,¡± I decided. The Backroad never strayed far from the Wend, and I didn¡¯t want to be out after dark. ¡°Gone by sunrise.¡±


    I slipped the Keeper a second set of coins, these all silver, and leaned on the bar. He scowled, but the faint glow in one of those coins caught his attention and he withheld his ire as it vanished quick as the first.


    ¡°I need information,¡± I said.


    ¡°You know the rules,¡± the Keeper rasped. He turned toward the rows of shelves behind the bar, most of which were full of barrels of varying sizes. Others held rows of wooden mugs, and a few even had glassware like the finest city taverns.


    He placed the cup he¡¯d been cleaning in an empty spot, and then pulled another down and held it under one of the taps before speaking again. ¡°I say nothing about other patrons or their business. Not even to you, Headsman.¡±


    I glanced around worriedly, but anyone who might have been listening wasn¡¯t being overt about it. ¡°Close to breaking your own rule there, Keeper.¡±


    He shrugged and turned back, sliding the cup over to me. I waved it off, and he took it back with a venomous look. ¡°They all know who you are,¡± he muttered. ¡°Only secrets well kept matter to me, you know that. Besides, you aren¡¯t the only one with that profession, why be shy about it?¡±


    I scoffed, then accepted the water he gave me in place of the mead. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for anyone,¡± I said, after wetting my throat. I knew what he probably assumed ¡ª that I was trying to track down someone marked for death.


    I¡¯d done it before, to be fair. The Backroad and its Keeper tended to accumulate useful tidbits of knowledge you couldn¡¯t find in any ordinary traveler¡¯s rest. I could guess how he got some of those secrets, and barely fathomed how the old vulture learned other things. Besides, I¡¯d grown tired of risking stumbling into bounty hunters at ordinary inns. They were epidemic.


    He glared at me. A mistake ¡ª you don¡¯t meet a True Knight¡¯s eyes without risking giving something of yourself away. We see too much, cut through illusions and falsehoods too easily. I realized something then.


    ¡°You knew,¡± I said.


    Irritation flashed through the Keeper¡¯s one good eye and he turned away, grabbing the drink he¡¯d tried to tempt me with at the same time. ¡°They¡¯ve been here,¡± he admitted in a surly tone.


    That sent a shiver down my spine. I had to fight not to cast another look at the anonymous figures scattered across the taproom and balconies above. I collected myself and focused on the Keeper, and what I needed from him.


    ¡°I know you have customers who know things,¡± I said. ¡°Warlocks, Eld, changelings, rogue undead, mercenaries. I want information.¡± I placed a finger down on the scarred countertop. ¡°Why are there agents of the Iron Hell in Urn?¡± A thought struck me then. ¡°Does it have anything to do with the Inquisition reappearing?¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s jaw worked, as though he wanted to spit out something unspeakable but wouldn¡¯t dare dirty his counter. His milky eyes made him look like some ghoulish creature trying to attain order over a body it had forcefully possessed. ¡°That information is worth more than a couple coins,¡± he said after a lengthy silence.


    I glowered at him. The azsilver I¡¯d just given him was invaluable. Those had been minted in Onsolem itself, lost now. Possibly forever.


    Unintimidated, unimpressed, the Keeper leaned closer and lowered his voice into a near intimate whisper. ¡°I see the fear in you, Headsman. I¡¯ve heard your story. Many of us have.¡±


    He nodded to the room at large. ¡°Having regrets? Worried your masters aren¡¯t quite as holy as you once thought? Please.¡± The scorn dripped from his words like acid, fit to burn me. ¡°You think you can come in here and flash your pretty coins, intimidate me and my guests into telling you dangerous truths? Once a knight, always a knight, eh?¡±


    He flashed his withered teeth again. ¡°You can take the gilding off a man, but you can¡¯t strip it out of his soul. Even now you think you¡¯re better than us. Can¡¯t accept you¡¯ve fallen down into the cracks.¡± He waved a hand at the shadowy figures scattered across the room.


    I thought I was calm until the words slipped unbidden out of my mouth. ¡°I am not one of you,¡± I said, surprising myself with how sharp the words tasted.


    ¡°Are you not?¡± The Keeper cackled, a horrible sound that made me want to grit my teeth. ¡°What are you then? What do you think we are? Better wizen up, boyo, or you¡¯ll still be catching up when it¡¯s your turn to meet the headsman.¡±


    The hand I¡¯d laid on the bar curled into an angry fist, and I was about to give the old vulture a riposte when another voice cut across the common room.


    ¡°Alken!¡±


    I turned, and nearly lost my feet as a slender shape more than a head shorter than me slammed against my chest. I felt slim arms wrap me in a warm embrace, and it took me a moment to realize who it was.


    ¡°Cat.¡± I felt a rare smile tug at the corners of my lips. I managed to extricate myself from the hug and hold the newcomer at arms length, my argument with the Keeper momentarily forgotten.


    The freckled face of a young woman with chestnut brown hair and an easy smile greeted me, unperturbed by my discomfort. She wore a finely tailored outfit, something I¡¯d expect a tavern girl in a big city to wear ¡ª a sleek blue dress lined in white frills and a dark red bodice, the cut of the outfit low around the neck and shoulders.


    She¡¯d changed her hair since I¡¯d last seen her, from a shaggy mane of unkempt chaos to something sharper, long locks hanging down to frame her pale face, the bangs cut blunt above her eyes. It suited her.


    ¡°Look at you!¡± Catrin said with a laugh, flashing even white teeth in an impish grin. ¡°Growing your beard out, big man? Nice.¡±


    I resisted the urge to tug at the growth on my chin. Years spent wandering had steadily eroded old habits, and I hadn¡¯t shaved in a while. I felt suddenly very aware of my unkempt mop of copper hair, the dark shadows I knew must be prominent around my eyes.


    I coughed self-consciously and took my hands off the barmaid¡¯s shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you,¡± I said, meaning it.


    She took one of my arms before I could protest, wrapping it tightly so I couldn¡¯t escape. Turning toward the Keeper, she said, ¡°I¡¯m taking my break.¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s near-permanent scowl deepened. ¡°You¡¯ve already taken it.¡±


    Cat shrugged, unconcerned. ¡°Then dock my pay. Oh!¡± She placed her fingertips to her lips, smiling slyly. ¡°You don¡¯t pay me. The patrons do.¡±


    The Keeper just shook his head, exasperated. ¡°You know he won¡¯t, Catrin.¡±


    Cat turned her sly look on me then, and a flash of something else lit in it for an instant. My throat suddenly felt very dry. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know,¡± she murmured. ¡°A lot can change in a year.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 4: Turning of the World

    Arc 3: Chapter 4: Turning of the World


    Catrin was one of the few people I could call a friend, since the war. Maybe the only one. Rysanthe and Donnelly were too tied to my work, Emma was a pupil, and I¡¯d become estranged from my old life, my old acquaintances.


    I¡¯d met her during one of my bloodier missions, in a time when I¡¯d sunk very deep into the gloom that¡¯d consumed my life. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised to find I wasn¡¯t alone in that darkness. Given a grim mission and little faith that anything could get better, I¡¯d fallen into a dark place for a long time. I¡¯d forgotten how to trust, how to be courteous and have faith ¡ª not in gods, but in people.


    Catrin had surprised me, in more than one way, and helped reawaken a dormant sense of Chivalry in me. Without her, I¡¯m not sure I would have given Emma the benefit of the doubt later on. Regardless, the dangers I¡¯d faced alongside Catrin had made me feel almost like a knight again. For that, and for her, I will always be grateful.


    I¡¯d learned of the Backroad through Cat, and had gone to her for advice and gossip more than once in the past year. As an employee of the Keeper, she knew plenty of secrets sordid and strange. In fact, the workers in the Backroad harvested most of what the Keeper knew, both abroad and from its assortment of patrons. They poured drinks, warmed beds, smiled and jested ¡ª and listened. They were the Keeper¡¯s eyes and ears, the links in his spider¡¯s web.


    And, sometimes, they were his fangs.


    I did wonder how many of my secrets she¡¯d passed to her master. I didn¡¯t like to think on it, preferred to believe I could trust at least one person, but I knew it to be a possibility. It didn¡¯t anger me, really, though I never fully let my guard down around her, for that and other reasons.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to let my guard down. Never again.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing it again,¡± Cat said, her voice sing-song. ¡°That thing.¡±


    We were sitting at a table near the edge of the taproom, lit by a hanging lantern, me with honey water and Cat with something that smelled like medicinal tea. ¡°What thing?¡± I asked. I idly watched the flames dance in the pit, trying to trace the shape of the thing lurking inside without much success.


    ¡°The thing,¡± Cat repeated, annoyed. I glanced back to see her studying me. She¡¯d propped her chin on one fist, her other hand idly tracing an old groove in the table. Making the groove deeper, I noted, a sharp nail scoring into the oak. Her eyes, framed by her chestnut bangs, were a liquid brown and never without a hint of impatience.


    ¡°You...¡± she waggled her fingers mysteriously, like she was casting a spell. ¡°You go away. Think about things that make you unhappy, on purpose. Relax.¡± She gave me a pouting expression and half-joking said, ¡°pay attention to me.¡±


    I chuckled, unable to help myself. It did feel good, I had to admit. ¡°Fine. I¡¯m yours, for now.¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± she agreed soberly. ¡°The past has a strong grip on you, Alken Hewer.¡±


    I lifted my cup in a lazy toast. ¡°If only you knew,¡± I said, and drank.


    Cat rolled her eyes and sipped at her own cup, grimacing. Whatever was in it, she didn¡¯t seem to drink it for pleasure. ¡°So,¡± she said, placing the cup back down. ¡°How have you been?¡±


    I shrugged, then winced as an injury that hadn¡¯t fully healed twinged. ¡°Alive,¡± I said, rolling the shoulder. I¡¯d taken off my cloak, draping it over my seat. I wore my armor beneath, along with a new addition for the winter ¡ª a sleeveless brown coat, long enough to hang below my knees. Very much like the classic knightly surcoat, though it bore no House colors.


    ¡°Better than many, then.¡± Cat nodded and leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. ¡°I heard some of what you and the Keeper were discussing. You met one of them.¡± She said them as though it contained a sea of meaning, then finished in a stage whisper. ¡°One of the grayrobes.¡±


    At that, I chose to armor myself with caution. I had no dislike for Catrin ¡ª quite the opposite ¡ª but that didn¡¯t mean I entirely trusted her. She was an incorrigible gossip, and didn¡¯t know my entire story. I suspected our rapport would change if I ever divulged the whole tale, even if she believed otherwise.


    After I¡¯d foolishly spoken of my past to a disguised Crowfriar the past fall, I wasn¡¯t willing to be so loose lipped again.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said vaguely, sipping from my cup. The day had finally died outside, and more patrons had arrived. A low din of voices and clatters filled the inn, granting our conversation the illusion of privacy. ¡°I¡¯d never met one before, just knew the stories.¡±


    ¡°You sure it was one of them?" Cat asked, with more curiosity than skepticism. "I can¡¯t believe you¡¯d just jump to a conclusion there.¡±


    Before I could answer, another of the Keeper¡¯s girls brought food. She set a plate of steaming buttered bread, fish, and a stew that smelled of strong spices down on the table. My stomach growled, but Cat snatched the first morsel I reached for and nibbled on it with a challenging smile. I sighed, my stomach growling. I hadn¡¯t had a decent meal in... too long. It wasn¡¯t like any of the guardians or professional killers at the Fane were great cooks.


    ¡°I jump to all sorts of conclusions,¡± I said with a shrug, and snatched the bowl of stew before she could keep that from me as well. Cat scowled, but let me eat for a while before pressing.


    ¡°But it¡¯s curious,¡± she said as I ate. ¡°I thought the devil monks were exiled from these lands. Some fancy agreement, all formal and such, between them and the Church...¡± she paused, twisting a hand in the air as though trying to grasp something from the aether.


    I managed to suppress a smile, keeping my expression and voice bland. I knew when I was being baited. ¡°The Riven Order,¡± I said.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one!¡± Cat snapped her fingers. ¡°It¡¯s funny,¡± she said, showing sharp canines in an impish smile. ¡°You look so much like the villain¡¯s brutish henchman in some Mirrebelian stage play, but then you can be so smart. It¡¯s uncanny.¡±


    I halted wolfing down the stew to throw the barmaid a withering look. ¡°I¡¯m good at memorizing facts. It doesn¡¯t make me smart.¡± There is a difference, I thought glumly.


    ¡°So how did you get face to face with one of the grayrobes?¡± Cat asked, more serious then. ¡°That¡¯s a rare sort of trouble even for you, Al. You know I¡¯ve been to the continent before?¡±


    I didn¡¯t. I knew very little about Catrin¡¯s background. Curious, I leaned forward. ¡°That so?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°There are a lot of them over there. The Devil Monks.¡± Her manner turned serious, that relaxed humor fading as her voice turned reflective. ¡°They visit villages, whisper into the ears of nobles, take all sorts of guises... there¡¯s an old saying in Edaea, one I learned to heed early. If you ever see a man at a crossroads, take another path.¡±


    I ate, using the time to absorb this. I¡¯d known the agents of the Iron Tribunal, the mysterious rulers of Hell and counterparts to the Choir, operated freely in the West and had for most of the past millennium. Even still, I knew very few specifics. I¡¯d never been west of the Fences or the Riven Sea, the two barriers dividing continent from subcontinent. The world beyond remained an expanse of legend and hearsay, to me.


    ¡°Why would they be here now?¡± I asked, half to myself. ¡°What broke the ban keeping them out? Why are they targeting isolated members of the nobility so aggressively?¡± And does it have anything to do with the Inquisition reappearing? I thought darkly.


    ¡°I suppose it must have something to do with the Guilds,¡± Cat said mildly, popping a bit of food into her mouth rather than elaborating.


    I froze, a final spoonful of stew halfway to my lips, before deliberately finishing the bite. After I swallowed, I placed my spoon down and turned my full regard on the barmaid. She watched me, eyes sparkling with mischief.


    ¡°The Guilds?¡± I asked calmly, matching her conversational tone.


    ¡°Oh, you haven¡¯t heard?¡± She blinked, feigning surprise. ¡°I could have sworn you were... well, I must have misjudged. Never you mind. I won¡¯t be the one to distract you from your real duty, whatever it is.¡±


    I glowered across the table. I wanted to ask. She knew I wanted to ask, but she wouldn¡¯t give me any answers for free. Teasing out my secrets had become a sport to her over the past year.


    The disparate realms of Urn were battered. I had seen enough of it in my travels in recent years. Famines, plagues, banditry, xenophobia... all more rampant in the last five years than they had been in the last hundred. Desperation could drive the realms to another outbreak of war, to shirking the authority of the Accord.


    On the other hand, trade with foreign nations, foreign guilds, could bring wealth into the subcontinent, help mitigate the hunger of the masses and the greed of the nobles. If the price of that was to allow devils in with the traders, then... what was right, what was good in that case? And what would the cost in souls be? I couldn¡¯t imagine, couldn¡¯t encompass the scale of it.


    But I knew some who could, and that gave me pause.


    Then another memory, more than a year old now, struck me. There had been three mercenary knights in Vinhithe the day I¡¯d executed Bishop Leonis. They had used strange weapons, worn strange armor, all charged with a magic that had felt unfamiliar to me. Had their armaments been crafted with western alchemy? Had I seen signs of this widespread change even then, not knowing what it foreshadowed?


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you don¡¯t know about all of this already,¡± Cat commented. ¡°It¡¯s been going on for years.¡±


    I waved a hand, feeling tired despite the meal. ¡°I¡¯ve been wandering back-countries for years. There are plenty of places in the world where the winds of change don¡¯t even brush you.¡±


    ¡°Poetic,¡± Cat stated with a mocking smirk. She lifted her tea for a sip, seemed to think better of it, and gestured at me with the cup instead. ¡°According to the red robes, every soul who stayed behind during the Exodus, or was left behind, is apostate. Doesn¡¯t engender much good will to the Golden Queen¡¯s priesthood over there, that¡¯s for certain. They say there are more diabolists in the continent than there are knights in Urn.¡±


    She laughed at that, as though the idea was a laughable one. I didn¡¯t find it nearly as amusing. ¡°So the Church doesn¡¯t like it, but they can¡¯t keep them all out. The Priory has been awful loud about the whole thing, their grand prior chewing Forger¡¯s ear off over it.¡±


    I nodded slowly, that name bringing a frown to my heart. Markham Forger, King of Reynwell, Lord-Protector of the Accord, and Emperor of Urn ¡ª the first man to hold the ancient title of emperor in near four centuries, even if the position was ceremonial at best. The man had practically built the current order from the ground up, after the war.


    He¡¯d been the one to deliver my sentence, to strip me of my noble status and cast me into exile. He¡¯d just been the Church¡¯s mouthpiece in that, but it had been his voice all the same, his stern presence leading that council.


    Shaking off bad memories, I took my chance when Cat finally went for a real sip of her tea to speak. It could be difficult to stop her when she started on a subject. ¡°So, to summarize ¡ª if the Crowfriars have their hooks in Edaean trade, then letting the West bring all its merchants and sellswords into the subcontinent might have inadvertently broken the ban. By inviting Edaea in, the Emperor ¡ª de facto ruler of Urn¡¯s nations ¡ª also invited the missionaries of Orkael back from their exile.¡±


    Catrin spread her fingers out, still holding her cup loosely in one hand. ¡°It¡¯s a stretch, but devils are real asshats like that. Fine print, you know?¡±


    I doubt Forger and the rest of the Accord have any idea what they¡¯ve done, I thought darkly. The Riven Order was the subject of myth and ancient clerical lore. Even I had never heard of it until I¡¯d joined the Table. The Church might have warned the nobles, but it didn¡¯t mean anyone would listen.


    "What''s all this investigating about anyway, Al?" Cat propped her arm on the table again, narrowing her eyes at me. "If you had this run in with the Crows months ago, why am I just seeing you now? Something else happen?"


    She missed nothing. I nodded, and told her about Billensbrooke. By the time I''d finished, her pale face had gone practically ghostly.


    "The Urnic Inquisition..." she rubbed at one temple, grimacing. "That group''s got it''s fair share of horror stories. Glad I wasn''t born back then. You know the sorts of things they were said to do to Halfborn and changelings? Doesn''t make me feel safe and cozy, I''ll tell you that."


    "You haven''t heard any rumors about them recently?" I asked.


    She shook her head. "Sure, you hear about witch trials and "monster" hunts all the time, and I guess those have gotten more common lately. You remember that troll in Caelfall, the one Orson''s mercenaries butchered? That sort of sad sight''s getting more common. The elves are starting to look more and more like the thing that goes bump in the night these days, rather than the Wise Friends of Man. Not to mention all the bad things creeping out of the east. Folks are getting less willing to take the time to distinguish between Fey and Fel."


    I''d seen some of that myself. Cat paused as the inn''s front door opened, letting in another group of road-weary travelers from the deepening winter night. The cold set the candelabras and living flame in the pit to dancing.


    "As for the Inquisition," Cat continued, when the mild commotion had passed, "I don''t put too much stock in wild rumors about zealous priests and sorcerer-crusaders. Those tales aren''t worth their weight in air. From your lips though, big man?"


    She gave me an uncertain look. "I''ll be keeping a sharper ear on rumors about the Church, believe me."


    After we''d both sat on those revelations and dark tidings a time, I leaned forward over the table, lacing my fingers together. My eyes studying my scarred knuckles. ¡°Thank you, Cat. This does help a lot.¡±


    Cat gave me a mock bow, crudely mimicking the swooping gesture of a courtier in her seated position. ¡°For you, O¡¯ Knight? Any time.¡±


    I brought my cup to my lips, but didn¡¯t drink. ¡°I¡¯m not a knight,¡± I murmured. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    She shouldn¡¯t have been able to hear me beneath the din, but she did. ¡°You were mine, once. I won¡¯t forget that.¡± Her eyes were full of warmth. Then, abruptly casual she asked, ¡°are you staying here tonight?¡±


    The question caught me off guard. My mind had wandered again, considering what I¡¯d learned from Cat, what I should do next, my mind a chaos. My brain fizzled at her casually tossed inquiry, the past and future fading away like pipe weed in summer air. ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°I already paid the Keeper. I¡¯ve been roughing it for days.¡±


    I¡¯d barely stopped to rest at the Fane after returning from my brief outing with Emma. The Backroad could be found anywhere, floating along the edges of the Wend as it did, but it could be tricky sometimes. I''d wandered the unused paths and backwoods around the Fane for days before I''d managed to get it to take notice of me.


    ¡°I wanted to talk to you about something,¡± Cat said. ¡°Nothing much.¡±


    Before that conversation could continue, I was alerted by the sound of thunderous footsteps moving at speed across the room. I turned, instinctively tensing, but too slow. I caught a glimpse of a hulking shape, something huge as a bear and closing fast, its form concealed beneath a heavy cloak and cowl.


    Catrin began to shout a warning. I heard table legs scraping over wood ¡ª mine or hers, I didn¡¯t know. I reached for my axe.


    A hand shot out from the folds of that cloak, closed around my neck, and lifted me from my seat. It happened too fast for me to take in every detail. The world spun, and when it stopped I¡¯d been suspended in the air, an iron grip around my neck.


    Something enormous, reeking, and inhumanly strong held me over the fire pit. It let out a ripping growl, then spoke in a voice like the grinding of steel bellows.


    ¡°Elf Friend. I should have killed you when last we met.¡±


    I managed to see who held me through my hazing vision, catching sight of piss-yellow eyes beneath a ragged hood, tusks, skin the color of pale blood. An ogre.


    An ogre I knew.


    Karog.

 Arc 3: Chapter 5: Scent of Blood

    Arc 3: Chapter 5: Scent of Blood


    I am not a small man. I don¡¯t brag when I say this. I stand six and a half feet tall barefoot, and I¡¯m two hundred and fifty pounds out of armor. I¡¯ve been fighting my whole life, and that doesn¡¯t make one soft.


    You can imagine then, the strength in the arm holding me over the flame single-handed as though I weighed no more than a puppy.


    I struggled against the grip, but the hand squeezed tighter and my vision began to blur. I tried to breathe, started to panic when I found I couldn¡¯t. I punched at the arm attached to the vice around my neck, only to find it a solid mass of iron-hard muscle.


    The grip tightened more. He¡¯s going to break my neck, I realized.


    ¡°Alder Knight,¡± a voice like rumbling thunder growled, bathing me in carrion breath. ¡°I should have guessed at Orson¡¯s castle. You reeked of Blessed Gold, even then.¡±


    Through my hazing vision, I caught a glimpse of the face beneath the cowl in the firelight. Pale red, like badland rock, with a cavernous mouth displaying two rows of jagged wolf¡¯s teeth. Two short tusks emerged from either side of that maw, one of them partly broken and bearing signs of rot. A lion¡¯s mane of something very like ivory-colored hair spilled down from the shadows of the cowl, stiff as needles. The flat nose and deeply sunken eyes gave the face a skull¡¯s aspect.


    Beneath me, the fire began to stretch curiously upward toward my dangling feet. I smelled burning leather, and in a sudden moment of pure, unabashed horror realized I would be held above the pit to burn like a roasting slab of meat rather than allowed the mercy of a broken neck.


    Ogres, in all of their variety, are grievously deadly foes. I¡¯d faced them before, and I had rarely been so hard pressed. Long-lived, though not immortal, the oldest of them can still remember ancient wars and their grudges do not gather rust. Strong as bears, fast as lions, and viciously cunning, they are not enemies to be trifled with lightly.


    There is a very good reason alchemists in Urn were banned from creating sapient chimera.


    ¡°Hey! Shitbreath!¡± Catrin¡¯s voice, I realized, oddly distant through my hazing senses. ¡°Yeah, you, you brainless fuck! Put him down!¡±


    I felt the ogre shift, turning toward the barmaid. He didn¡¯t release his grip, keeping me near the flames. The creature in the fire snuffled at me, the sound reminiscent of crackling embers. An eager hound given an unexpected treat. Others throughout the inn were beginning to gather, I saw through my blurring vision. No one besides Cat tried to help me.


    ¡°I have not forgotten your treachery, malcathe.¡± Karog sounded almost bored, as though asking someone to wait their turn in a line. ¡°You helped this man assassinate Orson Falconer. I will punish you for it in a moment.¡±


    More precisely, a vampire hunter disguised as a healer had killed Orson Falconer, former baron of Caelfall. Somehow, I didn¡¯t think correcting Karog on that would make him any less interested in eviscerating me.


    He didn¡¯t loosen his grip, but he had taken his attention off me, even briefly. A mistake. I might not be stronger than him, but that didn¡¯t make me helpless.


    And I don¡¯t need to speak an Oath aloud ¡ª they are alloyed to my very soul.


    I focused, touching on that core of power in me ¡ª what Karog had so poetically named Blessed Gold. Like a gilded flower it bloomed, filling me with strength. I didn¡¯t have the concentration to shape Phantasm, or do anything too complex, but I¡¯d always been much better at the more simple, straightforward magics.


    What I did then could hardly be called Art. I burned my aura, my soul given form, and let it fill my bones, my muscles, my very flesh like sunlight on clean water. I made myself as strong and solid as steel. A dim amber glow filled the shadowed taproom. I heard several voices gasp.


    I placed my hands on Karog¡¯s arm ¡ª my fingers could barely enclosed his wrist ¡ª and squeezed. I felt flesh give, heard cartilage creak. The ogre¡¯s grip loosened, and I lashed out with a boot, connecting with his shoulder.


    He let go, and I nearly fell into the fire. I managed to avoid it, rolling, and came up on my feet. A bit singed, but alive. Karog stumbled back, momentarily off balance, splitting a heavy oaken table as he put his weight against it. His trembling right hand already swelled with bruising. I rubbed at my neck, feeling the shallow gashes where his claws had cut me. We¡¯d both marked one another, then.


    Karog¡¯s yellow eyes narrowed beneath his frayed hood, and he lowered his head to me. ¡°Ah. I had wondered if there was any strength left in you.¡±


    I rolled my shoulders, craning my neck to one side to work out the stiffness from his grip. My skin had taken on a very faint golden tint, becoming shiny and reflective. ¡°Enough,¡± I said. ¡°Before we do this, though...¡± I fixed him with my eyes, shining bright as I burned my aura ¡°I have a question.¡±


    Karog paused, listening. An ill memory flashed behind my eyes, a church filled with blood and death, a village slaughtered for a madman¡¯s crusade. I hadn¡¯t been there when the deed had been done, didn¡¯t know if the ogre in front of me ¡ª a mercenary, so far as I knew ¡ª had a share of the blood debt owed for that nightmare.


    But he¡¯d certainly been there, and hadn¡¯t done a damn thing to stop it.


    ¡°Where are the others from Castle Cael?¡± I asked him, voice hard and echoing subtly with my magic. ¡°Lillian, Issachar, the goblin, and those hooded twins... tell me where I can find them.¡±


    Karog snorted. He stood from his half-crouch, towering to his full height of nine feet, a juggernaut of muscle and violence. The skulls lining his belt, only a few of which were human, clinked together with the motion. A haze of heat came out of his nostrils as he let out a long exhale.


    Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached into the depths of his ragged cloak and pulled out two scarred, heavy blades. In his hands, they looked like short cleavers. In mine, they would have been cumbersome broadswords.


    ¡°Beyond your reach,¡± Karog growled.


    ¡°Al!¡±


    I caught movement in the corner of my eye, and caught my axe as it spun through the air. I nodded my thanks to Cat. She¡¯d taken its cover off, and the faerie alloy gleamed near bright as the smoldering flames in the pit.


    ¡°You will not be the first,¡± Karog said, beginning to pace a slow circle. I turned, matching the movement. ¡°Not the first who¡¯s sworn to your corpse tree I¡¯ve slain. We shall see if you match their mien.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Another voice cut through the tension like a well-honed knife. ¡°We won¡¯t.¡±


    Heat flashed, and Karog and I both leapt back at once, an instant before a serpentine column of smoldering flame would have whipped the skin from our bones. I threw up a hand, cursing as scalding air battered at me. When my vision cleared again, a tall, stooped old vulture of a man in a stained apron strode onto the floor between me and the ogre.


    The Keeper glowered first at Karog, then me with his corpse eye. He sneered at the table we¡¯d broken in our short scuffle. ¡°You will both pay for that,¡± he spat in his phlegmy voice.


    From the firepit, two long tongues of nearly solid flame surged forth like huge serpents. They coiled around the Keeper, twisting and writhing, very much alive. They formed a barrier between me and the mercenary, a dutiful hound obeying its master.


    The Keeper of the Backroad, whom that fiend fire served, pointed a finger at me. ¡°I told you, Hewer, I didn¡¯t want any trouble.¡± Then he turned on Karog. ¡°And you... I know you¡¯re from the continent, and things are different there, but my rule is very simple. No bloodshed in my inn. You want to kill each other, do it outside. Otherwise...¡±


    The twin serpents of flame lashed hungrily, adding weight to the old bartender¡¯s next words. ¡°Your right to my protection will be revoked.¡±


    Several dozen shadowy figures of myriad descriptions had gathered to watch the show. Travelers, merchants, beggars, knights in tarnished armor ¡ª none of them entirely normal, or without a hint of threat. I noted how hungry their eyes seemed, especially at that last statement. More than a few had visibly inhuman frames beneath their concealing garments, their bright eyes alighting on me with disconcerting eagerness.


    One, a hooded urchin in a soiled cloak, chittered at me. I swear, there were mandibles under the hood.


    Few of them looked at Karog. Figures. I turned my attention on the ogre and spoke aloud. ¡°I¡¯m willing to take this outside if you are.¡±


    Karog glowered at the Keeper a moment longer, before his wolf¡¯s eyes slid to me. He snorted, then sheathed his blades. ¡°We will have our blood soon enough, Elf Friend. For now...¡±


    He turned, his ragged cloak swirling dramatically. ¡°I am here to relax.¡±


    I glared at his back as he walked away, frustrated. I knew his game. I had ways of telling lies and compelling answers with my magic, and I¡¯d given away that I wanted him to tell me where his allies were hiding.


    Beginning just below the collar bone, stretching up over the shoulder¡¯s curve, an ugly gray mark deformed my skin. Halfway between a bruise and a burn scar, it was shapeless and dark, with a deep gray color and a grainy texture.


    ¡°What is this!?¡± Cat asked, muted horror in her voice.


    ¡°An Orkaelin soldier stabbed me with Devil Iron last autumn,¡± I explained, as she ran her fingers over the scar. ¡°Some of it broke off and fused to the bone. My own magic kept it from spreading, but it left me with this.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hurting you.¡± She had genuine worry in her voice.


    ¡°Just a bit of pain,¡± I said, trying for bravado. ¡°I¡¯m used to it. I don¡¯t remember making you my physiker, though.¡±


    Cat snorted. ¡°Who else is looking after you? I know you aren¡¯t. Besides...¡±


    Something about her demeanor changed subtly. Her eyes caught mine and she smiled shyly, hand still on my shoulder. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just keeping you healthy so I can get another taste?¡±


    I went very still. In the relative security of the private room I¡¯d taken off my gear, so I wore only my trousers and woolen winter shirt. It felt strange, and cold, being outside the Fane without my armor on ¡ª no, it felt strange anywhere, and probably always would.


    I felt very aware of how exposed I was as Cat¡¯s hand glided down my left arm, her light fingers lingering on two prominent scars ¡ª ugly gashes, given to me by predatory chimera in the bowels of Orson Falconer¡¯s keep. I could still remember Catrin¡¯s lips there, feel that half unsettling, half exciting rush of letting her take from me.


    And Cat was... Well, I won¡¯t deny it. I found her appealing to look at, to talk to. I liked the ever-present wry amusement at the corners of her lips, the way her features shifted with every hidden thought and casual word. It wasn¡¯t just that I found her pretty. She had an energy in her, a life, a sense of confidence and purpose I struggled to find in myself. I found myself caught in her eyes, warm brown and specked with red.


    They were full of hunger, those eyes, always there, always leaking out of her every furtive motion and energetic word like a nervous fit she was just on the verge of losing her grip on. It was that undercurrent which kept me on guard, always.


    But it also drew me in, though I kept trying to deny it to myself.


    I felt her exploring fingers drift back up to my injured neck, touching the drying blood there. I stiffened. She froze as well, going unnaturally still. For a long moment Cat didn¡¯t even seem to breathe. Neither did she pull her hand away.


    It had been a long time since I¡¯d been touched. Wanted. I¡¯d been with women on dark and cold nights on a few occasions over the past decade, when the loneliness had gotten to be too much to bear. It had never made me feel better, not for long. Only like I''d lost something I''d never be able to get back.


    I didn¡¯t want to tint Catrin with those feelings, complicate what we had. She was the only friend I had left who wasn¡¯t connected to my old life or my current work. I valued that. I didn¡¯t want to break it. So I turned my head away as she drew very close to me, her lips parting.


    She didn¡¯t react with hurt or anger. Instead, sighing she said, ¡°who hurt you, Alken? Who broke your heart and made you afraid of this?¡± She reached out to adjust my hair, her hands brushing over the scars over my left eye. I caught her by the wrist, not ungently.


    "I won''t hurt you," she said after I''d let her go. "Not much, anyway. You know I''ll have to be with someone tonight." She smiled a sad smile. "I wouldn''t mind if it was you."


    My throat felt very tight all the sudden. ¡°I don¡¯t want to use you like that. It¡¯s not right, that the Keeper lets his guests...¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the whole truth, but it was a truth. A safer one.


    ¡°Use us...¡± Cat blinked, and then let out a snort of laughter. ¡°Al... we¡¯re using him. Him and everyone who walks through these doors. You think it¡¯s a bad deal for us, this place?¡±


    The mockery in her tone scalded me, and I felt some of the same irrational anger I¡¯d thrown at Maxim and Emma billow out before I could stop it. ¡°So you¡¯re using me too, then, is that it?¡± I smiled bitterly. ¡°You practically said so already. You just want another taste.¡±


    Anger flashed in Cat¡¯s eyes, now running with vermillion eddies. ¡°Is that really all you think, after all this time? Is that why you keep looking at me like some sad hound locked outside a window, even though I¡¯m right here?¡±


    She slapped a palm down on the bed. When I only stared, not sure what to say, her voice nearly became a hiss. ¡°Is it because I¡¯m a bloodsucker or because I¡¯m a whore? Which is more distasteful to you, Milord?¡±


    I pulled more firmly away from her then. She glared at me defiantly. Her face had become very pale, its color bleeding away as she loosened her glamor.


    I stood and walked toward the window, placing my back to her so she couldn¡¯t see my expression. A moment passed before I managed to find my calm.


    Part of the problem was that she¡¯d hit the mark, on both counts. Catrin, and most of the other serving maids in the Backroad, were all hemophages of one sort or another. It was part of the Keeper¡¯s business model ¡ª guests got a warm, or cold, body in their bed, and his employees got blood. So far as I understood, most of the patrons found as much pleasure in being fed upon as anything else.


    The Backroad wasn¡¯t just a traveler¡¯s inn. It was also a brothel.


    Both her nature as a dhampir and her profession made me uncomfortable. Many times I¡¯d found myself pitying her, believing her to be trapped in some sort of hateful indenture, forced to sleep with the Keeper¡¯s guests in order to keep the old vulture¡¯s good will and get the blood she needed to appease her dark hunger.


    Had I been looking down on her? Had I been seeing her through the tinted lense of the paladin I had once been?


    ¡°Alken, I...¡± Cat¡¯s voice sounded meek all the sudden, full of regret. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know where that came from. It¡¯s the hunger, you know? I get frustrated easy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said, more awkward than angry. I turned back. Cat still sat on the bed. She had changed dramatically, her glamour peeling away in expectation of release. Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor, the bleaching even taking the rich color in her eyes, fading them to a milky white near ghoulish as the Keeper¡¯s one blind orb. Her hair had gone pale, her ears tapering to crooked points.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, averting my eyes from the pale, fanged face looking at me from the bed. ¡°I¡¯m being an ass, I know, but I just...¡± I sighed. ¡°I haven¡¯t been sleeping well. I know it¡¯s a terrible excuse, but I haven¡¯t had a good grip on my temper lately. There are... other things, too.¡±


    I heard the crack of Rhan Harrower¡¯s spine breaking under my axe. I saw the ruin of Princess Maerlys¡¯s face. I felt my flesh boil as centipedes of fire reached for me, half in hunger and half in longing.


    How the hell was I supposed to steer Emma away from the darkness, when my own soul was so loud? I felt so tired. I needed sleep.


    In the window''s reflection, I watched Cat inhale sharply. Her skin started to regain its rosy color, and her macabre features began to mute. She brushed her bangs back from her eyes and stood abruptly, patting her skirts back into order. Then she stepped to my side. She placed a hand on my elbow, and there was no invitation in it this time, no heat.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, big man. Tell me how I can help.¡±


    I met her eyes, seeing the certainty in them. She didn¡¯t doubt me, or herself. Cat knew what she was, where she fit into the world, and she¡¯d made peace with that a long time ago. She followed her heart, managed her impulses, and cared not a wit if the world saw her as wicked.


    I closed my eyes just a moment, pushing back the doubts, the fears, the exhaustion. There would be time for all of that later. When I opened my eyes again, I felt like clean metal. Focused. Sharp.


    ¡°Do you still want some justice for Cael?¡± I asked her.


    A smoldering fire that had nothing to do with lust flickered to life in Cat¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯re damn right I do.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s find out why Karog is here.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 6: Ambush Beneath The Corpse Moon

    Arc 3: Chapter 6: Ambush Beneath The Corpse Moon


    My world has two moons. Apparently, it used to have three, but that¡¯s a story for another time. One of those moons is alive with the same magic that suffuses the land, making it gleam bright in the night sky. It is the larger of the two, dominating the firmament, almost a second world hovering in the night above my own. I hear elves live there, and other things. When I was a boy, they would come down at times in silver chariots and shining coaches to dance in the glades and forests with their cousins.


    They stayed in their cold kingdom above in recent years, and who could blame them?


    The second moon is dead, a corpse hanging sullen and gray in the sky, more distant than its neighbor and lacking the soft luminescence of Od. It rose high tonight, enjoying a rare dominance. Wil-O¡¯ Wisps and ghost lights drifted through the trees, melding with the wan illumination of the Corpse Moon high above. Beneath its baleful eye, nine feet of muscle and anger strode down the forest road.


    Karog stopped, glowering into the deeper shadows ahead of him. Beneath his ragged hood his eyes, yellow and ringed with red, suddenly widened at the same time his slit nostrils flared. ¡°I smell you, Elf Friend.¡±


    I stepped into the moonlight, blocking his path. I wore my armor beneath my red cloak, my pointed cowl up, and had my naked axe on my shoulder. He¡¯d be able to see the auratic gleam of my golden eyes beneath the shadow of my hood, no doubt.


    ¡°We were interrupted earlier,¡± I said to him. ¡°There are things I want you to tell me.¡±


    Catrin and one of her fellow wenches, one she trusted, had observed Karog in the Backroad. He¡¯d stayed a while, drank some mead, talked to no one, then abruptly left. She¡¯d followed him from the shadows, using her dhampir ability to swim through darkness to keep me appraised of his whereabouts. After that, all I needed to do was get ahead of him and wait.


    Karog lowered his head, baring his wolf¡¯s teeth. His breath sent out a great gust of frost into the frozen air. ¡°You are a fool. And I will tear you limb from limb.¡±


    I glowered at him, matching the hate in his eyes with my own. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten your part in what happened at Cael. You and I have a debt to settle.¡±


    Karog let out a single snort. Then, without warning, without so much as a shifting foot, he charged.


    Nothing that big should be able to move that fast, but the ogre¡¯s speed was explosive, and disconcertingly quiet. He didn¡¯t draw the weapons he¡¯d used inside the inn, only rushed me with bare hands and preternatural fury.


    But he didn¡¯t take me by surprise this time. I swept my axe down to one side, passing it from left hand to right, and focused on one of the golden ghosts in me.


    As I¡¯d told Emma, phantasms are gestated inside the soul. Will, imagination, experience, trauma, hate, love, passion, death, birth ¡ª these events define the memory, and the world remembers too. Impactful events can leave scars on the soul, the world, and time. Sometimes, through happenstance or design, these can give birth to an Art.Geett the latest novels at novelhall.com


    Magics are born through the confluences of souls, and they don¡¯t always take form. When they do, they can fade as fast as the vessel that gave them life, whether it¡¯s an emotion or an inspired idea. Artists and craftsmen are just as likely to wield their aura as warriors.


    Even still, the lack of consistency can make battling with magic difficult. That is why constructs like the Alder Table were made ¡ª a repository for magical techniques, a reservoir of memory.


    An arsenal of weapons.


    My axe, the Doomsman¡¯s Arm, shone with a sudden gleam of amber radiance. The dark oak of its haft crackled as it grew some, extending its length, a little tree gaining a simulacrum of life. The weapon was made for the same purpose for which wizards carve staffs or wands ¡ª as a channel, a focus. My magic coursed through it.


    Karog closed on me, his eyes like burning candle flames, his teeth bared in savage bloodlust. He towered over me, and I knew he¡¯d turn me into a bloody smear on that road easy as he would a fly. I didn''t shift my feet, didn''t so much as flinch -- the technique I used would dissipate into useless glitter unless I held my ground.


    When the ogre came within a second of barreling into me, I slammed the bottom of my weapon¡¯s elongated haft against the ground. A flower of golden light bloomed to life around me. The petals of that gilded flower formed a floating sigil, part auremark and part something much older.


    Karog struck the sigil, and stopped cold. A moment later, and the glowing rune began to expand, forming an even more complex shape. The mercenary slid back several steps, struggling, sharp teeth bared in a bestial snarl, bloodshot eyes so wide I thought they¡¯d pop out of his skull. The ogre let out a roar, pushing against the solid light, and for a moment I thought he¡¯d break through my phantasm with sheer brute strength.


    Not impossible. Magical techniques are only as strong as the will of whoever employs them, as their faith and focus. I poured all of mine against his, standing solid as a gilded statue on the forest road.


    The floating sigil erupted, scattering into amber petals. The entire forest rang like a great bell had been struck, and Karog went tumbling back head over heels, sending up a cloud of dust and forest detritus. He landed in a heap, trailing smoke. A moment later, only the stars and dead moon lit the world once more.


    ¡°That¡¯s called the Aureate Repulsion,¡± I told him, staring at his limp form with cold dispassion. ¡°Hurts, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    A rumbling growl tore at the air. Karog lifted himself to his hands and knees, trembling ¡ª not from pain or fear, but anger. He spat out his next words along with a glob of blood. ¡°Pain is old hat to me, paladin.¡±


    The creature holding the metal spike flipped back, landing lightly on the edge of the road. Clad in a tattered cloak with a heavy mantle, it looked small, almost childlike. A lumpy peasant¡¯s hat with a wide brim obscured its features. It chittered through the mask of shadow beneath that hat, lifting the spike of black metal it had tried to stab me with in a hand wrapped with thick layers of brown cloth.


    Catrin cursed, reacting a moment after me. She spun, and quickly saw the same thing I did ¡ª more figures in ragged clothing filled the woods, crawling out from behind trees and through undergrowth. Some clung to trunks or hung from branches, like apes, or...


    Insects. I recognized one of them from the Backroad earlier that night, a thin figure in a dark hooded cloak with a pointy cowl similar to mine. I could just make out serrated mandibles beneath the brim of that hood, which clicked hungrily at me.


    ¡°Headsman,¡± the one in the pointy cowl chittered. ¡°The mercenary is not for you. Walk away.¡±


    I ran my eyes over the surrounding forest. There had to be at least thirty of the crawling figures, all dressed like poor travelers. I suspected the forms beneath were far from human. I heard buzzing whispers, clicking calls, the dull vibration of insectile wings.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Catrin drifted closer to me. She¡¯d drawn her knife, a gift from the same faerie lord who¡¯d given me my black armor. The dagger, wrought from a rare metal known as Rendsilver and sometimes Banesteel, stood out in the night like a shard of the night sky, deeply dark with a silvery tint. ¡°What are they?¡±


    ¡°Irks,¡± I said. ¡°Wicked elves.¡±


    ¡°Briar?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Probably wyldefae,¡± I said. My aura wasn¡¯t warning me of the thorny malice that marked Briar Elves. ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you what breed.¡±


    Elves are not homogeneous. It¡¯s more a human term, a catch-all phrase for the mystical, semi-immortal beings who dwell across the lands. Many appear like beautiful humans with pointed ears and other whimsical features. But they''d chosen those forms, deciding in long-ago times to live alongside humans in shapes pleasant to all eyes.


    But just as many, if not most, look like nothing human at all. Trolls, goblins, giant spiders, wolfweres, some giants, and many stranger things are all technically also elves. Mix in the fact that they can change their form over their immortal lifetimes, through whim or odd happenstance, and things get even more confusing.


    Many are predatory, dwelling in hidden realms or deep corners of the Wend, utterly hostile to humans. That was what we faced then.


    Catrin and I stood back to back as the woods came alive with giant buzzing wings and eerie chittering voices. I felt her slim back press against mine, felt her fear. I half closed my eyes, finding that metallic calm inside of myself, and spoke aloud in a quiet, assuring voice.


    ¡°We are going to be alright. Have courage.¡±


    Catrin shuddered, half in revulsion and half in relief, as my power rippled outward with my voice. The darker part of her nature didn¡¯t like the touch of my sacred magic, but I¡¯d hoped a minor Cant of Courage wouldn¡¯t hurt her. I felt her steady.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said. ¡°Handy trick.¡±


    ¡°Not just a trick,¡± I said. ¡°A promise.¡± I turned my attention to what I assumed to be the leader of the irks then. ¡°I don¡¯t seek any quarrel with you or yours.¡±


    ¡°Yet you have one, Headsman.¡± The hooded creatures voice had an eerie buzzing quality, each syllable interspersed with loud clicks of its mandibles. I couldn¡¯t quite tell, but the mouth behind those mandibles looked disturbingly human. ¡°Karog¡¯s life belongs to us. We will feast on his flesh and marrow. Stand against us, and we will have your essence too. Yours, and the Keeper¡¯s plaything.¡±


    Cat scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m nobodies plaything, Chitters.¡±


    The entire horde buzzed angrily, the sound of it impossibly, horrifyingly loud. The irk leader let loose a rasping cackle. ¡°No, I imagine this fallen knight is yours... many have grown tired of your mischief, Catrin of Ergoth.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much like where this conversation was heading. ¡°I¡¯m not this mercenaries ally,¡± I said to the swarm. ¡°We just need him to answer some questions. Whatever quarrel you have with him, I¡¯d ask it wait.¡±


    With an almost lustful savor, the insectoid elf drew a long, curved blade from beneath his cloak. ¡°He will never speak again. Kill them. All three of them.¡±


    The swarm charged.

 Arc 3: Chapter 7: Swarm and Revelation

    Arc 3: Chapter 7: Swarm and Revelation


    Having loud, buzzing, biting things fly at your face is terrifying already. Having them be the size of people and capable of wielding swords just felt unfair.


    ¡°Cat, into the shadows.¡± I spoke urgently, and swept into action without hesitation. I felt the dhampir¡¯s presence slip away behind me, along with a surge of gratitude she¡¯d understood.


    Once again, the haft of uncarved wood in my hand crackled as it changed. The weapon hadn¡¯t been the same ever since I¡¯d used its Art to bind Jon Orley months before. It had become more awake since, more alive, and I could alter its length in subtle or dramatic ways at an unspoken command.


    Not for free, though. Small barbs of wood punctured my palm, eagerly drinking my blood. I clenched my jaw against the pain and took the weapon in both hands. In moments it became closer to a the length of a polaxe. I swung it in a wide arc, bringing my arms up and around my head. The crescent-moon blade whistled through the air, an eerily musical note, trailing aureflame in its wake.


    I killed three irks on that first swing, just before their serrated mandibles and wicked-sharp blades would have cut me to ribbons. Their bodies collapsed in heaps to the ground, smoldering with angry amber fire. The rest darted back, emitting an angry chorus of chittering cries.


    I twirled the halberd, letting the irks see my speed before they got any brave ideas. ¡°You approach,¡± I said, a flicker of aureflame escaping my lips, ¡°you die.¡±


    They responded by producing short, evil looking little bows.


    Shit.


    Moving on instinct, I dashed forward. If I stood still and held my ground they¡¯d pepper me with arrows until I was a twitching heap on the ground. I went on the attack instead, lunging forward.


    My magic can be very powerful if I manage to bring it to bear, but nearly all of my abilities require an amount of gravitas. It¡¯s part of the role the Table had been meant to fill. I can crack castle gates with a smite, sweep through enemies like wheat, imbue my attacks with golden flame or send a charging behemoth flying back with a mighty slap of will. However, all of these require at least a few seconds of preparation as I reshape my aura and display my intent. There is no deception in Alder magic.


    Rarely will an enemy not see what I¡¯m doing before I do it, granting them a chance to stop it.


    In situations like this, where speed and reflex matter, I¡¯m left with my own martial skills. Good thing, then, that those have always been keen. I was the First Sword of Harotes before I was ever an Alder Knight, and I was Rosanna¡¯s Headsman before I was Seydis¡¯s.


    I went forward like a scarlet wind, my enchanted cloak rippling liquid so I became a red wraith in the night. A shower of arrows flew from the trees as the irks fired a volley. One broke off my hauberk, another scraped my neck, and I cut two out of the air with a swing of Faen Orgis. The rest missed, doing little more than ripping through the whirling folds of my cloak..


    I drove my weapon forward as I came into the midst of them. A long bur of wood had formed a sharp point above Faen Orgis¡¯s blade when it had taken its longer form, very much like the spear-tip of a true halberd. I rammed it into the body of one of the irks, and got a good glimpse of the creature beneath the ragged garments.


    It had a chitinous gray-green body vaguely like a human¡¯s, though thin and segmented, with four arms and two back-bent legs. It was covered in small, hard points, some kind of armored shell, and gave off a sickly-sweet musk. The blood that gushed over my weapon was viscous and green.


    I lifted the struggling irk up, then hurled it to one side. It slammed into one of its comrades mid-flight, sending them both crashing to the ground. I felt a sharp punch in my back. Turning in a vicious swing, I split one of the wild faeries in two.


    There were more. They filled the woods, buzzing and clacking, hissing angry words in their own tongue. They¡¯d overwhelm me with numbers before I could cut them all down, or pepper me with arrows from the trees. Two shot at me from the boughs above. I caught a dart on my vambrace, letting it skid off in a scatter of sparks.


    With a furious shout, I lifted Faen Orgis high into the air. I gathered power, the blinding light blooming on my weapon''s blade making all the wyldefae flinch. Then, spinning the axe into a lower stance, I swung into the trunk of the tree like any lumberjack. A thin golden line ate its way up the trunk like a lightning bolt. An ominous groan filled the woods, and then the tree split near its base. It began to topple, forcing the irks in the branches to flit in every direction.


    Sucking in a deep breath, I turned to face the rest. I nearly lost an eye as an irk with a barbed spear hurled itself at me, chittering in rage. I flinched out of the way, so it cut my ear instead, then grabbed the spear and yanked. I head-butted the faerie, crunching its chitinous skull. It collapsed in a limp heap. A moment later, a trickle of blood began to make its slow way down my forehead.Rread latest chapters at novelhall.com


    Inspecting my surroundings, I saw the carnage I¡¯d already wrought. Even so, more of the eerie creatures gathered, undeterred by their losses. I bared my teeth at them, letting amber fire play along my weapon.


    One lifted a bow to take aim at me, then stumbled forward. Green ichor flowed down its neck from a wound at the base of its skull. I saw the flash of a dark silver blade, and pale cheshire teeth in the night. Catrin stalked the shadows, a shark in bloody water.


    I was not alone. That helped calm my racing heart, and I brandished my axe in challenge.


    ¡°The hemophage is still here,¡± a hissing voice said. ¡°Kill her.¡±


    I turned, and saw the largest of the irks step forward. It was the one in the pointed cowl, its cloak long enough to trail across the ground. It rose up, seeming to grow taller as it did, until it stood more than six feet high ¡ª much larger than any of the other diminutive eld. Its cloak slipped off its shoulders, revealing a chitinous hide grown into something very like thin, elegant armor. It had a horned head, with something halfway between a beak and a long, elegant nose jutting down over its thin mouth. It bared sharp teeth framed by two pinching mandibles at me.


    Then it drew two blades, both carved from shining bone.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I stood to my full height as well, meeting his challenge. ¡°You¡¯re assassins,¡± I said. ¡°Who sent you?¡±


    ¡°I,¡± he growled, ¡°am going to kill you.¡±


    But before he charged me, his eyes suddenly went out of focus. He tilted his head to one side, then shot out his free right hand. His hand sunk into the deep shadows between two trees, as though they were made of water. When he pulled it back out again, he held Cat in his grip. She struggled, kicking her bare feet, her face twisted with rage. His hand was big enough to grasp her entire chest like a doll.


    The dhampir managed to get one arm free and lift it. Her dagger gleamed in the moonlight. Karog huffed, then squeezed. Cat let out an anguished cry, and her hand went limp. The dagger fell to the grass.


    ¡°Let her go!¡± I shouted, stepping forward.


    ¡°Step forward,¡± Karog said in a calm voice, ¡°and I will break her.¡±


    I did stop, knowing he¡¯d follow through on his threat. He pressed one enormous thumb to Cat¡¯s chin, turning her neck at a painful angle. One motion, and he could snap her neck, or crush her ribs. He¡¯d be strong enough to, I had no doubt.


    I held up a hand. ¡°I won¡¯t get any closer. Just let her go.¡±


    Karog snorted. ¡°So she can entrance me again? So you can use your elven sorcery? I think not.¡±


    I glared at him, my jaw going tight. ¡°Then what do you suggest?¡±


    The ogre didn¡¯t reply at once. His red-and-yellow eyes drifted across the forest, taking in the burnt, dismembered corpses of the dead irks.


    Finally, returning his attention to me Karog said, ¡°You were not sent to assassinate me?¡±


    I frowned at him. ¡°No.¡±


    He bared his yellow teeth again. ¡°But you did try to capture me. Who sent you? Was it Lillian? Ilbog?¡±


    ¡°No one sent us,¡± I said. ¡°After you ambushed me in the inn, I wasn¡¯t going to let you slip away. I had questions.¡± I pointed my axe at him, letting all the anger I¡¯d let simmer since Caelfall slip out in my voice. ¡°You and your friends slaughtered over a hundred innocents for your mad schemes. You will pay for it, after you tell me where the others are.¡±


    Karog let loose a wolf¡¯s snarl. ¡°I will tell you nothing.¡±


    Cat struggled in his grasp again, trying to say something. He squeezed again, and she let out a hiss of pain. I swear, I heard her ribs creak.


    ¡°If you hurt her,¡± I told him, ¡°I will unmake you.¡±


    I wanted to try Commanding him, but if he shook the compulsion off he¡¯d end up killing Cat right there. I felt too unsteady to muster the focus I needed, in any case.


    ¡°Do you love her?¡± Karog asked me, no trace of emotion in his voice. ¡°Or has she simply taken your wits?¡± He lifted Cat to his face and sniffed. ¡°Strange. I do not smell you on her, paladin. If you want something, you should claim it. Otherwise, it might be taken from you. Like so.¡±


    He brought up his brutish sword, and I realized he was about to ram it into her stomach.


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    I hadn¡¯t realized, until that moment, how scared I actually was of losing what little I still had left. I didn¡¯t know if I loved Cat ¡ª didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d ever be able to love like that again ¡ª but she¡¯d placed her life in my hands more than once. She had honor, in her way.


    That mattered. I would defend that.


    At the tearing sound of my voice, Karog paused. He turned his glower back on me. ¡°Tell me who sent you,¡± he repeated.


    ¡°No one sent me!¡± I bared my teeth, mimicking his own expression. ¡°We wanted revenge, alright? Revenge for Caelfall. I¡¯m not here under orders from the Choir, the Accord, the elves, anyone.¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m here for myself.¡±


    He studied me a long moment. All the while, my heart pounded in my chest. Cat¡¯s struggles had grown weaker.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Karog finally said. ¡°Then I must disappoint you, paladin. I do not know where the others are.¡± He lifted his chin, hate and resentment boiling out of his every word. ¡°My alliance with the Council of Cael was terminated. These assassins...¡± He gestured with his blade to the dead irks, ¡°Belonged to them.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 8: The Mercenary

    Arc 3: Chapter 8: The Mercenary


    ¡°They betrayed me.¡± Karog¡¯s voice rumbled like low thunder in the woods. ¡°Discarded me.¡±


    I let those words settle on me a moment. ¡°Why?¡±


    The ogre sniffed once. ¡°They are... unprofessional. They wished to bring me into their fold, to... mark me. A method to ensure my loyalty. I refused. I explained to them that I am loyal to my employer, but they would not accept this. When they pushed the matter, I dissuaded them.¡±


    His burning eyes went to the dead irks. ¡°Now their dogs hound me everywhere I go. I cannot find even a night¡¯s peace. This land is too... loud. Your ghosts run rampant, your woods are alive with elf-kin and illusions. I cannot even find quiet on your mountains.¡±


    His words turned sullen. ¡°I hate this land.¡±


    ¡°Then why not go back west?¡± I asked him. ¡°Back to Edaea?¡±


    Karog¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I cannot return.¡±


    He didn¡¯t elaborate. I glanced to Cat, who had gone very pale ¡ª from lack of air or her vampiric nature surfacing, I couldn¡¯t tell. I pointed my axe at her.


    ¡°Let her go.¡±


    Karog let loose an angry snarl. ¡°You have already declared your intent. I should kill you both.¡±


    ¡°Let her go,¡± I repeated firmly. Then, taking a deep breath I added, ¡°and we¡¯ll talk.¡±


    The mercenary lifted his chin. ¡°And why should I trust you? Both you and this malcathe have the power to subvert my will. I will not let you eat my mind. That belongs to me. It is not for sale.¡±


    ¡°You know what I am,¡± I told him. ¡°You said it yourself back in the inn. You called me Alder Knight.¡± I pressed a hand to my chest. ¡°You know my word is good.¡±


    ¡°I know no such thing,¡± Karog shot back. ¡°Your order betrayed its master. I cannot trust your word to be binding.¡±


    He had me there. Inhaling through my nostrils I said, ¡°fine.¡±


    I pressed the butt of Faen Orgis, still in its ¡°poleaxe¡± form and long as a walking stick, down on the ground. After I felt it go rigid, I let it go. Its roots dug into the ground, and its gnarled haft grew again, rising to tower more than ten feet high. Ruddy buds and branches sprouted from the top, forming an ugly little tree. I left a red smear on the trunk as I let go, flexing my fingers as I freed them. My palm dripped blood onto the grass.


    I walked forward, leaving my weapon behind. Moving slowly, I took off my belt along with its extra daggers and other items, letting it drop to the ground. I slipped out of my cloak as well, until all I had on me were my elf-made armor and the clothes beneath. I spread my hands out, showing one empty palm and one bleeding one.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fight you,¡± I said. ¡°I just want to talk.¡± I bowed my head, without taking my eyes off his. Karog, I had no doubt, was a predator ¡ª I could show him I wasn¡¯t going to attack, but I couldn¡¯t show him I wouldn¡¯t fight back. That would be a fatal mistake.


    Taking a deep breath I said, ¡°please.¡±


    For a minute, Karog glared at me in silence. My heart pounded in my chest, and my nerves screamed at me to help Catrin, but I knew I couldn¡¯t reach him before he killed her. I could kill him after, but I wasn¡¯t interested in proving my strength, or avenging her. Only saving her.


    A knight¡¯s pride is his dearest treasure, I¡¯d once been told, but I will abandon it happily if it means losing those close to me. They are few enough, and precious. They are all that keeps me from becoming something truly hideous.


    Finally, without ceremony, Karog opened his slab of a hand. Cat fell limp to the grass. I tensed, resisting the urge to rush to her side. She gasped and choked on the ground a while, clutching at her chest. When she¡¯d caught her breath, she looked up through a mess of brown hair to see what the ogre would do.


    Karog lifted himself up, then paced to one side. He found the tree I¡¯d felled during the fight and sat on it, sinking his drawn cleaver into its trunk with a sharp crack.


    ¡°Fine then,¡± he said through his fangs. ¡°Talk.¡±Th.e? most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m


    I didn¡¯t, not immediately. Keeping him in my sight, I moved over to Cat and knelt down to place a hand on her shoulder. Despite the freezing air, she still wore her low-cut dress and tavern girl bodice. The cold didn¡¯t seem to bother her much, but getting squeezed in an ogre¡¯s fist definitely had. I saw ugly bruises already creeping up her neck and shoulders.


    ¡°You alright?¡± I asked her.


    She coughed twice before answering, rubbing at her throat. ¡°I think I¡¯ve got some broken ribs, but I¡¯ll be fine I think. I¡¯ve had worse.¡± She glanced at me sheepishly. ¡°I messed up. Wasn¡¯t ten minutes like I said.¡±


    I felt the corners of my lips twitch. ¡°I wasn¡¯t counting. Can you stand?¡±


    She nodded, and I helped her up. She swayed, leaning against me for support, but managed to find her balance after a moment. Then we both faced Karog. He¡¯d watched our exchange in silence, his angry eyes narrowed. What he thought or felt behind those red-rimmed spheres, I couldn¡¯t guess.


    ¡°Do you two need some privacy?¡± He asked, sneering.


    Cat and I both blinked. Had the ogre just made a joke?


    Shaking off that moment of strangeness, I straightened to my full height and stepped forward. ¡°What I want is to know everything about the Council of Cael. You don¡¯t know their current whereabouts?¡±


    Karog growled low in his throat, a sound of irritation. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Where did you last see them?¡± I asked. ¡°Any of them?¡±


    He thought a moment, lowering his eyes to the ground. ¡°A fortress in the north, in a land ringed in ice-crowned mountains. Scarlet flowers carpeted the hills, and great falls clouded the southern slopes in silver mist.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Cat murmured at my side. ¡°The killer juggernaut is a poet.¡±


    ¡°We were guests of a lord,¡± Karog continued. ¡°A king. He was an old man.¡±


    I frowned. That all sounded very familiar. ¡°Do you remember his symbol? It would have been on all his banners.¡±


    Karog met my eyes. ¡°A robed man holding a sword, its blade encircled by a thorned vine sprouting red roses.¡±


    I closed my eyes, drawing in a sharp breath.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Cat asked, stepping close to me.


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± He finally asked, turning toward me with a bitter expression.


    ¡°Be patient,¡± I told him. ¡°Let me see what I can dig up. I might have one or two allies among the little godlings you mentioned, and some contacts with the Accord. If I start spreading word that the King of Talsyn is cooperating with a council of dangerous warlocks and one of the monsters who brought down Elfhome, I might be able to accomplish something more constructive than a suicidal raid.¡±


    Karog sniffed. ¡°And what shall I do in the meantime, while you... talk?¡±


    Honestly, I had no clue. I hesitated, thinking. I couldn¡¯t bring him to the Fane ¡ª it was a sanctuary, and I didn¡¯t trust the ogre a wit.


    Catrin spoke up. ¡°Why not stay at the Backroad for now? The Keeper¡¯s been talking about hiring a bouncer, so he doesn¡¯t have to step in personally for every scuffle. You¡¯ll be paid well for it.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow at her, surprised. ¡°You sure about keeping him that close?¡±


    Cat shrugged. ¡°Oh, the other girls will love him. Big, grumpy, scary? He¡¯ll be a hit.¡±


    Karog looked about as skeptical as me, but he nodded after a moment. ¡°Fine,¡± he growled. ¡°I could use steady work.¡± He pointed a tree-limb of a finger at me. ¡°Do not keep me waiting long, elf friend. I do not trust you.¡±


    ¡°The feeling¡¯s mutual, believe me.¡±


    Karog let out a threatening rumble from deep in his chest, then ripped his blade out of the fallen tree and sheathed it. He began trudging back toward the road, pulping one of the dead irks beneath a heavy boot as he did.


    I turned to Cat. ¡°I don¡¯t like leaving you alone with him,¡± I said.


    She scoffed. ¡°I won¡¯t be alone. The Keeper stopped your fight earlier easily enough, didn¡¯t he? Besides...¡± she glanced at the retreating ogre.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked her, when she trailed off.


    Cat pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He seems... sad?¡±


    At my frown, she hasted to explain. ¡°He¡¯s a wanderer from a faraway land, lost and alone, betrayed. He doesn¡¯t have any allies, or direction. He can¡¯t go home...¡±


    Her eyes went distant, and a rare touch of bitterness stiffened the normally relaxed planes of her face. ¡°I know what that¡¯s like.¡±


    I wanted to say something comforting, reassuring. I opened my mouth, but didn¡¯t know what would help. Cat noticed my hesitation and her face softened. ¡°Oh my, I think I just triggered your inner Ser Chivalry. You going to sweep me off my feet? Give me a hug?¡±


    ¡°Would that help?¡± I asked, lifting an eyebrow.


    She thought about it a moment. ¡°I think it might just make me hungry. Best play things safe.¡± She gave me a wicked little smile, then grew serious again. ¡°So what¡¯s the play, big man? You actually have contacts you can warn about this dire plot?¡±


    I sucked in a breath through my teeth. ¡°I might have exaggerated my connections to stop Karog wandering off on his lone crusade. In all honesty...¡± I sighed. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from Them since before Winter. As for the Accord...¡±


    I thought back to the execution of Rhan Harrower. The Urnic Realm knew about the Headsman now, as more than a rumor. Was it time to come out of the shadows?


    Would I survive it?


    ¡°I do know people among the Accord¡¯s leadership, but no one I¡¯ve spoken to in years.¡± I folded my arms, frustrated by doubt. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do anything about this. I don¡¯t know if I can get anyone to listen, or take action... it¡¯s all too big. Dark conspiracies, apostate kings, demonic plots. I¡¯m just a soldier.¡±


    ¡°A soldier who¡¯s got the ear of immortals,¡± Cat said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. ¡°Whatever happens, Al, whatever comes... I¡¯ve got your back.¡±


    I looked into her eyes then. I shouldn¡¯t ask, I knew, should just let things be as they were, but the part of me that always doubted, always questioned, couldn¡¯t keep its peace.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°I...¡± I drew in a deep breath. ¡°You barely know me. I almost killed you the first night we met. I was cruel to you. I¡¯m a killer, Catrin, and a servant of the same powers who call you a monster. How can you be kind to me?¡±


    Of all the times I could have had this conversation. Sometimes, I can truly be a fool.


    For a moment, her face went blank. Then, in a motion fast enough to make my head reel, she grabbed my hauberk by the collar and pulled me down, standing on her toes at the same time. I thought at first she meant to kiss me ¡ª I¡¯m not certain I¡¯d have stopped her this time.


    But her lips went past mine, to my neck. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the blood that¡¯d run from my ears during the fight with the irks. She dropped back down then, closing her eyes in a lustful shudder. When she opened them again, they¡¯d gone incredibly pale, corpse-like. Her skin lost some of its color, and she flashed long canines at me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been a monster, Alken. A real one. My hands are not clean.¡±


    She pressed her left hand to my right, splaying my fingers out and pressing her palm against my bloodied one. I felt her sharp nails against the inner joints of my fingers.


    ¡°You want to know why I stick around?¡± She canted her head to one side, holding my gaze. ¡°It¡¯s because I think there¡¯s a good man in you, Alken Hewer, underneath all that angst and brooding. I like that man, when I see him. I¡¯ll stick around to see more of him. Besides...¡±


    She shrugged one pale shoulder. ¡°This business with Caelfall is my crusade too. Don¡¯t try to leave me out of it.¡±


    I nodded, knowing I blushed some. ¡°I won¡¯t. It¡¯s a promise.¡±


    ¡°A knight''s promise," Cat mused. "Aren''t I a lucky girl? I¡¯ll hold you to that, Hewer.¡± She flashed her sharp teeth in a smile. ¡°See you again soon?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully,¡± I said. ¡°I won¡¯t be traveling anywhere far until the snows clear. It was hard enough finding your inn, and it floats along the edges of the Wending Roads. Once Spring comes, I¡¯ll have something for us. I hope.¡±


    ¡°We could all use a bit of that,¡± she agreed.


    I left her then, to return to the Backroad along with the dour killer we¡¯d formed our strange alliance with. I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d actually have anything, come Spring, or if we¡¯d be able to accomplish anything even if I did manage to put out word of this conspiracy we¡¯d stumbled on. I didn¡¯t know what the Council of Cael planned, or how the King of Talsyn was involved.


    All I knew was that I recognized the harsh scent in what should have been clean winter air ¡ª the bitter tang of a storm encroaching.


    The stink of war.

 Arc 3: Chapter 9: Winter Lingers

    Arc 3: Chapter 9: Winter Lingers


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be this cold still,¡± Maxim said, pulling his fur cloak tighter. ¡°Spring should have come by now.¡±


    I blew out a frosting breath into the morning. ¡°It¡¯s not the first time we¡¯ve had a long winter.¡±


    The old knight shook his head, his gray face contracted into a deep frown. ¡°I... feel it. You¡¯re too young, but the oldest of us were able to sense these things. When spring arrived, it filled us with strength. When the leaves began to turn, the onset of winter would sharpen us. I felt spring come two weeks back...¡±


    He waved a hand to the white woods. ¡°But the cold just won¡¯t let go. It feels like a fist, gripping tight.¡±


    I glanced at Oraeka, seeing my worry mirrored in the elf¡¯s eyes. Maxim had been getting better, but he still dipped into these bouts of manic melancholy and prophetic doom on occasion. Every day, we watched for another violent fit.


    Without Rysanthe, I wasn¡¯t certain I could bring him back from another one. There¡¯d still been no word from the other Doomsman.


    ¡°It¡¯s an ill sign,¡± Maxim murmured, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. ¡°All ill. All sick.¡± He turned around and stalked back into the cottage, muttering to himself.


    ¡°He may be right,¡± Oraeka said once the knight had closed the door behind him, leaving us in the snowy yard. She glanced down at me from her near seven feet of height, her lips pressed tight to hide her wolf''s fangs. ¡°This winter has fangs.¡±


    I sniffed and turned to face the hillside leading down to the shrine. ¡°You¡¯ll find evil omens anywhere you look for them, Oraeka. The happy man sees roses, and the grim one sees thorns.¡±


    The Sidhe warrior fell into step next to me, stooping slightly as she passed beneath a low hanging branch. ¡°Lillian Crath. I did not think you read the works of philosophers.¡±


    I paused as we reached the bottom of the hill, folding my arms to bring the folds of my cloak more tightly together. ¡°Fidei used to read to me. Crath was one of her favorites.¡±


    The words had slipped out without thought. I saw Oraeka¡¯s frown, the concern she¡¯d shown for Maxim now directed toward me. Annoyed with her expression and with myself, I turned my attention forward as we passed into the fountain circle. The frozen pools glittered under the pale sun, and snow crunched beneath us as we moved into the main shrine.


    Oria¡¯s Fane is mostly wilderness, save for a few scattered abodes. There is the small cottage on the hill where Maxim and I sleep ¡ª Emma too, and if I had any doubt to her dedication to being my disciple, it had ended after several weeks of her sleeping under the same roof as two curse-burdened soldiers troubled by frequent bad sleep and night terrors.


    We¡¯d have the second cottage finished soon enough, and that would give both Maxim and Emma more privacy. Until then, however, we were all forced to rub elbows.


    Besides the cottage, the Fane had the ancient shrine, an open-air building consisting of a raised floor and ceiling connected by a ring of sixteen pillars. Rose vines and other greenery would crawl across the shrine and the fountain circle during warmer months, but in winter it all stood cold, crystalline, and clean.


    Somewhere in the near distance, the sound of a great hammer striking an anvil rang like metallic thunder through the woods. I turned in that direction, leaving Oraeka to return to her endless vigil over the sanctuary. I passed into the woods beyond the shrine, delving deep into a sprawl of high trees and shadowed groves. Huge, silvery webs woven into complex and frankly beautiful shapes circumnavigated the forest. I¡¯d long ago learned to use them as guides, keeping to safe paths.


    An intruder would find the subtle labyrinth much less helpful.


    The clangs of the hammer grew louder as I went, soon enough drowning out all other noise, even most thought. I paused, took out two plugs of wax, and pressed them into my ears. The sound muted, though I still felt the clamor, a concussive echo which made every branch in the woods shudder.


    Soon enough I approached the edge of a cliff dropping fifty feet or more into an even denser wilderness. Smoke rose from cracks in the rock, mixing darker shades into the veil of winter white. I picked my way down the cliff, using a series of shallow switchbacks and jutting roots to guide my way. I¡¯d have to offer thanks to the wisps for keeping it free of ice. I could see their lights in the darker parts of the woods below, winking in and out like big fireflies.


    At the bottom of the cliff I found a cave, a wound in the rock stretching thirty feet high and descending steeply down. The sound of hammering became a truly physical thing here, quivering through the rock around me. I passed beneath arches and other supports of stone, metal, and wood, like the kind one might find in a mine ¡ª only these shouted with artistry, made for aesthetic as much as function.


    As it always is with dwarves.Th.e? most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m


    I stripped out of my cloak and winter coat as I delved further into the wave of heat billowing out from the depths of the cave. A dull ember-colored light guided me deeper underground, until I reached a section of the tunnel that widened sharply into a cavernous chamber. A forge lay inside, the center of the cave dominated by a huge kiln. Stern faces carved from the rock, each taller than a man, stared down at me, and a chimney carved into the domed ceiling devoured the forge¡¯s smoke.


    Hunched over an anvil taller than I was stood a gray-skinned behemoth of a figure. More than twenty feet tall, powerfully if squatly built, his storm-cloud beard smoldered with the same fire that burned in his forge. Caim lifted his hammer once, then brought it down with a speed and precision that belied his size.


    I could not see the thing on the anvil. Whatever it was, it must have been very small in comparison to the smith, yet that blow clanged off it in a shower of sparks and teeth-clenching force as though it were the side of an iron gate.


    Emma, stripped down to a tunic and trousers in the heat of the forge, watched Caim¡¯s work intently from the side. I moved to stand near her. Her amber eyes, so reminiscent of a bird of prey in their unblinking largeness and color, flickered toward me. I felt a surge of satisfaction at that ¡ª even deafened, the same wax plugs in her ears as in mine, her reflexes had become keen over months of training.


    Placing my winter garments down on a jut of rock, I moved my hands through a series of complex movements, signing at her.


    How long has he been going?


    Emma furrowed her brow in thought a moment, then signed back.


    Thirteen hours? Longer yesterday.


    I signed back, seeing the concern in the sharpness of her gestures. He doesn¡¯t need as much sleep as you or I.


    We both went still then, watching the dwarf giant work for a time. After perhaps half an hour, the hill-trembling hammer went silent. I could still feel its after-echoes, and not just in the thunderous silence which tends to follow great noise. Caim worked aura into his craft, weaving Art into metal and stone, and his power hung like the stink of ozone in the air.


    Emma and I both removed the wax from our ears as the dwarf plucked something off the anvil. It was too small for me to see, pinched between a thumb and forefinger thick as my chest. He turned his back on us, hunching over a stone table. A while later, he turned toward us with all the slow, deliberate gravitas of a moon cresting over a horizon.


    With eyes smoldering like dull blue embers, the dwarf beckoned. Emma took a deep breath, then stepped forward. Caim¡¯s deep voice, its volume carefully modulated, filled the cave.


    ¡°Where a Doomsman walks, the shadow of Death¡¯s wings fall. It is best to be prepared. May this begin you on the path you seek to walk, Little Hawk.¡±


    He presented what he held, letting it unfurl as he pinched each sleeve in the thumb and forefinger of a separate hand. It was a shirt of chain mail with short sleeves, fashioned of a pale metal ¡ª no doubt it had been steel, until Caim had started introducing other, stranger elements in with his Art.


    Emma studied the armor a moment, her expression unreadable. She stepped forward on long legs, closing the distance in two assured strides at odds with the sudden hesitance she showed as she reached for the shirt. She took it from the dwarf, letting it hang from her own grasp.


    She thought a moment before replying. ¡°Only the stories. They say the Knights of the Alder Table were the greatest warriors in all of Urn, or even the whole world. They say...¡±


    She trailed off a moment, then finished in a less assured tone. ¡°They say some of the knights betrayed the elf king, that they were working with the Recusants, or were Recusant...¡±


    ¡°Some of them,¡± I said, after a long silence. I closed my eyes against a sudden gust of wind that set my cloak aflutter, clutching at its collar. Did I feel some of the fangs Oraeka had mentioned in that gust? I could hear clashing steel and the screaming music of Art beneath the wind. When I closed my eyes, I could see the blood of men and worse things smoking on my sword.


    I saw Alicia and the rest gathered in the audience hall, their hands empty. All their blades were in the Archon.


    ¡°To this day, I don¡¯t know why the High Captain did it. I don¡¯t know what it was for, what she and her followers hoped to gain. Power? Revenge?¡± I opened my eyes, letting the serene coldness of the Fane chase the images away. ¡°So many of the other paladins had been what they were for so long. The older ones, like Maxim, they became more like elves over time. They saw things I didn¡¯t, understood things I couldn¡¯t. I was the newest member, the youngest. I wasn¡¯t inducted to all the order¡¯s secrets.¡±


    I looked out toward the setting sun, feeling very tired. How long had I dwelt on these things? When had I stopped trying to come up with answers?


    ¡°The Archon... the elf king, Tuvon, he wasn¡¯t just our leader. He was the lynchpin of the realm¡¯s magics, the lock to a number of seals. It¡¯s why the weather¡¯s been strange ever since he died, why the ghosts and other magical beings are all acting half mad. Our job was to protect him, and help him keep those seals strong and secure. We were his hands, his eyes. Sometimes we were his punishing fist. And the magic the Sidhe put in us... it changed us, and not all for the better.¡±


    I turned to face Emma, letting her see the gold in my eyes.. ¡°It wasn¡¯t about honor, or justice, or chivalry... our job had just as many ugly secrets and half-truths as anything else. Being what I am now might not be pretty, but it¡¯s at least honest. When the Headsman arrives, you know what he¡¯s there for.¡±


    Emma¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Nonsense.¡±


    I lifted my chin. ¡°Come again?¡±


    She met my eyes squarely, showing no trace of contrition. ¡°Nonsense. When you arrived at my manor, you could have passed judgment on me or my great-grandfather. You might have been ordered to execute me if that trial had gone differently. You promised to protect me instead. You risked your life on my account. Is that not knightly?¡±


    I scoffed, turning my eyes from hers. ¡°That was... different. I wasn¡¯t there as Headsman.¡±


    ¡°Even if you had been, would you have made different choices?¡±


    ¡°...Maybe not,¡± I admitted. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t have anything to do with oaths or codes. Anyone could have made those choices.¡±


    ¡°You try very hard to twist everything you do into something less than it is,¡± Emma said. ¡°You want to know what I think?¡±


    ¡°Do I have a choice?¡± I asked her tiredly.


    ¡°No. I think you have something like a moral compass beneath all that surly callousness you exude, and you try very hard to find justifications for following it. Why not just do as you please?¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s a dangerous road,¡± I said, hardening my voice. ¡°It can lead down dangerous paths, and I can¡¯t afford that. It might be withered, but I still have some holy fire in me. I have a responsibility to keep that out of the wrong hands. I can¡¯t...¡±


    I let out a frustrated hiss and began walking back toward the shrine.


    ¡°Can¡¯t what?¡± Emma asked as she fell into step beside me, relentless.


    ¡°Why do you care so much?¡± I snapped. ¡°You and Catrin both. I don¡¯t understand why it matters to either of you.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Catrin?¡±


    I flinched. I hadn¡¯t told Emma, or anyone at the Fane, about Cat. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. What does matter is that I have to be careful, Emma. I can¡¯t just do as I please ¡ª the immortals might not all be perfect or benevolent or all-knowing, but they¡¯ve been around a hell of a lot longer than me. I¡¯d rather trust they know what they¡¯re talking about when they warn about supernatural calamities and dire consequences, because I...¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Every time I¡¯ve taken matters into my own hands, it¡¯s gone to shit.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a very convenient justification for letting others make your decisions,¡± Emma said primly. ¡°Do you let them take on all the consequences too? The guilt?¡±


    I¡¯d forgotten, during the last few months, that the nobleborn girl I¡¯d taken under my wing could be a bit of an annoying little brat.


    ¡°You see what¡¯s happened to Maxim,¡± I said, my voice cold as the surrounding air. ¡°You¡¯ve seen his night terrors, his fits? You see how he talks to himself all the time?¡±


    She fell quiet at that, though she still had sullen defiance glittering in her eyes.


    ¡°Outside this sanctuary,¡± I continued without slowing my pace, ¡°it would be worse. You¡¯ve seen it when we¡¯ve traveled outside these woods.¡± I waved a hand at our surrounds. ¡°I attract ghosts. I have to wear this to keep them out of my head.¡± I gestured violently at my ring. ¡°We¡¯re haunted because of our failures. That¡¯s a consequence for screwing up when you walk alongside divine powers, Emma, and we¡¯ll suffer it our whole lives. There¡¯s a damn good reason for everything I do and everything I¡¯m afraid of.¡±


    I stopped suddenly, wheeling on her. ¡°So, if it¡¯s all the same, I¡¯d appreciate it if I could stop getting all these fucking opinions about how bad my mood is.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d nearly shouted toward the end until I all but felt the weight of the ensuing silence. Emma glared at me, her lips pressed tight.


    Before either of us could say more, our attention was drawn by a rustling in the branches overhead. I glanced up, and found eight shining glass eyes returning my gaze. A spider the size of a large dog crouched amid the lower branches, watching us. The liquid patterns across its perfectly round abdomen were reminiscent of marble, shaded all in deep blue and gray.


    ¡°Farfin.¡± I nodded to the Cant Spider, recognizing his patterns. ¡°What is it?¡±


    The enormous spider quivered, and some of the glinting webs strung between the branches produced an eerie, musical sound like plucked lute strings. Its mandibles split open, revealing a delicate mouth shaped very like a human¡¯s. It spoke in a beautiful, sibilant voice. ¡°I was asked to tell you, Headsman. Lady Rysanthe has returned. She requests your presence.¡±


    I drew in a long breath, then let it out in a frosting exhale. I let go of a good deal of my tension with that breath. I looked at Emma, seeing she still had anger writ on her face, evident in her clenched jaw and stiff posture.


    Time to deal with that later. Turning back to Farfin I said, ¡°I¡¯ll speak with her.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 10: A Storm Arrives

    Arc 3: Chapter 10: A Storm Arrives


    I found Rysanthe inside the Fane¡¯s temple shrine. Dusk had fallen, and the encroaching night awoke the sacred pools. They shone dimly with a silver lambency, yet only served to make the edges of the shrine darker ¡ª as though they ate the light rather than gave it.


    The second Doomsman, or more precisely the first, stood with her back to me as I passed through the pillars, so I only saw a dim, sharp silhouette, the impression of white hair sewn with bones. A rod of dark iron hung from the right side of her hip. Rysanthe Miresgal, Silberdaughter, Moonsbane, Death to the Deathless, turned to face me cast in pale witch light and shadow.


    The drow elf was a slight thing, showed pleasant dimples when she smiled, and had a kind voice with just the barest hint of laughter in it. ¡°Alken. It is good to see you well.¡±


    I stopped near the first of the pools. They were spread irregularly through the interior of the open-air temple, reflecting one of the more ill-omened constellations. ¡°I¡¯d started to think you¡¯d be in the Underworld until spring,¡± I said.


    ¡°I have not been in Draubard,¡± she told me, beginning to skirt lightly around one of the pools. Like Oraeka, she wore light garments despite the freezing weather. Her outfit had rarely deviated since I¡¯d met her, consisting of a short dress of pale blue-green silk belted around the waist and shoulders with decorative motifs of silver and ivory. Her sandaled feet crossed one in front of the other with each step, as though she balanced on a narrow beam.


    I frowned. ¡°I thought you¡¯d been called away for some mission for the Silver Council?¡±


    She nodded, finally stopping just out of arms reach of me. ¡°True,¡± she said vaguely, glancing down at one of the pools. Her reflection in the water had transparent skin, showing pale bones beneath dimly glowing like hot iron. I peeled my eyes off that unsettling sight.


    ¡°I have been in the north,¡± she said at last, closing her rose-violet eyes and breathing in as though inhaling the most pleasant of scents. I knew, then, that true night had fallen. ¡°Attending to... unpleasant matters. This winter has been rife with profane necromancy and wild behavior among the untethered dead. My brand has been used too frequently of late.¡± She placed a hand on the iron rod at her hip.


    The north again. ¡°You look tired,¡± I said, inwardly wincing at the irony of being the one to say it. However, I couldn¡¯t ignore how dim the faerie light around the elf looked. She seemed almost mortal.


    ¡°I will recover,¡± she said, enunciating each word. ¡°But yes, it has been a difficult season. I battled a ravenmother in Lindenroad for several weeks. She was on the cusp of lichdom.¡±


    I shuddered. ¡°I might have been able to help, if you¡¯d called.¡±


    She cast a thankful smile at me. ¡°I know, my friend, but you have your own responsibilities. The ghosts whisper to me that the Headsman has taken on a disciple?¡±


    I nodded. Emma had returned to the cabin on the hill, still angry at me. I regretted losing my temper ¡ª not a good look, for the one who was supposed to be the older and wiser in our odd duo. I¡¯d gotten used to my darker moods having no audience other than trackless wilderness and mad ghosts.


    Rysanthe listened a while as I told her of Emma, and of most everything she¡¯d missed over the past season. I told her about Venturmoor, House Hunting, Emma¡¯s training in the Fane over the winter months, and about Billensbrooke. I left out my trip to the Backroad, knowing she wouldn¡¯t approve. When done, the moons had risen high into the night sky. I felt the bite of the cold, even despite the aureflame in me, but I endured it.


    ¡°And where is this child born of Light and Shadow?¡± Rysanthe asked, tilting to one side to look past me as though searching for someone lurking in the background. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve scared her off with wild tales about me.¡±


    As if I need to tell tall tales to make you seem scary, I thought wryly. Aloud I said, ¡°She¡¯s retired for the day.¡±


    Rysanthe must have detected something in my tone. ¡°You two quarreled?¡±


    I scratched at the stubble on my chin ¡ª I¡¯d shaved after Cat had made her offhand comment about my growing beard ¡ª and considered deflecting. Then, deciding there wasn¡¯t any harm in it, I told the elder Doomsman about my argument with my apprentice.


    ¡°I have been a bit... surly, I guess.¡± I made the admission with a grumble even I heard. ¡°Still, she¡¯s been raised the lady of a manor. She expects everyone to kowtow to her, and she speaks her mind too readily. They¡¯re bad habits.¡±


    ¡°And they vex you,¡± Rysanthe observed. ¡°You lost your temper.¡±


    She didn¡¯t quite have any criticism in her voice, but I heard it anyway. I scoffed and folded my arms. ¡°Yeah, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I can see it in your eyes,¡± the elf mused. ¡°You have always been dark in your moods, my friend, but there is a weight on your soul which is heavy of late.¡±


    I almost reached for the medallion hidden under my shirt ¡ª a very real weight ¡ª but disguised the motion by massaging at the bridge of my nose. ¡°Not you too, Rys. Please.¡±


    She gave me a wistful smile. ¡°Very well. On to other matters then.¡± Her eyes drifted down to the pool beneath her, her silver eyelashes drooping heavy in thought. The inhumanly beautiful frame of her face set into troubled lines.


    ¡°The Inquisition.¡± She said the name with a sense of weight heavy as Caim¡¯s hammer. ¡°I have heard troubling things on the wind, seen evil signs... I still remember the original. There were many mad ghosts in those days, twisted by breaking wheels and iron maidens.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen the sign I described?¡± I asked her. ¡°The Trident?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I have rarely strayed close to civilization, save the occasional rural village. This land is becoming more distrustful of the Sidhe by the year, both toward my people Below and our cousins Above. On that topic, I hear you saw Princess Maerlys recently?¡±


    I nodded, folding my arms. ¡°She is... very different than she used to be.¡±


    Rysanthe nodded. ¡°So I have heard. There was a time, long ago in my youth, when all the Sidhe were feared and reviled as monsters. Many of us were, to humans at least, for all intents and purposes.¡± She sighed and turned her eyes up to the sky. ¡°I hope we are not returning to that, but who can say?¡±


    ¡°I never learned what happened at Billensbrooke,¡± I told her. ¡°With the grave robbings, the warning you received, or why the Church or whoever it was emptied the place out.¡±


    She spread her hands out in a nonplussed shrug, a very ordinary gesture for the old elf. ¡°Many places have had such strangeness across the land. We will not always be able to make a difference. We can only bring Doom to those deserving, and leave the rest to settle in the tides.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure I agreed, or perhaps just didn¡¯t want to agree, but I kept my peace. ¡°How long will you be staying this time?¡±


    She held her narrow chin a moment in thought. ¡°Until the Dead begin to call once more. I think it will not be long. And you?¡±


    ¡°Until the snows melt,¡± I said. ¡°Or until I¡¯m called.¡±


    I¡¯d tried to chase down more information about the revelations Karog had provided, but there was only so much I could do confined to the Fane and its surrounds. I planned to visit the Backroad again within the next few weeks and talk to Cat, who no doubt heard more than I did from the ghostly inn¡¯s patrons. In the meantime, I listened to the tidings of stray spirits, kept myself sharp with regular training, aided Oraeka with the sanctuary¡¯s upkeep, and waited.


    Always waiting.


    ¡°There is something else.¡±Rread latest chapters at novelhall.com


    I avoided Rysanthe¡¯s eyes as she cast the question out. She could see through lies and misdirection as keenly as I could, with her death-blessed eyes ¡ª possibly even better. Part of me didn¡¯t want to tell her, irrationally, preferring to keep it to myself.


    But it would be foolish to. I nodded. ¡°I think there¡¯s something wrong with your ring.¡±


    She frowned, though I didn¡¯t sense any pride in the expression. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°A few weeks back,¡± I said, ¡°before Billensbrooke, I had a dream... a nightmare. I was still wearing the ring when I woke in the morning.¡±


    Tilting her head to one side, so her braid hung loose down one shoulder, the drow held out a hand. ¡°Give it here.¡±


    I slipped the ring off my finger and handed it to her. She inspected it a while, turning it this way and that, even sniffing it. Finally, she held it up to the moonlight so the black stone showed clear. Even lit, it cast no reflection.


    ¡°I will cleanse it,¡± she said uncertainly, ¡°but I can¡¯t sense anything wrong. The curse I placed on it is still strong, and no other magic has overridden it. Tell me about this dream.¡±


    ¡°A sword might not do anything for us here,¡± I told him. ¡°And your powers are unstable.¡±


    Maxim¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°I am not broken. I can fight.¡±


    I grabbed my cloak, the one Nath had given me as a reward for doing her bidding in Venturmoor. It coiled around my shoulders almost of its own accord, as though eager to be worn, wrapping about my neck nearly up to the chin. I turned to face the paladin. When had he started looking so thin, so stooped?


    ¡°If something attacks the Fane, they will need you.¡± I placed a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m the vanguard, Max.¡±


    To my relief, he relaxed some. ¡°This is foolish. It might just pass us by.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to trust my luck.¡± I grabbed my axe from where it hung on the wall. As I turned to the door, I found Emma waiting for me with her armor on, her Carreon sword belted at her hip, her winter coat hanging down to her knees.


    ¡°You¡¯re staying too,¡± I said.


    Emma¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. ¡°I am most certainly not. Haven¡¯t we already had this talk? I¡¯m not going to slow you down. I¡¯m coming with.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about trying to keep you from harm,¡± I said, feeling more weariness than annoyance. ¡°I have aureflame to keep me from freezing to death. You don¡¯t.¡±


    I brushed past her. ¡°Stay inside. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡±


    That logic got through to her, thank the stars. With a bitter curse, she stepped away from the door. I propped my axe on my shoulder, my mind already turning to what lay beyond the cottage walls.


    ¡°Alken.¡±


    I paused with my hand on the door latch, glancing back at the girl. Her lips had pressed into a twisted line, and her eyes looked more troubled than angry. ¡°You had better come back. I¡¯m a warlock, remember? I¡¯ll drag your ghost back from whatever god or devil tries to take it, if I have to.¡±


    I scoffed, but felt the smallest of smiles touch the corner of my mouth. ¡°And be your minion? No thanks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have you carry all my things,¡± she said thoughtfully. ¡°And deliver doomful portents to my enemies. Maybe I¡¯ll have you wear a silly hat.¡±


    I shuddered. ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± I said more assuredly. Then, before I could hear more about whatever demeaning fate awaited me at my own apprentice¡¯s hands, I went out into the storm.


    ***


    The wind hit me like a physical thing, like a god¡¯s angry shout. Though I¡¯d been able to hear it inside the cottage, the sudden change from hearing the storm¡¯s fury muted to feeling it full force disoriented me. I managed to get the door closed after nearly being knocked down, then turned into the storm.


    I closed my eyes against the scalding cold wind, against the thousands of tiny flecks of ice trying to embed themselves in my skin. I found that core of sacred flame in me, and with a whisper eaten by the howling wind I let it surge forth. I lifted my axe, and amber fire flickered to life across the faerie alloy. A pale but solid golden light spread out from the crescent-moon blade, extending to about ten feet in every direction.


    The storm didn¡¯t abate, but it flowed around that sphere of light I¡¯d summoned. I began trudging forward through the knee-deep snow, keeping my axe aloft like a torch in a dark cave. I felt the wind¡¯s bite, but the aureflame in me would prevent me from freezing.


    However, I felt less certain it would keep whatever lurked in the storm from ripping me into so many bloody pieces.


    I was a fool to go alone, I knew, but I¡¯d spoken the truth when I¡¯d warned Emma about the deadly cold. Maxim could have endured it, but I didn¡¯t want to risk putting him in a situation where he might have to use his maimed powers.


    All very reasonable. All very likely to get me killed out in the wilderness where no one would find me for days.


    Navigating a blizzard is next to impossible. It¡¯s all too common for a man to die of exposure within a dozen feet of his front door, with no idea how close he¡¯d been to safety. The disorienting sound, the veil of white, the buffeting wind throwing your steps off course, it can all lead to a single grim conclusion.


    But I don¡¯t use only the senses all humans share. I hear the land itself, through my connection to the unseen roots of the Great Aldertree from which my order had been hewn. A presence lurked in the storm, and all I had to do was listen to the wind, feel the bite of the cold, and I would be drawn to it.


    So I walked. I felt. I listened. I wandered deep into the woods below the cabin. I trod over the frozen stream where I¡¯d spoken to Rysanthe the past fall, and beyond the wall of singing webs woven by the Cant Spiders.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I knew, instinctively, I was being watched. Whatever lurked in the snow and wind observed my steps. It had stopped, I felt, and waited for me.


    I tightened my grip on Faen Orgis and found my battle calm. I am gilded steel. I am blessed iron, clean and sharp as Day¡¯s rays. Though I clad myself in Gold, I cut through the mire. I am the thorn upon the bough.


    Then, as the Alder mantra stoked the aureflame in me, my mind conjured the words of another, older oath, sworn the day my queen had tapped my shoulders with her sword and made me a knight.


    Do you swear to see to the end any course begun?


    ¡°I do,¡± I whispered into the wind.


    And the storm broke. I found myself standing at the edge of a clearing encircled by gray, frozen trees. In the middle of that clearing stood a figure clad all in black.


    He wore a long coat over a rich tunic, his high boots buckled just below the knee. Fine leather gloves darkened hands half hidden below trailing sleeves of an odd cut, and a high collar encased a neck wrapped in a woolen scarf. Rather than a hat or hood, his head was shrouded by an elaborate wrap of deep blues and blacks, studded with green and red gemstones. Some of that headwear wound over the right side of his face, covering one eye. Precious gems and fine metals decorated the outfit, bright against the blacks and grays, so he looked a man-shaped constellation.


    In his left hand he held a tall staff, a smooth length of ebony wood widening into a blunt wedge at the top. A long nail had been driven into the staff¡¯s head at an angle.


    The figure wasn¡¯t very tall ¡ª a few inches under six feet, given a bit more height by the fine boots and head wrap. He lifted his one visible eye to me, and it glinted in the night like a cat¡¯s, pale green and full of secrets.


    I knew what he was, and I knew him to be dangerous. The staff was a giveaway ¡ª it practically blazed with auratic power, though it had nothing on the man himself. To my golden eyes, it felt like staring into the face of a dark sun. I knew this man had summoned the blizzard, as easily as he¡¯d dismissed it a moment before. Such powers were part and parcel for his kind.


    I stood before one of the Magi, and possibly one of the five most dangerous beings in all of Urn.


    A man I knew to be as ruthless as he was ambitious.


    A man I hadn¡¯t spoken to in the better part of a decade.


    A man I wasn¡¯t certain I¡¯d ever see again.


    The wizard spread out his hands, letting the draping sleeves of his coat fall to either side like crow wings. He flashed a full set of bright teeth in a wide smile.


    ¡°Alken! It¡¯s been too long.¡±


    I sighed, and loosened my grip on the axe. ¡°Lias.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 11: The Wizard

    Arc 3: Chapter 11: The Wizard


    Lias... where do I even begin with him?


    He¡¯s one of my oldest friends, and I don¡¯t trust him a wit.


    He¡¯s been with me through some of my bloodiest and best years, and I¡¯d trust him with my life.


    Part of me had believed I¡¯d never see him again. Part of me had hoped I wouldn¡¯t ¡ª I didn¡¯t like the idea of meeting someone I¡¯d known so well, only to see and feel like a stranger.


    We made a fire in the cover of the trees. Whatever power Lias held over the weather, it didn¡¯t seem capable of taking any of the chill out of the air. I didn¡¯t let him use his sorcery to start up a flame, wanting the time it took to gather firewood and light it to gather my thoughts as well. Then we sat for a while, neither of us seeming to know what to say or how to begin.


    Lias had never much liked silence. He broke it first. ¡°Been a long time,¡± he said. He had a light voice, quick as a bird-trill sometimes, so you had to keep sharp if you wanted to catch every word.


    I grunted something halfway to acknowledgment. I had a long stick in my hands, which I idly broke into smaller pieces. My eyes were on the stick and the fire ¡ª I felt a strange anxiety that if I looked at Lias, he might vanish like one of the ghosts who strayed close most nights.


    ¡°I like the cape,¡± Lias observed. ¡°Suits you, better than that green one the Table gave you anyway.¡± He sniffed, and wrinkled his long nose. ¡°Ugh. I take it back, that thing reeks of Briarfae. Where¡¯d you get that?¡±


    ¡°A wicked angel,¡± I said. ¡°In return for saving a girl.¡±


    Lias lifted his one visible eyebrow. I saw no hint of gray in the loose strands of black hair escaped from his head wrap, and he had few wrinkles on his sun-kissed skin. How old was he? Forty-five? He¡¯d been the oldest of our trio, and I¡¯d expected some of that age to show. Other than his strange garments and the missing eye, he¡¯d hardly changed.


    ¡°Heh.¡± Lias began fishing around in his packs, laid out by his side where he¡¯d propped himself along with his staff against a fallen tree. ¡°I¡¯d almost forgotten your lack of verbosity. I ask you about your faerie cloak, and you give me barely a sentence and a book¡¯s worth of questions.¡±


    He pulled a pipe out of his belongings, the motion drawing attention to the rings on his hands. It was a beautiful piece, black wood with inlays of silver and onyx, crafted into the shape of two serpents entwined together. He put it between his teeth and it lit on its own, flaring briefly with ruddy light before emitting a curling line of smoke. He blew some of that smoke out of his nostrils, then his lips, and sighed in satisfaction.


    Perhaps it was just the light, but the smoke looked too dark. Like gaseous shadows.


    ¡°Bloody hard finding you,¡± he said, leaning back against his packs. ¡°Smart, hiding in an old Sidhe sanctuary. I couldn¡¯t find a way in, even covered by the blizzard. Thought the faerie spiders would come out and eat me if I strayed too close, so I started making noise, and what do you know!¡±


    He twirled the long fingers of his left hand, as though presenting me like the magician he¡¯d once been, then settled back. ¡°Glad you came out, anyway, and not something else.¡±


    I had so many questions ¡ª what had he been doing in the eight years since I¡¯d seen him last? Was he well? Was Rose well? Why hadn¡¯t he tried to find me sooner? Why hadn¡¯t he spoken to me after the trial? I remembered it still, that day. The shame I¡¯d felt, Markham Forger¡¯s somber voice, the dull heartache I hadn¡¯t been able to quench with three years of war.


    What did he want? Because he had to want something.


    Instead, I swallowed all that bitterness and said, ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    ¡°Interesting story, really.¡± Lias smirked and leaned forward, a bit of black smoke trailing through his teeth as he flashed them. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯ve been hearing rumors about you for years. Or, well, I assumed they were about you. Rosanna kept dismissing them, chose to believe all the nobles who said these sightings of a shadowy vigilante in a red cloak who fit your description were just tall tales ¡ª easy to attribute every death and assassination across the land to a bogeyman, especially if it keeps fingers pointed off the nobles.¡±


    I believed I caught most of that barrage. I had to suppress a flinch at his casual mention of Rosanna.


    ¡°But then!¡± Lias gesticulated at me with his ornate pipe, causing smoke to curl in complex shapes with every motion. It seemed to linger in the air rather than evaporating ¡ª probably just the cold. ¡°You showed up at old Harrower¡¯s sendoff, wielding the axe yourself. Word¡¯s spread about that little show, let me tell you. Course, hard to say whether everyone¡¯s more interested in the Red Hood or the Burnt Elf. Poor Maerlys. I saw her last year, briefly. Mad as you like, now.¡±


    ¡°You were there?¡± I asked him. ¡°At Rhan Harrower¡¯s execution?¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± he said, waving a hand so the black vapor scattered before his face. ¡°I have contacts. Spies. I¡¯m a spymaster, now!¡± He grinned and spread his hands out again, displaying himself.


    ¡°When weren¡¯t you?¡± I asked, letting a wry note creep into my voice.


    ¡°Oh, piss off. Fair, though. Well, it¡¯s official nowadays. I am now, officially, the Master of Crows for the Azure Round, Lord of the Mirrors, Chamberlain of the Accorded Realms.¡± He dipped into a courtly bow, which looked odd from his seated position. ¡°Feel free to be very impressed.¡±


    ¡°I would be,¡± I said. ¡°Only, I¡¯d have to be surprised to be impressed. You always did have your sights high, Li.¡±


    That old diminutive shifted something between us, cutting a cord of tension I¡¯d felt and struggled to name. Lias¡¯s eyes crinkled at the corners, and I felt some of my own uneasiness ebb. Not all, though. I had a suspicion I knew where this led.


    ¡°So it really is you?¡± Lias asked. ¡°You¡¯re the Headsman of Seydis, Al?¡±


    I tore my eyes from his, looking off into the woods. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How long?¡± My oldest friend asked.


    ¡°Five years. No, six now.¡± I frowned, thinking back. ¡°I wandered for a time after the war. Got lost.¡±


    Lias seemed to understand the weight of those last two simple words. He didn¡¯t interrupt, a rare boon from him.


    ¡°One day, in late fall ¡ª I remember the air already felt like daggers on my skin ¡ª I stumbled piss drunk into an old shrine. One of those you find on the road sometimes, that travelers pray to. I prayed.¡±


    I turned my head back to meet his eye. ¡°They answered, Lee. The Choir. They told me I¡¯d played a part in breaking everything, but I could do something to fix it too. The land was full of rot, little cancers scattered all over. They gave me this to prune them.¡±


    I placed my hands on the axe. Lias¡¯s eyes went to it. A small frown touched the corners of his mouth.


    ¡°Only,¡± I continued, ¡°it¡¯s hard to believe in it anymore.¡± I tossed the bundle of sticks I¡¯d broken up into the fire.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Lias asked, leaning forward.


    ¡°Evil,¡± I said. ¡°Everyone¡¯s so angry. They hurt people. They hurt themselves. There are tyrants and madmen, and most of them I didn¡¯t feel much guilt cutting. But I don¡¯t feel... righteous. I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m dispensing justice, or making the world gentler. I just feel like I¡¯m putting down sick, angry old chimera too lost in their own pain to know what¡¯s happening to them. I¡¯m tired, Li.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t meant to say it. There¡¯d been a time we¡¯d talked like this, and I guess I just... slipped back. I regretted the words immediately.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said. ¡°Five minutes, and I¡¯m already unloading my baggage on you.¡± I ran a hand through my hair, sighing. ¡°You¡¯re probably not here to reminisce, mighty man you are now.¡±


    Lias gave me a wistful smile. ¡°Afraid not.¡±


    ¡°You here to kill me?¡± I half whispered the words. A log in the fire split, scattering sparks into the air. Not a single wisp or ghost had approached us from the woods ¡ª the Magi scared them off.


    Lias went very still. ¡°Is that what you think?¡± He asked, all emotion draining from his words.


    I shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re an agent for the Accord. I know what I must look like to the lords. A vigilante, or a murderer, or an unsanctioned assassin. They¡¯d speculate, but it all boils down to the same.¡± I flashed my own chill smile. ¡°You and I both know you¡¯re the one they¡¯d send, if they decided to do something about it.¡±


    Rosanna would send Lias if she decided to be rid of me, an iron-cold part of my soul whispered.


    Lias sat up straight, bracing one hand on his knee. He propped the elbow of his right arm on the other knee, so the pipe hung loose in his fingers. There was definitely something wrong with the smoke. It didn¡¯t evaporate, only curled and formed new shapes in the air. I thought I saw a near consistent shape ¡ª something serpentine. It coiled around his arm, his head. Alive.


    I hadn¡¯t taken my hand off the head of my axe, either. I hadn¡¯t yet decided if I¡¯d defend myself.


    ¡°You have changed,¡± Lias finally said. ¡°If you believe Rose would do that.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°She¡¯s a queen. More than that, now. She¡¯s a leader of the Accord, and has nations to look after. It¡¯s exactly what she¡¯d do, and you know it. She¡¯s done it before, with you and me as her hands.¡±


    Lias¡¯s jaw clenched, then unclenched. Finally, spitting a curse he said, ¡°I¡¯m not here for that.¡± After a moment¡¯s pause he added, almost thoughtfully, ¡°You idiot.¡±


    He leaned closer, his hairless chin almost over the flames. ¡°We need you, Alken. Please.¡±


    I looked into his eye a long while. My Alder-blessed eyes could cut through lies and deceptions. I tried to see if he was lying to me. But his green eye remained clear, full of resolute earnestness.


    Even still, I couldn¡¯t be certain. Lias had always been a very, very good liar. I wanted to believe he¡¯d be honest with me, but it had been fifteen years since we¡¯d last worked together as First Sword and Court Mage.


    People change. I¡¯d changed. How much had he? I remembered a scrawny, flighty young man who always had a plot in mind and a deception on his tongue. The confidant, flamboyant magicker in front of me seemed a far cry from that, though I could still see my old friend through all the melodramatic finery.


    Propping my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands I said, ¡°it¡¯s a long road to Reynwell, and... it¡¯s a lot to consider. I have responsibilities. People I¡¯m looking out for.¡± I took a steadying breath. ¡°I might need some time to think it over.¡±


    Thinking it over was the smart play, no matter how much I wanted to go with him right then. Part of me wanted to sullenly send him packing, too, let him feel given up on.


    An unworthy thought. Still, an honest one.


    Lias stared at me a long while, framed in dark smoke like a watchful dragon, his one green eye too bright in the firelight. Then, nodding slowly he said, ¡°is it Them?¡± He gestured toward the sky and the surrounding forest, encompassing everything in that motion. Then, leaning forward with an expression suddenly very intense he said, ¡°I can protect you from the Onsolain, Alken. I¡¯ve become very powerful these past years.¡±


    I felt an involuntary shudder run through me that had nothing to do with the cold. I didn¡¯t much like the almost manic light I saw in my old friend¡¯s eye, as though he were eager to test himself against the Immortals.


    ¡°That¡¯s part of it,¡± I admitted. ¡°But there¡¯s more. I have a ward now. More than that, I¡¯m an excommunicate. Walking into the center of this new Inquisition¡¯s attention seems reckless, and like to cause you more problems rather than solve any.¡±


    Lias leaned back, ran his long fingers over his chin once, then held that same hand up in a gesture of surrender. ¡°I understand.¡±


    He stood then, picking up his staff and gathering up his pack.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go so soon.¡±


    Curse my traitorous mouth. I¡¯d meant to let him leave remembering my silence.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to catch up, old friend.¡± He gave me an apologetic smile. ¡°But you know how it is. I can¡¯t be away long, not these days.¡± He held up a finger. ¡°In any case, I also wanted to give you a warning. These new agents, these inquisitors, they have very little respect for the old order. They won¡¯t care that you once served Tuvon, and they hardly think of the Sidhe as holy. Step lightly, Alken. Times are growing stranger.¡±


    Before he walked off into the night, he paused and looked back. I hadn¡¯t stood yet. ¡°If you do happen to find yourself up north, ask for a nobleman by the name of Yuri of Ilka. It¡¯s one of my pseudonyms. Word will get back to me, and I¡¯ll find you. Take care, Hewer.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Take care, Hexer.¡±


    He smiled, his bright eye glinting with mischief. ¡°I¡¯m a wizard. I can afford to be a bit reckless.¡±


    As he walked into the night, the dark smoke emanating from his pipe grew thicker. It swirled around him, until he was lost in a veil of black vapor. A gust of wind caught the little cloud, and when it blew away the wizard had vanished.


    Gone as suddenly as he¡¯d appeared.


    I sat a while with the fire, thinking. My old friends were in danger. My queen, the woman who¡¯d made me a knight and set me on this journey a lifetime ago, was in danger from a host of enemies. Lias believed I could help them.


    Garihelm was the capital of Reynwell, Markham Forger¡¯s realm, which lay in the north. Talsyn was in the north. The Church and the Accord centered their power in the north.


    The Council of Cael had been in Talsyn within the past year. A new Inquisition spread its shadow across the land with the backing of the theocracy. The Dead were restless, and Rysanthe had been in the north, quelling supernatural predators.


    The Choir had been silent for far too long.


    Powers moved in the world, and I was out of the loop. I felt like a man on a raft out at sea, feeling the distant winds of approaching storms. I¡¯d sat still, my hands idle on the oar, for too long.


    The world changed around me. I could ignore it, accept whatever came, and continue to linger in the Fane until the Onsolain finally gave me a new task. I could continue to do their work dutifully, maybe doing some good where I could. I had my responsibilities, as I¡¯d told Lias. I wasn¡¯t a spy or a master of intrigues. What could I do about these great happenings?


    I¡¯d left that life behind. For good, I¡¯d believed.


    It was dangerous to go, for me and Emma. She¡¯d abandoned the nobility, and House Hunting hadn¡¯t been happy about losing their ticket to greater heights. Lord Brenner had put out a bounty on my head within a week of us leaving Venturmoor, claiming I ¡ª a trickster sorcerer and sellsword ¡ª had kidnapped his young ward. Reynwell was far from Venturmoor, but I still suspected it might circle back around to trouble us one day.


    More than that, traveling in this overlong winter would be foolhardy to the extreme. No telling when it would finally break, but still.


    Emma had told me I was very good at coming up with excuses for not doing what I wanted to do.


    ¡°Maybe she has a point,¡± I said aloud.


    She hadn¡¯t clued in that I didn¡¯t know what I wanted, most times. I longed to go back, to end this long exile. I¡¯d also wanted to spit in Lias¡¯s face. How dare he find me after all this time, only when he needed my help?


    The fire crackled cheerfully in response. I sensed nothing malign in it this night, but I could still remember the voice I¡¯d heard in it weeks before. Soon, it had crooned. So soon.


    Lias hadn¡¯t seemed to linger on my warning about the Council of Cael. He¡¯d even claimed to be able to protect me from the wrath of the Onsolain, implying I could abandon their service ¡ª had he truly grown so strong?


    Or was he just as arrogant and reckless as he¡¯d been when we were younger?


    Whatever the case, a storm gathered around Garihelm, the governing seat of the Accorded Realms. People I still cared about, including a woman I¡¯d once sworn to serve and protect to my dying day, were in that city. Maybe she didn¡¯t want to see me, but she didn¡¯t need to. If her enemies were in the shadows, I could fight them there.


    I stood, letting my red cloak settle to drift along the forest floor beneath me. I paced around the circle once, the faerie cloth trailing behind me until it circled the flame like a slow swirl of blood. I had my axe in my hand, and I studied its mirror-bright edge in the firelight, seeing my own reflection.


    I¡¯d waited years for a cause I didn¡¯t have to question. One had fallen into my lap. Why did I balk?


    Reaching into my collar, I fished out my medallion. My knight¡¯s mark, with the golden aldertree of Seydis ringed in the silver sun of House Silvering.


    Dei had asked me why, when I¡¯d given it to her. What had I said to her?


    As much as I want this to mean something, it¡¯s just noise. I never cared about fighting for a nation, or a code... better you keep hold of it. You can remind me what¡¯s worth fighting for, when I lose my way.


    This is like your heart. You spent your whole life reaching for it. Are you certain you want to give this to me?


    I¡¯m certain.


    How could I have been so stupid? Alken Hewer, the shame of the Table. They¡¯d given me golden eyes to see evil, and I¡¯d let it¡ª


    I clutched the burnt thing in my hand, feeling its torn edges biting at my palm. It would serve as a reminder now. A lesson. I¡¯d never been a dashing knight in shining armor, no noble hero. Just a soldier with a strong arm and a thick head, easy to lead this way and that.


    Well, I had a direction now. I had a war to fight. And long before I¡¯d been either an Alder Knight or a headsman, I had sworn an oath.


    North, then.


    End of Arc Three, Act One

 Arc 3: Chapter 12: Thaw

    Arc 3: Chapter 12: Thaw


    Spring came to Urn like the ending of a long, strange dream.


    I felt it in the stilling of the bitter winds off the heights. I smelled it in the air, in the ghost-scent of budding leaves to come. I heard it in the murmuring dreams of the trees.


    There are times it¡¯s not so bad, being an Alder Knight. The Sidhe gave me the power to hear the land, and it can be a blessing.


    Urn is colder in the south, and warmer in the north. Traveling north felt like chasing the spring, and indeed the fields grew greener as we went, the crawling carpets of snow thinner. The north is also more populated, and soon enough the villages and walled townships became more plentiful, the sight of high white castles reaching for the bowl of the sky the norm rather than a rarity.


    We skirted along the edges of the Bannerlands, keeping to the tall hills along its eastern edges so the fertile fields and crystalline lakes of that country spread out below like a rich tapestry. Then, taking the Pilgrim¡¯s Road straight north, we made way for the coastlands.


    We were three weeks from Oria¡¯s Fane when I caught the scent of the sea on the wind, and felt the sharp anticipation of an approaching storm.


    That spring brought violent storms.


    ***


    The nightmare slipped from behind a tree. Standing ten feet tall, it looked hardly real ¡ª its flesh was a hazy gray, like a frozen blur, its spindly arms hanging almost to the ground. It had too many fingers, a swollen belly like a starved man, and flesh that hugged tight to gnarled bones. When it blinked down at me, it did so with mournful white eyes veiled by stringy gray hair, set in a bald, shriveled head too small for the rest of it.


    Emma went for her sword, but I stopped her with a gesture. My eyes remained on the emaciated thing. It had moved onto the path to block our passage across an ancient bridge of moss-covered stone. The scent of mildew and feces hung heavy in the air.


    The creature let out a rasping moan, staring down at us with a sullen blankness.


    Damn. I hadn¡¯t been this way in years ¡ª was this Widower¡¯s Cross or the Bridge of the Mourning Man? Or did I have those names mixed up?


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay your toll, sentinel.¡± I nodded to the troll, keeping my hands well clear of the axe hanging off my belt ¡ª I¡¯d had to shave the handle down to holster it like that, but I didn¡¯t want to be toting a weapon in hand all the time where we headed.


    Problem was, I couldn¡¯t remember what the toll was, and most bridge trolls absolutely hated being asked. Rubbing at my chin, I shrugged and reached into my pouch, producing three silver coins. I held them out to the towering creature.


    The eld studied the coins a moment. Then, in a disturbingly smooth, painfully slow motion, it reached out with one serpentine limb and plucked them from my hand. It cupped them like a cherished treasure, then slid back into the trees. It kept its profile toward us the entire time, so it had to shuffle sidelong back into its nook. Soon enough, it had vanished into the gloom of the coastal forests.


    ¡°That was disturbing,¡± Emma noted casually, when it had gone.


    ¡°It was scared,¡± I said, beginning to make my way across the bridge. My thoughts were on another troll I¡¯d found butchered the year before. ¡°The Eld aren¡¯t good with fast change, and many of the ones humans find more unsettling are at risk of violence. All it takes is for one angry preoster or reckless noble to point the finger and say there, that monster is the problem, and then you have the torches, the pitchforks.¡±


    I glanced back at my ward. ¡°Their kind lived in this land long before we did. It doesn¡¯t take much effort to be polite.¡±


    Emma frowned, glancing back toward where the troll had vanished. ¡°That thing was scared of us?¡±


    I didn¡¯t blame her for her skepticism ¡ª had I seen the being we¡¯d just encountered as a small child, it probably would have scarred me for life. ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re two well armed travelers. There¡¯s a reason why so many old stories in Urn are about the folly of slaying monsters. I¡¯m certain you¡¯ve heard more than a few. A brave warrior meets something sharp and angry in the forest while traveling or embarking on some quest.¡±


    We crossed over the bridge, stepping back onto the woodland trail. A breeze stirred the trees, making the fresh-budding leaves rustle with a million secretive whispers.


    ¡°The creature¡¯s always been there,¡± I continued as we walked. ¡°It¡¯s part of the land. Maybe it¡¯s not friendly or benign, but the forest, the mountain, the lake ¡ª wherever it is, it belongs to the Eld. Then the warrior appears, and the monster is in the way of whatever he needs. So he kills it.¡±


    I stopped and turned to face my apprentice. ¡°Then his whole life goes to shit.¡±


    Emma considered this with a thoughtful expression, though the twist of her lips told me she felt more than a little of her usual skepticism. ¡°I always just assumed that was hogwash about disturbing the natural order. The monster is an allegory for sovereign rule, by lords or gods, and disturbing the natural order is something the land¡¯s authorities don¡¯t like. Hence, it¡¯s always a problem when the hero does it.¡± She shrugged.Updated chapters at novelhall.com


    I forgot sometimes that Emma had grown up highborn, and had a full breadth of education on history and lore. I¡¯d learned what I had from folk stories as a child, or from personal experience throughout my life.


    ¡°Maybe there¡¯s some of that,¡± I admitted, starting to walk again. ¡°But there¡¯s a practical reason for teaching that sort of thing too. The land¡¯s full of magic, and its older inhabitants have tied themselves deeply to that power. You go around killing them, you end up with curses, spiritual instability, a whole breadth of other problems.¡±


    I sighed, glancing back at the bridge falling further behind us. ¡°Even still, sometimes a band of adventurers or a party of men-at-arms come to the realization that it¡¯s easier to just kill the scary thing in front of them than figure out what it wants. Used to be most folk knew better.¡±


    We walked a ways in silence before Emma suddenly spoke again. ¡°How do you always have money?¡±


    I frowned, taken off guard by the question. ¡°Why do you ask?¡¯


    ¡°Well...¡± she padded up to walk alongside me, adjusting the strap on her pack again. ¡°Every time you need it, you just... pull out some coins. I wasn¡¯t aware you were paid for, you know.¡± She nodded to my axe.


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± I turned my attention back to the road. ¡°I do a lot of traveling. I¡¯m not always lingering at the Fane between tasks. Sometimes a village has a wild chimera problem, or a lord¡¯s son is being ransomed by brigands, or any number of things like that. And I gotta eat.¡± I shrugged. ¡°It adds up.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t say anything for a long while. Finally she said, ¡°Alken... are you quite certain you haven¡¯t chosen the wrong line of work?¡±


    I grunted. ¡°I¡¯m asking myself that same question all the time.¡±


    No point agonizing over it any longer. I¡¯d made my choices. I¡¯d sworn my vows. I ran a thumb along my freshly cleansed ring, my mind bent on what lay at the end of this long road.


    ***


    ¡°It is a good idea,¡± Rysanthe said.


    I blinked, surprised. We stood along the edge of the frozen river beneath the cottage hill, just as we had in the fall before I¡¯d met Emma. Both moons were high, and the air¡¯s sharpest edges seemed to have dulled. A sign of spring finally pushing back, perhaps.


    Several days had passed since I¡¯d spoken to Lias, and I¡¯d made up my mind. Even still, I¡¯d sought my senior Doomsman¡¯s council.


    The drow turned to me, the corners of her violet eyes crinkling in fond amusement. ¡°They will have no trouble finding you when they need you, my friend. If you see evil at work in the cities, and your heart tells you to face it there, then you should go. Only...¡±


    She trailed off.


    Before I could answer another voice said, ¡°Personally, I think it¡¯s hot. To each their own, I guess.¡±


    Emma let out a very girlish yelp, and ¡ª less girlishly ¡ª drew her Carreon sword in a single smooth motion and whistled it through the air so its quivering tip aimed into the shadows, where the voice had originated.


    I sighed. ¡°Hello, Cat.¡±


    The dhampir stepped out of the shadows at the road¡¯s edge ¡ª the source of the eerie presence I¡¯d felt. She had her hands up in surrender, watching my disciple warily. ¡°Whoah there, Ser Alicia, I¡¯m not armed.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t miss Catrin¡¯s too-pale skin or the glint of red in her eyes. ¡°Not with a sword, perhaps. If you¡¯re after my blood, you¡¯ll find it runs very thick.¡±


    Catrin propped a fist on her hip, studying Emma appraisingly through her messy brown locks. She ran her eyes up and down the younger woman, taking in her traveling garments ¡ª somehow, Emma had managed to retailor them to look stylish ¡ª as well as her impressive height and aristocratic features.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re the highborn princess. Got a keen arm on you, little lady, but I can smell your nerves.¡± Catrin flashed her sharp teeth. ¡°They seem a bit frayed.¡±


    Emma¡¯s expression darkened, and she swept her blade down into a low guard, placing her other hand behind her back in a fencer¡¯s stance. ¡°Little?¡± She hissed.


    ¡°Peace,¡± I told her, gesturing for her to put the steel away. Then, looking to Catrin I said, ¡°Enough teasing. What have you got for me?¡±


    Catrin tore her eyes from my ward and flashed me an apologetic smile. ¡°Cities a hive,¡± she said. ¡°People were already braving the snows to get there by the time the thaw came, for the spring fair. There¡¯s also talk of a delegation in from the peninsula, and a new batch of ships from across the Riven.¡±


    She folded her arms. ¡°In essence, Garihelm is near full to bursting. Going to be easy to blend in. That¡¯s the good news.¡±


    I nodded, accepting her implication of bad news. There was always that. ¡°And the Inquisition?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re about. That leads me to the bad news ¡ª the gates got closed a couple weeks back over some commotion behind the walls, left a lot of farmers and merchants to tough it in camp cities outside. The Priorguard ¡ª that¡¯s what they call the heretic hunters, apparently ¡ª have been in the streets and the camps, almost like they¡¯re looking for something.¡±


    Catrin spread her hands out in a nonplussed gesture. ¡°Least, that¡¯s the word I¡¯ve been getting through the Backroad.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°The gates are still closed?¡±


    She nodded, to my dismay. ¡°Only the parties of lords and a few high value merchant types are being let in. Everyone else is being told to wait. Atmosphere outside the walls is getting tense ¡ª apparently the cold killed more than a few people while they were waiting their turn.¡±


    Emma frowned, having sheathed her sword but not her distrustful eyes. ¡°Why would they lock down the city? Is it the Church¡¯s doing?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say for certain,¡± Catrin said, inclining her head to the younger woman. ¡°Word is there¡¯s some big meeting of the Accord taking place soon, so there are a lot of high and mighty types inside the walls right now. Whatever the case, it¡¯s got everyone in a stir. There are nobles and merchants clamoring for the city to reopen, but orders came down from someone near the top of the food chain to keep the city under quarantine. Some folks are even starting to toss around words like plague.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t think of much else which might lead to the city being locked down. Even still, Lias would have mentioned something like that, certainly.


    It had been almost a month since I¡¯d seen Lias. A sickness could have started in that time and spread to catastrophic levels. I had a hunch it was something else, though.


    Catrin didn¡¯t miss my pensive look. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, big man?¡±


    Both women turned their eyes to me. I shook my head, unable to make a certain guess with what I had to go on. ¡°I found out recently there¡¯s been violence in the city,¡± I said. ¡°A series of killings. You heard anything about that?¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the Carmine Killings.¡±


    ¡°You know about them?¡± I asked.


    Nodding, the changeling explained. ¡°Been going on near a year now. Started out as a few mid-profile deaths ¡ª a group connected to the cities restoration, including some architect. It caused a stir, but then things settled down for a few months.¡±


    She leaned forward, just as she might if we were sitting across from one another at a table in her inn. ¡°Then it started up again. Almost all the victims were members of the Renaissance. You heard of it? Big movement of scholars and artist types that¡¯s all the rage in the northlands these days. Had its start in the continent, in Bantes I think.¡±


    I took that in, considering. Had there been another string of killings? Had the Church or the Emperor, the only two powers in the city I could think of with the authority to place it under martial law, decided to take action?


    ¡°I need to get in there,¡± I said. ¡°What else can you tell me?¡±


    Catrin shrugged and winced apologetically. ¡°Not much, big man. Only this ¡ª my kind are scared. Changelings, feykin, mongrels, whatever you want to call us. I¡¯ve got friends in the city, mostly those who blend in easier with humans, and they¡¯re all terrified the heretic hunters are going to root them out.¡± She shook her head and pressed her lips tight. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from anyone in the walls since several weeks back.¡±


    We¡¯d discussed it before, when I¡¯d visited the Backroad not long after my talk with Lias. Still, Catrin seemed more nervous now than she had then.


    ¡°Can you help us get in?¡± I asked her.


    Catrin nodded, smiling a wicked smile as her brief show of worry vanished behind her familiar mask of easy confidence. ¡°I can, but you¡¯re not going to like it.¡±


    She stepped close to me, lowering her voice so Emma couldn¡¯t hear.


    ¡°Karog¡¯s getting impatient, Al. I¡¯m not certain I can keep him from going rogue much longer.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Is he in the city?¡±


    ¡°Just as we discussed,¡± she confirmed. Then, rapping her knuckles on the steel links of my hauberk just over my chest she added, ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it more later. Time¡¯s wasting. You still sure about this?¡±


    I nodded. We¡¯d already talked about it, even if I knew I hadn¡¯t adequately explained my reasonings to her. ¡°I am.¡±


    She nodded, serious for once. ¡°Then lets get you in there.¡± She turned and beckoned to us, lifting her voice into a more theatrical tenure. ¡°Come along then, brave heroes.¡±


    So it was we followed the vampire into the mist, knowing the moons would soon rise high over our destination ¡ª a city full of secrets, fear, and a legion of hidden dangers.

 Map of the Alderes #2

    Map of the Alderes #2


    The Alderes


    The Known World, Aeterel''s Kiln, The Veiled Havens, Fendurin''s Harbor. The world of Oathbreaker goes by many names, and much of it remains shrouded in ancient myth. A deeply supernatural place, phantasm and old wounds are as real in these mist-shrouded shores as the wind and mountains. The dead do not rest easy, and powerful immortals plot and wage strange wars behind a tapestry of mortal realms.


    It is said the Elden Ones, known by many other names, dwelt first in these lands. Their lords and elders were hungering demigods, whose names and cults are still known to some. Mankind came later on silver ships, spreading across the world to build many fair realms, and they worshipped distant, cold gods from faraway shores who they called Onsolain. The meetings between Man and Fae, Kin and Kith, were not always bloodless, but over many ages an equilibrium was found.Th.e? most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m


    That is, until an exiled goddess stepped foot upon the lands, and all was thrown into a gilt disorder.


    The Alderes is divided into a number of regions, each of which contains its own history and powers.


    Edea is the Great West, the Ancestral Land, and the Long Decay. A large continent spread across much of the known world, it is here that Aureia, God-Queen of the Onsolain, battled the aged Cambion for dominion over the world. After many years of battle, She would take those spirits loyal to Her, and the hosts of faithful kings, into the east to fashion a new bastion.


    Lost Hithlaean shall not be spoken of, for the Onsolain have forbidden it. Only know that it lies far in the north, beyond the Sea of Fangs.


    The Church is made up of Preosters, who run churches and preach to the masses, or act as pilgrim healers, and Clericons, the scholar-scribes and doctrine writers for the religion. All answer to the Clericon College, a council of the highest ranking priests.


    The priesthood is also responsible for selecting a great lord as Emperor, an office which is also ultimately subject to the theocracy.


    The Recusants are traitorous elements, which include some great lords across the subcontinent, who have rejected the edicts of the Aureate Church. While there have always been ambitious nobles who have sought to expand their own personal power in the land, these hostile alliances began to properly form about a century ago, following a bloody period of dwindling faith and misery known as Lyda''s Plague. A brutal inquisition and corruption in the Church caused many to lose faith in the theocracy, if not necessarily the divine powers from which it sprung, which included some members of the Church itself. Despite scattered wars across the decades, the Recusant factions have always been divided in their motives and purposes, with some simply seeking reform, and others having more selfish ambitions. It was only during the Fall of Seydis and the Great Urnic War that followed when the Recusant Lords became a properly united power.


    The Briar are a collective of wicked elves and other dark beings. Once, these elements were scattered and cowed by the God-Queen, left to sullenly lurk in the shadow of Her golden realm. However, after forging an alliance with the renegade onsolain known as Nath, one of Aureia''s own handmaidens, the Briar became a threat to all the land. Though elements of this dark realm are spread all across Urn, its power is concentrated in Briarland, once a mortal kingdom now fallen into bleak phantasm. The champions of this fell dominion are the Brothers of the Briar, many of whom are great champions of human kingdoms lost to madness. Most of the Brothers were slain during the Fall, though this seems to have had little bearing on Bloody Nath''s tangled schemes.


    The Crowfriars are an ancient order, long barred from Urn. They have recently been allowed back, largely due to the edicts of the new emperor, who was unaware how his edicts would effect supernatural laws. Each of the gray-robed monks are servants of Orkael, an extraplanar realm sometimes known as the Iron Hell, which is ruled by infernal spirits called the Zosite. Their motives and goals are mysterious, though they seem to be attempting to curry debt and favors in the land.


    The Magi are a loose collective of powerful arcanists. Once, this order helped found the Urnic Church and were faithful servants to the God-Queen. However, over time the unity of the wizards has floundered, with many going their own paths, serving lords of their choosing or indulging in their own ambitions. The most infamous of them is Reynard, whose madness has wounded the very fabric of the world.


    The Edaean Guilds are powerful factions from the continent, particularly from the country known as Bantes. While Urn has long shut out the west, human societies have continued to grow and evolve there. Without the benefit of Onsolain blessings, invention and alchemy have come to dominate in the eastern regions of Edaea. The Guilds have made their fortunes on new breeds of chimera, preternaturally potent metals, engines of war, medicines, and even long forbidden arts such as the creation of Marions.

 Arc 3: Chapter 13: Motives

    Arc 3: Chapter 13: Motives


    Several Weeks Earlier


    The year¡¯s last proper snowfall crunched under my boots. I spotted a lantern hung from the lowest branch of a dead tree ahead. Approaching, the half-dead hiding in the tree¡¯s shadow slipped from her cover.


    ¡°Tusks should be here soon,¡± Catrin told me. ¡°We have a large batch of special guests at the inn, so he¡¯s on a long shift. Me too, so we¡¯ll need to make this quick.¡±


    Karog made little noise when he arrived. The deepening dusk seemed to prickle with hostility all the sudden, then a shadow strode forth from down the road at a steady pace. The ogre¡¯s red-rimmed yellow eyes blinked sullenly from the gloom. He growled at me, low and threatening, then squatted down in the middle of the woodland road to rest on his knuckles.


    He¡¯d changed his outfit ¡ª he¡¯d discarded the ragged cloak and the belt of skulls, now wearing an oversized leather jacket that barely fit him and a baggy pair of trousers sewn from enough cloth to get an entire village through winter. It hardly made him look less threatening ¡ª that was all him, regardless of what he wore.


    ¡°The winter is ending,¡± the mercenary rumbled, ¡°yet the trail grows colder every day.¡± He swiped a hand before him, cutting the air audibly. ¡°Enough waiting. We decide what is to be done tonight.¡±


    ¡°To business then?¡± Catrin piped in.


    I nodded. ¡°I agree. First of all, you two have been the ones listening to the rumor mill. What have you learned?¡±


    ¡°Lots of stuff,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Not certain any of it¡¯s useful, though. I think Tusks is the one who¡¯s got something for you, Al.¡±


    I turned to the ogre. His permanently angry eyes went to Cat. ¡°One of your fellow whores visited me in my room,¡± Karog rumbled.


    I bristled, but the dhampir seemed not to take offense. ¡°Hessa?¡± She asked, after a moment of thought.


    The mercenary shrugged his hillock shoulders, to show how little interest he had in remembering such things. ¡°A scrawny creature, with short yellow hair and a nervous titter. She annoyed me.¡±


    ¡°Joy,¡± Catrin spat. ¡°That bitch. What did she say?¡±


    ¡°She delivered a message,¡± Karog said. ¡°From whom, she would not say, but she told me a gathering will soon take place. One in which a warrior of my caliber may find great reward.¡± He snorted. ¡°She was very enamored with stroking my ego.¡±


    ¡°I bet that¡¯s not the only thing she was looking to stroke,¡± Catrin muttered, snickering. ¡°You sleep with her?¡±


    Karog and I both mirrored one another in our expressions of disgust. The ogre let out a rumbling growl. ¡°She annoyed me. And she is likely a messenger for our enemies, besides.¡±


    Cat shrugged, unconcerned. ¡°I dunno, that can be fun sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Cat,¡± I said. ¡°Focus.¡±


    ¡°Right, right. Sorry.¡± She flashed me an apologetic smile. ¡°So, where¡¯s this mysterious gathering supposed to take place?¡± She sidled to a tree near the edge of the road and leaned against it, folding her arms.


    ¡°In the north,¡± Karog said. ¡°In a city called Garihelm.¡±


    He paused then, glancing between me and the dhampir as we both traded knowing gazes. ¡°What?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Looks like your hunch was right,¡± Catrin said to me.


    ¡°It¡¯s the throne city of Urn¡¯s emperor,¡± I explained to Karog. ¡°One of the largest and most populated cities in the world, and definitely the biggest here in the subcontinent. I¡¯ve learned recently that there are various factions and intrigues at work behind its walls.¡±


    ¡°And you believe one of them might be the Council?¡± Karog asked, leaning forward with interest.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s a hunch, anyway. You both remember that ghoul commander, Issachar?¡± When they nodded, I continued. ¡°The Mistwalkers are an Edaean legion. The Edaean Guilds are one of the major groups in the northern cities lately. I don¡¯t have any hard evidence, but I believe the Council of Cael might have continental interests behind it.¡±


    The Guilds. The Crowfriars. Orson Falconer¡¯s allies. The Inquisition. Plots in the Capital, all circling around like sharks in bloodied water. I didn¡¯t know how it all connected, but I felt certain it all did, somehow.


    A thought struck me and I turned to Karog. ¡°How did you get involved with Orson?¡±


    ¡°Through Issachar,¡± the mercenary admitted, looking troubled. ¡°We had fought together ¡ª and against one another ¡ª many times. He told me of opportunity in the subcontinent, and his own contacts gave me handsome compensation to make the journey.¡±


    I folded my arms, swallowing the rush of excitement sparking to life in my chest ¡ª the sense of validation in being right.


    ¡°What else did Joy say to you?¡± Catrin asked the ogre.


    ¡°Only to travel to this city,¡± Karog said. ¡°She told me I would be contacted when I arrived.¡±


    Catrin met my eyes. ¡°You sure it¡¯s them?¡± She asked. ¡°The Council?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, rubbing at my chin. ¡°Maybe not. You think you can get anything from Joy?¡±


    Cat grimaced. ¡°Doubt it. She¡¯s a slippery one, and I don¡¯t want to give away we¡¯re on to her. She might make a mistake, slip up. I¡¯ll watch her, don¡¯t you worry. Might at least figure out who she was speaking for. A lot of the other girls do work under or around the Keeper¡¯s attention, and he lets them. Canny old fiend knows he¡¯ll outlast everyone, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Including you?¡± Karog spread his scarred lips in a savage grin to bare his yellowed teeth. ¡°Does he know of your disloyalty, little leech?¡±


    Catrin returned his gaze without a hint of fear or apology. ¡°I¡¯ve never made a secret where my loyalties lie,¡± she said in a low voice. ¡°I do what I think is right, and I stand by my friends. That¡¯s him.¡± She nodded at me. ¡°Could be you too, Tusks. I know you¡¯re not just in this for the coin.¡±


    Karog lifted his chin, affronted. ¡°I have no need of friends. Our acquaintance is for mutual gain. Once our enemies lie in the mud, we shall part ways.¡±


    Cat shrugged, her face becoming remote. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    Karog let out a bullish snort, then turned his candleflame glare on me. ¡°I shall go north, to this great city. I will see if the fools who tried to cheat and discard me are there. If they are, I will kill them. What will you do?¡±


    Both sets of not-quite-human eyes turned to me. ¡°I¡¯m going north,¡± I said. ¡°To Garihelm. I¡¯ll get to the bottom of what¡¯s happening there. If the Council is part of it, I¡¯ll have their heads.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Your angels finally getting involved, big man?¡±


    I hesitated, and Karog let out a hacking laugh. ¡°No!¡± he chortled, a disorienting sound from the normally terse behemoth. ¡°I can see it on his face. This is all him ¡ª is the loyal dog slipping his leash?¡±


    Ignoring the mercenary I looked at Catrin and said, ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from the Choir in many weeks.¡±


    She sighed, all the excitement deflating out of her. ¡°So they might call you away, and then it¡¯s another cut thread.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like the disappointment I saw in her eyes. I opened my mouth to say something ¡ª but what could I say? She was right.


    Snorting in contempt, Karog turned back the way he¡¯d come. ¡°It matters not to me if the assassin¡¯s leash is tugged. I have a den to chase my quarry to ¡ª that is enough.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t honestly expect to waltz into Urn¡¯s greatest fortress-city and start slaughtering,¡± I said to him, letting my own tongue drip a bit of mockery. ¡°They¡¯ll go underground before you¡¯re within ten miles and laugh while the guard cut you to pieces.¡±


    Karog glowered at me, and for a moment I thought he meant violence ¡ª hard to tell, since he always looked ready for violence. ¡°Do you have another suggestion?¡± He growled.


    I thought a moment, then nodded. ¡°Go to Garihelm ahead of me. Let these people contact you. If they¡¯re who we¡¯re looking for, we can take them out together. If not, then maybe they have information. It¡¯s worth investigating, anyway.¡±


    Karog considered, then nodded. ¡°A sound plan. However, if I have my chance, I shall not wait on you.¡±


    He stalked off then. Catrin shifted to stand at my side, looking skeptical. ¡°You just going to let him walk off on his own?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust him,¡± I said. ¡°Not to watch my back, and definitely to not stick a blade into it. Besides...¡±


    She nudged me with an elbow. ¡°No mysterious silences, big man. What¡¯re you thinking?¡±


    I glanced at her, unsure how she¡¯d react. ¡°I¡¯m not just going to chase down the Council,¡± I admitted. ¡°I have... people I know in the city. Old comrades. They might be in danger from all this conspiracy, and I just...¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve been hiding in the wild too long. And I don¡¯t want him near the people I¡¯m trying to protect.¡± I nodded after the departed killer.


    I didn¡¯t look at Catrin¡¯s face. Would she be frustrated at my mixed motives, like Karog? Would she want to know my secrets?


    ¡°I get it,¡± she said. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not just helping you out here because of Caelfall. I¡¯ve heard things are getting bad in the capital, and I¡¯ve got people I know there. Friends.¡± She shrugged, though I sensed her neutral expression had a touch too much control in it.


    It relieved me to know we had similar motives. Even still, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling I didn¡¯t have as much information as I needed, or anything even close to a real plan.


    I¡¯d never been a schemer. My only advantage, I hoped, was that I could be the wild card.


    ***


    Spring, At Last


    I¡¯d only ever been to Garihelm, one of the oldest and proudest cities in all of Urn, once. The last time I¡¯d seen it, it had been aflame.


    Seeing it from the ring of hills surrounding the coastal plain stretching beyond the city walls, I couldn¡¯t help but remember those nights of siege. Though I knew the city had recovered, even thrived under Markham Forger¡¯s rule, I couldn¡¯t help but feel like I beheld a silent corpse as I peered down across the plain.


    Built within the shelter of high cliffs in a bay of the Riven Sea, the moonlight shone on the fortress-city to cast it all in shades of black and silver. The night was clear, but the dense fog rolling in from the bay filled the streets, so the grand basilicas, bastion towers, and rows of manor houses seemed to rise up from a murky lake of quicksilver cloud. The Living Moon blazed full in the sky, and the fog caught its glow so the capital, and the scattered townships beyond its limits, shone beneath the sky.


    ¡°Pretty,¡± Catrin noted.


    I nodded, trying to settle the surreal tapestry before me with the flame-lit hell in my memory.


    Descending down into the fog, we had to rely on Catrin to guide us through the brume. Even my Alder-blessed eyes are not infallible. I can see through darkness, but not through smoke or mist. The dhampir changed in a way that unsettled me as we sank into the fog, her movements becoming more lithe and smooth, her form wisping into something half-real.


    She was in her element. Even still, I trusted her. I don¡¯t trust easy, but she¡¯d had her opportunities to betray me in the past and had remained constant. She¡¯d respected my boundaries, when I¡¯d established them. That was enough.


    Emma, however, kept her hand close to her sword. She wore a long coat to help conceal the finely wrought saber, her bright yellow scarf helping draw attention from it, but I didn¡¯t miss her wary eyes as they tracked our guide through the mist.


    ¡°Are you two rutting up there, or something?¡± Emma¡¯s voice called up wraithlike and hollow from the depths of the tunnel. ¡°It¡¯s dark down here, and I don¡¯t have the benefit of night vision like you two.¡±


    I nodded to Cat. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She was staring dreamily at the blood on her nails. ¡°Hm? Oh, yes.¡± She started looking around, still holding the hand up as though trying to find something to clean it with.


    I sighed. ¡°Go ahead. Not like I can put it back.¡±


    Catrin smiled guiltily. As I began descending down the ladder, I could hear her licking my blood off her fingers.


    ***


    Catrin led us through a maze of tunnels. Some were old crypts, while others had clearly been added for the smuggling operations Cat had mentioned.


    They¡¯d have to be very brave, or very desperate, those smugglers. While the surface was just above our heads, realms untouched by daylight belong to the Dead.


    We lit a lantern, mostly for Emma¡¯s benefit, and spent many hours navigating the winding tunnels. After a time, I noticed the passages of rough-dug stone became less frequent, replaced more consistently by masonry of increasingly complex design. When we passed into a larger hall lined in pilasters, the arched ceiling rising high above our heads, I felt like we must be beneath the city.


    ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Catrin nodded to the walls. I saw regularly placed depressions between the ridged supports, each of which contained an unlit sconce fashioned into the shape of a wizened, sleeping face. When lit, I imagined those ancient faces would waken with shining eyes and fiery hair.


    ¡°It looks ancient,¡± Emma said, running her lantern¡¯s beam over the architecture.


    ¡°It is,¡± the changeling said, pacing ahead of us. ¡°Built by the folk who lived here before the God-Queen brought Her armies over from the west. There are more ruins beneath us. They go deep underground. All the way to Draubard, I¡¯ve heard, but I doubt anyone alive has seen the bottom, so who knows?¡±


    Emma frowned down at the floor, and placed her hand on the pommel of her sword as though expecting rotten, gnashing teeth to burst from the stone at any moment.


    ¡°There are undead down here,¡± Catrin added, reaching the end of the hall. There was a doorless portal surrounded by two statues, both depicting archaic warriors clad in conical helms. ¡°Not as good looking as me, either. Rabid ghouls, mostly. They dig up into the cities crypts to eat cadavers. I¡¯ve seen ghosts down here, too. Sewer trolls. Worse things.¡±


    She glanced at me, her tone growing serious. ¡°Keep close. You get lost in these halls, even I might not be able to find you again. I can¡¯t swim in the shadows down here ¡ª they¡¯re too loud.¡±


    I nodded, swallowing that unsettling statement. Then, frowning I said, ¡°this is a dead end.¡±


    Indeed, the recess between the statues went about five feet before ending at a flat wall. I saw no other way forward, and no halls branching off from the one we stood in.


    Catrin grinned. ¡°Lucky you have me here. This old girl has some tricks, just you watch.¡±


    She sidled up to the wall and rapped her knuckles against three stones in sequence. She frowned, then did it again. She adjusted her position, then did it again, rapping a different stone on the third tap.


    ¡°Hm.¡± She threw me a nervous look. ¡°It¡¯s been a while... ah!¡±


    She went over to one of the statues, grabbed the spear in its hand, and twisted it. I heard something shift in the walls with a subtle thud. Then, moving back to the dead end, Catrin rapped the stones again. This time, I could hear gears audibly grind, and the wall began to slide away. It stopped after about two feet, revealing a thin passageway leading further in.


    It looked barely large enough for someone my size to fit through while moving sideways. I pressed my lips together.


    Frowning, Catrin tried pushing at the wall. It wouldn¡¯t budge. ¡°Fucking thing,¡± she spat. ¡°Ancient civilization, and they can¡¯t even build their trap walls right. Pissants. Buggers!¡±


    She gave it one last push, then stopped to catch her breath. Shaking her head she said, ¡°Guess we¡¯ll have to make do. I think we can fit one at a time.¡±


    I nodded, then started to go forward first. Emma grabbed my wrist, stopping me.


    ¡°If there¡¯s any trouble ahead,¡± she said, drawing her Carreon sword, ¡°my weapon¡¯s better for it than your axe in these tight quarters. Best let me take the lead, eh?¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait for my permission, sliding sidelong into the passage with her slender sword held out in front of her. She had barely enough room to maneuver, and I was reminded of certain sword masters who¡¯d train to fence while standing on narrow beams.


    ¡°Be careful,¡± I said. ¡°And don¡¯t drop the light.¡±


    ¡°Noted!¡± Emma said, already a ways in. She¡¯d buckled the lantern onto her belt, so it faced down the tunnel. Smart girl.


    ¡°I like her,¡± Catrin said, when Emma had gone too far to hear. ¡°She¡¯s got spunk.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°That what you want to call it?¡± I started forward again, but Catrin stopped me.


    ¡°Best you bring up the rear,¡± she said. ¡°Ladies first, and all that. Weren¡¯t you a knight, or something?¡±


    I sighed and gestured impatiently for her to go. She made a point of brushing her body along mine as she slid into the passage. I couldn¡¯t really feel it through my armor, but I felt heat rising up my neck anyway.


    I¡¯d gotten used to the changeling¡¯s forwardness, for the most part, but my thoughts lingered on her behavior anyway. After how intimate things had become the last time I¡¯d spent a night at her inn, I¡¯d been thinking about it a lot. About her.


    I hadn¡¯t had a woman¡¯s face linger in my thoughts in a long time, not since Dei. Sometimes I wondered if I¡¯d even see Cat¡¯s face in my dreams, if I let myself sleep without my ring. Would that be so bad? Would we be so bad?


    I knew much of her own attraction was due to my blood. She craved it with a fervor I couldn¡¯t truly understand. I didn¡¯t think it was all that, though.


    I wouldn¡¯t mind if it was you, she¡¯d said. How did I take that? Did she care for me? Or did she just not mind being intimate, since intimacy was an everyday part of her life?


    Could I accept that? Could I be... what, a friend who slept with her sometimes? I didn¡¯t much like the idea. Not that she¡¯d be with others, but that we wouldn¡¯t be more than that.


    Overthinking things, again. I knew one thing ¡ª I did like her. I was attracted to her. Maybe, with time, I might even love her. She might even help heal some of the wounds in me.


    But I couldn¡¯t afford those kinds of distractions. I¡¯d sworn oaths, and had battles to fight. There would be no picket fences and green fields full of laughing children for me, not ever.


    I didn¡¯t deserve them.


    We made it to the far end of the narrow gap, much to my relief. I¡¯d spent the entire time terrified the walls would merge again, crushing us flat between them. I¡¯d never liked being underground, or in tight spaces. I preferred the open sky.


    Catrin went ahead of us again, taking a minute to sniff the air. Letting out a sigh of relief, she jerked her chin toward a set of stairs ahead. ¡°I don¡¯t smell anything, so we¡¯re probably safe. This stairway ahead leads out into one of the old church districts. Last I was here, the chapel it connected to was abandoned.¡±


    Which meant it might not be anymore. ¡°Does it go into their crypt?¡± I asked.


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Didn¡¯t have any moaners last time. Just old bones. Still, I hear the cities had a lot of construction since the war. Best be on guard. Go up this way until you find a spiral stair, then there¡¯s going to be a dead end in the hall at the top. Some of the stones on the ceiling are loose.¡±


    Emma frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not coming with us?¡±


    Catrin smiled at the younger woman, holding up both hands in a shrug. ¡°With an inquisition in full swing, and the city locked down? No way. I¡¯m just here so this lug didn¡¯t try breaking the gates down.¡± She jabbed a thumb at me.


    I saw the distrust in my squires eyes. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I said. ¡°We discussed this beforehand.¡± I nodded to the stairs. ¡°Time to go.¡±


    Before I followed Emma up, I turned to Catrin. She caught my eye and quirked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said. ¡°If I can do anything to repay you¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± she said, taking me aback. She saw my surprised expression and let out a throaty laugh. ¡°Oh, you were expecting me to be all it¡¯s really no bother, or something like that, weren¡¯t you? Well, it is a bother. I know the Backroad can appear anywhere, but I went out of my way for this! Keeper¡¯s going to lecture me for skipping work.¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°Then...¡±


    Her jesting demeanor turned serious. ¡°If you meet any of my kind in the city ¡ª you know what I mean ¡ª and they seem like they could use help, then help them. You don¡¯t need to go out of your way for it or anything, or sacrifice your other obligations, but do a good turn for the Hidden Folk, alright? We might not all be wise and fair like your pretty elves, but we¡¯ve had it hard enough.¡±


    She turned sideways and jabbed a finger into my chest. ¡°And don¡¯t die. You hear? I¡¯ve gotten fond of you, big man.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll try to keep my head. And, if I meet any changelings in the city, I¡¯ll try not to make their lives worse. It¡¯s the most I can do.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll get a message to Karog, let him know you¡¯re about. You two try to play nice. I¡¯ve gotten to know him a bit better while he was working in the Backroad. You two have a lot in common.¡±


    I must have looked skeptical, because she grinned. ¡°Oh,¡± she added. ¡°And there¡¯s one more thing.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Once this is all done, I want you to take me out on the town. We¡¯ll eat somewhere nice, maybe take a boat on the canals. I¡¯ve always wanted to try that.¡±


    She grabbed the front of my cloak, pulled me down, and planted a kiss on the side of my mouth, then said what she did next into my ear. ¡°That¡¯s the sort of thing you¡¯re lookin¡¯ for, yeah? Get to know me before we get to the point? I¡¯m willing, if you are.¡±


    I blinked, utterly taken off guard. ¡°How did¡ª¡±


    ¡°I can hear some of your thoughts when your blood is in me,¡± she said, her tone apologetic. ¡°Not something I can really help. I wanted to give you space, but I¡¯m not really a patient person, and I do like you, Alken. So let¡¯s do something that doesn¡¯t involve plots and kingdoms, alright? Just be normal for a while.¡±


    She pushed off me then, spun in place, and pointed with her thumb at Emma. My squire had been standing near the stairs, watching us with a bemused expression. ¡°You keep him alive, hear? Otherwise I¡¯ll never get that canal ride.¡±


    Emma shrugged and rested her sword on one shoulder. ¡°No promises. He¡¯s so lost in his own head half the time, he might just walk off a building when I¡¯m not looking.¡±


    Catrin laughed. ¡°I do like her.¡± Then she turned, gave a casual wave over one shoulder, and walked off down the tunnels.


    ¡°Did she just ask me on a date?¡± I said aloud, frowning. I reached up and touched the tips of my fingers to the corner of my mouth, where she¡¯d kissed me.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Emma said. ¡°But let¡¯s focus on not getting thrown into an Inquisition torture room for now.¡± She turned and muttered something under her breath. I couldn¡¯t be certain, but I swear it sounded like ¡°I knew it.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 14: The Floating City

    Arc 3: Chapter 14: The Floating City


    Garihelm is sometimes called the Floating City. It¡¯s easy to see why, once you¡¯re in its streets.


    Built at the edge of a floodplain on a series of islands hugging the mouth of a great river where it empties into the bay, much of the city rises directly over the water. Great thoroughfares and bridges span those depths, and the whole of it is made up of stacked layers ¡ª streets rising over streets, homes built within the shadow of high cathedrals and trade avenues. Walking within the walls, it all seems to tower over you, even as it drops into uncertain depths beneath, into a swallowing fog.


    Reynwell is a temperate land, with mountains on its southern border and many lakes and rivers. Garihelm, set in the kingdom¡¯s north, enjoys a climate which keeps it in a near constant veil. Soft haze coils above the canals and lower streets so the higher parts of the city seem to rise up out of thin clouds.


    It is an old place. On every street there are weathered statues. Garden districts and temple streets seem to hover locked in time, centuries old masonry doggedly weathering the damp environs.


    When I¡¯d been here last, the streets had been filled with flame and death. Towers and churches had been blasted by siege engines, and knights on sharp, deadly chimera had hunted the avenues like Death¡¯s own riders.


    I felt a stranger to it now. Instead of soldiers, merchants and traders from faraway lands filled the rows. The streets were crowded despite the bad weather. Garihelm is larger and more neatly planned than Vinhithe, its avenues wide and diligently maintained. The city had expanded since the war, new buildings erected to replace those burned or shattered by the Traitor Lords, the city rising up where the floodplains prevented it from expanding out.


    Shops, manors, and stone basilica dominated the main thoroughfare where I remembered taverns and stables being, making the city look not only renewed but larger, its heights oppressing the streets below. Everywhere I could hear the sound of hammers, as the city literally grew around me with new expansions.


    More than once, Emma and I had to clear the road to allow carriages or retinues of liveried knights pass, most of them heading toward the royal palace far away across the city, which I caught glimpses of here and there through gaps in the buildings, a towering edifice rising up from its own lonely island in the bay.


    There were beggars on the streets, many of them refugees from some famine or outbreak of violence in a distant province of the Accorded Realms, entire families huddled in alleys beneath blankets and ragged cloaks to stare hollow eyed at the luckier souls passing them by.


    I didn¡¯t only see signs of despair and poverty, though. There were puppetmen and jugglers, troubadours and bards using shelter provided by building overhangs or one of the tall trees grown along the plazas to protect their instruments. Merchants hawked their wares, and proselytizers shouted from stacked boxes or makeshift stages. Poets and philosophers, who often resembled one another, debated for the entertainment of crowds, shouting at times to be heard over the echoing din of the city, the occasional rumbles of thunder punctuating clever rejoinders and bursts of emotion.


    Chimeras glowered at the throng from the interiors of iron cages. I saw many varieties I had never seen before, often accompanied by handlers in strange garb carrying strange weapons, and I knew many of them must be from the continent.


    Strange, how I felt so invisible in that human-made chaos. In the wilderness, in the rolling hills, endless forests, and labyrinthine mountain passes of the world I could feel complete in myself, singular, empowered by that vastness of space and voiceless memory. But in that city, surrounded by countless eyes and voices, I felt more alone and more forgotten than ever before. I felt I could be swallowed by those crowds, vanish into them like an ant into a sinkhole, and not a one would turn their head or alter their own course.


    That, too, was a comfort in its way, the feeling that my actions and failures wouldn¡¯t hurt the world so badly.


    I swallowed that cowardly thought, and glided through the crowds.


    ***


    ¡°Make way! Make way!¡±


    Emma and I moved out of the street along with near three hundred other people. Rain drummed against the roofs above, descending down to collect in the tilted bowels held by stone seraphs to fall into waiting channels along the street side. My ward and I ducked into the shelter of one of those overhangs, scattered waterfalls separating us from the avenue.


    A horn sounded in the distance, and then another. I heard the rumbling gears of an enormous gate shifting, felt the stones beneath my feet subtly shudder, the sensation very similar to the thunder high up in the clouds.


    The sound of iron-shod claws and tinkling bells drew our attention. Mounted figures moved down the wide street, one of the central ones near the main gates.


    Knights.


    They cast a striking image. They held no House banner I recognized, and I took them to be glorysworn. The lesser sons and daughters of great nobles seeking fame and fortune, which they would one day offer to the families they sought to rejoin.


    These were Urnic knights, through and through. They wore long coats of chainmail reinforced by bronzed steel, brightly dyed surcoats, and decorative motifs of leaf and vine wrought from more precious metals. Their leader wore a glittering coat of scale armor beneath lighter plate, his helm crowned with twining branches wrought of brass.


    He wore a long cloak colored in autumn hues, that Glorysworn rider, and had a ruby ring upon his right hand. He bore a winged spear, held tall and proud in the rain, the subtle impression of Phantasm shining off it like pale sunlight off a mirror.


    I heard a name shouted through the throng. ¡°Make way! Make way for the Spear of Ekarleon! Make way for Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight!¡±


    As the retinue passed, I caught a good look at Ser Jocelyn. Beneath the raised visor of his helm he was surprisingly young. His eyes were locked forward, his hand light on the reins of his mount. He rode a chimera bred and born of Urnic stock, not some western alchemy, its form very close to the traditional horse. It had a long, elegant head, leathery green hide, and pale green-white fur running from its skull to the tip of its sinuous tail, which whipped arcs of rainwater with every rhythmic swipe. Powerful legs tipped in hooves strong enough to crack plate struck the street, the sound echoing over the rooftops.


    The rest of the Ironleaf Knight¡¯s retinue rode reptilian beasts as well, though the others all seemed to come from a different stock, and had little of the destrier in them. Salamanders, with burnt-colored scales and wide, strong jaws, webbed ridges protruding from their decorative tack.


    At my side, Emma watched the procession with very intense eyes. She so resembled a hawk, in those moments, her amber irises nearly vanishing as her pupils expanded ¡ª many noble families have something of the chimera in them as well, ancient alchemy worked into their blood in times of old. She had very sharp vision, and took in every detail on that rain-logged street.


    Emma Orley looked at a future she longed for. I looked at a past I¡¯d tried to forsake.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said. ¡°Daylight¡¯s wasting.¡±


    Turning, I ducked into an alley. Emma followed me, and the sound of the procession quickly muted as we put stone behind us.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Emma asked me, checking the sword under her coat. She¡¯d been doing that a lot. She paused to run a hand through her dark hair, cut boyishly short during our winter in the Fane, flicking water from it. ¡°Are you going to meet this mercenary you¡¯ve mentioned?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said. Before she could get annoyed with my vagueness I added, ¡°I don¡¯t know where Karog is. Catrin is supposed to get a message to him.¡±


    I had no idea how she planned that, if she weren¡¯t willing to enter the city. Perhaps she intended to swim through the shadows from a route beside the haunted undercity, or call in a favor with one of her colleagues or customers. Having a spy as an ally is very useful, but it can also be aggravating to feel uncertain when or how their help will appear.


    Investigating the potential lead on Orson Falconer¡¯s allies wasn¡¯t my priority, anyway. I would wait for the dhampir to get word to me, before I rushed off looking for Karog. I needed a better idea of the situation in the city.


    And I needed to talk to Lias.


    ¡°A dignitary from Mirrebel,¡± she said. ¡°A baroness, or so I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    Three weeks ago, according to Catrin, was when the city gates had shut. Had it been because of the murder of a noblewoman, someone involved in this gathering of the Accord¡¯s leaders?


    It seemed likely. I could just imagine the nobility shouting ¡°assassin!¡±


    Once the girl had gone, Emma stared after her with pursed lips.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± I said, sipping from a decanter of iced water. I ignored the foreign wine.


    ¡°And what, pray tell, do you believe I¡¯m thinking about?¡± Emma asked, readopting her bored demeanor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play coy with me, Emma Orley. We are not going anywhere near that tourney. If I have my way, we¡¯ll be long gone from the city before this gathering of the Azure Round even starts.¡±


    Emma scowled and rested her chin on one fist. ¡°I know. It¡¯s just...¡±


    ¡°Just what?¡± I asked, lifting an eyebrow.


    The highborn girl sighed, casting me a rare look of guilt. ¡°It¡¯s exciting, is all. I¡¯ve never been to a city this large. I grew up in the countryside. Most Houseborn have seen more than a few tourneys by my age, and I only ever saw the occasional joust among Brenner¡¯s knights.¡±


    Her eyes slid from me to the rain-spattered window near our table. Overhead, distant thunder rumbled.


    I considered her a while before speaking. I spoke in a soft voice, making certain no judgement came through in my words. ¡°There will be plenty of fighters there. Knights, mercenaries, nameless warriors trying to find their fame.¡±


    I clasped my fingers over the table and leaned back. ¡°You could find your knighthood among them, Emma, noble name or no. You don¡¯t have to fix yourself to my troubles.¡±


    For a long while, Emma didn¡¯t speak. I had no clue what thoughts drifted through her mind, or what inner demons she grappled with. We listened to the rain, the echoes of conversation around us.


    I felt a shadow of fear form in me. If she chose to leave, I would let her. Yet, part of me didn¡¯t want her to go, leaving me to wander alone again. I knew it would happen, someday ¡ª she had her own path to walk, and it wasn¡¯t mine.


    I just hadn¡¯t considered our roads might split so soon.


    ¡°There will be other tourneys,¡± Emma finally said. ¡°Other chances. I¡¯ve only been your squire a season.¡± She met my eyes, and her lower jaw stubbornly stuck out. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere, Alken. You¡¯re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.¡±


    I kept the relief off my face and nodded gravely. ¡°There will be other chances.¡±


    Even still, I saw the longing in her. I felt a shade of it as well. When had I last stood on the field, the eyes of a cheering crowd on me, fighting for glory and the sheer thrill of it instead of for duty and hate?


    I did miss it. But that wasn¡¯t my life anymore.


    ¡°So what¡¯s next?¡± Emma said, repeating her inquiry from before the local girl had told us her story.


    I glanced toward the door. I¡¯d used the name Lias had given me. I knew him, and I knew I wouldn¡¯t have to wait long.


    ¡°Now we wait,¡± I said.


    ¡°For...¡± Emma tilted her head questioningly.


    ¡°Just trust me,¡± I said, sipping water again. The innkeeper brought food, and its rich smell made my stomach audibly growl. I guessed the rich fair was where much of my coin had probably gone. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    Emma frowned, but we¡¯d been on the road a long time and she tucked into her meal with gusto, leaving her questions for a less hungry moment. She¡¯d lost much of her highborn manners since I¡¯d taken her under my wing, and wasted little effort on propriety. I ate slower, my nerves taking much of my appetite away.


    As I¡¯d predicated, we didn¡¯t have to wait long. The innkeeper returned, a pensive frown on his face. ¡°Milord?¡± Drawing my attention, he gestured down into the taproom. ¡°I have a man here who says he works for Lord Yuri. He wishes to speak with you.¡±


    Nodding, I gestured with my chin to Emma and we left our half-eaten meals on the table to follow the innkeeper.


    A man I didn¡¯t recognize stood by the inn¡¯s front door. He was below average height, so he even had to tilt his head upward to regard Emma. He had a pointy black beard, a powdery black wig long enough to fall between his shoulder blades, and skin so pale I suspected he¡¯d powdered it as well. He wore a finely tailored jacket with long tails, both tipped in small bells which whispered as he turned to us.


    ¡°I am Gregori,¡± the small man said. He had a musical voice, lilting and deep, and regarded us with intelligent black eyes. ¡°I am to collect you on behalf of my master, the Lord Yuri.¡±


    He bowed to us. I caught Emma¡¯s eyes and nodded, and we followed the servant from the Hammer¡¯s Rest. Outside, a carriage made of rich red mahogany waited for us, pulled by two cockatrice ¡ª big, reptilian chimera resembling featherless birds with small leathery wings.


    The man in the black wig helped us into the carriage, which proved to be spacious and comfortable. He didn¡¯t follow us inside, instead taking the bench and snapping the reins. Soon, we were moving through the rain-lashed streets.


    ¡°Off to meet the wizard?¡± Emma asked, no hint of irony in her tone.


    ¡°You wanted a knightly quest,¡± I told her, leaning back on the cushioned seats. Lightning cracked the sky, a sign of the storm above growing angrier. ¡°I have a feeling we¡¯re about to get one.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 15: Yseldas Manse

    Arc 3: Chapter 15: Yselda''s Manse


    The carriage cut a winding path through the streets of Garihelm, moving at an alarming pace. Emma and I spoke little during the ride, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I caught sight of changing neighborhoods through the small window, shifting from the modestly wealthy craftsman¡¯s district we¡¯d left into something more austere, more lavish, with tall manor homes and wide avenues lined in gardens and trees.


    Above, the storm rolled over the sky in lethargic sullenness. Lightning lashed the sky out across the bay, but only rumbled threateningly high up in the clouds above the city. Slow, steady rain drummed against the stone heights of the capital to run in rumbling falls down the high walls connecting the cities complex of bastion towers.


    Garihelm had been built for such weather, and I saw much of the rain collecting in gutters and channels artfully constructed into the very masonry of the city, where it would be taken down to the canals below. Winged angels with upraised bowels, clever depressions in the faces of gothic towers, regal faces made to weep from the runoff emerging from their eyes... a thousand myriad other features performed this function.


    Perhaps the Weeping City might have been a better name for the place, I thought.


    ¡°Dreary place,¡± Emma noted, as though reading my thoughts. ¡°Venturmoor had its share of storms, but it¡¯s so loud here.¡±


    ¡°They say Gariban Forger, the lord who first settled here, chose this spot for his city because the weather made any attempt to lay siege by sea folly.¡± I paused as we passed a gathering in the street ¡ª a man in voluminous scarlet robes ranted before a large crowd, his voice an eerie, hollow echo through the rain. Tearing my eyes from the sight and focusing on Emma I added, ¡°The bay is a graveyard for ships.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± Emma muttered.


    The carriage stopped not long after that, and Gregori opened the doors for us, even helping Emma out like he would for a proper lady. She let him, wearing a bemused expression on her face the whole time.


    Looking around, I saw we were in an upper class neighborhood, with white houses of marble or pale stone. Tall, thin trees shaded both sides of the wide street. Fountains and statues were abundant, and the sky seemed more open here, no higher streets or fortifications looming over us.


    Gregori gestured toward one of the gates separating a manor from the street. ¡°This way, sir.¡±


    My natural suspicion surged, and I stopped before the servant led us further on. ¡°Are you taking us to meet Lord Yuri?¡±


    The short man paused, turning with a tinkling of his coat bells. He regarded me coolly for a moment, then spoke in a frank tone. ¡°No.¡±


    I nodded, already starting to shape aura. ¡°Then where are we, and why are we here?¡±


    I could see guards idling in the shadow of some trees and by many of the gates leading into private grounds, most in nondescript livery. This was a public place, and I did not want to fight here.


    I would, if I needed to.


    ¡°You are here to perform a service for the master,¡± Gregori said. ¡°Lord Yuri is interested in discovering more about the victims of the murders plaguing the city. He is under the belief that you can discover more than the soldiers and clericons could.¡±


    He didn¡¯t show any skepticism in his tone. He didn¡¯t so much as flare his nostrils or quirk an eyebrow, all cultured professionalism, his dark eyes as devoid of emotion as empty glass.


    I glanced at the mansion, and understood. ¡°This is the last victim¡¯s home.¡±


    The valet nodded. ¡°This is the townhouse of the Lady Yselda of Mirrebel. She was the last victim of the Carmine Killings. You are Ser Alken of Urkenhal, accompanied by your valet.¡± He nodded to Emma. ¡°You are contractors from the Gylden, here to investigate on behalf of the Lord Yuri, who is working on behalf of other parties interested in this matter. The servants have already been notified.¡±


    I took that all in, biting back my annoyance at Lias. He could have told me all of this himself, coordinated with me, rather than dropping me right into the thick of it with a hastily provided cover story.


    No point belly aching over it now. I nodded and adjusted my cloak to better hide the armor beneath. ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°Only one change ¡ª my companion and I are from the Linden, not the Gylden. I already told the innkeeper at the Hammer¡¯s Rest that, and I don¡¯t want any discrepancies in my story getting out.¡±


    Lord Yuri¡¯s servant ¡ª or, more precisely, Lias¡¯s ¡ª nodded, taking this in stride. ¡°If you would follow me, then?¡±


    He led us into the estate grounds, introducing us to the guards outside, who sheltered from the rain beneath the mansion¡¯s front overhang. I noted they wore the livery of the city garrison, yellow coats with black anvils struck by bolts of scarlet lightning. House Forger colors.


    They greeted me with the cautious politeness with which all armed persons treat one another, if they are not fools, and I did the same. We were ushered into the house¡¯s foyer. Here I got a good idea of the status of the person we were investigating.


    Town homes in wealthy cities like Garihelm shelter many different kinds. There are wealthy merchants, knights with a large enough personal retinue to need the extra space, foreign dignitaries, ambassadors and the like, bureaucrats and other officials, and lower ranking nobles with estates inside the walls. Some priests of higher ranking will attain personal fortunes and buy their own properties as well ¡ª conservatives in the theocracy might frown on such indulgences, but it still happens.


    Yselda of Mirrebel, I decided, had been a very important individual. We were brought into a spacious, elegant foyer, done all in soft whites and warm wood tones, the statuary on the high bannisters both expensive and tasteful. A she-elf teased from marble welcomed us from a plinth set by the foot of the spiral stairway across from the entrance, her smile warm and subtly sad, the folds of her loose dress falling across the floor like foam waterfalls.


    I knew, intuitively, that the artist who¡¯d made that elf maid had carved from the memory of their own eyes. Surreal in its detail, I sensed an aching pain in the piece, the sense that the carver¡¯s heart had broken in the making.


    Emma made a throaty sound. ¡°This baroness has good taste,¡± she muttered, her eyes running over the hint of bare leg emerging from the statue¡¯s dress.


    I threw her a look, and she fell quiet with a light cough. She was playing the role of servant, and needed to remember not to speak out of turn.


    Movement at the top of the stairs drew our attention as two figures appeared. One was a dark skinned noblewoman in her later years ¡ª it can be difficult to tell with nobles, but I guessed her to be in her fifties. She wore a gown of cream white and olive, the sleeves trailing nearly to the floor. Her braided silver hair had been wound about her neck many times, almost like a noose, and her austere visage made me think of the battered city around us ¡ª marked by time, but undaunted.


    The second was a man near the noblewoman¡¯s age, who hadn¡¯t taken the years so well. I guessed him to be a servant, by his lack of jewelry, though his maroon robe was of fine make. He had paler skin than the woman, worse posture, and a haggard face framed by sideburns so long they fell beneath his jowls like the mane of a ghostly lion.


    The pair walked down the stairs arm in arm, and the woman met my gaze. I keep my hair long, and have a habit of letting my bangs fall over my eyes ¡ª it does little to impede my more preternatural senses, and it helps hide the gleam of aura in my eyes.


    Even still, the old woman found them. I felt a subtle pressure, like the light pain of a ray of sun catching in my eye, and knew she had power. Her eyes were a very striking gray, pale as moons amid the deep brown of her face, the lids lightly touched by kohl.


    ¡°My Lady,¡± Gregori said, dipping into a very deep bow. ¡°This is Ser Alken of the Linden, a specialist hired by my lord to look into the matter you¡¯ve requested, and his assistant.¡± Turning on his heel to face me he added, ¡°Ser Alken, this is the Lady Faisa of House Dance.¡±


    I blinked, and dipped into a deep bow of my own. I knew Emma did as well, her own upbringing compelling her as strong as gravity. Neither one of us could fail to recognize whose presence we stood in.


    Lady Faisa Dance inclined her head to us. That small acknowledgement was a gracious boon, for one of her rank. High House Dance rule the Gylden and the Principality of Mirrebel. They are among the subcontinent¡¯s greatest powers, a bloodline as ancient as the Carreons, the Forgers, the Silverings, and only a handful of others.


    We stood within spitting distance of a woman who shared blood with monarchs.


    I silently cursed Lias. The damn wizard could have warned me.


    Lady Faisa regarded us with a remote grace only gained through a lifetime of training. She took in our drab clothing, our lack of finery ¡ª neither Emma or I had washed in many days, traveling as we¡¯d been and only recently arrived in the city. Her eyes went to my ring, and to the hint of black armor beneath my cloak and overcoat.


    I studied her as well. She wore many precious jewels, some sewn into the fabric of her elaborate garment, most of them in her hair. She seemed to prefer pale colors, which stood out from her darker skin. Her pale eyes framed a long nose hooking very slightly above a small, still mouth.Fo?ll0w current novE?ls on n/o/(v)/3l/b((in).(co/m)


    Then, still with a distant expression, she addressed us directly in a rich, smooth voice which age had only edged with sonorant depth. ¡°Well met, Ser Alken. I am pleased you were able to attend this matter. I must confess, your name is not known to me.¡±


    Fucking Lias. Keeping my tone subdued and respectful, I answered her. ¡°Apologies, lady, but I¡¯m afraid I am no one of great note. I have served Lord Yuri as an investigator before, but did not expect to meet so high a personage today.¡± I coughed and added, ¡°I¡¯d have washed up.¡±


    She laughed, and the sound and shift in expression transformed her from cold harridan to kindly aunt in a moment. I felt certain, then, that not so many years ago this woman had been very beautiful.


    ¡°It is of no matter,¡± she said, opals twinkling as she lifted a hand in a soothing gesture. ¡°It is of much greater interest to me that you act with diligence in this matter, and not discard precious time for pampering.¡± Her eyes went to Emma, and her expression became thoughtful.


    ¡°If you would excuse me, Your Elegance, I must depart to bring word to my master.¡± Gregori bowed again, his nose almost scraping the floor ¡ª he must have had the dexterity of a tumbler, to pull a dip that low off.


    I wanted to grab the little servant by his frilly collar and demand some answers, but under the watchful eyes of Faisa Dance I let him depart.


    Once the doors had shut again, muting the rain and leaving us in the company of the Lady Faisa, the old servant, and a pair of guards in shadowed corners of the foyer, the aged noblewoman addressed us.


    ¡°Forgive this unexpected audience,¡± she said, smoothly disentangling from the old man¡¯s arm to approach and address us from a more personable distance. She stood over six feet tall, I noted. ¡°I did not warn Yuri I would be here today. Only...¡±


    I tore my eyes away from that disturbing sight, but much of the rest ended up being more of the same. Yselda had a particular style, and it ranged from simply macabre to stomach-churning.


    Lady Faisa walked into the room without hesitation, her eyes wistful as she looked at the gallery. ¡°She was a troubled woman, my Yessa. Try not to judge her too harshly, Master Alken. Art can often be a means of expressing the darkness within ourselves, but it should not damn us. She was a gentle soul, and dear to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised the Inquisition didn¡¯t confiscate all of this,¡± I noted, walking toward one wall. There was an oil painting on it, gilt-framed and large enough to dominate the wall.


    ¡°Oh, they tried.¡± A shadow of anger darkened the noblewoman¡¯s voice. ¡°But the Church has not yet grown so powerful as to bully my house. I protested. Loudly. This will all be left as it is, and eventually taken to mine own estates. I will not have my own paramour¡¯s life work thrown into a fire pit, or locked in some dungeon beneath Myrr Arthor.¡±


    I let her speak as I did a circle of the room, my eyes running over one artistic depiction of dark sensuality to the next. I tried not to let my eyes linger on too many details, knowing some of these might end up being eaten by my ring the next time I slept. I rubbed at it with one thumb as I did my round, trying to keep my attention analytical, professional.


    The room was cluttered with pieces, and there was little organization in the lot. I sensed something manic about it. Very few projects, whether they were canvas paintings, sculptures, wood carvings, or tapestry, had been finished. Yselda would get near to finishing one piece, usually concentrating on the more grisly details while leaving things like minute facial features or color out, then scramble to the next.


    I found one painting, this one done on a large stretch of material set on a stand near the window, that caught my eye. Darkness bled across the canvas, and I could make out a figure within, done in shades so dark the shadowy background nearly swallowed it.


    I saw a visage, seemingly distant, pale and beautiful. Silken hair drifted as though underwater, and some odd garment enclosed slim shoulders. She held a red jewel in her hands, the brightest thing in the piece, almost aglow. I realized the shading had been done so the object produced all the light in the composition.


    As I looked closer, I realized it wasn¡¯t clothing. The woman in the painting was naked, corpse pale, and enclosed by two clawed, leathery wings. Her eyes were open, milk pale, and staring directly at me.


    The object in her hands wasn¡¯t a ruby. It was a human heart, weeping blood.


    I drew in a sharp breath and turned sharply away. Faisa had approached, tilting her chin at the piece.


    ¡°She was a better sculptor than painter, though I never had the heart to tell her.¡±


    It took me a moment to get my heart back under control. ¡°Not much of an eye for art, myself.¡±


    My eyes went back to the large painting on the wall. It depicted a man with a bloodied crown, a king, who¡¯d had his back and arms flayed and his innards stretched out, scraps of flesh and unwound organs hooked on the branches of two entwining trees lit by a setting sun. A crowd gathered around, some reaching out to caress the king¡¯s bloody legs while others enjoyed a rich feast, selecting delicacies from a table arrayed beneath the trees.


    The feast crawled with flies and maggots, which the revelers also ate.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t look like her style,¡± I noted. It had many differences in technique, though most prominently I didn¡¯t see any beautiful, mostly naked women, which seemed to feature in all of Yselda¡¯s works.


    ¡°No eye for art, hm?¡± Faisa smiled grimly at me, then nodded to the large painting. ¡°That was painted by Ser Anselm of Ruon. He is one of the most prominent members of the Urnic Renaissance, a true master of his craft. Many believe he and his contemporaries may even allow us to compete with the artistic movements dominant in the continent.¡±


    It seemed out of place among all the rest. I studied it a while, not certain why it bothered me.


    ¡°What do you hope to find here, that the rest couldn¡¯t?¡± The Lady Faisa hardly had to look up to meet my eye, with her impressive height. ¡°Yuri has always proven himself hellishly well connected. You are an adept, yes?¡±


    I didn¡¯t see any reason to hide it, not after she¡¯d met my eyes. ¡°Yes.¡± I glanced around at the room. ¡°I may be able to discover something the knights and priests couldn¡¯t. Can you show me where her body was found?¡±


    Faisa nodded to Ingram, who brought me to the windows along the far wall. I squinted at the frosted glass, and my eyes went to the framing ¡ª the windows had been double panned, and heavily reinforced.


    ¡°Has there been a problem with burglary in the city?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Not in this neighborhood,¡± Ingram said. ¡°Though, it is not an unusual precaution. Even still, the lady had these put in some weeks before her death. She never explained why.¡±


    ¡°Did she have troubled sleep?¡± I asked. ¡°Nightmares?¡±


    Ingram frowned, his wizened face crinkling in thought. ¡°I don¡¯t believe¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Faisa said, speaking over the steward. I didn¡¯t miss the note of pain in that one quiet word. ¡°For many years. I spoke with her maids after all of this, and they admitted it had grown worse. She took teas. Smoked. I¡¯d thought she¡¯d stopped those habits, but...¡±


    She trailed off, turning her face away and blinking rapidly. She was far too well bred to weep in front of us, but I saw the fight. I averted my eyes.


    I glanced down at the floor in front of the window, where the troubled artist had been found after her grisly death. I drew in a deep breath, preparing myself mentally for what came next.


    When I¡¯d linked myself to the lingering od, the residue of aura, and gained a vision of the death of the bridge troll in Caelfall, it had been dead only days and had left a corpse behind. I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d get much here, weeks after the fact and with no body. There weren¡¯t even any blood stains left ¡ª the servants had cleaned thoroughly.


    Even still, I had to try. I adjusted my cloak and knelt, reaching a hand out to the rich carpet. I brushed my fingers against it, closed my eyes, and opened my senses, reaching out with my aura to gain insight into what mortal eyes could not see.


    And...


    Regretted it instantly.


    The daylight filtering through the window cut out like a torch flame caught in an icy wind. The other people in the room dissipated like wisps of mist. A deafening, roaring silence descended down around me.


    I felt the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on end, and a cold sweat prickle across my brow. My hand, which trembled, hovered over the carpet. I lifted it, and my fingers came away sticky with blood. The carpeting had suddenly become damp with it.


    Something crawled beneath the carpet. I could hear it now, a writhing, scuttling sound. Bulges formed and depressed across its face, as though the material had begun to boil.


    I heard creaking wood, and lifted my eyes to the room. All the artwork, from the disturbing sculptures to the manically painted scraps of canvas, now faced me, staring with hollow, hateful eyes.


    The scuttling, boiling mass beneath the carpet began to spread. I stood and backed away, resisting the urge to reach for my axe. The floorboards began to rot, the change crawling up the walls, settling into the ceiling. Oil and paint began to seep from the walls like slow running blood, pooling across the floor.


    My eyes went to the bed, a round set with an enclosing curtain. I couldn¡¯t see through the curtain, but something stirred within. It moaned in a soft, gurgling voice.


    I began to hear the sound of a beating heart. I thought it was the one I often heard, when dark things were near, but my eyes went to the painting of the she-demon. The heart in her hands had come alive, swelling grotesquely with each throb until it seemed ready to burst.


    Clenching my teeth, I squeezed my eyes shut and tore myself from the vision. Instantly I was back in the room as it had been, several sets of eyes on me. I had fallen to one knee, covered in cold sweat, and Emma had rushed forward to kneel at my side. Ingram had a confused, concerned expression, and Faisa a thoughtful frown.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Emma asked, speaking quietly.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I croaked. Standing, I let Emma help me until I felt steady. I turned to face Faisa. I tried not to stare at the rest of the room, at all the things which Yselda had poured her mind, her soul, into, tainting them with her fears and obsessions.


    She, too, had been able to wield aura. She¡¯d worked her spirit into her art, and it had all been touched by something foul.


    Something I knew. Something I¡¯d been trained to know.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Faisa asked me, her aloofness gone now, her gray eyes intense as she waited for what I¡¯d say.


    I took a moment to gather myself. It took effort just to resist the compulsion to flee the room, or start swinging my axe at everything around me. ¡°I know who the Carmine Killer is ¡ª or, I know what it is.¡±


    I stared at them, set my jaw, and told them the truth my powers had screamed into me. ¡°Yselda of Mirrebel was killed by a demon.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City

    Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City


    A long moment of silence followed my pronouncement. I felt barely aware of anything in that time. I still reeled from the vision, my mind attempting to reconcile the room as it was in the real with the spiritual malice I knew hid beneath.


    ¡°A demon?¡± Ingram looked skeptical, leaning heavily on his cane as he cleared phlegm from his throat. ¡°How can you be certain?¡±


    Emma cast a withering look at the old servant and muttered, ¡°Just look around you.¡±


    I put a hand on her shoulder, feeling more steady, then addressed Lady Faisa. She¡¯d been staring off into the distance, a pensive look on her face. ¡°I¡¯ve been trained in augury and exorcism,¡± I said. ¡°And I¡¯ve encountered Abyssal malison before. I¡¯m as certain as I can be, though I can¡¯t offer you proof.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Faisa said, sighing. ¡°I have made some study of the occult myself, Master Alken. All the signs support your claim, only...¡±


    She shrugged and smiled sadly. ¡°I did not wish to believe it, that my Yessa could meet such a terrible end.¡±


    ¡°It explains her troubled sleep, her mania.¡± I looked around at the macabre collection in the room. ¡°Why her own art became more...¡± I didn¡¯t want to say depraved in front of the deceased artist¡¯s former lover. ¡°Unsettling.¡±


    I glanced at the painting of the winged woman with the human heart cupped in her hands. ¡°I can¡¯t be certain,¡± I lied, ¡°but I¡¯d be willing to bet that more than a few pieces in here are depicting known demons recorded in the Church¡¯s archives. Visions of the Abyss are a common precursor to possession. I¡¯m also seeing signs of infestation and altered aura.¡±


    I hesitated before adding, ¡°Honestly, lady, much of this should be cleansed or locked away. Did you know Yselda was an adept?¡±


    Faisa blinked, giving me my answer. ¡°I did not,¡± she admitted. ¡°I awakened my own aura in my thirties, after secluding myself in study at a convent for several years. Yselda, however, never showed any awareness of such powers.¡±


    I frowned, chewing on that. It meant the troubled artist had likely stirred her abilities more recently. ¡°You can¡¯t ever really predict when it will happen,¡± I said. ¡°But it happens most often in particularly passionate craftsmen or soldiers ¡ª high emotion, dedication, traumatic events ¡ª these are the most consistent ways to awaken the soul.¡±


    I met her eyes, letting her see the aura in them. ¡°It can also happen when someone is exposed to powerful supernatural beings. This might explain why she only became Awakened more recently.¡±


    ¡°Yselda did not lack passion,¡± Faisa said, frowning. ¡°I always believed it was her ambivalence that held her back. She could never settle her mind.¡±


    ¡°This talk of esotera is all well and good,¡± Ingram cut in, ¡°but are you saying this gallery is still haunted? Corrupted?¡± He cast a troubled look around the room. ¡°Should we not destroy it?¡±


    ¡°We will not!¡± Faisa snapped, showing her anger for the first time since I¡¯d met her. Ingram quailed, bowing and taking a step back.


    ¡°Destroying any of this is a bad idea,¡± I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. ¡°Troubled aura, especially from an untrained adept, can be volatile. Destroy the vessels for that power, and it could evolve into curses once released.¡±


    Ingram¡¯s face went very pale.


    ¡°What is the next step?¡± Lady Faisa asked me.


    ¡°Surely it is to tell the Church?¡± Ingram put in.


    An uncomfortable silence followed his statement. I imagined Lady Faisa had already guessed ¡ª that I wasn¡¯t a sanctioned magus or ordained, and my involvement would be questioned at best.


    More than that, demonic infestation among members of the cities renaissance movement would, if publicly revealed, be a disaster. There would be a witch hunt the likes of which the realms hadn¡¯t seen in generations.


    Did the Church already know? Was this part of the reason the Inquisition was in the streets? Why the city gates had been closed?


    But the city hadn¡¯t been fully quarantined, I realized. Dignitaries and warriors of the Accord were still being allowed in for the upcoming summit.


    Something else was going on, and I didn¡¯t have all the pieces yet.


    ¡°What Master Alken has said shall not leave this room,¡± Faisa Dance proclaimed, the authority in her tone brooking no argument. ¡°You shall not speak of it without my leave, Ingram.¡±


    The old steward hesitated, then bowed. ¡°As you will, my lady.¡±


    The noblewoman drew in a deep breath, then turned to me once she¡¯d mastered herself. ¡°You say there is no evidence you can provide. I will not cry of demons in the city on your word alone.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect you to.¡±


    ¡°What is next?¡± She repeated her earlier question.


    I realized then that I liked this woman. She was intelligent, decisive, and got straight to the point.


    ¡°I need to consult with my employer.¡± I said, thinking of Lias. The wizard would help me confirm my notion ¡ª strong as my intuition was, I wasn¡¯t absolutely certain a demon had been at work here. It could have been a diabolist wielding dark magics, or any number of things my powers might read as fiendish.


    Wishful thinking. I knew well enough what I faced. I felt it in my bones, in my soul.


    ¡°I also need to do some research,¡± I added. ¡°If my hunch is correct, then I should be able to put together some clues and find out what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    Once I knew what I faced, I could hunt it. I could slay it.


    ¡°How are you so certain you can uncover this creature¡¯s identity?¡± Ingram asked, furrowing his brow.


    ¡°Most of the demons in Urn have been identified,¡± I said. ¡°There are only a few older spirits in the further reaches of the Wend with uncertain identities, and I doubt one found its way into the largest city in the subcontinent. We have clues to go on ¡ª these insects that appear at every killing, these scarlbeetles, they might be a Demon Mark. Most of the named ones have them. I¡¯d also like to know if my hunch about Yselda¡¯s art is correct.¡±


    I looked to Faisa. ¡°I¡¯d also like to investigate the scenes of the other murders. I need to make sure the same imprint I felt here is on them as well.¡±


    ¡°And who are you, sir, to know so much of demons and the occult?¡± Ingram clutched his cane with both hands, suspicion writ on his face.


    ¡°Enough, old friend.¡± Faisa sighed and nodded to me. ¡°Lord Yuri promised an expert, and it seems one has been provided. I will not look a gift unicorn in the mouth. Make your inquiries. I will send your employer addresses for the other murders, and make certain you are not impeded in your investigation by either my own people or the local watch. I would still tread cautiously, Master Alken ¡ª I have no power over the Priory or its agents.¡±


    She dismissed me then, but lingered in the room. I left her there, knowing what I¡¯d revealed had been painful for the highborn lady to grapple with.


    Wounds left by demons rarely heal, and do so crooked if at all. Those slain by them have an even worse fate. There would be no peaceful rest in Draubard for Yselda of Mirrebel, or even an uncertain wandering beneath the pale moons.


    The scars on my face still burned like lines of dull fire on my skin. That, more than anything, had confirmed the truth of my vision in the bedroom. That, and...


    No. I needed to focus. What I faced would be deceptive, and even its shadow couldn¡¯t be trusted.


    ¡°What now?¡± Emma asked, once we¡¯d gone into the hallway, drawing me from my thoughts.


    I shook my head, more to clear it than as an answer. ¡°We talk to Lias.¡±


    ***


    ¡°She goes where I go, and doesn¡¯t take orders from you.¡± I turned my golden eyes on the little man for the first time. ¡°Piss off.¡±


    Gregori huffed, the white shirt beneath his coat puffing out in a good imitation of a balloon. ¡°How dare¡ª¡±


    But the figure atop the stairs only sighed. ¡°Peace, Gregori. We will talk, Alken, but the girl remains here in my foyer.¡± He turned then and vanished deeper into the tower.


    I glanced at Emma and raised an eyebrow.


    Shrugging, she cast the bored eyes of a cat which hadn¡¯t yet decided if it were hungry on the servant. ¡°I¡¯m certain I can find some way to entertain myself. Perhaps Gregori and I can have a little talk, servant to servant.¡±


    Gregori swallowed, the bump in his neck bobbing.


    I ascended the stair after Lias. I found a hall at the top, and through it another chamber. This one was far busier than the one below, full of tables and material, and strange apparati I had no name for. Glassware full of bubbling liquid glowed ominously within complex frames, papers and tomes lay scattered everywhere in a scholarly chaos, and the taxidermy remains of rare chimera snarled in silent fury at me, their limbs supported by strong wire.


    I heard the scratching of a quill, and followed the noise expecting to find Lias. Instead, I found the feathered tool flitting across a page of its own accord, copying the contents of another tome set nearby.


    A wizard¡¯s sanctum, in all its glory.


    Movement caught my eye, and I saw the black-robed figure I¡¯d spotted on the stair appear from behind one towering array of alchemy. The shape paced around the apparatus until they stood amid all that arcana, watching me from within the deep shadow of their cowl¡¯s interior.


    I still hadn¡¯t put the axe away. ¡°Lias?¡± I asked, suddenly uncertain.


    The hood, and the overall shape of the figure, was very similar to how I imagined I looked with my cowl up, my features obscured by my blood-red cloak and aura.


    The anonymous cowl tilted toward my axe. ¡°Are you here to kill me, old friend?¡±


    The voice was Lias¡¯s, and the words were the same I¡¯d said to him during our last meeting. I breathed a sigh of relief and slung the weapon back through the iron ring on my belt.


    ¡°I might,¡± I growled. ¡°I¡¯m not happy about today. You could have talked to me first, rather than just throwing me into an investigation with no prep time.¡±


    ¡°What preparation do you require?¡± Lias said, pacing over to one of the desks and running his gloved fingers along a page of text there. It was the same one the animated quill diligently copied. ¡°I imagined the task would be quite simple,¡± he said in a bored, distracted voice. ¡°Find traces of the murderer, track them, then dispose of them. That is what you¡¯ve traditionally been good at. Did you have to swing an axe at my door?¡±


    I ground my teeth. ¡°Faisa fucking Dance was there. She apparently expected me. Care to explain that?¡±


    Lias¡¯s hooded gaze lifted up, staring at some uncertain point. ¡°Ah. Well, you¡¯ve always had a certain charisma to you, not to mention a degree of luck with highborn women. You¡¯re still here, and with your head on even, so I imagine things went quite well?¡±


    I had forgotten, in all these years, that Lias could be very good at making me want to break his teeth.


    ¡°Faisa is a business partner and drinking acquaintance of Lord Yuri, whose guise I often take these days.¡± Lias had moved over to another table, this time fiddling with the position of some abstract apparatus. ¡°She became involved in the investigation after that courtesan she favored became one of the victims.¡±


    That courtesan. He could have at least bothered to remember the poor woman¡¯s name. Lias had always been callous, and it didn¡¯t comfort me to see that trait hadn¡¯t changed.


    ¡°Are you aware there are demons in the city?¡± I said.


    Lias paused, then straightened and turned to me. I still couldn¡¯t read his expression beneath the concealing cowl ¡ª the shadow beneath its brim had a touch of glamour, and even my eyes couldn¡¯t pierce it.


    ¡°You are certain?¡± He asked, his disinterested manner vanishing.


    I nodded, folding my arms. ¡°I found signs of a serious infestation in that house. Yselda had visions of the Abyss before she died, and her bedroom was practically boiling with curses.¡±


    ¡°How do you know she was having visions?¡± Lias asked, more curious than skeptical.


    I hesitated, then admitted, ¡°She painted one of the demons who were in Seydis. I recognized it.¡±


    Lias considered that a moment, then nodded. ¡°This is exactly why I wanted you here, Alken. Even with all my Art, there are none better at detecting the presence of extradimensional beings than you Alder Knights. I had suspected sorcery of some kind had been employed in these incidents, but couldn¡¯t ascertain its true nature.¡±


    ¡°Is this why the Inquisition is involved?¡± I asked. ¡°Do you think they know?¡±


    Lias approached me, folding his gloved hands together. His voice had a troubled note when he spoke again. ¡°Perhaps. I have my spies in the theocracy, but I¡¯ve had no luck gaining an in with the Priorguard itself. I am not privy to their inner council.¡±


    ¡°Have all the victims been members of the Garihelm renaissance?¡± I asked, settling into business.


    ¡°Most,¡± Lias said. ¡°A few have been dignitaries, clericons of lesser rank, or persons involved in the cities reconstruction.¡±


    I shifted, frowning. ¡°Just how many people have been victims of this Carmine Killer?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-four, with this last one.¡± Lias offered the number without even a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°Bleeding Gates.¡± I lowered my eyes to the floor, taking that in. Twenty four, and I had no doubt Lias had verified each showed the same signs as Yselda.


    Out in the countryside, that would have mobilized an entire demesne into panic. Here in the city, did it even register to most that something terrible moved among them? Certainly, some greater powers had taken note, but I imagined only because of the strangeness of the killings.


    ¡°I might be able to identify what we¡¯re dealing with,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll need your help. The Church keeps records of all the Abyssals who¡¯ve had an influence in Urn ¡ª can you get me access to those archives?¡±


    ¡°Not easily,¡± Lias admitted.


    Considering the problem I added, ¡°Do you have any records of your own?¡±


    I could practically hear Lias scowl, even if I couldn¡¯t see it beneath his cowl. ¡°There was a time the Magi were in charge of those vaults, but the priests are convinced we might use them for ill purposes.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°to be fair, Li, some of you have¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know, I know!¡± Lias waved me off. ¡°I have attempted to compile my own records, from my own experiences and the findings of other scholars. It is incomplete, but perhaps we can find something of use.¡±


    Otherwise, I¡¯d have to try and enter Myrr Arthor, the largest and most well guarded cathedral in all the subcontinent, and somehow gain access to the Church¡¯s own archives under the noses of their inquisitors.


    I¡¯d do it, if I had to, but it would be risky and like to get me tossed into a torture chamber.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hit the books then,¡± I said. ¡°And hope we can find something.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 17: An Academic Guide to the Profane

    Arc 3: Chapter 17: An Academic Guide to the Profane


    We gathered in the bowels of that hidden tower in the lower city, myself, my ward, and the scheming wizard. Lias found all the material relevant to our research he had, and we began trying to determine which of the Dread and Awful Presences infested Garihelm.


    It is not always exciting or active a thing, hunting fiends. That had been true even when I¡¯d been with the Table. There had been long, tiring hours of research, meditation, and consultation with the other knights, scholars, sages, and the Sidhe.


    I didn¡¯t have all the resources of an ancient realm at my disposal anymore, but Lias had never been an ally to dismiss. His ¡°small collection¡±turned out to be a veritable treasure trove of occult tomes, preserved tablets, and sealed scrolls, many of which I imagine the Priory would be none too happy about him keeping.


    ¡°So where exactly do we begin?¡± Emma tossed the question out in idle inquiry, lifting one of the ancient black books Lias had spread across his tables in some abstract order.


    Lias snatched the book from her hand, placing it back in its prior place with meticulous precision. Emma scowled at him, but the magus ignored her and paced over to another table, this one laid with even more material.


    I remained standing, arms folded, inspecting the dizzying labyrinth of lore we had to sort through. I had a bad feeling this would be a long night.


    ¡°The first thing you must understand about demons,¡± Lias said, with all the self-assured gravity of the lecturing tutor, ¡°is that they have no beginning and no end. They are hunger incarnate, spirits born of primeval forces most of us...¡± he let the implication that he didn¡¯t include himself among most of us hang... ¡°cannot truly comprehend.¡±


    Emma looked at me and lifted a dark eyebrow. ¡°Is he always like this?¡±


    ¡°Most of the time,¡± I muttered, my eyes on the black-garbed wizard.


    Lias didn¡¯t deign to respond to our commentary, instead walking a slow set of concentric circles around the tables as he spoke. ¡°Our understanding of many dimensions beyond our own, along with the beings who inhabit them, remains academic at best.¡± His voice echoed eerily in the study, emerging hollow from the unnatural shade beneath his cowl as though it originated from the depths of a cave. ¡°We are aware of such places as the Wending Roads, but they are little more than a borderland, so close to our own plane one is often hardly aware when they have strayed. Not so for places like the Abyss.¡±


    At that last word, Emma¡¯s show of insulant boredom faded. She sat up straighter, paying more attention to Lias¡¯s lecture.


    ¡°We know little of it, in truth.¡± Lias finally stopped at the largest of the tables, a desk of nearly black oak piled with books. He regarded us like a dark royal tutor, clasping gloved hands together. ¡°Only that it lies beneath Orkael, the Iron Hell, which was fashioned to contain it. What records there are from those of mine own order who have made auguries into its nature have returned only mixed success. It is believed by some that it is depthless, without end. Others say there is a bottom, only that the whole is constantly growing, seeping further into the fabric of other realities with every passing moment. Swallowing. Eating. Just as its creations are driven to do.¡±


    Lias pressed the first two fingers of each of his hands together, locking his thumbs, then swept his hands apart in a flickering motion. I felt a shiver of unseen power in the room. One of the largest tomes on his desk suddenly lifted, opening and turning its face to us, so we could see what lay on two of the pages.


    The old, weathered parchment crawled with a jagged, trembling scrawl of black ink I could barely make out. What my eyes went to, however, was the image drawn onto the left page. It depicted a hunched creature, its thin arms juxtaposed by a bulbous back, a cancer of horny growths erupting from its warty flesh. It had two small, pale white eyes like twin werelights set within a dog¡¯s face, a mass of filthy hair hanging nearly down to the ground, and genitals resembling a series of knotted roots entwined together. A second pair of arms emerged from the mane of hair, these perfect and feminine, uplifted as though in supplication.


    Emma¡¯s eyes narrowed as she studied the page. ¡°That is a demon?¡±


    ¡°This is Abgru?dai,¡± Lias said in a weighty voice. ¡°There are many kindreds of fiend, not all of them native to the Abyss, but these are generally what we mean when we refer to demons. We know little of the origins of these, only that they came to dominate their plane long ago, and have never been supplanted. Whether they are masters of the Howling Dark, slaves to it, an invasive species, or perhaps something else entire, we can hardly begin to guess.¡±


    He paced around the table so we saw his side profile next to the floating book. He pointed at the creature drawn there. I noticed the sketch looked odd ¡ª not like the highly detailed, exacting image of an anatomist, but more the hasty, angry scrawl of a manic artist, done all in too-dark shades, its form seeming to come apart around the edges.


    I pitied whatever poor soul had the misfortune of capturing that likeness.


    ¡°This is a chorn,¡± Lias said. ¡°Another thing you must understand about the Abyssals is that it is very, very difficult to categorize them. Each demon is singular, with its own brand of madness and diabolical aspect. Even the most well recorded ones can be utterly unpredictable. However, perhaps simply because we humans have an innate desire for order, we have made such attempts. Take this for example.¡±


    He tapped the page. ¡°A chorn is a lesser spirit among the Abgru?dai, a sort of scavenger. They have a preference for combing charnel pits and battlefields, feasting on the filth of the recently dead. Many of them have the power to steal your memories through conversation. We are not certain if this is a widespread species among demonkind, some sort of clan or family, or even a collective of siblings... all we know is that it is one of the few types with a relatively predictable habit.¡±


    He turned the page with the flick of a finger, not even needing to touch the enchanted tome. This time, the page showed an emaciated humanoid with pale gray skin, twisted ribs, a gaping hole in the belly, and an androgynous form. The face had few features other than a small, sphincter-like mouth and empty, bleeding pits for eyes.


    ¡°Succubus,¡± Lias drawled. ¡°This one is known as Liieshi the Empty, and is an example of what I¡¯ve been referring to about singularity. Each demon, even if we put a label on some groups, has unique preferences and behavior, not to mention varying forms and levels of power. This one, for instance, is called a succubus because she has a most uncouth habit of seducing men, only to plant her own larvae in them to grow her brood. It is a loose categorization."


    ¡°Charming,¡± Emma said, frowning at the page.


    ¡°Many are also shapeshifters,¡± Lias continued smoothly. ¡°Weaker demons will occasionally make themselves appear quite grand in order to frighten prey and predator, while the mightiest can take diminutive forms if they wish for you to let down your guard.¡±


    ¡°Or fair ones,¡± I said quietly. Lias glanced at me, and his hooded head tilted in acknowledgement.


    The wizard scrolled through the foreboding book¡¯s pages for a time, giving us examples of different demons, along with their habits and abilities.


    ¡°So how do we determine what kind of monster is responsible for all these recent murders?¡± Emma asked after a time. She looked slightly green. I didn¡¯t blame her ¡ª Lias had a habit of going into very grisly detail about some of the more gruesome beings in his evil little book.


    ¡°That is the tricky part,¡± Lias said, finally turning to us. ¡°We have a few clues to go on ¡ª its choice of victim, for example, and some of the features found at each scene. The presence of red beetles is of particular note. However, what we do not know is what it wants. Mass slaughter? To find a vessel worthy of possession? Is it being directed by some other will, a mortal warlock perhaps?¡±


    The wizard shrugged and pressed the tips of his fingers together. ¡°Perhaps we can find something in my collection.¡±


    Then, with an imperious gesture, he ended his lecture and we got to work. For nearly five hours, the only sounds in the study were those of rustling cloth, scuffing boots, crinkling pages, and the occasional frustrated thump of a useless tome slamming closed.


    I didn¡¯t know if we¡¯d find anything of use in Lias¡¯s material, but it was a place to start. Demon hunting is a nasty business, the most dangerous even an Alder Knight ¡ª especially the dregs of one ¡ª can undertake. Knowledge is power, but the boiling chaos from which demons are born turns all things against itself, including knowledge.


    Even in knowing them, they can ruin you. I¡¯d learned that well enough. I had the scars to prove it.


    ¡°There¡¯s something I don¡¯t understand,¡± Emma said. She had her boots up on one of the tables, reclining, an aged journal with half-rotted pages held open with her thumb pressed into the fold.


    ¡°Creepy,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°Did you know elves use the same techniques for their metalsmithing as they do for glamour?¡± Lias said, donning the cowl again. ¡°Weaving abstractions and phantasm into something tangible? We¡¯ve been close to them throughout our history, yet there¡¯s still so much about them we don¡¯t understand. Of course, that isn¡¯t all I¡¯ve been working on. I have so many projects, Alken, so much to do these days.¡±


    ¡°You know once this business is done,¡± I said, ¡°once I¡¯ve hunted down this demon and any allies or masters it might have, I¡¯ll have to leave again. The Choir could call me into service at any time, and...¡±


    Lias¡¯s shadowed gaze shifted to me as I paused.


    I sighed. ¡°This isn¡¯t for me, Li. The schemes, the politics. I was only ever a blunt nail. I¡¯ll help you chop the cultists and the warlocks, but I¡¯m not sticking around.¡±


    Lias studied me a while. ¡°You still don¡¯t intend to at least speak with Rose?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°She has enough to worry about, and it¡¯s best she doesn¡¯t have any association with me. I¡¯m an excommunicate and an assassin, Lias. Better she isn¡¯t implicated.¡±


    I could tell he had more to say. Before he could, however, Emma suddenly let out a triumphant noise.


    ¡°I found something!¡± She said, ushering me over.


    I walked away from the wizard, though I felt his eyes on my back. Putting it out of my mind, I looked at what Emma studied over her shoulder. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Here,¡± she said, jabbing a finger at the surface of an old, faded scroll she¡¯d unrolled onto the table amid a scatter of books. ¡°Look at this.¡±


    At first, I didn¡¯t see what had gotten her excited. Much of the text on the scroll had faded into unreadability, and there were no helpful images to make things more obvious.


    ¡°What have you there?¡± Lias asked, approaching. He studied the scroll a moment, then chuckled. ¡°Ah, now that¡¯s a useful thing. Forgot I had that.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, annoyed at both of them. Was this how Emma felt when I left her waiting on explanations?


    ¡°It¡¯s written in Mediiric,¡± Emma said. ¡°The Mediir were an Edaean empire of old, and their language was considered the Sorcerer¡¯s Script for many centuries, before we started using Elfcant here in the subcontinent. House Carreon used it for many of their rites.¡±


    I tensed, but Lias seemed more focused on the scroll than Emma¡¯s slip. I didn¡¯t want the wizard knowing my ward¡¯s identity ¡ª it was dangerous knowledge, especially given to one of the Magi.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Binding Rite,¡± Lias muttered, running a gloved finger over the faded scrawl. ¡°Quite useless now, but there¡¯s still a name attached. See these burns here? The fiend they used this on broke free, probably turned its would-be masters inside out in the bargain. Fools.¡±


    ¡°What demon was it?¡± I asked.


    Emma began to recite from the page. ¡°He of the Rotting Gift, He Who Crawls Upon the Sky, Father of The Writhing Ones, Corpseborn, Wingtaker. He Who Beheld The Burning. One of Eight, One of Ten, One of Six Hundred and Sixty Six. We call you from the Dark Which Howls, we call you, ye who art among the Dread and Awful Presences, Ye who art Lord of Blights.¡±


    ¡°Careful,¡± Lias murmured warningly. ¡°This can still call him. My sanctum is well warded, but best to not take the risk. Skip to the last line.¡±


    Emma¡¯s tracing finger slid down the page, and she continued. ¡°We name you, Blood Fly. We name you, Father of the Scarlet Shelled.¡± She threw us a significant look on that last part, and I gave her an approving nod.


    ¡°Good find,¡± I told her. She returned my praise with a rare smile of genuine pleasure, rather than of mockery or snide confidence.


    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s true name, I think.¡± Glancing back to the page she recited the rest. ¡°We name you, Yith Golonac.¡±


    All the world seemed to go cold, as though winter were not many days gone now to spring.


    They gave Yith flesh with maggots and meat.


    ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± I said in a hoarse voice. ¡°This is the demon we¡¯re looking for.¡±


    ¡°You are certain?¡± Lias asked.


    I nodded. ¡°The demon summoned in Caelfall was called Yith. I can¡¯t tell you how I¡¯m certain he¡¯s the Carmine Killer, but I believe he is.¡±


    Karog had been called to Garihelm by an unknown benefactor. Catrin had heard whispers from the changeling community of a darkness in Garihelm¡¯s streets. Lias had warned of the Inquisition¡¯s growing influence.


    Red beetles in the corpses. A spiritual malaise like insects crawling in the walls, boiling into reality. I¡¯d felt that sensation once before, in the walls of Castle Cael.


    The pieces started coming together. I felt certain of the uneasy belief coiling through my gut.


    ¡°The Council of Cael is in Garihelm,¡± I said aloud. ¡°And I¡¯m pretty sure their pet is here with them.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 18: Sooth

    Arc 3: Chapter 18: Sooth


    ¡°I¡¯m not arguing with you about this,¡± I said to Emma, having already been arguing for nearly ten minutes. ¡°You¡¯re staying here until I get back.¡±


    ¡°I deserve to at least know why,¡± Emma had her feet planted and her fists balled. ¡°I didn¡¯t swear myself to your lead so I could be kept safe whenever we face true danger.¡±


    Her lips twisted, and her voice turned bitter. ¡°I am not a child. I am not a damsel. I am training to be a warrior. Why are you leaving me behind?¡±


    I caught Lias¡¯s shadowy gaze from across the room. I felt his impatience, but ignored him to focus on my ward. The night had passed, and both of us had managed to catch a few hours of rest. I¡¯d rested little, in truth, and had taken the time to consider my next course of action.


    I¡¯d also made the mistake of telling Emma about that course, and giving her the chance to butt heads with me.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t trained you for this,¡± I told her. ¡°You¡¯re not ready.¡±


    The young woman¡¯s amber eyes flashed with fury, but I continued before she could speak. ¡°Hunting demons is a dark business, Emma. They can get in your thoughts, in your skin.¡±


    ¡°Nath taught me more tricks than you might think,¡± Emma said. ¡°I am not helpless, even against magic.¡±


    I paused at that. Nath was ancient, and she had battled the profane before humanity had erected so much as a single hut within these shores. It was possible Emma could be of some help, with Briar sorcery and her Blood Art at hand.


    I steeled my resolve and shook my head. ¡°Not this time, kid. I¡¯m sorry, but this monster is no joke. Stay with Lias. He might have some tasks for you, and I¡¯m still waiting for word from Catrin besides. She might get a message to me through you.¡±


    A lame excuse, but I¡¯d made up my mind. Emma glowered at me a long moment, then her expression became remote. ¡°As you command,¡± she said, and turned on her heel to march away at a stiff gait.


    I¡¯d regret that later, I suspected. I¡¯d been pushing Emma away, depriving her of opportunities to prove her measure both to me and to herself. How long before she lost faith in both of us?


    But I knew what I faced wasn¡¯t an enemy for anyone without experience. Emma Orley might have a keen blade and a deadly Art, but it wouldn¡¯t protect her against what had been in Lady Yselda¡¯s bedroom.


    I wasn¡¯t even certain I could protect her, much less myself.


    ¡°I take it you have some sort of plan?¡± Lias asked me, distracted by more research. I¡¯d approached the desk he worked at after my squire had stormed off. ¡°Also, what is the story with that girl?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you another time,¡± I said, intending to never tell him. The last thing Emma needed was a wizard interested in her bloodline. ¡°For now, I need more information about things the Accord and the Inquisition might have overlooked.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Lias pulled his attention from his book. The way his shadowy visage twisted to one side, as though there were nothing but man-shaped gas beneath the robe, was eerie.


    ¡°The changeling community,¡± I said. ¡°They see and know things even your spies might not, and they wouldn¡¯t talk to the Priorguard freely. I might be able to convince them to help me. They might give me a warmer trail to follow than an empty room and a name, anyway.¡±


    ¡°If you believe so,¡± Lias said. He always sounded dismissive, so I couldn¡¯t be certain of the skepticism I heard in his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m also going to investigate more of the places this Carmine Killer has been ¡ª I want to know if this demon was there at all of them. Could be the inquisitors missed something, and I need to know if Yith is working alone or not.¡±


    I felt Lias¡¯s frown even if I couldn¡¯t see it. ¡°You believe there may be more than one Abyssal here?¡±


    ¡°...Perhaps.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. There was only the one at Caelfall, and it hadn¡¯t taken physical form when I came in contact with it. Still, if there¡¯s even a chance it¡¯s one of the eight who were in Seydis, then I won¡¯t assume anything. There¡¯s the Council to worry about too.¡±


    Every new thing I learned about this threat made me less certain I could handle it alone. Even still, if not me, then who? There were no Alder Knights left. No sane ones anyway.


    The Table weren¡¯t the only order of paladins in Urn. A strange thought came to me ¡ª why not work with the Inquisition?


    Other than the fact they¡¯d toss me in a cell, or break me on a wheel? I was an apostate from a traitor order, and wanted in half the Accorded Realms besides.


    ¡°You have those locations for me?¡± I asked the magus.


    Lias smoothly produced a slip of paper and handed it to me. ¡°Delivered by one of Faisa Dance¡¯s messengers an hour ago.¡±


    I took the small scroll and began studying the addresses inside.


    Lias waited a moment, then spoke again. ¡°And I am to, what, babysit your sidekick?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let her hear you call her that,¡± I warned without humor. ¡°And she¡¯s capable. Put her to work, maybe have her run down another lead or haunt the inns for more information. You can attach her to your Lord Yuri disguise, have her play the valet.¡± I held up a finger. ¡°Do not put her in the way of this demon. She¡¯s not a paladin, Li.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Lias said, turning back to his work. ¡°I am certain I can find a task or three, if you think she might be of use. Good hunting, Hewer. Do try not to die.¡±


    ***


    More rain. It fell from the sky in a ceaseless patter, rarely more than a drizzle but enough to leave damp clinging to every stone and crevice of the city.


    I spent the whole morning and a good chunk of the afternoon moving through various districts, finding the places Faisa Dance¡¯s information cited and appraising them in the same way I¡¯d done Yselda of Mirrebel¡¯s home.


    I didn¡¯t find much. Some lingering echoes of something dark, perhaps, but I couldn¡¯t be certain they weren¡¯t just the remnants of a violent death. I found nothing so extreme as what had been in the manse.


    Every living thing has aura, and in a great city like Urn there is an abundance of it. Human thought, human enterprise, fear, tension, excitement, frustration, lust, and a hundred other myriad emotions all created a swirl of pressure on my spiritual senses. Much of the time I couldn¡¯t shut out the background noise, which impeded my ability to discern more subtle details.


    Silence, save for the storm. I saw the vagabond clutch his daughter¡¯s hand more tightly.


    ¡°Go!¡± And the soothsayer threw her bell-clad arm out as though she commanded an avenging army to charge. ¡°Do not fear demons, friends, for She shall drive them back into darkness. Remember our true sovereign! Remember that we serve one queen alone!¡±


    She limped away then. After some time, the crowd began to part, muttering and shaken.


    I turned to go as well, but a strong hand reached out to grab my elbow from the departing throng. I tensed, reaching for the dagger at my belt, but found no blade in the stranger¡¯s hand.


    It was one of the figures in black. He was as tall as me, and nearly as thickly built judging by the strength of the grip that¡¯d stopped me. I couldn¡¯t see his features through the dark veil, stitched with a deep red trident and hung from an iron circlet around his brow.


    I recognized the trident, and the iron auremark hung from his neck.


    Inquisition. I knew then that this must be one of the Priorguard.


    ¡°Help you?¡± I asked him, my hand still on the dagger.


    I saw the shifting of the black-and-red veil as the man studied me. ¡°You a mercenary?¡± He asked. He had a calm voice, oddly normal despite his grim uniform. ¡°You seem strong, friend. The flock could use more lions to guard it.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, glancing toward where the old woman had stood on her makeshift pulpit. She must have been a preoster, I realized. The preternatural charisma, the holy symbol, her impassioned oration.


    Lias had told me the inquisition had its roots in country preachers. Had I just caught a glimpse of one of its leaders?


    ¡°You recruiting?¡± I asked the priorguard, turning my attention back to him.


    ¡°Every arm is needed, if there¡¯s a faithful heart guiding it.¡± Though the words had an element of quotation, I couldn¡¯t detect any irony in the man¡¯s tone. ¡°Seek the church of Rose Malin, friend, if Prior Diana¡¯s words rang true in your ears.¡±


    He departed then, leaving me in a quickly emptying street. I noted a pair of mounted guards turning a corner down the way, and retreated myself.


    Rose Malin. I had a location tied to the Inquisition¡¯s activities in the city, now, though I didn¡¯t know how much use it was. I filed the information away and focused on another lead.


    ¡°Funny, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I stopped, glancing at a ragged figure seated at the mouth of the alley. I couldn¡¯t tell their sex through the obscuring garb, all tattered cloth ruined by rain. They¡¯d taken shelter from the storm beneath the overhanging roofs above, and looked little more than a mound of filthy cloth with a shadowed hole for a face.


    ¡°Did I miss a joke, friend?¡± I asked the beggar.


    ¡°Oh, no.¡± The beggar laughed, then coughed within their rags. ¡°You listened to the Scarlet Prior¡¯s ranting, same as I. You have to admit, there¡¯s an irony in her words. She speaks of corruption in the church, in the nobility, in the ships from the west, yet the Priory couldn¡¯t gain so much power without some of the land¡¯s mighty names backing them in secret.¡±


    I shifted to better stand beneath the shelter of the roofs, directing my attention on the beggar. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t underestimate the masses,¡± I told him. I felt sure it was a him, listening to the gravelly voice. ¡°If these red priests can rile up enough support from the commons, they can neuter the lords easy enough.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± the beggar admitted. The tattered hood tilted up, and I caught a glimpse of the face beneath ¡ª pockmarked, gray, covered in damp grime. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve seen it in the streets, heard whispers of it in the countryside. Many aristos fear the Presider, and would gladly see him slain, but any harm done to this new element will only create martyrs. The Emperor knows this.¡±


    I knelt by the beggar¡¯s side. He seemed too small, as though a child lay under the layers of ruined cloth, yet the voice belonged to an old man. ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°No one,¡± the beggar hissed, cringing away from me. ¡°No one to threaten you, Goldeye. Only one who sees.¡±


    I studied the shape more closely, narrowing my eyes as I let my auratic senses pour their insights into me. I decided to follow my hunch. ¡°I won¡¯t turn you over to the Priorguard,¡± I told the beggar. ¡°I¡¯m looking for information from the Hidden Folk. I mean no harm and bring no blood.¡±


    The ragged shape made a whimpering sound, more hound than man. ¡°Your kind always brings blood. You bring gilt swords and scouring flame and you burn us.¡± His voice became more keening. ¡°We did not ask to be born so broken.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a friend of Catrin of Ergoth,¡± I told him, showing him my empty hands. ¡°She helped me get into the city.¡±


    At that, the beggar ¡ª the changeling ¡ª stopped his cringing retreat. ¡°Cat? You know Cat?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°We know the Inquisition has been a threat to your folk. I need information, and I¡¯m willing to pay for it with what aid I can give. I just want you to take me to someone who can help me.¡±


    ¡°I remember Cat,¡± the beggar muttered, his voice going distant with recollection. ¡°She was a good heart. She was kind to Old Barca.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your name?¡± I asked. ¡°Barca?¡±


    Barca shivered beneath his rags. ¡°I¡¯ve lived in these streets a long time, O¡¯ Autumnal Champion. I see. I remember.¡±


    A gnarled, warted hand ending in a yellow claw emerged from the rags and pointed at me. ¡°Any friend of Catrin¡¯s is a friend to Barca. I will take you to one who can aid you.¡±


    He stood then, though it hardly increased his height. I stood as well, and the figure scurried to a narrow side alley, one descending a steep stair into a lower street. Above, more thunder rumbled.


    ¡°There will be a price,¡± Barca told me, stopping before going below.


    I nodded, steeling myself. ¡°I¡¯ve paid more than a few in my time. Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 19: The Hidden Folk

    Arc 3: Chapter 19: The Hidden Folk


    I followed the changeling into the cities depths, into a section not dissimilar from where Lias had placed his secret refuge. Narrow walkways hugged high walls, precarious intersections of stairs circumnavigated ever-descending rows, and narrow trenches only sporadically protected by grating dominated the neighborhood.


    The slum. May as well call it what it was. I could smell sewage leaking up from below, and the rain falling in a constant drizzle from above did little to clean the scum and mineral buildup clinging to everything like the grainy interior of a water-logged cavern. Eerie faces watched me from dens dug into the very foundations of the city, like hives in stone, or from rickety, half-rotten shacks of wood stacked wherever room could be found.


    ¡°Keep close,¡± Barca hissed. ¡°This place is not friendly to your kind, Goldeye.¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m Sidhe-blessed?¡± I asked him, knowing there wasn¡¯t much love lost between the land¡¯s misbegotten beings and their immortal forebears. I kept my hand close to my axe without actually touching it. I had my cloak wrapped around my gear and my cowl up, so no watching eyes could see how armed I was.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re human,¡± Barca said, pausing and turning a too-large, too-yellow eye on me. From the glimpses I¡¯d gotten of him beneath the rags, he seemed to resemble something part small man, part dog, and part amphibian. He hopped and crawled more than he walked.


    ¡°Most of the changelings in the city can hide themselves from human eyes,¡± Barca continued, leading me over a bridge running over a deep drainage canal. The bridge was little more than a narrow arch of stone, with no rails on the sides. ¡°They are close enough to human, or have glamour, and can lead relatively normal lives. But some of us cannot. Some of us are too twisted, or we didn¡¯t inherit enough faerie magic from our forefathers to create a masque.¡±


    He paused a moment, then continued in a more sullen voice. ¡°Some of us are not Fae at all. Pay them no mind,¡± he added, indicating the watching figures. ¡°You are safe so long as I guide you. Many know old Barca.¡±


    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°To a... leader, among our kind. You could say he is our protector, our voice, and other things besides. Once you are there, you will be on your own.¡±


    Fair enough.


    He led me deeper, until I could no longer even catch glimpses of the sky high above, or see the rooftops of the higher districts. We took a winding route, eventually passing into a series of tunnels abundant with rusted metal grating and dripping ceilings. I heard scuttling things in the dark. Vermin, and larger predators.


    ¡°In here,¡± Barca said, his luminescent eyes flickering past me. ¡°Night approaches, Goldeye. Best be swift. Hungry things walk these alleys after dark.¡±


    I stepped past him, inspecting the tunnel. It went on a long ways, and I could hear water dripping like rain within.


    ¡°Tell me more about this leader,¡± I said, more to break the uncomfortable ambience of that dreary place. ¡°Who is¡ª¡±


    I glanced back, and realized my guide had vanished. I stood alone in the tunnel.


    Damn it. I glared into the tangled street, but it seemed abandoned.


    I knew I should turn back. The whole situation stank of a trap. I placed a hand on the axe beneath my cloak, my instincts screaming that I should leave. I knew I was watched, but couldn¡¯t tell from where.


    Everywhere?


    ¡°I come in peace,¡± I called out, my voice echoing down the tunnel. ¡°I¡¯m a friend of Catrin¡¯s. I seek information from the Hidden Folk.¡±


    No response. Cursing, I stepped deeper into the tunnel and began to make my way forward. Soon, the overcast daylight receded far behind me. The world closed in, filling with the sound of pattering water and my own echoing boot steps, each step bringing me further into danger with a soft splash.


    Save for wan daylight beaming through cracks in the stone above, it was very dark. Only the aura in my eyes kept me from being blind.


    They also kept the thing which dropped down from the ceiling a ways ahead from escaping my notice. It fell quietly, a gangly shape in the distant tunnel, using the sound of the rain above and the water running below the grates to disguise the small splash of impact.


    I stopped my slow walk. The shape in the distant tunnel crouched low, silent. At a distance, I couldn¡¯t quite tell how large it was ¡ª big, at least. I couldn¡¯t make out clear details, only the impression of long arms and bowed legs, broad shoulders. The shape squatted like a beast in the shallow water.


    It watched, and waited. I could just make out a glint of too-pale eyes.


    Was this the one Barca had led me to? Every hair on my body stood on end. I took another step forward¡ª


    And a voice spoke from directly behind me.


    ¡°I told you! Came right here, like a dashing hero braving the Underworld for some nymph tail.¡±


    I whirled, and saw another figure standing in the tunnel the way I¡¯d come. They must have slipped out from one of the pipes or cracks in the stonework. Standing closer, my aura-enhanced vision could see them more clearly.


    She looked human, skinny, wearing a white shirt under a brown bodice and men¡¯s leggings in a commoner style. She had short, wheat-yellow hair and flashed crooked teeth. Her eyes gleamed yellow in the dark.


    ¡°Hey, Red.¡± Her wolf¡¯s eyes studied me with hungry attention. ¡°Little lost, are we?¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at her. She looked familiar, though I couldn¡¯t place her face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t recognize me, do you?¡± The blonde-haired woman paced from one side of the tunnel to the other, tilting her head as her crooked grin widened. The smile, more than anything else, looked familiar.


    Cat smiled like that, when she was angry. Or hungry.


    I realized then I did recognize her, though we¡¯d never spoken. With the memory, I began to slide my axe from its iron ring beneath my cloak.


    The woman¡¯s yellow eyes flickered down, and her grin widened. Her teeth were ivory, such a pale yellow they were nearly white, and her mismatched canines were very sharp. ¡°Oh, what you have there for me, big man? Something nice?¡±


    ¡°Only Catrin calls me that,¡± I said. ¡°Does she know you¡¯re here, Joy?¡±


    Her eyes narrowed at the sound of her name. ¡°I think by the end of the night, you¡¯ll let me call you whatever I want.¡± Those wolf eyes slid from me, and the changeling¡¯s grin thinned into something anticipatory.


    I spun, drawing my axe in the same motion and throwing my cloak back to get it out of the way. The shape that¡¯d crouched at the far end of the tunnel had closed incredibly fast, and with impossible stealth, loping forward with a half-sprinting, half bestial gate. It had pale gray-blue skin, back-bent legs, and short horns jutting from a cervid head.


    It slammed into me full force, that charging beastman, its curling horns connecting with my hauberk hard enough to make even iron split. But the dark elf chainmail wasn¡¯t made from mortal iron, and it held.


    It still hurt like all the hells, and knocked me into the water hard enough to make the world spin. My vision went black a terrifying moment, and I lost all my air. I got brackish water in my nose, my mouth and ears. Every instinct in me screamed to move.


    I did, rolling aside an instant before a cloven hoof would have split my skull like a melon. It came down in the water instead, splashing me.


    Better damp than dead. I twisted, kicked, and my boot ¡ª reinforced with ordinary steel ¡ª slammed into something delicate and thin. The ankle, more that of a deer¡¯s than a man¡¯s, broke.


    The beast let out a scream of pain and stumbled, thrashing. I cleared out of the way of its sharp horns and claws, managing to find my feet and get my back to the wall. My nostrils flared with each breath, the pounding of my own heart a storm in my ears. My hood had fallen off, and my cloak and hair were soaked.


    Looking around, I saw more inhuman shapes in the tunnel. They slipped through cracks in the stone, scuttled from narrow side tunnels, or rose from the shallow water. Some wore rags like Barca had, while others were naked. Many looked like a hybrid of human and animal, while some were hardly recognizable as either.


    Joy stood among them. She glanced at the thrashing man-beast whose ankle I¡¯d broken, sniffed, then turned her yellow eyes back to me. ¡°You going to make this hard? Not that I¡¯m complaining, but there¡¯s only one way this goes, honey. How many broken bones you have by the end of it is up to you.¡±


    ¡°What explanation is needed? You are an axeman for the order which oppresses them, drives them down into these depths where those above pour their neglect and their shit.¡±


    I glanced at Joy. She¡¯d lifted herself using the damp wall as support. She had one hand pressed to the split skin where I¡¯d head-butted her, which poured blood down over her face. I bled as well, a slow trail falling between my eyebrows and tracing the contour of my nose.


    ¡°The ones who invited you here,¡± I said, realizing. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the Council, was it? It was the Hidden Folk.¡±


    Karog snorted bullishly, his breath steaming in the air like a gust of hot wind. ¡°They have no protection. The Priorguard see them all as manifestations of sin and persecute them. More than once, these slums have been targeted for purges. They sought help where they could.¡±


    ¡°I thought the Keeper protected Urn¡¯s changelings,¡± I said.


    Joy let out an ugly, hateful little laugh. ¡°He rules us, you neckless idiot. When we break his rules or risk his wrinkled hide, he leaves us for the crows, just like he did for the Peregrines here in this city. He¡¯s no different to the Houses or the Church ¡ª just an old edifice of power none of us can break free of.¡±


    I remembered Catrin¡¯s story about a vampire clan who¡¯d run afoul of the Keeper when she¡¯d been young.


    Karog¡¯s eyes swept the injured, frightened changelings. His jaw tensed. Speaking to Joy without taking his eyes off me he said, ¡°Will you be alright?¡±


    She spat out a bit of broken tooth. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I warned you about him, Kar. I tried to warn Catrin, but the bloodsucker¡¯s fully cockstruck, she wouldn¡¯t listen.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What is she talking about?¡±


    Karog took another step forward. ¡°The vampire believes you are outcast like her, like the rest of us. But that isn¡¯t true, is it? We¡¯ve been watching you. We know you¡¯re working with the wizard.¡±


    Joy bared her sharp fangs at me. ¡°That spider¡¯s been lording over the slums for years, forcing the changelings to act as his spies and holding the threat of exposure over our heads. We either keep his good will or he lets the Priorguard have the run of the place. Nice friend you¡¯ve got, eh?¡±


    ¡°Even then, we are not kept safe.¡± This came from the wyldeman, who had a surprisingly soft, ordinary voice. He¡¯d managed to lift himself using one of the walls, his broken leg held tentatively off the ground. ¡°The Inquisition was here only a fortnight ago. They took our elder.¡±


    I closed my eyes, suppressing the well of frustration that rose up in me. Damn it, Lias. Fixing my attention on Karog I said, ¡°I¡¯m only trying to track down the Council, our mutual enemy. I have good reason to believe they¡¯re here, in the city.¡±


    Karog glared at me a long moment, no hint of surprise on his simian features, or anything to tell me if my words had an effect.


    ¡°Karog?¡± Joy¡¯s voice held a note of uncertainty.


    The ogre¡¯s impassive mask broke, and he threw a look toward the changeling that was almost apologetic. ¡°I have sworn to protect these,¡± he said to me. ¡°You have already done them harm. They attacked first, so I will not disembowel you for it.¡±


    He lowered his heavy head, crouching and tightening his grip on his blades. ¡°But you will leave now.¡±


    I took a step forward. ¡°Karog, are you listening? The Council is here, and they have a¡ª¡±


    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± Karog bellowed, and the volume of that shout was a physical thing in the confines of the tunnel. I winced, almost dropping my axe to clasp my hands over my ears as the sound echoed.


    When the last reverb of the shout had faded, the ogre continued in a deadly calm voice. ¡°I am willing to die for vengeance, but I am a sellsword, Hewer. The changelings of Garihelm have paid me to protect them. They have given fair compensation. I will not drag them into my vendetta, and I do not care about your priests or your lords. Play the cat¡¯s paw for your wizard ally all you wish, but I shall not bring the attentions of the Church down on these people, much less the Council.¡±


    His voice turned bitter. ¡°I know well enough what they¡¯re capable of.¡±


    ¡°If you know that,¡± I said, matching his tone, ¡°then you know that letting them do what they want could bring even more danger. You remember Caelfall? What they did there?¡±


    Karog¡¯s yellow-red eyes narrowed, but Joy cut in before he could reply.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been told to piss off, cutter.¡± She sneered. ¡°So get pissing. You¡¯re not welcome.¡±


    Karog straightened, the threat in his posture vanishing, but none of the resolve. ¡°My promises mean more to me than satisfying my rage. Whatever bonds hold you to your crusades, they are not mine.¡± He met my eyes. ¡°It is time to leave.¡±


    We matched glares a while. I felt the array of eyes in that tunnel fixed on me, every one of them full of anger and fear.


    I inhaled, then let out my anger in the exhale, along with a plume of amber-tinted mist. ¡°You said the Priorguard took one of you?¡±


    No response. The tension in the air was palpable. I clenched my jaw in frustration and turned to leave.


    ¡°The elder,¡± one of the other changelings said. The harpy, whose beak I¡¯d broken. She looked mostly human, save for the feathers and too-large eyes. Her beak emerged where a human nose would have been, curving down over bow-shaped lips to meet a similar protrusion curving up from her chin. She had a singer¡¯s voice, clear and pretty, presently somewhat nasal from her injury.


    ¡°He has been our leader for many decades,¡± the harpy continued. The toad-headed changeling in the merchant garb had helped her stand. ¡°He was a healer... an apothecary.¡±


    ¡°Where did they take him?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Where do you think?¡± Joy said. ¡°Into that fucking cathedral in the upper city, or more likely some dungeon under it.¡±


    There were many cathedrals in Garihelm, but I suspected I knew which one she meant. Myrr Arthor, the seat of the Clericon College.


    ¡°He¡¯s probably already dead,¡± Joy added sullenly, glaring at me as though I were personally to blame. ¡°Questioned to death by that damn Presider.¡±


    The feathered woman flinched.


    ¡°Why did they take him?¡± I asked.


    Karog was staring at me oddly. Joy, however, growled and stepped forward, her fangs bared. ¡°Told you to fucking leave!¡± She spat.


    I turned, and this time I didn¡¯t stop walking.


    ¡°Where will you go?¡± Karog called out.


    ¡°If the Inquisition took this elder,¡± I said, glancing back without stopping, ¡°then it¡¯s probably because they think he knows something about the murders in the city ¡ª they¡¯re hunting the Carmine Killer too.¡±


    Who I now knew was connected to the Council of Cael. I turned my eyes forward, steeling myself for what was to come.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get your elder back, if he¡¯s still alive.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 20: Rose Malin

    Arc 3: Chapter 20: Rose Malin


    I¡¯ve done many stupid things in my life. Attempting to break into the largest edifice of the Aureate Faith in the world in order to free one of the Inquisition¡¯s prisoners might have gone a bit beyond the pale.


    ¡°Why am I doing this?¡± I muttered to myself, sinking back into the cover of an alley as a group of Forger knights rode past. The street before me widened into a large avenue, mostly lined in temples and governmental buildings. There were relatively few people here besides priests, officials, and other wealthier sorts.


    The Bell Ward, they called this part of the city. The Clericon College held court here. Ever since King Markham Forger of Reynwell had been named Emperor of Urn, the priests had centered their power here in his city. It was almost a city unto itself, full of clerks, monks, temple knights and other holy sorts.


    Which meant blending with the crowds would be a less viable tactic to move about unseen. At least in Vinhithe, I¡¯d been able to use the crowded layout of the city and a public execution to help mask my presence.


    Why was I doing this? The smart play would be to reconnect with Lias, coordinate, come up with another plan or pursue another lead. He might even be able to use his resources to find out if this changeling elder were still alive.


    Maybe because Lias had lied to me. Or, perhaps not lied, but withheld important information. He hadn¡¯t told me he¡¯d been using the changeling community in the city for his spy network, letting me walk into a hostile situation blind. He hadn¡¯t told me the Priorguard had raided the slums.


    He hadn¡¯t changed at all since we were young.


    And perhaps I was doing this because I couldn¡¯t get the image of that sobbing woman in the tunnel out of my head.


    Is this for your mission, or because you feel bad? Keep your head clear, Hewer.


    Either way, I wouldn¡¯t drag Emma into this madness. I¡¯d spent the better part of a decade operating alone, anyroad.


    A bell tolled high above, drawing me from my thoughts. More followed, the sound drowning out even the grumbling storm high above. More bells across the city answered, and in the far distance I heard the sound of a great gate groaning open.


    More visitors for the summit. My eyes fixed on the centerpiece of that great chorus. The cathedral was a mountainous thing, a testament to two centuries of Reynish engineering. Eight spires rose to pierce the sky, all of them the spikes of a crown, the cap the grand dome of the College Basilica. Carved saints guarded each crenellation on each wall, and gargoyles lurked among the parapets, dormant now with the sun still high. Satellite structures of garnished wood and white stone spread from the central bastion in a labyrinthian sprawl housing hundreds of cleric-scribes, monks, officials, and guards.


    A veritable fortress. Luckily, it wasn¡¯t my target. I took a minute to admire it, then turned my eyes elsewhere.


    I didn¡¯t head for that citadel of the faith. I suspected my quarry wouldn¡¯t be within, either lost in the cathedral itself or confined in the dungeons beneath it. Instead I headed for a smaller, older structure tucked into the southern face of the Bell Ward. More weathered, with a less baroque design, the church was almost lost amid the grand collection of structures of varying styles and periods around it.


    It would have made a grand sight in most any other place. A single high bell tower jutted up from the central structure, the holy auremark engraved on the tower¡¯s west in repudiation of the Old Realms. My eyes, however, fixed on the great stained glass window dominating the building¡¯s face ¡ª a stylized rose fashioned of every shade of red men could work into glass.


    Many of the temples, churches, monasteries, and great cathedrals of the city had armed guards, either ordained knights or city guard loaned to the clergy. I saw no guards haunting the courtyard in front of this church. I passed by an aged fountain in the likeness of the Heir¡¯s handmaidens. I could still make out the spot where one figure had been removed from the set.


    A very old church indeed.


    As I approached the front doors, a shadow detached itself from a pillar near the doors and padded down the steps to greet me. He was a monk in the golden-brown robes of any country preoster, his cloth homespun, his once squared face softened by long years.


    He searched me with dark, clear eyes, and I knew he didn¡¯t miss the outline of armor beneath my cloak, the telltale bulge my axe made at my belt. A former soldier, I thought, or just a man who¡¯d led a hard life. Even still his smile was warm.


    ¡°Welcome, brother. Can I be of assistance to you?¡±


    I felt certain I was in the right place. Few other places of worship in all the realms would hold anyone at the door.N/ne?w n0vel chap/ers are published o/n


    ¡°This is Rose Malin?¡± I asked.


    ¡°What gave it away?¡± The monk asked, grinning. ¡°Aye, that it is.¡±


    I caught glimpses of movement behind several trees and statuary in the corner of my vision. Watching eyes. This place was more well guarded than it looked.


    ¡°A man with an iron mark about his neck told me to visit this place if...¡± I searched my memory for the priorguard¡¯s words. ¡°Prior Diana¡¯s words rang true in my ears.¡±


    The subtle edge of caution in the man¡¯s face melted away, and his smile grew more genuine. ¡°Ah! You must be one of Garm¡¯s lions.¡±


    ¡°He did use that word, I think.¡± I returned his smile, though mine came less easy. It had been most of ten years since anyone knew my face, and Urn is a large land. Even still, I felt a bead of sweat mix with the rain-mist on my temple.


    And why would it need to be? The Inquisition was no army of crusaders, not yet anyway.


    ¡°There will be time for that,¡± Brother Caslin said. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve chosen a... fraught time, to come to our fair city. Have you heard the rumors of late? The violence in the walls?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve heard there have been some deaths. Seems a bad time for it, with the Accord gathering here.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± The monk sighed and murmured a prayer under his breath. ¡°It was all the Presider could do to convince His Majesty to restrict access in and out of the city, lest this butcher slip away with the crowds. He was also the one who gained the support needed to quell the monsters in the lower city ¡ª the local guard had let them get out of hand since the war, and we¡¯ve enough wolves outside the walls without worrying about beasts crawling up from below.¡±


    Brother Caslin cast his eyes down. ¡°Odd. I spent all those years with my nose buried in a book studying my faith, and only recently have I realized just how much sin boils right beneath our feet.¡±


    ¡°The Presider must be a powerful man, to have King Forger¡¯s ear.¡± I hid my clenched fist beneath my cloak, remembering the terrorized changelings I¡¯d met in the slums.


    Strange. There¡¯d been a time I¡¯d have thought nothing of this sort of talk. As a boy, slaying monsters and delving into dank places for bloody adventure had seemed a fine thing. Sometimes, I hated that the Table had given me such clear vision. It hadn¡¯t made the real monsters any easier to see.


    Brother Caslin nodded. ¡°He is a great man, Presider Oraise. Without him, I sometimes fear we¡¯d be lost. But that¡¯s politics, and you¡¯ve already said you¡¯ve little head for them.¡±


    ¡°Just here to do my part,¡± I agreed. ¡°Light a torch of my own.¡±


    ¡°Wait here,¡± Brother Caslin said. ¡°Pray a while. There will be tests. I will fetch the Knight-Confessor ¡ª he handles all new recruits. He may be in meditation, but it shouldn¡¯t take long.¡±


    He scurried off then, leaving me alone in the empty nave. I walked among the pews ¡ª the church was made in a newer style, a rectangular room with the sanctuary toward the back on a raised dais, rather than the circular design still popular in more rural parts of the realms. The stained glass above the altar and on the building¡¯s front did strange things to the light, dramatizing parts of the room in ruby-tinted hues while leaving others in shadow.


    Perhaps I should pray, I thought. It had been a while, and I¡¯d been raised faithful. I couldn¡¯t remember when I¡¯d stopped.


    I decided against it. Excommunicate as I was, I already transgressed stepping on holy ground without being ordered to by the clergy. I might catch fire.


    And I had other business. When I¡¯d swept out of the tunnel following my talk with Karog, I¡¯d half been ready to ghost into Rose Malin or Myrr Arthor itself and stage an escape for this wise man from the slums.


    Foolish. No one with the Inquisition would know my face. I had anonymity. Better to play things cautious, use Rose Malin¡¯s open doors to my advantage.


    Chances are this isn¡¯t their only base in the city, I thought darkly. They could be holding the elder somewhere else. Perhaps even beneath the College, like Joy thought.


    No use stumbling around like a thief and risking getting caught, if I could find out where the captive was from Brother Caslin and his company. The Priorguard sought to recruit, and that in itself gave me my opportunity. Even besides my more direct mission, I was tired of being the last to know things. The Aureate Inquisition and the Priory of the Arda had become these ominous shadows in my mind ¡ª now I had the chance to learn about them from the inside, stop being so out of the loop.


    That had been part of the reason I¡¯d taken Lias¡¯s offer in the first place. I¡¯d spent too long separated from the civilization I sought to protect, too long teetering on the edge of apathy.


    Still, I needed a firmer plan.


    Echoing steps drew me from my thoughts as someone entered the nave. Not Brother Caslin ¡ª he¡¯d been wearing soft slippers which had whispered across the tile. These were solid metal, each step a firm note in the air. I caught the telltale of shifting armor as well, the hiss of a long cape. The Knight Confessor, I assumed.


    ¡°Strange,¡± a calm voice said from behind me, male, with a deep tenor. ¡°That we¡¯d meet in a place like this. Have you come to give confession again, Alken?¡±


    All the blood went out of me. I reacted purely on instinct, spinning, throwing back my cloak and freeing my axe to draw from its iron ring. I had it in my hand in a moment, and¡ª


    The room filled with the soft sound of great wings unfurling, and the temperature sharply dropped. The aureflame I¡¯d started to summon flickered and died on Faen Orgis¡¯s edge, along with much of the light in the church.


    No, the light didn¡¯t die. It condensed, folding in to wreath the man who stood between me and the doors. He wore a pale gray cape long enough to brush the mosaic, and beneath it he¡¯d clad himself in fine steel. He had the echo of a handsome face, lined and gaunt, with prominent sideburns and a sharp widow¡¯s peak of dark hair lightly touched with frost.


    I knew him, and what rode him, and was wise enough to be afraid.


    Illuminated in the ruby light of Rose Malin, wearing a wistful smile as though we were long lost friends reunited, stood Ser Renuart Kross.

 Arc 3: Chapter 21: Clash of Two Devils

    Arc 3: Chapter 21: Clash of Two Devils


    I flew into action without hesitation. I had no banter in me, no witty remarks. I knew that my only chance lay in decisive, brutal action.


    So I shaped an Art, feeling warmth bloom in my chest as my aura reworked itself in response to my will. I made my spirit sharp as a keen blade, hard as an iron bough. Amber light bloomed inside Rose Malin, clashing with the island of red concentrated around Kross.


    I slammed one boot down on the ground, and the air rippled around it like a mirage of disturbed water. Around me, the phantasm of my Soul Art took shape, forming into the image of gilt antlers, the crown of a charging stag. I lifted my axe up, resting it on one shoulder, and lunged forward.


    That single step carried me nearly thirty feet in the blink of an eye. I glided forward more than I ran or leapt, the edges of my bloodred cloak chased with aureflame.


    Behind me, a hammer of solid cold slammed down into the spot I¡¯d been standing. I felt it against my back. Had I been even an instant slower, Kross¡¯s Art would have hit me.


    Without so much as an eye blink, Kross stood his ground. I felt a shudder in the air, like the whole world trembled a moment with an unsettling thought. An instant before I would have struck him with all the force of a battering ram hurled by a giant¡¯s hand, invisible force slapped me, a backhand so fast and violent my magic shattered into useless gilded glass.


    I went flying back, hit the ground once in a painful roll, and managed to slam the sharp wedge on the back of my axe¡¯s blade into the rich mosaic floor. My axe carved a dimly glowing line into the stone for seven feet before I¡¯d managed to slide to a stop.


    I glared up at the gray-cloaked man from my crouch, letting out an amber-misted breath.


    ¡°Vicar,¡± I snarled.


    ¡°Such anger!¡± The crowfriar laughed. ¡°That was the Eardeking¡¯s Lance, was it not? I admit, I¡¯ve seen few of the Alder¡¯s techniques in person.¡±


    He slid his plain sword from its sheath then, swiping it to one side. With my aura burning, I began to make out the phantasmal shape of the being who clung to him ¡ª a cold angel with four great wings feathered with what looked like icy glass, its arms wrapped around Kross¡¯s unadorned breastplate. It would have been beautiful, only the eyes peering at me over the crowfriar¡¯s shoulder were piercing and cruel.


    I didn¡¯t just have the devil monk to contend with, but the Devil itself ¡ª a Zosite of the Iron Hell.


    ¡°Why are you here, Hewer?¡± Kross looked perplexed, his head tilted slightly to one side. ¡°What purpose could you possibly...¡± He let out a huff of laughter and half closed his eyes. ¡°Of course. They really are fools, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what he meant, and didn¡¯t much care then. ¡°The Inquisition,¡± I said, my voice cold. ¡°Is it just another crowfriar plot, then?¡±


    Madness. It couldn¡¯t be ¡ª they hadn¡¯t been in the subcontinent long enough for anything that grand. Only months ago they¡¯d been poaching outcast nobles in the countryside.


    Figure it out later, survive now, I told myself, and tightened my grip on the ancient branch forming my weapon¡¯s handle.


    Kross pointed his longsword at me. ¡°Will you surrender quietly?¡±


    In answer, I stood and whispered a prayer in Sidhecant to the axe, nearly brushing my lips against the faerie bronze. It began to glow like molten gold. I swept it down, its shape blurring through the air, then brought it up above my head to grasp in two hands.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be foolish, Alken.¡± Kross¡¯s fatherly voice became harsh. Even still, he took a guard. The dark angel clinging to him folded its wings in protectively, its silver eyes narrowing.


    The technique I shaped would hurt even an infernal creature like the knight-exorcist, and possibly his immortal companion as well. I poured every flicker of power I could into Faen Orgis.


    ¡°You know the names of my Arts, Renuart?¡± I glared at him as gilded light solidified around me. ¡°Do you know the Dawn?¡±


    Kross¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t. Not here ¡ª you¡¯d never make it out of the city alive.¡±


    High above, thunder rumbled. A flash of lightning lit the church¡¯s beautiful windows scarlet. Chances were I¡¯d shatter them, and split the building from ceiling to foundation in the bargain. Godsven¡¯s Dawn was a High Art, among the mightiest of the Table¡¯s weapons.


    An invisible guillotine took shape in the world, a blade which could wound even an angel, the mightiest form of a paladin¡¯s smite.


    Kross bared his teeth, all pretense of ease vanishing, and he lifted his sword. His guardian lifted a second pair of arms which seemed to unfold out from the first, the fingers interlocking into a complex arrangement above, forming some kind of rune. The arms split again, so there were six, and the shape become even more complex.


    It was casting something of its own to defend its host, or stop me.


    Too late. I felt the Zosite¡¯s aura reshaping itself, but I was already done. I brought my hands back behind my head, as though I meant to hurl the axe, and then swung¡ª


    Or tried to. Something caught my arms in a grip strong as steel-cable, stopping my swing dead. The power I¡¯d gathered flowed out as the ritual motions stalled, turning to useless amber mist. Struggling, I forced my arms down, teeth clenched with the effort.


    Golden strings had wrapped around my arms and the axe. Several lines radiated outward, attached to pillars and other architecture in the church. Each was thinner than a finger, shining softly, and strong as good steel.


    The Zosite hadn¡¯t done this. This was mortal aura.


    ¡°Ser Renuart!¡± A voice called out. My eyes shot toward it, and I saw a black-robed priorguard standing beyond the pews. Though her body and face were heavily veiled by the Inquisitorial uniform, the voice was a woman¡¯s. She had her fingers splayed out, and thin golden strings connected them in a complex array, matching the larger strings holding me.


    A binding Art. Shit.


    Stomping boots filled the church, and more priorguard began to spill into the room. They held iron-capped quarterstaves and cudgels, and every face had a dark rectangle of cloth stitched with the trident of the Inquisition.


    Bad to worse. I grit my teeth, focused my will, and jerked hard to one side. The priorguard who¡¯d bound me with the golden strings let out a yelp, and nearly concussed herself against one of the pews as she stumbled. I jerked again, to the other side this time, then brought my axe up and down. The blade sunk into the nave¡¯s mosaic with a flare of glass-bright fire.


    Aureflame can burn even spiritual constructs, and there¡¯s a reason I rely on it so heavily. All the threads wrapped around the axe and my arms broke away and scattered into useless od.


    The black robed guards began to advance as I stood, burning axe in hand, but Kross snapped out a command. ¡°Stop!¡± He said, his voice echoing in the room.


    The zealots listened to him, quick as any well trained soldiers. Kross kept his eyes on me, all humor gone from him. ¡°He¡¯ll cut half of you down before you subdue him. Let me handle this.¡±


    Murmurs filled the ranks of the priorguard, but they obeyed. The one with the strings of aura had found her balance and paced around the edge of the pews, her gloved fingers working with the dexterity of a spider¡¯s legs as she rearranged her little strings.


    I tore my eyes from her, focusing on the bigger threat. Kross¡¯s angel still poised above him, its six arms and outspread wings forming an abstract shape. I sensed a hard coldness around it ¡ª whatever defense it had tried to work, it had completed it.


    I recognized his build, and the iron mark dangling below his veil. Garm, the man who¡¯d tried to recruit me.


    Had I been lured here? Had he known who I was, or suspected?


    I went for an overhead chop, intending to split his skull without stopping my charge, but he spun his staff and batted my blow aside. Enhanced by aureflame as I was, it shocked me when he deflected my strike ¡ª I sensed no sorcery in him, only impressive mortal strength.


    With three movements, Garm jabbed at my face, missed, knocked my riposte aside, then advanced with a twist and a heavy stomp that turned his whole body. I had to fall back or be taken to the floor, and nearly was even then. I growled in frustration, but the huge man stood his ground, face unreadable behind the dark veil.


    And Kross was still behind me. Him and his angel. I heard his sabatons slapping the floor as he approached, unhurried, and heard the flutter of half-real wings.


    Deep, boreal cold slammed down on me like the weight of a glacier. Air froze against my skin, covering the floor with ice, creating a glassy shell around my armor. With it came a terrible lethargy, a weight. I fell to one knee, shivering.


    The Priorguard in the church watched, waiting, a congregation of shadows with red tridents for eyes.


    I grit my teeth, poured every ounce of will into it, and denied that cage. I pressed my soul against the immortal cold of the seraph, beginning to turn. Garm didn¡¯t approach, or his compatriots ¡ª none of them were willing to get caught in the seraph¡¯s cold power.


    I saw it then, hovering above Kross like his own shadow. Its six arms formed an intricate rune, elbows bent and fingers locked into complex shapes, the lowermost clasped before it as though in prayer.


    I needed to move. If I couldn¡¯t escape, I could at least kill the crowfriar and banish his infernal angel back to Hell, where it couldn¡¯t plot and scheme in my homeland.


    I did move, though it took every ounce of my strength. I found my feet, and took a single step toward Kross, lifting my axe.


    Emma. I needed to warn Emma. If the crowfriars were in the city, and they had the strength of the Priory with them, she was in terrible danger. They would have all manner of ways to force her into their power, to undo everything we¡¯d done in Venturmoor.


    I took another step. I¡¯d survived wars. I¡¯d faced nightmares from other realities. I¡¯d survived the angry fire the elves had fused with my spirit, made it my weapon.


    I hadn¡¯t yet done enough. I still hadn¡¯t made amends.


    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± Kross said softly. I almost believed I heard a touch of sympathy in his voice.


    He was right. My heart was split too many ways.


    The dark seraph¡¯s wings beat once, and again the temperature in the room dropped. Cold deep enough to freeze the sweat to my skin fell upon me, and with it all my strength died.


    And, as I collapsed, the adept¡¯s golden threads clapped together, wrapping me in a tightly bound net. Smaller strings caught at my wrists, my fingers, digging into my joints with impossible finesse, even going beneath my armor. My right wrist twisted painfully, and the axe clattered to the ground.


    One of the priorguard advanced and drove the iron head of his cudgel into my temple. I went down. I felt a boot slam into my stomach, though my hauberk took the force from the blow. Another Priory bruiser kicked the axe away.


    More blows fell, and my armor didn¡¯t save me from all of them.


    ¡°Leave him,¡± Kross murmured, almost bored. ¡°The Presider will want him whole.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Knight-Confessor.¡±


    ¡°Relieve him of the cloak, and any other weapons he might have. Sister Lisette, don¡¯t give him any slack. His magic is stronger than yours, if he has the chance to form it.¡±


    One of the guard took the red cloak from my shoulders, then let out a yelp as it wrapped around him like some predatory amoeba. It took four others to rip it off him, the scene a strange tableau of flapping cloth and grunting, cursing men.


    ¡°Fucking wickedness!¡± The priorguard who¡¯d nearly been smothered cried, voice high with panic. ¡°Devilry!¡±


    Through the mess of my hair, I saw Kross inspect the struggling cloak. Several priorguard had it pinned to the ground. The knight-exorcist stepped forward, judged his aim a moment, then drove his sword into the red cloth. Its struggles ceased.


    ¡°Briar magic,¡± Kross said. ¡°Pay it no heed.¡±


    Soft boots padded near my head, and I glanced up to see the priorguard with the cradle of golden threads between her fingers. I couldn¡¯t see her expression or her features through the veil, but I knew who was behind it.


    ¡°Lisette,¡± I greeted her, my teeth chattering from cold and hoarse from the blows I¡¯d taken. ¡°Where¡¯s Olliard? He decide to go zealot, too?¡±


    It had been more than a year since I¡¯d met the renegade novice and her physiker master. What had happened since, to bring her into the ranks of the Inquisition?


    She didn¡¯t answer, instead looking to Kross as he approached. His armor clanked and settled as he sheathed his sword and studied me. One of the priorguard grabbed my hair and forced my head up to meet their leader¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Did they send you?¡± Kross murmured so only I could hear. ¡°Are you here to kill the Presider?¡±


    I met his gaze, set my jaw, and said nothing.


    His voice turned cold and cruel, the lordly baritone fading to be replaced by the rasping hiss of the burn-scarred crowfriar beneath his disguise. ¡°They lost their chance to stop this when Leonis Chancer¡¯s death failed to have the desired result. My order has taken matters into our own hands, and I won¡¯t have you interfering.¡±


    He shouldn¡¯t have looked into my eyes so long. I saw more than he¡¯d wanted, and felt a bloody grin form across my face.


    ¡°You crows aren¡¯t the Inquisition¡¯s masters, are you Vicar? You¡¯re here just like me ¡ª as an infiltrator. You¡¯re as scared of them as everyone else is.¡±


    I felt relieved. When he¡¯d walked into the room, I¡¯d believed I¡¯d discovered yet another supernatural conspiracy.


    Kross scoffed, though I sense I¡¯d hit close to the mark by the narrowing of his gray eyes. ¡°Where your taskmasters see danger to be eradicated, mine see opportunity to be exploited. But there will be time for such talk soon enough.¡±


    He looked to the veiled guards. ¡°Take him below.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 22: Dogma

    Arc 3: Chapter 22: Dogma


    They took my weapons, my cloak, and my armor. They took my satchels and herbs, all the kit I¡¯d worn through years of wandering and blood. They took my medallion.


    They took my ring.


    I was beaten, and after I¡¯d killed several of their comrades I could hardly blame them. It kept me from fighting back, which I would have the moment the golden threads came undone. They did, eventually, but by that point I was hardly conscious.


    I have a dim memory of being dragged down many flights of stairs, of hard voices in the dark, of the near touch of lit torches held carelessly close to my sweat-damp hair.


    They brought me into a dark room and left me there, tied and bound, for many hours. I drifted in and out of consciousness, still shivering from the infernal cold the Zosite had struck me with.


    They woke me with half-frozen water. I came to tied to a sturdy chair, one I soon realized had been bolted to the floor. My hands were bound to the arms of the chair by iron clasps. I thrashed a moment, but that ended when the first iron cudgel caught me across the neck.


    ¡°Careful,¡± an unfamiliar voice said, cold and dispassionate. ¡°I do not want him broken yet.¡±


    When the pain lessoned enough for me to hear anything, I heard more movement around me, from several people. A heavy door opened and closed. By the time my eyes had focused, I only saw one person.


    We were in a plain stone room with no furnishings save an empty table set with two chairs. I occupied one, and a man I¡¯d never seen before stood behind the other.


    The priest ¡ª I assumed he was a kind of priest ¡ª stood at military rest, facing me. He had a prominent nose and chin below sunken eyes framed by thick eyebrows and a bowl cut which didn¡¯t suit him. His cheeks were gaunt, his jaw wide. His heavy chin hung below a small slash of a mouth beneath a patrician nose. The effect was of one perpetually pensive or unimpressed. He wore a black garment in a bureaucrat¡¯s style, a long, thin robe ending at the ankle beneath an equally dark cape, the two garments nearly blending with one another save for the thin lines of vermillion thread separating them.


    Vermillion too was the trident sewn just above his heart.


    The man, who I took to be in his late thirties, studied me a while with eyes as coldly blue as ice chips, bright compared to his clothes and dark hair.


    ¡°You have caused me some fuss,¡± he said. It was the voice I¡¯d heard before, commanding the guards not to beat me. It was devoid of all passion, quiet and slightly nasal.


    When I failed to reply, the priest shifted and brought a hand down to the surface of the table between us. The wood creaked under that small pressure as he leaned forward. Without sitting, he nodded to one side. One of the veiled priorguard approached, and set an object on the table. Its weight settled with a heavy thump-clank.


    It was my axe. The alloy of Hithlenic Bronze and steel gleamed as it caught light from the braziers. The bloodstains running like cancer across the weapon were stark, condemning.


    The priest¡¯s thin lips twitched as I failed to hide my reaction. ¡°Yes, we know exactly who you are. Not only who, but what. Alken Hewer. Sometimes known as Blackbough, sometimes known as Bloody Al, formerly of the cult known as the Knights of the Alder Table. Yes...¡± his thin lips pursed. ¡°I am quite familiar with the stories. I suppose some might consider this meeting an honor. Shall I call you Headsman, or is that gauche?¡±


    ¡°You have me at a disadvantage,¡± I croaked. It had been many hours since the fight in Rose Malin, by my guess, and I hadn¡¯t been given water.


    ¡°Ah.¡± The black-garbed man nodded. ¡°I am Presider Oraise, a representative of the Clericon Court and a member of the Fifth Cantos. I also serve as an aide to the King.¡± He dipped into a neat, perfect bow.


    The King. He meant the Emperor, Markham Forger. By Urnic custom, he only used the greater title in matters related to the whole Accord. Here in his own city, he was merely King. A way to keep any emperor chosen by the Church from claiming too much authority, and becoming a tyrant over the realms.


    My thoughts rambled. I¡¯d taken several blows to the head. I tried to focus. The pain seemed oddly distant ¡ª numbness, or had they given me something?


    ¡°You¡¯re an inquisitor,¡± I rasped. ¡°The Inquisitor.¡±


    The Presider tilted his head, the gesture not quite a nod. He slipped his shroud-like cape off then, draping it over the back of the other chair, and sat. He rested his elbows on the table, clasped black-gloved hands, and studied me in silence.


    There were old blood stains on the table. They were on the chair, too ¡ª I could feel them, caked there on the sturdy wood. I wore only my undershirt and trousers. They¡¯d even taken my boots. The room was very cold.


    ¡°I am still trying to decide,¡± Presider Oraise said at last, his voice almost ethereal in the dimly lit room, ¡°what I should do with you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing it involves torture,¡± I said. As I managed order over my blurry thoughts, my voice sounded firmer.


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Oraise agreed. ¡°But not necessarily.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at him through my disheveled hair. ¡°So you bring all your guests into the room with the blood and the bolted chairs?¡±


    ¡°I find it best to be honest in all things,¡± the Presider said, not even so much as a ghost of humor in his voice. ¡°I do not deceive, unless in doing so I serve a greater good. I do not inflict pain, unless doing so is also of service. You will not find me a sadist, Lord Hewer. When I begin to peel your skin, when I order my questioners to turn the cranks and drive steel screws into your bones... I can assure you, I will take no pleasure in it.¡±


    He said this with an utter dispassion I found almost worse than the words themselves. His expression never changed, nor did the volume of his voice. He seemed a well-dressed, well-groomed manikin spouting some pre-dictated line.


    I could believe he would take me apart bone by bone, sinew by sinew, and wear that same distant expression the entire time.


    ¡°What¡¯s our other option?¡± I asked him, trying to say it as blandly as possible. ¡°And how do you know who I am, anyway? My name wasn¡¯t ever attached to that of Headsman, not officially.¡±


    Oraise¡¯s cold eyes narrowed. ¡°Do you know where the rest of them are? Your old comrades?¡±


    I thought of Maxim, then buried it deep. Oraise might not be an adept, but it didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t have a thought-reader in his employ. ¡°Most died in Seydis,¡± I told him honestly. ¡°The rest went astray. Into the Wend, probably.¡±


    ¡°The Wend,¡± Oraise scoffed. ¡°More legend. But I digress. Let me lay your options out plainly, Lord Hewer.¡±


    He splayed his gloved fingers out over the table, showing me two empty palms. ¡°I will spend several months putting the question to you until my investigation is complete, and by that time I will have the full backing of the College when I drag you before the all the lords and priests of the north. I will make an example of you, or what¡¯s left of you. Or...¡±


    He closed one fist. ¡°You will offer all your secrets to me freely, and we may work together. Upon your death ¡ª and you will die in my service ¡ª I will have your excommunication lifted. You will be given a proper, hallowed burial, and you will... why are you laughing?¡±


    His voice snapped out like the crack of a barbed whip. I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d started to laugh, but I had ¡ª a low, throaty cackle, hoarse, so stunted it barely sounded like laughter.


    But it was. I took a moment to get myself under control, though I still felt the giggles bubbling up in me. ¡°It¡¯s just...¡± I clenched my teeth against another wave of manic humor. ¡°That¡¯s what they promised me.¡±


    Oraise¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Our gods,¡± I said. ¡°Her angels.¡± I signed the auremark with my left hand, though I couldn¡¯t make it properly with my wrist bound to the chair.


    The Presider¡¯s expression became remote. ¡°Please tell me you aren¡¯t mad. That would be an exceedingly dull end to my efforts, I assure you.¡±


    I managed to get my mirth under control, and felt an odd calm. The Presider had nothing besides my body. He didn¡¯t have Emma, or Maxim, or Lias. He¡¯d guessed who I truly was, outed the Headsman as a renegade knight and not some boogeyman of legend, and that was a sort of victory in his eyes, I felt sure he¡¯d do as I¡¯d done to Rhan Harrower that night I¡¯d cut his head off in front of an audience, and unmake my story.


    But he wouldn¡¯t have the people I cared about.


    ¡°Do you know your Knight Confessor is a devil?¡± I asked him. ¡°Or that there¡¯s a demon in the city? I know who¡¯s behind the Carmine Killings.¡±


    Oraise studied me a long while. I watched him come to a decision, and felt that calm in me harden into resignation.


    ¡°I will have all of it from you,¡± the Presider said. ¡°There is still time. You will be kept here, in these dungeons. It will take me some weeks to compile my findings, and more before the next synod. There will be questions.¡±


    He slammed another object down next to my axe. My medallion, burnt and warped, bearing the Silvering Sun around the golden tree.


    ¡°By the end of this,¡± he told me with glacial calm, ¡°your former liege will answer for her part, and not even the Emperor will be able to protect her.¡±


    I blinked, feeling the world drop out from under me. I realized then, that all this had been a pretense ¡ª Oraise didn¡¯t care about me at all.


    He wanted Rosanna.


    ¡°She¡¯s had no part in this,¡± I said hastily, even as I willed myself to shut up. The words spilled out before I could stop them. ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to her in most of a decade.¡±


    ¡°We will see,¡± Oraise said. ¡°Ser Renuart?¡±


    I heard the sound of a long cape sliding across the stone, and the quiet clank of steel plate. Kross had been in the room the whole time, standing against the wall at my back and silent as a shadow.


    ¡°He will need time to heal from his current injuries,¡± the Presider said. ¡°We will give it to him. You still believe he has accomplices in the city?¡±


    Kross replied in a respectful tone, all business. ¡°Last time I encountered him, he had a young woman in his company. A renegade noble, a disciple of sorts. I doubt she will be far, Presider.¡±


    Oraise nodded. ¡°Continue the search. I am placing you personally in charge of the hunt, Ser Renuart. See to it there are no loose ends. If you can find evidence he had any aid from his old comrades, be it from Her Grace or her pet magus, bring it to me directly.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Lord Presider.¡± I heard Kross¡¯s armor shift as he bowed. It brought his face very close to my left ear, and I could almost hear his crooked smile form.


    Priorguard entered and lifted me from the chair. Kross watched me the whole time, not trusting me a wit. They brought Lisette in, who I recognized despite the veil and robes by her build and fidgeting fingers. She stood by, ready to bind me if I tried anything.


    I was almost too stunned to notice. Rosanna. This whole thing was a conspiracy to bring her down. Why? What conflict did the Inquisition have with her?


    What hadn¡¯t Lias told me?


    Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Presider Oraise inspecting my medallion. The image engraved there in gold and silver caught the light from the braziers, making the metal briefly blaze.


    Then they took me out of the room, and it was a long time before I saw anything so bright again.

 Arc 3: Chapter 23: Abyss

    Arc 3: Chapter 23: Abyss


    In the darkness, in the cold and the damp, my whole world contracted into a single thought, a single sensation, a single truth.


    Pain.


    Despite the Presider¡¯s orders, the priorguard beat me for killing three of their own. The man I¡¯d stabbed in the chest with Faen Orgis¡¯s branch had died badly, sweating himself to death, and nothing the clerics could do with medicine or Art could save him. The cursed weapon¡¯s od was too angry.


    I learned this, and guessed the latter bit, because the ones who beat me half to death told me as they did it. Weak with dehydration, lack of food, and prior injuries, I hadn¡¯t been able to fight back or defend myself.


    I had cracked ribs as I lay in the dark of a filthy cell, possibly a fractured wrist. My nose had been broken, not for the first time in my life, and my whole body felt like a single throbbing bruise.


    They¡¯d taken my clothes, and given me an itching smock instead, threadbare and unwashed. It did nothing for the cold, and rubbed my skin raw.


    I lay in the dark, wondering how I¡¯d gotten myself here.


    Not how. I knew what foolish decisions had brought me here. Why. What had it been for? For a quest I didn¡¯t have to avoid dreaming to hide from? For agency over my life?


    I¡¯d grown arrogant. I¡¯d forgotten I didn¡¯t live in a time of legends anymore. I lived in a world of brutal consequence, and now I faced one.


    I could only hope the people who¡¯d made the mistake of getting close to me didn¡¯t share in it.


    ¡°Got ourselves in deep this time, eh Al?¡±


    ¡°Donnelly?¡± I turned on that hard cot, regretted it as the world went red for an endless moment. Groaning, I reached out into the darkness. Felt cold, damp stone. Nothing else. No presence, alive or dead, met me in that cell.


    Donnelly¡¯s ghost wasn¡¯t here. I¡¯d just been hoping he¡¯d appear, give me some way out, some new mission.


    I couldn¡¯t say how long passed in that black cell. They gave me a chamberpot, and men came to check on me on occasion. They brought food and checked me for worsening injury, but otherwise said nothing. Every time men came they were under heavy guard, and I knew if I even twitched wrong I¡¯d get another beating.V/\Issi?T  for the b/est novel reading experi/en/ce


    And, so badly hurt and weakened, my spiritual strength suffered too. No doubt Kross had made certain of this, knowing what I was capable of. The body and the spirit are conjoined, and if one suffers both are made less.


    I had no power.


    So I waited. I hurt. I fretted.


    When would the questions come? The hot brands and the pliers, the scalpels and the cruel hooks? Images of Hell played through my mind. Images of metal and fire.


    Eventually, the door did open. I heard the clank of armor, the hiss of a long cape against stone. I twisted to glare at the serene face above me through my matted hair.


    ¡°Such a sad sight you seem, Alken.¡± Kross sighed regretfully. ¡°We could have avoided this.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing here, Kross?¡± I hadn¡¯t been given much water. My words were a dry rasp. ¡°Why risk it? If they find out what you are¡ª¡±


    ¡°All they see is a man with an angel on his shoulder,¡± the crowfriar said. The door had shut behind him, leaving us alone. He paced over to the small grate in the wall. No light came through it ¡ª we were too far underground ¡ª but some engineering trick pushed stale air into the cramped room.


    From my prone position, I watched Kross stare a moment at the crusted stone of the cell¡¯s wall, a pensive look on his face.


    ¡°You should take the Presider¡¯s offer,¡± he said, without meeting my eye.


    I narrowed my eyes at him. ¡°Become one of his Knights Penitent, you mean? He hasn¡¯t offered me anything the Choir didn¡¯t, and they at least have the means to back up their promises. All Oraise can do is change some paperwork.¡±


    Kross grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool, Alken. This isn¡¯t about what becomes of your remains ¡ª I¡¯m speaking about the girl.¡±


    With clenched teeth, I forced myself to sit. I had to scoot back against the damp wall to keep upright, wincing as I felt its coldness against my skin. ¡°You won¡¯t find her,¡± I told him. ¡°I¡¯ve trained her well this past winter, and Garihelm is large.¡±


    Kross shrugged. ¡°Believe as you will, but know this ¡ª Emma Carreon is young, and has her entire life to grow desperate. You believe Nath the Fallen has forgotten about her? The Briar Angel¡¯s schemes thread through centuries, Hewer. She has plans for that girl, and nothing you do will keep your ward from the lefthand path.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure your masters have something kinder in mind,¡± I sneered.


    ¡°We will give up our claim on her,¡± Kross said quietly. He did meet my eyes then, fearless of the light in them.


    I stared at him a long moment before answering. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    W e d o n o t l i e


    A shiver of primal revulsion ran through me at the touch of that voice. It was like frozen iron on my soul.


    The Zosite¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Why?¡± I croaked.


    ¡°Because the Iron Tribunal is more interested in you,¡± Kross said frankly. ¡°We have all the Carreons already, save Emma, and it is her great-grandmother who desires the set in any case. One fallen house, no matter how we might use it, is of little consequence to us... but a champion of the Alder Table? That we can use.¡±


    He knelt near me then, fearless of what I might do. And why would he be afraid? I might break his teeth, but I was too weak and too injured to stage an escape.


    And he had that seraph guarding him, in any case.


    ¡°Take the Presider¡¯s offer,¡± he insisted. ¡°Work with me. The Inquisition would root out my brothers as well ¡ª but we serve the same order as your Choir, even if they detest how we do it. We also await Her return. Together, we can steer this army of zealots into something more... constructive.¡±


    When I didn¡¯t respond, his jaw tightened and he spoke with more heat. ¡°You want to do right by this land, paladin? Help me bring order. The Choir is disunited and confused. They are becoming irrelevant, and have been ever since they lost their leader. The Church no longer heeds their guidance, but follows men like Oraise. He is dangerous, Alken.¡±


    ¡°You want me to believe you¡¯re trying to save Urn?¡± I asked him. I felt more tired than scornful. Difficult to stay angry, when most all you feel is hungry and sore.


    ¡°I am,¡± Kross insisted. ¡°I am Vicar of the Credos Ferrum. I lead the Orkaelin missionaries in this land. I have been entrusted with establishing the Iron Tribunal¡¯s presence in Urn, so that we may try to undo some of the damage your neglectful gods have done.¡±


    He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ¡°There could be a place for you among us, Knight of Karles.¡±


    Knight of Karles, not of the Alder Table. A soldier of Urn, rather than guardian of legends. I had to give it to Kross ¡ª he was a clever devil, and knew me better than I¡¯d thought.


    ¡°You want me to strike a devil¡¯s deal with you,¡± I said. ¡°Is this where you produce a sheet of parchment for me to sign?¡±


    In response, he did. He let it unfurl, showing me the harsh script crawling across the yellowed page. It was an angry runic, like knife wounds in the weathered material. It hurt my eyes to look at it.


    ¡°We do not make idle vows,¡± the crowfriar told me. ¡°Sign, and we will fulfill all our promises. We will no longer press our claim to Emma Carreon, and we will protect you from any retribution from the Choir. All you need do is serve, as you have always done.¡±


    I stared at the page a while. I couldn¡¯t read it, but knew in my gut he told me the truth.


    ¡°And when I die?¡± I asked him softly.


    ¡°This is a term of service eternal,¡± he told me with no hesitation. His eyes had changed ¡ª small lights burned within the pupils, like embers on coal. ¡°You will be bound to Orkael. Very likely, we will set you to capturing the Adversary ¡ª there are more stray demons than we would like, and we always have empty pits.¡±


    Bound to Hell for all eternity. Just like poor Jon Orley, though in this case by my own choice. He offered me damnation, and in the same breath claimed it to be a better fate than I could expect otherwise.


    Maybe he was right.


    And, in the Iron Realm was...


    I tried to swallow, only half succeeded with my dry throat. I studied the contract with more focused eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already helped us before,¡± Kross said. I heard his seraph whispering into his ear, and knew the words now were from it. ¡°You have already filled a few of our gaols with the dark spirits you banished during your tenure with the Alder Knights. This is a worthy purpose, Alken.¡±


    Golden trees and silver towers. Beautiful armor and a cape woven of leaf-dappled sunlight. A blessed sword. A seat at the table. Honor and respect.


    Who wouldn¡¯t want all of that?


    Your eyes don¡¯t seem to linger on any of it. They keep going elsewhere... I cannot see where.


    I wish I could tell you. I feel lost at times, Dei.


    Dei...


    No. I didn¡¯t want to dream of that. I didn¡¯t want to remember that.


    I did. I fell deeper into the Dark.


    ***


    ¡°None of this makes any sense, Dei.¡±


    We stood in my apartment in the upper city. Waterfalls dimly roared down the cliffs beyond the balcony, open to the room save for vine-wrapped columns and curtains for when the weather turned. Dei paced along the white stone floor, her Cenocaste garb nearly blending with the surface beneath her. Over the white robes she wore a black cloak and veil. She wrapped the shroud around herself and turned, looking troubled.


    No, not just troubled. Nervous. I¡¯d never seen her nervous.


    ¡°I know. I know, Alken, but you have to believe me, it is all true, and we can stop it.¡±


    ¡°Stop what, exactly?¡± I wanted to laugh, because what she¡¯d told me sounded ludicrous. Only, she didn¡¯t seem to be jesting. Not at all. ¡°You¡¯re telling me the knights ¡ª the Knights of the Alder Table, mind ¡ª mean to...¡±


    I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to say the words.


    ¡°Murder the Archon,¡± she confirmed, stopping her pacing to face me. She clasped her hands over her chest, the pose she took almost one of prayer. ¡°Take command of the city and open the gates for Rhan Harrower and his allies.¡±


    The Knights Alder, going Recusant. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± I said, without humor.


    She took a deep breath, her pale face tight with nerves within the bounds of her wimple. ¡°It¡¯s not all of them ¡ª just a dozen or so of the captains, led by Alicia Wake.¡±


    ¡°The Knight-Commander!?¡± I did laugh then ¡ª a mistake, because Sister Fidei¡¯s expression grew angry. I stifled the manic burst of mirth and held my hands out placatingly. ¡°I still don¡¯t understand any of this. It all sounds like madness. Why would they do this?¡±


    I was tired. I¡¯d just returned to the city after weeks away, and had barely cleaned the blood from my sword. Ser Maxim and I had hunted a pack of chorn through Graill, and it had been... ugly.


    I¡¯d wanted to talk to Dei, but not like this. After I¡¯d confessed my feelings to her before the last mission, I¡¯d felt so giddy. I¡¯d felt happy, for the first time in...


    I¡¯d never felt so happy. I¡¯d felt calm. Content. Bad time to be called away to hunt fiends, but that was my lot.


    ¡°They¡¯re doing it because...¡± she bared her teeth and let out a hiss of frustration. I¡¯d never seen her display as much emotion. ¡°It¡¯s complicated, Alken! It¡¯s fucking complicated.¡±


    I¡¯d never heard her curse, either. I¡¯d never heard any nun curse, and it shocked me.


    ¡°They¡¯re working with the wizard Reynard,¡± she said.


    I blinked, and the uncomfortable smile slipped from my face. Reynard. Tuvon had suspected the banished magus had something to do with the troubles in recent seasons. He¡¯d been spotted in several places across the southern realms, allegedly, and Ser Selen had barely survived an encounter with him in Duranike. She¡¯d been in a bad way when her lance had brought her back.


    I¡¯d heard plenty of tales about the Traitor Magi. He¡¯d been one of King Tuvon¡¯s advisors, once upon a time, and a great councilor to all the high lords of Urn. I didn¡¯t know all the details, but he¡¯d taken to delving into studies the Onsolain forbade, and what the Choir of God forbade, the God-Queen had ordered forbidden.


    He¡¯d been chased from Seydis, banished from the subcontinent for a century and more. Most believed he¡¯d died in the west.


    Then, ten years back, rumors had started to circulate of a man wandering the countryside, one who shepherded wicked things. Most had believed it some aspect of the Briar Angel, but soon enough they had started to appear in greater numbers, preying on small villages at first, and later terrorizing larger settlements.


    The Adversary. Demons. Abgru?dai.


    ¡°Why would they do that?¡± I asked quietly, half to myself.


    She did not respond. Her moon-green eyes had gone distant, lost in some thought.


    ¡°Dei?¡± I said, hesitant. I didn¡¯t like the look in her eyes ¡ª like she was preparing to do something unpleasant.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to do it this way,¡± she half-whispered. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to...¡±


    To my shock, a tear fell beneath one of her eyes.


    I didn¡¯t think, didn¡¯t make a conscious decision. In a moment I held her, heedless of the hard steel I still wore up to the neck, of the fact it needed cleaning after weeks of travel and violence. She didn¡¯t seem to mind, pressing close and resting her forehead against the center of my breastplate.


    ¡°There¡¯s something you need to know,¡± she said, breathless. ¡°Something I need to...¡±


    She might have stifled a sob, or a laugh. ¡°I thought I had more time!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I murmured, brushing her veil back since I couldn¡¯t touch her hair beneath the monastic garb. ¡°I¡¯m listening. Just talk to me.¡± Make sense of all this, I thought.


    She was quiet a long while, and I didn¡¯t rush her. I felt I should ¡ª there¡¯d been a report just an hour back that soldiers were massing on the border of Verdanhigh. There was talk that the lords of Talsyn had brought ships across the Oslake and were burning towns across the Gylden.


    War. A war was beginning.


    It could wait a while longer.


    ¡°I need to show you something,¡± Dei said, lifting her face to look into mine. ¡°You need to promise me, before I do, that you will listen. And... you have to know that I do love you. That wasn¡¯t a lie.¡±


    My heart skipped a beat. ¡°Why would I think it¡¯s a lie?¡± I asked her. My voice sounded much calmer than I felt.


    My mind went over what she¡¯d told me, working through it. Conspiracy among dissident factions across the land, and in the greatest martial order in the land. A dark sorcerer¡¯s plot, and a scheme to slay the land¡¯s holiest monarch, the voice of the Choir of God. The roots of a war generations in the making, one to upend the current order of the world and replace it with chaos.


    How could she possibly know all of this? She, a lesser lay sister of an order of scribes and sin eaters.


    Unless... I didn¡¯t want to think it, but couldn¡¯t imagine any other explanation.


    She¡¯d know if she were part of the conspiracy.


    Impossible. But the words slipped from my mouth anyway.


    ¡°Everything you¡¯re telling me,¡± I began. ¡°About the other knights, the King... how do you know all this?¡±


    The doubt and fear slowly faded from Dei¡¯s pretty eyes. What replaced it didn¡¯t comfort me at all.


    I saw resignation in its place. Resignation, and something far stranger.


    Hunger.


    ¡°...I will show you,¡± she told me.

 Arc 3: Chapter 24: Fidei

    Arc 3: Chapter 24: Fidei


    An older memory.


    I stood in a shaded avenue. Birds sang in trees gently glowing with their own inner light along the edges of the path. They shone well as the greater moon rose, as though drinking in its glow. I moved through them, my Alder cape whispering along the stones behind me.


    I came to a moonlit pool, and studied my own reflection in it.


    I¡¯d grown my hair longer since coming to Tiir Ilyasven, tying it back to keep my face clear. It still shocked me, its hue ¡ª while the change in my eyes was more dramatic, I¡¯d expected it. I hadn¡¯t expected my ruddy hair to turn to gilt copper, or my voice to take on an uncanny resonance.


    It¡¯s been nearly a year. When will you get used to it?


    I wore the beautiful armor the Seydiihad given me, made of impossibly shaped plates of mirror-bright steel, motifs of gold and green vines wrought into each contour, the pauldrons shaped like beetle wings. I wore my new Sidhe dagger on one hip and my sword on the other, refashioned with a finer hilt, its nicks and scars undone by the city¡¯s smiths.


    I still remembered where each had been, when I ran my thumb over the guard.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for a narcissist, my lord.¡±


    I glanced back, seeing the now familiar sight of black-and-white cloth as a figure ghosted from behind a tree. She¡¯d used its light to mask her presence, rather than the shadow an ordinary tree would cast.


    Clever. I¡¯d have to try that sometime.


    The nun adjusted her habit as she stepped up to my side. Beneath the black veil and cream-white wimple, her pale face looked remote as the moon above, not so much as a stray strand of hair escaping. Gray-green eyes studied our paired reflections, as though wondering what I found so interesting about them.


    We made an odd pair, in the water. Me arrayed all in autumnal colors and bright steel, her with a black cape and veil over a ghost-white robe.


    ¡°Still not used to it, I guess.¡± I adjusted my cape. ¡°Sometimes, I miss my old kit. This faerie armor feels too light... I¡¯d have been happy enough with solid steel.¡±


    ¡°You love it,¡± Sister Fidei said. ¡°You like looking gallant, even if you play the humble soldier. Just embrace it. There¡¯s nothing wrong with a bit of vanity.¡±


    I glanced at her, and saw no teasing in her face. She¡¯d simply said what she¡¯d meant to say.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to warn me away from vanity?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Vanity leads to pride, pride to sin, sin to damnation...¡±


    ¡°You quote the mother superior better than I do,¡± Dei said, the ghost of a smile touching her small mouth. ¡°I¡¯ve already been lectured this week, thank you kindly.¡±


    I turned fully toward her, so I could meet her gaze directly. ¡°Because of me?¡± I asked, serious.


    The holy sister pursed her lips. ¡°Yes. I believe her words were, A knight seeking God is virtuous, but a knight seeking you is not.¡±


    I coughed, the implication like a punch in the gut. Had I been that obvious?


    Fidei only sighed, though I sensed more satisfaction in it than grief. ¡°I believe she¡¯s grown weary of me, the poor dear.¡±


    Which was why I¡¯d had to meet her out in the city parks like this lately, rather than in her order¡¯s chapel. Not that I minded. I preferred talking under the open sky, rather than in a dark box in a musty church. Fidei¡¯s senior in her order had noticed I¡¯d started seeking her out in particular, and had quickly taken action.


    I hadn¡¯t been much for confession, before arriving in the Blessed City and taking my final vows. However, something about the serenity of the place, and my new responsibilities, had compelled me to seek to unburden myself.


    Mere coincidence the first nun I¡¯d spoken to in the tradition of chivalric confession had been Sister Fidei. Mere coincidence she¡¯d made me feel better, in her odd way. No coincidence I¡¯d sought her out in particular, after a few sessions.


    When the Mother Superior had noticed, she¡¯d tried pairing me with other holy scribes, but I¡¯d realized immediately it felt... different. Wrong. They all gave me lines of scripture and well-meaning penances, and seemed to expect it to help. They¡¯d warned me away from wrath and doubt, and I¡¯d seen their discomfort when I¡¯d spoken of certain things.


    Not Dei. She paced to the edge of the pool then, clasping the long fingers of her hands together and narrowing her eyes as she studied her own reflection, as though finding something to criticize in it.


    ¡°I believe, during our previous talk, we ended with the first time you were asked to slay one of your liege¡¯s rivals outside of battle.¡±


    I let out a breath, and nodded, feeling the familiar grim mood of these talks settle on me. I plucked a small stone from the shore, then hopped onto one of the flat stepping stones in the pond.


    Stepping from one stone to the other while Sister Fidei waited on the shore, I began to speak in a quiet, reflective voice. ¡°We¡¯d scattered Rose¡¯s cousins, but her uncle still had himself dug into the hills south of Karles. He had an ally in the city, and Lias found out who. Rose wanted it dealt with ¡ª several of her more loyal courtiers had been poisoned, and she¡¯d barely survived an attempt herself.¡±


    I paused, turning lightly on one heel, then stared down into the silver-lit water. I rested a hand on the pommel of my once battered sword. ¡°I already had a reputation as her fist. Lias did the quieter work, the schemes, but he never much liked getting his hands dirty. Rose wanted this to be a dramatic job, an example. So Lias got me a way into the lord¡¯s keep. He had a small garrison, maybe twenty men-at-arms, some servants.¡±


    I closed my eyes, remembering. I could smell the dirty oil they¡¯d used in the braziers, feel the cold sweat on my brow, the rhythmic pounding of my heart as I bore deeper into the corridors, into that held breath before the killing starts.


    ¡°A page caught me. He was practicing with his master¡¯s sword... idiot kid tried to stick me with it. I meant to knock him out. I...¡± I swallowed, my throat feeling very dry all the sudden. ¡°I used too much strength.¡±


    ¡°You killed him,¡± Sister Fidei said.


    I nodded. ¡°He couldn¡¯t have been older than thirteen, maybe younger. And I just stood there, after, like a fucking raw recruit on his first field, staring. Stood there long enough someone found me and raised the alarm. The job was to kill the bastard traitor in his own chambers, leave him for his guard to find. I ended up having to cut my way through his guard to get him. Still took his head, though, just like I¡¯d been asked.¡±


    I met the nun¡¯s eyes across the water. She didn¡¯t have any horror on her face, no judgment. The other sin eaters always redirected the conversation when I got too graphic, but Fidei just listened, eyes wide open and intent on me, studying my face. I had no idea what I looked like, and didn¡¯t care to check my reflection to find out.


    ¡°How did your queen react to this slaughter?¡± Sister Fidei asked.


    I took a deep breath, forcing my mind away from the confused, glassy eyes of that dead page. ¡°She lauded me for it. That was the week she named me her First Sword. Half the lords who hadn¡¯t declared for her already did so within the month, terrified she¡¯d send her headsman to turn their forts and manors into charnel houses.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve listened to men speak of deeds like this with pride,¡± my confessor stated. ¡°Was this not a great thing for you?¡±


    I let out a breathy laugh, tilting my head up to the moon. ¡°I wanted her to punish me for it. To scream at me, rage, call me a butcher... those men didn¡¯t die in battle, that boy wasn¡¯t a warrior. I killed them in their night clothes, and was honored for it.¡±


    I chucked the stone in my hand into the water. It sank with a soft splash, the moon¡¯s image rippling.


    ¡°And what is honor?¡± Sister Fidei asked. ¡°What would have made you feel honorable? To kill those men on the field? And what if they had slain your queen because you did not slaughter them in their night clothes, but instead let them clad themselves in metal?¡±


    I frowned, turning to face the nun. Her expression remained intent, unreadable. I didn¡¯t hear anything like lecture in her words, though I¡¯d momentarily assumed it.


    ¡°Usually,¡± I said carefully, ¡°when I talk about a sin, the preoster just tells me to have faith or something, then gives me a penance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain that¡¯s what Mother Tempera would want me to do,¡± Dei agreed soberly. ¡°But would that help you?¡±


    I shrugged. The holy sister began to walk along the water¡¯s edge, making a slow circle around the pond.


    ¡°War is not a pretty thing,¡± she said. ¡°It is never a pretty thing. An enemy you leave alive yesterday may slay you tomorrow, or someone near you.¡±


    ¡°Anyone can be an enemy,¡± I said, following her movement from my stone in the pond¡¯s center. ¡°By that logic, I should kill everyone.¡±


    The stinging sensation over my left eye expanded, rapidly evolving into a gnawing, scalding pain. I traced it with the fingers of my left hand, feeling four long wounds running from temple to just above the corner of my mouth. Beads of blood began to form along them.


    ¡°You...¡± I pulled my hand back from the wounds slowly, feeling a cold dread rising in me even as fire ate into my flesh. ¡°You¡¯re really here.¡±


    Dei laughed softly, covering her mouth with one hand. She still paced along the edge of the pond, framed by drifting embers. ¡°Have been a while. I wondered when you¡¯d notice... I get so few chances to whisper into your dreams, with that wretched talisman you carry trying to trap me.¡±


    ¡°How long?¡± I asked. My words sounded hollow in my own ears.


    ¡°Difficult to say...¡± she frowned, tilting her head and pondering a moment. ¡°It took me years before I became aware of... anything. Reforming is a painful process, but I¡¯ve done it many times. Lucky it didn¡¯t take centuries, this time. I¡¯d left a bit of myself in you, enough to whisper from afar, but I needed a stronger link.¡±


    I realized the truth in a moment, and silently cursed myself for my stupidity.


    No, I¡¯d suspected. I¡¯d just held onto it anyway, because my foolishness went beyond the pale.


    ¡°The medallion,¡± I said. ¡°My knight¡¯s mark. How in all the Hells did you keep hold of that?¡±


    ¡°Sheer will,¡± she said seriously, no humor in her soft voice now. ¡°It can be a power to rip through reality itself, Alken. You¡¯ve no idea how... well, never mind that. I fought hard to keep it, but that burnt monk insisted quite... firmly. That was a hard day. When I realized they¡¯d take it no matter how I resisted, I put a bit of myself inside... Ah, but I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d actually give it to you!¡±


    She shuddered, almost lustfully. ¡°I could reach you then, Alken. Oh, I could reach you.¡± She threw me a flirtatious smile. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look at me like that. Did you not once share your dreams with me freely?¡±


    My hand was trembling, and not just from the burning agony eating into the left side of my face. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what you were.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ve known these last eleven years,¡± she said, turning to face me fully and clasping her hands together, as though in prayer. Still pretending to be a priestess. ¡°And you still indulge in such bittersweet dreams of me, my knight.¡±


    My hand dropped limply to my side, the plates of my armor clicking together with the motion. The fire rising throughout the towers of Elfhome brightened as I tried to find words. The first flecks of ash began to drift through the air over the garden, settling with the embers in the black water.


    When I found words, they came out hoarse with pain I¡¯d tried to bury.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to remember¡ª¡±


    ¡°The truth?¡±


    We were suddenly inches apart, close as the lovers we¡¯d never truly become. Her eyes were wide, pale as moons, and full of a smoldering anger.


    She grabbed my right hand, my sword hand, by the wrist and pressed it to her left breast. I felt blood seeping through cloth, spilling over my fingers, dripping down into the water. It spread in the pond, those few drops miraculously turning the whole of it to deepest red in seconds.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t want to remember how you broke my heart?¡± Dei hissed, baring small, white teeth. ¡°You didn¡¯t want to remember how you drove a sword through it? I showed you truth, and you rejected me.¡±


    I tried to pull away, but she clutched my arm tight and I only ended up pulling her closer. She¡¯d become paler ¡ª corpse pale, her flesh taking on a faint blue tint. Dark veins ate across her skin.


    ¡°I never knew you.¡± I said hoarsely.¡°You weren¡¯t real! None of it was!¡±


    ¡°We could have lived in a dream,¡± she said. Her eyes had changed now too ¡ª the whites darkening to blood red, the irises fracturing, the pupils narrowing to horizontal slits like a beast¡¯s. Her skin had begun to darken, the blue tinged now with stony gray.


    Where the veins had formed, her flesh cracked like clay.


    ¡°A lie,¡± I said.


    ¡°I did not lie when I came to you that day! I warned you. I told you who I served, why I was there, what your comrades intended to do. I gave us a chance to stop this city from burning, to stay in the dream.¡±


    Her nails had turned hard as iron and sharp as a hawk¡¯s talons, punching into my armor and sinking into the skin beneath.


    ¡°You just wanted a patsy to free you of your master.¡± I bared my teeth against the pain in my wrist and around my left eye. ¡°I had no reason to believe you. This is what you do, what you are. You¡¯re¡ª¡±


    It had just been another plot, another conspiracy. It had just been another master, seeking a strong arm and a thick head to throw at their problems.


    It had never been real. None of it had.


    Dei¡¯s fell eyes narrowed, smoldering with rage. Strange, how I¡¯d never noticed the rage all the times we¡¯d talked. But it had always been there, under everything. She was practically made of it.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± she hissed through her teeth, flashing sharp canines. ¡°Say it.¡±


    We matched glares. The fire reflected in the tainted water where the false city hadn¡¯t, so we seemed to stand on a surface of blood and flame.


    And I said the words.


    ¡°You are a demon. You are Abgru?dai. Sister Fidei never existed. I was just the last in a long line of your dupes, succubus.¡±


    The corpse-pale face became remote. Her eyes closed and she shuddered, almost as though in relief. The cloth of her black shroud rustled. Membrane and twisted muscle stretched with a leathery crackle, and two great shapes slowly spread out behind her to shadow the pond, soon revealing themselves as a pair of enormous, clawed wings.


    With the fingers she hadn¡¯t sunk into my flesh, she reached up to brush my hair back. Her claws traced the wounds on my face, matching them perfectly.


    I didn¡¯t bother pulling back anymore. I didn¡¯t control this dream ¡ª she was its master.


    ¡°You will always be someone¡¯s dupe, Alken.¡± She smiled, and it was Dei¡¯s smile in that dead face, soft and affectionate. ¡°I at least knew your heart. I could have made you happy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have made me a monster. Or a pet.¡± A tear escaped my left eye ¡ª physical pain or heartbreak, I couldn¡¯t say. Maybe both.


    She scoffed, thumbed the tear away, then brought it to her cracked lips. She shivered.


    ¡°My dear heart. You wanted so badly to be the gallant protector, and you let them convince you to play the blackguard. Now that mob of sheep you¡¯ve spent your whole life fighting for, convincing yourself you belong with, are going to torture you to death... or execute you in front of a crowd. And both will be justice, O¡¯ Headsman. If you want to believe in justice.¡±


    She let out a dry laugh, and the shift in muscles made more of her dry-clay face crack. Her fingers, blackened now as though with frostbite, curled behind my neck. She pulled my head down, so she could whisper in my ear.


    ¡°However you die, however it ends... that will not be the end. I¡¯ve marked you as mine, my knight, and there is no escape from me now. When you die ¡ª and you will ¡ª there will be no safety in any of the half-baked afterlives the so called gods and their ilk have tried to fashion. You are mine, forever, just as you promised me that day I tasted you.¡±


    Her breath was death¡¯s ice on my ear. ¡°The Zosite have me in their iron gaols now, O¡¯ Knight, but they are weakening, just as your masters are. Many of my brethren have already escaped. Yith is very near you... I sense him, even through this shadow. It will not be long before I, too, am free again.¡±


    Her dry lips glided down to kiss my neck. She murmured her last words softly against my skin. ¡°I have spent these years dreaming of how I will make you pay for running a sword through my heart. I will share some of these dreams with you, in the nights to come.


    ¡°Sleep well, my knight.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 25: Flicker

    Arc 3: Chapter 25: Flicker


    Far into the timeless hell of the Bell Ward¡¯s underbelly, a door opened.


    They were implements of torture themselves, the dungeon¡¯s doors. Each opened resentfully, with squealing wails that seemed to echo through the halls forever. If I had managed to find a rare period of thoughtless sleep, one without nightmares, the opening of one of those iron-hinged monsters would drag me back into the filthy cell.


    More than the sound itself was what it promised. Each time men came, they dragged one of the other prisoners away. I could hear them, their pleas and their sobs. They always returned silent, if they returned at all.


    Eventually, I¡¯d be the one taken away. It had happened several times already. I had no way to tell how long I¡¯d been in the dark, and my interviews with the Presider were far enough between as to be useless for determining the passage of time.


    He¡¯d used water the first time, boiling and freezing. The second time he¡¯d broken the fingers of my left hand, and only the left.


    He¡¯d asked me where the rest of the Table hid, mostly, and who else I¡¯d cooperated with in my role as Headsman. He seemed convinced I worked for some element among the lords ¡ª no doubt he still believed I took my orders from Rose.


    I gave him nothing, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I broke. I am not immune to pain. No man is.


    I heal fast. That in itself cursed me here, because it meant there was more they could do to me, without killing me.


    They told me they¡¯d captured Emma, and were torturing her as well. I knew they lied, that it was a tactic to make me talk to spare her if not myself, so I¡¯d kept my silence. Even still, she featured in many of my worst nightmares. I imagined them torturing her, imagined Kross making devil¡¯s bargains she¡¯d be forced to accept.


    Every time they took me into the Presider¡¯s office, the threat of worse hung over the questions. Oraise was a patient man, and I knew he hadn¡¯t even started. He¡¯d promised months of this.


    Lias never came.


    There were other prisoners in the dungeon, though the number rose or dropped on occasion. I knew some from the sounds they made, learning to recognize their voices. I wondered which of them was the elder from the slums, if any of them were. I suspected him to already be dead.


    I lay in the dark, feeling a dead man.


    And in the dark, she whispered into my dreams. The demon. Those were the worst of my nightmares, because her will lay behind them.


    In the distant labyrinth of suffering and fanaticism beneath Rose Malin, an iron door screamed. It almost masked the screams of the one they took away.


    It had been a long time since they¡¯d taken me. On my cot, I closed my eyes and waited. I imagined escape, and tried to keep as much of my strength as I could.


    I waited for something to change.


    ***


    Many days later, the dungeon¡¯s door screamed. I woke from a dream, and it took me several minutes to convince myself I was still intact. I¡¯d had a dream of scuttling things eating me, carrying my pieces far and wide.


    Heavy, impatient boots stomped down the hall outside my cell. Water splashed ¡ª parts of the dungeon were still flooded from the recent bout of rain. About a third of my own cell had been filled with inch-deep water. Everything stank of piss and mold. I heard a whimper from one of the other cells.


    Another door opened, one of the cells. Taking someone else, then. I closed my eyes, settling back against the damp wall. I listened ¡ª in the darkness, my senses grew more keen. My blessings had been doubly a curse in this forsaken place, in that regard.


    ¡°Hold her,¡± a familiar voice said. One of the priorguard who regularly visited my cell, usually to bring food or change the pot. Sometimes to drag me away for questions.


    The prisoner, a woman who¡¯d been here nearly as long as me, let out a shriek. I heard a heavy thump, one of the guards spat out a savage curse, and then came a heavy crack. The sound of a body falling limp, a splash of water.


    ¡°Bitch had a rock!¡± A voice I didn¡¯t know, younger.


    ¡°Told you to watch out for that,¡± the first priorguard said. ¡°She dead?¡±


    A moment¡¯s pause. ¡°Yeah. Neck¡¯s broken. Good swing, eh? Shame, though...¡±


    The first priorguard growled angrily. ¡°We¡¯re the priorguard, not some back-fief militia. Have some class.¡±


    "Right, right, all class down here." The younger let out a dry laugh. "What you think''s going on above, got everyone in a scuff?"


    ¡°Don''t know. Let¡¯s get this done quick.¡± I could hear the disgust in the older guard¡¯s voice, but another emotion overrode it. Impatience?


    No. Fear.


    They opened another cell, and this time I heard a blade slide out of its sheath. There was a brief cry of alarm, then another thump.


    I sat up straighter against the cold wall, tensing. When a third door opened, closer to my cell, I knew I wasn¡¯t imagining it.


    They were killing the prisoners. Why?


    In the far distance, I heard another shout, and a door slamming shut. Several heavy boots stomping, running, and¡ª


    A distant scream.


    ¡°Shit.¡± The older guard again. ¡°We¡¯re running out of time.¡±


    The third cell they opened belonged to an old man who¡¯d been taken for questions more times than most. I didn¡¯t think they tortured him, or at least not often ¡ª he always seemed calm when they took him away, even chatted with the guard on occasion.


    I began to sidle along the wall, avoiding the water so as not to make a sound. I navigated my way carefully to the door along the room¡¯s perimeter, jaw clenched against the spikes of agony in my left leg. I kept my weight off it, using the wall at my back to compensate, and made slow progress.


    The old prisoner started to say something, some question ¡ª asking what was happening, probably. The priorguard didn¡¯t let him finish. I heard a sharp crack, probably a bludgeon bringing the old man to the ground, then a brief struggle, some gasps and grunts.


    They choked him to death, rather than using a blade.


    ¡°You done?¡± I heard the cold anger in the first guard¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Not going to wet my cutter with holy blood, am I? Old cunt was a preost, yeah?¡±


    They came to my cell then.


    ¡°Gotta be quick with this one,¡± the older guard said. ¡°Dangerous bastard.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? How so?¡±


    ¡°Apparently some kind of sorcerer, and a soldier on top. The Knight-Confessor says he shouldn¡¯t be able to do any tricks in his condition, but let¡¯s not indulge ourselves, aye?¡±


    ¡°...Right.¡± The younger guard sounded nervous, now.


    I heard them put the key in, begin to turn the latch. Before the door opened, another set of boots padded down the hall, and a voice called out.


    ¡°Stop!¡± A woman¡¯s voice.


    The latch stopped turning partway.


    ¡°Sister,¡± the older priorguard said, impatient. ¡°What is it? We were told to do this fast.¡±


    ¡°They need you above,¡± the newcomer said. ¡°Now. I¡¯ll take care of the rest.¡±


    ¡°...By yourself?¡± I heard the skepticism in the priorguard¡¯s voice.


    ¡°You think me incapable?¡± The third snapped. ¡°There is no time for this.¡±


    The older guard grunted. I heard one of them, maybe the younger, shift a step and disturb a puddle.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your veil, sister? And what¡¯s that you got there?¡±


    ¡°Brother Eryn, there¡¯s no time for this. I have been instructed to¡ª¡±


    Something fell into the water with a loud sploosh.


    ¡°She¡¯s weaving!¡± The younger guard. I heard him lunge, a sudden splash, a grunt. Metal skidded off stone.


    I heard the low, musical hum of aura, and then a man choking. Feet scrabbled, disturbing water.


    She led me through a winding series of dank corridors, and for a time only the sound of our furtive steps, breathing, and the dripping stones above accompanied us. Everything else had fallen eerily silent.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know who¡¯s attacking?¡± I said.


    Lisette glanced back. She stood a bit ahead, holding the lantern aloft to illuminate the corridor ahead. ¡°No. It started about an hour ago ¡ª I have orders to get you out of here.¡±


    ¡°Orders from who?¡±


    She turned her eyes forward. ¡°A faction that opposes the Priory¡¯s rise in influence. That¡¯s all I will say for now.¡±


    I stopped, preparing to demand more answers. Before I could speak, one of the doors nearby suddenly jumped, causing both of us to tense. Lisette let out a hiss of surprise and fell back against the opposite wall, holding her lantern up like a shield. I tightened my grip on the staff, instinctively putting myself between her and the potential threat.


    The doors along this hall weren¡¯t the same as the ones in my block. They weren¡¯t siege doors with reinforced frames, and had small windows barred with iron.


    A face appeared in that little window. In the yellow light of Lisette¡¯s lantern, I saw an old man¡¯s features, haggard and dirty. He had eyes too large for his face, blue and ordinary save for their size and the slight yellow tint to the sclera. His hair was filthy and matted like mine, hanging limp from a balding pate.


    He blinked into the light, clearly having not felt its touch for a long time. ¡°You, please.¡± His voice sounded hoarse as my own, at least to my ears. ¡°Please, just tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±


    I glanced at Lisette. She¡¯d led me down a different route than the guards usually dragged me for interrogations ¡ª probably the only reason this prisoner had been spared from the two thugs and their purge.


    ¡°Inquisition¡¯s under attack,¡± I said.


    The old man¡¯s too-big eyes went to Lisette, taking in her priorguard uniform. They reminded me of a reptile¡¯s eyes ¡ª they didn¡¯t blink. ¡°Please,¡± he croaked. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me here to starve. If...¡± he swallowed, his neck bobbing. ¡°If you must abandon this place, at least make it quick for me.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s voice hissed behind me. ¡°We don¡¯t have time.¡±


    I ignored her, stepping up to the bars. The old man cringed away from me, retreating into the dark. The way he moved was strange, and his eyes seemed to shine like a cat¡¯s in the dark.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, grandfather?¡±


    ¡°I am called Parn,¡± the prisoner said quietly.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    The eyes did blink now, their lambency momentarily flickering in the dark of the cell. ¡°I was an apothecary from the low city, before the veils put me down here. They accused me of witchcraft, and other things. I...¡± I heard him swallow again. ¡°I do not know how long I¡¯ve been here.¡±


    I took a deep breath and said, ¡°Stand back.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Lisette demanded, as I grabbed Faen Orgis in both hands and took a step back.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to leave him to die,¡± I said without turning, measuring my swing. Besides, I added quietly, he¡¯s the whole reason I¡¯m here.


    I swung, and the sharp crack of wood splitting shot through the hall like a shout. I ripped the axe free, then swung again without hesitation.


    I felt unbelievably weak. I cursed, already beaded with sweat, and swung again.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Lisette sighed heavily. ¡°Let me get it.¡±


    I glared back at her, annoyed at the interruption. It had felt good to hit something, to feel like I could affect anything.


    Then I saw the key in her hand, and inwardly winced. ¡°Ah. Right.¡±


    She scurried forward and unlocked the door. When it opened, the changeling stepped out into the hall tentatively, as though afraid of some trick. I empathized with him.


    He was small, walked with a stiff gait, and looked human save for his odd eyes. He wore rags similar to my own, though he¡¯d been in them long enough they¡¯d started to rot in the damp environs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said weakly, glancing again at Lisette.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later,¡± I said. ¡°If you want to get out of here, follow us.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s jaw clenched and unclenched in a nervous rhythm. ¡°We must hurry!¡± She insisted, turning. ¡°I have no idea how¡ª¡±


    She fell abruptly silent as we both heard a sound ahead. A heavy noise of impact, like a body falling down a flight of stairs. Thump-thump-thump, then a wet crack. Then silence.


    Lisette took a step back. Her face beaded with moisture ¡ª not all of it from the dripping ceiling.


    ¡°Get behind me,¡± I said, moving before she did. I got in front of the adept, putting myself between her and the hall ahead. ¡°And dim that lantern.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not helping me,¡± I said.


    Lisette hesitated a moment longer, then slid the lantern¡¯s hood down so the corridor fell into darkness.


    ¡°Where are all the guards?¡± Parn asked quietly.


    ¡°Hush,¡± I murmured. I stepped forward a bit more, squinting into the dark.


    Without the mundane light, the aura in my eyes brightened as I poured my concentration into them. I focused, and the hall ahead cleared into pale, crisp clarity.


    Or, that was what I¡¯d expected. A distance of perhaps fifteen feet or so became clear, and I could make out the outline of the corridor a ways beyond, but it seemed too dim. The further distance of the hall remained in impenetrable black.


    My aura had been weakened from three weeks of malnutrition and injury, the inner furnace of power cooled down to mere embers.


    Shit. If I had to fight in this condition...


    Movement drew my attention. The hall ended in a flight of stairs, which I couldn¡¯t see the top of.


    A limp form lay at the bottom of those stairs. That¡¯s what we¡¯d heard fall, I guessed. I caught a glimpse of twisted limbs and a bent neck ¡ª dead in the tumble. I turned my attention up, and took another step forward.


    Then froze as the hall filled with the sound of a manic chuckle.


    ¡°Whoopsie!¡± A light, whimsical voice giggled.


    The body at the bottom of the stairs climbed to its feet. It did so with a faint crackling sound, like it had to rearrange brittle bones in order to make the right shape to support its own weight.


    It was a man. A large one, with pallid skin and a bulbous, sagging belly. He was naked, hairy, covered in grime and half-dried blood, his skin gleaming with an oily shean. He had no light to see by, but his eyes fixed on me.


    Blind eyes, milky and pale. Yet, somehow, I knew they could still see. His lips peeled back into an impossibly wide grin, revealing too many teeth.


    ¡°Ah, good.¡± He had an oddly high voice, completely at odds with his appearance. ¡°There are still more!¡±


    ¡°Alken...¡± Lisette could hear the man, or the thing shaped like a man, but couldn¡¯t see him as I could with her lantern shut.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± I said, taking a step back myself. ¡°When I tell you to, run.¡±


    ¡°...What is it?¡± She asked, her voice tight with fear.


    An old fear, and an old hate, bubbled up in me. I forgot all the pain, the weakness, the piteous sense of hopeless, powerless failure which had accompanied me through my incarceration.


    I could hear my own heart pounding in my head. The dulled fire in me flickered, stoked by the surge of emotion, of rage, I felt.


    The scars over my left eye burned. I bared my teeth and lifted my axe.


    ¡°It¡¯s a demon.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 26: Woed

    Arc 3: Chapter 26: Woed


    The pallid man tilted his head to one side, studying our group. He reminded me of little more than a huge, bloated grub ¡ª now I got a better look, he had a pattern of thin depressions from ankle to neck, like circular seams in his milk-white skin. He wore a cheshire grin, baring teeth too large for the stretched flesh containing them. He giggled again, his whole body quivering with it.


    I steadied my breathing, and then blew a soft breath into the faerie alloy of Faen Orgis. It flickered with amber fire, lighting the hall, and¡ª


    The fire died immediately. I blinked, taken off guard.


    I didn¡¯t even have enough strength to summon aureflame.


    ¡°Oh, ho!¡± The naked man strode forward, his gate drunken. His flesh, bloated and stretched like a drowned corpse, quivered and made soft sloshing sounds with every step.


    ¡°Pretty light," he said. "Show me again.¡±


    He tilted in our direction, skidding to one side and then the other, advancing nearly a third of the distance with uncanny speed. His big teeth began to click together. Once, twice, three times. It became a chattering rhythm.


    ¡°Show me!¡± He yelped. ¡°Show me!¡±


    Perhaps I couldn¡¯t summon the soul flame, but I felt its warmth in me. Fine then.


    I¡¯d do this the hard way. I had strength enough to lift the axe. It was enough.


    I took the Axe of Hithlen in both hands, dropping it low so the crescent-moon blade glided a hair¡¯s width over the stone floor, then shot forward.


    At my advance, the creature, the Woed, grinned wider and quickened his own stumbling gate. He spread arms too thin for his bloated body out wide, as though to embrace me. Our bare feet slapped wet stone, disturbing small pools of water and echoing overloud in the corridor.


    At the last moment, I hurled myself forward with a sudden sprinting lunge. I brought the axe up onto one shoulder, then swung in a quick, economical cut with all my momentum behind it.


    The woed¡¯s flesh parted easily. I slid under his grab, moving several feet past him, and his left arm went flopping down to the floor.


    I skidded to a halt, spun, and delivered my second cut into the back of his bony knee. Milky flesh splattered apart, like it were made of half-solid slime, and the bone cracked. The creature fell to one knee, its considerable mass leaning heavily to one side as it lost its support.


    I had a perfect shot then. I lifted Faen Orgis above my head, aiming for the back of the damned thing¡¯s skull.


    But it didn¡¯t seem concerned with me. Its eyes fixed down the hall, on Lisette and Parn. It shuddered grotesquely, and its flesh bubbled.


    Lisette had tied her lantern to her belt, opening its hood so she could see, and had started to weave her threads of pale golden aura. To help me, no doubt.


    ¡°Lisette, no!¡± I shouted, and swung.


    Too late. The demonscorched man threw himself bodily forward, and my axe skidded off stone in a flash of sparks.


    ¡°Preeetttyyy liiiiiIIIGGHT!¡± He wailed.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened, and she cast. Golden threads matching the pattern she¡¯d made between her fingers burst to life in the hall, and the Woed went straight into them. He got himself tangled, like a fish ¡ª or a worm ¡ª in a net.


    Lisette bared her teeth and rearranged the pattern, binding the naked man more firmly. ¡°I¡¯ve got him!¡± She said.


    Idiot. Only, she wasn¡¯t. She just didn¡¯t know.


    The Woed twisted and writhed, getting itself even more hopelessly tangled. It struggled until it had suspended itself in the air, its arms and legs twisting at painful angles. Lisette¡¯s Art dug into its malleable flesh like razor wire, slicing. Rotten, viscous looking blood spilled onto the floor. A horrible stench filled the dungeon.


    The blood had scuttling red beetles in it.


    With a wheezing gasp, the woed deflated like a popped sack freed of air. More reeking blood and scuttling insects spilled out, hundreds of them.


    But they weren¡¯t the real threat. What emerged from the corpse''s open mouth was.


    It resembled an enormous bloody millipede. Segmented, long as a tree was tall with countless sharp scuttling legs. It had a human face, wrinkled and scrunched into an angry expression, disturbingly like a newborn baby¡¯s.


    It wasn¡¯t bound in the threads. It hurled itself at Lisette, who only stared in disbelieving horror.


    Gritting my teeth, I leapt forward, planted a boot on what was left of the flesh sack that had contained the demon, and drove the butt of Faen Orgis¡¯s handle down into its spine before it had fully left its host¡¯s body. The handle had remained elongated and sharp after it had transformed during my fight with the Priorguard, even after weeks.


    The sharp spike of wood sank into the millipede¡¯s carapace like a brutish spear. Instead of blood, a stinging gas burst forth from the wound. I ignored its reek, the sudden itching on my skin, and forced my improvised spear down deeper, impaling the creature and ramming its midsection down onto the floor.


    The millipede halted, whirled, and directed its wrinkled face at me. Its puckered mouth opened, like a gasping fish, then split wide to reveal serrated mandibles. It came at me, then.


    It moved fast for its size, quick as a viper through grass. It went for my throat, and with my axe still stuck into its body I couldn¡¯t use the weapon to defend myself.


    So I punched it instead. I acted on reflex, curling the fingers of my left hand into a fist and driving it up into the human-faced millipede¡¯s triple chin a heartbeat before it would have ripped into me. I forced its head up, its black mandibles clicking together inches from my eyes.


    A lance of pain shot through my left hand, spiking into the wrist. Lisette had warned me the fingers weren¡¯t truly healed.


    I buried the discomfort and grabbed the monster around its head with both hands. It hissed, snapping its mandibles together. More horribly, it tried to say something, but with the protrusions forcing its lips apart it only managed to gurgle.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Yith?¡± I snarled.


    Its hundreds of tiny, scuttling legs quivered down the whole length of its body. The part of it beneath me lashed and writhed, trying to dislodge the axe, but I planted a foot down on it. Then, wrapping one arm fully around what passed for its neck, I brought it down on the sharpened spear-point of wood above Faen Orgis¡¯s blade.


    It hissed, screeched, and bucked. It wailed like a newborn, and snarled vile curses like a man. It splattered me with dark blood and vapor that stung my skin and made me want to retch, but I kept forcing it down with brutal pressure, using my whole mass as a vice and the axe as a skewer.


    Eventually, something gave. The creature¡¯s struggles ceased. It went limp, and only then did I collapse to one knee under its weight. The giant millipede hung off my shoulder, until I let it slip down to the floor.


    It was several minutes before I managed to catch my breath. When I climbed to my feet, the whole world spun and I had to press a hand to the corridor¡¯s wall to keep upright.


    Too much exertion on too little food and water. If not for Lisette¡¯s healing Art, I suspected I¡¯d be unconscious.


    Even still, I¡¯d won. Against this enemy, anyway.


    ¡°What...¡± Lisette stared at the gruesome scene in horror. ¡°What was...¡±


    ¡°Woed,¡± I told her, ripping my axe free of the deflating creature¡¯s mass with a soft pop. More stinking gas emerged. I forced myself to take shallow breaths.


    ¡°That¡¯s a demon,¡± she said, on the verge of hysteria. She caught the reek then, and brought a sleeve up to her face. ¡°A Thing of Darkness. Why is it here?¡±


    I managed to get my breathing under control. ¡°Not a true demon,¡± I said. ¡°He was human not long ago.¡±


    ¡°That thing used to be human?¡± Parn said, looking nearly as horrified as Lisette. He hung back, reluctant to approach.


    I stared down at the bubbling, gory mass of the creature. I knelt, coughing, and managed to keep down my gorge. Lucky there wasn¡¯t anything in my stomach, or I might not have.


    There wasn¡¯t much of the bloated man who¡¯d appeared at first left, other than an empty skin. The millipede looked smaller in death. They always looked smaller dead, the fear they generated passing.


    ¡°The man was Woed,¡± I said, pointing to the skin. ¡°The creature inside him might have been him, a lesser fiend, or another mutated human who¡¯d been in the demon¡¯s clutches longer. Hard to say, after a while.¡±


    The red beetles had scuttled away into cracks in the wall. I felt certain, then ¡ª they were Yith¡¯s Demon Mark. This was the work of the same spirit I¡¯d encountered in Caelfall.


    I met Lisette¡¯s eyes. ¡°They don¡¯t respond well to being bound. Their form is constantly changing, and if they take non-lethal wounds or get trapped, they change quicker. Best way is to kill them quick. Let me handle it next time.¡± I showed her the axe, with its brassy finish and gold inlays. ¡°This is sanctified. It hurts them.¡±


    She swallowed, looking very pale, and nodded.


    ¡°There are more of them?¡± The old changeling said quietly, staring nervously at the stairs ahead.


    I used my axe to lift myself up and turned. ¡°Probably. Abgru?dai like to use these as fodder. Keep close.¡±


    I glanced at Lisette then, and considered leaving her behind. I didn¡¯t know where she led me, and I could slip away from all of this with Parn, return to the slums and away from the Inquisition¡¯s clutches, or whoever the former novice worked for.


    As though sensing my thoughts, she steadied herself and spoke. ¡°If you want to see your companion again, you will let me guide you out of here.¡±


    Emma. ¡°Where is she?¡± I snapped.


    ¡°Safe,¡± Lisette insisted. ¡°Please. The commotion upstairs may draw attention from the King¡¯s knights. We need to go.¡±


    Cursing, I spun and started walking. ¡°Fine. Keep up.¡±


    We ascended, passing into another winding series of halls. The architecture changed, the leaks vanishing and the filthy stone transitioning to something smoother and ¡ª to my surprise ¡ª older. Strange statuary and murals began to dominate a widening path.


    I recognized the style. ¡°The undercity?¡± I asked, slowing.


    Lisette padded up beside me. ¡°Yes. You were brought here about a week back, don¡¯t you remember? We aren¡¯t under Rose Malin or the Bell Ward anymore. Oraise likes to move his prisoners around like that, keep them from remembering where they were held if they escape, or are freed.¡±


    I didn¡¯t remember. The last three weeks had been a surreal haze of misery. I¡¯d barely been aware of the waking world.


    ¡°The Priory has been using these for years now,¡± Lisette added. ¡°The whole Church did for centuries, for crypts. The College started forbidding it generations ago. The souls of the dead never seemed able to find their way to the Underworld. They just got lost down here.¡±


    Parn blinked, and then pulled closer to me, staring nervously around at the shadows.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked her, changing the subject.


    Lisette studied the corridor ahead. ¡°We¡¯re beneath a Priory safehouse. There¡¯s an exit two levels above us, leads into one of the harborside neighborhoods.¡±


    Parn crouched low to the ground, sniffing. He looked less human in that moment, his glamour slipping off to reveal webbed fingers and a slightly elongated face. Lisette sidled away from the changeling.


    ¡°You smell something?¡± I asked him, unafraid. I sensed nothing predatory in this old man.


    He nodded, narrowing his huge eyes. ¡°Blood, and worse. There are bodies ahead.¡±


    I tightened my grip on my weapon and advanced.


    Ahead, we found a set of rooms the Priory had been using for storage. Crates of varying kinds of supply, from tools to foodstuffs, lay in disorganized stacks. Smaller rooms contained more of the same, and a few had been converted into bunks.


    Moving further, the hall widened into a larger room. No telling what the ancient builders had made it for originally, but it had been converted into a training ground. I saw mats and piles of straw, wooden dummies, and racks full of weapons along the walls, most of them the iron-reinforced bludgeoning instruments the Priorguard seemed to prefer.


    I let out a long, slow breath. There was no amber mist of aura in that sigh. I¡¯d used no powers here, no magic.


    Just my hate.


    ¡°Alken?¡±


    I whirled, tensing, and Lisette flinched back. She had stepped out into the room, but regarded my warily. Parn remained in the hall, looking like a frightened animal.


    I was covered in blood and worse from head to foot, my hair clinging to my neck and shoulders. I couldn¡¯t close my eyes, couldn¡¯t blink. I felt like a length of steel wire, unbending and sharp. Adrenaline, probably.


    I managed to speak, my voice emerging as a croak. ¡°Stay back,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    I¡¯d meant to say over, but a sound filled the chamber and cut me off.


    The sound of hundreds of tiny, scuttling legs.


    From beneath the corpses, from within the bodies of the Woed, blood-red beetles emerged by the scores, the hundreds, then the thousands. Their numbers grew, massing together into writhing swarms. I backed away, my empty fingers flexing ¡ª could I reach my weapon in time?


    Would it matter?


    But the scarlbeetles didn¡¯t attack me or my two companions. The condensed into a single point in the center of the room. Their numbers moved the corpses, and pieces of the corpses, adding to the gathering mound of organic material quickly rising up from where it all gathered. It grew tall, first to half my height, then exceeding it.


    The scars over my left eye began to burn with a bitter intensity. Within the rising mound of flesh, something stirred. A terrible sense of awareness filled it, insects and broken corpses fusing together into something very like a cocoon. It throbbed once.


    Inside, a serene voice spoke.


    I remember you.


    It sounded like many voices overlapping, some male and some female, some old and some young. Each whispered, but together they formed a foul chorus.


    One of the old elf¡¯s warriors.


    I had thought them all


    broken.


    ¡°Yith Golonac,¡± I said, naming the demon.


    The Abgru?dai giggled in a child¡¯s voice.


    You know me?


    I see...


    ...Shyora must have told you.


    Naughty.


    Reynard must chastise her, should she ever be


    free of Hell.


    My blood froze. ¡°Reynard lives?¡±


    The demon fell silent.


    I suppose I shall also be chastised.


    No matter.


    We know you...


    ...Alder Knight.


    You killed Raath El Kur.


    A memory flashed through my mind, of a winged shadow crowned in a smoldering sky. A dread presence on the battlefields of Seydis during the Fall. A demon who¡¯d reveled in war.


    I had slain him. It had been a hollow glory, after everything else.


    He was the wizard¡¯s lieutenant.


    You must be strong!


    The mound of flesh shivered excitedly.


    The Gorelion has sworn to slay you.


    ¡°Why not try it yourself?¡± I challenged it. My eyes went to the axe ¡ª three seconds, maybe four, and I could have it in my hand. Would I be fast enough?


    I focused my senses, trying to discern more about the fell presence before me ¡ª I couldn¡¯t be certain this was the thing¡¯s real body. Even still, if I moved quickly enough, poured every last vestige of sacred fire into a smite...


    The demon laughed. The sound made my skin crawl, literally. I felt its voice like one feels insects scuttling across their flesh.


    Oh, I am no warrior.


    You bested my disciples most ably...


    ...Besides, you are claimed by two of my brethren.


    I shall not be greedy!


    Behind me, Parn let out a whimper. Lisette was frantically murmuring a prayer of deliverance.


    ¡°Oh, Queen of Heaven, guard and guide us from evil, we your humble servants, your chosen, lead us to the Realm Beyond the Gate, open the road to Your kingdom and bless us with¡ª¡±


    She has abandoned you.


    The voice in the mound had changed. Gone was the childish whimsy, replaced by something terribly old, sullen, and malignant.


    The golden bitch hated you...


    ...nearly as much as she hated us.


    Save your prayers, child.


    No one is listening.


    Lisette¡¯s voice faltered.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± I demanded. ¡°Your real body?¡±


    Oh!


    The mound shivered again, its voice young and sweet again.


    So clever.


    I am near enough.


    I am in the walls...


    ...In the hollow places.


    I crawl in the dreams of this city.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find you,¡± I promised it. ¡°There is still one Knight of the Alder Table to hunt you, demon.¡±


    Yith Golonac cackled, the entire mound quivering with it. Dead faces staring at me from the mass lolled on twisted necks, their lips spreading wide beneath empty eyes into ghastly smiles. They crawled with insects inside.


    Find me if you can, paladin...


    ...I will be waiting.


    It was interesting.


    To meet the one who turned Pernicious Shyora¡¯s head.


    The mound went still. The darkness inside of it fled into the cracks, into the shadows. Wherever the demon¡¯s true form hid, it withdrew its power from that place. The mound of bodies collapsed, dead flesh rolling apart.


    Had it not been there to kill me? Had its target only been the Priory?


    Why?


    I couldn¡¯t guess at its motivations, not without understanding the motivations of its masters. They lurked somewhere in all of this, I was certain.


    I would find them, and take all their heads.

 Arc 3: Chapter 27: Bastion

    Arc 3: Chapter 27: Bastion


    Lisette and Parn approached cautiously, both eyeing the carnage I¡¯d wrought and the surrounding shadows with wary eyes.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t any more left,¡± I said. ¡°If there were more, they¡¯ve gone.¡±


    It took me several minutes to catch my breath, and only then did the weariness truly crash down on me, in the moment when my blood ceased its boiling. I felt unsteady, but kept myself up through little more than sheer stubbornness.


    I wasn¡¯t out of this yet.


    ¡°Are you certain?¡± Lisette asked, pacing over to me. She put my body between herself and the dead creatures. "That was..." She took a deep breath. "That was a Demon of the Abyss. Here, in this city."


    I narrowed my eyes at her.


    "What?" Lisette asked, taking a step away from me.


    "Your master already knows about it," I said. "He wasn''t surprised when I told him, and he never asked me about it in our interrogations."


    "He''s not my master," Lisette said heatedly. She took a deep breath and calmed. "It makes sense. The Priory has been hunting something in the city, but only the Grand Prior, the Presider, and the Knight-Confessor know exactly what."


    Parn sniffed at the air again. ¡°My instincts are still warning me of danger. I feel like we¡¯re being watched.¡±


    ¡°This place has been desecrated,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not safe. Let¡¯s go, before these bodies start moving around. This isn¡¯t a place for restful death, right?¡±


    Lisette caught my eye, and gave a jerky nod. ¡°This way,¡± she breathed, leading us toward the passage.


    We ascended through the undercity, and eventually the old architecture changed again to more familiar masonry. Lisette brought us into what looked like a sewer, and I could hear rain above. We passed from that into a cellar, with a ladder leading up to a hatch.


    ¡°Street¡¯s above,¡± Lisette told me. ¡°Should be a carriage waiting, if everything¡¯s gone to plan.¡± She met my eyes. ¡°This is where we part ways. I need to report back to the Priory, or risk losing my cover. I don¡¯t know if we will meet again, my lord.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no lord,¡± I said, almost on reflex.


    A doubtful look crossed the cleric¡¯s face, but she didn¡¯t argue.


    ¡°What happened to Olliard?¡± I asked her, after placing a hand on the ladder.


    She hesitated a moment, her blue eyes going distant. ¡°We parted ways not long after Caelfall. I believe he may have gone back to the continent. We... Had a falling out. Our opinions about how to help the realms differed.¡±


    Remembering the angry old man I¡¯d met a year past, with his vendetta against what he perceived as dark things, I could imagine it.


    I¡¯d been him, even in the time we¡¯d met. I recalled how I¡¯d treated Catrin at first, let myself feel the shame, accept it, and nodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll tell me who you¡¯re working for now?¡± I asked Lisette.


    She shook her head. ¡°You will find out soon enough, and I am under oath.¡±


    I knew well enough about oaths. I didn¡¯t press. I caught movement in the corner of my eye and turned to face Parn. the aged changeling shuffled, looking torn.


    ¡°You should get back to the lower city,¡± I told him. ¡°I was trying to find you, before all of this. Learned you got captured from Joy.¡±


    His big eyes blinked, and I saw the realization come over him ¡ª that he might live, and be free. It transformed him, making him look less like a haunted wretch and more like someone¡¯s kindly grandpa.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, and clutched the hem of my filthy shirt. ¡°Thank you. I will not forget this. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Alken,¡± I told him. ¡°Probably won¡¯t see each other again, but try not to get caught. I¡¯m terrible at rescues.¡±


    He nodded, then glanced furtively back. ¡°I can find my way through the sewers,¡± he said. ¡°God¡¯s grace on you, Alken.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°You still say that, after what those zealots did to you?¡±


    ¡°The actions of Oraise and his ilk do not reflect on our God,¡± Lisette snapped, suddenly defensive. ¡°These sins are theirs alone.¡±


    I glared at her, annoyed at the interruption. No matter her true allegiances, she¡¯d been part of all of this. She¡¯d helped capture me, and probably others too.


    But Parn only looked weary. ¡°She is right. These are dark times, and folk are angry. Sometimes, they don¡¯t know who to direct that anger to... But I still have faith. I will pray for you, Alken. Are you a knight?¡±


    I bit off my frustration and turned my attention to the hatch. ¡°Not for a long time.¡±


    Lisette spoke up before I went. ¡°I will help Parn get back to his home. It¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    I met her eye. Her gaze didn¡¯t waver. I thought better of her then, and nodded.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    I climbed then, leaving my temporary companions below. I passed into a narrow alley with barely enough room for the cellar entrance. Rain pounded down over the city above ¡ª the spring storms had come in full force.


    I closed the cellar and heard it lock from the other side. The alley was a dead end, so I turned to the street, moving cautiously forward. I kept my axe ready, still fearing a trap. Always fearing a trap.


    In the street I found a carriage waiting, just as Lisette had promised. It was an ostentatious vehicle, carved all of ebony and framed in decorative silver caging. An anonymously garbed driver in a towering hat held the reins to a team of four chimeras. The mage-crafted beasts closely resembled great Edaean horses of old, black as night with eyes of ruby-colored glass, save that each had a crown of pale, elegant horns and feet that were more like claws than hooves.


    I couldn¡¯t name the type. They might have been a unique brood, which meant whoever owned them would be very, very wealthy. Cautiously, I moved to the edge of the alley and checked my surrounds. The street, mostly containing warehouses from the look of it, seemed empty. It was night, and distant lanterns glowed dimly in the haze of rainfall.


    The rain washed much of the gore off me. I stood in it a while, letting myself feel the chill downpour of freedom.


    I had a suspicion it might not last.


    The cowled driver didn¡¯t so much as glance at me, simply waiting like a scarecrow with gloved hands clutching the reigns of their beautiful beasts, the brim of their hate dripping with rain. In my dirty smock, I shivered. Now the rush of battle had passed, my depleted aura had withered again. No supernatural warmth to keep the storm¡¯s chill at bay.


    I could run, and then...


    An armored fist rapped three times on the carriage door.


    Taking that as my signal, I opened the door and stepped outside, moving quick so as to clear the interior of the carriage and get enough room to move in case I needed to fight.


    ¡°Halt!¡± I sharp, commanding voice cut through the rain.


    I froze, realizing I was surrounded. I stood in a courtyard, and the shadow of something monolithic fell on me.


    Nearly a score of armored figures, all in bright steel and yellow tabards, stood around me. Some held crossbows, and other wickedly sharp polearms. All those weapons were trained on me, the dirty, unarmored man with the ancient axe.


    No militia guardsmen, these. They wore a variation of House Forger colors, silver leaves worked into the iron and gold of their tabards. A knight stood among them, tall as me, with an ornate helm fashioned, oddly, into something like a clam¡¯s shell, ridged and eerily inhuman. Bright eyes peered at me from within the shadow of a serrated visor.


    I glanced up, and found an enormous castle rising up from sheer, water-washed rock. We stood on some lower courtyard of the fortress bounded by a high wall, half siege defense and half stormwall, and I could hear waves crashing against its outer face.


    The castle itself went beyond simply large. High bastion walls, fortified walkways, and satellite towers bounded a central structure which seemed to pierce the angry sky.


    I recognized it. I¡¯d been brought to the Fulgurkeep, the palace of House Forger.


    The seat of the Emperor of the Accorded Realms himself.


    ¡°Damn,¡± I said aloud. More thunder growled.


    ¡°Drop the weapon,¡± the knight with the clamshell helm barked, clear even through the rain. He hadn¡¯t drawn his sword, but the soldiers watched me beneath their morion helms with nervous eyes.


    I sighed. From one prison into another, it seemed. I was in no condition to break out of any fortress, and especially not one of the world¡¯s greatest. Moving slowly, I held the axe up in the palm of my hands, then tossed it out to them. It clattered onto the courtyard¡¯s stone.


    The soldiers didn¡¯t relax much. The knight pointed to the axe, and one of the guards scurried forward to collect it. He winced as a sharp bur of wood cut through his leather glove ¡ª Faen Orgis didn¡¯t much like strange hands touching it.


    ¡°I¡¯m to bring you into the keep,¡± Clamshell told me. ¡°If you attempt any violence, you will be cut down. Do you understand?¡±


    I nodded. The knight watched me a moment, as though measuring me. Though his helm was the strangest part of his ensemble, I noted he didn¡¯t wear anything I¡¯d call a uniform. His white surcoat had no insignia, nor did he wear a proper Knight¡¯s Mark, a medallion or emblem worked into the design of his armor. His left pauldron had been shaped into a spiraling sea shell, and he wore a heavy, curved sword on his left hip with an oddly twisted looking handle.


    The knight brought me up a set of stairs carved from the sheer rock of the cliff into one of the satellite castles sprouting from that greater bastion. The royal fortress of Garihelm was fashioned of five castles, all constructed into the jagged black rock of the island below and joined to the main citadel. A great bridge of iron and stone divided the island from the city, framed in high arches and protected by towers all down its length.


    I hadn¡¯t been brought into the palace¡¯s main bailey, but into a satellite courtyard held within the bounds of a castle vassalized to the greater complex. Banners flapped in the rain above, stubbornly resisted the pull of the storm. I caught only brief glimpses of the city in occasional flashes of lightning before being led inside.


    The storm abruptly cut off as we passed inside, its volume muting as guards slammed the heavy siege door shut. The sudden lack of sound deafened me a moment, and I took a moment to get my bearings.


    ¡°Do not lag behind,¡± the knight said. His voice emerged hollow through the helm, but with no muffling ¡ª some minor blessing had been worked into the metal to make his voice carry, a popular enchantment among tourney knights and commanders alike.


    I followed the clamshell-helmed knight through winding corridors which became less militant and more richly appointed as we went. Stark rock gave way to carved stone, then to elegant halls laden with carpet, statuary, and hanging chandeliers. After the misery of the Inquisition¡¯s dungeons, it was surreal in its cleanliness and peaceful quietude. The air smelled like incense, and more distantly of sea air.


    I couldn¡¯t tell how many knights standing at attention along those halls were empty suits of armor and which were very much capable of cutting me down if I so much as flinched wrong. Perhaps even the empty suits were dangerous, ready to spring to life at some arcane command.


    The knight stopped at a tall door with another knight guarding it, this one in less eccentric armor and wearing an open-faced helm. They exchanged nods, then my guide turned to me and removed his helm, letting a mane of ash-colored hair spill out, and turned out to be no man at all.


    She had a lioness¡¯s face, strong-jawed and blunt, with a nose many times broken and ugly scars marring the corner of one lip into a permanent scowl. She¡¯d shaved one side of her head, letting the rest fall into a curtain down to one shoulder. Her winged brows gave her an almost feral aspect, as did the intense sharpness in her dark eyes. She had bronze skin from a lifetime in warm climes, and looked young.


    ¡°When you enter,¡± she said, and her voice sounded different now too with the magicked helm off, husky and with an accent I couldn¡¯t place, ¡°you will bow, and you will address the person within as Your Grace. You will not speak unless spoken to, and only to answer direct questions. Do you understand?¡±


    I already knew who was inside. I¡¯d suspected the moment I¡¯d seen the carriage, and that suspicion had evolved into dire certainty when I¡¯d realized where I¡¯d been brought. I just nodded, unable to trust myself to speak.


    The knight glared at me a long moment, as though searching me for any defiance, before tearing her eyes away. She knocked on the heavy oak door three times, paused, then knocked again twice. A voice within commanded her to enter.


    She opened the door and ushered me inside ahead of her. I walked inside, and the door shut behind the scarred knight as she entered behind me.


    I found myself in a space evocative of a study. Books lined many of the shelves, and a wide window dominated one wall to look over the moonlit sea and the jagged isles of the bay. The hearth was lit, the room comfortably warm.


    Standing in the middle of that chamber was a noblewoman dressed in a rich, layered gown of seafoam shades. A circlet woven in silver and gold rested on her brow, securing a complex net of gems which made her black hair gleam in the firelight like stars in a night sky. Her sleeves trailed nearly to the ground like folded wings, and the cloak hung about her shoulders had been woven of a transparent silk so fine it might have been made of mist.


    She was in her mid thirties, not much younger than I, and there wasn¡¯t a trace of gray in her raven hair. She had a stern face, coldly beautiful, the kind made for portraits.


    She turned to me, the gems woven into her hair burning even as the lanterns in her carriage had done ¡ª an adept-smith had worked aura into each, and each was invaluable. Her eyes were shadowed by weariness and kohl, but her back was straight and narrow shoulders strong beneath that cape of mist. The painted lips above her narrow chin shifted, some emotion cracking the glass of perfectly bred composure.


    ¡°Thank you, Ser Kaia, that will be all.¡± Her voice was very much like the rest of her. Strong, assured, imperious as a winter sun.


    The knight seemed startled. ¡°But, Your Grace, I cannot¡ª¡±


    ¡°Obey my will?¡± The noblewoman asked, arching a black eyebrow. ¡°I assure you, I will be quite safe. This man will not harm me.¡±


    ¡°Even still,¡± the knight protested, stepping forward. ¡°This is highly irregular, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°I am aware,¡± she said, voice calm as still waters. ¡°Please, Kaia.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure what expression the knight wore. My eyes remained fixed on the dark-haired woman. I¡¯m not sure I could have looked away had her guard drawn a sword on me. I heard the knight bow by the shift of her elaborate armor, metal plates sliding against one another, chainmail rattling, followed by heavy steps. The door closed and I was left alone with the noblewoman.


    With her.


    The Winterstar Jewel. Royal consort to King Markham, last surviving member of High House Silvering, Sovereign Princess of Karles, Queen of the Karledale, and Empress of Urn.


    It surprised me, how calm I sounded when I did speak.


    ¡°Hello, Rose.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 28: The Headsman and The Queen

    Arc 3: Chapter 28: The Headsman and The Queen


    Rosanna didn¡¯t reply at once. I couldn¡¯t read her, couldn¡¯t tell what emotion turned the well-ordered gears behind those gem green eyes.


    When we¡¯d been young, when I¡¯d been a novice fighter pretending to be a bastard noble and she a runaway princess fleeing her family¡¯s killers, I hadn¡¯t realized just how calculating she could be, how ambitious.


    I knew then, in that fortress by the sea, in that quiet study where we stood together for the first time in seven years.


    Had this all been her? Had it been her will behind Lias all along, pulling me back into this world of intrigue and conspiracy?


    I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it. I felt the anger, long swallowed, boil up. I should have known this would be another of Rosanna¡¯s schemes. I was to be a pawn again, another piece on her board. Resentment and unspoken words stored up through long, bloody years filled my insides like buzzing flies and I tried to work myself up to spill it all into that silent space between us.


    I¡¯d held onto it all too long. It crammed in my throat, all that hurt, and wouldn¡¯t come out. I thought I might choke on it.


    Then she did something I did not expect and never after forgot. That queen, that empress, that wellspring of strength and royal will, stepped forward with tears in her eyes and threw her arms around me.


    I didn¡¯t return the embrace at first. Stunned, I just stood there dumbly, stiff as a tree and unsure what to do with my arms. Rosanna¡¯s nose barely came above my lower ribs as she buried her face in my chest. No matter that she was dressed in enough rich finery to buy a small realm, and I hadn¡¯t washed or changed clothes in weeks. I probably smelled like a sty.


    She held me tightly anyway, and might have been trembling.


    ¡°Alken,¡± she said, voice tight with emotion. Not disdain or anger as I¡¯d expected, but warmth colored by grief.


    I did return the embrace then, though not without awkwardness. I didn¡¯t know what else to do. All my bitter words fled me, all that time I¡¯d spent alone and believing my friends of old didn¡¯t care whether I lived or died forgotten.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you married now?¡± I said quietly, no better quip coming to mind.


    Rosanna pulled away from me, moving her hands to grip my arms. She studied me, eyes damp with unfallen tears. Her nose wrinkled, something of the haughty girl I¡¯d once known returning to that austere, regal countenance.


    ¡°You stink,¡± she said. ¡°And you grew a beard.¡±


    ¡°The Inquisition¡¯s been providing me free room and board since I came to your city,¡± I said. ¡°I might have asked for a razor, but I didn¡¯t want to impose.¡±


    Rosanna seemed almost dazed, as though she couldn¡¯t quite believe I stood there in front of her. ¡°I know. I only learned two weeks ago. It took me time to discover where you were being held and plan your escape. What were you thinking? Breaking into a Priory sanctuary?¡±


    I pulled away from her then, folding my arms so she couldn¡¯t keep a hold on them or go for another hug. ¡°I was trying to rescue someone,¡± I admitted. ¡°And get more information. I ran into someone who recognized me.¡±


    The Empress pursed her lips. I recognized the expression. She suppressed the smile with all the noblesse with which she¡¯d been born, but it was in her eyes. ¡°Well, you were always brazen. And thoughtless. And¡ª¡±


    ¡°All muscle, no brains,¡± I finished, remembering the old adage. I almost smiled, felt my lips start to twitch into the expression.


    But the horror of the past three weeks remained too fresh. The smile died before it could truly be born.


    Rosanna seemed to sense my unease, because she pulled back and glided over to a small table set with a beautifully made decanter and two cups. ¡°Wine?¡± She asked. ¡°I have water too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the wine,¡± I said, without hesitation. Fuck sobriety. I needed it just then.


    The Empress of the Accorded Realms poured me wine, and even filled a glass for herself. I noticed something else then, which must have shown on my face. I¡¯d felt it when she¡¯d embraced me, but my mind hadn¡¯t quite registered it.


    She caught my look and nodded, placing a hand to her stomach. Her regal clothes had made it less obvious, but I could just make out the roundness there. ¡°My third,¡± she said. ¡°The seers tell me it will be another boy.¡±


    Third. ¡°You¡¯re a mother,¡± I said dumbly, my thoughts fleeing at the realization. Rosanna being a leader of nations seemed only natural. Her having children was like learning Nath had a secret fondness for puppies.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rosanna said archly, handing me the cup of wine. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when one gets married. The realms needs heirs, after all. Still, it¡¯s not quite so bad as I once imagined. My sons, Malcom and Darsus, are seven and four now, but you¡¯d think they were both seven-and-forty. Take after their father.¡±


    I tried to imagine miniature versions of the Emperor and Empress, recalling my memory of Markham Forger. It was a disturbing image. Two dour children brooding in their machinations, conquering this enormous castle one hall at a time. I had to suppress a shudder.


    After I¡¯d taken the drink and wet my parched throat Rosanna said, ¡°I won¡¯t lie to you, Alken. You¡¯ve placed me in something of a knot. It won¡¯t take much for the Presider to figure out someone in the palace helped you escape. I trust my people, but that wolf Oraise is the most canny hunter I¡¯ve ever encountered, perhaps discounting Lias.¡±


    The mention of Lias ripped me back into the present. ¡°Did he tell you I was in the city?¡± I asked. ¡°That I¡¯d been captured?¡±


    Rosanna frowned, which struck me as strange. ¡°No. I learned that from Lisette. She¡¯s one of mine.¡±


    I felt very cold then, despite the warmth of the blazing hearth. ¡°I¡¯m here because of him,¡± I said. ¡°He asked me to come back, to help both of you solve the murders in the city, clean up some messes.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Did he, now?¡±


    ¡°Have you seen him recently?¡± I asked. Had he even tried to find me when I went missing?


    ¡°I have not seen Lias in over a year,¡± Rosanna said icily, lifting the cup to her lips without taking a sip, her eyes going to the window. ¡°He¡¯s been banished from Garihelm by the order of my lord husband.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We quarreled,¡± she stated. ¡°We have been for some time now, honestly, but that¡¯s a long story.¡± She sighed and placed her fingertips to one temple, massaging it. ¡°Damn wizards. They¡¯re always a headache.¡±


    I could agree with that. I sipped from my cup, mostly to give myself time to think.


    Damn it, Lias.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been gone a long time,¡± Rosanna said quietly, almost speaking to the air and not to me. Her lips were pressed tight, her eyes averted from mine. ¡°There¡¯s so much you¡¯ve missed.¡±


    A shadow of the anger I¡¯d felt when I¡¯d entered that room fell on me. ¡°Not by choice.¡±


    ¡°Of course it was by choice.¡± Rosanna said, startling me with the emotion in her voice. ¡°Alken...¡± her eyes were pained, caught between frustration and regret. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to vanish into the wilderness, or throw yourself at the mercy of the Bough at the end of the war. They wanted to crucify someone, and you practically begged them for it. We could have protected you.¡±


    Her voice became smaller, taking on a bitter edge to match mine. ¡°I could have protected you.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what this is all about?¡± I asked, gesturing at the palace around us. ¡°You wanted to remind me just how mighty you are, Your Grace? Prove a point?¡±


    The pain in Rosanna¡¯s expression fled, driven out by a shadow of steel. ¡°Is that really what you think of me after all we¡¯ve been through?¡±


    I met her eyes for a long moment. I couldn¡¯t say how long. I matched my resentment against her royal iron.


    Iron won out, and I averted my gaze.


    An uncomfortable silence fell. We both stood apart with years of unspoken words, mistakes, and disappointments hanging between us like the lashing waters of the bay outside.


    ¡°You still resent me for it, don¡¯t you?¡± Rosanna¡¯s voice was small, uncharacteristically fragile. That disturbed me more than anything else, I think. Knowing my anger broke that aegis of will with which she¡¯d survived years as a wanted outlaw, a House war, the Fall, and the long years of uncertainty and chaos after.


    I suspected I knew what she meant, but I asked anyway. ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For placing you with the Table.¡±


    Even as she said the words I realized they were true. It had been Rosanna, restored as the Lady of High House Silvering and Queen of the Karledale, a peer to the rulers of Urn, who¡¯d claimed me a seat on the Alder Table. Only the named champions of the rulers of Urnic realms were granted such a nomination. I¡¯d never have made it in, not as a lowborn soldier.


    Worse than all that, it hadn¡¯t truly been a reward for my efforts in helping reclaim her throne. It had been half Rose¡¯s idea and half her council of bureaucrats. They¡¯d wanted to elevate their own little kingdom, get a man among the mighty circle of peers the Table represented.


    I¡¯d never earned it, not really.


    I chewed on my feelings for several minutes before I spoke. ¡°Yes.¡± I saw Rosanna¡¯s shoulders stiffen and added, ¡°But I¡¯m an idiot.¡±


    I tried for a smile then, knowing what I said next to also be true. ¡°I was an angry brat who wanted everything, but couldn¡¯t stomach the thought of someone else passing me the plate. I wanted to be with the Alder.¡±


    I sighed, thumping my head back against the wall and setting the cup of wine down on a side table. ¡°I just couldn¡¯t get it out of my head that it wasn¡¯t me, wasn¡¯t because of what I accomplished, but this gift-wrapped status I¡¯d gotten lucky enough to cheat my way into. I didn¡¯t think I was worthy of the honor.¡±


    I showed her the palms of my empty hands. ¡°No matter we went through hell and back before and after.¡±


    To my relief, Rosanna smiled. ¡°You always were impossible. How many times did we nearly strangle one another after we met?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°You¡¯d never have managed to strangle me. Not with those tiny hands.¡±


    From adventurer to honored knight and Empress¡¯s keeper. I wasn¡¯t sure if I should pity her.


    Did she recognize me? She hadn¡¯t shown any reaction or particular sign of recognition. I¡¯d been in my black Sidhe armor and Briar cloak then, my face masked by witch light and the gathering¡¯s dour ceremony. Now, I looked like a bedraggled wretch with long hair and tattered cloth.


    Even still, it was possible.


    I focused on the chamber she ushered me into, tearing my thoughts away from distractions. A familiar voice barked out as soon as the door swung open.


    ¡°Is that you, Kaia? If you are not here to tell me it is time to ride out into the city, I swear I will hurl the next servant who brings me food out the window, and then myself. How would your liege enjoy that, hm? How shall you explain that little¡ª¡±


    The hawk-eyed young woman in the guest bedroom fell silent as she caught sight of me entering, instead of the royal champion. Her mouth popped open, as though to speak, but only hung agape as she stared at my grime-matted face.


    ¡°You...¡± Emma took a step forward, and for a moment I thought she might embrace me as Rosanna had.


    She lunged forward and drove a fist into my chin instead. Oraeka and I had taught her well ¡ª it was a good punch, quick and with all her weight behind it. Though she was smaller than me and didn¡¯t weigh nearly as much, she used leverage and speed with a swordsman¡¯s precision. I grunted, stumbling back into the knight. Ser Kaia caught me by the arms.


    ¡°Do we need to restrain her?¡± The Empress¡¯s Knight muttered into my ear.


    ¡°Not right now,¡± I mumbled, rubbing at my jaw and grimacing. ¡°Just give us some privacy.¡±


    The knight left, shutting the door behind her. Emma and I regarded one another, one of the alchemical lamps and a crackling fireplace lighting our reunion.


    ¡°You fucking bastard,¡± Emma snarled at me, her sharp features livid. ¡°You absolute ingrate.¡±


    I nodded slowly, wincing as I rubbed at my jaw. I tasted blood. ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡±


    ¡°Buffoon,¡± Emma continued, eyebrows lifting. She enunciated each syllable of her next words carefully, as though teaching them to me. ¡°Imbecile. Wantwit. Dullard. Dolt. Block-headed, moon touched, cheese-skulled, mouth breathing ass.¡± She thought a moment and added, ¡°Cunt.¡±


    I lowered my hand. ¡°Alright.¡±


    She jabbed a finger at me, near trembling with rage. ¡°You left me!¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± I said. No point denying it.


    ¡°I could have helped you,¡± she hissed, amber eyes blazing. ¡°We could have fought together, or come up with a different plan, or... anything else.¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯d taken you,¡± I said calmly, ¡°we¡¯d both have been killed or captured.¡±


    ¡°Yes, perhaps!¡± Emma came near to shouting. ¡°But we would have gone down together.¡±


    She swiped a hand to one side. ¡°I would have fought with you to the bitter end. Even had I died in the doing, that would have at least been honorable. Instead, I¡¯ve spent these last three weeks believing you were dead, and that I was alone!¡±


    Suddenly, to my shock, her eyes welled with tears. I had never seen her cry, and it took me off guard as much as Rosanna¡¯s display of emotion had. Emma Orley, once Carreon, had always seemed on the cusp of villainy, the very picture of the fell, vain aristocrat, or the wicked warlock. A shallow part of me had never imagined her capable of tears.


    Only then did I truly feel ashamed.


    She pointed at me again, and her words came out choked. ¡°You dishonored me. You made me feel useless, and wretched. You made me feel like I was not worthy of fighting by your side.¡±


    Silence reigned in the wake of those words, broken only by the fire and a gust of wind shuddering across the window. Emma¡¯s shoulders shook, and her nostrils flared, but she didn¡¯t break eye contact.


    I drew in a deep breath, then stepped forward. Emma lifted her chin up, more to meet my eyes than in defiance, though her stubborn noblesse was there. I spoke quietly, but poured every ounce of sincerity I could into my next words.


    ¡°You are right,¡± I told her. ¡°I treated you like a burden to be kept safe, rather than as a comrade. I treated you like a ward, and not as my squire.¡±


    Squires fight with their knights. That has always been the Urnic way.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± I said. ¡°I will not make the same mistake again.¡±


    Emma glared at me with eyes crystalline with tears, and for a moment I thought she¡¯d punch me again. She drew in a shuddering breath, then rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.


    ¡°Look at you,¡± she sniffed. ¡°You¡¯re a bloody mess.¡±


    I laughed quietly. ¡°Yes. You look well, at least.¡±


    She wore new clothes, likely from the palace. Gone were the rough traveling clothes, the yellow scarf and long leather coat. She dressed like a royal valet now, in an androgynous uniform of black and maroon trimmed with silver, the Silvering Sun stitched onto one arm. The outfit had a high collar, layered sleeves decorated with stripes, and tight fitting leggings tucked into pointed shoes.


    I noted the hint of chain mail beneath her collar. She still wore Caim¡¯s armor.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in the palace nearly two weeks,¡± she said. ¡°A lot¡¯s happened.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ***


    Lias had known I¡¯d gone into Rose Malin the moment I¡¯d done it. He¡¯d had eyes on me. Familiars, according to Emma. Gregori, Lias¡¯s manservant, had been one. I¡¯d suspected the little man hadn¡¯t been human, and my squire confirmed it.


    ¡°Some kind of doll,¡± she said. ¡°An automaton. Lias keeps several of them.¡±


    Marions. More continental sorcery, long held as taboo in the subcontinent.


    For two days, Lias had refused to tell Emma anything, only that ¡°Everything is under control.¡± She¡¯d grown suspicious.


    As it had turned out, the changelings from the slum had been watching me as well, wanting to know if I¡¯d betray them or back up my promise to free their elder. They¡¯d watched me go into Rose Malin, and not come back out. They had found Emma when she¡¯d snuck away from the wizard, and told her everything.


    She¡¯d tried to break into the church that same night to free me. Brave, foolish girl. Kross had probably been expecting a rescue attempt, because he¡¯d been waiting for her. She¡¯d nearly gotten herself captured by the priorguard, but Ser Kaia had intervened. The knight had been investigating after Lisette, one of Rosanna¡¯s spies, had reported my capture. There had been a confrontation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not seen anyone fight like that,¡± Emma said, ¡°besides you and my great-grandfather. She was a monster.¡±


    She said this with an almost adoring affection, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I quickly reassessed the Empress¡¯s Knight ¡ª first Rhan Harrower, and now Renuart Kross. Kaia was one to be wary of.


    The royal champion had been investigating the Priory, suspecting them of kidnapping individuals in the city and incarcerating them in a secret location. She¡¯d discovered, with the help of Rose¡¯s spy network, that those prisoners weren¡¯t being held beneath the priorguard¡¯s base in the Bell Ward, but in hidden locations elsewhere where the Accord and the College were less likely to search.


    Rosanna had wanted to know why the Inquisition was taking people. Most of those they captured were members of the city¡¯s renaissance movement, artists and scholars mostly, who¡¯d exhibited ¡°dangerous ideas.¡± The veiled Priory thugs had taken them under the pretense of investigating the Carmine Killings, but the Empress had suspected a deeper motive.


    Emma had told Ser Kaia that she¡¯d only been in the city recently, not revealing our full identities but saying enough for Rosanna to see the strangeness. We didn¡¯t match the Presider¡¯s usual targets, strangers to the city as we were. She¡¯d had Emma brought to her, and questioned her.


    Emma, for all her haughty spunk, hadn¡¯t stood a chance. Rosanna had gotten the full story from her, or close enough to it. She¡¯d realized who lay in the Presider¡¯s clutches, between Emma¡¯s account and Lisette¡¯s.


    Of course, Emma hadn¡¯t known I had any connection to the Empress. When details about me had started emerging during these interviews, Rose had put two and two together.


    She¡¯d always been smarter than me, my queen. Smarter than most, really.


    So a scheme had been hatched, a plant from Rosanna¡¯s own entourage ordered to free me from Oraise¡¯s dungeons. Emma had been forced to stay away, stay safe, and wait. Her least favorite combination of things to do.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you know the Empress!¡± Emma and I sat together in front of the fire in her guest room. ¡°That you were her...¡± she trailed off, her brow furrowing.


    ¡°Her First Sword,¡± I said. ¡°Before she was Empress. She was Princess of the Karledale back then, and then queen of it after we won her throne back. She made me a knight, before I ever got wrapped up with gods, elves, and demons.¡±


    ¡°You really need to tell me your full story sometime,¡± Emma muttered, narrowing her eyes at me.


    I didn''t answer immediately, straying into my own thoughts. I thought of Lias, and why he''d not come to my aid. I could think of many reasons, not all of them disagreeable. I''d been a fool, and I hadn''t acted expecting him to bail me out in any case. Even still, it stung.


    ¡°Maybe one day,¡± I said, standing. ¡°For now, I need to get cleaned up. I have a dinner with royalty.¡±

 Arc 3: Chapter 29: Bonds

    Arc 3: Chapter 29: Bonds


    I stared at the face in the mirror, trying to recognize it.


    I stood in a private room in the queen-consort¡¯s bastion. Clean and comfortably furnished, a still-steaming tub lay on the floor and clean clothes were strewn across a cushioned couch. They¡¯d probably burned the ones I¡¯d arrived in.


    I¡¯d lost weight during my imprisonment, and my musculature looked ghoulish, the skin clinging tight after the bath. I¡¯d turned pale from so much time in the dark. Kross had known my powers kept me healthier than most men, so they¡¯d been able to starve me more thoroughly.


    My beard grew in an angry, wiry mass, its red darker than the copper tint of my hair, which fell past my shoulders, lank and tangled even after I¡¯d tried attacking it with a comb.


    The gold in my eyes seemed dimmer, closer to amber now, the faint light in them almost imperceptible. My cheekbones jutted out like precipices over the hollows of my cheeks, and my lips had thinned into a sour line I couldn¡¯t relax.


    I looked drained. Wasted.


    I¡¯d always been broad of build, with wide shoulders and long, strong arms. I¡¯d gotten leaner, lost body mass. I looked older than I¡¯d ever had, in a way the lasting youth the Sidhe magic had given me couldn¡¯t mask.


    I¡¯d gotten lice, too, in the dark of Oraise¡¯s dungeon.


    Going into Rose Malin had been a terrible idea. I¡¯d acted impulsively. I¡¯d believed I could barrel my way through any situation.


    I had people relying on me now. This wasn¡¯t a war zone or a demon-haunted wilderness. If I acted brashly, people died.


    I was a mess. My eyes fell to a razor and a pair of scissors lying on the vanity.


    I tightened my jaw and grabbed the razor.


    ***


    The servant stepped into the room where I was to dine with the Empress ahead of me, bowed low and said, ¡°Master Alken, Your Grace.¡±


    Ser Kaia stood by the door on guard, her clamshell helm once again covering her face. I felt her eyes on me, felt her distrust. I ignored her.


    I heard Rose¡¯s purring tenor from within, thanking the servant and permitting me entry.


    I took a deep breath and entered a dimly lit, richly furnished dining hall. A table large enough to seat a small company dominated the space, and a hearth crackled energetically on one wall. The hearth¡¯s light mixed with the candle glow of a chandelier above the table, an ostentatious piece carved from glass and metal, fashioned into a scene of hunting elves chasing horned demons around in circles.


    I wondered if the piece¡¯s makers found that as ironic as I did.


    Even with spring well in season, the heights of the Empress¡¯s bastion kept a lasting chill. Large windows opposite the fireplace gave us a view of sea. The most recent storm had passed, allowing the moons to shine forth over the Riven, casting titan blades of emerald and silver over black waters.


    Framed in that moonlight where she stood by the windows waited the Empress of Urn. Rosanna Silvering turned as I entered, her hands folded over her pregnant stomach.


    She¡¯d changed her garments in the hour since I¡¯d last seen her. Gone was the cloak of mist, the rich gown and the gemstone hairnet. She¡¯d rearranged her black hair into two braided ropes which hung down the front of either shoulder, framing her neck and breasts. She wore a simpler dress of deep green and sea blues with layered sleeves, tight at the wrists in the popular northern fashion of late.


    I felt an old pang ¡ª I¡¯d once been very attracted to Rosanna, when I¡¯d been young and foolish enough to believe a lowborn swordsman could have a chance with a royal. I¡¯d learned better, and we¡¯d found a different form of love besides. The love of comrades, of confidants, hard earned through many trials, though it had started to wither well before everything had gone wrong.


    It didn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t still find her beautiful. She was, and age hadn¡¯t tarnished her at all, only given her a poise the stern girl in my memories hadn¡¯t yet fully claimed. She seemed calmer than I remembered, more controlled.


    More than that, in my auratic senses she blazed. Many of the high nobility are born with the seed of powerful Art, and though Rose had never cultivated her magic into a technique, she had the unearthly charisma many of her station possessed. It was what allowed her to be heard clear as thunder even when she but murmured a few soft words.


    She turned to me, studied me a moment, and then pressed the tips of her ring-laden fingers to her mouth. Not to hide a laugh ¡ª the expression was one of shock, even pain.


    ¡°Alken, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, self-consciously reaching up to scratch at my hair, or what I¡¯d left of it. I¡¯d shaved my face, and in a fit of pique I¡¯d shorn off my copper locks as well, leaving little more than a thin fuzz along my scalp.


    I hadn¡¯t been gentle, and my skin felt raw. Cold, too.


    ¡°Not a good look?¡± I asked, trying for humor.


    ¡°It just took me off guard,¡± Rosanna said, recovering. Her eyes lingered on my scars. They¡¯d be much more visible now, without long bangs to held mask them.


    I shrugged. We sat then, taking our places at opposite ends of the table. I saw the array of food there, and my mouth began to water. I hadn¡¯t eaten well in...


    Well, I didn¡¯t hesitate. Once Rosanna nodded her assent, I tucked in. I didn¡¯t come up for air for a while.


    ¡°How did your meeting with young Emma go?¡± Rose asked, after letting me break my fast. She¡¯d barely touched her own food, and played idly with a beautiful silver cup without sipping its contents.


    I grunted, dabbing at my mouth with a cloth. I knew my manners were terrible, especially in present company, but I was too starved and too many years an exile to care much. ¡°She¡¯s not happy with me. Emma is... Well, she can be willful.¡±


    ¡°I quite like her,¡± Rosanna said, smiling faintly.


    You would, I silently grumbled. You¡¯re practically two peas in a pod, even if she took more to swordplay than state.


    ¡°She¡¯s a strong spirit,¡± I said aloud. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I can to guide her right, but... It¡¯s hard. Knowing what¡¯s right, I mean.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s noble born,¡± Rosanna said, with no particular implication in her tone.


    I fell quiet, knowing those words tread on dangerous ground. ¡°Yes.¡±


    When I didn¡¯t elaborate, the Empress nodded and sipped from her silver cup.


    Though I still felt loyalty to Rose, and that feeling bordered on something integral in me, I did not trust her. I trusted her even less than Lias, in some ways. She was a monarch, after all, and Emma the last scion of an ancient line.


    In other words, a potential tool. I wouldn¡¯t let that become known to the Accord if I could avoid it.


    ¡°There¡¯s a demon in your city,¡± I blurted, half to change the subject.


    Rosanna flinched. I could count the number of times I¡¯d seen her flinch on one hand. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± She asked, reasserting control.


    ¡°I spoke to it just earlier tonight,¡± I said. Had that really been tonight? So much had happened so quickly.


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re here?¡± She asked.


    ¡°...In part,¡± I admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t know before I arrived, but I have been tracking... enemies.¡±


    Rosanna studied me a long while. She didn¡¯t do anything so crass as narrow her eyes.


    ¡°I am tempted to order you to tell me everything,¡± she said.


    I settled back in my chair. ¡°No need. I¡¯ll tell you what matters.¡±


    And I did. I didn¡¯t tell her about my work as Headsman, or the Choir, or anything that would implicate her in matters bordering on heresy. I told her of the Recusants in Caelfall, of their potential alliance with Talsyn, and of my suspicions about their presence in the city.


    By the end of my telling, Rosanna was massaging one temple with her ring-laden fingers. ¡°Conspiracy with Talysn. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised. Do you know the Emperor has been in peace talks with King Hasur?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°I did not.¡±


    Rosanna nodded, setting her cup down next to her still-full plate. ¡°If I bring this to him, he will want evidence. He will want to be certain.¡± She met my eyes, her emerald irises flashing with a steely emotion. ¡°I cannot act on rumor and whispers alone. Not even from you.¡±


    I nodded, having expected as much. ¡°I don¡¯t even know how Talsyn is involved, if at all, only that the Council of Cael ¡ª that¡¯s been my name for them ¡ª were apparently in Hasur Vyke¡¯s court last year. I suspect they¡¯re here, Rose, I¡¯ve got no proof. I do know the spirit they bound is here, though, and I intend to hunt it down.¡±


    Rosanna lifted her glass as though to toast me. ¡°In that, you have my full blessing. I¡¯d assign Lias to aid you, if I knew where the fox was hiding.¡± She sighed. ¡°If he¡¯s caught in the city, I may not be able to protect him. I¡¯m not even certain I should.¡±


    ¡°As for other leads,¡± Rosanna said, glancing toward the window. ¡°I have had some of my own people investigating this. Nothing dedicated, you understand, lest the Presider know I¡¯m on the hunt. This has been going on for months, but so far? Nothing of substance has come up. I believe some other elements of the Church may know more. I have considered asking the Abbey ¡ª they¡¯ve always been easier to deal with ¡ª but the priesthood has withdrawn into itself. Tensions between the aristocracy and the clergy are high, and I haven¡¯t gained any cooperation. If someone knows something, they¡¯re damn well keeping it to themselves.¡±


    She sipped from her cup, the motion almost petulant. I almost smiled. That was more like the Rose I remembered.


    ¡°You said the Presider is questioning nobles,¡± I said. ¡°Surely someone¡¯s let something slip? Have you questioned the people he¡¯s questioned?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had my people make inquiries,¡± Rosanna admitted. ¡°Whatever else can be said about him, Oraise isn¡¯t a fool. He¡¯s left few crumbs for anyone else to follow and no one is willing to tell my allies much. They either distrust me or they¡¯re scared of him, or both. Sometimes they mean well, and they think siding with him is the pious thing to do. They don¡¯t understand he is no man of faith himself ¡ª he¡¯s just using the power it gives him.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t certain I agreed. Oraise had displayed a quiet zealotry, a dedication bordering on fever. He¡¯d controlled it, channelled it, but I suspected that cold, terrible man very fervently believed he did God¡¯s will.


    I frowned, tapping a fork against my plate idly. ¡°Whatever he¡¯s looking for, he thinks he can find it through the aristocracy. What about the commoners?¡±


    ¡°There have been reports of the priorguard in the streets,¡± Rosanna told me. ¡°Nothing like you¡¯d expect. No raids or beatings, no suspected heretics taken into custody. The Priory is popular right now. I imagine they don¡¯t want their dog taking an axe to that good will. Still, the man¡¯s become more brazen these last weeks. He¡¯s moved from questions to covert threats. It¡¯s almost like he¡¯s trying to scare a fox out of its den.¡±


    That was my thought as well, hearing all the details.


    ¡°I think he might be hunting the same thing I am,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Woed attacked one of the Priorguard safe houses tonight, the one where they held me. I think the demon was attacking them in retaliation.¡±


    Yith¡¯s ¡°disciples¡± had been there as a raid, unless I still missed something.


    Rosanna frowned. ¡°That means Oraise might be getting close to finding whatever he¡¯s looking for.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I agreed. ¡°When Oraise interrogated me, he seemed uninterested in anything I had to say about cults and demons. The man¡¯s an enigma.¡±


    We fell quiet awhile, both retreating into our own thoughts. I chewed on everything Rosanna had said even as I chewed on the lavish meal I¡¯d been offered.


    After a while I said, ¡°I¡¯ll help. Or, I¡¯ll try. But I need you to understand something before we go further.¡±


    The Empress of Urn nodded, frowning slightly. She didn¡¯t say anything, waiting for me to explain.


    ¡°I have my own reason to be here,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯m a soldier, and a terrible spy. I¡¯m here to punish murderers, and hunt down a monster. I¡¯ll help your people where I can, but I have my priorities.¡±


    Rosanna sighed. ¡°You¡¯re still just as insolent as you used to be.¡± She smiled to take any reprimand from the words. ¡°But you¡¯re right. As I said earlier, Alken ¡ª you can walk away from all of this and face no hostility from me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯d want me for a subtle job,¡± I grumbled. ¡°Don¡¯t you have spies for this?¡±


    ¡°I do have them, yes.¡± Rosanna¡¯s smile changed into something a wicked queen in an old fable might wear. ¡°And believe me, I am using them. But you always did have less conventional tactics. Perhaps you can turn something up with that blundering about of yours?¡±


    ¡°Is that really what you want to call it?¡± I asked, pained. Inside, I suspected a very different motive ¡ª just like Lias had said back at the Fane, I was an outcast with no lingering political connections. A useful cat¡¯s paw, which Rosanna could easily disavow if I were caught again.


    She was a monarch, and would use anything and everything. I¡¯d once resented her for it, but I understood the world better now.


    Rosanna stifled a laugh. We might have said more, but just then a knock came at the door. The Empress suddenly looked... Scared. Alarmed.


    She covered her reaction quickly and stood in a decisive motion, masking any emotion behind her usual regal grace.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong. There is someone I would like you to meet.¡± She turned toward the door and commanded, ¡°Enter.¡±


    The door opened and a maid shuffled in. She ushered two smaller figures forward, both of whom ran to the Empress without hesitation.


    They were children. Two boys. One, the larger of the two, had his father¡¯s deep brown hair and serious dark eyes. He stared at me and stepped forward just enough to put himself between me and his mother. A brave little knight in a steel gray doublet and golden buttons.


    The younger acted more his age. He had his mother¡¯s raven dark hair and green eyes, and he hid behind the Empress¡¯s skirts to peer at me, balling rich fabric in his fists as though it were a shield.


    Rosanna placed a gentle hand on the younger boy¡¯s head and her other on the older¡¯s shoulder. I¡¯d never seen such a warm expression on her face, not in all the long years of war, intrigue, and dire prophecy we¡¯d faced together.


    ¡°Alken, these are my sons. I wanted you to meet them.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d risen from my own seat until I stepped forward. Still, I kept my distance.


    I realized, in a flash of self-insight, that I was afraid of those two boys. Not because of who they were or what they might become, but because of what I was, and the danger I represented to them and their family. I wasn¡¯t the royal champion any longer, not the Alder Knight to be trusted.


    I was the Blackbough, the Headsman, the Choir of God¡¯s weapon and demon-marked. Melodramatic, maybe, but true.


    Why did Rosanna tolerate me in that room? Why did she still treat me like family, rather than send me from her palace at the point of a sword?


    I didn¡¯t deserve to be there, to be shown those two princes like a trusted uncle.


    Rosanna didn¡¯t seem to note the pain in my eyes. She gently pushed the two princes toward me. ¡°Malcolm, Darsus, this is Ser Alken.¡± Ser Alken, she said. ¡°I have known him for many years. I¡¯ve told you stories, remember?¡±


    ¡°He fought your cousins,¡± the older boy, Malcom, said. He didn¡¯t sound like a seven year old. He¡¯d probably been born not long after my trial at the ruins of Kingsmeet, but he spoke with the cautious deliberation of an experienced courtier. It was uncanny.


    He frowned at me, as though I represented some odd puzzle. ¡°You said you wouldn¡¯t have met Father if not for him.¡±


    Rosanna glanced at me with a secret smile and said, ¡°That¡¯s true. He was my champion. My best knight.¡±


    ¡°Ser Kaia is your best knight!¡± The younger boy, Darsus, protested. He scowled at me. How old was he? Four? Five? Could he really string that many words together already?


    The Empress laughed, almost girlishly. ¡°Let us hope we never have to test that.¡±


    I would never, for all the years I lived and strange shores I traveled to, forget that moment. All those years I¡¯d been wandering like an avenging wraith ¡ª killing who I was told to kill, avoiding my old life and any reminder of it, resenting its memory ¡ª I¡¯d given myself fully to trying to find some sort of penance, believing all the while I didn¡¯t deserve it.


    And there Rosanna stood. She¡¯d made for herself a family. A kingdom. She was putting her all into creating the kind of world she wanted to live in, for her children to live in.


    And what had I done? Remained trapped in the past, fighting the ghosts of the past? Losing myself to violence, teetering on the edge of apathy?


    How many times had I thrown myself into a battle I knew I couldn¡¯t win, secretly hoping it might be my last?


    What had I done? What had I been doing?


    It didn¡¯t matter, I realized. What mattered was what I did next.


    I knew. From the moment Rosanna had asked for my help, I¡¯d known.


    I had thought my world had died that day, when a monster wearing the face of someone I¡¯d thought I loved had told me everything I fought for was a lie. But the world remained ¡ª wounded perhaps, but not dead. There were still things worth fighting for in it.


    Maybe I couldn¡¯t be redeemed, but redemption was a selfish thing to fight for anyway.


    My battles were far from done.


    I stepped forward and knelt before the two young royals, just like the knight I¡¯d once been. ¡°It¡¯s good to meet you, my lords. I am at your service.¡±


    End of Arc Three

 Interlude: Credo

    Interlude: Credo


    Renuart Kross knelt beneath the statue of God, bowed his head, and for a long moment realized he did not know what to say.


    He opened his mouth to begin his prayer, paused as a strange sensation came over him, and hesitated. He knelt there for several minutes, feeling his armor bite into his knees. He knelt long enough for the pain to turn to numbness, and for the pattern of moonlight shining through the stained glass window above the statue to change many times as clouds moved overhead.


    He was not in Rose Malin. The chapel around him lay in a western satellite of Garihelm, a fortified township hard hit by a devastating siege the city still hadn¡¯t fully recovered from even after most of a decade. Outside, whole neighborhoods lay as shattered husks. Ghosts of those slain in the violence haunted every buried nook and ash-smeared window.


    Even years of effort by the city priests hadn¡¯t put all of them to rest ¡ª the city was simply too large, and too old.


    Forsaken, forgotten, and devoid of the teeming crowds congregating in the rest of the great city. A good place to unburden oneself.


    ¡°I have grown very used to hearing the sins of others,¡± Kross began, keeping his head bowed. His pale gray cape fell around him like a shroud, spreading out across the tarnished mural floor. ¡°I admit, it has been a very long time since I have focused on my own.¡±


    A cloud passed over the moon, briefly darkening the nave. Kross stared down at his gauntleted hand, at the smooth steel he¡¯d clad himself in. A knightly disguise, one which had served him well in this land.


    Clenching his armored hand into a fist he said, ¡°The people of this land call me a devil. Even as I seek to bring them into Your light, they would shut their doors in my face if they saw its truth.¡±


    Kross turned his eyes up, staring at the image of the Heir. She stood nearly fifteen feet high atop the pedestal, clad in a gown of ancient design, Her brow adorned with a horned crown woven of silver vine. Someone had scraped the silver enamel off the wood, leaving it white and bare, almost skeletal. They¡¯d looted the golden auremark too, with the gargoyles who guarded blessed ground fled or slain in the siege.


    ¡°I have done many terrible things,¡± Kross said to the face of God. ¡°I have lied, and murdered, and brought good people to ruin. I have wandered this sphere for six centuries, and in all that time I have served.¡±


    She stared down at him, what remained of the spear in Her hand held aloft like a scepter.


    ¡°Even after you disowned us, we served.¡± Kross kept his tone subdued, respectful, even as he realized he recognized the odd emotion churning in him.


    Resentment.


    ¡°Since its founding,¡± he said, his voice echoing through the church, ¡°Orkael has honored its purpose. For twenty thousand years, we have held our vigil over the edge of Darkness, and we have remained faithful. Even when your father¡¯s throne lay empty, when we could have taken the reigns over everything, we stayed true to the task given us. We did not seek power.¡±


    The cloud had passed, and cold, foggy moonlight crowned the God-Queen¡¯s stern visage. He felt a shiver in the very fabric of the world.


    They are here.


    His counselor whispered the words directly into his ear. Kross could feel the seraph¡¯s breath on his skin, like the touch of a glacial wind. He could feel its half-real arms wrapped about his shoulders even through the armor, like frozen iron around his soul. Even when it made itself invisible to all others, it was always there.


    His burden. His choice.


    Kross stood and turned away from the dead face above him. His form shimmered, unraveling and turning briefly to a black smog not unlike chimney smoke. He began to walk until he stood in the room¡¯s center. The clank of his armor turned into the scratching of course cloth. The hiss of his regal cape against the nave¡¯s floor became the rustle of a rough woolen cloak. His confident steps and straight back altered rhythm into a shuffling, limping gate.


    He felt the burn scars form across his skin, flesh puckering, eyelashes and eyebrows rotting away. He felt the pain, and even long accustomed to it his resentment surged.


    He enjoyed being Renuart Kross. However, the Knight-Exorcist was only a mask. A story.


    Vicar lifted his eyes, and saw other Hell-marked faces staring back at him, lurking in the shadows of the pillars, sitting on the pews, even crouching in the rafters above like crows. Like him, they were all dressed in rough layers of tattered cloth in shades of flint and charcoal. Like him, they all wore heavy cowls to mask burned features, complete with shrouding scarves, torn mantles, or ash-stained cloaks.


    Vicar ran his gaze over his fellow crowfriars. He counted eight. Nine, including himself.


    Too few. ¡°Where is Sister Krile?¡± He demanded.


    Cloth rustled nervously. Another shadow passed over the greater moon.


    ¡°In the south,¡± a gruff voice said. One of the Orkaelin missionaries stepped into the isle.


    He didn¡¯t dress like a monk, like the rest of them, but looked more like some ancient hill shepherd. His garments were the right color, but made all of rough hide draped over his shoulders in layers, piled to conceal his entire upper body including the arms. The hides and furs fell past his waist in strips, leaving his bare, hairy legs visible. He was a dark lion of a man, squat and thickly built, with receding hair grown long around his bare skull and on his face in a wild black cloud.


    His eyes were black too, save for the gleam of hellfire in them.


    The devil monk¡¯s wide lips split into a ghastly grin. He had burns too, though not nearly so grievous as Vicar¡¯s. His teeth were made of iron.


    ¡°Last I spoke with her, Krile said she¡¯d found a mighty prize in Duranike. I doubt we¡¯ll be hearing from her again until she¡¯s gotten a contract.¡±


    Vicar quelled his surge of annoyance. He had ordered all the missionaries in the subcontinent to gather here in this city, to prepare for the next step. What came next had far more importance than any single mark.


    He felt the array of eyes in the church fix on him, looking for signs of his frustration, of weakness. Any one of them would gladly see him fall and claim his place. They were wolves, or more accurately jackals ¡ª he would not do them the honor of comparing them to wolves ¡ª and none of them truly understood the importance of their work.


    ¡°I am surprised to see you here, Brother Myrddin.¡± Vicar let his own burning eyes fall on the man in the mantle of hides. ¡°I did not know if word would reach you in your seclusion.¡±


    The bearded crowfriar¡¯s grin didn¡¯t waver so much as a fraction. ¡°Aye, well, I didn¡¯t want to miss your big show, Vicar. Dangerous game though, having us all gather here during an inquisition.¡±


    That last word went through the room like an arrow, striking its mark with deft precision. The tension, already at a simmer, moved near to a boil.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Vicar let his own small smile touch his blistered lips. ¡°That is precisely why we gather. My efforts with the Priory have born fruit.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± One of the others said, this one dressed more like a traveling merchant, complete with a mushroom-shaped hat and multi-layered sleeves striped in shades of charcoal-gray and sulfur-yellow. ¡°Do tell.¡±


    ¡°I am very close to convincing the Grand Prior to sign the Credo Ferrum.¡± Vicar let his words hang a long time once they¡¯d left his burnt lips.


    ¡°The leader of the Aureate Inquisition?¡± One of the other infernal monks said into that silence, this one a tall cadaver with a corpse pale face and sunken, yellowed eyes. ¡°A Faust?¡±


    Vicar only bowed his head, his peaceful expression unchanged. ¡°It would cement us in this land,¡± he said. ¡°Undo centuries of fracture caused by the Riven Order.¡±


    Myrddin folded his hairy arms, scowling. Even still, Vicar saw the calculation in his dark eyes. He understood the implications.


    ¡°There is more,¡± Vicar said quietly. Eight sets of flame-marked eyes fixed on him. He listened to the whispering of the cold angel on his shoulder and said, ¡°We have been ordered to conduct the Rite of Transposition.¡±


    Again, silence. It was broken by a crude, hacking laugh, which echoed in a fell chorus off the old church¡¯s walls.


    ¡°When it comes to my own realm, yes.¡± Vicar smiled, revealing his rotted teeth. ¡°We have work to do. You make certain your friends of old do not trouble us ¡ª that includes both Alken Hewer and Rosanna Silvering. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°You know I¡¯m technically banished from this kingdom,¡± Lias said. Then, with a sigh he added, ¡°I will do what I can. And the demon?¡±


    ¡°It is but a hound.¡± Vicar waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Oraise will find whoever holds its leash, and then the matter will be done. If you are so concerned, then keep Hewer¡¯s attention on that. Chasing shadows is what he¡¯s good at.¡±


    ¡°He may as well be a shadow,¡± Lias said bitterly. ¡°I barely recognize him anymore.¡± After a moment¡¯s silence, his mismatched eyes shot to the crowfriar. ¡°Remember what you swore to me, Vicar. This coup against the Choir isn¡¯t some hostile takeover. I believe your realm is the more stable choice to govern this land. If you lead me to believe otherwise, I will have you answer for it.¡±


    The shadows seamed to congeal around the magi. At his hip, he tapped his long fingers against an ornate implement ¡ª a pipe of lacquered wood and filigreed silver. His power was a near tangible presence in the room, far beyond any normal mortal aura.


    Wizards altered their very essence in order to wield their abilities. Lias was no more human than Vicar, in many ways. The dark-haired man¡¯s ruby eye seemed to burn with an inner light.


    ¡°We do not forget oaths,¡± Vicar said gravely.


    When the wizard had gone, vanished back into the darkness like a wraith, Vicar remained in the church a while, lost in thought. Powers both mortal and immortal swirled around Garihelm. He felt like one among a great congregation of predatory fish.


    Was he the shark, or the piranha?


    It didn¡¯t matter. When done, he¡¯d have a leviathan at his back.


    You should not trust the wizard.


    You should not underestimate the paladin.


    The counselor¡¯s voice again.


    ¡°Lias is very firmly in our debt,¡± Vicar muttered. ¡°And Hewer is a fool. He was a lesser name among an order of faded legends, and he let a lesser minion of the Traitor Magi compromise him. He is a thug, and he knows nothing.¡±


    And Vicar still half believed the Headsman of Seydis was in the city to assassinate the Presider on behalf of the Choir. The Presider, the Grand Prior, or even him.


    I should have killed him, he thought.


    The Zosite spoke again, its melodic voice painfully beautiful and full of a deep, cruel humor.


    Had I not been there, he would have beaten you in the cathedral.


    Vicar quelled the surge of annoyance he felt.


    Too slow. The seraph saw it, and was amused.


    The Knights of Seydis have power. They were made in the image of the First Realm¡¯s own champions. Do not allow pride to hobble you, or you shall fail.


    Vicar heard the criticism, and accepted it. ¡°I will be cautious,¡± he said, meaning it.


    The Zosite wasn¡¯t done.


    The Tutor of Malice is no lesser demon.


    Vicar had turned toward the doors to leave. He considered that statement, and recalled his memory of the prisoner he¡¯d interviewed when last he¡¯d been in Orkael. So many of the Iron Pits were occupied by terrible things, mad and raving, or dangerous in such insidious ways they could not even be spoken to safely.


    The wounded creature in that gaol hadn¡¯t seemed a mighty darkness. She had seemed crestfallen, even disconsolate.


    He adjusted his cloak, and in that movement was Renuart Kross again. His armored steps echoed off the old church¡¯s walls. In the far distance, thunder rumbled as another storm approached over the bay.


    Kross slipped a hand beneath his gray cape and pulled out an ornate medallion. Blackened and warped by heat, he could still make out a silver sun bounding a golden tree on its face. Oraise had wanted it as evidence, but Kross had pilfered it in a moment of pique.


    She fought very hard to keep this, he thought.


    Her kind are malevolent, and very good at deception. She might have wanted me to think so.


    He did not need an Angel of Hell to tell him that. Even still...


    He tossed the medallion into the air once, let it spin, and caught it. Couldn¡¯t be, he thought, and squeezed. The thin metal shell of the knight¡¯s mark bent, then split along its seam.


    Urnic knights always kept some sort of favor inside their emblems, usually a herb or flower, often specially preserved to maintain a nostalgic scent. The medallion in his hand, which had belonged to the First Sword of Karles, smelled of a bittersweet rose he was unfamiliar with.


    He opened it, and found no rose inside. He did find small marks along the inner curve. Scratch marks, and a bit of dried blood which was neither human nor wholly material.


    ¡°Damn,¡± he said aloud. He¡¯d been played, and well. He felt a smile of appreciation, even respect, tug at the corner of his mouth.


    And he felt a moment of pity for Alken Hewer.


    His eyes were drawn back to the face of the Heir of Heaven.


    ¡°I am no god or angel,¡± Kross said to Her. ¡°I was born mortal. I cannot fathom the passage of countless eons. I have only been part of this war for little more than half a single millennium. I cannot grasp the rage that must compel you.¡±


    He brought his hand back to his chest, and said the next words with every dreg of emotion his dead heart could muster.


    ¡°I do all of this for you. I will not ask your blessing, or your forgiveness. These people think themselves your chosen... but I know they were just the ones you had at hand. They do not grasp the enormity of the war that is their inheritance.¡±


    He turned toward the doors in a sweep of his gray cape. ¡°If they need a devil to help them understand, then let it be the one they know.¡±

 Character Glossary for Book 1

    Character Glossary for Book 1


    Main Characters


    Our heroes, if such a term could apply to anyone in a world so broken.


    Alken Hewer: Protagonist and main POV of the story. Once a member of the storied order known as the Knights of the Alder Table and champion to a petty queen, the treacherous actions of the Table and Alken''s personal failings led to his disgrace and exile. After the Fall, he was offered a role as an executioner and punisher of other traitors by the ancient beings who rule Urn, becoming the Headsman of Seydis. A haunted man troubled by old loyalties and a complicated sense of honor.


    Emma Orley: Scion of two accursed and fallen noble houses, Emma is Alken''s unofficial squire and disciple. With dreams of climbing out from beneath the shadow of her ancestors, her cynical nature and ties to dark forces are a constant temptation to the left-hand path.


    Catrin of Ergoth: A dhampir prostitute who works for a mysterious information broker. Alken''s friend and confidant, her unique perspective on the world and rumor-mongering ways are a useful asset during many of his misadventures.


    Karog: A war ogre from the continent. An enemy during the early parts of the story, his mercenary nature and strong sense of honor have led to his estrangement from darker interests. A dubious ally and a dangerous enemy, whose role often fluctuates between the two. He once served the Cambion, and has fought many strange wars in faraway lands.


    Lisette of the Bairns: A young cleric who was apprenticed for a time to a vampire hunter after her cloister was destroyed in a raid. She later enters the service of the Empress of the Accord, placing her in a position of common interest with Alken and his other allies. An uncommonly skilled adept with a versatile magic.


    Inhabitants of the Fane


    Oria''s Fane is a hidden Sidhe refuge in the heartlands of Urn, where a number of strange characters have congregated.


    Maxim Braeve: An aged Alder Knight afflicted with a curse of madness from his broken oaths. Alken''s senior knight and fellow survivor of the order''s destruction.


    Oraeka: A young Sidhe warrior who guards the Fane. Troubled by her people''s decline and seeking ways to prove herself.


    Hezrobog: An aged troll who guards the Fane''s entrance. A curmudgeon who views Alken and Maxim as "freeloaders."


    Caim: A dwarf-giant smith who maintains gear for the Fane''s inhabitants. A brooding figure longing for more fulfilling work.


    Rysanthe Miresgal: The only active Doomsman besides Alken. A powerful drow elf from the Underworld who bears the grim role of Death to the Deathless. As Alken''s senior, she often gives him counsel and is also the one who made the curse-trap ring he uses to guard his dreams from dark spirits.


    The Accord


    A loose collective of feudal realms in the subcontinent formed after the War Against the Recusants. Struggling to hold itself together.


    Rosanna Silvering: Queen of the Karledale and Empress of the Accorded Realms. Alken''s former liege lady, who originally made him a knight. A strong-willed and ruthless stateswoman whose good intentions are often hobbled by her draconian reputation.


    Lias Hexer: A wizard and spymaster, as well as Alken''s oldest friend. His reckless use of power and disdain for consequences led him to many questionable acts, and has placed him deep into the debt of infernal powers.


    Markham Forger: King of Reynwell and Emperor of the Accorded Realms. A stern soldier and statesman who led the Ardent Bough to victory during the war, and who is largely responsible for the formation of the Accord and the tenuous peace the land enjoys. He delivered Alken''s sentence of excommunication.


    Faisa Dance: Prominent member of an incredibly wealthy family and patron of the Urnic Renaissance. A novice sorceress with Sapphic inclinations.


    Ingram: An old servant loyal to House Dance.


    Kaia Gore: A former adventurer only recently elevated to the nobility. She was given the high honor of being the Empress''s personal bodyguard and champion after capturing a famous Recusant general.


    Malcolm Forger: Rosanna''s eldest son by King Markham. Heir to Garihelm and the Kingdom of Reynwell.


    Darsus Silvering: Rosanna''s younger son by King Markham. Heir to Karles and the Kingdom of the Karledale.


    (note that Malcolm and Darsus have different surnames because of their different lines of inheritance. As Rosanna''s entire house was destroyed before the Fall, this was a method to ensure her own storied bloodline''s survival)


    Brenner Hunting: A wealthy lord from Venturmoor who sheltered the Carreons after their exile from the Westvales. An ambitious man seeking glory for his house.


    Hendry Hunting: Brenner''s son and heir. He was expected to marry Emma before she eloped to pursue knighthood. He was wounded by Devil Iron during a battle with the Scorchknight, Jon Orley, at the village of Orcsbridge.


    Brother Myrddin: A manipulative Crowfriar who distrusts Vicar''s motives.


    Jon Orley: A Scorchknight bound to the Iron Realm by foolish oaths sworn to Astraea Carreon.


    Astraea Carreon: An occultist and noblewoman who brought about the downfall of her family''s rivals through a treacherous marriage pact. Now bound to Hell by her own actions.


    The Adversary


    They go by many names, but one fact is true: Long ago, they burned Heaven itself, and would do the same to this world. They must be opposed at any cost, and to heed their lies is to become them. Worst among them are the Abgru?dai, the demons of the Howling Abyss.


    Pernicious Shyora: A succubus demon who infiltrated the Archon''s City in the guise of a scholar-nun. In the guise of Sister Fidei, she became Alken''s confessor and confidant, and later his lover. The revelation of her true nature coincided with the treacherous actions of the Alder Table and the Recusant War. Slain and banished by Alken, she now dwells in the Iron Pits of Orkael as a prisoner of the Zosite. Her influence still very much persists in our haunted hero''s dreams.


    Yith Golonac: A powerful demon given form during a dark ritual in the province of Caelfall early in the story. He is behind the Carmine Killings, a series of brutal serial murders plaguing the city of Garihelm.


    Reynard: Considered the most powerful of all the Magi, the Wizards of the Alderes, the traitorous Reynard was the mastermind behind the death of King Tuvon and the Fall of Seydis. His whereabouts are unknown since the end of the war, with many assuming him dead.


    Raath El Kur: A powerful war demon slain by Alken Hewer during the Fall.


    The Gorelion: A demon whose laughing countenance haunts Alken''s dreams.


    The Cambion King: A once-mighty warlord who waged war with the Heir of Heaven over dominion of the Alderes. Old and decrepit, he still dwells in his moldering realm far to the west, driven mad by the whispers of demons. A piteous dark lord overshadowed by more successful nightmares.


    The Recusants


    The traitor, the heretic, the outcast, the warmonger. To reject the grace of the Heir of Heaven is to heed the Adversary. They are to be given no quarter.


    Orson Falconer: A Recusant nobleman and petty sorcerer. Of little note on his own, his actions in gathering other hostile powers and forming the Council of Cael continue to haunt the realms. Slain by Olliard of Kell.


    Rhan Harrower: The most famous and effective military leader of the Recusant factions. Formerly the King of Duranike, a powerful realm in the south now occupied by the Accord. Executed by the Headsman of Seydis in front of a gathering of Sidhe and human leaders.


    Lillian Cymorin: A necromancer who participated in the Council of Cael.


    Captain Issachar: Commander of an order of ghoul mercenaries from the continent. A gluttonous, short-tempered brute prone to rash action. Was at the Council of Cael.


    Hasur Vyke: King of Talsyn and the last great Recusant leader since the war to deny the rule of the Accord. Suspected to have hosted the Council of Cael in his own court recently.


    Alicia Wake: Former High Captain of the Alder Table, who led the traitorous members of the order in the murder of the Archon. Her whereabouts are presently unknown.


    Ser Beck: A knight remembered by Alken in a dream-flashback. One of the captains who participated in the murder of the Archon.


    Other Persons of Note


    Vanya: A widow in Hunting lands who tended to Emma''s country estate.


    Anastasia Carreon: Emma''s grandmother, and the person primarily responsible for raising her. A sour old iconoclast resentful of her family''s ill fortune. Dead long before the story begins.


    Olliard of Kell: An old barber-surgeon who moonlights as a vampire hunter. Saves Alken''s life early in the story, but the two become estranged by their differing ideas of good and evil.


    Keeper of the Backroad: An old, possibly immortal proprietor of a haunted traveler''s rest and brothel known as the Backroad Inn.


    Joy: A lycanthropic tavern wench who works at the Backroad with Catrin. She has strong connections to the changeling community in Garihelm.

 Arc 4: Roar || Chapter 1: Downpour

    Arc 4: Roar || Chapter 1: Downpour


    A bolt of lightning illuminated the rooftop, and in that flash I saw my mark.


    The latest victim of the Carmine Killings hadn¡¯t died well. He¡¯d hurled himself from a balcony, broken his back, and lain there long enough for vermin to start eating him alive. He looked like a painting half-done, in that flash of lightning ¡ª one armed, chunks missing from his torso, a smudged face and strips of damp hair hanging down to one desiccated shoulder.


    No telling when his heart had stopped beating, or how long it had taken him to realize he could still move. Dyghouls don¡¯t always know they¡¯re stuck in their own corpse right away.


    Rain drummed down across the sprawl of Garihelm, intermittently lit by bolts of lightning. A wicked storm had blown in across the Riven Sea, battering against the city¡¯s ancient sea walls without end for nearly two days. The canals churned with angry water, rumbling falls gushed down crenellated towers, and the sky growled as though a war of titan beasts took place above.


    My eyes, blessed with golden aura, can see through darkness. Heavy downpour is a different story, and I squinted at the rooftop ahead from my shelter beneath a belfry overhang. My long coat had soaked through, and the broad rain hat on my head dripped.


    I shut out all that noise and focused.


    Another flash of lightning. The half-eaten man had dropped down onto a balcony. He¡¯d slipped on the slick stone, and I could see he¡¯d broken something. He stood shakily, using the railing to help him lift his own weight. Then, turning drunkenly toward the balcony door, he lurched forward, caught himself again against a column, then knocked on the glass.


    I saw movement inside. A curtain shifting, a lantern flickering to life.


    The storm swallowed the curse I spat. I moved, dropping down to a lower level of the belfry, then used a ladder to descend to the level of the neighborhood¡¯s rooftops.


    I jumped a roof and started to duck under a gargoyle¡¯s perch. The arch¡¯s occupant came to life, snarling and snapping at me.


    I caught the stone guardian¡¯s eye, glowering, and he got a good look at the gleam of gold light in my gaze. He hunched like a chastised dog, and the silver glow of his own eyes faded.


    Precious seconds wasted. I went under the arch, jumped another roof, and found myself right beside the building where I¡¯d spotted the dyghoul.


    The balcony door had opened, and a young woman stood there. She looked distressed, but hadn¡¯t closed the door. She and the dead man were speaking, and it looked like an argument.


    I looked for a place to leap. Nowhere safe. I didn¡¯t have time to get down to street level and ascend the normal way.


    Movement below caught my attention. Shadowy figures moved through the alleys, half-hidden by the shroud of night and storm, clad all in black from head to foot like a troupe of shadows.


    I glanced back to the balcony, and saw the girl retreat inside. The dead man followed her in, and the door shut.


    I rolled my shoulders, then leapt.


    I put a burst of auratic strength into the leap. My feet left the stone edge of the rooftop with elfin grace, and I flew several meters. I barely avoided catching my legs on the balcony¡¯s rail and braining myself, rolled, and came up in a crouch. My heart thudded in my chest, and my muscles complained from the slap of impact against solid stone. I¡¯d lost my hat in the jump.


    I approached the balcony door cautiously. The curtains had been draw, but in haste. I could still see through a crack in them, getting a glimpse of a lit bedroom, richly furnished and feminine.


    A shadow slipped across my sight. I stepped closer and got a full look at what lay inside. Close to the glass, I could hear as well when I focused my senses, letting the magic I¡¯d started to burn enhance my natural senses.


    The dyghoul ¡ª once a handsome boy nearing twenty, judging by what was left of him, stood near one wall, keeping well away from the girl. She was of noble stock, pretty, with shiny black curls and skin nearly as dark as her hair. She wore a night shift and little else, and had tears on her face. She was perhaps a year younger than the boy at most.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡± The girl asked, a sob in her voice. ¡°You¡¯re...¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The young man¡¯s voice shouldn¡¯t have worked, not with chunks missing from his throat and no tongue, but that¡¯s the way with the undead. Their souls learn to speak for them, and his voice came out clear and crystalline, given an oddly symphonic quality in death.


    ¡°I fell, I think, and then...¡± His voice trailed off, and I suspected he got caught in a bad memory. ¡°I think I need help, Lae.¡±


    I took a deep breath, then freed my weapon from the folds of my long-coat. I¡¯d shaved Faen Orgis¡¯s grip of living oak down to make it easier to carry in the city, though the oversized blade of Hithlenic Bronze could be cumbersome regardless. The brassy metal gleamed even in the storm¡¯s gloom, the intricate golden inlays seeming to catch a nonexistent light.


    The youths hadn¡¯t locked the door. I stepped through. The boy had taken a step toward the girl, trying to close a gap she seemed intent on widening. She¡¯d backed behind her curtained bed, using it as a shield. She was shaking her head slowly, as though in denial, her eyes shining with tears.


    Both of them stopped mid-tragedy to stare at me agape.


    I didn¡¯t blame them much. I stand a bit over two meters tall, and with my prominent scars, hackle-like fringe of red hair, and glowering gold-eyed visage, I must have been a dire sight emerging out of the storm.


    The girl saw the weapon, and let out a scream. That seemed a bit unfair, since she hadn¡¯t reacted so dramatically to a dead man in her room.


    I ignored the aristo and turned to the dyghoul. He started, backing away. Closer up, it shocked me he¡¯d reanimated ¡ª usually a body so badly ruined couldn¡¯t hold a spirit. A ghost mist clung to the gaps of his worst injuries, and glimmered in the empty socket of one eye. He smelled terrible, like sewage and rot.


    He pressed his back against the wall. ¡°Are you here to kill me?¡± He asked, visibly afraid. His one good eye went to the girl, then back to me. I saw him steel himself in a very human fashion. ¡°Please, just don¡¯t hurt her. She doesn¡¯t have anything to do with this.¡±


    He closed his eye, baring broken teeth. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have come here,¡± he berated himself. ¡°Idiot.¡±


    I agreed with him, but didn¡¯t say as much. I narrowed my eyes, focusing my senses again. I heard many sets of light boots creaking floorboards a level below, furtive whispers muffled by thin veils, anticipatory breaths. A woman¡¯s voice spoke, hushed. I caught two words. Third floor.


    I could feel the anticipation of the men below, their certainty, their zeal, or just an eagerness for violence. Conflicting motives burning in a dozen souls.


    When I focus too hard on the emanations of aura, my awareness of my immediate surroundings can become dull. I almost didn¡¯t catch quick, bare feet on the floor, the sharp intake of breath.


    I spun and caught the girl¡¯s wrist just before she slammed a candelabra into the back of my skull. I squeezed hard and she wilted, letting out a hiss of pain. Her improvised weapon clattered to the floor noisily.


    Downstairs, everyone froze. Damn.


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± The young man cried. I turned my glare on him, daring him to try anything foolish.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to kill you,¡± I told him. You¡¯re already dead anyway, I added silently, but didn¡¯t have any patience for pedantry just then. ¡°There are priorguard below us. They mean to destroy you, and they¡¯ll probably take your lady love here in for torture and questioning, maybe even burn her as a witch. They don¡¯t much like anyone who isn¡¯t ordained speaking to the Dead.¡±


    He blinked his one remaining eye at me, shocked. It had been a blue eye once, though the color had drained from it. Now it was closer to pale ice.


    I glanced at the aristo. She glared back, defiant, but as my words registered her dark skin took on an ashy quality. I let her go and she stumbled back, grabbing her wrist.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The dead boy asked.


    I took a step toward the door, lifting my axe to rest it on my left shoulder. I narrowed my eyes, waiting, and a moment later the door jumped in its frame as someone slammed a boot into it. I heard both youths start behind me.


    I ducked into a one-handed swing, cutting a bolt out of the air the same moment it fired. The second embedded itself in one of the rail supports next to my hand.


    I let out a long breath, as though to blow on cold hands to warm them in winter, and amber fire flickered across the faerie-alloy of my axe. I shot forward, swung, took a priorguard¡¯s head off at the neck. He fell onto the floor of the foyer with a muffled thump, his blood pumping out over the beautiful carpet.


    They had named me.


    I whirled through them, the aureflame blazing across my axe stitching gilt patterns in the air. Every time I swung, someone died. My powers gave me elfin grace and speed, but I am no graceful fighter. I fought with muscle and ferocious lethality, with brutal power, every strike intended to maim or kill.


    Silently, I sent an apology to Rose. She¡¯d wanted me to do this without bloodshed, but the damn Priory had moved quicker than I¡¯d expected.


    And I would not go into an Inquisition dungeon again.


    I didn¡¯t kill everyone in the foyer without injury. A man-catcher caught my leg, tearing flesh off my calf as I jerked away before it could get a proper grip. A quarterstaff slammed into my left shoulder, hard enough to break skin and leave a nasty bruise.


    A priorguard with a dirk came at me from the side, trying to ram his spike of hard steel up under my ribs. A former thief, or even an assassin ¡ª he moved with quick, decisive professionalism. The blade scraped my ribs, drawing blood and slicing through my coat and shirt, but missed only because I¡¯d leapt back to dodge another man-catcher.


    A stroke of luck. I caught the short man¡¯s wrist, squeezing hard and twisting sharply. He yelped and dropped the blade. I slammed my forehead against his, and he crumpled.


    I felt the throbbing pain in my skull, my calf, and my chest distantly. The battle trance was on me now ¡ª all else had faded, going distant and dim, unimportant and far away.


    I¡¯d once lived for this thrill. The priorguard were hardly invigorating foes, but their numbers still proved a challenge. It came as a disappointment, when I realized everyone in the foyer was dead or too injured to fight.


    Unblinking, my every sense stretched tight as a cord of wire, I looked back to the stairs. I caught Kieran¡¯s gaze, and the dead boy flinched. He stood in front of Laessa protectively, and despite his desiccated appearance she clung to his back, her own face drawn with fear.


    Not just of the priorguard. I took a deep breath, pushed my bloodlust down, and nodded to them. ¡°Let¡¯s go. There could still be more outside. Keep close.¡±


    Laessa swallowed. ¡°We should call for the guard, and...¡±


    ¡°And what?¡± I snapped. ¡°You explain that you want your lover¡¯s animated corpse to be kept nice and safe?¡±


    She started. Kieran averted his eyes from her, ashamed.


    ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± I told him, because I wasn¡¯t certain it had fully dawned on him. ¡°And any right-minded person in this city will turn you over to the Church for a quick exorcism and burial, if they don¡¯t form a mob and burn you. Trust me, kid, you don¡¯t want to be burned alive in your state. Your ghost won¡¯t stop burning, not for a long time.¡±


    I didn¡¯t think it possible for his face to get paler, but it somehow did.


    ¡°And what¡¯s your excuse?¡± Laessa asked, stepping forward. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you one of those right-minded people? Who are you?¡±


    She stuck her dainty chin up, stubborn and brave even amid all those corpses. I reappraised her ¡ª tough girl.


    ¡°He¡¯s got questions I need answered,¡± I said, pointing at Kieran with my axe. ¡°And I don¡¯t have any more time to answer yours. We need to move.¡±


    I turned, but the young lady wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°No! We won¡¯t go anywhere with you until you tell us who¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lae,¡± Kieran cut her off in his death-touched voice. ¡°He saved us both.¡±


    I didn¡¯t turn back, but I heard Laessa curse, then let out something like a sob.


    Without another word, I moved out into the street. I looked around, but saw no sign of more priorguard. No normal guards, either ¡ª the Inquisition would have paid someone off, made certain there were no patrols to bother them. Certain factions in the city wouldn¡¯t look kindly on the Red Trident storming a noble mansion and taking a young Lady of the Blood into custody.


    They¡¯d still do it, but they weren¡¯t yet so powerful as to do it openly. I¡¯d meant what I said about the guards not being trustworthy. While the Priory could throw its wealth around to buy some captains, just as many might lend a hand to the priorguard out of misplaced piety.


    Still, I didn¡¯t have time to wait around. The fight in the mansion had made noise.


    Where was she?


    ¡°Come on,¡± I muttered, tapping my bloodied axe against one shoulder impatiently. The rain had let up, through it still came down in a ceaseless patter. The dark sky lit in scattered moments from lightning high in the clouds, each flash chased by a dull rumble of thunder.


    I heard wheels clattering against stones, and a trilling cry. Two tall beasts emerged from the rain, chimera resembling the regal horse of eras past save for their ruby eyes, almost skeletal heads, and crowns of spiraling horn. Black as shadows, with clawed hooves and braided manes, they moved with an eerie grace even with the burden of an ornate coach pulled behind them.


    Sitting on the bench of that coach was a driver clad in the androgynous uniform of a royal page, save for the hint of gleaming chainmail beneath and a bright yellow scarf. The driver pulled the scarf down as the coach slid to a stop, revealing an aristocratic face with prominent lips, a thin nose, and glaring amber eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± I growled.


    ¡°Oh, am I?¡± Emma drawled, her highborn inflection spiking with her irritation. ¡°You try getting a coach through this blasted city during a squall. And...¡± She blinked as she took in my appearance. ¡°You¡¯re covered in blood! And you lost your hat. I liked that hat.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll grieve later,¡± I said. I glanced back and ushered the two youths forward.


    ¡°Forsaken Throne,¡± Emma spat, seeing them. ¡°You rescued the girl, too? What is this, white-knight hour? Are we taking them for a romantic ride?¡±


    I ignored my apprentice, opening the carriage door and ordering the pair in. Once they¡¯d climbed into the velvety interior, I slammed the door closed and moved to the bench.


    ¡°Alken,¡± Emma said, a warning in her tone.


    I followed her gaze, and in the shadow of the storm I saw a shape approaching down the street. Approaching fast. Beneath the rumble of water and thunder, I heard iron-shod hooves and wheels on stone.


    Another carriage, this one devoid of decorative, huge, and covered in plates of hard iron barreled toward us. Two bulky chimera with flat, gnashing teeth and three forward-facing horns pulled it, each a hulk of muscle and forward momentum. Veiled priorguard with man-catchers and hooked chains rode it, two on the bench and more clinging to the sides.


    An Inquisition war carriage.

 Arc 4: Chapter 2: Stormclouds Over Garihelm

    Arc 4: Chapter 2: Stormclouds Over Garihelm


    ¡°Move!¡± I barked, swinging myself up onto the bench.


    Emma snapped the reins and started the chimera forward without hesitation. The creatures, the scadumares, moved like liquid night. They looked thin and elegant, but they had the power of ancient destriers.


    The coach began to move, quickly picking up speed.


    It wouldn¡¯t be enough. Good as Rosanna¡¯s beasts were, we¡¯d been at a dead stop and the war carriage had momentum. The bulky creatures pulling it, closer to huge front-heavy bovines than horses, lacked the grace of the scadumares but more than made up for it with sheer brawn and stamina.


    Emma saw the same thing I did. She spat out an angry curse, then jerked on the reins. I nearly lost my seat on the rain-slicked bench as the black mares took a sharp left down a narrow side street, acting without hesitation. They were well trained, and didn¡¯t so much as nicker in protest.


    Our passengers were in for a bumpy ride.


    Behind us, the trihorns let out angry bellows as the target of their goring rush eluded them. They wouldn¡¯t be able to make that sharp a turn, not with their mass and the huge armored carriage they pulled.


    Crossbow bolts cracked through the rain. One embedded itself in the coach¡¯s burgundy wood less than a foot from my head, a second vanished into the rain, and a third splintered against the side of a building.


    The coach almost tilted onto its side with the turn. I grit my teeth, holding on for dear life, then we righted and were on.


    Then the priorguards vanished down the street we¡¯d just turned off, lost behind the buildings.


    ¡°They¡¯ll find a way around,¡± I said, raising my voice over a rumble of thunder. ¡°And I doubt that¡¯s the only one. You have our dropoff?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get us there!¡± Emma said, voice high with adrenaline from the perilous turn she¡¯d made. ¡°You were right about the Priory ¡ª they really want this cadaver.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the only one who might be able to give us a lead on Yith,¡± I said. ¡°We let the clerics put him to rest, it¡¯s another cold trail.¡±


    For weeks, I¡¯d been scouring the city for clues that might lead me to the Carmine Killer, who I knew to be the demon Yith. The string of murders in the city had grown worse, and the fear broiling in the streets had granted the Priory and its puppet, the Inquisition, even more influence.


    The demon lurked somewhere in the city, and there was a chance his enigmatic masters did too. They were planning something, and I intended to stop it.


    The Inquisition had the same goal, so far as I knew, but very different means of going about it. They didn¡¯t just want to stop a murderer, but root out all opposition to their growing influence and dogmatic ideals. To them, Kieran wasn¡¯t just a lead to discovering how Yith was choosing his targets, but also a tool to neuter the Empress and her allies. House Greengood was a staunch ally to the Empress, and the Grand Prior could exploit the young lady¡¯s connection to the profane fate of her lowborn lover.


    They could spin whatever narrative they wanted, once they had her in custody. They had various and gruesome means of obtaining a ¡°confession.¡± They could label young Lady Laessa as a necromancer, a cultist, or any sordid title they fancied, and that would put a shadow over all the nobility.


    We knew this because Lisette had recently become an aide to the Grand Prior himself, and had listened to his private councils. I hadn¡¯t just brought Laessa Greengood along due to a fit of altruism.


    We were in one of the more elevated districts of the city, near the river. Neighborhoods full of guild workshops and housing for the gentry dominated, with the occasional church or tavern. Alchemical lanterns burned in surreal colors through the haze of rain, lighting our path like the Wil-O¡¯ Wisps so common in the woods and moors across the land.


    In a storm this bad, few dared brave the streets. The city seemed a hazy dream, blanketed in a veil of late spring storm and mist.


    Too quiet. Too easy. My hand clenched and unclenched on my axe, waiting for the next hat to drop.


    We turned onto a wider street, a thoroughfare to channel crowds and vehicles through the bustling heart of the city during the day. High buildings with sleek towers and decorative pillars loomed over the street. Ahead, the avenue dropped into one of the city¡¯s deep canals.


    Emma had slowed the coach, her avian eyes squinting into the gloom. She had good sight, the product of old alchemy in her bloodline, a match even for my auratically enhanced gaze in some circumstances.


    I heard the faint clattering of iron wheels, a distant, ethereal snort.


    ¡°They¡¯re close,¡± Emma said, her voice almost lost in the downpour. The rain plastered her dark hair to her neck and forehead, forming reverse question marks around her face.


    I tried to focus. My magically enhanced senses, particularly my ability to sense the emanations of other spirits around me, could be incredibly useful for determining whether a supernatural being lurked nearby. It¡¯s what my powers had been meant for.


    Human souls are more difficult. Unless someone had awakened their aura, giving it a tangible presence in the world, I was more or less left with my natural senses.


    I felt Emma next to me, like a boiling concentration of superheated blood. Her magic was an angry thing, a locus of churning power ready to erupt into sharp violence in an instant. I felt the dyghoul in the coach at my back, a more hollow presence, like a cold spot in the world.


    And something else. High above in the storm, something big crackled with hostility and rage. It felt like the sky itself pressed down on me, heavy as a great sea. I¡¯d felt it earlier, and still couldn¡¯t place it.


    I shut my magical senses out. Useless now. Just noise.


    The distant noise of the war carriage came again, fainter.


    A trick of the city¡¯s layout and the storm. I lifted my axe.


    They were close.


    ¡°Go,¡± I said, urgent. ¡°Now!¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t question. With a shout, she slapped the reins. The scadumares broke into a gallop, letting out their eerie trilling cries, more bird than equine.


    The war carriage smashed through a rolling curtain of rain behind us. The trihorns let out angry bellows as they caught sight of us. Bred for war, they were eager to close in and smash our smaller vehicle to splinters. The priorguard clung to the iron-plated vehicle like shadowy spiders, cruel tools of capture ready.


    This time, we didn¡¯t have narrow side streets to our advantage. The wide avenue provided plenty of room for the Inquisition carriage to maneuver, and it gained. Fast as Rosanna¡¯s rare chimera were, they struggled more on the slick stone of Garihelm than the war-beasts did.


    I heard their booming steps grow louder as they gained. Crossbow bolts buzzed through the rain like angry wasps, most missing. Some struck the coach, embedding into its wooden frame. I heard a muffled cry of alarm from one of our passengers.


    ¡°Emma,¡± I said. ¡°Give me the reins.¡±


    My squire¡¯s eyes flicked to me.


    ¡°This one¡¯s yours,¡± I said.


    The ground shuddered at the impact. Stone split in a meter wide radius around the wheel. The priorguard¡¯s breath misted out from within his rectangular veil.


    He lifted his huge weapon and stepped forward.


    He wasn¡¯t paying enough attention to the terrain. Forgivable, in the dark and the rain.


    I had paid attention. I¡¯d jumped back over one of the narrow drainage trenches along the side of the street. It was several feet deep, and full of fast-flowing water.


    The man stumbled, losing a leg into the trench. He let out a grunt, and in an instant became much shorter. He managed to keep hold of the wheel with one hand, using the other to catch the gutter¡¯s lip and stop himself from getting dragged off by the current.


    I pulled a rondel dagger from within my coat ¡ª a long spike of solid steel, meant to punch through gaps in a knight¡¯s armor. I stepped forward, grabbed the pointed back of the man¡¯s cowl, and drove the blade into the center of his throat just beneath his veil.


    The priorguard slumped, gurgling, and the breaking wheel collapsed onto the street with a shudder. I slid the blade out, leaving it red nearly up to the hilt. Then the current caught him, and he vanished under the black water.


    My own breath sent out puffs of mist into the damp air as I took a moment to catch it. I squinted through the storm, seeing movement. The rest of the priorguard had ignored me, moving to surround the coach and secure its occupants.


    The big one had been a distraction, a stalling tactic.


    I sheathed the rondel, grasped one of the breaking wheel¡¯s handholds, and lifted it up onto one shoulder. I grunted under its weight, leapt the drainage channel, then began to walk forward. My posture took on a very slight stoop under the cumbersome tool. I limped on my wounded leg, each step sending spikes of pain through my muscles.


    I took in the details of the scene as I walked. The beautiful coach had turned onto its side, its glass-paned windows shattered, its remaining wheels broken. The dead scadumare lay in a growing pool of its own blood, which had started to drain into another gutter along the side of the street, as though the city itself hungrily drank its life. The other chimera remained alive, but had fallen under the weight of its yoke. It screamed and struggled, possibly injured.


    The priorguard ignored the animal. They gathered around the coach, and several had jumped up onto it. They peered into the interior, man-catchers at the ready.


    I caught sight of Emma. She lay on the street, very still. I felt my heart squeeze.


    I could take her and run, leave the dead boy and his noble paramour to the ungentle mercies of Inquisition. I didn¡¯t know them. I owed them nothing.


    I almost did it. I¡¯d already seen so much blood tonight.


    Rosanna was counting on me. And I¡¯d grown very tired of failure.


    Several priorguard noticed my stumbling approach. Orders were given. Six split off from the coach to accost me.


    One lifted a hand into the air. I caught sight of an emblem dangling from a chain in that hand, and he made a complex motion with his other. The copper glow of an inquisitorial trident began to form above him.


    I¡¯d already started imbuing the breaking wheel, which they¡¯d so helpfully made into a receptacle, with aureflame. The wood beneath the iron plates began to emit an ember glow.


    The priorguard adept lifted his hand higher, then chopped down. He broke the phantasmal auremark, releasing its stored power with the ritual motion. A musical note filled the air, like a bow swept across the cords of a heavenly violin, and a guillotine of angry scarlet-and-gold aura sliced toward me.


    I sidestepped, twisting, and it missed me by inches. It cut a deep groove in the stone, and sliced a lamp-post ten feet behind me cleanly in half.


    I brought my arm back, and hurled the wheel underhand. It spun through the air like a top, soaring in an arcing motion up, then down. It made a rhythmic basso sound as it spun through the rain.


    Whump-whump-whump-whump-whump¡ª


    It struck the adept and broke him against the street.


    The two halves of the sliced lamp post fell behind me.


    I¡¯d started running even as I¡¯d released the wheel. I jumped, threw my whole body into another priorguard so we both went tumbling. I had my rondel in hand, and stabbed him three times in the chest. I rolled off him, came up with my dagger in a tight grip, and sprinted for the coach. I bared my teeth as I went, boots slapping water off the stone beneath me.


    A bolt of lightning split the sky like a god¡¯s blade. The ensuing blast of thunder was an almost physical thing.


    Somewhere, a church bell tolled.


    Every hair across my body suddenly stood on end. The sensation I¡¯d felt before, of something huge and terrible in the sky, erupted into focus. Another bolt of lightning struck a tower a block away. A third cut the black clouds.


    There were still a dozen or more priorguard alive, and they were pulling Laessa ¡ª rain-soaked and disheveled, but alive ¡ª out of the coach.


    I was meters away.


    Something fell out of the sky. It fell like a comet, striking a belfry less than a block away. The tower broke, collapsing in a shower of rubble and dust, and whatever had struck it went into a three story home on the opposite side of the street. The resulting impact seemed to shake the very foundations of the city. Everyone standing on the street, including myself, staggered.


    In a moment, the rain ceased. Something, a wooden beam perhaps, split with a sharp crack.


    We all froze. Me, the priorguard, Laessa, the undead boy being pulled out of the carriage.


    Something enormous stood from the rubble of the building. It had a hunched shape, with arms nearly as long as its body, near every inch of it covered in wispy black fur. It turned slowly. Eyes large as mirrors and white as milk stared at us.


    The figure was nearly featureless, like a smudge in the approximate shape of a muscular humanoid. Another bolt of lightning flashed, giving us all a better look at it.


    Its face, nearly vanishing into the mound of its enormous shoulders, resembled of all things a black dandelion. Perfectly round, surrounded by a mane of wispy black hair. Almost unreal.


    Then that blank face split to reveal yellow fangs. Arcs of lightning crackled around it as it stepped onto the street. It stood thirty feet high even slouched, and nearly as wide as the street.


    ¡°Forsaken Throne,¡± one of the priorguard whimpered.


    I felt as stunned as they did.


    The storm ogre strode forward and let out a rumbling growl echoing with the same thunder churning in the clouds above. Then, its eyes blazing with white light, it roared.

 Arc 4: Chapter 3: The Aspirants

    Arc 4: Chapter 3: The Aspirants


    The behemoth loomed over the street. It seemed a living fragment of the storm, all smoky black and deep gray, crackling with fulgurous strength. It had a tusked maw, cavernous in size, and its perfectly round eyes didn¡¯t seem to blink.


    A storm ogre. How?


    It had fallen out of the sky. It must have been the presence I¡¯d felt in the storm, I realized. I¡¯d faced ogres before, of varying kinds. We had them in Urn, but ours were mostly Sidhe who¡¯d taken monstrous forms. I knew a war ogre, Karog, whose kind had been molded by continental alchemists.


    This was no homonculus or chimera. This was an ancient spirit of wrath and ill omen, a dark godling of the west. I felt its power like a sudden squall, an invisible pressure against my soul.


    Impossible. The Onsolain protected Urn from these sorts of incursions, guarding the seas and skies. Edaean monsters slipped through at times, but nothing this big.


    I had no time to understand then. It stepped forward, a deep rumble building in its chest. The priorguard snapped out of their own stupor. The two surviving adepts stepped forward as the rest lifted their weapons defensively. One of them cried out.


    ¡°What do we do?!¡±


    Another answered in a gravelly voice. ¡°Secure the targets. Get them out of here. Let the city guard handle this.¡±


    I saw several move to obey. A few hesitated, seeing the same thing I did. There had been people in the home the storm ogre had destroyed. Candles and lanterns flickered to life in windows all across the neighborhood. Someone was screaming. Doors were opening, voices calling out into the night.


    Many priorguard had been recruited from common folk, taken in by promises they could protect their families where the knights and soldiers of the king were not, make a difference. They weren¡¯t so quick to abandon people in danger.


    The ogre took another impossibly long stride forward, the street shuddering with its movement.


    ¡°Now!¡± The lead priorguard snapped, his voice turning shrill. Those who¡¯d been torn let conditioning and fear make their choice, moving to the coach.


    I¡¯d fought in wars. I¡¯d faced monsters. I¡¯d already started moving. I took advantage of the distraction to close on the two inquisition men who¡¯d secured Laessa. I sliced the first¡¯s throat with my blade, then kicked the second in the shin. His bone snapped and he fell with a choked cry. I punched him in the side of the head, making sure he stayed down.


    I grabbed Laessa. She was still staring at the ogre, her expression blank. I shook her, and her eyes moved to me with a blink.


    ¡°Get your boyfriend, and get to cover. I¡¯ll find you when this is done. Don¡¯t run off, unless you want the veils to find you first. You understand?¡±


    She nodded, a dazed expression on her face. Shock at the night¡¯s development, or a concussion from the crash? No time to deal with it then. I let her go and turned to the rest of the priorguard. They saw me and lifted their various sharp implements.


    The ogre stepped forward again, clearing the distance in that single stride. In an almost curious gesture, it reached out and plucked one of the priorguard off the street. The man let out a panicked shriek and struggled futilely. His comrades turned away from me. A few lifted their small crossbows and fired bolts.


    The ogre didn¡¯t seem even to register the shots. He lifted the struggling priorguard up high, opened his wide maw, and dropped the figure, black robes and all. The man¡¯s screams shut off abruptly as the behemoth¡¯s massive jaws snapped closed.


    My gaze fixed on something ¡ª my axe, still miraculously embedded in a fragment of the coach¡¯s bed. I stepped to it, planted a boot on the rich wood, ripped it free, and turned back to the threat.


    One of the adepts used their Art, forming a barbed trident in the air and then breaking it, releasing a shockwave of slicing aura. It tore into the ogre¡¯s flank, and that did hurt it. Dark blood resembling misty vapor sprayed across the stone.


    It also angered it. The ogre drew in a breath, and all the air in the street moved as it did.


    I cursed, already starting to move. ¡°Run, you fools!¡± I shouted. Enemies or no, I suspected I knew what was coming.


    I went toward the beast. I needed to give Laessa and Kieran time to escape.


    There were innocent people around, and they were in danger.


    This thing could cause enormous damage to the city.


    I needed to protect Emma, and get her out of harm¡¯s way. She still lay unconscious on the street. I hoped she was just unconscious.


    So many conflicting motives. It all faded away, all my thoughts and worries, my chaos of obligation. I only knew one thing, one truth, and it was one I understood.


    I needed to kill the thing in front of me.


    The ogre shouted.


    It doesn¡¯t adequately describe what happened then, to just say it shouted. It drew itself up, its chest ballooning out almost comically, and then it lurched forward. Its jaws popped open, and a wave of sheer, almost solid sound ripped down the street.


    I never actually heard the sound, other than as a strange pop. Windows shattered. The priorguard slapped their hands to their ears, collapsing with muted cries of pain. I felt a sudden dampness in my ears, and a curious high pitched whine.


    My vision split, and I stumbled. Dizzy, I struggled a long moment to regain my balance. I staggered to one side, braced a knee and caught myself before I collapsed, then shook off the disorientation.


    Just in time to see the ogre swipe a hand across the street. In an almost petulent backhand, it sent three of the priorguard flying. One of them went over a roof, vanishing into the night, and the other two cracked against a building and died instantly.


    Its eyes fixed on me. It bared his fangs and let out a low growl which sounded exactly like a rumble of thunder.


    I didn¡¯t know if I could beat this thing.


    You killed Raath El Kur, I reminded myself. The demonic champion hadn¡¯t been quite as big, but he¡¯d had the same godlike strength, the same terrifying presence. What I felt, the terror, was half human instinct and half the wavefront of fear the ogre projected, a more primal version of my own Table-given charisma.


    But I was afraid. Of death, and of failure. I had people counting on me now. If I hacked it, others would suffer. For long years, the only one who would have faced ill consequences if I died or gave up had been myself. Not anymore.


    So I swallowed the fear, channeled it, and felt my heart calm. I stopped my mad sprint, skidding to a halt in the middle of the street. The ogre rose on its boughed legs, looming like a castle tower over me, nearly blending with the night and the storm save for its werelight eyes.


    I lifted Faen Orgis to my lips and murmured quiet words. The living wood of the axe¡¯s handle, grafted through arcane smithing to the faerie bronze blade, crackled and shifted in my hand. Sharp spurs pierced my hand, and the handle grew longer. I ignored the pain, keeping my attention on the storm ogre.


    At the same time, I commanded my aura to reshape itself into another Art. A soft amber light spread around me, faint, as though a ray of forest-dabbled sunlight in the coldest part of fall had found me through the storm.


    The ogre lifted one impossibly long arm, clenched its clawed fingers into a fist, and slammed down. It struck the edge of the light. Gilt leaves burst into existence around the point of impact, shimmering like glass. The ogre recoiled, its furred hand smoking.


    I winced, my will flickering. The thing was impossibly strong. My hand continued to bleed, and the axe¡¯s handle grew several inches longer.


    I stood my ground. If I let my feet shift so much as an inch, the Aureate Repulsion would break and I¡¯d die.


    If you bind this thing, a coldly logical part of my mind warned me, you may not get the axe back.


    It¡¯ll be worth it, if I can stop it without more people dying.


    You killed more than a dozen people tonight. Are you really that concerned about a body count?


    I killed enemies.


    I dashed forward, took my axe in both hands, and swung with a furious shout. The heavy blade of Faen Orgis cleaved through the creature¡¯s half-real skull, right between its wide eyes. Enhanced with aureflame, the cut went far deeper than ordinary steel would have, slicing a long, burning gouge from crown to flat nose.


    The white light faded from the beast¡¯s eyes, and it went still.


    I heard something heavy land on the street behind me as I ripped my axe free. I turned, and saw the horn-helmed knight approaching on his reptilian steed. It had jumped down from the high bridge, using the rooftops to descend to the lower street.


    A pegadrake. That was a rare thing.


    ¡°Damn you, Jos!¡± The young warrior with the swordspear directed his larger chimera toward us, jabbing his weapon at the horn-helmed knight in an accusatory gesture. ¡°I had him!¡±


    The man who¡¯d brought the storm ogre shrugged, his expression impassive beneath his ornate helm. ¡°My apologies,¡± he murmured. He had a soft, melodic voice.


    ¡°Bleeding Gates!¡± The youth let out a bark of laughter. ¡°That was epic. And who are you?¡±


    He¡¯d spoken to me. I met his eyes. He stared at me an unblinking intensity that reminded me very much of Emma.


    ¡°There are wounded,¡± I said, and knelt by my apprentice. ¡°These buildings had people in them, including the one it wrecked when it landed.¡± I nodded to the destroyed house. ¡°Someone was screaming earlier. They might be trapped.¡±


    The youth¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°And the guard will see to them! The threat is ended. I¡¯ve asked for your name, Ser.¡±


    Inwardly, I sighed. I¡¯d met people like this before, especially among Urn¡¯s martial class. He was probably highborn, and very proud. It was proper for me to name myself, and a sign of disrespect if I didn¡¯t.


    I really didn¡¯t want to tell him my name. And, in the awful silence that hung over the city after so much violence, I felt very tired.


    ¡°I¡¯m no one,¡± I said. ¡°Your lordship.¡±


    A part of me that still felt pride, that remembered being First Sword of Karles and a Knight of the Alder Table, protested vehemently. I swallowed my pride and let my eyes drop from the young man¡¯s fierce gaze.


    He snorted. ¡°Ah, a mercenary then. I saw that fancy axe and thought you might be here for the tournament. My mistake.¡±


    He turned, dismissing me. I shifted my eyes to the other man, who¡¯d removed his helm. He looked to be in his mid twenties, with ash-brown hair grown long and wavy. He had soft features, more fair than handsome, and ordinary brown eyes framed by drowsy lids.


    Jos, the brash youth had called him. His name came back to me then. Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight. A Glorysworn in the city for King Forger¡¯s grand tournament. I guessed the same for the other two.


    They were all tourney knights.


    I lowered my face to Emma¡¯s and shook her. ¡°Emma. Can you hear me?¡±


    She didn¡¯t stir. Fully unconscious, probably from the head wound she took when the coach crashed. I stood, propped my axe¡¯s bottom end against the cobblestones, then kicked it hard. It cracked, shortening its length dramatically. I slid what was left through the iron hoop on my belt, then lifted Emma up in both arms.


    Ser Jocelyn saw all of this. ¡°You protected these people.¡± His eyes went to the destroyed vehicle. ¡°The ogre attacked you?¡±


    I shrugged. The knight was taking in the full scene, including the dead priorguard. I had to hope he didn¡¯t take too close a look at their injuries.


    I heard steps approaching from behind, and glanced back to see the archer who¡¯d been sniping the ogre joining the group. He wore no helm, and had a blunt face, heavy chinned and brooding, with dark skin and short frost-tinted hair. His armor didn¡¯t look nearly so shiny up close ¡ª it was covered in dents and scars, and lacked any decorative.


    ¡°A lord has asked you a question,¡± the youth snapped, all humor gone from his voice. ¡°You will answer it.¡±


    Before I could answer, a voice called out. ¡°He is my servant!¡±


    I closed my eyes and sighed, then turned to see Lady Laessa pattering over from a nearby alley. She¡¯d found a cloak, possibly in the coach, and wrapped it around herself. I had to hope the knights didn¡¯t notice she was bare-foot, or only wore a night shift underneath. It would raise some difficult questions.


    Laessa caught her breath, lifted her chin, and addressed the warriors with authority belying her age and damp appearance. ¡°This man is my guard. My coach was accosted by those thugs.¡± She gestured angrily toward the dead priorguard. ¡°While I was demanding answers as to why they¡¯d stopped us, that creature fell out of the sky! Our carriage was overturned, and my guard ordered me to take cover while he distracted it.¡±


    She pointed at me.


    The youth blinked, and in a very sudden motion he dismounted. I noted he wasn¡¯t nearly so tall as he¡¯d seemed on the manticore. He took off his plumed helmet, revealing long dark red hair braided into a rope down his back, and bowed his head. He had sun-bronzed skin, and looked nineteen at most.


    ¡°My apologies, lady. I did not realize.¡± He flashed a boyish smile. ¡°I am Ser Siriks, of House Sontae.¡±


    I blinked. House Sontae was a ruling power in Cymrinor, the warlike princedoms who controlled the subcontinent¡¯s northern peninsula. The nation had a strong reputation for martial excellence, and for arrogance.


    Siriks Sontae took Laessa¡¯s hand and kissed it, as was proper for a knight with any lady. She remained aloof, an impressive feat considering she wore little more than a blanket and her black hair was still rain-soaked.


    Ser Jocelyn had also dismounted, showing respect to the young lady, and muttered his own introduction. His eyes kept going to me, and to the dead priorguard.


    I very much wanted to leave, but I was trapped by the strange situation. Emma stirred in my arms. I bit off a curse.


    Laessa saw my unease and spoke hastily. ¡°My driver is injured,¡± she said, gesturing to Emma. ¡°She needs medical treatment, as do others I think.¡± She frowned and added, ¡°Why are you armed, my lords? It¡¯s the middle of the night.¡±


    She was right. I hadn¡¯t even questioned it amid everything else.


    ¡°We were at a feast hosted by one of the city¡¯s nobles,¡± Ser Jocelyn said. ¡°A report came in that there was fighting in the streets, so we armed ourselves and came to help. We did not expect to beat the guard here.¡±


    ¡°Where are Forger¡¯s blasted tin men?¡± Ser Siriks growled, squinting into the night. Above, the storm seemed to be moving off. The thunder had grown more distant.


    The priorguard must have cleared this whole area of patrols, I thought. They¡¯d desperately wanted Laessa and Kieran.


    Had Kieran made an escape, intending to dodge me and the Inquisition? I glanced at Laessa, but couldn¡¯t ask her then. She¡¯d at least stayed and stuck up for me. That surprised me. She¡¯d had a very difficult night, and I¡¯d been part of the horror.


    As though reading my thoughts, Laessa shifted closer to me and hissed so the others couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°You will explain who you are and who sent you, when all of this is done. I will have answers for this.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°After she gets seen to.¡± I nodded to Emma, who I still held in my arms.


    Laessa sighed, and all the confidance seemed to drain from her. The Cymrinorean was speaking animatedly to the other two tourney knights, talking of the battle.


    ¡°But why did it attack the city?¡± The boy asked aloud, jabbing at the dead behemoth with his weapon. ¡°Dumb brute practically killed itself!¡±


    I glanced at the carcass, and had the same question.


    I intended to get an answer.

 Arc 4: Chapter 4: Ties That Bind

    Arc 4: Chapter 4: Ties That Bind


    Rosanna Silvering, Empress of the Accorded Realms, paced before the window of her private office. The morning sunlight piercing through the glass seemed to catch on her fair skin, and gave the anger in her emerald eyes a glint like green fire. She wore a blue dress threaded in silver and sashed with samite, and the gold-and-silver tiara on her brow seemed to burn like a halo where the morning light caught it.


    I still wore the rain-and-blood soaked coat from the previous night. I hadn¡¯t bathed, or slept. I stood in the shadows near the door, waiting for the Empress to speak.


    Rosanna paced to one side of the huge window, brought her ring-burdened hand up to her lips as though to chew on her thumbnail, then caught herself before she could indulge in the old habit. She spun on me instead, her jaw tight.


    ¡°Explain.¡±


    She said nothing else, and the ensuing silence hung in the room like the aftermath of a thunderbolt. I took a breath and began to speak in a calm tone, touched with a slight rasp from weariness.


    ¡°We knew the Priorguard had been investigating a dye maker in one of the guild quarters. They were chasing a lead on the materials some of the city''s artists have been using, thinking they might be continental imports ¡ª potentially compromised. Cursed.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s regal features shifted into a frown. ¡°Were they?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°We know the larger guilds in the continent use Devil Iron and other dangerous materials. Evil paint seemed a stretch, but something has been making members of the city¡¯s renaissance movement go mad. It wasn¡¯t a bad lead, once we knew what they were looking for.¡±


    Infernal influence aside, I knew that the demon Yith¡¯s personal mark very closely resembled a type of beetle used for red paint ¡ª hence the name Carmine Killer. And more artists had turned manic, even violent, in recent weeks the same way the lady Yselda of Mirrebel had.


    Oraise was onto something. I just couldn¡¯t shake the feeling he had more pieces to the puzzle than I did.


    ¡°After some digging,¡± I continued, pushing aside my private thoughts, ¡°we found out that one of the larger dye makers had been struggling with theft. Turns out one of his apprentices had been stealing from him to conduct a private practice in his home. Kid was an aspiring Anselm.¡±


    I paused and added, ¡°It was Emma who found out. She met Kieran at one of the taverns. Stroke of luck, really. In any case, after investigating the apprentice¡¯s home it became obvious he¡¯d been afflicted by demonic influence.¡±


    Rosanna frowned. ¡°Obvious how?¡± She¡¯d started pacing again, her long skirts trailing behind her with soft rustling sounds.


    ¡°He was painting scenes of the Abyss and Hell,¡± I said. ¡°Just like Lady Yselda.¡±


    Rosanna paused, absorbing that, then motioned for me to continue.


    ¡°Kieran had been seeing a noble in the Fountain Ward,¡± I said, naming the upper-class district I¡¯d been in the previous night. ¡°A young lady of House Greengood. We were going to question her after we talked to the boy, but then Kieran went and jumped off a bridge above one of the canals. I think the demon drove him to do it. He ended up reanimating. I had a suspicion where he would go. Bad luck the Priorguard chose that same night to raid the Greengood estate and take Laessa into custody. I assume they knew about her connection to Kieran, and that he¡¯d been painting blasphemous things.¡±


    ¡°And no doubt they wanted to point the blame at the nobility,¡± Rosanna said, catching my thread. ¡°The boy was just a patsy to them, and the Grand Prior knows House Greengood is my ally at present. I am quite certain I know where he intended to aim the muck of this little scandal.¡± Rosanna sighed and rubbed at her temple. ¡°And you still don¡¯t know where this apprentice is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admitted. ¡°He¡¯s still out in the city somewhere, and I¡¯ll figure what he knows if I can find him before the veils. So far, he¡¯s the only one who was haunted by the Carmine Killer and can still tell us anything.¡±


    Rosanna nodded, thoughtful. ¡°Laessa is my guest, at present. Perhaps I can convince her to tell me where her paramour might be hiding.¡±


    Then, her expression hardening, she met my eyes. ¡°Now you will tell me why you left a trail of bodies across half the city.¡±


    I kept my own gaze steady, refusing to show any contrition or doubt. It wouldn¡¯t help me here. ¡°The Priorguard moved to capture Laessa while I was tailing the apprentice. I''d call it ill luck, but he went into her room right as they arrived. I wasn¡¯t going to let either one of them be captured. They would have scourged Kieran¡¯s soul for reanimating as an unsanctioned undead, and tortured Laessa until she confessed to whatever they wanted her to say.¡±


    ¡°No doubt,¡± Rosanna agreed darkly, pressing her hands to the table. She winced, straightened, and half turned from me, pressing a hand to her belly. Her layered garments didn¡¯t quite hide the growing signs of her third royal child.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked, concerned. I didn¡¯t have much experience with children.


    ¡°Just some discomfort,¡± she said, her brow furrowed. ¡°It¡¯s not my first time enduring it.¡± She took a deep breath and readopted her austere pose. ¡°So you fought the priorguard through the streets, trying to secure our two witnesses. What exactly happened after, with this... Monster? There are wild tales all throughout the city. Even the palace is abuzz with them. I need a firsthand account from someone who was there.¡±


    ¡°A storm ogre,¡± I said. ¡°I think. I¡¯d never seen one so close. I believe it was from the continent ¡ª I can¡¯t tell you how I know.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Intuition. It didn¡¯t smell like Urn.¡±


    Rosanna pressed her forefinger to her lips. ¡°I asked one of the palace clericons about it, and she insisted no great spirit from Edaea could come over our shores. The Heir¡¯s blessings protect us.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± I agreed, ¡°and the Choir. There are Onsolain guarding the skies and mountains. It shouldn¡¯t be possible.¡±


    ¡°And yet...¡± Rosanna trailed off, her gaze drifting back to mine.


    ¡°And yet,¡± I agreed. I hesitated then, and almost told her ¡ª about the Riven Order, about the potentially dire consequences of her husband breaking it.


    For centuries, the Riven Order had protected Urn from certain dark elements in the wider world. In particular, it kept the infernal missionaries known as the Crowfriars, the monks of the Iron Hell, from entering the subcontinent and poaching souls with their contracts and devil¡¯s bargains.


    However, then the newly risen Emperor of the Accorded Realms had declared open trade between the Accord and the city-states of Edaea, and the great guilds which ruled them. Markham Forger was the first to hold the title of emperor in our corner of the world for the better part of half a millennium. As far as supernatural powers were concerned, he was the leader of all mankind in the subcontinent, and that placed him in a position with few precedents.


    With the backing of the Empress and other monarchs, he had broken the ancient pact keeping the Crowfriars and their dark masters out of the God-Queen¡¯s realm. He hadn¡¯t done it intentionally, and he¡¯d done it for good reasons, but it still had consequences. Were we just starting to see more dramatic effects of that change? Were other protections, such as those of the Choir, now rendered null?


    A terrifying thought. Urn was, in many ways, an island surrounded by a tumultuous and hostile ocean. Inwardly, I shuddered at the thought of all those predatory waters crashing in on us.


    ¡°Alken?¡±


    Rosanna had said something, and I¡¯d been so lost in my own thoughts I¡¯d missed it. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes. ¡°What was that?¡±


    Rosanna shook her head. ¡°Just making sure you¡¯re listening. So you believe this creature was unrelated to your battle with the Priory?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the opposite.¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°The whole city is in a stir,¡± the Empress said grimly. ¡°The nobility is in a clamor, calling for heightened guard and more auguries to determine if the threat persists. There¡¯s even talk of this being a declaration of war, though everyone seems to have their own opinion about who from... The Fall is still very fresh for many. There¡¯s talk that the war never truly ended, only put on hold.¡±


    I folded my arms, chewing on that. ¡°You mean Talsyn.¡±


    Rosanna nodded. ¡°Some of the rumor-mongering insists Hasur Vyke is behind this. You are certain the creature was from the continent?¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°Less certain now. But I might have a way to find out.¡±


    I could practically feel Rosanna¡¯s glare when I lapsed into silence rather than explaining. I was very used to being alone with my own thoughts. ¡°The Choir has been silent a long time,¡± I said. ¡°They...¡± I hesitated, knowing this to be a troubled topic. ¡°I¡¯m used to hearing from them on occasion, for my duties.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s face went distant. ¡°I see. You believe they may know something?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about trying to commune with them, for other reasons too. Might be time to do that.¡± Another thought came to me then. ¡°Do you think last night is going to cause more trouble with the Priory?¡±


    Rosanna shook her head, looking strangely unconcerned. ¡°The Grand Prior and his dog Oraise are going to have a very difficult time explaining why House Greengood found the bodies of Inquisition agents in their estate, all armed with implements of capture and torture. The Greengoods are a respected family in Reynwell, and they will make a fuss, with all the nobility behind them this time.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s lips curled very slightly, and she continued in a satisfied tone. ¡°I think the Grand Prior is going to be very cautious from now on. I wouldn¡¯t expect any bold moves from him for a while, at least until he finds some angle to place himself back in favor.¡±


    I nodded. At least some good had come from all this. ¡°I¡¯m going to check on Emma,¡± I said. ¡°After that...¡± I sighed. ¡°On to the next lead.¡±


    ¡°Keep me informed,¡± the Empress said, moving to her desk and sitting. ¡°The summit begins in eight days. I would very much like some good news before then.¡±


    Eight days. No pressure or anything.


    ¡°Do not talk down to me,¡± the girl snapped, half turning to glare. ¡°I am the eldest daughter of House Greengood¡¯s main branch. I will rule it one day, and you...¡±


    Her lip trembled. ¡°I saw what you did last night, to all those people. You are a killer.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything. Why deny it? She was right.


    Laessa Greengood took a moment to master herself, then spoke in the precise, authoritative voice trained into her by a highborn upbringing. ¡°I know you serve Rosanna Silvering. I understand you saved my life last night, and that I would have received far less gentle accommodations from the Inquisition had they gotten there first. I am no fool.¡±


    She turned fully then, facing me while framed in the daylight shining through the narrow window at her back. ¡°Regardless of what happens to me, I have every reason to believe you represent a danger to Kieran. I know that he¡¯s... Changed. Damaged.¡± She drew in a shuddering breath. ¡°You said it yourself last night. Any right minded person would destroy him. How do I know you will not do the same, once you¡¯ve found him and he¡¯s told you what you want to know?¡±


    I opened my mouth, probably to speak some heated words, to tell her she was being a fool. I stopped myself, and considered what I was actually looking at.


    All her hostility and noble airs aside, Laessa was very young. Emma¡¯s age, I thought, probably no older than eighteen. She had just experienced a very sharp, very cruel night. Her life had been threatened in her own home, and she was now away from her family, all but a prisoner in the sanctuary of one of Urn¡¯s most powerful personages. She didn¡¯t know what would happen to her, and she had to be very, very scared.


    And she was in love. I knew well enough what that felt like, and how blinding it could be. So I calmed myself, and then spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯m interested in Kieran for my own reasons,¡± I said, choosing honesty. ¡°But I also have more than a little experience with what he¡¯s dealing with. Do you know what an Abgru?dai is, my lady?¡±


    Laessa frowned. ¡°I... The word sounds familiar, but...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a fancy way of saying demon,¡± I said. ¡°A spirit of the Abyss.¡±


    Laessa¡¯s dark skin turned ashen.


    ¡°Kieran was haunted by one before he died,¡± I said. ¡°I believe it¡¯s what killed him, or drove him to kill himself.¡±


    The girl paced to one corner of the room, folding her arms as though cold. ¡°...I see,¡± she said, her voice hushed. ¡°He was acting very strange the last several weeks.¡±


    ¡°Strange how?¡± I asked patiently.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t sleep well,¡± Laessa said, not meeting my gaze. ¡°He had night terrors, and acted manic... He showed me some of his newest paintings. I always loved his paintings. He was a strange boy, and put odd things to canvas, but those last pieces...¡±


    She shivered. ¡°They scared me. It was like the things in them could see me.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°He¡¯s not the only one who¡¯s fallen victim to this thing. I¡¯m trying to find it, and stop it, and I believe Kieran can help me. I can¡¯t do anything if I don¡¯t know where he is, or help him.¡±


    I stepped closer then. Laessa backed away from me, distrustful, but I showed her my palms.


    ¡°Death isn¡¯t the end of it,¡± I told her. ¡°He¡¯s a dyghoul now, my lady. The longer he stays that way, the more attached he¡¯ll get to his own corpse. It¡¯s not a pretty thing, and there¡¯s a chance this monster¡¯s influence on him could make things even worse. He¡¯s suffering.¡±


    Laessa chewed on her lip, hesitant. Then, in a voice far meeker than she¡¯d used before she said, ¡°But he¡¯s still him, right? We can... Help him. Fix him. There¡¯s magic. My family is very wealthy, we could have a cleric raise him properly, or¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Church only raises the dead to seek their council,¡± I said, cutting her off. ¡°They never bring them fully back. Dead is dead. What you¡¯re talking about is necromancy, and it¡¯s heresy.¡±


    I saw the anger return to Laessa¡¯s face, the stubborn defiance. I spoke quickly, before she could work herself up again.


    ¡°You saw him. You saw how damaged he is. Do you really want him to stay like that? That isn¡¯t love, Laessa.¡±


    The girl blinked, and tears began to fall. She didn¡¯t scream, or wail, or anything dramatic. She just bowed her head.


    ¡°It¡¯s not fair,¡± she sobbed.


    It wasn¡¯t. ¡°If you want to help him,¡± I said softly, ¡°then help me. Tell me where he might have gone.¡±


    She looked up then, meeting my eyes. Her own, dark as onyx, widened suddenly as though she¡¯d only just then gotten a proper look at me.


    ¡°Your eyes,¡± she whispered. ¡°They¡¯re... Shining.¡±


    I hid my frown. My eyes always had a soft glint to them, as though lit by a dim flame from within. They¡¯d been that way ever since I¡¯d sworn my oaths to the Alder Table, and had its magic fused with my own soul. I knew that sometimes, when I used my abilities, that light would grow more intense.


    I hadn¡¯t intended to use any aura in trying to convince the young noblewoman. I had the same preternatural charisma many elves and some members of the high nobility did, but I didn¡¯t like using it unless in great need. It felt wrong to override people¡¯s will that way.


    Had I used aura? Or had something else happened?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Laessa asked, breathless.


    I wondered if I should tell her the truth. Would it convince her to answer honestly?


    ¡°I¡¯m someone who can help the man you love,¡± I said. That was honest enough.


    Laessa squeezed her eyes shut, and another loose tear fell. She turned, sniffed, then wiped at her face with the back of one hand.


    ¡°Promise me you will help him,¡± she said without turning back. ¡°Swear it. I don¡¯t care what a priest might say. He is not a monster. I spoke to him last night. He¡¯s still him, and he deserves to be saved.¡±


    I clenched my jaw in frustration. Had she been listening? Some people couldn¡¯t be saved.


    Does that include you? A quiet little voice in the back of my mind whispered. Does that include Emma? Or Donnelly, or Ser Maxim?


    Taking a breath I said, ¡°I will do everything in my power to help him. I won¡¯t let the demon take him, or the Inquisition.¡±


    A foolish oath. I felt it tie a knot in me. If I failed to uphold it, it would tarnish the light in me even further. My powers were already diminished enough.


    Always making the same mistakes.


    Several minutes passed before Laessa spoke again. When she did, she¡¯d grown calm as winter.


    ¡°We met in a graveyard. One of the maids I¡¯d been close to as a child had been buried there by her family, and I was leaving flowers. Kieran was looking for...¡± She let out a quiet sound, not quite a laugh. ¡°Inspiration, I suppose. It¡¯s a quiet place, secluded. We met there often.¡±


    I nodded, though she still had her back to me. ¡°Thank you.¡± I turned to go.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Laessa asked as I put my hand on the door latch.


    ¡°It¡¯s Alken.¡±


    Then I left her to her grief.

 Arc 4: Chapter 5: Sleuth

    Arc 4: Chapter 5: Sleuth


    As I descended a switchbacking series of stairs cut into the outer face of the keep, heading to meet Emma at one of the gates, a shadow slipped from behind a corner to stop me.


    I halted, immediately going on guard at the glint of armor under the noonday sun. Facing me from a lower step, blocking my path forward, stood the Empress¡¯s First Sword. She stood tall as me, perhaps even a bit taller, her broad shoulders dramatized by pauldrons shaped into the semblance of spiraling sea shells. She had her clamshell helm tucked under one arm, her scarred, bronzed face on display.


    ¡°Off to chase more shadows?¡± Ser Kaia Gore asked, raising a thick eyebrow. She had a slight accent I¡¯d never been able to place. The perpetual wind spiraling around the Fulgurkeep made her ash-colored hair dance, revealing the shaved sides of her skull.


    I glanced past her down the steps. I saw no one else ¡ª the nearest sentry stood well more than a good shout away. We were alone.


    ¡°I¡¯m on another errand,¡± I confirmed, on guard. Of all the members of Rosanna¡¯s household, I trusted this former adventurer the least. I¡¯d never fought with her, and didn¡¯t know how deep her loyalties to her liege were. We had interacted very little since I''d arrived at the castle.


    A lazy smile formed across Kaia¡¯s lips. She had predator eyes, ones that reminded me of some huge cat ¡ª disinterested, so long as she wasn¡¯t hungry for blood. ¡°The Empress has a lot of trust in you,¡± she noted conversationally.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I agreed. The steps were quite narrow. They were siege stairs, not built for safety, and it wouldn¡¯t take much to get knocked off and fall far down to the wave-soaked rocks below. Good chance none of the sentries on the nearby towers would even notice over the sound of crashing water and wind.


    ¡°I know you,¡± the royal champion said, watching me.


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°We¡¯ve seen one another regularly for weeks, Ser Knight. Are you saying we¡¯re friends, now?¡±


    Ser Kaia snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve met you before this city.¡± She lifted a steel-clad hand, pointing a finger covered in small, intricately jointed bits of metal at me. ¡°You were at Rhan Harrower¡¯s execution. You held the axe that separated the old bear¡¯s head from his shoulders.¡±


    I felt my hackles go up. No way she¡¯d seen my face ¡ª the glamour of that place had been on me, and I¡¯d worn my faerie cloak at the time.


    ¡°I recognize that weapon,¡± she said, nodding to the long tail of my coat where it covered the axe, which I¡¯d shaved down again to better carry. ¡°I recognize your build, the way you move. I don¡¯t forget these things.¡± She shrugged.


    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°I asked Her Grace about ye,¡± she said, her odd accent spiking on the last few words ¡ª a nervous habit, perhaps ¡ª ¡°and got quite a story. I hear you used to serve her as one of her knights. That you were once her First Sword.¡±


    I braced one foot on the stair beneath me, trying to make the motion casual. ¡°That was a very long time ago,¡± I said.


    Kaia shrugged again, making her elaborate armor clink. ¡°Sure. And nowadays, you¡¯re some scary Headsman, boogeyman to the aristos and all that. But you used to be a royal champion, like I am now.¡±


    She studied me appraisingly. ¡°I¡¯ve got your old job, right at your old queen¡¯s side. You good with that?¡±


    I blinked. That was what this was about? I let the tension in my limbs relax.


    ¡°As I said, it was a long time ago.¡± I let some of the hostility in my voice slip away too. ¡°I have no hard feelings toward you, Ser Kaia, and I¡¯m glad Rose has someone guarding her.¡±


    Kaia¡¯s winged eyebrows climbed very high. ¡°Rose, is it?¡±


    I bit back a curse. I¡¯d let the nickname slip out, forgetting that most wouldn¡¯t take kindly to such an informal moniker for the Empress.


    ¡°That¡¯s another thing,¡± Kaia said, once again aiming a finger at my chest. ¡°I¡¯ve been talking to some of the men-at-arms from Karledale. They¡¯ve been telling me stories too.¡± She let a grin perfectly matched to her lazy eyes spread across her face. ¡°They say you and Her Grace were close. Very close.¡±


    I scowled. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°You fucking the Empress?¡± The knight asked me. The question came out like a whip crack, bouncing off the side of the enormous castle in a barking echo.


    I glared at the knight, and spoke very clearly even through my teeth. ¡°No. I¡¯m not sleeping with Her Grace.¡±


    Kaia sniffed, clearly not believing me. ¡°She always sends me away when she¡¯s talking to you. Sends her handmaids away, too. She doesn¡¯t show anyone else that kind of trust, and this city is full of her enemies. You¡¯ve known her since she was a child. And...¡± She waved a hand at me, almost as though casting a spell. ¡°You¡¯re not bad to look at, with that glaring face, those shiny eyes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this,¡± I snapped, and began to walk down the steps. She¡¯d move, or I¡¯d move her. Instead, she pressed a hand to my chest and stopped me cold. She was shockingly strong ¡ª even when I pushed against her arm, it didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°What Her Grace does in private is her business,¡± Kaia said flatly. ¡°She¡¯s a beauty, and has a lot on her shoulders. She has ye bounce her to let off some steam, that¡¯s all well and good. But I want you and I to have an accord, understand? You do anything to bring harm on her, and I¡¯ll pull out your ribs and hang you by them.¡±


    I studied her a moment, still with her hand on my chest. Then, letting my own lazy smile touch my lips I said, ¡°Is this jealousy?¡±


    Kaia¡¯s amused eyes became cold. ¡°I was a mercenary before all this. Now I¡¯m at the top of the world.¡± She waved her hand across the foggy expanse of Garihelm below us. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let some old flame fuck me over. You make me look bad, and I will rip you apart.¡±


    She let those words hang, jabbing her finger into the center of my chest, then shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°Just for the principle of the thing, see?¡±


    I sighed. I really didn¡¯t need any more enemies. Calming myself I said, ¡°I am not Queen Rosanna¡¯s lover.¡± I used her native title, halfway between familiarity and formality. ¡°We were never... Like that. There were rumors in Karles, it¡¯s true, but she¡¯s like a sister to me.¡±


    Kaia squinted at me, canting her head to one side so her loose mohawk fell down one half of her face. ¡°You¡¯re a liar. You have feelings for her, and they¡¯re not brotherly. I see it in the way you look at her. I hear it in the way you talk to her, and hang on her words.¡±


    I found I couldn¡¯t meet the knight¡¯s eyes then. Glancing out over the waters I said, ¡°We¡¯ve been through a lot together.¡±


    Kaia waited, still not budging.


    ¡°Maybe there was a time,¡± I admitted. ¡°When we were young. But neither of us ever acted on it.¡±


    After a minute of silence, Kaia nodded. ¡°Good. Keep it that way, and you and I won¡¯t have a problem. Also, most of her guard assume you¡¯re her lover. I won¡¯t spread it from my lips, but you should know. Step light, eh?¡±


    She clapped a hand on my shoulder, then stepped past me to ascend the steps. Her seafoam-colored cloak brushed past my legs, rippling in the wind, and soon enough the light song of her armor faded.


    ***


    It rained again that day. A slow, lethargic drizzle, like the sky quietly wept.


    ¡°What¡¯s got you sour?¡± Emma asked me as we navigated the crowded sprawl of Garihelm.


    I sighed, feeling very tired. ¡°The royal bodyguard thinks I¡¯m cuckolding the Emperor.¡±


    Emma considered that a moment. ¡°Are you?¡± She asked.


    When I glared at her, she held up her hands defensively. ¡°Just asking. I did get a certain sense about you and the Empress.¡±


    ¡°You thought that about me and Catrin too,¡± I groused, annoyed.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Emma agreed brightly. ¡°And Catrin very much wants you.¡± She shrugged, and adjusted the sword belted at her hip. ¡°It was obvious enough.¡±


    She wants my blood maybe, I thought darkly. ¡°Why is everyone so interested in my love life all of the sudden?¡± I complained aloud, shifting out of the way of a porter ploughing through the crowds.


    ¡°It¡¯s more that I¡¯m worried about the lack of it,¡± Emma said with infuriating casualness. ¡°Your dedication to duty is very admirable and all, but you¡¯re still human, Alken. Mostly, anyway.¡± She shrugged one shoulder. ¡°You need to loosen up every once in a while, keep yourself sane. Or did you go and do something foolish like swear a vow of celibacy? I hear some knights do.¡±


    ¡°Starting to wish I had,¡± I muttered under my breath. We passed by a clericon in a red robe proselytizing to a crowd. I caught the barbed trident of iron dangling from his neck, and adjusted the brim of my hat to better hide my face.


    ¡°Have you considered Ser Kaia was trying to help you?¡± Emma asked, her tone more curious than lecturing. ¡°Markham Forger is not a good man to cross, and if even the rumor that you¡¯re in a relationship with his wife gets out...¡±


    I did, still bemused by this unexpected development. Emma let a good amount of her blood drip onto the grass, then drew her ornate sword. The blade glinted in a beam of sunlight breaking through the canopy, the bright steel burning above the sigil of House Carreon ¡ª a horned cairnhawk.


    Emma sliced the blade across the ground, forming a perfect circle with practiced precision. I felt a sudden pressure in the air ¡ª she¡¯d used Aura in that ritual motion. Then, lightly stepping out of the circle bounding her blood, the young noblewoman began to mutter under her breath.


    I caught the word she repeated in a chanting mantra, and immediately understood.


    ¡°Qoth,¡± Emma Orley, once Carreon, whispered into the wind. ¡°Child of Briar, Son of Bane, hear mine words and serve me again. Qoth of the Briar, heed mine call, thy mistress beckons thee from thy hall. By oaths sworn, by word, by blood, by flesh, by deed, by vassalage traded, by secrets known.¡±


    Emma¡¯s slitted eyes suddenly opened wide. Usually amber, they suddenly glinted with an almost crystalline red light. ¡°My godmother granted me your service, Briar Elf. Come! I am Nath¡¯s disciple, and you will obey.¡±


    A shadow began to form inside the circle. The sea breeze died, and a coldness which had nothing to do with the peace of the dead fell over the grove.


    And a chief servant of Bloody Nath, the Angel of the Briar, answered Emma¡¯s summons.


    Within the summoning circle, an ungainly shape formed. Shadow and wind congealed into solid phantasm, forming the body of the elf until it became real enough to see properly.


    He had a head too large for his long, thin neck, long arms with many-jointed fingers, and glassy red eyes. His teeth were sharp and tinted green in a wide mouth, peeking from within the folds of a very slightly elongated skull not unlike a short muzzle. His gray hair hung lank around a rash-blotched pate, and he wore a long, thin robe woven of green-and-red thread, too big for him, its threadbare hem trailing across the ground. Wolf fur crawled across his pallid flesh in uneven patches, particularly on his forearms and knuckles.


    The Briar faerie blinked at us, his eyes moving first to me, and then to Emma. He grinned, revealing his fully array of crooked teeth, and dipped into a courtly bow.


    ¡°My lady Carreon!¡± Qoth said, delight and malice in the rasping music of his voice. ¡°And Ser Headsman. It has been some time.¡±


    Emma sniffed, sheathing her sword in a single smooth motion. ¡°It¡¯s Orley now, Qoth. Do try to remember it.¡±


    Again, the elf blinked. The motion had a starkly reptilian quality. ¡°How delightful,¡± he murmured. ¡°And how can I be of service to you this day, mistress?¡±


    Emma had a satisfied expression on her face, and an excited glint in her eye. I could tell she was pleased her ritual had worked ¡ª I guessed it to be the first time she¡¯d tried since leaving Venturmoor. But she caught the look on my face then, and her smugness wilted into chagrin.


    Coughing, she addressed the wicked elf. ¡°We are searching for a dyghoul. You know what that is?¡±


    Qoth¡¯s demeanor took on an edge of deliberate patience. ¡°Indeed I do, mistress. A mortal shade trapped within a corpse. A revenant.¡±


    ¡°...Yes.¡± Emma shuffled on her feet. ¡°Well, this one in particular must be found, and quickly. Can you do it?¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Qoth squatted down on his haunches, very much like a skinny toad, causing his robe to pool around him. ¡°Perhaps. I must have the shade¡¯s scent.¡±


    Emma and I traded dubious glances. Neither of us had anything like that.


    Thinking it over I said, ¡°Kieran spent time here, in this cemetery.¡± For inspiration, Laessa had said. ¡°He was a painter, and did work here. Can you use that?¡±


    Qoth considered, running his ruby-eyed gaze across the grave markers. ¡°Perhaps. I shall have a look around. If it is as you say, then this place will remember him. Remain here a while.¡±


    He scurried off then, moving on all fours like a spider, long robe sliding behind him. Creepy bastard, I thought.


    Emma shifted again, and kept very pointedly quiet.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me you could still call the familiar Nath gave you,¡± I said, without looking at her. Even still, I caught her wince out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t certain I could.¡± Emma hedged, her voice taking on an uncharacteristically wheedling quality.


    ¡°What else can you still do?¡± I asked her, speaking low so the scurrying creature in the trees couldn¡¯t hear me. Then, narrowing my eyes I said, ¡°do you still see Nath?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Emma spoke hastily. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen her since Venturmoor, I promise.¡±


    Seen her, maybe, but heard her voice in your thoughts? In your dreams? Nath was Onsolain, and the Lady of the Briarfae. Creatures like Qoth were infamous for their ability to wield poison, even in words and thoughts.


    I¡¯d neglected this for too long. Maybe Vicar¡¯s words beneath Rose Malin, that Nath hadn¡¯t forgotten or given up on Emma, had also poisoned me. Even still, I¡¯d taken the warning to heart. It was my job to guide my ward away from the darkness, from the tainted legacy of House Carreon and the supernatural forces seeking to use her.


    ¡°Do you know who the Brothers of the Briar are?¡± I asked quietly, speaking in a calm voice.


    Emma remained quiet a minute before answering. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the name. I don¡¯t know much, other than that they served Lady Nath.¡±


    ¡°They serve the Briar,¡± I corrected. ¡°Nath is just a patron to the Briarfae, and she wasn¡¯t always that. The Brothers of the Briar were heroes once, Em. Wizards and rangers, clerics, and especially knights. They took treacherous gifts from Qoth¡¯s brethren, and it turned them into monsters.¡±


    I let those words hang a while before continuing. Emma did not interrupt with any acerbic commentary or pointed cynicism, which I took as a good sign. ¡°Briarland was once a mortal kingdom, did you know that? It was guarded by an order very much like the Knights of the Alder Table. Now it¡¯s choked with qliphoth and ruled by creatures like Qoth. I¡¯ve seen it before. It¡¯s an evil place.¡±


    I turned to face her then, and put a hand on her shoulder. She wouldn¡¯t meet my eyes.


    ¡°Qoth isn¡¯t a pet, or a convenient resource. Nath and her allies cannot be trusted. Talk to me next time before you play the warlock, alright?¡±


    Emma¡¯s lips pressed tightly together, and she wouldn¡¯t look at me. I thought perhaps she might shrug me off. But she only nodded.


    I couldn¡¯t tell how genuine her agreement was, and before I could say anything else Qoth scurried back. The elf propped one long arm behind his back and the other in front of him, a courtier¡¯s pose. His impish grin widened into something ghastly.


    ¡°I have a scent. The poor child was here, and recently.¡±


    I turned toward the faerie. ¡°How long ago?¡±


    ¡°Some time before dawn,¡± Qoth said. ¡°Then he left quite suddenly. The trees saw it ¡ª there are dryads in some of them, placed here long ago to guard the dead.¡±


    I folded may arms. The elf was holding something back. ¡°Explain,¡± I growled, impatient.


    But Qoth only grinned, and kept silent.


    ¡°I order you to answer him,¡± Emma said, her voice hardening.


    Qoth stiffened, then bowed his head. ¡°He was taken from this place by another.¡±


    ¡°Another?¡± Emma asked, tilting her head to one side. ¡°Who? Did the spirits see them?¡±


    ¡°A man,¡± Qoth murmured, the white spheres in the middle of his ruby eyes drifting lazily toward the girl. ¡°A man dressed all in black, with one eye and a staff.¡±


    Then, very deliberately, he looked at me and grinned wider. ¡°A staff with a nail embedded into its head.¡±


    Despite the pleasant spring day, I felt very cold then.


    ¡°Lias.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 6: Lair of the Magi

    Arc 4: Chapter 6: Lair of the Magi


    ¡°Alken...¡±


    I grunted. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I could practically feel Emma¡¯s eyes on me, though I kept mine on the table. Most of two hours had passed since she¡¯d summoned Qoth, and we¡¯d returned to the crowded inner districts of the city. We sat beneath a pavilion at the corner of a public square, with food. Apple tarts and meat balls dressed in fresh eggs, seasoned with ginger.


    Garihelm hadn¡¯t had such good food last I¡¯d been. Then again, that had been during a war.


    I heard, more than saw, Emma shift across the table, uncrossing one leg and recrossing it, then propping her elbows on the table and clasping her fingers. I chased half an apple tart down with some beer.


    ¡°You¡¯re worrying me,¡± Emma said.


    A cheer went up from the square below us ¡ª a pair of knights were having a mock battle. A magician had gotten involved, using exploding powders and sleight-of-hand to entertain the crowd, weaving in and out of the two swordsmen as they playacted some drama.


    When the noise had died down I asked, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Emma blew out a breath, moving a loose strand of her dark hair out of her face. ¡°After what Qoth told us, I expected you to charge off in a rage. Instead, well...¡±


    She waved a hand at the square, the outdoor tavern, the meals.


    I set my mug down on the table and shrugged. ¡°We need to eat, keep up our strength.¡±


    ¡°Right...¡± Emma unlaced her fingers and laid her hands on the table, as though bracing herself. ¡°And Lias?¡±


    I felt the corners of my lips tighten, without making a conscious decision to frown. A flash of thoughts and emotions went through me ¡ª rage, frustration, and doubt chiefly among them. What game was the damn wizard playing?


    ¡°What about him?¡± I growled, stabbing at a meat ball with my fork.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re going to track him down, right?¡± Emma asked, some of her usual pluck breaking through her concern. ¡°Once we¡¯re done, uh, strengthening ourselves?¡± She waved to the food again. Below, someone let out a cat call and the crowd laughed.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± I said, after I¡¯d swallowed.


    ¡°It¡¯s just...¡± Emma sighed, exasperated. ¡°You¡¯re being awfully calm about the whole thing.¡±


    I did not feel calm. ¡°When it comes to Lias,¡± I said, leaning back and folding my arms, ¡°there¡¯s no point trying to use force. He¡¯s magi.¡±


    Emma¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°How do you mean? He¡¯s still mortal, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I said, propping my own elbows on the table. ¡°More or less. The thing about wizards, Emma, is that they cheat.¡±


    Talking aloud helped distract me from the ugly feelings churning in my gut, so I kept speaking. ¡°Magicians ¡ª true magicians, not that jester down in the square right now ¡ª don¡¯t use magic the same way everyone else does. Did Nath ever explain how Art affects the soul? The reason most mortals, even intrinsically magical beings, can only ever use a handful of them?¡±


    Emma tilted her head to one side in thought. ¡°She spoke about it a bit. My grandmother did as well.¡±


    I nodded. I¡¯d forgotten that Emma¡¯s grandmother had been a sorceress.


    ¡°Nath always told me not to bother affixing more phantasms to my aura,¡± Emma continued. ¡°She insisted that the Blood Art of House Carreon is versatile enough.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not wrong,¡± I agreed. ¡°The only magic I¡¯ve seen as versatile as your Shrike Forest are those threads Lisette uses, maybe a handful of other abilities. But none of it has anything on what one of the Magi can do.¡±


    Emma leaned forward. I didn¡¯t often lecture on arcana, preferring more practical lessons, but I could tell I¡¯d caught her interest.


    ¡°You can only alter the shape of a human soul so much,¡± I explained. ¡°Whenever you use your own aura to create a phantasm, you are changing it, in a fundamental way, and it grows more resistant to further alteration. It already takes some rare circumstances for any phantasm to form ¡ª take your powers for example. They had to be cultivated over generations of tyranny and war.¡±


    Emma¡¯s expression soured. ¡°Thanks for that reminder.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s important to understand the scale we¡¯re talking about. A single phantasm requires events so profound they literally imprint themselves into the fabric of reality. It can happen in nature ¡ª a meteor falls out of the sky, or a tsunami smashes a coastline to pieces, and it can leave a spiritual echo of itself. For humans, it takes something much more difficult to define, and usually something that impacts a lot of people ¡ª armies, or even nations. A great general performs a heroic feat, saves or slaughters thousands, and that might create a phantasm, which can then be refined into Art and used.¡±


    I pointed at my squire¡¯s chest. ¡°Think about it. Your power is the manifestation of your family¡¯s legacy, wrought into its most evocative image ¡ª the pikes they used to torture and execute their enemies. That only exists because that image embedded itself so deeply into people¡¯s minds and hearts.¡±


    Emma nodded, her lips pursed. ¡°I believe I¡¯m following. But what does this have to do with wizards?¡±


    I sipped more beer to wet my throat, then wiped my mouth with the back of one arm. ¡°As I said, affixing a phantasm to your aura and turning it into a Soul Art requires changing your own innate essence, so it can take the form you want. It changes you. Awakening your aura is rare enough, and most who do never learn more than one Art through their whole lives. I¡¯ve never seen anyone use more than three at most, except for elves, and even they don¡¯t tend to go much higher. It¡¯s even rarer to create an original technique.¡±


    Emma folded her arms and cast me a dubious look. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you use far more than three abilities.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I had to have my aura changed in order to do that, and it had a cost.¡± I placed a hand to my chest, feeling the omnipresent warmth of the Alder¡¯s fire inside me. ¡°The elves restructured my soul to link it to a repository for Arts. Which brings me to the Magi.¡±


    I met my disciple¡¯s eyes. ¡°Wizards have no limit on how many Arts they can learn.¡±


    Emma almost visibly reeled. ¡°No limits? I don¡¯t... How is that even possible?¡±


    ¡°They do something similar to what the Alder Knights and the Brothers of the Briar do,¡± I said. ¡°They change the shape of their own souls. They use various means, and honestly I have no idea how most of them do it. I don¡¯t even know what rite Lias performed ¡ª the Hermetical Orders guard their secrets very closely. The result is pretty much the same for all of them, though. It can make them unhinged, unpredictable.¡± Even inhuman, I thought.


    I splayed my fingers out in an encompassing gesture. ¡°Lias has no limits on his power. As long as he learns more, discovers more magic, continues to reshape his own aura to accommodate new power, he will grow more versatile. There¡¯s basically no problem he can¡¯t solve with magic, if he puts in enough time and cleverness, or just brute force.¡±


    I could tell I¡¯d disturbed Emma with this revelation. I didn¡¯t blame her. Very few knew just how dangerous true wizards could be. ¡°So,¡± she said quietly, ¡°you¡¯re avoiding confronting Lias because you¡¯re not certain you can beat him, if things come to violence?¡±


    I shrugged, and sipped more beer. ¡°Nah, I could take the scrawny fop. That¡¯s not the point I¡¯m trying to make.¡±


    Emma tilted her head to the other side, pouting. ¡°Then what¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°The point is that he¡¯s fucking infuriating to talk to when he gets it into his head that he¡¯s right,¡± I growled. ¡°The man¡¯s over forty years old, and I doubt he¡¯s aged a day up here since he first awakened his powers.¡± I tapped the side of my skull with a finger. ¡°He can do pretty much anything he wants without consequences, and if he faces any real backlash he¡¯s got a means to deal with that too, with magic.¡±


    I heard her breathing next to me, hitched and uncertain. It quickly steadied. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said.


    I lifted the axe again, and once more channeled my aura through it. The axe burned like a torch, illuminating the uncanny hallway. The stone looked wrong ¡ª no lavish foyer like last time, no empty suits of armor or spiraling stairs, just half-melted stone like damaged wax and an odd burnt scent.


    Emma had her hand on her sword, but hadn¡¯t drawn it. Good lass.


    ¡°Keep close,¡± I murmured. ¡°And stay behind.¡±


    We advanced, walking for roughly five minutes. The corridor twisted and turned, sometimes even dipping or rising, more like a worm hole than a proper hallway.


    Lucky. Another few days, this entrance would have fully mended itself and I wouldn¡¯t have been able to use it. Lias must have closed it not long after I¡¯d gone into Rose Malin, probably fearing I¡¯d give away his location at the hands of Oraise¡¯s torturers.


    He¡¯d had very little faith in me, even after his assurances I was the only one he could still trust. He hadn¡¯t even tried to break me free. I still wasn¡¯t certain I could blame him, logically speaking, but deep down it still hurt.


    This isn¡¯t about that, I chastised myself. This is about Kieran, and the mission. Don¡¯t mix your personal feelings into it.


    The hall ended, with an abruptness that took me off guard. Emma and I stood in a large room, and I recognized it as the entry hall of Lias¡¯s sanctum from last time ¡ª only it had changed. The stairway twisted in on itself in a strange helix, leading to nowhere, and the rich tapestries on the wall drooped down to the floor, fusing with the dark wood like a bad painting. There were at least a dozen exits, all of them black cavities in the walls, some set so high up they couldn¡¯t be reached.


    I glanced back to make sure Emma was still with me, and no sorcery had left her stranded in the passage we¡¯d come from. She remained at my side, and when I caught her eye she set her jaw and nodded.


    I got the message. I¡¯m with you.


    I turned, drew in a breath, and put just enough aura in my voice to let it boom through the abstracted room.


    ¡°Lias!¡± My voice emerged with a subtle echo of power, one the wizard would hear wherever he was. He¡¯d made this place with his own power, and the very walls would quiver with my words. ¡°I¡¯ve come for the boy.¡±


    Silence. I grit my teeth, then prepared to speak again with even more force, to make the demand a compulsion. I was no magi, but I had power to match his if he¡¯d force me.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have come here,¡± a disembodied voice said, seeming to emerge from every warped doorway and empty corridor at once.


    I recognized the voice. ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood for games, Li.¡± I used no aura this time. ¡°Don¡¯t make me go looking for you.¡±


    ¡°The boy is safe,¡± Lias said, his voice an emotionless drawl. Overlayed a dozen times, it sounded like something more, and less, than human ¡ª a hollow chorus.


    ¡°Why did you take him?¡± I asked, turning about slowly in the center of the room. ¡°You had to know I¡¯d go looking for you.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Lias,¡± I growled, growing angry again. ¡°You have a lot of explaining to do. Rosanna told me what you¡¯ve done. You brought me into a snake pit, and you left me out of the loop. I thought you wanted my help!¡±


    ¡°...It was a mistake to bring you here,¡± Lias said coldly. ¡°I believed you would do as you¡¯ve always done ¡ª find the thing which needs killing, and kill it. Instead, you drew the attention of powers far beyond your ken. Did the Empress send you?¡±


    The Empress. ¡°Rose didn¡¯t send me,¡± I said, intentionally adopting the diminutive he and I had both known her well enough to use.


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve been in the palace,¡± Lias continued, his voice fading and rising in seemingly random rhythms, the effect unsettlingly alien. ¡°I should have known that you would have gone crawling back to her the moment you had the chance. I will not be taken prisoner.¡±


    I spoke through my teeth. ¡°I¡¯m not here to take you back to Rose, though you damn well should talk to her. If I¡¯d known you two were feuding¡ª¡±


    ¡°You would have refused to help me outright!¡± Lias said bitterly. ¡°You are like a child, Alken. You never could pick a side when we squabbled, and I had no time for your sulking.¡±


    I drew in a deep breath, forcing calm over myself. ¡°Where is Kieran?¡± I said again. ¡°Hand him over to me, and I¡¯ll leave.¡±


    ¡°I can no longer trust you to handle this matter without complicating it. The boy is in my care. I will destroy Yith Golonac. You should return to the wilderness. The game of realms is no longer your concern, Headsman. You have your role, and I should not have distracted you from it. Go.¡±


    It surprised me, how calm my next words sounded to my own ears. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving, Li. Not without the kid.¡±


    ¡°...Then you leave me no choice.¡±


    The rattling sound intensified, then cut off abruptly. I tensed.


    ¡°Alken,¡± Emma said, worry in her voice. ¡°I think maybe we better¡ª¡±


    I bared my teeth in frustration. I wouldn¡¯t leave things like this. ¡°Lias, don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    The hackles on the back of my neck stood on end, and I hurled myself into a roll just as something dropped down from the ceiling. It landed with almost no sound on the spot I¡¯d occupied an instant before, crouching low like a spider. Its face tilted up to look at me.


    Or, what passed for its face. Its head was smooth, featureless save for subtle depressions where eyes and mouth should have been, no nose or ears visible. The head lolled on a ball-jointed neck, connecting it to a segmented body with long limbs, vaguely humanoid.


    The thing of wood and metal rose, its many-jointed limbs rattling slightly with the motion. Its body, all seven feet of it, stretched taut, toeless feet lifting off the ground so it hung suspended on invisible strings.


    The steel blades emerging from its wrists, which were fashioned from brass spheres, retracted until only their tips were visible. Its manikin¡¯s face tilted to one side, as though studying me with curiosity.


    Worse, there were more. They fell down from the ceiling one after the other, all stopping at varying elevations with jerking motions, puppets on strings in a macabre show.


    Emma had drawn her sword. Sweat beaded on her skin. ¡°What are they?¡± She asked, backing toward me.


    I lifted my axe, preparing to defend myself. I had fought creatures like this during the war, and I knew just how lethal they were.


    ¡°They¡¯re Marions. Living dolls.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 7: Fellow Feeling

    Arc 4: Chapter 7: Fellow Feeling


    The marions closed in on us, clicking and rattling like huge insects of brass and wood. Their eyeless faces seemed disturbingly aware, and the sounds they made were almost communicative, like they coordinated amongst themselves with some abstracted language. Most hung suspended in the air as though on unseen strings.


    I suspected those strings were Lias¡¯s power, some Art used to grant his puppets greater mobility. I felt Emma at my back as a concentration of heat and nerves, knew she was afraid and doing her best to control it.


    I¡¯d brought her into this.


    I¡¯d faced marions before. They came in all sorts of forms, and were animated through various means. Some used Art, while others bound the shades of the dead into constructs, using necromancy to animate them. Sometimes they acted as vessels for willing fey spirits, not unlike how gargoyles gained life. They could be made out of metal, out of rope and wood, or even sackcloth and straw. Anything capable of locomotion would serve.


    The Church had enforced stricter laws about them after Lyda¡¯s Plague, when the Old Inquisition had used them as instruments of capture and torture, but they¡¯d persisted in various forms despite the taboo. The Recusants had fielded whole platoons of them during the war, using them as shock troops and assassins.


    They were deadly foes. Fearless, spider-fast, difficult to destroy. Their complex frames could hide any number of lethal weapons, from blades to noxious alchemical fumes.


    But my attention went past the dolls, to the will behind them. Some pieces began to settle into place in my mind.


    When I¡¯d arrived in the city, I¡¯d had to deliberately track Lias down in order to speak to him directly. He¡¯d set me to work with little explanation or preparation, hidden his own schemes and circumstances, even his whereabouts. He¡¯d acted through proxies and liaisons. At the time, it had made sense ¡ª it had annoyed me, but I thought I understood the reasons.


    A very different picture formed before me now. Had he really trusted me so little? Had he believed that I¡¯d side with Rosanna if I¡¯d known about their feud? It must have seemed to him like I had. Even still, this seemed like a very extreme response, if he believed I¡¯d come to take him into custody.


    Something still seemed off. The pieces didn¡¯t all add up.


    But if I was wrong...


    ¡°Emma,¡± I said.


    ¡°Is now really the time?¡± She hissed. The marions hadn¡¯t advanced, remaining in their uneven ranks around and above us, ready to close in the second the wizard gave the command. I could imagine it ¡ª the flash of movement, the dogpile, the slashing, stabbing blades. A quick and gruesome death.


    ¡°Sheath your steel,¡± I said quietly.


    A moment passed before an incredulous answer came. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Put the sword away,¡± I ordered, keeping my attention on the constructs. ¡°Trust me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t, but...¡± She hesitated, and I didn¡¯t blame her. If I was wrong, we¡¯d both die.


    I lifted my axe horizontally, showing it to the marions and their hidden master. ¡°Lias,¡± I said, putting some of the commanding tone I¡¯d used before back into my voice. ¡°You and I have risked our lives for one another countless times. You are my brother.¡±


    You are my friend, Alken, like my own brother. You always will be.


    Rose¡¯s words had cut deep through the cynicism and sense of loss I¡¯d let stalk me through the past decade. Perhaps it had come time to spread some of that around.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fight you.¡± I hurled the axe into the floor, where it embedded itself with a resounding crack!


    I could almost feel Emma¡¯s shock. I only took a deep breath and waited. If I¡¯d misjudged Lias, if his paranoia and ruthlessness had truly gone beyond the pale, then we¡¯d die badly.


    The manikin faces stared at me, impassive, unfeeling. My heart pounded in my chest. Behind me, I heard Emma spit out a curse and sheathe her sword.


    A long silence. A bead of sweat made a lazy trail down my temple, finding its way to my jaw before dripping to the floor.


    The room twisted. I felt a crushing sense of weightlessness followed by a thrill of vertigo as the perforated walls and helix stairs blurred spun. A high pitched whine found my ears, growing louder, louder¡ª


    With an odd pop, reality righted itself. I stood in a very different room, much less ostentatious than the first. It looked like a study and laboratory fused into some chimeric mutant, with high shelves piled with books and scrolls, tables scattered haphazardly about, and an array of nameless apparatus¡¯s.


    I glanced around, every muscle in my body tense with nerves. Emma was nowhere in sight. Neither were the marions. The corners of the wide room were very dark.


    ¡°That was very foolish,¡± an annoyed voice said from behind me.


    I turned to see Lias about ten feet away. He sat on a high backed chair, dressed in a black tunic and breeches studded with silver. He looked terrible. His one visible eye ¡ª a strip of cloth hid the other ¡ª looked sunken, ringed in dark lines, and he hadn¡¯t combed his hair or shaved in many days. I could even make out some streaks of gray in his hair I hadn¡¯t noticed before, or been allowed to notice.


    He had his staff, a long length of smooth ebony wood with a wedge-shaped head run through with an iron nail, propped against the chair. He glowered at me, his posture hunched.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my squire?¡± I demanded without preamble.


    ¡°Safe,¡± Lias said. His voice sounded hoarse. ¡°I called off the guardians.¡± He tilted his head to one side, peering at me with his bright green eye. ¡°You cut your hair.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have any patience for small talk in that moment. ¡°What the hell is all of this, Li? Would you actually have killed me in that room?¡±


    He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. ¡°I would have subdued you both, and kept you secure until I found another solution.¡±


    He trailed off, but sighed when I didn¡¯t drop my glare. I had no intention of letting him dodge an explanation.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what Rose has been telling you,¡± he said, leaning forward in his chair and clasping his hands over his knees. I saw no apology in his gaze, only weariness and appraisal. ¡°I acted to protect myself. Besides, I meant what I said. I shouldn¡¯t have involved you in all of this. I see that now.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then?¡± I forced myself to sound calm. ¡°After everything, you just tell me I¡¯m not needed anymore?¡±


    Lias shrugged. ¡°I admit, I was short on options when I sought you out. I didn¡¯t expect Rosanna to react so dramatically to my methods.¡±


    ¡°Methods?¡± I snapped, no longer bothering with calm. ¡°Li, you were assassinating nobles without her leave, terrorizing her subjects.¡±


    ¡°Markham Forger¡¯s subjects,¡± Lias said dismissively. ¡°This isn¡¯t Karles. They might call her Empress, but make no mistake ¡ª Rosanna is a foreign queen with a nominal role here. She is surrounded by enemies, and it is King Markham who is truly in charge.¡±


    More forcefully he added, ¡°I sought to protect her. She could not afford to look weak.¡±


    I took a deep breath. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said.


    Lias blinked. ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said, letting a hard edge creep into my words. ¡°This isn¡¯t the Karledale. This isn¡¯t one kingdom, Li, it¡¯s all of them. You and I might have used fear and force to cow the nobles back in the south, but Rose is trying to build something with the Accord.¡±


    The faces of my queen¡¯s young sons flashed through my mind, and strengthened my resolve. ¡°We did things a certain way when we were young, and we had good reasons, but Rosanna can¡¯t be a tyrant here. She¡¯s trying to build peace, to bring the lords together. I¡¯ve seen that well enough these past weeks.¡±


    Lias¡¯s expression had turned sour, but he didn¡¯t interrupt.


    I confirmed Emma was alive and unscathed, then spent a good half hour convincing her not to murder the wizard. It took some doing, but I got her to calm down eventually. Even still, I left her to stand watch while I spoke to Kieran. Something told me I would need as much calm in the room as possible for that conversation.


    Emma had retrieved my axe ¡ª she truly could be a blessing ¡ª and I sheathed it beneath my cloak as I went to my next meeting. Lias had placed Kieran into a small room, with a single chair and few other commodities. Undead as he was, the boy hadn¡¯t needed anything like food or a chamberpot.


    I opened the door and caught him mid-pace. He¡¯d cleaned up, as best he could ¡ª Lias had provided him clean clothes, and even tended to some of his injuries.


    The former dye maker¡¯s apprentice still looked like the sort of carcass you wouldn¡¯t even bother tossing on a cart. He¡¯d lost an entire arm since I¡¯d last seen him, cinching his shirt like an amputee, and I could make out perforations and cavernous gaps in his flesh showing hollow spaces where organs had once been. He stared at me with one empty socket and one ice-blue eye.


    Worse, the subtle effect of phantasm had grown more pronounced around some of his worst injuries ¡ª his od had grown more solid, fixing itself more firmly to the ruined body. A bad sign.


    ¡°You!¡± Kieran pressed himself against the far wall, going on guard.


    I stepped inside the room, leaving the door open at my back. Kieran noted that with a glance. I watched the confusion form on his pallid features, the distrust.


    The room had a sharp chill, probably to help stall the dyghoul¡¯s decay. It did little for the smell. A window sat high on one wall, letting in a beam of daylight. I studied it a moment, and felt certain after a brief inspection ¡ª false. Some magic of the arcane sanctum.


    ¡°I told you,¡± I said, turning my gaze to the apprentice, ¡°to wait for me last night.¡±


    Kieran set his face into a determined mask. I took it as a good sign, that he still bothered with human expressions. ¡°I couldn¡¯t stay near Laessa,¡± he said. ¡°I put her at risk.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°A worthy thought, if I could believe it. She told you to run, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    Kieran started. ¡°No, she¡ª¡±


    ¡°Boy,¡± I said, hardening my voice. ¡°I found you in a private place only you and she were familiar with. I don¡¯t think you¡¯d have gone to the island graveyard if the two of you hadn¡¯t agreed to meet up.¡±


    His ghoulish face couldn¡¯t get any paler, but I saw the horror dawn on it. ¡°If you¡¯ve hurt her...¡± He began.


    ¡°She¡¯s safe, and well. Much safer than you are.¡± I stepped further into the room, clearing the doorway so I didn¡¯t stand between him and it. If he tried to run, he wouldn¡¯t get far in Lias¡¯s own playground. Still, the message needed to be clear ¡ª I meant him no harm.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked me, focusing his attention on me instead of the route of escape.


    Unlike Lady Laessa, Kieran was no noble. He had no ties to the aristocracy or a direct line to Rosanna¡¯s faction. I didn¡¯t feel any need to give him crumbs. ¡°I¡¯ve been contracted to hunt down a dark spirit hiding in this city,¡± I said. ¡°One you¡¯ve been in direct contact with. You know what I¡¯m talking about, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Kieran fell quiet at that, slumping against the wall. After a moment of thought he said, ¡°Are you with the Church? An... Exorcist?¡±


    Close enough to the mark. ¡°Who I work for isn¡¯t any of your concern,¡± I said. ¡°All you need to know is that I know some very important people, and they¡¯re keeping Laessa Greengood safe. Safer than you did by going to her home last night.¡±


    Kieran flinched. ¡°I was... Confused.¡±


    ¡°You understand your condition?¡± I asked him. I¡¯d made a point of getting it through to him the previous night, but the memories of the dead could be spotty. I needed to be sure.


    ¡°I died,¡± Kieran said. ¡°And... I came back.¡±


    ¡°You got trapped in your own corpse,¡± I told him, easing some of the harshness out of my tone. ¡°It can happen, especially in certain places. You fell into a drainage canal, got washed into a sewer.¡±


    Kieran grimaced. Hugging his own arms and pacing to one corner he said, ¡°I remember that. I... I jumped.¡±


    ¡°This thing, this demon, it was in your head. Don¡¯t beat yourself up about it, kid. As these things go, you got lucky.¡±


    ¡°Lucky,¡± Kieran scoffed. He turned to me, his one-eyed stare becoming appraising. ¡°You look like a warrior more than a priest. You¡¯re going to kill this thing?¡±


    ¡°I would very much like to,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Right now, you¡¯re one of my only leads. It¡¯s gone to ground, and hidden itself very well. All I know is that it likes to make its presence known to creatives, like you. Through your paintings, right?¡±


    Kieran let out a breath that misted blue in the dimly lit room. ¡°I thought I was going mad. I kept seeing things in my dreams, and while awake... I couldn¡¯t stop myself from putting them on canvas. I¡¯d always been cautious about how much I stole, but I just couldn¡¯t help myself.¡±


    ¡°Why steal your materials?¡± I asked, curious.


    ¡°I was poor,¡± Kieran said bluntly. ¡°I wanted to become famous, find a patron. I thought...¡± He let out another breath, muttering something that sounded like admonishment.


    ¡°You thought if you became well known enough,¡± I finished for him, ¡°you could lift yourself out of the commons. Marry the girl you loved.¡±


    Kieran looked at me, set his jaw, and nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    In the rush of trying to get him away from the priorguard and track him down after, I hadn¡¯t let myself feel sorry for this tragic youth. I did, then.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I told him, because there wasn¡¯t anything else to say.


    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen now?¡± Kieran asked me, looking for all the world like a scared young man despite his macabre wounds.


    ¡°For now, I¡¯m going to see if there¡¯s anything the magus who dragged you here can do to make things more comfortable for you. Then I¡¯m going to ask you some questions. Some of them might be hard to answer. I want to know when you started having your visions, where you were, what you were doing, who you were talking to. It might be hard to remember, but we have ways to help with that.¡±


    Kieran nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll answer as best I can. And... After that?¡±


    A difficult question. I exhaled slowly, feeling very tired.


    ¡°I can¡¯t make you alive again. Dead is dead. It¡¯s going to be up to you, kid. We could give you a good burial, put you to rest. I can make sure your soul gets to Draubard safely, get a cleric to do the proper rites. I know one, and she¡¯d help.¡±


    Kieran nodded, surprising me with how calmly he took it. ¡°Is that the only option?¡±


    ¡°Probably the best one,¡± I admitted. ¡°Lias is a magus. He might be able to make use of a willing shade as an assistant, if you want to linger a while. It¡¯s only putting off the inevitable, though.¡±


    The young painter closed his eyes and bowed his head, his expression pained. ¡°Let me...¡± He visibly steeled himself. ¡°Let me think on it? And I¡¯ll try to remember how all this started, so I can help you.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll give you an hour.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t enough time for the boy to grieve, and to come to terms with his fate, but I couldn¡¯t spare anything more.

 Arc 4: Chapter 8: Auspice

    Arc 4: Chapter 8: Auspice


    While I gave Kieran time to reflect on what I¡¯d said and prepare himself to answer my questions, I brought Lias up to speed on recent events. In particular, I told him about the Woed I¡¯d slain beneath Rose Malin, of my encounter with the demon Yith, and of the storm ogre who¡¯d fallen into Garihelm¡¯s streets the previous night.


    ¡°You know there was a time when such attacks were common?¡± Lias said musingly, sipping at a steaming cup of tea. He''d known about the attack on the city, though I''d provided him more first-hand details. ¡°My auguries have detected many spirits lurking on the subcontinent¡¯s borders of late, especially in the north. I haven¡¯t investigated the Fences, or been to the south in years... Even still, this is quite the escalation.¡±


    We sat in his study, in a space mostly clear of clutter. I had a cup of hot tea in my hands as well, though I just stared at it, my mind elsewhere. We sat on two comfortable chairs near a lit hearth along one corner of the large room. The wizard had one slim leg crossed over the other, and he¡¯d done somewhat to clean himself up, brushing his hair and shaving. He still looked haggard, but no longer quite like the madman in the tower.


    ¡°Do you think it has to do with the Riven Order being broken?¡± I asked him.


    He cast me a put upon look. I help up one hand. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to guilt you,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s an honest question.¡±


    The magus blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Maybe. I did investigate the potential consequences of the divide between east and west, and what might happen if it were mended. It¡¯s not like we¡¯ve been completely isolated, you know. Things get through all the time. Travelers, traders, spirits, monsters... There have even been invasions. Raids. Piracy has been common throughout our land¡¯s history. Think of the Crusades!" He lifted his cup. "Do you think our territorial aggressions in that time only had an effect one way?"


    Territorial aggressions. I frowned at his words. He made it sound like something base. "Our ancestors fought those wars to reclaim lands lost to the Cambion."


    Lias only stared at me, his expression neutral.


    ¡°This is the first time the nominal leader of our nations has opened the door,¡± I said, changing the subject. ¡°It changed something. It let the Zosite return.¡±


    Lias¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And what do you know of the Zosite?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I learned about them in Seydis. Mostly from...¡±


    Lias waited patiently at my pause. I sighed.


    ¡°From Fidei,¡± I admitted. ¡°And from other clericons, but... Mostly her. She tutored me as part of my education with the Table. It was one of the Cenocaste''s roles. They wanted me to know more about the evils I might be set against.¡±


    The irony of that wasn¡¯t lost on me.


    ¡°Evils,¡± Lias scoffed. ¡°Do you still believe in such a thing?¡± He waved a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t answer that. I forget sometimes you are still a paladin.¡±


    ¡°Barely,¡± I muttered. ¡°And... I do. Still believe in it, I mean. I¡¯ve seen it.¡±


    Lias didn¡¯t answer, and for a time only the crackling fire broke the silence.


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s true?¡± I asked after a while. ¡°That Reynard might still be alive?¡±


    Lias considered the question and sipped his tea again. ¡°I have spent resources trying to answer that very question for years now,¡± The magus said, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Ever since he went missing before the war ended. In truth, I never believed him gone. He was the strongest of us, Alken. We were all afraid of him.¡±


    I¡¯d never heard Lias admit to fear so readily before. ¡°Could he be behind this?¡± I asked. ¡°Yith implied that he¡¯s one of Reynard¡¯s minions, but demons lie.¡±


    ¡°Hard to say,¡± Lias murmured into his cup, his pale eye unfocused. ¡°I did some more research on Yith Golonac after we found his name on that scroll. He¡¯s not the mightiest Abyssal by any stretch, but he¡¯s old and cunning. I guess you could say he¡¯s one of the more sane ones. I doubt he let this information slip by accident. Don¡¯t trust it, but don¡¯t disregard it either. I will see what I can find.¡±


    ¡°What if he¡¯s the mind behind this council I¡¯ve been hunting?¡± I asked. ¡°Lias, we might have stumbled on something very dangerous.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not impossible,¡± the wizard agreed. ¡°But remember, Reynard was only allied to the Recusant Lords by convenience. He had one goal, which was the destruction of the Seydii elves and the death of their monarch, ostensibly to undo the seals they protected. If he¡¯d thrown in with them fully, we may very well have lost that war.¡±


    Lias leaned forward and spoke in a low, exacting tone. ¡°Reynard is a wild card. We cannot predict where he may turn up, or what he intends.¡±


    A disturbing thought. Almost more so than the idea he was behind everything.


    Lias threw me a sour look and added, ¡°I suppose you told Rosanna all of this?¡±


    ¡°I had no idea you¡¯d been banished, or that you and she weren¡¯t speaking.¡± I glared at him, making certain my feelings on the matter were clear. ¡°I did. She knows you¡¯re in the city, too.¡±


    Lias sighed. ¡°Wonderful.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you get for keeping your secrets,¡± I told him curtly. ¡°And don¡¯t give me any of that waste about them being like currency for wizards, I needed to know these things.¡±


    ¡°...Perhaps,¡± Lias admitted, without looking at me.


    ¡°You should talk to Rose,¡± I told him, relentless.


    He shook his head. ¡°Maybe I will. When all of this is done.¡±


    I didn¡¯t press him. A few minutes later, the opening of a door along one wall of the study drew our attention. Emma stepped inside with Kieran in tow. She had an oddly somber look on her face, and I suspected they¡¯d been talking. Kieran saw me, and his ruined face set into a determined mask.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he said.


    I stood and put my tea down, then beckoned to him.


    ¡°What do you intend to do?¡± Lias asked, having also stood.


    ¡°Talk to him at first. Compulsion, if I need to.¡± I winced even as I said it. ¡°I doubt he has a very clear memory, but my blessings help me demand answers from fey spirits and the dead. It won¡¯t be pleasant for him, but he¡¯s agreed to it.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this the sort of thing you didn¡¯t want me doing?¡± Lias murmured, lifting a thin eyebrow.


    ¡°My method is cleaner,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, I made a promise to a girl. This is my responsibility.¡±


    ¡°There will be great pain,¡± Kieran said. His voice had become strange, hollow. ¡°Such terrible pain.¡±


    ¡°What did he look like?¡± I asked him. ¡°This man?¡±


    ¡°He...¡± Kieran squirmed in his seat, and shivered. He bared his broken teeth at me. ¡°He... He was... He is... He, he, he, he, he! Ah, it burns! Please, no more! The light, it¡¯s too bright! Too bright!¡±


    Damn it. I was losing him. His mouth had fallen open, his eye wide and reflecting the aura pouring out of my own, like a pool of golden water. But it was the empty socket of his left eye which drew my gaze. I thought it my imagination at first, or some trick of the half-visible od clinging to him, but I swore I¡¯d caught movement within that cavity.


    I looked closer. And I saw¡ª


    No. No.


    ¡°Alken! Get away from him!¡±


    I blinked. Kieran had begun to shake from head to toe, quivering and twitching as though he were having a fit. His remaining eye rolled up into his skull, showing only white, and his open mouth hung agape, revealing the cavern of his tongueless mouth.


    There were crawling shapes inside of him. Many-legged, scuttling, deeply red. They were in his throat, in the empty socket of his missing eye.


    Beetles. One of them scuttled into view, and I could make out a pattern resembling a wrinkled face on its shell. Then the eyes on the face blinked at me, and I knew it wasn¡¯t a pattern.


    I stood. My chair clattered to the floor. The scars on my face had begun to itch, the discomfort quickly evolving into a hot pain. Someone, Emma I think, said something I didn¡¯t catch. An oath, maybe. Lias yelled at me, telling me to move. The fire in the hearth had dimmed and turned a sickly color, pale, its heat dying to leave the room in a deep chill.


    Kieran spasmed and twitched on his chair. His skin bulged, his wounds widening, revealing more beetles. His mouth continued to open wider, and wider, a silent scream slowly consuming his features. Something cracked, and his lower jaw fell loose. From the crawling darkness of black and red inside his throat, something stared out at me and giggled. In an eerie, shivering voice, it spoke.


    Naughty.


    This one is mine, paladin.


    ¡°Yith.¡± I bared my teeth. ¡°Let him go!¡±


    There is nothing left!


    I told you.


    I crawl in the hollow places.


    I drew my axe in one swift motion, clearing it from the tail of my coat. Amber flame burst from the crescent blade.


    Will you destroy this empty shell?


    You should.


    Oh, how he suffers.


    ¡°Alken, get clear!¡±


    Lias. I felt a shiver of power in the air ¡ª the wizard had begun to weave an Art.


    Kieran¡¯s head swung toward the magus on a twisted neck. He shivered, and the demon¡¯s voice let out a hissing laugh. A cold spike of fear lanced through me. The sudden thrill of triumph I felt in the creature¡¯s attention...


    I¡¯d forced it to reveal itself earlier than it had intended, but it didn¡¯t care about me.


    It wanted to kill Lias.


    I turned, starting to shout a warning. Lias had his staff outstretched, the nail driven through its head seemed very bright, no longer dull iron but shining steel. His other hand swept out to one side. A shape formed behind him ¡ª a small, bright moon of pale fire, with Lias at the center, almost eclipsing it. Everything else turned black as a starless night, so for a moment the magus seemed to be a celestial form hanging alone in a great void.


    He had become so very powerful. I could count the number of times I¡¯d seen such a potent phantasm on one hand.


    He never got to finish his Art. Kieran¡¯s neck bulged out, toad-like, and he spat a globule of blood at the wizard. It shot across the room like an arrow, clearing fifteen feet in a flash, striking Lias in the face. He fell, his power broke, the moon and void vanishing with an effect like breaking glass to reveal the cluttered study again.


    Yith literally shook with laughter, the sound like a thousand chittering insects. Then he turned to me. From within Kieran¡¯s broken, gaping maw, a many-faceted eye like a fly¡¯s stared at me.


    At last!


    I have done it!


    I have felled the silver whore¡¯s dog!


    Kieran¡¯s broken body began to caper. I lunged, slashing at him with my axe, but the corpse danced out of the way with preternatural speed, the demon cackling. It backflipped, nimble as a jester, and landed in a crouch on one of the tables. The crystalline insect eye stared at me from within the dead face¡¯s open jaws, sickly green and alien.


    The golden flame in me broiled with righteous fury, the Alder ghosts howling for retribution. Burner! They cried. Defiler! Unclean thing! Send it back into the Dark!


    Their zealous wrath more than matched my own. This wasn¡¯t just a shadow, like in Castle Cael or the dungeons of the priorguard. The demon, Yith Golonac, stood before me.


    It had been hiding inside Kieran''s corpse the entire time.

 Arc 4: Chapter 9: The Demon, Yith

    Arc 4: Chapter 9: The Demon, Yith


    The broken corpse, and the monster hiding inside of it, watched me from its perch on the table. Within the gloom of the study, surrounded by stacks of tomes and research papers and other arcane equipment, it looked like some foul thing called up as part of an occult experiment. The multi-faceted eye within Kieran¡¯s broken jaws glowed like a putrid coal.


    I wanted to check on Lias, see if he lived, but I couldn¡¯t risk taking my eyes off the immediate threat. I heard movement off to the side. Emma.


    ¡°Keep back!¡± I barked, and heard her stop. Just like Lisette, Emma had no experience fighting abyssals.


    Yith quivered with laughter.


    Both of the Silver Queen¡¯s pets...


    And the scion of Astraea Carreon!


    The demon¡¯s host spread its arms out wide in jubilation.


    I am truly blessed!


    How did it know Emma¡¯s identity? I caught sight of her in my peripheral vision, seeing the shock on her face.


    Had it smelled her bloodline? Or had it been spying on us?


    I blew out an amber-misted breath, stood straight, and brought Faen Orgis up into a salute. I whispered into its blade, and the flickering golden flames wreathing it condensed, sinking into the alloy and causing the patterns in the metal to glow. The light spread up my arm. My skin took on a metallic tint.


    Yith¡¯s gaze focused on me. Kieran¡¯s corpse shuddered, his neck bulging again. I prepared to dodge, expecting another spray of blood.


    But he didn¡¯t spit at me. Instead, even more gruesomely, he vomited onto the floor. A gush of boiling blood and skittering red beetles with wrinkled faces on their shells cascaded over the floor, quickly spreading. Within moments, hundreds of crawling shapes swarmed toward me.


    Worse, part of the swarm broke away to crawl toward Emma.


    I dashed forward in a blur of amber light. I swept my axe back, jumped over the swarming beetles, and swung down in a furious assault as I closed on the possessed corpse. Yith watched me the entire time, the insect eye impassive, poor Kieran¡¯s own features stretched and hollow, unseeing.


    At the last instant, the demon threw itself back. My axe split the table it had been perched on down the middle in an explosion of splintered wood. I rolled into the swing, my momentum carrying me forward, and I hit the ground with a jarring impact. I halted my roll in a crouch, one knee braced, immediately looking for my target.


    I heard the demon¡¯s laughter, drawing my eyes upward. The twisted body crawled over the ceiling, moving with the unsettlingly mechanical speed of a huge spider.


    I started moving, but a flash of pain in my leg drew my attention downward. The beetles swarmed around my boots, crawling up onto my calf, getting under the leg of my pants. Biting.


    A primal instinct, one every human feels, compelled me to start stomping and screaming in horror, to panic. I pushed that gibbering madness down with an effort of will, forced calm over myself, and drew strength from my inner core of power. I scoured my own body with aureflame, sending the golden light rippling down my limbs. The tinge of metallic gold that¡¯d touched my skin grew more pronounced, granting it a reflective tint.


    The fiendish beetles scattered from the burst of blessed fire. The ones attached to me burned and died. The fire singed me, the pain even worse than the biting insects, but I''d rather be scorched by the Alder Table''s unstable flames than eaten alive.


    Once, that fire wouldn''t have harmed me at all. It was still very angry.


    Oh, you are truly blessed.


    Yith coiled in the shadows above, a concentration of bile and hate in the room. Its undulating voice sang out in eerie cadences.


    Not her, though.


    The gods do not love her at all.


    My eyes shot to Emma. She¡¯d leapt up onto a table, trying to get away from the crawling flood of red beetles. She''d drawn her sword, and blood dripped from one outstretched hand.


    But her Art wouldn¡¯t stem that tide. I cursed. Yith buzzed with laughter.


    Slay me or save her!


    Choose, paladin!


    Choices. Instead of making one, I felt my own malicious little smile form.


    Emma¡¯s brow furrowed in concentration, but she did not panic. Instead, she swept her long, narrow-bladed sword up into a fencer¡¯s salute, the chipped tip of the gently curved blade aiming toward the ceiling. She ran her left palm across the steel, smearing her own blood across it, and the blade began to take on a scarlet glow.


    As the beetles scurried up the legs of the table and reached its surface, Emma began to swipe low with her sword. She moved with a speed and finesse I could never have matched, her weapon flitting through the air like an angry steel wasp, blurring with speed. She kept her off hand crooked into the small of her back. With every pass the crawling demon bugs boiled, shriveled, and died.


    Not an Art, but the same boiling magic Emma used to conjure her clan¡¯s phantasmal pikes could be put to other, less dramatic uses. She¡¯d mimicked the way I wielded my aureflame for this particular technique, and it proved devilishly effective.


    I hadn¡¯t taught her that, not directly. She¡¯d learned how to do it from observing me, and experimenting with her own powers.


    When the beetles swarmed together, their numbers outpacing Emma¡¯s cuts, she deftly leapt to another long work desk. She turned, swept the burning blade out, and caught several of the large beetles as they split their shells and took flight to chase her. She continued to do this, using the room¡¯s various obstacles to get distance whenever the swarm grew too dense. Her sword never stopped moving, and neither did her feet ¡ª she danced, and the fiend-beetles died.


    Emma Orley was no damsel in need of saving.


    Yith chittered in rage, seeing the same thing I had. Kieran¡¯s body tensed on the ceiling where it clung to the rafters, preparing to leap.


    I didn¡¯t give him the chance. I brought my axe back. The light around it intensified. The blade, dramatically curved into a hooked shape, flashed in a sudden burst of luminescence. In an instant, the faerie blade grew larger. Not the handle, as happened when the malison oak drank blood, but a phantasm of pale gold which encased the physical blade.


    I lunged forward, intercepting his leap. I swung, and that golden crescent moon caught Yith and sank into one shoulder, passing through with no resistance. It cut through him, slicing the body from shoulder to waist.


    The phantasmal blade scattered into petals of gilt glass which quickly vanished. The room turned dark again.


    The two halves of the demon-possessed corpse fell to the floor with heavy thuds. I landed a moment later, sliding across the floor for several feet. I released an amber misted breath and began to approach the fallen corpse, my senses keyed for any tricks. I held my blade low to one side, prepared to swing. I could still hear beetles scuttling throughout the study, but none dared approach me while I burned with aureflame.


    That flame will turn on you.


    It already burns you.


    Are you not so blessed, after all?


    I reacted on instinct, feeling the attack nearly the same instant it came. The upper half of the corpse suddenly shot upward, propping itself on one arm and then launching itself at me. I caught a flash of complex movement, the shape of something sharp, and turned into a swing.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Soon the smoke cleared, revealing the devastated room. Books and work tables lay scattered everywhere, some broken or burned, and lab equipment had been smashed as well. A chemical scent hung in the air. I tracked it to an array of glassware and copper wires which had caught fire, the flames tinted odd colors.


    Lias stood in the midst of it all, staff raised. More war dolls had arrayed around him like bodyguards. His one eye tracked the thinning smoke a moment, then he shook his head.


    ¡°Gone. He¡¯s hurt, but he got away. His little minions are everywhere. He¡¯s probably hidden himself among them, and this sanctum has too many holes... It was meant so I could hide and move about, not trap anything.¡± He ground his teeth and spat out a curse. ¡°Damn it all!¡±


    A red beetle scurried past my feet. I stamped a boot down on it, crushing it flat. ¡°Shit!¡± I snarled, fists tight on my axe.


    I heard a groan. My eyes found Emma lying on the floor, holding her head. I went to her in an instant, dropping to one knee to check her injuries. Yith had scored her with a claw. Had he maimed her? Cut something vital?


    She had bites on her arms and legs, and a nasty welt on her head from where she¡¯d struck it falling, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Yith¡¯s claw had struck Caim¡¯s armor, probably bruising her but failing to open flesh. She waved me off when I tried to help her up.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± She said, wincing and holding a hand to her head. ¡°Where¡¯s my sword? It isn¡¯t damaged, is it?¡±


    Worried about her pretty blade now of all times. I nodded to where it had fallen, and she scooped it up.


    We all stood a while, waiting, but the silence came like the thunder after lightning. The monster had fled.


    ¡°You hurt it very badly,¡± Lias said to me. ¡°Almost mortally. I doubt it will recover any time soon, or act so brazenly again.¡±


    I slammed a fist into a table, causing it to jump. ¡°I could have ended this!¡± I seethed. ¡°Fuck!¡±


    Emma stared at Lias. ¡°I saw you die,¡± she said. ¡°That blood... It melted your flesh down to the skull.¡±


    She must have seen more of Yith¡¯s attack at the beginning of the struggle than I had. I¡¯d only seen Lias fall.


    ¡°Art can be very flashy,¡± Lias said with a savage grin, flashing his teeth. ¡°He never struck me, only my phantasm.¡±


    Emma considered that, and nodded in appreciation.


    ¡°Yith is not the mastermind here,¡± Lias turned his attention to me. ¡°This is a victory! Likely, it had intended to use the boy to get into the castle once you¡¯d retrieved him. You maimed it instead.¡±


    That douse of ice water brought me out of my rage. I turned to Lias. ¡°The Emperor?¡±


    Lias nodded. ¡°That is my thought. The Emperor, Rosanna, any number of dignitaries here for the meeting of the Azure Round. Or, if the Inquisition had taken him, he could have gotten a shot at the Grand Prior. This seemed opportunistic to me, rather than planned. Kieran was a wild card.¡±


    ¡°Kieran...¡± I blinked, and my shoulders slumped.


    ¡°Over there,¡± Emma said, her voice subdued. She pointed to a spot amid the wrecked lab equipment.


    I approached the spot and found what remained of the young painter on the floor. The body had been destroyed when Yith had emerged from it, but the nearly tangible spirit which had clung to the corpse remained. It lay on the ground, barely a few curls of wispy blue light resembling moonlit mist. I could make out a human skull, some hair, a single pale eye.


    The demon had eaten him. Most of him, anyway. What remained wouldn¡¯t hold itself together long.


    The dead boy looked up at me. ¡°I...¡±


    I could barely hear the voice. I knelt over him to hear better.


    ¡°I... Didn¡¯t... Want...¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I said softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t save you.¡±


    ¡°Lae... Please, don¡¯t... Your¡ª¡±


    I strained to hear, but the voice became an inaudible murmur. The features faded away, leaving only wisps unrecognizable as a person. I glanced back at Lias, silently pleading. He only shook his head, leaning on his staff.


    ¡°There¡¯s not enough of him,¡± the wizard said. ¡°Nothing I can do. Not even enough for him to make the journey to Draubard. These are just scraps. Memories of will. The boy is gone.¡±


    Even still, I drew as close as I could to hear what the shade said next.


    ¡°Why...¡± Kieran¡¯s shade murmured. He sounded lost. Confused. ¡°We could have been... You and me... I loved you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell her,¡± I said. My throat felt tight.


    ¡°No...¡±


    I couldn¡¯t tell if he¡¯d responded to me, or even knew I was there.


    ¡°Help...¡±


    I lifted a hand and reached out toward the dregs of that soul. I hadn¡¯t been able to heal flesh since Elfhome had burned, but could I still heal a spirit? Ease its pain? Give it a light to guide it, at the very least.


    I¡¯d sworn to be a light in the darkness, a guide, a protector.


    I tried. I focused on my oaths, trying to draw from the well of power which let me inflict violence so easily and dramatically. I could still wield sacred fire, so why couldn¡¯t I do this?


    What was the point if I couldn¡¯t do this?


    I touched the mist. There came a brief flicker of golden flame, and Kieran scattered away.


    ¡°Hurts... Hurts, hurts, hurts, it hurts...¡±


    ¡°Lae.¡±


    Then he was gone.


    I hadn¡¯t saved him.

 Arc 4: Chapter 10: Hollow

    Arc 4: Chapter 10: Hollow


    I don¡¯t know how long I knelt there on the floor, staring at the empty patch of wood where the boy I¡¯d failed so badly had experienced his last, terrible moments. I heard the floorboards creak behind me after some time.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Emma¡¯s voice. She spoke hesitantly.


    I stood and turned. My squire looked up at me, and when she saw my face her own fell. She reached out and grabbed my arm.


    ¡°You fought as hard as you could,¡± she told me. ¡°This was that thing, not you.¡±


    She was right. And wrong. If I¡¯d slain Yith Golonac in Caelfall, none of this would have happened. Dozens would have been spared. If I¡¯d stopped the traitor knights eleven years ago, countless thousands would still be alive.


    If I¡¯d listened to Fidei...


    No. That way lay madness. Yith was her kinsman. In any case, I''d gone far past avoiding blame.


    I said none of that. Instead, hearing myself as though at a distance I said, ¡°I promised Laessa I¡¯d save him.¡±


    ¡°You spared him further pain,¡± Lias said from nearby. ¡°He was lost to us the moment Yith infested his corpse, which happened many nights ago.¡±


    I felt the pain, the self-loathing, the rage. I pushed it all down.


    ¡°You will find it,¡± I told Lias. Not a question.


    Lias stared at me a long moment, then nodded. ¡°I will.¡±


    I took a deep breath. ¡°And you will speak with Rosanna.¡±


    Lias scoffed. ¡°She will have me thrown into a dungeon!¡±


    ¡°She may,¡± I agreed, glaring. ¡°You will speak with her, and accept her judgment. And you will ward the palace against that thing. You brought me into this, Li. Time to be part of it yourself.¡±


    Lias winced as I met his eyes, averting his gaze. ¡°I will ward the palace. And..." He spat out a curse, his expression darkening with frustration. "I will speak with Rose after the summit.¡±


    I nodded, accepting the compromise. Lias had never bended easily. ¡°I will hold you to it.¡±


    No more of everyone acting the rogue. We would pull together, or Garihelm would turn into another Elfgrave.


    I would not allow it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said to Emma, turning to the exit.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Lias said. I turned and caught the magus dismissing his minions, sending them from utter stillness into a flurry of movement as they skittered into the corners of the room. Some had been destroyed, and most damaged, torn or scorched by abyssal fire.


    Lias walked to one of the ruined tables, knelt, and picked up something off the ground. He approached me and handed it over.


    ¡°This is everything I¡¯ve managed to compile over the last eight years. I started near the end of the war, and collected scraps where I could.¡± He shrugged, not meeting my eyes.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, taking the book and frowning. It was a small thing, innocuous, with a cover of black leather and a soft spine. A journal more than a tome.


    Lias watched me a moment, not quite meeting my eyes. I sensed his hesitation, especially in the way his hand lingered on the book, holding it between us.


    ¡°Answers, maybe.¡± His one eye went to the left side of my face, fixing on the long lines of scar there. I understood, and almost dropped the book as though it were covered in spiders.


    ¡°Best to arm yourself with knowledge,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s the way of the Magi... And of the Alder Knight.¡±


    He let go of the book. I didn¡¯t drop it. Emma only frowned at us, confused.


    ¡°I need to get the place cleaned up,¡± Lias said. ¡°Make sure Yith didn¡¯t leave any nasty surprises behind when he fled. It would be like him, to hide bits of himself in the walls." He frowned at the mess of his study, idly clicking his tongue before continuing. "Come back and speak with me in a few days. In the meantime, I¡¯ll look into Anselm of Ruon.¡±


    I nodded. The enigmatic artist was our next best lead. I didn¡¯t know how he connected to all of this, but I had a strong suspicion he did.


    I sensed there was more. Lias continued to hesitate, on the verge of speaking. Then, sighing and shaking his head with a small smile, he nodded to the door. ¡°That passage will take you out near the palace. I am glad we didn¡¯t kill one another.¡±


    ¡°I as well,¡± I said, my voice rough. ¡°See you around, Li.¡±


    The thin man turned and walked into the depths of his ruined study, the shadows seeming to swallow him. I felt like he still hid something from me, but wizards would have their secrets.


    We returned to the Queen-Consort¡¯s bastion barely a few hours before nightfall. After being admitted and waiting a time, one of the older men-at-arms brought me to Rosanna¡¯s study. Ser Kaia stood guard outside, and gave me a distant nod which I returned.


    When I walked in, I found the Empress sitting by a lit hearth. In the upper reaches of the great fortress, a chill persisted year round. My queen sat on a high backed chair, almost a throne, and her youngest son sat at her feet. His eyes went to me as I walked inside.


    Darsus Silvering looked so much like his mother as to be uncanny in resemblance. I placed him near five years old, and he had Rosanna¡¯s raven black hair, her gemstone green eyes. He was darker of complexion, hinting at his father¡¯s blood, but I couldn¡¯t help but see her in the narrow lines of his face, his small mouth and intelligent eyes.


    They weren¡¯t a young child¡¯s eyes. They seemed very aware, intent with hidden thought. I¡¯d seen such before. The higher nobility cultivated strong aura, and even at a young age the wills and thoughts of their ancestors could linger in their spirit. It usually gave them access to powerful Art, if they chose to awaken it. More commonly, it meant they matured in mind faster than body.


    Emma had probably been just as eerily aware at that age. A disturbing thought.


    I didn¡¯t see Darsus¡¯s older brother, the Forger heir. They¡¯d taken on different surnames to ensure the survival of both great houses. I imagined Malcolm spent more time with his father as a result.


    Darsus leapt up, much more like a child in that motion, and hid behind his mother¡¯s skirts.


    I dipped my head gravely to them. ¡°Your Grace. Young lord.¡±


    Rosanna hid a smile in a turn of her head. ¡°Time for bed, Darsus. It is getting late.¡±


    ¡°Did he suffer?¡± She asked, her voice surprisingly calm.


    I started, surprised. ¡°How did¡ª¡±


    Her tired eyes, red from crying, drifted to me without truly seeming to see me. ¡°I knew where this would end, Ser Alken. He was dead before he came to my room last night.¡±


    Had that really only been last night? I hadn¡¯t slept since, and yet it felt like a very long time.


    I considered lying, and couldn¡¯t bring myself to. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Laessa closed her eyes. ¡°Is he still suffering?¡±


    I bowed my head. ¡°I do not think so.¡± Then, with too much haste I added, ¡°I hurt the thing that killed him. I will destroy it.¡±


    A pointless boast. It wouldn¡¯t do anything to ease the girl¡¯s pain.


    The young noble¡¯s lips pressed together, not quite quickly enough to hide a tremble. ¡°This is my fault.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°There wasn¡¯t anything you¡ª¡±


    ¡°It,¡± Laessa cut me off, ¡°is my fault.¡±


    I took that in a moment before speaking. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    She drew in a shuddering breath. Her shoulders had hunched, and the hands she poised on her lap were clasped very tightly. ¡°He killed himself because of me, not because of this monster.¡±


    ¡°Laessa...¡± I shook my head again, exasperated despite Rosanna¡¯s warning. ¡°My lady, this is not something you can blame yourself for. It¡¯s my fault. I failed you both. I swore to bring him back to you.¡±


    ¡°There wasn¡¯t anything to bring back!¡± She let out a choked sob. ¡°I ended things between us before he died.¡±


    I frowned, but didn¡¯t interrupt.


    ¡°I knew it wouldn¡¯t work,¡± Laessa said, bowing her head. She had started to cry, silently, her dark eyes glinting with tears. ¡°Us. He worked so hard to make himself... Worthy. He wanted to become famous, enough to marry me. He called me his muse.¡±


    She let out a muted laughed and wiped some of her tears away. ¡°He dedicated so much of himself to me, but it never mattered. My family would never have allowed it. I will marry a lord, and my children will be of the Blood. I have a responsibility to my family, a duty. I told him all of this.¡±


    Her voice turned hollow. ¡°I told him he could paint a thousand masterworks, and it would not change anything. I told him that I never wanted to see him again.¡±


    She met my eyes. Her own seemed very empty. ¡°I killed him. I broke his heart, and your monster crawled into the hole I left. It is my fault.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to say. Outside, the sun set. When the girl began to weep in earnest, I left her to her grief in that darkening room.


    When I exited the room, I found Emma waiting in the hall outside. She leaned against a pilaster, her arms folded. She¡¯d changed her shirt since the fight with Yith, and I could make out the hint of bandages at her neck.


    I jerked my head down the hall and we began to walk. We went a ways in silence. A few guards the Empress had posted nodded to me, some murmuring ¡°Headsman¡± in greeting.


    Strange. They didn¡¯t mean it as my formal title, the Headsman of Seydis. They still saw me as Rosanna¡¯s Headsman, the First Sword of Karles. The older men-at-arms still remembered me. It gave me mixed feelings.


    Emma broke our silence three hallways on. ¡°She is a fool.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    I realized, when I glanced at her, that Emma¡¯s face had gone pale with rage.


    ¡°What is power if you let it be a cage?¡± She said, almost seething. ¡°She could have married that boy and been happy. He could have found wealth and influence regardless of his birth. If she did not love him, then she should have accepted that and not made pretty excuses.¡±


    She came to a sudden halt. I walked several more feet before turning. Emma clenched her hands into fists, glaring at some point past me. After a moment, she met my eyes.


    ¡°It is her fault he¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°Kieran had his own agency,¡± I said. ¡°He could have realized their situation himself, rather than getting caught up in a fantasy. Laessa sacrificed love for duty. There is honor in that.¡±


    ¡°Honor,¡± Emma scoffed. ¡°She dishonored Kieran by treating him like a toy. Now she has the gall to weep and take the burden of his death on herself after discarding him?" Her lips curled into a sneer. "It makes me sick.¡±


    I felt sick too, though not quite for the same reasons.


    Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, it hurts¡ª


    Kieran''s final words wouldn''t stop circling my thoughts.


    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± Emma asked after she¡¯d matched my pace. ¡°Hunt down Yith?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll have gone to ground,¡± I said. ¡°And he won¡¯t be a threat in his state, not for a while. Lias is investigating this artist Kieran mentioned, Anselm of Ruon. It will take some time before he has anything for me.¡±


    Emma frowned. ¡°What¡¯s next then?¡±


    Outside, thunder rumbled as a fresh storm made its approach.


    ¡°The Onsolain have been far too quiet through all of this." I stopped by a window and glanced out at the darkening sky. "It¡¯s time to contact the Choir.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 11: Confession and Communion

    Arc 4: Chapter 11: Confession and Communion


    Above the streets of Garihelm, the bells of Myrr Arthor tolled a mournful song. A dirge well matched to the weeping sky. Across the city, more bells answered the call of the great seat of the Faith, until all the streets, the towers, the storm walls and manor rows echoed with the clamor.


    I thought perhaps the sound passed into the pouring sky above, out over the churning waters of the bay, and were taken in by them.


    Lias had once told me that the world¡¯s water is caught in an endless cycle. It evaporates from the surface, rising into the sky only to fall again as rain. Sometimes I wondered if all the world¡¯s pain worked in a similar loop, seeping into the soil and the water only to return unchanged, echoing itself down into forever. Only, sorrow and pain are cumulative, added to by every new injury done until life had room for little else.


    The sky took in our suffering, and gave it back to us tenfold. It gave us storms, and flooding rains, and cold. It gave us monsters who wielded blades of lightning.


    Did the gods not care? Did God not care?


    I would have my answers.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± A soft voice asked me.


    I stood at the window of an outer tower of the Bell Ward, my gaze fixed on the spires of the city¡¯s grandest cathedral. I wore a thick cloak of brown wool against the chill of the latest rain, the hood up to conceal my face, the front clasped by rope. I would look little different from what the monks and lesser clericons who tended to the houses of the clergy wore.


    I turned to the figure who stepped into the small room where I¡¯d been waiting. Lisette wore an outfit similar to mine, her black priorguard uniform hidden or exchanged. The face beneath the tightly bound cowl stared at me with calm blue eyes.


    ¡°I am,¡± I said.


    The spy nodded. ¡°The rector is ready for you.¡±


    I cast a final look at the high towers of the cathedral, and the brooding sky above it, before following her from the room.


    Lisette took me down to the courtyard. A shape detached itself from the store tower¡¯s entry and joined us. Emma gave me a brief nod.


    ¡°Lots of people about,¡± Emma muttered. ¡°I doubt the Priory will make a fuss, not after that fiasco the other night. I¡¯ve been listening to word on the streets, and apparently they¡¯re facing a full investigation from the Church at large at the insistence of the nobility. Still, best we be cautious and not cause a fuss.¡±


    ¡°A fuss?¡± Lisette asked, her voice dark. ¡°You call what happened that night a fuss? Nearly forty people died, either during your skirmish with the priorguard or from that monster.¡±


    Emma cast a lazy eye at the other girl and said nothing.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not give them any reason to start anything,¡± I said. ¡°Keep moving and act like you¡¯re supposed to be here. If we get into a situation, let Lisette do the talking.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Emma scoffed, not bothering to hide her doubt as she glanced at the cleric. ¡°Because she¡¯s so trustworthy, the spy.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s pale complexion darkened with an angry blush. ¡°I saved his life!¡±


    ¡°And put him into danger in the first place,¡± Emma reminded her primly.


    ¡°Peace,¡± I told them both. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time. And I do trust her,¡± I said, looking at my squire. ¡°Because Her Grace does.¡±


    Emma caught my look, and her aristocratic features shifted into neutrality. ¡°Very well, but don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you if she ends up trying to keep her cover at our expense.¡±


    Lisette started to riposte, but I caught her attention and nodded toward the towering cathedral. She sighed and motioned for us to follow.


    Even in bad weather, Garihelm bustled with activity and the Bell Ward was no exception. All branches of the Aureate Church were represented in the Reynish capital. The Clericon College, the council of high clergy who governed the Faith, met in the city under the arbitration of the Synod, the neutral faction which maintained ties between the Church¡¯s various institutions.


    The Church had never been a unified force. Across the land, insular sects had dominated through most of our history. Though certain pillars of the Faith, such as the Priory of the Arda and the Abbey of St. Layne, had become more dominant in recent generations, there remained many voices among the God-Queen¡¯s servants.


    I saw white-and-yellow-robed clerics of the Abbey. I spotted the red-robes of the Priory as well, and those eyes I avoided. They intermingled with the humble brown of monks belonging to the mendicant orders, who were as numerous and disparate as mercenary companies in the Edaean marchlands. I caught flashes of pale green and blue where Triquetric priestesses walked, furtive and unreal as the nymphs said to have founded their orders.


    I passed a group of lay sisters in the white and black of the Cenocastia, and I felt a sharp pang in my chest. I avoided their eyes. I knew the accusation I saw in them was only in my head, but I felt it nonetheless.


    In the distant fog, I could see Rose Malin looming amid the sprawl of churches and bureaucratic buildings, threatening in its unassuming veneer.


    Lisette marched with purpose. I did note some priorguard about in the daylight, mostly guarding the crimson robed Priory clericons, but our guide seemed unconcerned.


    We hadn¡¯t spoken much since she¡¯d rescued me from Oraise¡¯s holding facility. I knew the young adept worked for Rosanna, but the circumstances of how that had come to be remained a mystery to me. What had happened to Olliard, the old doctor who¡¯d moonlighted as a monster hunter? Why had they separated, and what had brought Lisette into the service of the Empress?


    I had enough on my mind that I didn¡¯t bother asking.


    As we entered the shadow of the great basilica and came under the watchful eyes of its gargoyles, dormant now in midday, Lisette led us into a side passage rather than the main doors. We went deep into the bowels of that place, navigating a winding series of hallways echoing with the furtive whispers of the faithful, and eventually entered a small chapel. A private space, satellite to the great congregational halls I knew the enormous cathedral also housed.


    The walls were all of deep gray stone, the pillars covered in bass reliefs telling the long story of the Faith. These radiated out from the pillars like rivers of history, their origin untraceable but all terminating in a great image on the far wall, of the Heir of Onsolem raising aloft a blazing spear from which a horde of demons flinched. The Holy Auremark blazed like a banner behind that spear, worked into stone with gold.


    Emma wandered the pews, staring at everything with a bemused expression. She¡¯d never been much impressed by the divine. I suppose, when your godmother is a fallen angel and you are told your entire life that you are unloved by God for the crimes of your ancestors, it does not engender much zeal.


    Lisette spoke to a young aide wearing the unbroken white of a synodite, then returned to stand at my side. She followed my gaze to the mural. We both stared a while, content in our own thoughts.


    ¡°I should apologize to you,¡± Lisette said, breaking the quiet.


    ¡°Oh?¡± I folded my arms beneath my cloak. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°I bound you up and left you in a dangerous position twice,¡± the young adept said, her voice troubled. For someone with such a dangerous magic, I¡¯d noted she had a nervous disposition. ¡°And yet, I feel we should have been allies.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t let Emma get to you. She doesn¡¯t really trust anyone.¡± Especially not priests, I added silently.


    Lisette cast a nervous glance at the lean noble. ¡°It¡¯s not just that. I saw you fight that thing in the Presider¡¯s dungeons, and...¡± She took a deep breath, as though to armor her nerves. ¡°I heard what it called you.¡±


    I thought back, and remembered. ¡°Ah.¡±


    It had called me Alder Knight, right in front of Lisette and the old changeling we¡¯d rescued. I hadn¡¯t even thought about it at the time.


    ¡°You were a holy knight,¡± Lisette said, glancing at me beneath her hood. ¡°Elf-blessed. One of the protectors of the golden country.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Some might say.¡±


    ¡°Your order betrayed us. They were Recusant.¡±


    I didn¡¯t hear any accusation in her tone. Just a question.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m Recusant?¡± I asked.


    She thought about it a moment. ¡°No. But... Olliard told me about the Knights of the Alder Table, once. He said they were great heroes, a banner of hope for this land. When they betrayed the realms, it hurt us badly. Our spirit.¡±


    She fixed her blue eyes on me more firmly. ¡°What are you fighting for, Alken? Redemption?¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°Redemption. What will that change? What will it fix?¡±


    She didn¡¯t have an answer to that, though her expression became more troubled.


    Then I wondered if he would offer these same words to Catrin. I wondered whether his grandfatherly manner would crack if he knew what I¡¯d done ¡ª as the axeman for his gods, and as one of the Golden Knights of the west. Would he still tell me I had a place in God¡¯s light if he knew I¡¯d loved a monster? If he knew I still saw her in my dreams? Would he still welcome me back to the fold with arms held so widely open if he knew part of me wished¡ª


    I quieted my treasonous thoughts. Even still, I felt the weight of the book Lias had given me beneath my coat as an acute pressure. I hadn¡¯t opened it yet. I wasn¡¯t certain I wanted to know what it would tell me.


    I knew it didn¡¯t matter, whatever I learned. I¡¯d chosen duty, and I¡¯d ended things between us severely and completely. I¡¯d run a blessed sword through her heart and cast her into the pits of Hell, and there was no going back from that.


    And Laessa and Kieran¡¯s situation had gotten to me, I realized. These thoughts were a distraction.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I told the priest. I wasn¡¯t. I was full of doubts, but I needed to get this done.


    Alaric nodded. ¡°Then let us begin. Kneel in the circle.¡±


    I knelt. Alaric did as well, his white robes pooling around him. The priest murmured behind his veil. The old cleric had real power. My aura shivered with his every syllable.


    ¡°I have opened a channel,¡± Alaric said after a time. It took me a moment to realize he¡¯d used Urnic common and not his priestcant. ¡°Now it is for the Onsolain to judge whether they will hear you. Name yourself, penitent. Tell the story of who you are, so the stars might know you. Name your sins and cast them out into the darkness, where the light might catch them.¡±


    I gave him a dubious look. I knew how this was supposed to work, but I didn¡¯t trust the modern Church. ¡°That veil... Does it deafen you?¡±


    Alaric smiled beneath the transparent cloth over his face. ¡°I have only been reading your lips up until now. If you wish, you may turn away and let your words be for Them alone.¡±


    I nodded, and shifted so my back faced the priest. I¡¯d come this far, and there was no sense in backing out now. The gods knew all my sins already.


    I inhaled deeply, steeled my nerves in the same way I did before a battle, and began to speak.


    ¡°My name is Alken Hewer,¡± I said. The tower seemed to drink my words, making them hollow and short-lived in the air. ¡°Before that I was Alken of the Herdhold. My mother was a seamstress, and my father was a clerk. I¡¯ve spent my whole life fighting.¡±


    Outside the windows atop the dome, the gray fog of cloud which moved over the city obscured all sight. It felt as though the tower floated through a hazy limbo, a ship lost at sea.


    ¡°I befriended a wizard and a princess, and managed to bumble my way into a knighthood. I tried to be a good knight. I fought in wars. I battled men and demons. I learned just how big this world is, how small I am. I thought I was part of something that¡ª¡±


    I bit off my words, stumbling. It took a minute or two to gather my thoughts and continue.


    ¡°I believed I was part of something important,¡± I said more loudly. ¡°Even when I saw the cracks in it, when I knew something was wrong, that the other knights were planning something, I ignored it. I kept serving, kept fighting, all the while thinking wiser minds and sterner hearts would show me the path. I had everything I ever wanted ¡ª I was a lord. A knight. I had comrades and prestige, powers beyond most mortals. I stood alongside heroes and kings. And I was... I was unhappy.¡±


    I took a deep breath. Would Alaric turn out to be a devil, too? The thought almost made me laugh. It would be just my luck.


    ¡°I met someone. A priestess. I had doubts, fears, and she heard them all. It started as confession, knight to cleric, but it became something more. I loved her. I thought I loved her. She wasn¡¯t what I thought she was, wasn¡¯t... Wasn¡¯t what she seemed. She was using me. I was a pawn in some sick game, and the other knights, they¡ª¡±


    The vision came in a flash, burning itself into my retinas.


    A regal form bowed by the weight of steel, blood pooling before a throne of white leaves, running down steps like a vermillion waterfall. A white-cloaked woman pressing a pale hand to the blood, raising the hand as though in benediction. Men and women in beautiful armor standing aside as the elf bled his ancient life into the world, until he hollowed out and something else emerged.


    Fire.


    Ash.


    A golden city crumbling.


    A creature with a lion¡¯s head laughing at the world¡¯s end.


    Fidei -- the thing that had called itself Fidei -- staring at me with burning tears spilling out of her eyes, calling me a coward. Her nails lashing out, slashing my face.


    When the images faded, I was on my hands and knees. I had nearly fallen, found I couldn¡¯t rise from that position. Cold sweat beaded on my skin, already soaking through my clothes. The scars over my left eye burned as though freshly riven.


    I¡¯d killed her. God, I¡¯d killed her.


    She was a monster. I had to.


    Everything she¡¯d warned me about had come to pass.


    What was I supposed to do?


    You have already confessed all of this.


    When you became our Headsman.


    The cold voice pressed down on me, booming, like the bells of Myrr Arthor given words.


    You let your heart, your soul, and your oath be compromised by the Adversary.


    You are as much at fault as your traitorous order.


    For your blindness.


    Your weakness.


    You stood aside as our archon was murdered.


    His seals undone.


    We are without voice because of you.


    Oathbreaker.


    I looked up, and saw there was no longer any roof above me, no longer any veil of glass and stone between me and the stars. I stood atop what seemed the apex of a pillar taller than mountains, and all around me...


    Nothing. Just empty darkness, distant bands of stars, spinning planetoids tumbling through a space vaster than my mind could encompass. It was cold. Deadly cold. Bands of frost large as countries entwined around the pillar like titan vines around a world tree.


    Before me, near the edge of the pillar, stood a figure towering more than thirteen feet in height. He was clad in armor fashioned from the kind of ice one might find in the distant wastes to the south of Urn, unfrozen for a world¡¯s lifetime. He held a spear whose grip was made of obsidian and whose head was a fragment of a star¡¯s core. His eyes seemed fashioned from twin chips of ice within which a terrible light had been trapped, like molten insects in cold amber. The bare muscles of his arms were like the statues outside Myrr Arthor, pale gray and carved with a symmetry only an artisan could achieve.


    A helm of simple, brutal design concealed his face, reminiscent of the greathelm a lord might wear at tournament, but alike to them in that a palace is alike to a peasant¡¯s hovel.


    An Onsolain. An angel of the First Kingdom. Not half-dead like the spirit fused to Donnelly, or diminished like Nath, but a Star-made Knight who had waged war when all the cosmos was dark, who had battled demons during the Sack of Heaven.


    I¡¯d gotten my audience.


    God help me.

 Arc 4: Chapter 12: Fallen Knights Sin

    Arc 4: Chapter 12: Fallen Knight''s Sin


    ¡°Headsman.¡±


    The Onsolain¡¯s voice still resounded with a supernatural weight, but no longer tolled like metal thunder in my ears. Even still, the subtle impression that the monolithic tower reverberated with each syllable frayed my nerves.


    Fighting against the shivers wracking my body from the grievously cold air ¡ª was it air? ¡ª I bowed to the angel. ¡°Lord Umareon.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t ever met this particular member of the Choir of Onsolem in person, but I recognized his aspect. Ice cracked as the helmed head tilted to look down on me. The cold sharply increased at the touch of that frozen-star gaze, as did the intensity of my shivering.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± The Saint of Crusades demanded.


    I risked lifting my eyes. I had to fight the urge to drop to my knees ¡ª from the cold, from the terrible weight of those alien eyes on me, from the hyperborean anger I felt in them.


    ¡°There are events of great consequence occurring in the realms,¡± I said, on the verge of stuttering. I kept my voice steady, fighting against the tremble I felt building in it. ¡°I haven¡¯t had contact from the Choir in months. I wanted to report what¡¯s been happening. And... I wanted guidance.¡±


    ¡°That ritual is meant for cleansing. You have you suborned our priests.¡±


    I''d known that. Even still, I''d taken the risk. "I used the resources I had at hand," I admitted.


    The frozen warrior turned his helmed head to one side, as though listening to something else. He didn¡¯t reply at once. The wait gave me time to feel the cold, and to grapple with the direness of my own situation.


    This flat-topped pillar, the constellations, the behemoth bands of ice and other matter wreathing it... I had never seen it before, not from this angle, but I suspected I knew where I stood.


    An Empyrean Lamp. I had seen them from a far distance, on the eastern and southern shores where they lay far out to sea. Pillars of rough rock and marble-smooth stone carved in primeval days, stretching up into the furthest heights of the world, perhaps higher. I¡¯d been told once they acted as anchors for the Wending Roads, when they still connected our land to Onsolem and its other vassal realms. I didn''t think I''d been transported to any of those. The frozen marble beneath me had a familiar quality.


    Phantasm. Some memory of an old structure which had stood where the cathedral now did long ago? I''d been dragged into it.


    If I stepped to the edge of the flat surface on which I stood, would I see my own world below? Would I see continents and storms englobed against the emptiness beyond? Would I see the titan eyes of the moons cresting those horizons, lambent in silver?


    We were far above the clouds. I saw only starlit darkness above and around, and the quality of the cold...


    I felt certain that, if not for the warmth of aureflame in me, I would already have frozen to death.


    The crackling of icy armor drew my attention back to Umareon. The Onsolain spoke in a sonorous echo.


    ¡°You have overstepped yourself, fallen knight. It is not your role to call out to us for guidance. You are our executioner, by your own choice, your own oath. We give you names, and you give them our doom, our judgment.¡±


    A powerful arm lifted to point a finger encased in frozen iron. It aimed directly at my axe, still lying on the floor before me as it had in the tower.


    I blew out a frozen breath. ¡°I haven¡¯t been given any names. There¡¯s only been silence. I haven¡¯t seen Donnelly in¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Herald is otherwise occupied,¡± Umareon intoned, cutting me off. ¡°You seem to be under the impression that she is your messenger, to be given orders and used at your convenience. Correct this misassumption.¡±


    She. He was referring to the seraph who¡¯d originally been the Choir¡¯s herald, whose spirit had been fused to Donnelly at the moment they¡¯d both died. No matter it was Donnelly who did all their errands, who faced all the risk.


    ¡°The Riven Order,¡± I blurted. ¡°It¡¯s been broken, and there are Crowfriars infiltrating the priesthood. I stopped a scheme of theirs just last fall, and¡ª¡±


    Once again, the Choir warrior cut me off. ¡°We are aware of your involvement with the Carreon heir. We are also aware that you supported Thorned Nath¡¯s scheme at the time as her patsy, and that you have taken the scion of Astraea Carreon under your wing. This, too, is counted among your transgressions.¡±


    ¡°My transgressions?¡± I repeated, inwardly reeling. ¡°Lord Umareon, I was ordered by the Choir to do Nath¡¯s bidding at the time. I thought she¡¯d rejoined your ranks?¡±


    Again, the angel fell silent. I felt his glare like the weight of a frozen sun on my face.


    ¡°She did, didn¡¯t she?¡± I suddenly felt less sure of everything.


    ¡°The fallen handmaiden is not trusted, no matter how many fair words she might spin. Neither are those she has made use of in the past. You are not trusted, Alken Hewer.¡±


    I blinked at the immortal, stunned speechless. I saw no apology or understanding in that face of metal, ice, and light. I felt as though I stared into the face of the firmament itself, devoid of warmth or pity, an avatar of the void.


    ¡°I am trying to help,¡± I croaked. ¡°I¡¯m trying to fix things.¡±


    "Help?"


    The frozen knight took a single step forward. When his boot of iron and frost struck the surface of the lamp, it impacted with a spreading radius of ice. He continued to walk, slow and deliberate, each step a hammer blow of dire purpose. With every movement the frozen armor cracked and split.


    I could make out glimpses of the form beneath ¡ª it shone, and yet gave off no warmth, no comfort.


    ¡°You are not our champion,¡± Umareon rumbled. ¡°You are not a hero to your people. You failed them. We do not exist to be your council. We are not your benefactors or a resource to be used at your whim. We. Are. Your. Judges.¡±


    I did drop then. I couldn¡¯t stop myself. The cold had intensified so horribly, the gravity of the frozen stone and the storm of will pressing down on me too much to bear. I fell to one knee, gasping. I caught myself with one hand. My flesh froze to the pale marble.


    The angel came to a stop above me, a towering and terrible presence.


    ¡°You have yet to repent for your sin.¡±


    I grit my teeth, feeling a surge of defiance against this cold, cruel being. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to repent for over ten years!¡±


    ¡°You have yet even to face your sin,¡± Umareon answered pitilessly. ¡°I see into your heart, mortal. I see your weakness, your want, your perversity.¡±


    ¡°Perversity?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°You still lie to yourself,¡± Umareon scoffed, his immortal voice dripping with scorn. ¡°Like all mortals, you hide your truth behind a veneer of nobility and higher purpose. A twisted truth is no different from a lie.¡±


    I shook my head slowly, fighting through the sensation of freezing, the pain in my hand, the pressure of that place and the Star Knight¡¯s will. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°The treachery of your order was a grievous deed which will never be forgiven,¡± Umareon said. ¡°The blindness and decadence which led to this act is shared among all of you, even those who did not wield the blades which shed the Archon¡¯s blood. And yet, that is a sin for which your mortal folly can be blamed, and one you may yet find repentance for.¡±


    The greathelm tilted further down, glaring.


    It might put someone like Oraise in charge, which would be much worse.


    ¡°I do not believe killing him will change anything for the better,¡± I said, trying to sound reasonable despite my pounding heart and the pain. ¡°What crimes has he committed, that the Choir would give him this doom?¡±


    ¡°Many,¡± Umareon replied darkly. ¡°He is a faithless power-monger who subverts our queen¡¯s servants for his own gain. He is vain, short-sighted, and reckless. He is a deviant with tastes unbecoming of a successor to the wise astrologers from which the Church arose.¡±


    The Onsolain paused, then continued in a firmer voice. ¡°But for all of that, it is his dealings with the agents of Orkael for which we would have him slain. He is on the verge of signing himself and his order over to the Iron Tribunal. This, we will not allow.¡±


    More immortal politics. I should have guessed.


    I bowed my head. ¡°This is the Choir¡¯s will?¡±


    ¡°It is. Take the Grand Prior¡¯s head.¡±


    ¡°And what of the continental spirits crossing the seas to attack our cities?¡± I asked. ¡°What of the demon I¡¯ve been hunting, and the allies of Orson Falconer? Am I to ignore all of that?¡±


    ¡°As I said before, there are champions in this new time who can face such evils. We are preparing them.¡±


    It struck me that the three young knights who¡¯d appeared to help fight the storm ogre hadn¡¯t been there by lucky accident after all.


    ¡°Focus on your own penance,¡± Umareon added. ¡°Orkael is a mighty realm, and its influence is more of a threat than any stray demon or recusant. You do not know tyranny, but you shall if the Zosite come to rule this land. They are an order of iron, of flame. Justice and mercy mean nothing to them.¡±


    I remembered poor Jon Orley, trapped in melted armor. Even still I ground my teeth, trying to think of a way to convince him, to get out of this. If I killed the Grand Prior, it would set the city aflame. Rosanna would be blamed somehow, I knew, especially if I got caught.


    Maybe, in the long run, fighting the influence of the Iron Hell would be of more benefit to the realms. The Choir looked at the big picture, I knew that. It was why I¡¯d willingly given myself over to their commands ¡ª because I couldn¡¯t trust myself to make the right decision, to see the greater consequences of my actions.


    And yet...


    Rosanna had welcomed me back. Lias needed my help, I felt certain. He delved down a dark path, one I felt intimately familiar with, and he needed someone there for him to keep his head straight, or he¡¯d end up becoming a monster.


    In the service of the Empress, I could help Emma get her knighthood, keep her from becoming a renegade. I could give estranged people like Catrin and Parn a voice with the Accord.


    I could change things. I could get a life back. I hadn¡¯t ever considered I could do anything of worth again until I¡¯d seen Rose¡¯s sons and agreed to help her.


    If I killed the leader of the Priory here in the city, in the middle of a great summit of all the land¡¯s powers...


    He deserves it, I thought, remembering the dungeons. I hadn¡¯t been the only one down there. I¡¯d seen what the priorguard had been doing. I remembered an empty village in the countryside with the barbed trident hovering above its abandoned homes. How much worse would it be, if they had the dark angels of Hell backing them officially?


    ¡°You hover at its edge again,¡± Umareon said with near physical scorn. ¡°Your sin.¡±


    I¡¯d had about enough of this cold being¡¯s scorn, and he wasn¡¯tGod. ¡°Why don¡¯t you enlighten me?¡± I spat. ¡°What is my sin?¡±


    In answer, the towering knight knelt on one knee, mirroring my own pose. The helmed visage, warped with surreal patterns like the mottling on old iron, hovered just over my head. The cold sharply intensified.


    He looked into my soul. I could feel it. The frozen light behind the warped helm¡¯s visor pierced through my memories and thoughts like rays of daylight through mist.


    ¡°You claim to wish to serve the realms,¡± Umareon murmured to me, and somehow that intimate quiet seemed worlds more threatening than his booming proclamations from before. ¡°You convince yourself you wish to repent for being fooled by a false love and false honors. And yet, you still seek comfort in your dreams with the pretty face that hungering creature wore. In the depths of your heart, you wonder what might have been had you accepted its deceits and let it take you, even into the depths of darkness.¡±


    Again, my heart started to beat loud in my chest. I felt a spike of denial, of horror at this thing I¡¯d dared not let myself think being spoken aloud.


    ¡°You¡¯re speaking in riddles,¡± I hissed. ¡°Just let me go back. You¡¯ve given me your orders.¡±


    But the cold angel wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°You do not care about saving kingdoms, Alken Hewer. You do not wish to repent for your crimes. In the pits of your rotted heart, you long for its caress... That creature. You even indulge in a vulgar courtship with a mongrel whose hungers remind you of its own.¡±


    ¡°Catrin has nothing to do with this,¡± I snapped. ¡°She is not evil.¡±


    ¡°Would you care if she was?¡± Umareon asked.


    Of course I would.


    Wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    I¡¯ve been a monster, Alken. A real one. She¡¯d told me that herself.


    ¡°You wish me to speak your sin?¡± The First Sword of the Heir of Heaven asked. ¡°So be it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want him to say anything else. I regretted coming here. I needed to go, to get away from this.


    I couldn¡¯t get away from myself.


    ¡°You still desire the creature who deceived you, and dream of what might have been had you heeded its lies. You are a lonely, wanting thing ¡ª you care nothing for honor, you feel no loyalty to God or Men. You simply wish to be warm, to be wanted. Like a base beast, starved and left in the cold.¡±


    The angel leaned closer, merciless.


    ¡°You still love that thing. That demon.¡±


    The voice became a bare whisper, which did nothing to disguise its righteous wrath. ¡°For that, fallen paladin, we will never trust you.¡±


    ¡°This audience is over.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 13: Burden

    Arc 4: Chapter 13: Burden


    In a moment, I was back in the tower of Myrr Arthor. The wide surface of frozen stone set above the world vanished, replaced by the mosaic depicting the Alder Round, the high windows set within the domed ceiling, the silent statues of warrior-saints.


    Beyond the windows, I could make out stars set amid a sparsely clouded sky. I¡¯d been here for hours ¡ª long enough for the rain to stop, the sun to set, and night to fall. A faint mist of shimmering frost hung around me, and I shivered violently. Ice crept across the branches and roots set into the floor, washing out the amber into colder shades.


    Father Alaric no longer knelt just outside the circle where he had before. I cast my eyes around, feeling a sudden spike of apprehension. I found him quickly enough, standing near the door. He no longer wore his veil, and his eyes were wide with some emotion ¡ª fear? Awe?


    ¡°You...¡± The old man¡¯s scratchy voice trembled. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    My mind still reeled with what I¡¯d just witnessed. The cosmic stage, that dreadful warrior, his pitiless words. Most of all, I remembered the task he had given me, the head I had been ordered to claim. I felt a chill which had nothing to do with the frosted air lingering in the chamber.


    It had felt like I¡¯d been there only a brief time, yet hours seemed to have passed. My legs had fallen asleep, and the desolate cold of the Empyrean Lamp had followed me.


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. My voice croaked out of a dry throat.


    ¡°I...¡± The old preoster swallowed. ¡°I can hardly guess. It was like you were here, and yet not. I have never seen anything like it. Certainly, the Choir has made its presence known in this place, but this... Who are you?¡±


    I stood, wincing as the blood found its way back into my legs.


    ¡°Best you not have a name,¡± I told him. ¡°For both our sakes. Where are the two who came with me?¡±


    Alaric turned his head slowly from side to side. ¡°I have been here with you. I imagine they are still below, if they did not depart.¡±


    I nodded, bit off a curse as I tried to take a step and nearly collapsed from a sudden spike of cramp. ¡°I need to get back to them, to... I need to go.¡±


    The preost nodded. ¡°Yes, of course.¡± He¡¯d clasped his hands together, and I heard him mutter a prayer. ¡°You have an important task, I am certain. If I can be of assistance to you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just get me back to my companions,¡± I cut him off, already moving to the door with a slight limp. I fought against the urge to let my teeth chatter. ¡°After that, forget you ever saw me.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± the priest said in a dazed voice, ¡°is something I am afraid I will never be able to do.¡±


    I collected Emma and Lisette in the same chapel I¡¯d left them in, then departed the Bell Ward. They both barraged me with questions, but I brushed them all off.


    I started making my way back to the palace, but stopped with the high towers of the Fulgurkeep still looming across many blocks. The old habits ¡ª to return to a place of safety, to report what I¡¯d learned, to gain new orders ¡ª had strongly reasserted themselves in the weeks of being Rosanna¡¯s guest, taking me with a strange ease despite the passage of so many years.


    No. The palace didn¡¯t feel safe to me just then, and I couldn¡¯t ¡ª wouldn¡¯t ¡ª tell Rose any of this. If she knew what I¡¯d been ordered to do, and who gave that command...


    I would not bring those I still cared about into this.


    We¡¯d stopped on a tavern street, with stacked rows of multi-storied buildings pressing in on either side. A rare clear night had brought people out. Merchants, sailors, mercenaries, entertainers, prostitutes... A plethora of the city¡¯s night life, bolstered by the approaching tournament, had emerged. They moved in groups to their destinations, or lingered by open doors bursting with welcoming light. Rolling waves of conversation echoed through the alleys.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Emma asked. Her questions had stopped two blocks back. I could hear her worry, tinged with frustration.


    I turned toward the two young women, focusing on Lisette. ¡°You should get back to the palace,¡± I told her. ¡°Report to...¡± I suddenly felt very wary of how many listening ears were about. ¡°Tell our benefactor that I have a lead to follow. I may not be back for some time.¡±


    Rose would be frustrated, but I¡¯d explain later. I¡¯d come up with an explanation, anyway.


    Lisette nodded, frowning. ¡°What will you do?¡±


    I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it close. Suppressing my frustration I said, ¡°Just tell her.¡± Then I turned and started walking again, ignoring the cleric¡¯s confused blue eyes.


    Emma said something to the spy, lost in the din of the street, then scurried to catch up to me. I expected her to barrage me with more questions, but she just matched my pace, keeping a few steps behind.


    My eyes roamed the buildings. I got more than a few sour looks and bitter curses as I barreled through the sparse crowds without slowing or worrying about who I jockeyed aside. Being over two meters tall and most of three hundred pounds has its advantages.


    My eyes landed on one of the city¡¯s vast selection of inns. An unassuming building, pressed tightly by its neighbors like an old, small man on a too-small bench. A weathered sign out front read The Dagger and the Dame.


    Many of the inns and taverns in nicer parts of the city catered to traveling merchants, lower ranking knights, lesser dignitaries, and other well-to-do folk. Many were packed, beds and even common room space in short supply thanks to the gathering crowds for the fair, the summit, and the upcoming tournament.


    This was not a nicer part of town, and the Dagger didn¡¯t cater to wine traders. When I skipped up the half-rotted wooden stairs and entered the taproom, ignoring the batting eyelashes of the painted woman leaning by the door, I found it a bit more than half full. Rough, flinty eyed figures occupied most of the tables. Muted conversation drifted within the faint mist of smoke, mixing with the smell of alcohol and sweat.


    I recognized the atmosphere well. I¡¯d found myself in plenty of similar scenes since losing my knighthood, finding many of them frequented by soldiers who¡¯d lost their lords, or just their will to serve a lord, after the war¡¯s end. I saw some of the same here, as well as sailors in off the harbor, a handful of mercenaries, one or two Glorysworn who¡¯d discovered glory did little to fill their bellies.


    The quietude of the place, the lack of energy in the furtive conversations, spoke to one thing ¡ª this was the sort of place one went to when they didn¡¯t want trouble, or to be bothered.


    When she saw the collection of riffraff, Emma sniffed and put a hand to her sword.


    I ignored them all, beelining for the bar. A sour-faced woman who looked fifty and was probably a decade or more younger stood behind it, a permanent scowl affixed to her face by a jagged line of scar. She didn¡¯t so much as spare me a glance or a muttered greeting as I placed a hand on the bar.


    ¡°Rooms?¡± I grunted.


    She shrugged with one shoulder. ¡°Ten piece for a night. Fifteen for the two of you, but if you make noise I¡¯ll have you thrown out and keep the coin.¡±


    Emma stiffened, her face flushing red. I shot her a hard glance before she could make a scene.


    ¡°How much for two?¡± I asked.


    This time she did glance at me. Her eyes were a very dull blue, with very little life in them. She glanced at Emma and sniffed. ¡°Not a good place for a little girl to be sleeping alone.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡± I asked again, keeping my voice level.


    ¡°Twelve apiece,¡± the innkeeper said, shrugging.


    For a single night, and for beds I suspected would have roaches, it was thievery. I paid without quibbling. Far more expensive anywhere nicer with private rooms in short supply. I got us food and drinks too, then moved to an empty table with a view of the door. We sat, and for a long while did so in silence.


    Emma finally lost her patience after about twenty minutes. ¡°Perhaps you would like to explain to me what¡¯s going on?¡± She suggested, speaking with a mock formality which played up her highborn accent.


    I drummed my fingers against the table. ¡°I¡¯m going to stay the night here. If it displeases you, you¡¯re welcome to go back to the castle.¡±


    Emma tch¡¯d. ¡°What happened back at the cathedral? Did you contact...¡± Her eyes went to the other patrons. ¡°Them?¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I didn¡¯t meet her eyes, and didn¡¯t answer. Emma muttered something bitter and propped her cheek on one fist, looking away from me with a scowl.


    We got our food and drinks. I mostly just drank, not having much of an appetite. Briefly, I wondered if I could get drunk enough to sleep through the night, or if the aureflame in me would burn the poison off.


    ¡°It put you out?¡± Catrin asked, lifting a thick, slightly arched eyebrow.


    I waved a hand. ¡°Not really.¡± It had been from Rosanna¡¯s lenience. She paid me the same she did for any of her agents, as part of an agreement we¡¯d made to make sure I could operate in the city. I¡¯d tried refusing it, not wanting to rely on her generosity, but she¡¯d made me see sense.


    ¡°Then stop quibbling.¡±


    She stood and gestured for the door. I hesitated a moment longer, not really wanting company, then gave in and followed her.


    She led me out into the city, away from the back street and into a nicer part of town. The sky lit up above us as we passed over a stone bridge connecting one neighborhood to another ¡ª more fireworks. I¡¯d seen them before, but they¡¯d become more common and more impressive as new alchemicals had been introduced from the continent, and more skilled hands had traveled to our corner of the world to make use of them.


    Catrin stopped at the bridge¡¯s edge and placed a hand on the parapet. She wore an unusual outfit, different from the unassuming dresses and bodices I¡¯d seen her in before. It consisted of a shirt of thin white cloth with detached sleeves and a detached skirt, the latter like a wrap about her waist, cinched up high in the front and trailing down to her ankles in the back, revealing a pair of long trousers fashioned from segments of leather, and high, tight fitting boots. The detached sleeves and shirt were secured with a series of narrow straps rather than a bodice or corset.


    The outfit looked distinctly improvised rather than fashionable, and reminded me of what some new-age adventurer might wear. It also revealed a surprisingly athletic build, which I¡¯d suspected she had but hadn¡¯t known for sure with her usual modest outfits.


    A score or more others also lingered on the bridge as we stood together, watching the erupting lights. I turned my eyes from Catrin and looked at the display.


    They reminded me of battle Art. It amazed me, how people had learned how to use powders and chemicals to wield similar powers to an awakened human soul. According to Lias, nations in the west had been doing it a long time.


    Were we really being left behind? Looking at how rapidly change had come, I could believe it. It made me sad. Not only to learn my homeland had become stagnant, but that there might be no going back to the way things were. It was a bittersweet realization.


    ¡°Pretty,¡± Catrin noted, her soft eyes reflecting the lights.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why everyone¡¯s so festive,¡± I said, noting all the people, the distant sounds of merriment. ¡°Just a few days ago, a monster nearly rampaged through these streets. They should all be more cautious. Clearer streets, more guards, more vigilance.¡±


    Catrin eyed me out of the corner of her eye, pursing her lips. ¡°So you¡¯d put this place under martial law?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s necessary. It can save lives.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Catrin¡¯s eyes went back to the fireworks.


    What were Markham and Rosanna thinking? With the summit approaching, this seemed too lax. I¡¯d ask her about it, next time I saw her.


    ¡°I talked to Joy,¡± Catrin said. ¡°She said you saved Parn.¡±


    ¡°I thought you hated Joy,¡± I replied, also watching the man-made lights.


    Cat let out a soft laugh.


    ¡°Not sure I¡¯d call it much of a rescue,¡± I said, after she trailed off. ¡°More like a stroke of luck after some fool choices.¡±


    ¡°Still.¡± Her voice became warm. ¡°Parn looked out for me when I was young. He¡¯s a good soul. Thank you for helping him.¡±


    I muttered a half reply. In the canal below, long, thin boats carried people over black water as they watched the festival too. I had a sudden memory then ¡ª of the woman at my side asking me for a canal ride, of her cool lips against my skin.


    You simply wish to be warm, to be wanted.


    You care nothing for honor.


    You do not wish to repent for your crimes.


    My hand tightened against the parapet. Another round of explosives went off. The people on the bridge cheered and clapped. Catrin did too, though the motion had a touch of irony in it.


    ¡°They use these for war in the west,¡± she noted to me conspiratorially. ¡°You ever see a cannon? Nasty things.¡±


    The Recusants had fielded them during the war. Lias had told me that ¡ª without Art to level the playing field ¡ª such devices would have supplanted knights and many other traditional forms of war. The idea sickened me in a difficult to define way, that all violence could be done by a man placing a burning stick to a tube of metal.


    ¡°You alright, Al?¡± Catrin asked me.


    Exactly the sort of question I didn¡¯t want to be asked. There was only one honest answer.


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    The dhampir rolled her eyes. ¡°Maybe because I found you in a dump, trying to drown yourself in bad booze? Alken, I¡¯ve known you more than a year and you¡¯ve refused alcohol every time you¡¯ve been in the Backroad. Don¡¯t think I missed that.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Backroad¡¯s dangerous, and I was usually working.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always working,¡± Catrin said. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be in this city if you weren¡¯t working. When did you last sleep?¡±


    I let out a sigh of frustration. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Catrin. I don¡¯t need a minder.¡±


    A vulgar courtship.


    A mongrel whose hungers remind you of its own.


    I couldn¡¯t get the angel¡¯s voice out of my head.


    Catrin drummed the fingers of one hand against the stone barrier, sharp nails clicking against the chiseled rock. Her eyes drifted down to the water. She blew out a breath, turned suddenly, and grabbed my arm. I felt her nails even through the sleeve of my coat, but she didn¡¯t squeeze hard enough to cut.


    She touched me in the place she¡¯d first tasted me, in the crook of my left elbow. I stiffened.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± Catrin ordered, seeming not to notice that I¡¯d gone on guard. I started to shake my head, but she tugged more insistently.


    ¡°Where?¡± I asked tiredly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need a minder, maybe.¡± She flashed her sharp teeth in a grin. ¡°I think what you need is to let off some stress. Do you trust me?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± I told her honestly. I recognized the hungry glint in her brown eyes, the nervous impatience in her gestures.


    Catrin snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve got something I want to show you. Come on!¡±


    She tugged again. Sighing, I let her lead me across the bridge. ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked again, exasperated.


    She just smiled mysteriously as she pulled me deeper into the waiting maw of the capital.

 Arc 4: Chapter 14: Small Victories

    Arc 4: Chapter 14: Small Victories


    Catrin led me deeper into the city, away from the high towers of the Forger castle and the festive streets. She led me deeper, into the lower streets where the delineation between home and infrastructure became less defined, where tenements and businesses were dug into the very foundations of the cosmopolitan lagoon.


    These areas were no less populated. Through the thickening mist which clung to everything like a thin film, I could make out groups of people in a variety of garb moving here and there, or moving in and out of doorways cut into the city¡¯s stonework, no doubt hiding taverns and brothels. As we descended, ¡°streets¡± became little more than lips between canal wall and the waters below barely wide enough for three or four people to walk shoulder to shoulder.


    Catrin stopped leading me quite so aggressively after a time. She let go of my arm, but walked close enough as to occasionally brush against me, her long skirt of white cloth mingling with the tail of my Reynish coat.


    ¡°So why are you here?¡± I asked her, mostly to break the silence and my growing unease at where we might be heading. ¡°Garihelm¡¯s a dangerous place for a changeling to walk about these days.¡±


    ¡°Everywhere¡¯s a dangerous place for a pretty girl to walk about,¡± Catrin jested, nudging my arm with an elbow. ¡°Good thing I¡¯m not a pretty girl, eh?¡±


    I glanced at her peasant¡¯s features and sighed. I wouldn¡¯t let her dodge the question, but I knew cajoling wouldn¡¯t work. So I thought about it instead, and came to my own answer. ¡°The Keeper. He has you in the city collecting secrets for him, doesn¡¯t he? Because of the summit. There¡¯s a lot of important people about.¡±


    Catrin glanced at me, pouting. ¡°No man with as much muscle as you¡¯ve got should have brains, too. It¡¯s just unfair.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°If I had any brains, my life would look a lot different.¡±


    ¡°Hey hey, none of that. Come on. We¡¯re close.¡±


    We descended a steep flight of stairs cut into the side of a deep canal, connecting two different levels of the city with a sharp turn halfway down following the corner of a high supporting wall. Garihelm was mostly stone built atop more than a hundred small islands, foundations and bulwarks laid atop one another over centuries, all of it feeding the near constant rainfall down into the bay. Manmade waterfalls gushed from storm drains fashioned into gaping mouths or tilted bowls held by angels here and there, adding to the fog spilling up from below.


    There was a good reason the Accord¡¯s capital was sometimes called the Floating City.


    Catrin found a tunnel, another storm drain, and led me down its outer lip. Eventually we came to a set of iron bars. She kicked at them, rattling the metal, and a surly looking figure in a rain coat and scarf similar to my own sidled out of the shadows. He glared at me with bright, pale eyes, and I knew immediately he wasn¡¯t all human.


    The changeling stared at me a while. His eyes reminded me of some fish evolved in a sunless cave, like fleshy orbs of half-solid milk. They flicked to Catrin after a moment.


    ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± His voice scratched at the walls like rusted nails.


    ¡°Friend,¡± Catrin shot back, propping a fist on her hip. ¡°Open up, Artur, that¡¯s a good lad.¡±


    ¡°He smells like an elf,¡± Artur growled. ¡°I don¡¯t like him.¡±


    Catrin rolled her eyes, stepped to one wall, and sunk into a patch of shadow there. She reemerged on the other side of the bars, folded her arms, and started tapping the toe of one boot.


    Artur cast a sour glare at her, then opened the gate. I stepped inside, bemused, and rejoined my companion. I heard the gate slam closed behind us, teeth-clenching loud in the confines of the tunnel.


    ¡°This is a changeling refuge?¡± I asked.


    Catrin snuck an arm through the crook of my elbow, so her layered sleeves were crushed beneath my arm and side. ¡°More like the sort of place we go to let off some steam. You¡¯ll see.¡±


    That hardly filled me with confidence. As we moved forward, I began to hear odd noises ¡ª distant cries and shouts, metallic shrieks, shouts of anger and triumph.


    Combat sounds. I began to suspect I knew exactly where we were.


    ¡°Cat,¡± I said quietly as the distant noises grew nearer. ¡°I¡¯ve had a stomach full of violence recently. I¡¯m not sure an underground fighting ring is going to make me feel better.¡±


    I felt her eyes drift to me, saw her wince. ¡°Ah. I didn¡¯t think about that... Damn. Sorry, really. But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m bringing you, not exactly.¡±


    I kept hold of my patience. Admittedly, I was curious now. That curiosity warred with my apprehension. Judging by the sentry¡¯s reaction, I suspected I wouldn¡¯t be too welcome here.


    And I wasn¡¯t surprised Catrin hadn¡¯t thought about how I might react to rough sport. Though she had her ¡°girl-next-door¡± looks and a penchant for altruism, her vampiric nature inured her to violence. I suspected it even excited her, in a dark way I wasn¡¯t wholly comfortable with.


    You even indulge in a vulgar courtship with a mongrel whose hungers remind you of that creature¡¯s own.


    Was it true? Had I been seeing Fidei ¡ª not as I¡¯d believed her to be, the wise and empathetic confessor, but as she¡¯d been at the end ¡ª in Cat? Had it tugged at something ugly in me, this want to know what might have been?


    Catrin wasn¡¯t a demon. I felt certain of that. Yet, there was something distinctly demonic in her. Her hunger for blood, her lust, the allure she felt toward pain and death.


    Was I really so shallow? So base?


    Had that judging angel been right about me?


    I¡¯m drunk, I thought. And I shouldn¡¯t be here. I should be back at the palace, figuring out what my next step is.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Catrin said, ripping me from my thoughts.


    We¡¯d stepped into a large chamber, likely some vault for the city¡¯s sewer¡¯s system that had fallen out of use. Three layers of stone walkways encircled a central pit, and they were filled with scores of figures, most of them in poor or even ragged garb. There was very little light, as most here wouldn¡¯t need it. The aura in my eyes allowed me to see, but I suspected a normal human would be half blind, seeing only a gathering of shadowed. monstrous shapes.


    They were all changelings. I¡¯d never seen so many in one place. They resembled all manner of creatures, from cervids to hounds to insects to fish, all with some variation of humanity evident in their features. None wore glamour to hide their true nature, making them seem a congregation of demons.


    I pushed that comparison out of my head. These weren¡¯t fiends, just the misbegotten children of elves and humans, their fae natures turned against them. Even still, I felt a trickle of revulsion at the sight, even a bit of fear.


    You¡¯re not the holy knight anymore, I told myself sternly. Keep your self righteous judgement to yourself, Al. This isn¡¯t the place for it.


    My eyes were drown to the pit. Water had collected in it from drains in the high ceiling, leaving a pool no more than ankle deep. In that water, five figures faced off with one another ¡ª four on one, I realized.


    The one, I recognized. Standing over eight feet tall and forged from hundreds of pounds of anger and muscle hiding a sharp mind, the war ogre bared wolf¡¯s fangs framed by prominent tusks at his opponents. His eyes, yellow rimmed with red, shone bright in the sparse light of the vault. He wore little except for ragged trousers hugging the enormous muscles of his thighs, secured by a series of leather straps over his chest and shoulders. He had a huge cleaver in one hand, big enough to be a sword for a man but little more than a dagger for him.


    ¡°Karog,¡± I said aloud, surprised.


    Catrin nodded. ¡°He¡¯s been down in the slums. Mostly doing this, lately.¡±


    The four changelings circled the ogre. One looked like a huge toad, while the other three might have been brothers ¡ª all mostly human, save for their back-bent legs, too-long arms, and too-pale complexions. They looked more like Sidhe than most in the chamber, and moved as elegantly as any I¡¯d seen. They wielded long staves, though the toad seemed to be unarmed.


    The toad¡¯s neck bulged, which acted as some sort of signal. Two of the triplets went in low and fast from the sides, while the third raised his staff as though to hurl it like a javelin. Karog¡¯s fangs bared in a silent snarl. He waited until the last possible instant, then spun into a 360 degree spiral, swiping out with his cleaver.


    One of the staves split in two ¡ª that brother had overcommitted. The other leapt back, avoiding the whistling blade. The third threw their weapon. Karog ducked and swung upward in the same motion, knocking it out of the air.


    The toad croaked, then spat something foul much as Yith had done during my fight with him. No way it ¡ª he? she? ¡ª could fail to hit a target that big, I thought.


    Karog¡¯s red-rimmed eyes flickered toward the toad. In a flash, he drew the second cleaver from his belt and brought both blades together, forming a shield with their combined mass. The spit struck it. I suspected acid or poison of some kind.


    I was wrong. Karog tried to separate his blades, but found them stuck fast together by the pale green substance. His dextrous response had been a mistake, a clever trap set by the toad.


    The three brothers closed in again, two now disarmed of their staves but not of their sharp claws and fangs. They bared serrated teeth, snarling, all elfin grace vanishing in that moment of triumph.


    Karog didn¡¯t so much as widen his eyes. He dropped his useless weapons into the water wish a splash, flung both arms out, and caught two of the changeling triplets. He slammed one against the third, knocking them both into the water, then hurled his remaining captive at the toad.


    The warted creature¡¯s huge eyes popped wide in shock. He hopped, bounding out of the water with a great splash to dodge the living missile.


    Karog, having anticipated this reaction, had aimed over the toad¡¯s head. The bulky half-breed collided with its more gangly comrade midair, and they both went crashing down after colliding with an impact that made my jaw clench in sympathy. There would be broken bones from that.


    The crowd roared, and the sound set the hairs on the back of my neck on end. They let out inhuman cries of excitement, the sound of it feral, terrifying in a primal way.


    Catrin watched with rapt attention. Though she didn¡¯t join the cheering, I saw eddies of red curl into the soft brown of her eyes.


    ¡°You get that this is a sewer, right big man?¡± Catrin asked quietly. ¡°Things are like this across the land, for Parn and the Hidden Folk.¡±


    ¡°Many who won¡¯t settle for this life turn to banditry,¡± the old changeling agreed.


    ¡°Or worse,¡± Ollietta added.


    During the war, the Recusants had fielded packs of the misbegotten denizens of Urn. During my travels after the war, I¡¯d faced similar groups roaming the backroads of various kingdoms. They¡¯d seemed feral, full of rage and bloodlust. I felt like I understood some of their desperation now.


    ¡°Karog is a stranger in a strange land,¡± Parn continued. ¡°He¡¯s lost everything, even been estranged from the benefactors who brought him here. He has found a new purpose with us.¡±


    ¡°As it¡¯s been,¡± Ollietta said, ¡°there¡¯s nothing stopping groups like the priorguard from swarming down here whenever they want. If we fight back, the city guard takes the Inquisition¡¯s side and pushes us deeper under the streets. And, the deeper we go...¡± Her face lost some of its vibrant color. ¡°There are things in the depths beneath this city. Old things, hungry and terrible.¡±


    ¡°More so lately,¡± Parn agreed.


    I thought of Yith, and his Woed. ¡°So, if Karog becomes a Knight of the Accord...¡±


    Catrin picked up the thread. ¡°The Priory, or anyone like them, won¡¯t be so quick to stomp down on changeling necks if there¡¯s a big lug like Karog down here, with a fancy mark pinned to his shoulder.¡± She tapped one of her bare shoulders with a thumb. ¡°Someone powerful in the upper city will take issue. Even better, he can sit in on councils, give these people a voice.¡±


    I folded my arms, took in all of this, and felt...


    Impressed. Even awed. I¡¯d never even considered something like this could be possible. Suddenly, my own commitment to helping the slum dwellers felt hollow and half-baked, even condescending.


    ¡°He¡¯d need to make a very impressive showing of himself,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s strong, but there will be champions from across Urn at these struggles, possibly even from beyond our shores. Many of them will wield Art. He¡¯s going to need to play nice with any patron who takes an interest in him, too.¡±


    ¡°It will be difficult,¡± Parn agreed. ¡°But he is committed. He has thrown everything into preparing for this burden.¡±


    I met Catrin¡¯s eye. She gave me a brief smile and spoke in a quieter voice. ¡°We did good, bringing him here. Not that I think we deserve the credit, but...¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I understand you. And I agree.¡±


    I said my goodbyes to the changelings, once again noting the hooded one¡¯s silence. Something felt off about him ¡ª he hadn¡¯t taken his eyes off me since I¡¯d stepped into the room, and I felt a subtle impression from him. Of what, I couldn¡¯t say.


    Just before I left, I heard him murmur something I only barely caught.


    ¡°Go with grace, Ser Knight.¡±


    He had a very soft voice, cultured, nearly musical as Ollietta¡¯s. It belied his brutish appearance. I barely had time to acknowledge that before Catrin bustled me out of the room.


    ¡°So?¡± She asked, once we were in the hall.


    ¡°So,¡± I answered noncommittally.


    We stopped halfway down the tunnel. Catrin turned to face me and folded her arms under her breasts, brushing some strands of brown hair out of her eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s good, right?¡± She asked uncertainly. ¡°You made a difference. You did right by these people ¡ª saving Parn, bringing Karog here.¡±


    I nodded slowly. Had that been the only reason she¡¯d brought me down here? I appreciated it, I did, but I felt like there was more.


    ¡°We made some difference,¡± I agreed. I just wasn¡¯t sure it would offset all my mistakes. It wouldn¡¯t change what I had to do.


    Catrin let out an exasperated huff. ¡°There it is again!¡± She jabbed a finger into my sternum. ¡°You¡¯re wandering off into yourself. Just take the win!¡±


    I felt a tightness rise up in my chest, starting where she¡¯d poked me and finding its way up to my throat. ¡°Cat, I...¡±


    Her eyes softened with concern. ¡°I can tell there¡¯s something wrong, Al. Back in that place I found you earlier, you...¡± She shifted on one foot, licking her lips. ¡°You didn¡¯t look well. You still don¡¯t. Talk to me?¡±


    Not a demand. An invitation. An offer. I inhaled through my nose.


    ¡°Are you my friend, Cat?¡± I asked her.


    She frowned, tilting her head to one side. ¡°Where¡¯s this going, big man?¡±


    ¡°I just...¡± I sighed. ¡°Please. These conversations, the times we¡¯re... Together like this. Is it because of the Council? Because we still have this mission, a use to one another? Or...¡±


    The corner of her lip curled into a knowing smile, tinted by the worry in her eyes, the confused furrow of her brow. ¡°Yeah, big man, we¡¯re friends.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. I¡¯d asked before, but things had changed. ¡°These people...¡± I waved a hand toward the room we¡¯d just left. ¡°Men like me have been hunting them for centuries, pressing them down, neglecting them. Treating your folk like monsters.¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± she said, holding out a stalling hand. ¡°They¡¯re not really my folk, unless you want to say I adopted them. Or they adopted me? If you want the truth, Al...¡±


    She stepped to my side and leaned her back against the wall, lifting one boot to prop it against the stone. ¡°Most of them don¡¯t like or trust me anymore than they would you.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Why? Because of the Keeper?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°In part. Part of it¡¯s the same sort of stigma anyone has, toward someone who... Does what I do.¡±


    I stared at her. She saw the dourness in my face and flashed a crooked grin. ¡°You know,¡± she said in a lighter tone. ¡°Fucking people for money.¡±


    When I didn¡¯t rise to her bait, she turned serious again. ¡°But mostly, it¡¯s because of what I am. I told you before, Alken, I¡¯m not Sidhe like they are. I¡¯ve got no benevolent bridge troll or faerie knight in my blood, no sad tale of star crossed lovers, no union of mortal and immortal. There¡¯s a pretty story behind all of them.¡±


    She waved a hand back toward the arena. Her next words took on an edge of bitterness. ¡°Not me.¡±


    I¡¯d rarely seen this sort of mood fall on the dhampir. I studied her a moment, then stepped into the center of the tunnel and looked down on her. She was taller than average for a woman, but I¡¯m taller than average for everyone. She didn¡¯t meet my eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to hear it,¡± I told her. ¡°If you want to talk.¡±


    She smiled again, though it looked more forced than usual. ¡°Reversing things on me? That¡¯s cruel. I was trying to get through your walls.¡±


    I nodded, but kept my demeanor serious. I felt like this was important. ¡°Even still,¡± I said. ¡°If you want to talk...¡±


    Catrin blew a lock of hair out of her face, only for it to fall right back where it had been. I suppressed a sudden urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal,¡± she blurted, folding her arms and cocking her body in a challenging twist that brought her face and one shoulder closer to me. ¡°I give you my tragic backstory, and you tell me what¡¯s got you trying to drink yourself unconscious in Garihelm¡¯s back streets. Deal?¡±


    I tilted my chin up, looking at her down my nose. She kept her eyes on my chin ¡ª looking directly into the aura in my own was painful for her. Not as bad as sunlight, but she¡¯d once told me it felt similar.


    ¡°Very well,¡± I said. ¡°But you won¡¯t like what you hear.¡±


    A sad light entered Catrins ruddy brown eyes. ¡°Yeah, well... Mine¡¯s no picnic either.¡± She sighed. ¡°Fine. But not here. I¡¯d rather talk about this with some moonlight on my face.¡±


    I stepped back, bowed, and offered my arm like a proper gentleman. She giggled, forced herself to look serious, then shrugged and looped her arm through mine. I felt her sharp nails slide across the crook of my left elbow, where her claws and fangs had both drawn my blood on two separate occasions.


    We went together, though I didn¡¯t miss the stiffness which had overwhelmed Cat¡¯s usual ease, or how she walked slower than she normally did. Whatever she had to tell me, she was afraid of it.

 Arc 4: Chapter 15: Catrin of Ergoth

    Arc 4: Chapter 15: Catrin of Ergoth


    We left the drains and the slums behind, returning to the higher sections of the city. It had gotten very late, near midnight, and the crowds had grown sparser without vanishing altogether.


    ¡°Anywhere in mind?¡± I asked Catrin as we ascended to a market square. A troubadour band were playing for the remnants of a tired crowd, but they¡¯d gotten too drunk and too finger sore to make much of a show. Luckily, their listeners seemed too drunk to mind.


    ¡°Hm...¡± She seemed suddenly uncertain, glancing about as though searching for something she¡¯d lost. ¡°Well, I...¡±


    I¡¯d rarely seen her so nervous. Whatever she had to tell me, she wanted to stall as long as she could.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± I said, having a sudden idea.


    She looked at me, surprised, and nodded. I led her from the square into a winding series of overlapping streets, mostly narrow lips hugging the canals with bridges crossing overhead in a complex sprawl the builders had managed to make look artful.


    Garihelm was a beautiful city. I struggled to see it sometimes, but I think that was less the city¡¯s fault and more mine.


    We found a stair leading down to the edge of the water. I helped Catrin down, letting her hand rest lightly on my own. She shuffled at my side when we reached the bottom of the stair, which was little more than a stone platform set in the water.


    I waited about ten minutes, unsure if I¡¯d see any this late. It did appear, just when I thought I might have to look elsewhere. A gondola, elegant and sleek, made to ply the narrow waters of Garihelm¡¯s canals. A man with a long oar stood at its stern.


    The ferry stopped when I signaled him, and we had a brief conversation. He was tired and ready to turn in for the night, but after some talk he ended up taking some coin and handing me the oar, telling me to have it back by morning. I thanked him, and he gave Catrin a gentlemanly bow, even taking her hand to kiss. She seemed unusually furtive, murmuring her thanks and avoiding eye contact with the boatman.


    I helped her onto the gondola and took the oar, pushing us out into the black water. For a time I rowed in silence, listening to the quiet ambience of the dying festival around us, the occasional ghost of music, the drunken laughter, friendly guards wishing people good night.


    We weren¡¯t the only ones on the water, though we had privacy enough.


    ¡°You remembered,¡± Catrin said after a while. She reclined on the prow of the boat, keeping a distance between us, her legs crossed over the length of white cloth she wore around her waist.


    I nodded, and pushed us out of the narrow canal and into a wider stretch of water between several of the city¡¯s islands. It was something like a lake encircled by docks and bridges and lamplit neighborhoods rather than a proper shoreline. The sky remained clear above us, showing a tapestry of stars and faraway moons untethered to our shores. A faint mist clung low to the water.


    Catrin saw the same thing I did, and laughed. ¡°It¡¯s like that first night, the one we met. You remember?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± I said quietly. ¡°I... Wasn¡¯t kind to you.¡±


    Catrin shrugged with one pale, lightly freckled shoulder. ¡°Eh.¡±


    ¡°It was you, you know.¡± I glanced at her as I pushed us out into the lagoon.


    ¡°Oh?¡± She asked, cocking her head to one side.


    ¡°You helped me remember what I¡¯d been,¡± I said. ¡°You helped me remember honor.¡±


    I could tell I¡¯d surprised her. She blinked at me, taken aback. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I get it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d stopped caring about much,¡± I tried to explain. ¡°I did what I was ordered, and I lost sight of myself... I was suspicious of everything, struggling to believe in anything. I treated you unjustly. When I realized, it helped me.¡± I shrugged. ¡°If that makes any sense.¡±


    The water moved beneath us, making the boat creak gently.


    ¡°I see,¡± Catrin said, her expression turning thoughtful. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure I understand, but... I¡¯m glad. That I was able to help, I mean.¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit,¡± she said, ¡°it does still feel strange, being close to, well...¡± She waved a hand at me. ¡°A lord, and a paladin too. Never thought something like that might happen for me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked quietly, rowing us further on. We were nearly at the dead center of the lagoon now, the city rising around us. The lesser moon rose high above, cold and distant.


    She drummed her fingers against the side of the boat. Her other hand scraped at the wood, sharp nails ¡ª almost like small claws ¡ª digging grooves into it. She wouldn¡¯t look at me.


    ¡°Because I¡¯m a damned thing,¡± she said. ¡°Born in the mud.¡± She leaned her head back against the boat¡¯s curved prow and let out a dry laugh. ¡°Lowest of the low.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much like this mood in the normally chipper dhampir. ¡°Cat...¡± I began.


    She held up a pale hand, stalling me. ¡°Let me finish,¡± she said, peering at me without meeting my eye. ¡°I promised I¡¯d tell you. Where I came from, who I am... What I am. You don¡¯t like secrets, yeah? Masks?¡±


    She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ¡°Well, guess I¡¯ll remove mine.¡±


    ¡°They call me Catrin of Ergoth. Do you know why?¡±


    I thought about it for a moment. ¡°I know it¡¯s a place. An old kingdom? Did you live there?¡±


    Catrin snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not that old. You want to make me cry?¡±


    I frowned, shaking my head. ¡°Of course not.¡±


    She grinned, letting me know she was teasing. ¡°No offense taken. But, no. I¡¯ve never been to Ergoth. You¡¯re right, it was a kingdom, and it¡¯s gone now.¡±


    She blew out a breath that misted in the air. The temperature had dropped, and a chill hung over the water. Or, did she produce the chill from herself? ¡°I was born in the marchlands, on the coasts of the Oroion Sea.¡±


    I nodded. I¡¯d known she hadn¡¯t been born outside the subcontinent from previous conversations.


    ¡°I grew up with the haunted waters of the Oroion on one side and the Fences on the other,¡± Catrin continued, closing her eyes as she remembered those faraway places. ¡°I remember being able to see the mountains from anywhere, stretching up high into the sky. The marches of Urn are a gray land, war-torn, old, tired. But those peaks...¡±


    She leaned her head back as a dreamy smile crossed her lips. ¡°There was always a light shining through them from the other side. As a girl, I thought Heaven lay past those mountains. I¡¯d stare at them for hours and dream about it.¡±


    Her eyes opened, the smile fading as her expression took on a distance. ¡°Not my homeland, though. It¡¯s not a gentle country. You won¡¯t find any golden forests full of elves there, no silver fields that drink in the moon¡¯s fire, no noble families blessed by a divine queen. There¡¯ve been so many wars there. The Ruin. The exodus that brought all your folk here. The Aureate Crusades.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°You know. The bad old days.¡±


    I ran the oar through the water, quiet as I listened. To me, I¡¯d lived through ¡°the bad days.¡± Yet, I¡¯d dreamed of it, those ancient wars. There were memories of knights past in me, imprinted into my magic. Some of them had lived in those eras.


    Catrin slipped a hand into the foggy water as the boat made its meandering way over the lagoon. ¡°It¡¯s a cold place,¡± she continued. ¡°Gray and barren. The forests have shadows that go so deep they sometimes don¡¯t fade, even in day. Hungry things rule them. Wolfweres. Woed. Vampires.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± she said suddenly, spreading her hands out, ¡°folk live there. Live pretty normal lives, all told. There are cities, and roads, and farms... People don¡¯t live idyllic lives most times, but they live. The counts squabble, bloody each other¡¯s noses, tax the peasants. Not too different from here if you don¡¯t bother paying attention to aesthetics.¡±


    I threw her a chagrined look. ¡°You make us sound like barbarians.¡±


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°You practice feudalism. Looks the same most places, even if you folks here in the subcontinent tend to look like something out of a storybook more often than not.¡±


    I had nothing to say to that. I hadn¡¯t known another way, and I loved my homeland, for all its faults. It bothered me to hear Catrin compare it so blithely to sick lands far in the forsaken west. Even still, I hadn¡¯t seen enough of the world to dispute it.


    ¡°But I¡¯m getting off topic,¡± Catrin said, gesturing with one hand as though aiming at some point on a map. ¡°I¡¯ve set the stage, yeah? My parents were simple folk. Good folk, so far as I can tell. Both normal. Both human.¡±


    She caught my surprised look. Her smirk had little humor in it. ¡°That¡¯s right. Little Cat was born in a nice homestead on the coastlands to loving parents who had no clue what they were bringing into the world. They didn¡¯t cheat on each other with some horny elf. They didn¡¯t make some dark pact with a crowfriar or piss of a magus. They just... Got unlucky.¡±


    I listened as I rowed, taking us nowhere in particular and in no hurry. The water gurgled gently beneath us with each stroke of the oar.


    ¡°There was a plague in the land at the time. No one knew then what started it. A foul wind out of Antriss, sent by Old Wicked himself? Some wizard¡¯s spell gone wrong? The light of a bad moon? Something cooked up by the alchemists gone out of control?¡± Catrin shrugged her bare shoulders. ¡°We don¡¯t have Draubard in the continent. There¡¯s no subterranean realm specially made to house the dead. Ghosts wander freely, predator and prey. Most believe, however, that it was the curse of Ergoth. A kingdom destroyed long ago, lingering in the land like a sickness. An undead realm.¡±


    I shivered. The air felt colder all the sudden. The sacred fire in me stirred, some old, evil memory from before my time drawing its attention as the dhampir spoke.


    ¡°For an entire season, children were born wrong.¡± Catrin¡¯s brown eyes fell to the water, staring at her own faint reflection in the moonlight. ¡°Mutated. Hungry. Premature. Fused together. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but for that time it was like no life could happen, not how it was supposed to. It happened to animals and people.¡±


    She tilted her eyes up to my face, still not fully meeting my gaze. ¡°It happened to me. I was stillborn. My parents buriedme in a little grave. They mourned me.¡±


    She shifted, pulling her legs up and sitting more properly on the bench. She lifted one knee and wrapped an arm around that leg. I pushed our boat on with an idle swing of the oar, though I¡¯d mostly let us drift.


    ¡°I don¡¯t fault them for it,¡± Catrin said quietly, staring past me. ¡°They didn¡¯t know. Honestly, they made the right choice. Only, I wasn¡¯t properlydead. Just... Drifting back and forth, I guess. I dug my way out of my own grave.¡±


    I exhaled. ¡°God in Heaven, Cat. You remember this? Even as a newborn?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Bits and pieces. I was like an animal for many years. I wandered the wilderness, haunted villages. I fed on cattle, pets, small children...¡±


    She glanced at me, checking my reaction. I kept my face carefully neutral.


    I¡¯ve been a monster, Alken. A real one.


    She continued. ¡°They called people like me ¡ª if you want to call us people ¡ª the Children of Ergoth. That¡¯s where the epithet comes from. It¡¯s followed me across countries, seas, lives.¡±


    I would be slaying no fallen priests tonight. I needed time to think.


    My job wasn¡¯t to think. What was I doing?


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you,¡± she said. ¡°Keeper¡¯s orders be damned. He¡¯s just my boss.¡±


    ¡°His orders?¡± I asked.


    She shook her head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I can collect his secrets and still help you. I want to help you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to get wrapped up in these things, Cat. I¡¯ve got myself involved with the Accord as well as the Church and the gods. If I mess up, the consequences will be dire. I don¡¯t want to drag you into that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a big girl,¡± she told me, a hint of anger flashing in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll do as I please.¡±


    I let out a frustrated sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a bad idea.¡±


    She shrugged one pale shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m full of those, practically bursting with them. Hard to keep it all in sometimes. Hard to resist the impulses.¡±


    Her eyes moved up, lingering on my neck. Her expression took on a dreamy quality, her brown eyes going out of focus.


    Pull away, I warned myself. There¡¯s no room for it in your life. Push her away. Keep your distance. It¡¯s dangerous.


    I¡¯m not who Umareon thinks I am.


    I pulled away. ¡°It¡¯s getting late,¡± I muttered. ¡°Are you staying anywhere? I can take you back.¡±


    She watched me a moment, then nodded. ¡°Fine.¡±


    She sounded distant now. I regretted that, but I knew I¡¯d made the right choice.


    I rowed us back to the dock, tied the boat for the ferryman to find in the morning, and let Catrin lead me through the city. The streets had become empty save for the occasional guard on patrol, lantern in one hand and poleaxe in the other. There were a few stragglers, and perhaps some thieves, but no one bothered us.


    We came to an inn. Not among the best, but certainly better than the Dagger and The Dame. We lingered at the door. Catrin adjusted her hair, blowing out a frosting breath.


    I was on the verge of bidding her good night when she blurted, ¡°Why don¡¯t you come inside? I have something for you.¡±


    Confused and curious, I followed her in. We were greeted by a small, owlish man in his fifties, clad in a night gown, who knew Catrin and gave her a stuttered greeting, casting nervous glances my way all the while. After wishing the innkeeper good night, she led me to a room on the second level. The place was quiet and clean.


    The room was more of the same. Simple, well furnished with a moderately sized bed and a small vanity, with a trunk for belongings. The kind of place a merchant might stay while in town. Catrin spent a few moments finding a lantern and igniting it. She hung it by the bed, giving us some light. Neither of us really needed it, but I understood the habit. It was a human gesture, and those are important.


    ¡°Temporary,¡± Catrin said with a shrug as she waved at the room. ¡°While I¡¯m in town.¡±


    She pulled out a small trunk from beneath the bed, unlocked it, and produced a folded bundle. She approached me with a distant look and held it out.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Something you might need more than me,¡± she told me.


    I took it, and upon unwrapping the cloth found a beautifully crafted dagger with an elegant curve to its shadowy dark metal and a woven pattern about the grip. I knew the metal wasn¡¯t steel or iron, but something more abstract. Banesilver.


    ¡°This is the blade Irn Bale gave you,¡± I said, frowning. ¡°Why are you giving it to me?¡±


    ¡°It makes me itch just looking at it,¡± she admitted sheepishly. ¡°And I think you might need it more, especially since you lost your armor.¡± Then smirking she added, ¡°You remember what I called it?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but quirk a small smile too. ¡°Shivers. Because it makes the dead shiver.¡±


    ¡°Take it,¡± she insisted, pushing it into my chest.


    I nodded slowly and accepted the blade. ¡°Alright.¡±


    I thought that was it, but Catrin stopped me as I was turning. ¡°Alken...¡± She sighed. ¡°Are you going back to the palace? Or that other inn? I can get the keep here to loan you a room. It¡¯s safe, and he won¡¯t talk.¡±


    A reasonable offer, one I knew I should take. I nodded.


    She started to move to the door. I felt awkward and boorish.


    Catrin probably hadn¡¯t had much romance in her life. For her, sex was transactional, almost a necessity to get the blood she needed to keep a semblance of life. She¡¯d probably been with countless men, and I doubted many of them had taken her on a gondola ride under the moon in Urn¡¯s largest city. Or even bothered to remember her name.


    I¡¯d messed this up badly. I sighed and reached out, touching her shoulder. ¡°Cat.¡±


    She turned, glaring at me. ¡°What now? It¡¯s getting late.¡± Her eyes had lost much of their warm color, turning pale and eerie in the dim light. They went red when she was hungry or aroused ¡ª did they lose color with anger?


    I stared at her helplessly, feeling like a fool. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said in a rough voice. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to explain.¡±


    Everyone I¡¯ve known my whole life has seen me as a disposable tool, starting with my own father when I was eight. The gods want me to kill a high priest, I think my best friends might be tyrants, and a girl I¡¯m responsible for is two steps from becoming a genocidal champion of darkness. The woman I loved turned out to be a soul eating monster involved in a plot to burn Urn to the ground. She¡¯s reaching out from Hell to punish me in my dreams for running a sword through her heart. Despite that, I might still be in love with her.


    How did I unpack all of that?


    Catrin just sighed, looking near tired as I felt.


    You¡¯re still keeping things from her, I thought.


    This isn¡¯t vulgar. This doesn¡¯t have to be wrong.


    Umareon is wrong about me. She¡¯s nothing like Fidei. It¡¯s been over ten years. I can move on. I can be happy, can¡¯t I? When I have the time?


    I didn¡¯t deserve to be happy. Not after what I¡¯d done. Not with what I still had to do. I had responsibilities, and they were worlds more important than my personal wants.


    Keep your oaths then, the demon snarled in my memory, and see if they warm you.


    I don¡¯t know what Catrin saw in my face, but hers softened, some of the cool distance melting. She stepped close again and took my hands in her own, lifting the sheathed dagger between us.


    I stared at her, trying to find words. She wouldn¡¯t meet my eyes. I knew she could entrance me with eye contact, as she had that first night. She wasn¡¯t doing it now. This was all her and me, no magic or predation in it. She wanted me to know that.


    ¡°Let me help you,¡± Catrin said softly. ¡°Please, Alken.¡± She placed a hand to my chest, pressing it into the folds of my shirt. ¡°You¡¯re hurting.¡±


    I could feel my heartbeat beneath her cold hand. She lifted my right hand, her thumb running along the contours of my first finger. She pressed her lips to my knuckles, speaking very softly.


    ¡°Let me eat your bad dreams tonight.¡±


    Umareon¡¯s pitiless judgement boomed through my thoughts. You wonder what might have been had you heeded its lies. You are a lonely, wanting thing. You simply wish to be warm.


    Perhaps.


    I¡¯d spent my whole life wondering about might-have-beens. Perhaps part of me still mourned Dei, even piteously loved her despite knowing I¡¯d been nothing but a tool, but that had been a long time ago.


    Just once... Just once, I decided to do what I wanted to.


    I took Cat¡¯s chin in my fingers and tilted it up, so she had to meet my eyes. Her pupils expanded as they reflected the golden light in my gaze. Her eyelids went wide in surprise, her lips parting.


    I looked into her, but I couldn¡¯t see a monster. I saw hunger, both human and vampiric, but also kindness, empathy, a spirit of tough sinew, passion, and deep loyalty. Not to a nation, or a god or ideal, but to those she chose to stick by, and to her own principles.


    She had honor, Catrin of Ergoth. A kind I¡¯d never known before, but strong as any paladin¡¯s oath.


    Did I love her? Not as I¡¯d loved Fidei, certainly. Not as I loved Rosanna and Lias. And yet...


    I¡¯m tired.


    I pushed it all away, my doubts, my self-loathing, and leaned down to press my mouth to hers.


    I was tired of feeling cold.

 Arc 4: Chapter 16: A Cold Warmth

    Arc 4: Chapter 16: A Cold Warmth


    Cat gasped into my mouth, my kiss taking her by surprise. She relaxed after a moment, her eyelids drifting together to narrow the red orbs within to slits, not quite closing. She lifted a hand to curl her fingers into my short hair. I tasted her satisfied sigh.


    Encouraged by this response, I leaned in. She pressed closer to me, so we folded together. I pulled back to take a breath only for her fingers to tighten into my hair, dragging me back with an impatient hiss. My lips parted more in that second kiss, letting her tongue slip into my mouth.


    She tasted very faintly of copper.


    Catrin pressed closer to me as we held one another. Without thinking about it, my hand drifted down to her waist, feeling at the thin, flexible leather of her leggings. They softly crackled as she slid her thigh against mine. Through the thin material of her camisole, I felt the tips of her breasts harden.


    She pulled back, leaving me breathless and letting out a quick, nervous laugh. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I get excited easy.¡±


    ¡°You could give me some credit,¡± I complained lightly.


    She didn¡¯t seem to hear me. Her eyes were fixed on some point below my own, almost hidden beneath her lashes, her lips slightly parted.


    ¡°Cat?¡± I asked, still holding her.


    She licked her lips, though the gesture seemed more nervous than seductive. ¡°Get that coat and your boots off. I... I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    She slipped out of my arms, to my disappointment. There was another smaller room connected to the bedroom, probably for washing ¡ª Garihelm had very nice inns. She vanished into it.


    Sighing, still feeling my heart pound in my chest, I stripped out of my coat, tunic, and boots. This left me in my long undershirt and trousers. There was a draft somewhere, drawing a shiver from me. I lifted up my axe, for a moment unsure what to do with it. I hung it on one of the wall hooks meant for cloaks and coats. It emitted a hard, decisive clink as it settled into place.


    It sat there, sharp, gnarled, accusing. I sniffed and tossed my coat over it to hide it from view.


    What was I doing?


    Catrin was an attractive woman who wanted me, and I hadn¡¯t been with anyone in years. I needed to relax, to get my head on straight, to relieve some stress.


    Excuses. If I did this, it would change things between us. Did I love Catrin? I hadn¡¯t known her that long, all told.


    I didn¡¯t know. I felt like I could. Maybe it was time to start looking to the future, like Rosanna and Lias had.


    I¡¯ll stay here tonight, I thought. And tomorrow... I¡¯ll figure everything else out.


    Outside the window, someone let out a loud whooping sound. A few others answered the call. Revelers still out in the dark hours. Probably, the guard would round them up and send them home, possibly with a few new bruises for the trouble.


    I heard shuffling in the washroom. A sudden flash of something very like vertigo hit me.


    I was about to make love to a vampire. One who was experienced, yes, and who I doubted would kill me, but I hadn¡¯t truly wrapped my head around what that meant, and what else might happen during. My heartbeat ticked up again for a wholly different reason to my earlier excitement.


    Would she...


    Probably. This was her usual method, wasn¡¯t it?


    ¡°This has to be some kind of heresy,¡± I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. Umareon would think so, but...


    Fuck him.


    ¡°Alken.¡±


    I turned, and my breath caught. Catrin stood in the doorway to the side room, lit by a soft union of the alchemical lamp and the moonlight filtering through the window. Just enough shadow clung to her to provide an oddly surreal silhouette.


    She¡¯d stripped out of the boots, leather trousers, belt, and layered sleeves, leaving the tight fitting camisole and waist cape. She¡¯d removed most of the black threads that¡¯d helped secure the loose garments. The top came up beneath her arms, revealing her athletic build and clinging to her breasts.


    The skirt, like before, didn¡¯t have much of a front, but hung almost to the floor like a silky train. An arch of frill-lined material hung down in the front to cover her sex, though I could make out just a hint of dark hair through the almost transparent silk, above the slight gap between her thighs. Her long legs poised at an almost catlike angle, one crossed in front of the other as she rested on the balls of her feet.


    Her mop of chestnut hair hung around her face like a cloud. One eye peered out at me, glinting bright red in the poor lighting.


    I drew in a deep breath, surprised by the sight and my own reaction.


    ¡°Bit tacky,¡± Cat said, ruffling her hair with unusual self-consciousness. ¡°I just, I dunno... I thought maybe you¡¯d like it. Kind of elfy, isn¡¯t it? I used to hear things about you Alder Knights.¡±


    I just shook my head, running a hand over my mouth. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful, Catrin.¡±


    She blushed. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    I meant it. Catrin couldn¡¯t be called conventionally beautiful by the standards of elves or nobles. She had a long, narrow face just shy of being gaunt, a long nose, thick eyebrows set above large, intense eyes shadowed by a nocturnal life. Her lips were wide and set low, the upper larger than the lower. A painter might soften some of these edges if they were to put the face to canvas.


    I did find her beautiful in that moment. It took me off guard, stealing my words, stalling my thoughts.


    We watched one another for a time, locked in that moment. Then, the motion full of deliberation, Catrin took a step toward me, then another, her movements a cautious dance as her bare feet glided across the floorboards. She kept her eyes on some point below mine. Her lips were pressed tight, as though she were restraining some thought or focusing on a difficult task.


    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± She asked.


    I watched her. ¡°Do you trust yourself?¡±


    She scoffed, drawing another step closer. ¡°With you? I¡¯m less certain than usual.¡± She nodded to the bed. ¡°Sit down?¡±


    I did, with deliberate slowness, patient and with minimal movement. I had the same sensation I did facing off with some predator in the wilds, unsure if it would attack or not. Though Catrin seemed poised, I sensed a shivering energy in her, an impatience she barely kept control of.


    She stood over me then, framed half in light and half in shadow. She tilted her head to one side, studying me, her expression almost critical.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you trust yourself with me?¡± I asked her. My voice sounded rough. It had taken me off guard, how arousing the sight of her in the doorway had been.


    She thought about it a moment. ¡°I think... Maybe because you seem like a dream?¡±


    I frowned, tilting my head to one side. ¡°A dream?¡±


    ¡°I told you what I was,¡± she said softly. ¡°How could Half Dead Cat expect to catch the eye of a man like you?¡±


    ¡°Cat...¡± I set my jaw. ¡°I don¡¯t like all of this self disparagement. I have enough of that for the both of us.¡±


    ¡°I stopped being ashamed a long time ago,¡± she told me seriously. ¡°But even still, I have been thinking about you a lot. Ever since Cael, I¡¯ve wanted this.¡±


    She bit her lower lip, leaning forward. I leaned back, and she crawled onto the bed over me, poising on all fours. Our mouths drew close together, lips parting at the same time.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been dreaming about it ever since that first time,¡± she murmured, her vermillion eyes drifting down. ¡°The way you taste. Your blood was like fire in me.¡±


    She shivered, letting the long fingers of her left hand crawl up my stomach, feeling my muscles through the thin undershirt. She let it slide back down, lower, lower...


    We kissed as her hand began to work below. I groaned. She breathed a pleased laugh into my lungs.


    We stayed like that a while, just feeling one another. I ran a hand up her ribs, glided my thumb across one breast. I felt something I didn¡¯t expect and paused.


    Cat pulled back and let out a breathless titter. ¡°Ah, forgot about that. You¡¯ve probably not seen it before, good knight that you are.¡±


    I tilted my head, curious. Cat pulled back, rolled her shoulders, then folded her camisole down. In the moonlight, I saw more of her then, including the glint of little metal studs.


    ¡°Silver for the dead, right?¡± She grinned at me, blushing.


    I grimaced at her joke. ¡°That¡¯s terrible.¡±


    ¡°Heh.¡± She smiled, but her humor turned coquettish as she took my right hand and guided it to her breast, letting me caress it. Once I got used to the unexpected feel of the piercing, I found I liked it.


    ¡°They¡¯re popular in a lot of brothels,¡± Cat explained, letting out a murmur of pleasure as I ran my thumb in a slow circle. ¡°Your nobles use them too, you know. Lot of chaste corsets hiding jewels, if you know what I mean.¡±


    She leaned down to kiss me again, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her chest pressed against mine, the bits of cold metal there making me shiver. I moved her hair aside and bit her ear gently, finding it was tapered to a slight point. Returning the favor she¡¯d done me before, I slid my other hand down beneath the front of her skirt. I massaged gently. Her teeth clicked together next to my ear, a sharp breath hissing through them.


    She gasped a short time later, flexing against my hand. ¡°No more,¡± she panted. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    I laid down against the pillows. Cat stripped out of her top, leaving the waist cape on, and began to glide across my stomach, moving with slow, irregular rhythm. She¡¯d gotten my shirt unlaced at some point ¡ª how had I missed that?


    I could feel her beneath the thin garment, damp and soft. I ran my hands up her thighs, cinching the cloth up further. Cat rolled her neck, leaned down, and pressed her lips against mine hard.


    We found one another in the dark, and I slid into her. She let out a sharp cry.


    ¡°Fuck...¡± She pressed her head to my chest, pausing a moment.


    ¡°Too fast?¡± I breathed into her hair.


    She shook her head, then lifted her eyes to mine. Liquid red and full of hunger, they narrowed as though looking into a torch flame.


    ¡°Not sure I¡¯ll ever get used to that,¡± she said. ¡°But God, your eyes are pretty.¡±


    ¡°Yours too,¡± I told her, meaning it.


    ¡°Heh. No they¡¯re not. But thanks.¡± She ran a thumb along my brow, then kissed me. She placed more soft kisses at the corners of my lips as she moved atop me, even as her sharp nails cut into the sheets, flexing in time with her body.


    The bed was old, and not very large. After less than a minute, it began to creak beneath us. Cat didn¡¯t have what I could call a pretty voice ¡ª rough and unrefined, but I liked the sound of it. There was no artifice in her. She didn¡¯t fake pleasure. I heard it in each moan or soft cry I pulled from her, every hiss and grunt.


    We sat a while in silence. Wind rattled the window panes briefly. Something on the roof stirred, a bird or gargoyle perhaps.


    In the cool room, my anger ebbed. Feeling foolish and embarrassed, I turned my back on her and put my feet down on the floor, propping my arms against my knees. I exhaled, trying to calm the unexpected surge of emotion that¡¯d compelled me to make my hasty offer. A long silence, broken only by the night¡¯s ambience, lingered in the dark room.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Dei?¡± Catrin asked suddenly.


    I stiffened. Had I said her name, while Cat and I had been...


    Was I really so much of a bastard?


    The wound in my neck prickled, and I understood. She¡¯d taken it from my thoughts along with the blood.


    Didn¡¯t make me much less of a bastard.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, groaning and burying my face in my hands. ¡°God, I¡¯m sorry Cat.¡±


    I heard her blow out an exasperated breath behind me. Then, taking me off guard again, she reached out with her long legs and crossed her ankles in front of my neck, pulling me back with a swift movement. Deflated, I didn¡¯t resist as she pulled me into her lap.


    Cat let me rest between her thighs, pillowing my head below her navel. She played with my short hair. It grew coarse when short, almost like angry hackles.


    ¡°You¡¯re hardly the first man to see another woman¡¯s face while he¡¯s inside me,¡± she told me.


    My heart sank even further. ¡°That¡¯s awful, Cat. That doesn¡¯t make me feel better at all.¡±


    She shrugged, her expression calm. ¡°Tell me about her,¡± she said quietly, tracing one of my ears with a thumb.


    I narrowed my eyes, staring at the misted window. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I want to know you better. Her name is very loud in you. It¡¯s like a drumbeat in your blood. There¡¯s so much pain there.¡±


    I closed my eyes as she massaged my scalp, unsure if I¡¯d respond. Then, finally, I spoke.


    ¡°She was a priestess in the golden country. A cenobite. I loved her.¡±


    Cat leaned down to look into my face, searching. ¡°Did she die? During the war?¡±


    ¡°She did,¡± I said. Then after a pause I added, ¡°I killed her.¡±


    Cat¡¯s playful hands paused. I expected shock, even horror. But her cool fingers glided down to the left side of my face, feeling at the long scars there. ¡°She give you these?¡± She asked.


    I glanced up at her, taking my eyes off the window. ¡°Yes. How did you know?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re deep,¡± she said, running her hand along the four lines of damaged tissue. She traced the marks from my temple down to where they terminated on my cheek, the longest nearly touching the corner of my lip. ¡°Like claw marks. But I recognize the shape of a woman¡¯s nails.¡±


    ¡°She was...¡± I sighed. ¡°She was a demon. A succubus. One of the eight the Traitor Magi bound to help him destroy the realm. She was using me to get close to the council, and also to get free of her master, I think. When I found out, we fought.¡±


    Cat didn¡¯t speak again for a while as she thought that over. ¡°That¡¯s why you didn¡¯t trust me back in Caelfall. God, and I tried to take your wits. I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t run me through right there.¡±


    I closed my eyes again. ¡°I am sorry for that. I didn¡¯t trust anyone. I still don¡¯t trust anyone.¡±


    ¡°Not even me?¡± The dhampir teased.


    I smiled. ¡°Maybe a bit more than most.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all very big,¡± Cat noted. ¡°But I want to know about her. What was she like, this dark seductress? What kind of woman was able to steal Alken Hewer¡¯s heart?¡±


    I thought for a while, remembering. It had been a very long time, and my own memory wasn¡¯t infallible. I¡¯d colored over real events with half remembered dreams. A while passed before I spoke again. Cat didn¡¯t rush me, only ran her fingers through my hair, along the hard angles of my face.


    ¡°I could never figure out what color her eyes were,¡± I said at last, staring up at the ceiling. ¡°Sometimes they seemed green, other times gray. Sometimes a bit of both. Sometimes faded blue, like a lake under a misty sky. She had pale yellow hair, but she always covered it ¡ª nuns, you know? I only saw it a few times.¡±


    ¡°She sounds beautiful,¡± Catrin murmured.


    ¡°She was,¡± I admitted. ¡°That face, anyway.¡±


    I thought more before continuing, more details coming back in a sudden rush.


    ¡°She had this way of pursing her lips when I said something she didn¡¯t agree with, like she didn¡¯t like its taste. I always wanted to know what she was thinking, and she gave me little for free. So many of our conversations were like talking to some royal tutor. She liked lessons, and puzzles. She could be brazen, and demure, even shy. When I figured out what she was thinking before she was ready to tell me, she¡¯d blush and get put out. It was cute.¡±


    I smiled at the memory. ¡°She could be sharp tongued, too. I don¡¯t think she liked the other nuns too much. Makes sense, in retrospect.¡±


    ¡°What was her name?¡± Cat asked, tracing my jaw now. She toyed with the stubble there. I hadn¡¯t shaved in some days. ¡°Dei sounds like a nickname.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± I agreed. ¡°Her name was Fidei.¡±


    Cat tasted the name. ¡°Fidei... That means faith, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Sister Faith,¡± I confirmed. ¡°All the Cenocaste nuns had names like that. It¡¯s their habit when they take their vows. They¡¯re scholars and confessors, scribes and historians. There¡¯s a reason cleric and clerk sound so similar. That¡¯s where the order the Church evolved from, the Clericastia, got its name. The clericons are the scribes of God.¡±


    Cat hummed. ¡°I never thought about it. But don¡¯t try to change the subject on me, Hewer.¡±


    I closed my eyes at the pleasantly cool feeling of Catrin¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°She had a way of making my problems seem small. All my fears, all my doubts, all my regrets and confusion. I saw and did some terrible things as a soldier, and she never seemed bothered by any of it. We could always cut to the heart of a problem when we talked. It helped me feel more certain of myself. For all that, she seemed sad somehow. It made me want to help her, but I didn¡¯t know how, ironhead that I was.¡±


    ¡°Beautiful and smart too,¡± Catrin noted. ¡°No wonder it took me so long to get you in bed.¡±


    ¡°Cat...¡± I sighed.


    ¡°Just teasing,¡± she laughed, though I heard a touch of doubt in her voice.


    I opened my eyes and stared at the window again, watching the fog curl against it.


    ¡°And it was all an act. All her empathy, her charm, her interest. She played the role of exactly the kind of woman I¡¯d fall for. She had me on her strings, and I had no idea. I told her about the goings on of the other knights, the lords, the king. Just as bad as the fools back in Karles who gave secrets away in pillow talk to spies. She seemed more real than anything else in that damned city, but she wasn¡¯t.¡±


    I quoted a line I¡¯d once heard from a priest in Seydis.


    ¡°Hell is full of the dupes of the Abgru?dai. That¡¯s how they managed to bring down the gates of Heaven ¡ª with seduction. I was a paladin of the Alder Table, and I didn¡¯t see her for what she was. I didn¡¯t want to. I just... Wanted something that felt real.¡±


    I stared at my right hand, flexing the fingers. ¡°And I killed her. Even then, even when I knew what she was, I didn¡¯t want to do it. She came at me, and I had my sword, and it just... Happened.¡±


    Above me, Catrin sniffed. Had I made her cry?


    ¡°Alken...¡± She leaned down and kissed me above one eye. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    I shook my head. My throat felt tight. ¡°You¡¯ve been good to me. More than I deserve.¡±


    ¡°I rejected you,¡± Cat said, her voice small. ¡°God, I wish I could heal this hole in you. I want to so badly, but...¡±


    She was crying. I felt a tear land on my cheek.


    ¡°I understand,¡± I told her, and think I might have even meant it. ¡°It¡¯s my sin. This is enough, I think. It helped.¡±


    My mind felt clearer. I knew what I had to do.


    ¡°We can keep doing this?¡± Cat offered. ¡°I can¡¯t promise you it¡¯ll be more than that, but I had a good time tonight.¡±


    ¡°...Maybe.¡± I rested my hand on my stomach, settling back into her lap with a heavy sigh. ¡°I enjoyed myself too. Can I stay here? With you? Tonight, at least.¡±


    She took my face in both hands and leaned down, kissing me on the mouth. It was almost chaste, for her. ¡°Of course,¡± she breathed into my lips. ¡°Long as you want.¡±


    My eyes felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. I hadn¡¯t rested in so long.


    I didn¡¯t want to sleep. I didn¡¯t want to dream. I was afraid of it.


    And I wanted it. To see her.


    I closed my eyes.


    I was wounded. Twisted. How could I still feel this way, even after all this time, even knowing the truth?


    Everything faded away. Cat¡¯s hands on my skin, the moonlight, the city, the tasks ahead of me. Sleep, when I allowed it, came crashing in. Even still, thoughts and memories drifted through me like a languid fog through dark woods.


    In the end...


    In the end, when I¡¯d had my sword, when Fidei had lunged at me, she¡¯d been crying too.

 Arc 4: Chapter 17: The Forest of Heads

    Arc 4: Chapter 17: The Forest of Heads


    I stumbled through the woods, and they called out to me. The ones I¡¯d killed.


    They grew from the trees like cancerous fruit. Some sprouted from hanging branches, others clustered in tumorous masses from the trunks themselves. Some rose up from the ground with bulging eyes and gnashing teeth.


    The heads my axe had taken filled the sickened forest. They whispered, laughed, shouted as my unsteady feet navigated the tangled undergrowth. They snapped at the hem of my red cloak, sobbed, begged.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± They mocked.


    I¡¯d lost something. My eyes searched the tangled trees. Beyond them, I could see a light. It was pale and cold, featureless, and everywhere. Any way I turned, the light spilled like a moon¡¯s blood. Even still, wherever I walked, the shadows pooled deep.


    ¡°This is all there is!¡± The heads told me, glee and despair intermingling in their joined voices.


    Can''t be, I thought. Only, I couldn''t see anything else.


    From a low branch, a wizened face turned and opened rheumy eyes. The distant light caught on the golden circlet on his brow, outlining its woven design.


    ¡°I served the gods too,¡± Leonis Chancer told me. Blood dripped beneath his chin, falling from a viscous, nearly solid mass hanging down like a beard. ¡°Do they love you more than I, you think?¡±


    I spun away from the ghastly face, searching, searching...


    What had I lost?


    From the hollow of a crooked tree, a face emerged like a squeezing worm. Flesh strained against the edges of the hole, wrinkled and bruised. Bristled hair popped out, gray and filthy. Between the once proud mutton chops, yellow teeth flashed.


    ¡°We all had something we were fighting for,¡± said Emery Planter, the Earl of Strekke. ¡°I sought to protect my family from the degradations of this tired order. Do you think about my son still? The one you orphaned?¡±


    ¡°Leave me be,¡± I growled.


    A shadow flitted between two trees. My eyes tracked it, looking for where it would reemerge. It didn¡¯t, but I felt certain... I didn¡¯t know what I felt certain of, but anywhere was better than here, with these ghoulish faces. I began to move toward it, trudging through the bleeding woods.


    ¡°The light isn¡¯t that way!¡± Emery laughed at my back.


    ¡°He fears the light,¡± Leonis said conspiratorially. ¡°It reveals ugly truths.¡±


    ¡°Will it burn him to ash, you think?¡± This came from a man in an iron crown studded with green jewels, a king. His fiery hair had turned gray, his skin sallow. He rose from roots in the ground, like a foul pumpkin.


    ¡°Do you remember how you dreamed of fighting me on the battlefield?¡± Rhan Harrower asked me with a crooked grin like a wound in his sunken features. ¡°What would that proud young man think of you now, Alken Hewer?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d probably have picked another name!¡± Emery cackled.


    The entire forest quivered with cruel laughter. In the distance, a dark shape passed from one cover to the next. It watched me in turn. I could feel its eyes, like a tether on my soul.


    But the Dead wouldn''t be ignored.


    "Bloody Al," Leonis scoffed. "Headsman. Blackbough. First Sword. What handsome titles you''ve gained!"


    "If only they all knew what a simpering puppy you are," Rhan sneered.


    ¡°You¡¯re all dead,¡± I hissed. ¡°You were all monsters.¡±


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t kill us for what we did,¡± said a young, sweet voice.


    My bones turned to ice at the sound. I turned, despite every instinct in me screaming not to. From within the tangled limbs of a skeletal tree, like a fly caught at the center of a web, the pale face of a girl no older than fourteen stared at me with shadowed eyes. Her once fair hair had turned white in death.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you try to save me?¡± Irene hissed from above, her colorless eyes full of hate. ¡°Like you did that Carreon bitch?¡±


    I caught a glint in the putrid undergrowth. I reached for it, languid and dull, the motion more impulse than intent.


    ¡°You have no one but us,¡± Emery told me, his tone reasonable. ¡°You are all alone.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± I muttered, lifting my closed fist.


    ¡°All the whore wants from you is your blood,¡± Leonis spat. ¡°She has no love for you, no true affection. She is just a desperate leech.¡±


    ¡°A beast warming herself by a fire,¡± Rhan hissed.


    ¡°The Carreon will betray you,¡± Irene sang. ¡°She will sell herself to your enemies and become strong, all your hopes discarded in her wake.¡±


    ¡°Rosanna Silvering will use and discard you as ruthlessly as the Choir will,¡± the nobleman who bled black pus said with a cackle.


    ¡°If her pet wizard doesn¡¯t do it first,¡± the skull crooned.


    ¡°And you will be left with us,¡± Rhan growled, his broken teeth bared in a rictus grin. ¡°When all this is over, these are the seeds you¡¯ve sown. Behold your garden!¡±


    I looked down at my closed fist, took a steadying breath, and opened my fingers. In the palm of my hand, a union of smooth black stone and ivory rested. My ring.


    ¡°It would be best if you ended things, my child.¡± Leonis Chancer¡¯s dry lips formed a fatherly smile. ¡°Spare the world more pain. Are these trees not full enough?¡±


    I glanced up at the forest. There were plenty of empty branches. My eyes went back down to the ring. My hands were covered in blood, so I moved cautiously as I took it between the forefinger and thumb of my left hand. I slipped it onto my right hand, in its usual place on the first finger.


    It slipped off. My hands were too slick with blood. The ring tumbled to the ground. I dove for it, letting out a curse. It had fallen into the tangle of sick weeds and roots. I reached into them¡ª


    And jerked my hand away at a flash of pain. Something had bit me. Within the thorny roots, rotted teeth grinned. I heard a gulp.


    Gone. The realization wasn¡¯t unlike having a cut artery. Little pain, but lethal all the same.


    ¡°No escape,¡± Irene whispered to me in a sweet, soothing voice. Her web of branches creaked as her pale face lowered down. ¡°Best just end things, Alken Hewer. You¡¯ve been a ghost for over ten years now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the honorable thing to do,¡± King Rhan told me sternly. ¡°Chin up, son. Far better warriors have fallen on their own swords.¡±


    The forest murmured around me, voices pitched between encouragement and bitter invective. The boughs quivered, not with wind but with the discontent of the dead.


    My ring was gone. I had no defense from these unquiet shades. They would haunt me to death or insanity, whichever came first.


    Perhaps it would be easier if¡ª


    Once again, something moved through the trees. My gaze went to it.


    ¡°Best not,¡± Emery warned. ¡°There are far worse things than us in these woods, Headsman.¡±


    What was it? My eyes narrowed, trying to find it again. I stood, once again beginning my stumbling trek through the trees.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret it!¡± The heads wailed.


    I ignored them, and kept moving toward the furtive shadow. It watched me with eyes of flame, a guide far dimmer than the distant silver glow, yet somehow far more intense. It led me deeper into the tangled forest, away from the light.

 Arc 4: Chapter 18: In The Court of The Gargoyle Lord

    Arc 4: Chapter 18: In The Court of The Gargoyle Lord


    I woke drenched in cold sweat, gasping.


    No. Stop. Don¡¯t go any further. Turn back, go back to the light.


    What light? Where had I been going?


    I¡¯d been in the forest again. They had been there, waiting for me.


    Rustling sheets drew my attention. I was in the inn room. The window had been shuttered while I¡¯d slept, closed tight and draped with a blanket. Despite the darkness, I knew the sun had risen. I could feel it on the walls.


    Cat was there with me. She shifted, one bare leg caressing my back.


    ¡°Bad dream, big man?¡±


    I glanced back at her. As I managed to focus, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. With the help of aura, the gloom fell away to reveal a slender, long-limbed form on the bed, a sleepy face half hidden by tangled hair.


    ¡°Did I wake you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Been awake a while,¡± Cat said. ¡°You were having a nightmare.¡± She fell quiet a moment before admitting, ¡°I heard some of it. Your blood¡¯s still in me.¡±


    I winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She shook her head, then rose to press herself against my back. She sighed, leaning in. Though cold, her weight made me feel warmer inside. She laced an arm around my neck and I took her hand in mine.


    ¡°They¡¯re just ghosts,¡± she said. ¡°Just a bunch of sore losers. You¡¯re stronger than them.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t so sure. Glancing at the curtained window I asked, ¡°What time is it?¡±


    I felt her shrug. ¡°Late. Probably close to noon.¡±


    ¡°I should go,¡± I said, and slipped from Cat¡¯s arm as I started to rise. I had things to do. A mission to prepare for.


    The dhampir wrapped her legs around my waist, holding me back.


    ¡°Am I going to see you again soon?¡± She asked me.


    I hesitated. ¡°Maybe. Let me figure some things out.¡±


    She kept me trapped in her legs. I sighed. ¡°Cat...¡±


    ¡°Sit,¡± she ordered. Then more sweetly added, ¡°Please?¡±


    Shaking my head in exasperation, I sat. She leaned against me again, her breasts pressing against my back. Then, with clever, quick fingers, she began to adjust my hair.


    ¡°I like it this way,¡± she told me. ¡°I can see more of you.¡±


    ¡°Harder to hide my eyes,¡± I grumbled. I¡¯d always preferred long hair. It helped hide my blunt features, my scars. It kept the world at more of a distance.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Cat leaned over my shoulder and turned my chin with her sharp nails. I thought at first she meant to kiss me, but instead I caught a flash of something bright and sharp, before I felt the kiss of cold metal against my skin. I froze.


    ¡°Hold still,¡± she murmured. ¡°Let me take care of this.¡±


    She had Shivers in her hand, the banesteel dagger. She began to drag it across my cheek, moving with cautious dexterity. I calmed, realizing what she was doing.


    I let her shave me, a strange and intimate experience even after our night together. Somehow, I felt like I put more trust in her with this than when I¡¯d let her feed on me. The enchanted blade glided across my skin, smooth and pleasantly cool.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind beards,¡± Cat muttered, her breath tickling my ear. ¡°But I hate stubble. Best to pick one or the other.¡±


    When she finished, Cat ran a hand over the smooth planes of my face. The enchanted blade had left nothing behind. Then she pressed her mouth to mine. I didn¡¯t respond at first, but when she didn¡¯t pull away I relaxed. I even returned the kiss, until she brought me to near breathlessness.


    Her eyes were warm when she pulled back, red beginning to speckle into the irises.


    ¡°I meant what I said last night,¡± Cat whispered, her lashes brushing my cheek. ¡°We can keep doing this. You can¡¯t live on duty, big man. You need to live sometimes. Take it from a dead girl.¡±


    I considered a minute before replying. ¡°I can¡¯t make any promises.¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± she said, sounding like she meant it. ¡°Offer¡¯s open.¡± Then, biting her lip she added, ¡°You in a big hurry to get back to that queen of yours?¡±


    I recognized the invitation. Even after the previous night, I almost accepted it. Almost. But instead I nodded and said, ¡°I have things that need doing.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t want to be with you, I reminded myself.


    Cat rolled under my arm, turning to straddle me. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t care about you,¡± she told me, clasping my face and looking into my eyes despite the painful light in them.


    I grimaced. ¡°That¡¯s cheating.¡±


    ¡°Heh. Your mind is a lot busier than I expected. You¡¯re so terse all the time, but your thoughts aren¡¯t ever quiet.¡±


    She pecked me on the cheek, then rolled off my lap to wrap herself in the bedding. By the time I¡¯d dressed and grabbed my equipment, she snored softly. I wondered how long she¡¯d stayed up, even as the daylight and my unquiet mind had wearied her, waiting for me to wake so she could give me some comfort?


    I really didn¡¯t deserve a friend like her. I took a minute to watch her, messy haired and sprawled in the modest bed. A breath escaped my nose as the tight feeling in my chest eased just a bit.


    I¡¯d been angry when she¡¯d refused to be together with me, to choose me. It still hurt, even if I¡¯d understood her reasons. I¡¯d been an idiot, naive as any boy with his first crush. I¡¯d found something good, and I¡¯d gone too far. Even still, part of me wasn¡¯t content with this, knowing that sometime soon she would be teasing and laughing in another man¡¯s arms.


    Should I resent her for that? I wondered.


    I decided to make the choice not to.


    I walked to the bed and leaned down, reaching out to touch her lightly. Cat shifted, smiling sleepily and murmuring without waking up. I brushed her hair from her eye and tucked it behind one of her tapered ears. I pulled out the sheathed elven dagger, leaving it on the bed near her hand.


    ¡°The Sidhe don¡¯t give gifts lightly,¡± I whispered to her, knowing she probably didn¡¯t hear me. ¡°Best keep this close.¡±


    I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.


    The streets of Garihelm seemed oddly subdued, compared to the festive atmosphere from the night before. There were fewer commonfolk out on the streets, and the guards had a wary edge to them. Though the morning had been bright, a gray pallor had crawled over the sky in the early afternoon.


    I made my way toward the palace, feeling a nameless foreboding. The Fulgurkeep rose black and solid over the bay on its lonely island, the arches of its three bridges guiding me on.


    As I walked, a shadow detached itself from a narrow alley and matched my pace. I didn¡¯t slow, or so much as throw a glance at the dark haired figure at my side. I did speak, however.


    ¡°I thought you went back to the keep,¡± I said.


    Emma didn¡¯t say anything for a long while as we walked. A troupe of mounted guardsmen went by us, all riding the barbed cockatrices popular among Reynish soldiery.


    ¡°Last time we separated,¡± Emma said after a time, her voice surprisingly calm, ¡°you spent weeks in an Inquisition dungeon. I took time to cool my head, then I kept an eye on you. Or, I had Qoth help keep an eye on you.¡±


    When she¡¯d slipped out of the alley, she¡¯d been hiding herself with glamour. More briarfae magic learned from Nath, I suspected. She¡¯d been watching my back.


    Grunting I said, ¡°Anything interesting happen?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°We headed off at least one group of men who were tailing you. Priorguard in plainclothes, I think. Other than that, I took the time to enjoy the festival.¡±


    I felt her amber eyes watching me sidelong. ¡°So. You were with Catrin all night. And all morning.¡±


    No use denying it. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Hm. And you look rested. Your hair is tidier than I¡¯ve probably ever seen it. You shaved, too.¡±


    I blew out a breath through my nose. ¡°Also true.¡±


    Markham Forger.


    He was not the tallest man in the room, or the thinnest. He had a stocky build, more solid than regal and just shy of stout. His hair had gone prematurely gray and thinned from his pate, and he couldn¡¯t be called handsome. He dressed in dark chainmail not dissimilar from my lost armor, festooned with medals, his right arm encased in filigreed gold fashioned to match his crown. As the Church¡¯s own knight-captain, he dressed for war.


    Yet, he didn¡¯t wear his imperial splendor in his garments like the dark queen at his side. He exuded it in his manner, in his very presence in the room. On his iron throne, a piece of almost brutalist design, he seemed a part of the architecture itself. Unyielding stone, fire-tempered, stern. A Gargoyle Lord.


    The man who¡¯d delivered my sentence of excommunication. I sunk further back into the shadows.


    Two figures stood in the middle of the court, facing the throne. These had the floor, and I focused on them once I¡¯d managed to tear my eyes from the Emperor and Empress. One was an aged man with the look of an ambassador of some kind, in a fur-lined robe which trailed nearly to the floor and a clean shaven head juxtaposed by a proud beard. Next to him stood a young woman with hair dark as Rosanna¡¯s. She wore ornate but functional armor beneath a white cloak sewn with the symbol of Graill, a broken peak spilling golden blood into a lake.


    The Emperor¡¯s gravelly voice filled the cavern, carried by the acoustics of clever architecture and the subtle weight of aura. ¡°We understand your concerns, Lady Snoe?. We assure you, the Azure Round is not unaware of this threat.¡±


    Snoe? of House Farram, The Princess of Graill, sniffed at the Emperor¡¯s words. She half turned, keeping her eyes on the throne but bodily facing the courtiers, a none-too-subtle sign she addressed them as much as the high king. She was a full faced young woman of perhaps twenty-five, who seemed well used to wearing armor. Her plate had been fashioned of pale silvered steel, and she wore the hide of an angry-eyed, spiral horned hare the size of a wolf over one shoulder ¡ª a wolpertinger.


    ¡°Forgive me, Your Grace, but I do not think the Round does understand.¡± The Haresbane Knight flashed a chipped-tooth smile, looking in that moment more like a scrappy peasant girl than a princess, yet her breathy voice held a hard edge. ¡°While your city is enjoying the fruits of continental trade, throwing festivals and tournaments, my people are still fighting a war the rest of you seem to believe long over.¡±


    ¡°We are not blind to the threat of Elfgrave,¡± the Lord-Steward intoned. Standing near seven feet in height and made into a looming shadow alongside the throne by his corpulent physique, the royal advisor had a fleshy face and boyish bowl-cut which had the unfortunate effect of making him look like an enormous, crag-browed child. His basso voice, as far from a child¡¯s as one could imagine, filled the court like the hum of a pipe organ.


    ¡°There are watches on every pass surrounding the dell, and regular auguries made by countless clericons. Are you implying the Azure Round has been lax in this, Princess?¡±


    ¡°I imply nothing,¡± Snoe? Farram shot back, lifting a short, thick eyebrow. ¡°My lord father was tasked with keeping a watch over the old capital, and there has not been so much as a single season in which we have not battled woed or some other evil crawled out of the Ignited Lands.¡±


    ¡°You have been provided troops,¡± the Steward said, lifting one heavy brow. The motion barely revealed the small, bright eye beneath. ¡°Food, medicine, clerics, and other necessities all by the good grace of the Accorded Realms. What more would you ask of our confederation, Princess?¡±


    The armored noblewoman¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°My father¡¯s belief is that the darkness in Elfgrave will continue to fester, like a cancered wound, until whatever sickness brewing in it erupts beyond the eastern valleys. What we desire is action.¡±


    She took a step closer to the dais, her armor audibly clinking in the cavernous silence of the audience chamber. Sweeping her pale cloak back, she placed a hand to her breastplate. ¡°We ask that the Ardent Bough be reformed. If the realms send their knights, we can clean the infestation from Seydis once and for all.¡±


    A murmur filled the court. Emma shifted at my side, listening intently. Across the floor, I noted Siriks Sontae leaning forward, his youthful features fixed with interest.


    The Steward let out an almost guttural scoff. ¡°Our confederation is still in the process of recovering from one devastating war, and you would ask us to begin another?¡±


    Once again, Princess Snoe? sniffed. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was a show of disdain, like Emma¡¯s tsk¡¯s, or a nervous tic. ¡°It seems to me,¡± she said slowly, her eyes still on the throne, ¡°that the Accord has power aplenty. I have seen it today, in this city. I have heard tell of new products from the west, of armor and weaponry crafted by alchemists. Many new knights have come of age, with hundreds of them here for the tournament. I do not see a nation incapable of showing strength.¡±


    It was Rosanna who responded to this, her voice pitched to show respect to the foreign heiress, her tone reasonable. ¡°We have strength, Princess, but what you ask would cost many lives.¡±


    ¡°And it would cost,¡± the Steward added. His almost impossibly deep voice made the final word echo in the chamber. ¡°Our trade with Bantes and its sister nations has aided in the land¡¯s recovery, but do not think they will be so intent on maintaining those relations if we squander them on hasty crusades against foes we have already cowed.¡±


    Through this debate, the Emperor remained silent. Rosanna¡¯s bright green eyes watched the Graillwoman patiently, thoughtful. Ghostly murmurs drifted among the courtiers as private conversations took place on the side.


    ¡°Cowed?¡± Snoe? Farram asked, blinking in disbelief at the towering councilor. ¡°You believe the Gorelion is cowed?¡±


    A hush fell over the court. The Emperor¡¯s head tilted, his thoughtful manner shifting immediately into a hard focus. Beyond him, his royal champion stood impassively, a steel statue. Rosanna¡¯s lips formed a thinner line, and even the Steward went silent.


    A tightness formed in my chest. I remembered mad laughter echoing over the burning streets of Elfhome, when it still had that name. I remembered Yith¡¯s gleeful words.


    The Gorelion has sworn to slay you.


    ¡°Shall I say it?¡± Snoe? spat, baring her teeth.


    More silence. Rosanna glanced at her husband, a hint of concern cracking the glass of her imperial mien.


    ¡°Ager Roth.¡±


    The Princess of Graill spoke into that silence, naming the demon who¡¯d led the sack of the Golden Country. The hush which had fallen over the imperial court took on a breathless quality. The shadows seemed to darken near the edges of the room ¡ª I felt it, as the household spirits which clung to the Fulgurkeep¡¯s ancient stone shivered at the sound of the dread name.


    ¡°Blasphemy,¡± one of the clericons who hovered near the dais said, glaring at the princess.


    ¡°Blasphemy?¡± Snoe?¡¯s voice held disbelief, and a slow-smoldering rage. ¡°Blasphemy is allowing that creature to squat in this, the sanctuary claimed for us by God Herself. Blasphemy is allowing him to linger in the very city in which She once held court over this land.¡±


    The princess began to pace back and forth, working herself into a fervor. The small bells hanging on braided threads over the mantle of her cloak voiced a silver tune with each motion, like whispering Wil-O¡¯ Wisps. ¡°That beast was the Cambion¡¯s mentor. Our own scripture tells us he was there the day Blessed Onsolem fell. The Gorelion shed Heaven¡¯s own blood, and now he is here, within reach of our swords!¡±


    She whirled, her cloak and bells swinging, and held up a closed fist to the Emperor and Empress. ¡°It is heresy that we have waited this long to finish this war!¡± She snarled.


    At my side, Emma muttered. ¡°Not that I¡¯m one for zealots normally, but I kind of like her. She has some fire.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply, caught up trying to quell the unwanted rage boiling in my aura. The sacred fire in me had not enjoyed hearing even part of the demon lord¡¯s true name.


    Rosanna¡¯s voice emerged from her painted lips cold and low. ¡°You overstep yourself, Princess, to accuse my lord-husband of heresy in his own court.¡±


    The younger woman¡¯s face, already pale, lost some of its color. ¡°I did not¡ª¡±


    She took a breath and bowed to the throne, causing her braided black hair to veil her face. ¡°Forgive me, Your Grace. I sometimes lose hold of my passions, especially where the safety of mine own homeland is concerned.¡±


    Into the ensuing silence, the Emperor finally broke his own. ¡°We understand, Princess, and sympathize with your zeal. King Kyne¡¯s service has not gone unnoticed by the Azure Round, nor by this court. Understand, however, that Elfgrave is not the only threat faced by the realms. With western trade comes other, more unwelcome eyes from beyond our lands. You are aware, aren¡¯t you, that only a bare handful of nights past, a beast of Edaea landed in these very streets out of a storm, before being subdued by a group of knights here for my tournament?¡±


    The Princess nodded slowly, her expression still steely with discontent. ¡°I have heard of this, Your Grace.¡±


    The Emperor nodded, his blunt features dense iron to the young woman¡¯s quicksilver. ¡°To commit the Accord¡¯s armies to a crusade, for that is what your lord father asks, will require a unanimous agreement by both the lords of the Azure Round and by the Clericon College, who must sanctify any such endeavor. Additionally, it would leave us defenseless against further incursions from Edaea, or by other threats here closer to home.¡±


    Snoe?¡¯s head tilted. ¡°You refer to the remaining Recusant Lords? To Talsyn?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Markham Forger settled back into his throne, his demeanor relaxing somewhat. ¡°On that, there is perhaps some happier news. We have been in talks with Hasur Vyke and his allies, with optimistic results.¡±


    The Graillman princess¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Optimistic results? What could we desire of heretics and traitors, other than their unconditional surrender?¡±


    At that, the Lord Steward lifted a hand and gestured. Two individuals detached themselves from the group of dark-cloaked figures, stepping out into the center of the audience hall before stopping a short distance away from Snoe? Farram and her advisor. The old man next to the princess whispered something in her ear, the look on his face tight with caution.


    One of the two cloaked figures reached up to remove their hood, revealing a sallow faced young man only a bit older than Siriks and perhaps a year or three younger than Snoe?. I suspected this because I knew who it must be, but the man¡¯s face looked prematurely aged, dotted with pockmarks, the pale blue eyes set deep and heavily shadowed, the effect subtly manic.


    He had dark hair, a dusty brown close to black, and a lanky, long-armed build beneath the cloak. A swordsman¡¯s build. He stood with a slight hunch, his tangled hair falling down past his shoulders. He swept his ghoulish eyes over the court, something very like a sneer twitching at the corner of his lip.


    I knew him. I¡¯d never seen him before, but I knew who it must be. And I had to resist the urge to rush to my queen¡¯s side, to draw a weapon, to go on full guard.


    The Emperor¡¯s voice echoed out over the court. ¡°We introduce to the court the Prince Calerus of House Vyke, heir to the throne of Talsyn, and his sister, the Princess Hyperia Vyke. They are here as ambassadors on behalf of King Hasur, and in the prince¡¯s case to participate in my tournament, I believe.¡±


    Voices rippled across the court, many of them alarmed. Siriks Sontae looked positively gleeful then ¡ª I could see him standing on the balls of his feet, talking animatedly to his fellows. Ser Jocelyn looked on impassively, though I noted he¡¯d grown very still. Faisa Dance swept her fan up to her lips, though I caught the frown before she hid it.


    Rosanna¡¯s hand tightened against the curling arm of her ebon-and-silver throne, her kohl-dotted eyes narrowing.


    Calerus Vyke dipped his head in a sketchy half bow to the Emperor. ¡°That is correct, Your Grace.¡± His voice, like the rest of him, didn¡¯t seem young. It was scratchy and hoarse, with barely a trace of a highborn accent.


    The Princess of Graill¡¯s face flushed with rage. ¡°You invited them here? Into this, the heart of our Accord? After everything that realm of butchers has done?¡±


    ¡°Our father would like to extend his heartfelt gratitude at this offer of amnesty,¡± the other princess, Hyperia Vyke, said smoothly, ignoring the Farram girl. Unlike her brother, her voice was sweet and courteously pitched. She doffed her own cowl, revealing an unassuming, mildly pretty face which shared color with her brother¡¯s but little else, save perhaps a kindred thinness of the lips and cheeks.


    And I knew her. I knew them both. I¡¯d heard Hyperia¡¯s sickly-sweet gush. I¡¯d seen them both sat side by side, in almost the same outfits. I recognized their build, their mannerisms, from the prince¡¯s predatory slouch to his sister¡¯s floating grace. I just hadn¡¯t recognized them for who they were at the time.


    Every detail in that faraway room had been imprinted into my memory, burned into my aura. Disguised or no, I saw them for what they were.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Emma asked quietly. She¡¯d noticed the sudden intensity of my glare, my clenched fist. ¡°What is it?¡±


    The cowled twins in Orson¡¯s dining hall. It was them. I felt certain.


    ¡°Those two were at Caelfall,¡± I said so only Emma could hear. ¡°They¡¯re part of the Council of Cael.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 19: All The Worlds Troubles

    Arc 4: Chapter 19: All The World''s Troubles


    I remember little of what transpired next. There was some talk of tribute paid by Talsyn, ¡°reparations¡± for past transgressions. The delegation from Graill made a fuss, until the Farram princess¡¯s advisor took her aside for a private talk which ended with her storming out of the chamber, her expression furious. She left the gathered court with the faint memory of her cloak¡¯s silver bells singing ominously.


    I left early as well. My mind became a chaos at the revelation in that chamber, at its implications.


    Calerus and Hyperia Vyke, the children of King Hasur Vyke, the last great clan of Recusants left in the land, had been at Caelfall. They had been part of Orson Falconer¡¯s heretical council. They had participated in the slaughter of the villagers there, the desecration of holy ground, and the restoration of Yith¡¯s physical body.


    I had known, from Karog, that the Council had been Hasur Vyke¡¯s guests. Now, I had very good reason to believe that he wasn¡¯t only their ally, but that the old king of Talsyn had been the power behind that dark gathering all along.


    The wizard Reynard had been the mastermind behind the Fall, binding demons to himself, courting and coordinating with malcontents across the land, turning both the Briar and the more savage or desperate changelings against Seydis, conspiring with the knight-captains. Rhan Harrower, formerly King of Duranike, had been the great champion and general of the Recusant armies.


    But it had been the cunning, aged lord in Talsyn who had been the true leader of the Recusants. Reynard had never seemed to care for his feudal allies beyond their use as a dramatic distraction, and Rhan had been a soldier more than a strategist. But Hasur Vyke had coordinated the traitor armies from his mountainous bastions in the north, proving a canny and vicious adversary.


    We¡¯d never managed to beat him, only settled into an uneasy stalemate. Talsyn hadn¡¯t had the strength to fight all of the Accord after the war had stalled, but neither had the Accord been willing to engage in a costly siege on the fortified valleys where House Vyke made its abode.


    So Talsyn had sat, a brooding threat in the subcontinent¡¯s heartlands, quiet but unbowed. There had been rumors that many noble houses still firmly Recusant had taken refuge in King Hasur¡¯s lands.


    And now his children were here, making homages of peace even as the monster they¡¯d helped give flesh still lurked somewhere in the city. Only days after a dark godling of the west had made an attempt on the streets. Had it been a test of the capital¡¯s strength?


    I smelled an elaborate conspiracy, and it made my weapon hand itch.


    I had warned Umareon.


    I needed to talk to Rose.


    ¡°Alken!¡± Emma caught up to me as I stalked through the halls, heading toward the Empress¡¯s bastion. ¡°Slow down. What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°The plan is to let Rosanna know there are snakes in this pit with us,¡± I growled. ¡°And do everything I can to get those Recusants tossed out into the cold.¡±


    Or on a chopping block, I thought darkly. What was their plan? Why had they made themselves known to the court?


    ¡°That seems like a very good way to draw attention to yourself,¡± Emma said primly. She fell quiet as we passed a pair of guards in Forger livery. ¡°Remember that the Emperor doesn¡¯t know you¡¯re here, and probably wouldn¡¯t take kindly to the knowledge.¡±


    I slowed down at that, considering. She was right, damn it.


    No one knew Alken Hewer and the Headsman of Seydis were the same person, save for a handful of individuals I trusted. Few knew my face, either, not here in this rainy northern country. If my identity were exposed to the gathered nobles in Garihelm, it would be a case of an obscure warrior of a disgraced and traitorous order making a surprise reappearance. I doubted most would remember my name, or find it very significant beyond my connection to the Table and some feats during the war. My status as an excommunicate would likely put shade on Rosanna¡¯s faction, especially since I had once been her personal champion.


    On the other hand, if anyone did somehow discover I was also the Headsman, it would be a wholly different story. In that case, it could lead to summary trial and death, and disgrace for Rosanna Silvering. They would call her a tyrant, and believe all my actions as an executioner for the Choir done on her own orders. Not every head I¡¯d claimed had been a known Recusant.


    Some of them hadn¡¯t been Recusant at all. I thought of Leonis, and Irene.


    No matter what happened, I wouldn¡¯t drag my queen down with me. So I paused. I breathed. I thought it through.


    ¡°I need to warn Rosanna,¡± I said, glancing at Emma. ¡°She won¡¯t be able to do anything official on just my word, not without proof, but she can have spies on those two back in the throne room, do her own investigation.¡±


    Emma nodded, her full mouth pursed in thought. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll coordinate with Lias,¡± I added. ¡°There¡¯s a conspiracy here, and it¡¯s too big for me to handle alone.¡± Some problems you couldn¡¯t just take an axe to.


    Emma rubbed at her chin, humming softly. ¡°Well, you wounded Yith, so if they planned to use him I imagine that set them back. Further, I can¡¯t see that group laying siege to the whole city. There were, what, a little more than a dozen of them?¡±


    It had been a small group. Even still, my thoughts lingered on the pit-eyed Prince Calerus, with his course voice and sneer. The Emperor had said the Vyke heir intended to participate in the tournament. Deflection? Or had that been genuine? If so, then why would that be important?


    My thoughts were interrupted by heavy, clopping steps against the marble floor behind us. Metal-shod boots or armor, I guessed. I turned, going on guard, and blinked as I saw a figure I recognized approaching us from the direction of the court.


    Clad in layered brown robes secured with frayed rope like a monk, the cowl hung low to obscure all features, a figure as towering as the Lord Steward stopped a short distance away from us. I took in more details in a moment ¡ª the figure¡¯s hunched shape, the way they hid their hands in folded sleeves, and the hint of blunt feet beneath the hem of the robe.


    Not feet at all, I realized, or armored boots as I¡¯d thought. Cloven hooves.


    The one who¡¯d been in the drains with Parn and the other changelings.


    Not a changeling at all.


    I dipped my head to the immortal. ¡°Iries vaasa, Ar Seydii.¡±


    Emma threw a glance my way, her brow furrowing in confusion.


    The cowled, hunched head shifted a fraction. ¡°You know me?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I said in the common speech. ¡°But I sense what you are. I did in the undercity, too, I think. You¡¯re Sidhe. One of Tuvon¡¯s people.¡±


    The cowled head dipped. In the same moment, the sleeves unfurled to reveal four fingered hands tipped in something like brown keratin. The figure doffed his hood, revealing a silver-white cervid head, wizened by the passage of ages and set with two darkly blue, heavily slanted eyes.


    An elf. A very old elf. Once he¡¯d removed the cowl, likely sewn with some glamour of obscuration, I felt his aura like a sudden ray of sunlight through deep cloud. The corridor seemed brighter in that moment.


    He bowed low, murmuring in a musical voice. ¡°I greet you, Ser Knight. I regret only that I could not do so properly before.¡±


    I dipped into a respectful bow as well. I didn¡¯t bother correcting him over calling me a knight. The Sidhe would always see me that way, so long as I had the aureflame in me.


    ¡°I am Oradyn Fen Harus,¡± the elf introduced himself. ¡°Here for the summit as a representative of my lady.¡±


    An Oradyn, I thought, reappraising the old faerie. ¡°I saw Lady Maerlys this past winter,¡± I told him. ¡°I did not expect the Seydii to be represented at the summit.¡±


    The faerie''s tapered eyes crinkled. ¡°Our fates are conjoined, mortal and immortal, for better or worse. Many of both my folk and the Wyldefae have gathered under the light of Maerlys Tuvonsdotter, and she wishes to know how these proceedings turn out. I am her eyes, her ears, and her voice, if necessary.¡±


    ¡°And your business with the changelings?¡± I asked, more from curiosity than suspicion.


    The oradyn shrugged, his inhuman height and heavy garments making the gesture dramatic. ¡°Even if many of my folk disown them, they are our children, born of the love many of us have long held for mortals. It would be ill for one in my position to pay them no heed.¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°What can I do for you, Fen Harus?¡±


    The deer-like head dipped again. ¡°Quite simply, I wished to bid my greetings. It has been many years, if brief by the way we mark time, since I have seen an oathsworn Knight of the Alder Table who maintained his sanity. Further, I wished to speak to you in your official capacity, Headsman.¡±


    I stiffened, which the oradyn did not miss. He held up one of his hoof-like hands. ¡°I shall not out you to the Accord, Ser Alken. Remember that my lady is the Choir¡¯s high priestess, and very likely to one day take her late father¡¯s position as a nominal Onsolain. Your role is considered sacred to us, if ungentle. I understand it is not so for your people?¡±


    I was quiet a moment before answering. ¡°That is correct.¡±


    The elf¡¯s alien blue eyes blinked once. ¡°But I am being rude!¡± He turned and gave Emma a bow. ¡°I have not been introduced to the young lady.¡±


    Emma shuffled, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. I introduced her. ¡°This is Emma Orley,¡± I said. ¡°My apprentice. My squire.¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± The elf nodded. ¡°I have heard of her. Many of our people have.¡±


    Emma blinked. ¡°The elves know me?¡±


    ¡°The scion of dread House Carreon, turned a new leaf and taking the name of her nobler blood?¡± Fen Harus¡¯s eyes crinkled again. ¡°Indeed. Your bravery in the face of the machinations of the Iron Realm gave us something very like hope, in these dire times. You have my respect, my lady.¡±


    He bowed. Emma¡¯s face had turned red, a look very much like fear but far more complex fixed onto her stubborn, highborn features. ¡°I...¡± she swallowed, and returned a hasty bow. ¡°Thank you, ser elf.¡±


    ¡°Ser elf!¡± Fen Harus chuckled. ¡°Ah, just call me Fen. Both of you. We are not in court, and there is little need for ceremony here.¡±


    I glanced around the empty hall. I had a feeling we wouldn¡¯t have privacy for long. ¡°How can I help you, Fen?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Fen coughed, shuffling on his cloven hooves. ¡°Well, to put it bluntly, I have been ordered to extend to you an invitation.¡±


    I tilted my head to one side. ¡°An invitation?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± The towering fae watched me with those eerie eyes. The pupils were a pale green set within a deep, dark blue which reminded me of the last remnants of daylight once the red of dusk has faded. ¡°When you are not presently occupied on the Choir¡¯s business, my lady would like to see you in her own domain. She has aught she wishes to speak of, though I am afraid those words must come from her own lips, and not mine.¡±


    I studied him a moment, not wanting to give offense with bluntness. I remembered the madness in Princess Maerlys¡¯s eyes, the hatred in her seething, whispering voice pushed through scorched lungs. That burnt visage still haunted me.


    I settled on honesty, at the least. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that would be safe for me, Fen.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± The elf¡¯s demeanor shifted then, from friendly courtesy to something more fixed. ¡°It is true that my lady holds no small amount of resentment toward her father¡¯s knights. However, I believe she understands that you, Ser Alken, did not wield one of the blades which slew his body. I can assure you safe passage into our sanctuaries.¡±


    Safe passage in, sure. What about out? I didn¡¯t let my skepticism show on my face. ¡°The Lady Maerlys understands that I cannot know when the Choir will call on me? When any task is done, there may be no time at all until the next.¡±


    ¡°When your task here in the city is done,¡± Fen Harus told me, ¡°I feel quite certain you will have time to make this journey. It is my lady¡¯s fervent wish that you accept.¡±


    A coldness crept into me. They know. Maerlys and this old ambassador know I¡¯ve been given a name.


    I suppressed my sudden unease and spoke as calmly as I could. ¡°When I am not presently held by obligation, I will be glad to... entertain your lady¡¯s request.¡±


    I¡¯d always been bad at fae talk. If I said the wrong thing, especially with my oaths still imprinted into my soul, it could bind me.


    Fen¡¯s eyes crinkled. ¡°Well said. I think you will wish to visit us. Remember, Ser Alken, it was to Man and Eld both that your oaths were sworn.¡±


    He handed me something then ¡ª a leaf small enough to fit into my palm, wrought from pure gold, with a strand of dimly shining ginger hair tied to the stem. I knew who the hair must belong to.


    This must have been made before the Recusants disfigured her, I thought. I recognized it as a token of safe passage into Seydii lands. A precious gift, rarely given to mortals. I bowed to the oradyn again before pocketing it.


    He bowed then, first to me and then to Emma, before setting his deep hood over his cervid features and turning away. The proceedings in the audience chamber were coming to an end, and people were beginning to move out into the halls in groups. The towering elf, easily the largest and most imposing presence in the corridor, moved through them easily as a carp through a school of minnows. I suspected glamour, to make unwelcome eyes slide off him.


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    Rosanna shrugged. ¡°Not that I¡¯ve heard, but who knows what¡¯s going on behind those mountains? If he did send both of his heirs for this, then it is either a genuine show of good will and trust...¡±


    Kaia and I both snorted at the same time.


    ¡°...Or he is daring us to do something,¡± Rosanna finished, arching an eyebrow.


    Emma frowned. ¡°You believe King Hasur intends both of his children to be sacrifices? An excuse to declare war, with all Recusant support?¡±


    A long, dark silence fell over the room.


    ¡°It¡¯s a stretch,¡± I said, glancing at my queen. ¡°I¡¯ve never met the Condor of Talsyn. Do you think he¡¯d do it?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re talking about the same man who ordered his knights to throw pitch over Maerlys Tuvonsdotter and set her aflame,¡± Rosanna reminded me.


    Kaia spoke up. ¡°He¡¯s a right fucking bastard, he is.¡± She winced and added, ¡°Sorry for my cussing, Your Grace, but felt like it needed saying.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± I said, drawing all their attention. ¡°The Council of Cael, which I¡¯m now pretty certain is just a front for Talsyn... They¡¯re allied with Yith, who¡¯s been in this city for most of a year. I don¡¯t understand the nature of that alliance, or the purpose in Yith murdering members of the renaissance movement, but I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s all unrelated.¡±


    I¡¯d learned very little from Kieran before the boy had met his end. I had to hope Lias would have something for me next time we met.


    Rosanna stood, adjusting her elaborate garments. She still wore the robes of state she had in the court, with some of the more ostentatious pieces like the cape of mist and towering crown missing. Even still, in that tower room, she seemed every inch the monarch.


    ¡°The siblings will be watched,¡± she said.


    Ser Kaia nodded, her armor clinking as she took a straighter pose. ¡°They won¡¯t even be able to so much as scratch their asses without me knowing about it, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°And you will continue the hunt for the demon,¡± Rosanna told me.


    I hesitated only a fraction. Then, nodding I said, ¡°I have some leads.¡±


    Inside, my guilt boiled. Umareon¡¯s orders echoed in my thoughts, and the weight of Faen Orgis remained a constant reminder at my hip.


    ¡°I will speak with Alken alone.¡± Rosanna nodded to her First Sword. ¡°I will see you once you¡¯ve delivered my orders, Kaia. Choose men you trust.¡±


    The knight delivered a surprisingly good salute, then departed. I caught Emma¡¯s eye and tilted my head to the door. She left as well, looking troubled.


    Rosanna moved to the window, her train sliding across the floor almost like the tail of a slow-moving serpent. "We are treading on brittle ice, Alken."


    I nodded, unable to argue.


    ¡°Lisette tells me you seemed out of sorts when you departed the cathedral." Rosanna''s eyes flicked to me. "Did you learn anything of value from the gods?¡±


    I watched her a moment. When I didn¡¯t answer, she turned to face me.


    ¡°When you rescued me that night,¡± I said, ¡°brought me into this keep, we agreed it best you not know about my other work.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You also said you would tell me everything if I ordered it.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± I agreed.


    My queen watched me a moment before sliding her eyes back to the window and the lashing waters beyond. More ships moved into the bay, fresh arrived across the Riven Sea. From some coastal realm of Urn, or from the wider west, I couldn¡¯t say.


    ¡°I must be able to trust someone, Alken.¡± Rosanna stood there, framed in the window and the gray sea. ¡°I must be able to count on someone. You were that person, once.¡±


    ¡°I was a pain in the ass, and we both know it.¡± I smiled softly. ¡°A good sword, but not much for anything else.¡±


    ¡°You undersell yourself,¡± Rosanna said, shaking her bejeweled head. The motion made the gems in her black braids, red and green and cerulean, flash briefly. ¡°I could always speak to you and get honesty. Empathy. You understood my heart, even when others saw only my machinations. Even Lias was more a partner in crime than...¡±


    ¡°A friend?¡± I finished.


    Her faint smile matched my own. ¡°Yes. I love Lias, but I also know him for what he is. You never sought power, Alken. That hasn¡¯t changed, has it?¡±


    ¡°When I¡¯m not doing their work,¡± I told her after a moment¡¯s thought, ¡°I sleep in a cottage, sharing space with a tired old man and fetching water I have to get from a river to boil. It¡¯s not a comfortable life, being Headsman.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Rosanna took a breath and turned to me. ¡°You know that I will have to disown you, should all of this come to light?¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I told her calmly. ¡°You should.¡±


    A furrow touched her pretty brow. ¡°It¡¯s that easy for you to accept it? I... expected it to be painful. For both of us.¡±


    ¡°It will be,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll try not to let it come to that, but I understand our situation. I¡¯m not so much a child that I¡¯d hate you for choosing the Accord over me.¡±


    I had hated her for it, once. But I am sometimes a child.


    Rosanna turned before I could see her expression. I saw her shoulders rise and fall once as she steadied herself.


    ¡°I do have a request,¡± I said in a softer voice. ¡°If you¡¯d hear it.¡±


    She turned her head to one side without fully looking at me. ¡°Of course.¡±


    I took a deep breath. ¡°If something should happen to me, I want you to take Emma into your service. Let her squire for Ser Kaia, or maybe Ser Moonbrand.¡± I knew the old captain, and he¡¯d make a fierce knight out of the girl.


    Rosanna¡¯s lips turned down as she spun to face me. ¡°Have you discussed this with her?¡±


    I let my silence answer for me. My queen sighed.


    ¡°Alken, I have respected your wishes to keep that girl¡¯s identity secret, but I am no fool. I know she¡¯s gentle born, and that her identity is very likely dangerous. I can help, but I would ask for some trust in turn. Who is she?¡±


    I considered telling her. Then I shook my head. ¡°Is that an order?¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s eyes flashed with sudden anger. ¡°Damn you, Alken. Do you truly trust me so little?¡±


    ¡°I will not let her be a tool,¡± I said in a calm voice. ¡°If she chooses to tell you herself...¡± I shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s her choice. Will you help her?¡±


    An angry furrow marred the center of Rosanna¡¯s brow. ¡°You can be very selfish.¡±


    No point in denying it. I watched her, waiting.


    Finally, Rosanna made an angry scoff, spinning away petulantly. I recognized the show of frustration from when she¡¯d been a girl, and in that moment long-away years came back in a rush. I felt bad, for not trusting her, and glad to recognize her.


    ¡°Fine. If aught should happen to you, I will take your ward under my wing.¡± She lifted a finger. ¡°Do not let anything happen to you. I can hire necromancers.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°If they can manage to grab my shade before something else does, I¡¯ll be glad.¡±


    Rosanna sighed, running a hand over the swell of her belly in a gesture that seemed more to comfort herself than the life growing inside. "We''ve started to get reports from the countryside. We weren''t the only place attacked by that creature in the storm."


    "Damn." My eyes went to the window. "How bad is it?"


    "We know of at least three ogres who landed in the countryside that same night," Rosanna told me. "Two have been slain, the third driven into the hills, but not without cost. Villages were lost, and one larger township was assaulted. We believe there were more of the beasts. The clericons say the storm broke off the coast of Lindenroad."


    "Bleeding Gates," I cursed. "There could be more of those things scattered across the north."


    Rosanna nodded. "We are expecting more reports from the Bairn Cities and other regions which may have been effected in the coming weeks." She rubbed at her temple.


    "Invasion?" I asked.


    The Empress shook her head, setting her braids to swinging. "It remains to be seen. I think the attack would have been more coordinated if it were. Still, the timing of all this seems..."


    "Grim," I said.


    Rosanna shook her head, exasperated. "The situation is being monitored. As for other business, Lisette is back with the Priory. The Grand Prior has been too quiet since that scandal the night you saved Kieran and Laessa. I want to know what he¡¯s up to, but she¡¯s yet to report back.¡±


    My heart skipped a beat as I asked, almost without thinking, ¡°You want me to check in on her?¡±


    I sensed an opportunity there. Best to have it done.


    ¡°Actually,¡± Rosanna said, turning again to face me. ¡°Laessa Greengood would like to speak to you.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What for?¡±


    The Empress shrugged. ¡°Better she tell you. She simply made the request, and I promised I would pass the message on. See the girl. When done, see to your other tasks as you see fit. I have Kaia watching those Vyke twins, and Lisette keeping an eye on the Inquisition. I think it best to leave you to your own hunt.¡±


    Her regal features hardened. ¡°Find that demon. If it has something to do with Hasur Vyke¡¯s plans, then we must remove it from the board. Find it, and destroy it.¡±


    I turned, dipping into a shallow bow as I did. ¡°I will not leave this city until it is done.¡±


    I had two heads to claim. A fallen priest who courted Hell, and a monster who¡¯d been there the day our world had been engulfed in a fire of madness.


    They would both taste the bite of my axe.

 Arc 4: Chapter 20: Invitation and Reunion

    Arc 4: Chapter 20: Invitation and Reunion


    I collected Emma, then we went to see Laessa Greengood.


    Lady Laessa had been given quarters in the bastion. As a guest of the Empress, she¡¯d been treated well since her arrival. I doubted she had any desire to return to her manor in the city after what had happened there, and with the risk of retaliation from the Priory.


    A whole set of chambers and corridors in the bastion had been converted into something very like an embassy for House Greengood, with servants and guards belonging to the noble family moved to supplement Rosanna¡¯s own household. The guards, given warning of my arrival, admitted me into a comfortable room far less cold and bare than the one I¡¯d spoken to Laessa in before.


    I found the lady painting.


    She stood before a tall canvas set on a wooden stand in the middle of the room. Natural light provided by a set of windows illuminated her work, which she concentrated on with a furrowed brow and stubbornly pursed lips. She¡¯d tied her shiny black curls into an almost painful looking rope behind her neck, keeping them clear of her face.


    The figure she was in the process of painting turned out to be Ser Jocelyn of Ekarleon, the Ironleaf Knight. He wore his armor, his horned helm tucked under one arm, its pale plume hanging nearly to the ground.


    When the maid announced me, Lady Laessa jabbed her brush at Jocelyn as though threatening him with a sword. ¡°Do not move.¡±


    The knight remained impressively still. I don¡¯t even think I saw him blink. I might have caught a small quirk of amusement at the corner of his lip, but nothing more.


    The young lady turned to me. To my shock, her dark face brightened when she saw me.


    ¡°Master Alken!¡± She tucked her brush into an ear and stepped forward, an almost feverish energy in her movements. Her eyes, very near obsidian, glimmered with some barely contained emotion.


    I motioned to Emma. ¡°Lady Laessa, this is Emma Orley, my squire.¡±


    Emma nodded to the other highborn, dipping into a bow rather than a curtsy in martial tradition. ¡°I fear, last time we met, that I was quite unconscious. Terribly rude of me, to be certain.¡±


    We¡¯d decided Orley a safe enough name to use, since the family was a century dead and more obscure than the Carreons in our histories. Further, Emma still had her ambition of redeeming it one day through valorous deeds.


    ¡°Squire?¡± Laessa blinked. ¡°Then I must correct myself, and apologize to you, Ser.¡± She dipped into a curtsy, tilting her head to Emma as well. Her dress, something rich but notably more well-worn than she might use in public, had been splattered with paint.


    I felt very aware of Ser Jocelyn¡¯s eyes on me. Emma watched me too.


    The elves insist I¡¯m still a knight. The Church would disagree, as would the Accord in any official circumstance, and both call me a blackguard for pretending.


    What was I? Why did this have to be so painful, every time someone made the assumption?


    I remembered Catrin¡¯s words. You are. No one down here gives a troll¡¯s ass wart what the Church or the nobles think.


    ¡°I was told you wanted to see me,¡± I said, changing the subject.


    Laessa didn¡¯t seem bothered by the deflection. She brightened again, almost skipping over to a side table near the hearth. ¡°Would you like wine? I¡¯d have a servant get it, but I can¡¯t concentrate in a crowded room.¡± She began to pour wine without waiting for me to respond.


    I traded a glance with Emma, who gave a one shoulder shrug and arched an eyebrow. I got the message. She seems different, doesn¡¯t she?


    Clearing my throat I said, ¡°That¡¯s kind, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Laessa handed us both goblets before returning to her canvas, her manner becoming more subdued as she cast a critical eye over her work. She bit a paint-stained thumbnail as she glared at the piece.


    I studied it too, taking the brief opportunity while her back was turned. I couldn¡¯t call the young noblewoman a skilled artist ¡ª I could tell she¡¯d attempted to paint Jocelyn in all his accoutrements, but most of it blended into a smudgy mess. The face drew my attention. It had far more detail than the rest, yet looked unfinished. She¡¯d only completed one eye, and the hair seemed too short to represent Jocelyn¡¯s wavy gold-brown mane.


    ¡°I¡¯m terrible at this,¡± Laessa sighed, shaking her head at the painting. ¡°I don¡¯t have an inch of his talent.¡±


    ¡°You mean Kieran?¡± I asked.


    She nodded, looking glum. ¡°I started doing this a few days ago. I thought... I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s a way to remember him, I suppose? Besides, what else have I to do trapped in this tower all day?¡±


    I glanced at the knight. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again, Ser Jocelyn. I never properly thanked you for that night with the ogre.¡±


    Jocelyn lifted one thin eyebrow. Despite his build and height, he still struck me as somewhat effeminate, with his full lips, smooth skin, and bright brown eyes.


    Laessa seemed to realize the man¡¯s predicament. ¡°Ah, yes, I¡¯m done I think. This isn¡¯t going anywhere.¡±


    The knight bowed his head, letting out a sigh of relief before replying to me. ¡°I am glad I could intervene,¡± he said in a quiet alto. ¡°You were Ser Alken, correct?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t be sure, but I felt like he watched me very intently through his long eyelashes. He¡¯s testing me, I realized.


    ¡°Just Alken,¡± I admitted. ¡°I told you that night, remember? I¡¯m no Ser.¡±


    He brushed that off without so much as a blink. ¡°Even still, you seem a most worthy bodyguard to face such a beast while giving your charge time to escape. I am glad to see your companion recovered from her injuries.¡±


    Emma shifted, seeming caught between boredom and wary interest. ¡°I hear you dealt the killing blow. I regret I did not witness it.¡±


    ¡°I simply took the opportunity presented,¡± Jocelyn replied smoothly.


    Laessa scowled. ¡°Oh, enough grandstanding. Jos, I must speak with Master Alken alone. Do you mind? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be finishing this today.¡±


    The mercenary captain bowed, looking untroubled, then departed the room. I caught sight of his proud cape fluttering as it caught a draft from the corridor outside, then he vanished.


    I caught something else as well when he passed me. A crackling power which swept over me like a flurry of cinders in a hot wind. The man had a volatile aura, completely at odds with his calm demeanor. I suppressed a shiver, feeling as though some enormous predator had just brushed me with its tail.


    ¡°Now!¡± Laessa clapped her hands together to face me. ¡°Yes, I did want to speak to you. I was wondering, did you have any plans tonight?¡±


    I blinked. Emma shuffled at my side, lifting her chin at the other girl as though appraising her.


    I had intended to track down Lias and speak to him, or at least get some message to Lord Yuri, his alias. ¡°Not in particular,¡± I said.


    ¡°No business on behalf of the Empress?¡± The young lady asked, tilting her head in question.


    I folded my arms. ¡°What¡¯s this about, lady? You know I can¡¯t discuss my work for Her Grace.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Ah, yes.¡± She coughed, looking nervous. ¡°Well, the thing is, I wanted to know if you wished to join me for a function.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°A function?¡±


    ¡°A gala,¡± Laessa confirmed. ¡°A number of nobles are gathering at an estate in the Fountain Ward, and members of the renaissance ¡ª mostly artists, some architects and inventors I think ¡ª have been invited as well. It¡¯s a chance for the people driving our cultural movement to rub elbows with the aristocracy while gaining new patrons. It¡¯s going to be quite the gathering, I think.¡±


    I nodded, still nonplussed. ¡°And you want me to be your escort to this gala?¡±


    Laessa nodded. ¡°Precisely! Will you do it?¡±


    I studied her a moment before answering. ¡°Why do you want me at this thing?¡±


    The young woman opened her mouth to speak, then paused. Her dark eyes went to Emma.


    ¡°She¡¯s trustworthy,¡± I said. ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    Laessa sighed in relief. ¡°Kieran began to act strange right after he attended a very similar event.¡± Her black eyes hardened. ¡°I still wish to get justice for him.¡±


    ¡°Do you now?¡± Emma asked dryly, her paler eyes narrowing. She fell quiet when I shot her a hard look.


    Laessa paced to her artistry, staring at it for a long, intent moment. Then, in a more subdued voice she said, ¡°I do not know how to justify it. I treated him terribly. I still feel responsible for all of this, but...¡±


    She shook her head, causing her tight braid to swing. ¡°I have not been able to sleep well since. I keep seeing his face.¡± She turned to face me. ¡°If he met someone, or something, at one of these events, then perhaps they will reappear? It could be an opportunity for you. You are still hunting whatever is responsible, yes?¡±


    I approached cautiously, sensing a dangerous edge to my ward. ¡°Hendry,¡± I said aloud. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    He cut a much more impressive figure than the burly, sad-eyed boy I remembered from Venturmoor. The gray-blue cape-and-surcoat of the Fulgurkeep¡¯s garrison gave him more pinache, as did the steel beneath. Like many elite orders in the Urnic Realms, his armor had been heat-treated to take on a brassy hue very near gold.


    ¡°Here to capture me and take me back to his lord father, no doubt!¡± Emma bared her teeth again, almost livid with anger.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to¡ª¡± Hendry started to speak, but grimaced as the blade nicked him.


    ¡°Let him speak, Emma.¡± I moved to stand behind her, wary. I checked the halls, making certain we were alone.


    Emma tsk¡¯d. ¡°Very well, but if he shouts for help I¡¯m taking some off the top.¡± She eased her sword¡¯s pressure, letting the boy find his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to take you back!¡± Hendry blurted. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know you were here in the castle. I didn¡¯t know until I saw you both earlier today, when Ser Kaia sent me to make sure you could get in with the guard change.¡±


    ¡°A likely story,¡± Emma drawled, her eyelids narrowing near to slits.


    I studied the young lordling a moment, considering, then shook my head. ¡°Brenner sending his eldest son all this way and embedding him among the royal guard just to capture you is a stretch.¡± I addressed Hendry. ¡°Speak, lad. Why are you here?¡±


    Hendry risked a swallow. The armor on his neck, layered with a mantle of chain, hid the bobbing of his throat, but I could imagine it.


    ¡°After you vanished,¡± he told Emma, ¡°my father was... very wroth. He put out bounties for the fetch you hired, suspecting him of being involved.¡± He gestured to me. ¡°But when it became clear we wouldn¡¯t find you, he had to find other means to elevate our House.¡±


    Emma scoffed. ¡°Yes, Brenner always was ambitious. If he couldn¡¯t put Hunting brats into my belly, I suppose he had other schemes. You mean to tell me this is one?¡±


    Hendry tried to nod, but winced and froze as the sharp blade of the Sword of High House Carreon brushed his flesh. ¡°Many knights of the Accord, especially those who serve the Emperor, are pulled from lesser Houses across the realms. I won a tourney in the early spring and drew the eye of a Reynish captain. He nominated me to the Storm Guard.¡±


    He hesitated, then in a more sullen tone added, ¡°My lord father considered it a great opportunity. He insisted I take the post, and spread some coin around to make sure it happened.¡±


    ¡°Oh, how tragic for you.¡± Emma¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. ¡°Given a grand honor, what a burden it must be.¡± She glanced at me then. ¡°We should silence him. He is a problem.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Em, how could you... I thought we were¡ª¡±


    ¡°I never loved you,¡± Emma snapped, her eyes cold and sharp as the steel she held. ¡°It was a political arrangement, you fool, and you always knew that. I was your father¡¯s prisoner in all but name.¡±


    The young man¡¯s shoulders slumped. I placed him at nineteen. A hard age to hear those words from a girl you¡¯d been sweet on. And I strongly suspected Hendry had possessed feelings for Emma Carreon. I remembered how he¡¯d behaved around her, recalled his reckless charge against the Scorchknight, Jon Orley.


    I¡¯d gotten used to the venom Emma carried in her, and to her cynical nature, but I¡¯d rarely seen this much rage in her. I sensed something else beneath it.


    Fear. Her hand trembled, just a bit, on the sword, and the hard clench in her jaw had a brittle edge. She didn¡¯t want to go back to Brenner Hunting and his schemes. Neither, I think, was she ready to face this boy who¡¯d once had strong feelings for her, who she¡¯d rejected and left behind without so much as a goodbye.


    I watched Hendry a long moment, seeing the pain in him, the fear. I could imagine what had led to this confrontation. Seeing Emma again, the confusion, the questions, the happiness. He¡¯d pretended not to know us on the bridge, spending all that time waiting for an opportunity to speak to Emma privately, to get answers.


    I realized I sympathized with him. Thrown into this faraway and complicated place to be a means for others to climb up the social ladder, left isolated with all that pressure.


    I¡¯d been him.


    I sighed. ¡°Sheath the steel, Emma.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± I said, not raising my voice.


    ¡°Tch. Fine.¡± She sheathed the sword, taking a step back from the young knight. Hendry let out a sigh of relief, wincing as he felt under his jaw. His fingers came away bloody.


    ¡°Go get ready,¡± I told her. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to meet Laessa soon. Get my axe, too. I can¡¯t wear it in this.¡± I gestured to my formal garb. ¡°Remember not to touch the handle with your bare hands.¡±


    Her eyes went to the Hunting boy. ¡°But what about¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± I assured her. ¡°Go. Cool your head.¡±


    She sniffed, cast one last angry look at her once-betrothed, then stalked off. A moment later, the door to her chamber slammed closed. I waited until the last echo of the sound faded before turning to Hendry Hunting.


    The boy let out a sigh of relief, then nodded to me. ¡°Thank you, I¡¯m not sure what would ¡ª ghaak!¡±


    His words cut off as I grabbed one steel-plated arm, twisted it, and slammed him against the wall. It was good armor ¡ª it bent as well as the body beneath could, allowing me to place him in a lock. Hendry started to say something else, but froze as the tip of my dagger pressed into his jugular, only an inch from where Emma¡¯s sword had.


    I spoke very quietly, directly into his ear so I knew he took in every word. ¡°I have nothing against you,¡± I said. ¡°You fought bravely back at Orcswell, and I¡¯m certain you intended nothing untoward with my apprentice.¡±


    ¡°Apprentice?¡± Hendry blinked. ¡°You mean, you didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t kidnap her. And I think you knew that all along.¡±


    He fell quiet. His blue eyes, stark against his tanned skin and brown hair, went distant.


    ¡°House Hunting no longer has any claim on that girl,¡± I told him, still calm despite the sharp point of steel I pressed into his skin. ¡°She¡¯s abandoned all of that. She doesn¡¯t need your family hounding her steps.¡±


    I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a bare whisper. ¡°You tell anyone she¡¯s here, or cause her any trouble, and you won¡¯t have to worry about her wrath. I¡¯ll kill you. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Hendry rasped. ¡°I won¡¯t say anything.¡±


    ¡°Swear it,¡± I ordered.


    He hesitated. I pressed the blade in closer, drawing a bead of bright blood.


    ¡°I swear it!¡± He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. ¡°Damn you, I swear it. I don¡¯t mean her any harm, I never did!¡±


    I studied him a moment, then nodded. ¡°A knight¡¯s oath is his life. I¡¯ll remember that.¡±


    I let him go then, wiping the dagger on my sleeve and sheathing it. For the second time, Hendry rubbed at his throat and coughed, staggering out of my reach.


    ¡°So what else did you want?¡± I asked him calmly.


    Hendry blinked. When he stood to his full height, he almost matched my own, and I think he might have had an even broader build. He had his father¡¯s bearish frame despite his youthful face, and more height on Lord Brenner too.


    ¡°I just wanted to see her,¡± Hendry muttered, glancing to Emma¡¯s closed door. ¡°To make sure she was alright.¡±


    ¡°She is,¡± I said. ¡°And now you know. So leave her be from now on. If she wants to talk to you, that¡¯s fine, but we don¡¯t need any attention.¡±


    ¡°I doubt she¡¯ll want to speak to me.¡± The young knight looked crestfallen.


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± I agreed. I stepped past him and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, striking the steel pauldron. He flinched at my touch.


    ¡°She can be stubborn,¡± I said conversationally. "And likes to hide her heart behind her talons. Maybe she¡¯ll surprise you?¡±


    I doubted it, remembering her words about being more inclined to other women. Not my place to tell the kid, though. Instead I said, ¡°Time to go. There¡¯s a good lad. If you cross us, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    I patted the boy¡¯s shoulder, then left him standing alone in the dimly lit hallway.

 Arc 4: Chapter 21: The Gala

    Arc 4: Chapter 21: The Gala


    I rode with the lady Laessa in a carriage to the gala. It was, to put it mildly, an uncomfortable experience. We spoke very little beyond some niceties, and she mostly stared out the window at the passing city, her expression distant.


    ¡°You clean up well,¡± Laessa said after some time of listening to wheels over cobblestone.


    I grunted something noncommittal. The young woman also looked much changed since that night of blood and terror in which I¡¯d met her. She¡¯d had her black hair arranged into a mossy crown of curls hung lower over one temple than the other, done so they stuck out a ways from her brow in the front. She wore a burgundy dress with detached sleeves that showed her shoulders, and she¡¯d dabbed deeply black kohl over her eyes, dark enough to shadow her already ebony skin.


    ¡°You look good,¡± I told her. Inwardly I winced at that ¡ª I¡¯d been a knight once, and good manners, especially with women, were practically a religion to us. I was out of practice.


    Laessa muttered a wan thanks, her eyes going back to the window. She¡¯d seemed distracted since I¡¯d picked her up.


    ¡°When we arrive,¡± she told me, ¡°I¡¯ll need you to be on my arm for a time, to get some introductions out of the way. There should be opportunity to leave you to your own devices once the formalities are done with.¡±


    I grimaced. ¡°I would rather not have too many eyes on me, my lady. You know my work for Her Grace is meant to be incognito?¡±


    Laessa studied me. ¡°Are you someone very famous?¡±


    ¡°Not in this realm,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Hm.¡± The young noblewoman pursed her lips. ¡°Well, many of my friends and peers are already aware of the mysterious bodyguard who saved my life from Inquisition torturers and monsters fallen from the sky a week ago. They have wanted to meet you. You are free to lie to them, but I assure you this is better than the alternative.¡±


    I could imagine it. Young nobles snooping around, trying to figure out who I was. I didn¡¯t need that sort of trouble.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s get our story straight,¡± I told her, sitting straighter.


    We spent the rest of the ride getting ourselves on the same page about my identity and how we knew one another. It was all lies, but need must when the devil drives.


    Well, it was Emma driving the coach, but you take my point.


    I began to recognize the surrounding architecture not long after, and knew we¡¯d entered the Fountain Ward. Wealthy manor houses and garden avenues replaced the city sprawl, and the canals crisscrossing the streets became cleaner, shallower, and more full of artistry.


    The carriage came to a stop in front of a lavish estate surrounded by green lawns and hedge rows. The evening air had a pleasant warmth, the first sign of a summer still some weeks away. The good weather, rare for a Reynish spring, allowed the festivities to take place outdoors.


    Emma, who dressed in the sharp uniform of a valet, announced us to the guards and we were ushered onto the green. I gave my squire a nod, grateful she played these more incognito roles so well ¡ª a less trusting part of me had worried her highborn upbringing would make her resent it, but she¡¯d told me she ¡°enjoyed watching people without being watched in return.¡±


    Many carriages and coaches lined the wide street of the upper class neighborhood, the chimera pulling them bred for aesthetic rather than war or labor. Music seemed to emerge through some clever artifice from behind the apple trees and hedges, as though faerie minstrels filled some ancient wood with their tunes.


    I realized very quickly that was exactly what the hosts intended to convey. All of the attendants dressed in shades of green, brown, yellow, and red, blending artfully with the elegant mansion and its natural surrounds. Servants dressed like elves flitted through clusters of lords and ladies arrayed like fading flowers across some mythic autumnal meadow.


    I¡¯d thought my amber coat and red scarf an odd pick for a noble gathering, but I realized now that Faisa Dance had matched me to the theme, and to my companion in her burgundies and forest yellows.


    ¡°Who¡¯s hosting this thing anyway?¡± I muttered to Laessa as we stepped onto the grass.


    Her dark eyes ran across the grounds. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? Only House Dance throws parties this ostentatious.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Should have known. Let me guess ¡ª this is Lady Faisa¡¯s estate?¡±


    Laessa flashed her small teeth in a narrow grin. ¡°Indeed. Welcome to Embassy Dance, Master Alken.¡±


    A young, red-cheeked serving girl wearing a long dress of leaves twirled up to us, smiling brightly as she offered drinks from a tray. We both refused, and she shrugged before moving on.


    I felt distinctly uncomfortable ¡ª by the number of people, by the fact I hadn¡¯t been to such an event in a lifetime, and by the fact I suspected this had all been made to resemble Seydis. It seemed macabre, somehow, not much different to my eyes than if the hosts had decided to make the party theme a cemetery.


    Laessa clung to my arm, like any lady with her gentleman, as we moved with the migrating guests into the wider spaces behind the estate. Here, more greenery had been converted into something very like a cluster of forest groves. Lights had been hung here and there, or floated like Wil-O¡¯ Wisps.


    To my shock, I realized some of them were wisps. When the first few flitted toward me, attracted by my aureflame, I stopped and blinked at them.


    ¡°They like you!¡± Laessa laughed.


    I wondered how Lady Faisa had managed to attract these into the depths of Urn¡¯s largest city. They normally abhorred the noise of civilization. Then again, the Dances had always been very resourceful.


    More false elves and autumn colored nobles had congregated in the groves. Here I also saw the other crop of guests. The Renaissance.


    There were artists with their tools and stands out in full view, painting anyone who stopped and agreed to be captured on canvas. There were sculptures being admired by groups of people, with their makers standing by with wringing hands and nervous smiles. There were what I guessed to be philosophers or poets, or some mingling of the two fields, debating with anyone who offered them an opinion to be contrary to.


    There were inventors, and engineers. A woman in a yellow frock had set up a stage between two trees, showing off some device I couldn¡¯t guess at the purpose of, made all of brass and wood with many moving parts, and something like organs made of leather sacks which expanded and deflated as a wiry man cranked a lever.


    ¡°What in Blessed Onsolem is that?¡± I asked, half to myself.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s some sort of medical device,¡± Laessa told me. ¡°I¡¯ve seen one before. Apparently, they can breathe for you. I hear they can save children born with weak lungs.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s incredible,¡± I said.


    ¡°Lots of incredible things coming out of the west,¡± Laessa agreed. ¡°Lots of scary things, too.¡±


    A sunken-eyed, scarecrow thin man beneath a tree showed a group of aristos a pair of marions, making them dance without the need for strings. They were made of painted ceramic and wood, and moved with an eerie grace.


    I remembered Lias¡¯s puppets, blank-faced, twitching, and lethal. I tore my eyes from the scene.


    ¡°Lae!? Is that you, you blessed strumpet!?¡±


    We both turned at the high, cheerful voice. A group of highborn approached us, four young women and three men. I recognized two of the men as Siriks Sontae and Jocelyn of Ekarleon, the tourney knights.


    Damn. I felt a sudden and visceral urge to be anywhere else.


    Laessa focused on the girl at the lead of the group of aristos and pursed her lips critically, tilting her chin up in challenge. ¡°Esmerelda,¡± she said coolly.


    The lead noblewoman was a slight thing, with bright orange hair and blushing cheeks. Her dress evoked the image of something I wouldn¡¯t want to touch in a forest, not without getting a rash or worse. By the serrated points on her long sleeves and little bells resembling poisonous berries, I guessed the effect to be intentional.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me that look, darling, I¡¯ve been missing you!¡± Esmerelda went in for a hug, which Laessa disentangled from my arm to return. I caught some of the quiet words the newcomer spoke into the other lady¡¯s ear.


    ¡°It is good to see you again, Lae. How are you?¡±


    Laessa hesitated, then returned the hug with more affection. ¡°I am keeping on.¡±


    I don¡¯t think the words were intended for me. I surreptitiously took a step away, trying to pretend like I hadn¡¯t heard.


    ¡°And who is this! Is he the brave I¡¯ve heard rumor of, who saved you from those dreadful veils?¡±


    Laessa cleared her throat and gestured to me. ¡°This is Alken, my bodyguard. My family hired him on retainer, due to all the violence in the city of late. Master Alken, this is the lady Esmerelda Grimheart.¡±


    The ironically named girl brought a fan designed like a poison oak leaf up to her face, too late to hide her sunny grin. ¡°A pleasure. Oh, but you¡¯re scarier looking than I thought you¡¯d be. And more... used.¡±


    Her eyes lingered on my scars, before she made a stage whisper to Laessa. ¡°Lae dear, I didn¡¯t realize you liked older men. He is handsome enough though, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Grimheart?¡± I asked, focusing on her more fully.


    ¡°You know us?¡± Lady Esmerelda asked, tilting her head without losing the smile.


    I nodded. ¡°I fought with Harlan and Gerard Grimheart back during the war. They were brave knights.¡±


    Esmerelda tittered. ¡°My older brothers. Oh, isn¡¯t this a sweet coincidence. You battled the Recusants then?¡±


    ¡°Everyone battled the Recusants who was old enough at the time,¡± Siriks muttered, his eyes wandering the party.


    ¡°Or were Recusant,¡± one of the other women added. ¡°Don¡¯t mind Siriks. He just resents that he was a little boy during the war.¡±


    Siriks scowled, but didn¡¯t dispute the statement.


    I¡¯d fought with the Grimhearts in the siege of this very city. They¡¯d been young at the time, boisterous, but very competent when the killing had started.


    They must be in their thirties now, I thought, which meant Esmerelda had been a young child during the war. So had most of these young bluebloods, even the brash Cymrinorean and the quiet Ironleaf. The realization made me feel old.


    More greetings were made, and I dodged any personal questions as neatly as I could. Though I could tell the young ladies were curious about me, Laessa artfully redirected their attentions. I focused my attention on the young man they¡¯d arrived with.


    ¡°Ah, Lady Faisa.¡± Yuri of Ilka spoke in a deep, nervous voice interposed with many coughs, grunts, and clearings of the throat. ¡°I believe you¡¯ve met my employee, Master Alken?¡±


    ¡°When he first arrived in the city, yes.¡± Faisa Dance held a fan in her painted nails, which she held poised in front of her chin as though expecting to need to hide a smile or frown at an instant¡¯s notice. ¡°He did me good service, determining the nature of my dear Yselda¡¯s killer. You always did hire well, Lord Yuri.¡±


    Yuri smiled and dabbed at his sweating forehead with a cloth, eyeing me sidelong. ¡°Yes, well, I do stumble on competent help from time to time.¡±


    ¡°Do you like it?¡± The high lady asked me, gesturing to the lamplit groves with her fan.


    I considered the scene for a minute before answering. ¡°Have you been to Seydis, my lady?¡±


    ¡°When I was a girl,¡± she said, her eyes sliding across the gathering. ¡°I tried to recreate the image from memory as best I could, but I am afraid I am a patron to artists, and no artist myself. I would have liked to get that Seydii ambassador, Lord Fen Harus, to judge, but he seems to have declined my invitation.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Well, the night is young.¡±


    Her eyes flicked to me. ¡°Do you like the garments?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°They were a generous gift. How did you know I¡¯d be attending?¡±


    Faisa smiled. ¡°I didn¡¯t. Not for certain, anyway. Her Grace implied you might be assisting young Laessa, and I did believe the poor girl would be here, despite her recent griefs.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°How are you involved with the Empress?¡±


    The noblewoman snapped her fan closed. ¡°That, Master Fetch, is a secret of some worth. Perhaps I¡¯ll tell you, if you manage to avenge my Yselda.¡±


    She leaned closer. ¡°Yuri here tells me you have a lead. Do you believe the creature will appear here tonight?¡±


    I traded a glance with the nobleman. I considered a moment, then shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But something happened to Laessa¡¯s paramour at an event like this. The same thing that happened to many others, including Lady Yselda.¡±


    ¡°We know members of the cultural movement are being targeted in particular,¡± Yuri said quietly, scanning the groves. ¡°What we cannot ascertain is why.¡±


    I faced the woman more fully. ¡°What can you tell me about Anselm of Ruon?¡±


    Faisa pressed her fan to her lips. ¡°Anselm... that¡¯s a name I didn¡¯t expect to hear from your lips. What does he have to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°Other than the fact that one of his paintings was in Lady Yselda¡¯s room?¡± I asked, lifting an eyebrow. ¡°And other than the fact he apparently spoke with Kieran right before the boy became a target for the same monster that killed them both?¡± I shrugged. ¡°I have no idea.¡±


    Faisa¡¯s lips pressed into a pout. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be droll. But I take your point. You think he¡¯s some sort of warlock?¡±


    ¡°I only have suspicions,¡± I said. ¡°So who is he?¡±


    ¡°A polymath,¡± Faisa said. ¡°An artist, and much more. He¡¯s helped build churches, aqueducts, other public works. He writes philosophy. He came up with the design for that.¡±


    She nodded to the breathing apparatus being demonstrated by the two physikers. They were testing it on an elderly lord, and the results seemed to impress all the spectators as well as the haggard looking man.


    ¡°He¡¯s practically the face of the Urnic Renaissance,¡± Yuri tacked on. ¡°I doubt we¡¯d have been taken seriously by great minds in Bantes and its neighbors without him. They say he¡¯s traveled a great deal of the world beyond our shores.¡±


    He stared at me intently with his mismatched eyes. I got the message. This is what I¡¯ve managed to learn since we last spoke.


    ¡°An explorer, a scholar, and an artist.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Why have I never heard of him?¡±


    Faisa Dance shrugged. ¡°Because he¡¯s not a soldier? I hear he was abroad during the war.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± I folded my arms. ¡°Is he here?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s always invited to these things,¡± Faisa told me, ¡°but he doesn¡¯t always show. He¡¯s a recluse. I¡¯ve seen him a bare handful of times in the last five years.¡±


    I hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll stick around for a while. See if he turns up.¡±


    Some other group of elites caught the Dance¡¯s eye, and she excused herself to go join them. That left me standing on the porch with Lord Yuri.


    ¡°Nice disguise,¡± I muttered. ¡°Boris, right?¡±


    Yuri of Ilka blinked, and for a moment his left eye became a bright, moon-colored green. ¡°I wondered how you knew who I was.¡±


    Though the deep, slightly burbling voice remained, I recognized the change in inflection.


    ¡°That swindler we met on the road outside the Herdhold,¡± I said. ¡°Rose wanted me to take his cart and leave him stranded, half because he was rude to her. I wouldn¡¯t do it, and paid him for a ride out of the province instead. She wouldn¡¯t speak to me for two days.¡±


    Lias snorted. ¡°Another life. Still, it would have been quite awkward had you not recognized me, considering our original cover had Lord Yuri hiring you on behalf of that Dance woman.¡±


    We watched the gala a while before he spoke again. ¡°Do you sense anything?¡± He asked quietly.


    I considered a while, scanning the groves. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Do you feel like the shadows are deeper than they should be? Do you feel an itch on the back of your neck, and smell burning iron? Is there something like a huge heart deep underground, slowly beating?¡±


    Lias eyed me for a moment, his expression blank. ¡°So...¡±


    ¡°Yes, I sense something.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Thing is, I can¡¯t tell what. You know my powers work half on abstraction, Li. I have a feeling there¡¯s danger here, but I can¡¯t tell what it¡¯s from.¡±


    ¡°Something wicked this way comes,¡± Lias murmured, sipping from a wine glass.


    ¡°What do you know of Ser Jocelyn?¡± I asked, marking him in the crowd. He spoke with the alchemist, Garrett of Losca.


    ¡°The Ironleaf?¡± Lias shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s a mercenary adventurer. Leads a company of glorysworn, all disenfranchised men-at-arms or young knights trying to make a name for themselves outside their Houses. He¡¯s fought in Cymrinor.¡±


    ¡°I hear the war didn¡¯t really end in the peninsula for several years after the fighting died down everywhere else.¡±


    I¡¯d rarely strayed into the Princedoms throughout my life, despite touching near every other coast of Urn. Even as Urn had always been isolated from the wider continent, Cymrinor had long been its own entity in its own right. They practiced customs held as archaic or even barbaric throughout the rest of the Aureate Realms, ranging from polygamy in their noble families to slavery.


    ¡°The Cymrinoreans have always been squabbling,¡± Lias said dismissively. ¡°But yes. The Ironleaf fought there, and in the isles north of Urn, and in a few places in the continent. He¡¯s quite accomplished, and now he¡¯s here for the Emperor¡¯s tournament. I hear Ser Jocelyn was given a personal invitation to participate. No doubt Markham wants his glorysworn to bolster the Accord¡¯s soldiery.¡±


    ¡°And Siriks Sontae?¡± I asked. ¡°What¡¯s his story?¡±


    Lias eyed me curiously. ¡°Why do you care?¡±


    I made a dismissive gesture, while in my head I kept hearing Umareon¡¯s words about new champions being prepared. ¡°Just curious.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Well, the Sontae¡¯s are an ancient House, but they¡¯ve fallen on hard times. Back during the Fall, they were nearly butchered to the last babe. Siriks managed to survive along with his mother and a brother or two by hiding with other relations. His family isn¡¯t nearly so prestigious as it once was.¡±


    ¡°I guess he means to change that by winning glory in the lists,¡± I muttered. The boy¡¯s story reminded me of Rosanna¡¯s. Her family had also been purged, before she¡¯d gone into exile and met Lias and I.


    ¡°Undoubtedly.¡± Lias had never been interested in martial matters. His mismatched eyes wandered from the two knights.


    A wind stirred the apple trees. Another firework went off. Wealthy men and women laughed and gossiped.


    ¡°Something¡¯s watching us,¡± I said quietly.


    Lias took another sip of wine before replying. ¡°Yes. I sense it too. The demon?¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be foolish enough to draw my attention after the damage I did.¡±


    I let my eyelids droop, focusing on the subtle impressions passing into my aura. I could burn my magic, let it flow into the world and gain more concrete information, but it would announce me to any sensitive paying enough attention.


    ¡°There¡¯s too many people here.¡± I looked toward the entrance. ¡°It¡¯s muddling my senses. Whatever it is, it¡¯s not making an effort to hide itself.¡±


    Something watched me from the crowd, or the thin woods surrounding the Dance estate. It wanted me to know.


    ¡°Emma should be around somewhere,¡± I said to the wizard. ¡°She¡¯s disguised as a valet. Could you let her know I¡¯ve got a trail, and I need her to keep an eye on Laessa?¡±


    Lias, in the guise of Lord Yuri, nodded. ¡°And what will you be doing?¡±


    I turned and began to walk toward the distant hedge rows. ¡°Hunting.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 22: Myrddin

    Arc 4: Chapter 22: Myrddin


    I moved through the groves of the Dance estate, filled with scores of great minds and rich personages, like a tall, scarred shadow.


    My powers aren¡¯t meant for subtlety, but there are concessions made for practicality. I¡¯d learned how to move quietly during the brutal war in Karledale, back when I¡¯d been young and eager to prove myself. I¡¯d learned more as a Knight of Seydis, blessed with the magics of the Sidhe. They¡¯d taught me how to mask my presence, how to pull glamour over myself.


    In my time as the Choir¡¯s axeman, I¡¯d learned well the importance of stealth.


    I didn¡¯t use Art. I focused on the inner fire in me, my altered aura. I steadied my breathing, calmed my heart, felt the false forest around me ¡ª not so false as it might seem on a casual glance.


    There was life here. The wisps didn¡¯t linger for nothing. The shadows had an awareness in them, all of it drawn to the merriment of the mortals. The ease of the nobles, bred into them by an upbringing in power. The intellectual energy of the creatives, exuded in their devotion to their crafts, their love of beauty shared with the highborn who indulged them.


    Faisa Dance knew some elf lore. I reassessed her, and used the atmosphere she¡¯d provided to my advantage.


    I drank it all in, and became a ghost in it as I let the fire in me dim.


    I didn¡¯t become invisible, not exactly. I simply swam through the world, the same way any elf or irk might glide across the edge of a village during festival time, sharing in the merrymaking without drawing any lingering eyes they did not want.


    It had been thanks to tricks like this that I¡¯d managed to stealth into cities and fortresses across the land as the Choir¡¯s Headsman. I¡¯d used glamour in a very similar way in recent weeks, to blend with the crowds of Garihelm and avoid the attentions of the Inquisition. Though I¡¯d lost some of it since returning to civilization, the od clinging to me from years wandering across the wild edges of realms remained, allowing me to wrap myself into the environment.


    Not infallible. There were some who would be able to see me, if they chose to look or if I drew attention to myself with carelessness.


    So I kept on the move, steady and calm, and I listened. I listened to talk of politics, and of new inventions, and of trade. I listened to philosophical babble, which I¡¯d never had much of a mind for except in my darker moods.


    I listened to talk of Talsyn. No one talked about the warning from Graill, or about the murders which had plagued the city for most of a year.


    And no one spoke of Anselm of Ruon.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s obvious why Forger wants peace with the Condor,¡± a huge, heavily bearded lord said to an idling group. ¡°The man¡¯s looking to the future, just as we all are!¡±


    ¡°Still, treating with heretics?¡± This came from a young woman with a nervous smile.


    A tired-eyed harridan snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t be droll, dear. The war wasn¡¯t fought for faith. The Houses have been at each other¡¯s throats for generations. That business in the east was just an excuse, a pretense.¡±


    ¡°God¡¯s archon being murdered by his own knights was a pretense?¡± The bearded lord scoffed. ¡°Come now.¡±


    ¡°The elves have been fading a long time,¡± the old woman said dismissively, sipping wine. ¡°You hear the westerners, see how they live ¡ª they think of us as brutes, backwater barbarians only good for praying and swinging steel.¡±


    ¡°The world¡¯s changing,¡± the man agreed. ¡°We best all change with it, or we¡¯ll fade too.¡±


    I moved on, leaving those bitter truths behind me. I skirted around a group of foreign guildsmen telling a pair of young knights ¡ª both in casual dress ¡ª about the benefits of alchesteel compared to traditional Sidhe craftsmenship. The two listened intently, asking pointed questions while their attendant ladies gossiped.


    I passed a painter capturing a middle-aged woman who¡¯d agreed to pose on the grass. His brush moved with sweeping, almost angry strokes across the canvas, capturing the scene in bright detail.


    In the painting, the woman had ghoul-white eyes and clawed, webbed wings.


    I froze, spinning to look again. Had I found one? A mad artist?


    But no. The image was normal, and somewhat bland. The man had failed to capture the woman¡¯s ironically quirked eyebrow, her impatiently pursed lips. But no wings, no dead white eyes, no skin like cracked ceramic.


    I shook the moment of confusion off, turning away. I froze as I felt eyes on me.


    A man watched me from the near distance. He stood in the midst of half a dozen or so people, none of whom seemed to see him. He had a wild mane of black hair blending with an unkempt beard, and wore a rough-treated hide over ragged clothes.


    His lips spread in a grin when our eyes met, then he turned and vanished into the crowd.


    Tightening my jaw, I strode after him.


    When I reached the group of people I¡¯d spotted the stranger in ¡ª all architects and engineers by their conversation ¡ª I looked around and saw no sign of the black-haired man in the hide mantle. I paused, focusing on my less physical senses. I still felt that eerie atmosphere of awareness, of something watching me.


    My eyes scanned the groves, and landed on a distant line of green beyond the party. A hedge maze lay beyond the Dance estate¡¯s lawns.


    I saw no sign of the man, but my intuition screamed at me.


    An ambush? Or a private conversation?


    I¡¯d be ready for either. Keeping my hand near the dagger beneath my coat, I started making my way over the long stretch of open grass to the neat-cut rows beyond. Two statues of half-naked knights from some archaic era guarded the entrance to the maze, and more lanterns had been hung here to help guide guests safely. No doubt, this area was intended for lovers who wanted some privacy.


    Just enough privacy to die in, and not be noticed until morning. I paused a while, considering, then steeled myself and went in.


    I navigated the maze for a while. It was an overcast night, but some of the Wil-O¡¯ Wisps had followed me. They twirled around my long gold-brown coat and hair like little fireflies, whispering in half-real voices. They provided some irregular light, while my golden eyes pierced the darkness that remained.


    After perhaps fifteen minutes, I stepped into a square clearing in the maze. It had a stone path encircling rich flowerbeds and a fountain fashioned into the image of a naked warrior spearing some amphibian chimera attempting to devour him. Or, perhaps it was some natural beast long lost to the world.


    I stopped by the fountain, barely breathing, and waited. Night insects buzzed. Greenery rustled in a soft wind. Somewhere in the far distance, people laughed. A firework went off.


    And a voice spoke.


    ¡°Rough, isn¡¯t it? Seeing the world change, leave faded pictures like you behind?¡±


    The voice had gravel in it, and a rust-flavored humor.


    I cast my eyes around the shadows. ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked. ¡°Why are you following me?¡±


    ¡°I could ask why you followed me?¡± The voice chuckled. ¡°What, were you not enjoying the party?¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply, trying to pinpoint the presence. Catrin had used the same trick once.


    She¡¯d been better at it.


    The wisps tittered out an alarm, and my arm shot out. It sunk into the darkness, and I grasped something. There was a brief struggle, a grunt, then I slammed the shape I¡¯d caught against the lip of the fountain.


    It was man, the one I¡¯d seen before. He was short, thick-framed, and strong. I was stronger, and when he lashed out at me with a brick-hard fist I caught it and bashed him against the stone. He went still, breathing hard.


    He stank like charred fur and sweat. His lion¡¯s mane of black hair, grown long on his face and receding from his pate, hadn¡¯t been washed in a very long time. He had a bulbous nose, like a man who¡¯d been drinking for decades, and skin covered in angry rashes and old pockmarks. Much of the smell came from a charcoal colored hide he wore over his shoulders like a mantle, over near equally filthy robes beneath.


    ¡°I know you,¡± I muttered. ¡°You were that monk in the palace.¡± The one who¡¯d brushed me. He¡¯d said something at the time, which I¡¯d assumed to be an apology.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± He snarled. ¡°How¡¯d you catch me?¡±


    ¡°Your glamour isn¡¯t very good.¡± I tilted my chin toward the flitting lights. ¡°And the wisps don¡¯t like you.¡±


    They zipped about in agitation, keeping well away from the stranger.


    He began to shake. I realized in a moment he shook with laughter.


    ¡°Ah, I was warned about your lot! You fucking elf knights. I guess it shows me, don¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You know what I am?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°Course I fucking do.¡± The stocky man grinned, revealing blocky gray teeth. ¡°I can smell him on you, that old faerie. Like sunlight and meadows. Iron and Pits, you reek of it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t just stink of unwashed bodies and bad leather. I recognized something else, sickly and bitter.


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°So, the Priory doesn¡¯t like it. They don¡¯t like foreign influence. That¡¯s half the reason the Vicar embedded himself with them ¡ª because he knew they might threaten us too. Even though plenty of people worship the God-Queen¡¯s golden feet over there too, the red robes think it¡¯s all apostasy. So they complain, and they look for reasons to sow discord. They convince the people that the nobles hide demon cultists among their own ranks, and they say products and ideas from the west are bad, bad, bad.¡±


    He spread his hands as he let me work the rest out.


    I did. I did have a brain. Sometimes, it even worked.


    I got it.


    ¡°Yith is making it true,¡± I said quietly. ¡°He¡¯s making the renaissance movement look like it¡¯s infested with occultism, so the Priory¡¯s attention is directed towards it. He¡¯s pitting the Inquisition and the nobility against one another.¡±


    Fermenting fear, sowing distrust, turning all the factions of the city against one another until blood ran in the streets, just like it had the night I¡¯d rescued Laessa Greengood.


    All the while, whatever Yith and his benefactors truly planned continued without interruption or notice. The demon could vanish into the city¡¯s depths at will, leading me and the Inquisition on a wild goose chase, letting us clash with one another while it sat back and laughed.


    Its only mistake had been trying to hide in Kieran¡¯s body and giving me a shot at it. What had its plan been? I¡¯d originally assumed it an act of opportunism, hiding until it could assassinate someone like Rosanna or Lias.


    But it couldn¡¯t have known Kieran would ever be put in that position. It had only known...


    Bleeding Gates and Heaven On Fire. How had I missed it?


    Yith had hidden inside Kieran to get to Laessa. To turn the eyes of Inquisition on her, leaving her surrounded by acts of supernatural violence and horror.


    Jocelyn had practically told me. They all think she called the storm ogre down to kill the priorguard chasing her. They all think she¡¯s a witch.


    And it only took one witch to start a witch hunt.


    ¡°Get it?¡± Myrddin asked.


    I nodded. ¡°So your people want Yith gone ¡ª you know the demon is just a tool for someone else?¡±


    ¡°We suspected as much.¡± The devil monk studied me a moment, his expression thoughtful. ¡°You know, you¡¯re more reasonable than I thought you¡¯d be. I expected something a bit more... zealous. No proclamations of banishing my wickedness, no get thee behind me¡¯s?¡±


    When I said nothing, he leaned forward and fixed me with that leering gray smile again.


    ¡°I think you and I could have something of a rapport, crusader.¡±


    I glared at him. ¡°Kross already tried to make me sign a contract. Don¡¯t bother.¡±


    Myrddin snorted. ¡°Let me guess, had you beaten and hopeless at the time, eh? Came to you in your darkest hour? That¡¯s his method. But I don¡¯t need your soul, Alken Hewer. I don¡¯t care about it. What I could use is a contact. I can help you! I know things.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t trust a word out of your mouth,¡± I told him. ¡°Besides, I have ways of getting information.¡±


    Even still, I considered having a way to know what the crowfriars were up to might not be a bad idea. Problem was, that went both ways. It wasn¡¯t a risk I felt keen on.


    ¡°What, you mean that Backroad wench? The hemophage?¡± Myrddin let out a snorting laugh. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s another thing. You shouldn¡¯t trust her.¡±


    I turned back to the maze¡¯s exit. ¡°We¡¯re done.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t believe me?¡± Myrddin said at my back. ¡°Think about it, man. I¡¯ve been keeping an eye on you, I know she¡¯s got you cunt struck. But think! Why would a canny bloodsucker whose profession is secrets care so much about a man she¡¯s known a year? A man who¡¯d hunt her to her death in most other circumstances.¡±


    I kept walking. I¡¯d heard this sort of poison before.


    Myrddin¡¯s voice took on a frustrated edge. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot. You¡¯re the Headsman of Seydis, the Choir¡¯s own executioner. My people are beside themselves wondering about your orders and activities. The whole bloody batch of realms in this backwater land talk about you, but no one knows who you really are, or who you really serve. Not many, anyway.¡±


    I stopped. Taking a breath, I half turned to face him so I could see his eyes. He met my gaze evenly.


    ¡°Catrin of Ergoth is the Keeper of the Backroad¡¯s spy,¡± the crowfriar said, speaking slow, lingering on each word. ¡°He uses all his whores like that. They¡¯re bedwarmers, aye, and they collect whispers in the dark. Catrin¡¯s his favorite ¡ª rare for anyone to have her gift, to be able to get your secrets right out of your blood.¡±


    A trickle of ice went through my veins, and the half-healed wound on my neck prickled. How did he know that?


    There¡¯d been something on the roof when Cat and I had been together last night. I¡¯d thought it a bird.


    A crow, perhaps.


    Even still, I asked. ¡°How do you know about her?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more that we know the Keeper,¡± Myrddin said, grinning again. ¡°See, he used to be one of us.¡±


    I stared into his eyes. He didn¡¯t flinch.


    He wasn¡¯t lying.


    No.


    Catrin had appeared right after my visit to Myrr Arthor, right when I was alone and in a dark place. An odd coincidence, one my already busy mind had overlooked. She¡¯d showed a special interest in what had been bothering me the night before. She¡¯d asked about Fidei, who I hadn¡¯t even spoken of to Rosanna. Only Lias knew the truth there, and the gods.


    She¡¯d been curious about my new orders. She hadn¡¯t asked, so I hadn¡¯t thought about it.


    She didn¡¯t need to ask.


    Something mad and gibbering rose up in me. All my paranoia, my fear, my resentment, my hope ¡ª it all boiled up, a screaming pot ready to erupt. I fought it down, took a deep breath, and spoke with only a slight shake in my voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think she¡¯s here in the city, during all this mess?¡± Myrddin shook his head, looking perplexed at my denial. ¡°Old boy, use your head. I know you can. The Keeper has his girl on you because he wants to know who the Headsman¡¯s next target is. Not only that, but he wants to know the name of the Onsolain who gave you the order.¡±


    He shrugged and tilted his head to one side. ¡°Of course he wants to know. Secrets are how he escaped the Tribunal, kept himself in this land after the Riven Order was established. We know because it¡¯s what we want to know, too.¡±


    He took a step forward, licking his cracked lips. ¡°We know you were in the cathedral yesterday, that you spoke with a prime member of the Choir. We felt it. The Keeper certainly did too, and the Onsolain¡¯s more sordid affairs...¡±


    He tilted his head and smiled cruelly. ¡°There¡¯s no more tempting power than that kind of secret.¡±


    I drew my dagger and advanced on him. I¡¯d make him say it all again while the aura in my eyes burned a hollow into his skull.


    ¡°Uh oh. Pissed ye off, eh?¡± Myrddin let out a hoarse cackle as he danced back out of my reach, melting into the shadows. His red eyes blinked at me from the darkness.


    I started to form an Art, one to banish the shadows and hold him. In the far distance, I heard a shout. I froze, distracted by the unexpected noise.


    ¡°Damn.¡± Myrddin laughed again as his eyes faded to red pinpricks. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll have to put a rain check on this. They got here quicker than I thought.¡±


    I turned back toward the gala, cursing.


    ¡°Better hurry!¡± The devil cackled. ¡°Maybe this will teach you not to stretch yourself too thin, crusader.¡±


    His voice faded along with his presence. He¡¯d fooled me threefold. Not just here to spy on me, or give me information, but also as a distraction.


    Back toward the estate, I heard screams.

 Arc 4: Chapter 23: Accusation

    Arc 4: Chapter 23: Accusation


    Keeping my dagger in hand, I left the hidden fountain behind and all but sprinted back toward the groves.


    Emma caught me just out of the maze. She held a large pack over one shoulder, and her forehead beaded with sweat. She¡¯d been looking for me. I caught a flash of something feline with sharp claws and cheshire teeth in the branches of a nearby tree ¡ª Qoth.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked, still speed-walking back to the distant event.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Inquisition,¡± she said. That was enough. I quickened my pace, eyes fixed forward.


    ¡°An attack?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There was a scuffle at the gate,¡± Emma said, breathing hard as she quickened her pace to keep up, almost running. ¡°I think some of the younger nobles took issue with the veils barging in. They brought one of those war carriages, and there are a lot of them. Faisa Dance managed to get things calmed down, but...¡±


    Rosanna had warned me the Priory had been too quiet after the night of the storm. I¡¯d known they were operating with crowfriar support ¡ª I should have suspected something like this the instant I recognized Myrddin for what he was.


    I¡¯d let him lead me on, put more noise into my already busy mind. Damn it.


    We navigated through the groves, which had become eerily empty. I moved around to the front of the estate, and there found near two hundred people gathered before the front steps of the Dance mansion like a well-dressed army. They all stared at the wide street beyond the hedge rows.


    And there, claiming a central spot, rose a priorguard armored carriage. Fashioned of dark oak and black iron, decorated with barbed and sacred filigree, it rose like a mobile castle above the vehicles which had brought most of the party¡¯s guests. Above the black carriage, a shimmering copper phantasm rose into the night air, shaped into the barbed trident of Inquisition.


    Veiled and robed priorguard arrayed around the carriage, more than thirty of them. They all held iron-shod staves, man-catchers, and steel hooks attached to long chains. They stood still, a congregation of shadows with red tridents for faces, eerie in their quietude.


    The exception was Presider Oraise. I saw him at their forefront, clad in his shroud-like cloak and side-buttoned coat, his bowl-cut brown hair immaculate, his dead blue eyes scanning the crowd.


    I settled into a shadowed spot near the edge of the yard away from the throng and watched. Emma sunk into cover nearby, following my lead. I felt her tension through my aura.


    ¡°Be calm,¡± I said. ¡°They have adepts. They¡¯ll sense you.¡±


    Emma took a deep breath, and the sense of boiling energy exuding from her lessened.


    The crowd parted, nobles and others guests spreading as a proud old woman with a straight back and lifted chin strode out to stand without apparent fear before the ranks of the priorguard. Lady Faisa Dance fixed her gaze on the Presider.


    ¡°Oraise.¡± Her voice seemed calm, but had a steely edge. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±


    The inquisitor¡¯s ice-chip eyes rolled to the noblewoman. ¡°Lady Faisa.¡± He dipped into a proper bow, low and stiffly correct. His shroud cape spilled around him like folded black wings. ¡°I apologize for this unpleasantness. Cooperate, and there will be no further trouble.¡±


    I noticed several limp forms on the grass near the gate. Priorguard stood around them, brutal instruments held ready. Some were Dance guardsmen, while others were gala attendees in fine dress. They all had their hands behind their backs, with something very like copper wire biting into their flesh to hold them. By the faint shimmer around that material, I knew it to be the phantasm of some binding Art.


    ¡°Explain yourself,¡± Lady Faisa snapped, her voice cracking off the manor rows. ¡°This estate is my House¡¯s embassy, held by us with the Emperor¡¯s lenience. You have no authority here.¡±


    Oraise¡¯s dry voice held none of the noble¡¯s anger. He spoke with calm, professional courtesy. ¡°I am afraid you are incorrect. I have here a writ signed by a majority of the College. My priorguard has emergency powers to deal with the crisis in this city.¡±


    ¡°You speak of the murders?¡± Faisa asked.


    Oraise nodded. ¡°We are here to apprehend one who is held in suspicion for these crimes. We would have already, had our lawful actions not been interrupted.¡±


    ¡°Lawful!?¡± One of the older nobles, the man who¡¯d been testing the breathing device earlier, called out in a voice quivering with anger. ¡°Your priorguard are brutes. Kidnappers!¡±


    There were murmurs of agreement among the crowd. Less than I would have imagined. Some faces looked more doubtful.


    One of the veiled figures whispered into the Presider¡¯s ear. He nodded, then motioned with a gloved hand. Another opened the side door of the carriage.


    ¡°The Priory of the Arda is the voice of the Aureate Faith,¡± Oraise said, his voice catching every ear. ¡°We are Her instrument, Her scepter, Her fist.¡± He held up a closed hand, his eyes hardening with the first emotion I¡¯d seen in him.


    I searched the ranks of veiled figures for any sign of Renuart Kross. After my run in with Brother Myrddin, I suspected he had to be here.


    I didn¡¯t see him.


    Someone stepped out of the carriage, placing a cautious slipper on the step before one of the priorguard helped him onto the street. He was very old, very thin, and walked only with the help of an ordinary cane. Though he wore the red robes of a Priory clericon, they seemed more drab than others I¡¯d seen, faded and as close to brown as crimson.


    He wore a red circlet on his brow, and an ornate auremark dangled from his neck by a rope. It seemed to weigh him down. He trembled as he walked through the ranks of black-clad men and women, each step a labor even with his cane.


    He lifted his eyes to the crowd. They were soft blue, and full of a weary resignation. When he spoke, his voice trembled with age. He sounded like a tired grandfather, rather than a villain who courted Hell.


    ¡°I, by my authority as Grand Prior of the Arda and High Chastiser of the Aureate Church, levy the right of accusation against Laessa Greengood.¡±


    He pointed a shaking, arthritic finger into the throng. My eyes, and every other pair, tracked it to the young woman who stood with her noble peers. Laessa¡¯s face went tight with horror as the words registered on her.


    Faisa stared at the old man blankly, for a moment taken off guard. ¡°What is this madness?¡± She asked.


    The Grand Prior let out a tired sigh and rested on his cane. ¡°Every victim of the Carmine Killer over the last year has had some contact with the Lady Laessa. Our investigations have made us very certain of this..¡±


    ¡°That means nothing!¡± One of the other nobles called out. ¡°House Greengood has many connections, they¡¯re one of the realm¡¯s prime families! Why is this accusation not being made to the lady¡¯s lord-father?¡±


    ¡°I assure you,¡± Horace Laudner said calmly, ¡°our investigation is being conducted against the House as a whole. However, many witnesses have placed the young lady as a personal confidant to many of the victims. She attended events with Yselda of Mirrebel, and had uncouth relations with an apprentice, the last victim of these brutal crimes.¡±


    ¡°This is not evidence!¡± Esmerelda Grimheart snapped, holding her friend¡¯s arm. I noticed Siriks Sontae standing near them, his arms folded and his eyes narrowed.


    ¡°When the priorguard attempted to question her at her estate,¡± the old priest continued smoothly, ¡°with permission from her lord father, she fled. Not only that, but she was reported by many witnesses to have done so with the animate cadaver of her former lover, raised by foul necromancy. She and two other conspirators murdered many of my Presider¡¯s subordinates in their attempt to stop her from causing more harm.¡±


    ¡°Burning Wheels,¡± Emma muttered next to me, sounding almost impressed. ¡°That¡¯s got to be the most twisted version of an event I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re good at that,¡± I said darkly. ¡°And there are no witnesses to gainsay them besides Laessa and us, and anyone who might have seen the chase from their windows. Remember that the Priory is popular with the common folk.¡±


    ¡°Fools,¡± Emma growled.


    I wasn¡¯t sure I agreed. The land had been torn apart by House war and wizard plots for years. The commoners were rightfully scared, and the Priory gave them a sense of voice, of power. The Inquisition played at being on the side of the common man, rooting out warlocks and demoniacs amongst the aristocracy.


    I remembered Irene, and Emery. They weren¡¯t the only mad highborn in the land who had ruled through fear. And not all of those had the excuse of being Recusant.


    ¡°I accuse Laessa Greengood of witchcraft and murder,¡± Horace Laudner said, his haggard voice strengthening. ¡°I accuse her of heresy, of occultism, and of resisting lawful arrest by soldiers of our faith.¡±


    Faisa Dance spoke calmly, all anger and shock retreated behind an authoritative mask. ¡°This is beyond the pale, Horace.¡±


    ¡°You will address the Grand Prior as Your Holiness, My Lady.¡± Oraise¡¯s tone remained respectful despite the words. ¡°Understand, standing against us in this makes you complicit in the lady Laessa¡¯s crimes, and places doubt on your character.¡±


    Faisa Dance went very pale, and hesitated. I don¡¯t think she¡¯d ever been accused of heresy in her life, even through implication.


    ¡°There will be a trial,¡± Prior Horace said, looking tired of the ordeal. ¡°She will have the opportunity to defend herself.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°After you torture whatever confessions of guilt you want from her!¡± Another lord shouted. I watched Laessa, who¡¯d said nothing so far. Her face had turned ashen. Behind her, Siriks¡¯s fist clenched.


    ¡°We should do something,¡± Emma said to me.


    Very likely. Perhaps I was a monster for being willing to accept that. Perhaps I was no true knight after all. I tightened my grip on the gnarled oak of the Headsman¡¯s Axe, feeling its small burs bite into my calloused palms.


    ¡°Do you know the history of that weapon?¡± A dry, inhuman voice asked.


    I glanced to a shadowed alcove built into the rooftop, where a gargoyle might rest during the day. Slit-pupiled eyes, yellow-green as the moon above, stared at me from the darkness.


    ¡°Qoth.¡± I studied the elf a moment. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be guarding your mistress?¡±


    ¡°Emma is quite capable,¡± Qoth said. ¡°Besides, she ordered me to keep my eyes on you.¡±


    The briarfae had taken a feline form, bigger than most children and emaciated, with patchy gray fur and a wide mouth full of sharp teeth.


    I turned my eyes back to Rose Malin. The priorguard escort had reached the old church, and were unloading their charge. Laessa would be heading back to the palace, with Emma watching her back.


    ¡°It is human to have doubt,¡± Qoth said philosophically. ¡°Only, I think you would suffer much less if you were less human.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Is that why Nath is so interested in claiming me? Mercy?¡±


    Qoth shook his head, a very human gesture for the form he took. ¡°She is Onsolain. She is rejoining her brethren so that she may have a voice in their choir. You are her headsman too, Alken Hewer.¡±


    I stared at the church, on the cusp of decision.


    No, I¡¯d already decided. I¡¯d known what I would do as I lay there in the inn room with Catrin¡¯s fingers in my hair, her comforting voice in my ears, her tears on my brow.


    Cat... did you betray me? Was it all like that devil monk said?


    My eyes went to the Fulgurkeep, to the Empress¡¯s bastion. In the far distance of the sea, lightning flickered in black clouds.


    I¡¯d been chasing this dream too long. I¡¯d hated being a knight. And I¡¯d loved it. I lifted the axe, catching my own golden eyed reflection in its mirror-bright metal.


    I¡¯d been born with brown eyes.


    ¡°Knighthood does not require honor or justice,¡± The wicked elf crooned at me from the shadows. ¡°That is just what men tell themselves so they can look in the mirror. They all take what they will by the sword. You think that pup who challenged the old priest is what you should be? What does killing some fool in a ring prove about truth?¡±


    I turned my eyes to Qoth. With Myrddin, and many like him, I¡¯d scorned such words. Yet, I felt there was truth in what the creature said. I didn¡¯t sense a malign intent. Just a dark, thorned soul who saw something I struggled to.


    Qoth met my eyes evenly. ¡°You know we keep the Brothers of the Briar in dreams? Terrible and beautiful dreams. We wrap them in lies, and they are true monsters.¡±


    I nodded slowly. I thought I understood.


    ¡°You suffer because you see truth, and wish for pretty dreams instead. Time to make a choice, Ser Headsman.¡±


    Ser Headsman. For so long, that had seemed like mockery to me. Irony.


    Perhaps there could be something true in it.


    I had feared and avoided the judgement of men for so long, even though my role was to bring doom to the worst of them. I had been wracked with guilt, because I believed myself as bad as any of them.


    I¡¯d killed, true. I had been weak. Perhaps I didn¡¯t deserve salvation.


    Perhaps I didn¡¯t want it.


    Qoth shifted, drawing my attention back to him. He padded out of the shadows, dragging something with his teeth. It twitched and writhed weakly, like a dying animal. I made out fabric dark as spilled wine.


    My cloak. The one Nath had given me as a reward for saving her godchild.


    ¡°The priorguard attempted to burn it,¡± Qoth said. ¡°But this is my people¡¯s work. The Briar does not loosen its hold easily.¡±


    I knelt, touching the garment. It had life in it, and it had been made for me. It curled around my hand, weak and wounded from Kross¡¯s blade, but intact.


    I caught sight of something else, almost melded with the shadows. Rings of black iron.


    ¡°How¡ª¡± I started to ask.


    Qoth answered my question before I spoke it. ¡°Your accoutrements are part of your power, Headsman. This is all Sidhe magic. It bleeds through worlds, just as elves do.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow. ¡°And you didn¡¯t help nature along?¡±


    Qoth let out a hacking laugh. I¡¯d wondered at how quickly the Briar Elf had answered Emma¡¯s summons.


    I bunched the red material in my hand.


    ¡°If I do this,¡± I said, ¡°Rosanna will never trust me again. She¡¯ll understand what I am, how dangerous it is.¡±


    She¡¯d seemed so alone to me in that tower above the bay. Separated from her distant homeland, her eldest child, her husband. I¡¯d only ever seen her and Markham together at court.


    She¡¯d trusted me, despite all the years between us. If I killed the Grand Prior and made a martyr of him, turning suspicion against Laessa, heightened the already straining tension in the city...


    She wouldn¡¯t trust me after that. It would break something I¡¯d only just started to repair.


    ¡°You are no Briar Brother,¡± Qoth said, inspecting his claws. ¡°A slave has not been made of you, Alken Hewer. You must decide what you will sacrifice for your duty.¡±


    I remembered the dead-eyed, scarred face in Umareon¡¯s mirror. The Headsman, shorn of all doubt. Pure, implacable, and terrible.


    I would not let myself become that. Yet, this half thing?


    ¡°What will you do?¡± Qoth asked, his tone more curious than prodding.


    I considered as I held the tired Briar cloak. I spoke after a minute¡¯s thought. ¡°You know Rysanthe, the Doomsman of Draubard? She is called Death. Yet, in her homeland, she is honored and loved. She takes no pleasure in her work, but she is at peace with it.¡±


    ¡°I do not think you will find love in this role,¡± Qoth noted after a moment¡¯s thought. "Or peace."


    ¡°No,¡± I agreed. Then my eyes lifted to the church. ¡°But maybe I can shed some light on it.¡±


    Part of me had known I would end up here the day I¡¯d executed Rhan Harrower, and become known to the lords as more than a dark rumor. Maybe I could never again be what I¡¯d been. But my past had been shrouded in complications and half truths as well.


    I would do the gods¡¯ will. And, after...


    There would be consequences.


    I donned my armor.

 Arc 4: Chapter 24: Blood and Iron

    Arc 4: Chapter 24: Blood and Iron


    As I approached Rose Malin over the wide courtyards of the capital¡¯s church district, a fog blew in over the bay. It spilled into the streets, choked the alleys, filled the canals to bursting. Bell towers and high walls covered in crenelated stone and sneering gargoyles rose through the brume, like ghost spires in a phantasm city.


    As the fog enwrapped me, I recalled the words of the dark elf Irn Bale, who¡¯d given me the black armor I wore.


    You are no thief in the night, and it diminishes you to act like one. Face the evil. Punish it.


    I heard Ser Maxim¡¯s words, earnest even in the midst of his despair.


    Our mien during benighted times shows our true worth, you mustn¡¯t forget that.


    Umareon¡¯s divine contempt, like a brand, scalded through the other voices.


    Like all mortals, you hide your truth behind a veneer of nobility and higher purpose. A twisted truth is no different from a lie.


    I remembered Cat¡¯s lips against mine. Her soft cries echoed in me.


    I heard Dei¡¯s pleading voice.


    You have to know that I do love you. That wasn¡¯t a lie.


    And her voice seething with anger.


    Keep your oaths then, and see if they warm you!


    The scars she¡¯d given me prickled, lines of sharp heat over my left eye.


    I approached the steps of the church wrapped in my red cloak. I wore the pointed cowl over my face, covered my shoulders and arms with the long folds, the garment wrapped many times around my neck to better shadow what lay within. Elf glamour and black iron made the interior of the shroud almost empty.


    Figures stirred before the doors of Rose Malin. Priorguard stood watch, the Presider taking precautions with the night¡¯s tensions. I could almost see their eyes squinting through their black veils, trying to make me out through the fog.


    One called out a challenge, like any proper sentry. One of those nearer stiffened as I kept approaching, no doubt taking in more details. They would see my height, the faint shimmer of dark iron, the almost liquid undulations of the faerie cloak. The way the fog seemed to swirl around me as it got caught in the eddies of my aura.


    I slipped my axe from beneath the cloak¡¯s folds, holding it openly. Voices cried out in alarm.


    I spoke with the echoing pressure of aura in my voice, making certain my words were listened to and understood.


    ¡°I have come for Horace Laudner, Grand Prior of the Arda.¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± One called out, lifting a compact crossbow. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer, damn you! Identify yourself!¡±


    I didn¡¯t stop walking, or speaking.


    ¡°For crimes against the Choir of God, the Hidden Folk, and the Accorded Realms of Men, the Grand Prior has been given this Doom.¡±


    Amber fire flickered along the cleaving edge of Faen Orgis. The Inquisition soldiers had, for the most part, remained still, spellbound by the power I burned.


    ¡°I would claim no other life but Prior Horace¡¯s. Only he has been judged. Stand aside, and we will have no quarrel.¡±


    And with that, I had no more words to give. The ritual, improvised though it was, had been woven, the spell cast.


    No going back.


    The man with the crossbow fired. Even in the fog, it was a good shot. It went right for my chest.


    But it never struck me. The flickering tongues of aureflame beginning to wreath my body condensed, forming a shimmering buckler in the shape of an oak leaf. The bolt struck it, broke, and burned as it fell apart.


    The priorguard captain spat a curse. ¡°It¡¯s him! It¡¯s the red cloak! Don¡¯t let him past!¡±


    I exhaled slowly. I hadn¡¯t wanted to claim more than one life tonight, but that had been wishful thinking. I had given them their choice. I had approached openly, declared my purpose, offered them their lives.


    The Priory devotees surged forward, chains and staves and man-catchers in hand. I gripped my axe and took one final, purposeful step. A ripple went through the world, like a disturbance in stilled water. My cloak pooled onto the ground beneath me, a curtain of blood.


    Faen Orgis glowed molten gold.


    I looked past the priorguard, and up, my eyes fixing on the tall doors of Rose Malin, with the auremark embedded in metal into its face. My gaze lifted to the stained glass window, the three towers, centuries old, a marvel of Urn¡¯s history.


    Prior Horace, Oraise, and Renuart Kross had already defaced it. Time to make appearances match reality.


    I lifted the Doomsman¡¯s Arm high overhead, let the final gear in my soul shift into place as the Art finished forming, then slammed the weapon down into the stone of the plaza.


    The world shuddered.


    A blazing curtain of golden flame erupted like a sun ray from the point of impact, chased by a dolorous sound. A lightning bolt of phantasm ripped into the front of the cathedral, crackling, brilliant, a thunderclap of auratic fury.


    Crude and ill-formed compared to the original, but High Art all the same. Godsven¡¯s Dawn slammed into Rose Malin, tearing the doors from their hinges, scattering the priorguard who moved to surround me. It burned two who¡¯d been directly in its path to cinders. They fell in smoking, disintegrating heaps.


    The angelic statues cracked and tumbled. The beautiful, ancient window shattered, and the golden lightning bolt continued to tear across the upper floors of the structure, not straight in its path. It etched a jagged scar into the building, climbing to the highest tower where the bell and the Trident of Inquisition loomed above, striking the former and ruining the latter.


    The bell tolled, its call filling the foggy streets.


    I rose, threw back my cloak ¡ª my hood had come off in the blast of wind from the Art¡¯s backlash, the same force scattering the fog for nearly thirty feet in every direction. I followed the deep furrow my magic had made in the stone as I ascended the broken stairs, each click of my boots echoing in the silence, the black rings of my armor rattling like a mesh of funeral bells.


    The priorguard, stunned and senseless, moaned and stumbled around me. One tripped into my path. I caught him by his collar. His veil had fallen off, revealing a young, frightened face.


    ¡°Flee,¡± I commanded him. Then, pushing him aside, I stepped into the Inquisition¡¯s fortress.


    I had not split the building fully in half. Perhaps one of the knight-captains of the Alder Table could have, with the mightiest form of a paladin¡¯s smite. But I had not intended to bring the building down. I only wished to make my presence known, to open the door.


    To declare war.


    ¡°Well?¡± He asked, lifting a thick eyebrow. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to get on with it?¡±


    The beam fell a fraction of an inch, and the man let out a hiss of agony. Lisette cursed and began to work her magic with more fervor. The fallen support went still as the golden threads tightened.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked. My voice came out as a croak.


    Oraise sighed. He no longer looked like the tall, dire inquisitor who¡¯d interrogated me beneath this very church all those weeks ago. He looked tired, and in pain.


    ¡°Did you know, before he became Grand Prior, Horace managed orphanages?¡± Oraise¡¯s tone, despite his situation, was conversational. ¡°He pulled me out of one of them. A nameless peasant boy, made an aide to such a respected personage. Oh, how jealous the others were.¡±


    His eyes were remote. Lifeless. Lisette watched him with an odd union of pity and anger.


    ¡°I did some investigating after I spoke with you, you know.¡± A shadow of a smile touched the inquisitor¡¯s bloodless lips. ¡°What you said about the Knight Confessor?¡±


    I¡¯d told him that Kross was a devil. He¡¯d seemed to dismiss it.


    Oraise closed his eyes, resting his head against the brick wall behind him. ¡°I thought you worked for some faction in the Accord, the Silvering woman, or perhaps even the Emperor himself. I thought perhaps the elves, retaliating against us for the war...¡±


    He met my eyes. ¡°But I think I know the truth now. I¡¯ve been having dreams. I realize now they were revelation.¡±


    I recognized the light in his eyes. The fevered gleam of the fanatic. I shivered.


    ¡°The Grand Prior is no prophet,¡± Oraise continued. ¡°He only desires power. I¡¯ve known that since I was thirteen and assassinating his rivals for him. I thought, perhaps, I could direct his ambitions into something that might serve. But I see now...¡±


    He reached into his coat. I tensed, remembering the evil little crossbows the priorguard used. But he didn¡¯t pull out a weapon, or anything. He just sat there, struggling to breathe as his eyes closed.


    After a moment¡¯s consideration, I lifted the beam off the man. He was too injured to be a danger regardless. He let out a groan of agony, drowning out my growl of exertion. Lisette helped with her magic, her face tight with worry. Then the fallen rafter slammed into the floor. Oraise sat there, panting, a perplexed look crossing his face.


    I knelt in front of him and jabbed a finger into his shoulder, the wounded one, as I spoke. He flinched and hissed, but I ignored his pain. Lisette said nothing.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten your crimes, Oraise. When the sun rises tomorrow, things will be different. I could use a favor owed me inside the Church. But if you ever cross me, I will not need an Angel of Onsolem to command your death. Do you understand?¡±


    He nodded, wincing.


    I used the head of my axe to push myself up, then began to walk toward the stairs. Oraise, on the cusp of unconsciousness, spoke at my back.


    ¡°God forgive us both.¡±


    I doubted it.


    ¡°Alken!¡±


    I paused as Lisette padded up behind me. She took a deep breath.


    ¡°This... Alken, what is this? Did Her Grace¡ª¡±


    I interrupted her. ¡°Do you honestly believe Rosanna asked for this?¡±


    ¡°Then...¡± The young cleric¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°Is this them?¡±


    Lisette had been there the day I¡¯d come for the Orson Falconer¡¯s head. She knew my true identity ¡ª as the Headsman of Seydis, as a former Alder Knight. But they were just names to her.


    ¡°In the tower that day...¡± Lisette paused before asking. ¡°Did the Onsolain command this slaughter? Did the gods demand so much death?¡±


    What was I supposed to tell her, that gentle young cleric who¡¯d seen so much horror? Just because my faith had been tarnished, it didn¡¯t mean hers needed to be. Once, she¡¯d saved my life. I owed her this much.


    ¡°I prayed for this!¡± Lisette¡¯s voice had a sob in it. ¡°I prayed for someone to stop him. I didn¡¯t have the courage. He¡¯s a madman. And worse.¡±


    No gratitude in her voice. Just despair, and regret. I turned my head, catching her out of the corner of my vision. Lisette¡¯s blue eyes glimmered with tears, but she had her jaw set.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t work for you,¡± I told her. ¡°Your Art is meant for healing. Don¡¯t tarnish it further.¡±


    Her voice held a brittle edge of grief. ¡°Your powers were meant to heal, too. To protect. An Alder Knight came to my village when I was just a little girl. I remember how noble she was, how kind. This isn¡¯t right, what they¡¯ve done to you. This isn¡¯t how I wanted my prayers answered.¡±


    Right had nothing to do with it. It never had.


    ¡°Tell Rose...¡± I sighed. ¡°Tell the Empress to remember what I asked her.¡±


    ¡°Tell her yourself!¡± Lisette¡¯s voice struck loud in the narrow hall. ¡°Damn it, at least let me go with you! I will shed no tears over Horace Laudner, but I can¡¯t face the Empress if I just let you die.¡±


    ¡°I have no intention of dying,¡± I told her. Then I left her standing there in the hallway.


    I broke the reinforced door at the top of the next stair. It took three strikes of my axe, each blow imbued with aureflame, before it shattered inward in a shower of burning wood.


    I stepped into a prayer room. Somewhat smaller than the one below, but just as proud, of the kind many greater temples keep so the preosts can have private communion. The huge, circular window which would allow both sun and moon¡¯s light in for different ceremonies had been broken by the Dawn. Gray fog, lit to glowing by the rising Living Moon, coiled into the open gap.


    Red robed Priory clericons lurked within, some cowering, some standing tall and proud. Some sat on the floor, wounded by shattered glass and splinters. Younger clerics tended to them with healings arts, both mundane and auratic.


    My eyes locked onto the Grand Prior. Old and bent, he stood in front of a podium near the window. His eyes widened when he saw my blood drenched form in the doorway. Veiled priorguard lifted their weapons to stop me.


    ¡°Leave him!¡±


    The familiar voice boomed inside the room. Plate armor softly clicked as a gray-caped figure stepped into my path, lifting a plain sword.


    ¡°Enough of this,¡± Renuart Kross said, his fatherly visage stern. ¡°Enough, Alken.¡±


    I let out a breath flickering with aureflame. ¡°Vicar.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 25: Clash of Two Flames

    Arc 4: Chapter 25: Clash of Two Flames


    Kross glared at me across the wide floor. His gauntlet clicked as he tightened his grip on his longsword.


    ¡°Alken...¡± He spoke with cold anger. ¡°You have destroyed yourself. What is this madness?¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply at once, running my gaze over the clerics. Some were terrified, others defiant. Most seemed to have gained some steel in their spines from the knight confessor¡¯s presence.


    My voice, though hoarse from the shock of violence down below, crackled with aura. ¡°This is not a matter for Orkael.¡±


    I lifted my axe.


    ¡°Not a matter for...¡± Kross bared his teeth in a silent snarl. ¡°Fool! My presence here is exactly why this is happening. You think his actions otherwise would matter at all?¡±


    Behind him, the Grand Prior watched in silence, his aged face serene as a saint¡¯s.


    ¡°Leonis Chancer had no devil on his shoulder,¡± I told him calmly.


    Horace¡¯s face lost some color. Vicar¡¯s own angry features darkened further, his sword whistling as it cut the air. He took a guard.


    I began to walk forward, quickening my pace with each step. Golden flames flickered and faded around me, forming an irregular rhythm along with the slow drumbeat of metal and leather.


    ¡°Don¡¯t step any closer!¡± Kross aimed the tip of his blade at my chest. A hint of orange touched the gray of his eyes. Around him, wings of ghostly ice spread, each feather sharp as steel. The vicious eyes of the Zosite glared at me over the false knight¡¯s shoulder.


    The watching clericons gasped at the sight. Many began to sing prayers of gratitude, or chastised me with invocations against evil.


    Oh, the irony.


    I didn¡¯t slow, didn¡¯t stop. I rested my axe on one shoulder, touching the split roots at the base of the oaken handle with the fingers of my left hand.


    ¡°Sign it, Horace!¡± Vicar snapped, his eyes furious. He adjusted his posture a fraction, prepared to meet my rush.


    The podium in front of the Grand Prior had a length of parchment resting on it. I realized the old man held a quill. Wild as I¡¯d used my magic, my vision had become touched with more abstraction. To my sight, the material exuded sickly yellow flames.


    I wouldn¡¯t allow him. I did not know what the consequences of that thing were, how the Zosite could make use of a pillar of the Church under their explicit charge. I didn¡¯t care to know.


    I closed on Kross. He readied his sword, holding his blade up at an angle, one steeled hand resting lightly on the disk that formed the pommel. Above him, the seraph¡¯s arms began to split and duplicate.


    Just before we closed, I leant down and swiped Faen Orgis in an arc across the floor. In this tower room, the floor had been crafted from wooden boards rather than stone. I cut through them, leaving a furrow, and amber fire erupted from the scar.


    The curtain of flame caught Kross off guard. He¡¯d prepared for a bull rush, and instead found himself stumbling back with one hand raised against the conflagration. His guardian seraph, no more immune to the blessed fire than any other otherworldly thing, also recoiled from it. The crowfriar growled, the noise full of frustration and hate.


    I had no fear of the aureflame ¡ª it was in me ¡ª and I went through it.


    It is impossible to form multiple phantasms at once. A very skilled and powerful practitioner can layer their Art into complex forms, but even one of the Magi must let their soul take a single shape before reconfiguring it into the next. It takes time, and even seconds can lose a fight.


    I used the curtain of golden fire to cover the formation of my next Art. Shimmering horns of white-gold glass burst from my shoulders, even as a hidden wind propelled me forward. I slammed into Kross through the fire. Two prongs of phantasmal antler punched through his armor, the barbs of the Eardeking¡¯s Lance hard and sharp as any war spear.


    I carried him with me, nearly twenty feet, leaving a trail of golden fire behind us. At the end of the line, I let out a savage roar and hurled him upward, the proverbial stag bucking violently.


    Kross clattered to the ground behind me, rolling several feet before coming to a stop in a tangle of gray cloak. His sword clattered some distance away.


    I didn¡¯t turn, didn¡¯t stop. My boots slammed against the wooden boards as I advanced on the Grand Prior. The old man¡¯s brow beaded with sweat. The quill in his hand dripped with his own blood, rather than ink.


    He made to sign the infernal parchment.


    Too far, I realized. I won¡¯t make it.


    The old cleric hesitated. I saw it. It only lasted an instant, a breath, a pair of heartbeats.


    But he hesitated before signing, his eyes going down to the contract, his lips pressing tight.


    A moment of doubt.


    I leapt over the podium, slammed a boot down onto the accursed page, the wooden stand splintering as I struck it.


    ¡°NO!¡± Kross screamed.


    My axe parted the air in a blurring line of embers. Several feet away, something thumped against the floor. The head rolled into the foot of an old Priory clericon, who tripped over his own red robes as he stumbled back, falling in a gibbering heap.


    The body remained standing a moment, quill poised, before tilting. Prior Horace had been a small man, even without age withering him. The carcass made very little noise as it struck the floor.


    I heard Kross stand by the clink of his armor. I hopped down from the podium, landing in a half crouch, before turning to face the man.


    He stared hollow eyed at the corpse. In a dead voice he said, ¡°What have you done?¡±


    I rested the faerie axe on my palms, studying the blood on it a moment. It didn¡¯t take long for the amber fire to burn the residue of death away. I ignored the knight confessor, instead addressing the gathered priests.


    ¡°This was the Choir¡¯s will.¡± My voice boomed in the chapel, hollow and inhuman to my own ears. ¡°Horace Laudner intended to sell all of you out to the Infernal Realm. He has been punished for it.¡±


    My flayed left arm dripped blood onto the floorboards. My aura was fading, physical and spiritual exhaustion taking their toll. I wouldn¡¯t last much longer.


    Hold on, I ordered myself. Not done yet.


    This meant nothing if it only ended in Horace¡¯s death. I still had work to do.


    I¡¯d been pushed into the watching clericons. I heard steel slide against leather, and caught movement in the corner of my vision. One of the red robes had drawn a richly made stiletto, a wealthy man¡¯s sidearm with a jeweled hilt, and came at me with a prayer on his lips.


    I met his eyes with the full weight of my golden gaze. He froze, sweating, prayer dying on lips that puckered like a fish. He fell to his knees, the blade clattering to the floor.


    Ignoring him, I pushed forward even as Kross came at me. His perfect fencing form held the hilt of his sword near his collarbone to thrust.


    Hellfire gave him the same explosive speed aureflame gave me. With the scent of sunlit meadows fighting for dominance against sulfur, we slammed into one another. I turned Kross¡¯s thrust, which transitioned into a whirling upward cut. I turned, letting his blade miss my ear by a finger¡¯s width. My flesh charred from the wave of heat his blade exuded. I bit back the pain.


    I raked my axe across his midsection, taking advantage of his overcommitment. I traced a golden line along the white steel of his breastplate. He grunted from the force of impact, stumbling back.


    His seraph, wounded but intact, batted at me with its four phantasmal wings. The attack came with a blast of boreal cold, the same maneuver it had used to subdue me the last time.


    Already diminished, the aureflame withered. I felt a creeping cold, and the exhaustive agony of my injuries slammed into my senses. I let out a dry gasp.


    Seeing my weakness, Kross brought his sword up high, an executioner¡¯s stance. Hell¡¯s fire wreathed his blade, a serpent length of it twining up in a cruel spiral. His eyes blazed like embers, his expression set with triumphant wrath.


    Perhaps...


    Perhaps if we¡¯d had this confrontation a month ago, or a year ago, I would have accepted that cut. Let the dark take me wherever it would, into torment or oblivion.


    I had more to lose now. I had reasons to keep fighting.


    With a roar, with every ounce of strength both physical and spiritual I could muster, I swung my axe overhand with a single arm. It shone a bright, brilliant gold as it connected with Kross¡¯s ¡ª with Vicar¡¯s ¡ª burning blade.


    The blade shattered. Heated metal cascaded in a hateful rain across the room, embedding into wood, into the watching clericons. One sliced a gash across the edge of my neck, another my temple. One caught Brother Caslin in the skull, killing him instantly, and another took Prior Diana across the cheek, slicing her from lip to ear.


    The gilt thunderbolt of the smite cracked into the crowfriar, through him and the devil who rode him. He fell to his knees, his broken sword falling, his armored hands twisted, mangled, and smoking.


    Breathing hard, I rose to my full height. Vicar¡¯s eyes, glassy with disbelief, rose to look at me. His mouth opened ¡ª to speak, to shout? The priests cried out, in pain or prayer, but I had eyes only for my enemy.


    The Zosite hurled itself at me. Not much larger than a child save for its enormous wings and misting hair, it came with claws like shards of ice and silver eyes wide with fury, burnt but dangerous still.


    I caught the infernal spirit by its neck. It scraped and clawed at me, eerie in its silent hate. Its wings batted, slamming me with waves of cold, Irn Raya¡¯s armor emitting banshee shrieks as claws of half real iron scored it.


    ¡°Go back to Hell,¡± I snarled. Then I poured aureflame through my hand, the same method I¡¯d once used to heal wounds.


    And the devil erupted in amber fire. I held it as it burned, until its struggles weakened, its shape dissipating from material existence. The banishing flames of the Alder sent that angel of cold iron back to its realm of pits and demons and pain.


    Silence fell. As the phantasmal fires faded, the room became darker, until only the moonlit mist and candle touched shadows remained.


    Vicar blinked at the spot where his councilor had been. I could read no emotion in his face. It was as though all emotion, all humanity, had left him.


    But I had become well familiar with the empty despair of failure. I recognized it.


    ¡°You have chosen the wrong side,¡± he said in a strained voice.


    I stepped forward to stand sidelong to him, taking my axe in both hands. I had not been ordered to execute the leader of the crowfriars, but I doubted Umareon would mind.


    I lifted the axe to take Vicar¡¯s head. A cold wind blew in from the broken window. More mist had spilled into the room, drifting in coiling eddies around our ankles. The Priory clerics watched the scene, silent and horrified.


    I swung.


    A black staff interposed itself between me and the crowfriar, blocking my strike. It caught into the inner hook of the axe, redirecting it and nearly jerking it out of my hands.


    I held my grip with gritted teeth, mostly on instinct and training. I didn¡¯t understand what had happened at first. I thought perhaps one of the priorguard had stepped forward to defend their knight confessor.


    Growling, I jerked the weapon up and prepared to slam myself into whoever had stopped me. My eyes lifted to see a thin figure in blue-black robes chased with red and silver, a long and regal cape of midnight blue draped over the shoulders. Part of their form still congealed out of the mist ¡ª they had formed from it.


    A pale green eye watched me calmly as the ebony staff, which I realized had a long iron nail embedded into its head, forced my own weapon up. The man who¡¯d saved Vicar¡¯s life held the staff in two hands, straining with effort against my strength but holding.


    The man¡¯s other eye was a ruby gem embedded into an empty socket.


    I did not understand. My confusion came out in a single word.


    ¡°Lias?¡±


    The wizard gave me a sad smile. ¡°Sorry, Alken. I can¡¯t let you kill him.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 26: Separate Ways

    Arc 4: Chapter 26: Separate Ways


    As my oldest friend and I stood there, locked together above the kneeling crowfriar, I felt the rage creep in through the confusion.


    ¡°Lias.¡± My voice sounded oddly calm to my own ears. ¡°What is this?¡±


    Lias¡¯s green eye narrowed, while the false one remained still. I could make out my own fragmented reflection in the crystal¡¯s red surface, blood-smeared and angry.


    Instead of answering me, Lias spoke to the knight confessor. ¡°Can you stand, Vicar?¡±


    He knew the crowfriar¡¯s true name. He knew, and he¡¯d saved him.


    Growling, I tried to free my weapon. Lias kept the lock with a deft movement, his form stiffly perfect. I was stronger, but he hadn¡¯t been idle the last decade. He¡¯d trained, and in more than just sorcery. He used leverage with a warrior monk¡¯s expertise. By the odd pressure I felt, I suspected he used aura as well.


    Vicar rose to his feet, backing away. His hands were ruined and useless, but even still I didn¡¯t trust him not to be dangerous.


    My focus remained on Lias.


    ¡°Stop this!¡± I snapped. ¡°He¡¯s a monster. I won¡¯t let him roam free.¡±


    ¡°Monster?¡± Lias shook his head. ¡°Alken, he is us. He simply serves different masters.¡±


    ¡°Are they your masters now, Li?¡± I shifted a step, adjusting my grip. Lias responded by rotating his staff, freeing my axe. He carried the motion in a whirling movement, the air whooshing around the length of ebon wood. The iron nail froze under my chin. I batted it away, glaring.


    We backed away from one another, a cautious dance. We¡¯d done this before. We¡¯d once trained together, he and I. The pang of nostalgia was a bitter medicine in that moment.


    It all made sense now. A terrible, horrible sense.


    ¡°All your talk of change and progress...¡± I shook my head. ¡°I should have known. You were the one who encouraged Markham to lift the trade ban with the continent. You knew, didn¡¯t you? You knew it all.¡±


    Lias nodded. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, unable to understand. In my mind, I recalled his marions, the continental alchemy in his lab ¡ª had there been Devil Iron there, too? I recalled Rosanna¡¯s words, about Lias removing those who¡¯d objected to the new trade.


    I¡¯d seen all the signs. I¡¯d just ignored them.


    This is why he didn¡¯t rescue me from the Inquisition, I realized. He and Vicar have been allies this whole time.


    And I¡¯d put Emma in front of him. Had he known her identity...


    How could I have been such a fool?


    I knew how. Am I always going to make this mistake?


    Lias¡¯s features hardened, the angular lines of his fox face stiffening with emotion. ¡°Because we are trapped by nostalgia! Because our land is a tired backwater filled with bickering warlords and superstitious peasants. We must change.¡±


    ¡°Into what?¡± I demanded. ¡°Into what he wants?¡±


    I pointed my axe at the crowfriar.


    Lias shook his head. ¡°There are worse things out there than devils, Alken. There are worse things than apostate lords. There are even worse things than demons. You have no idea just how small we are, how vast the theater in which we play is.¡±


    ¡°This is not a game,¡± I told him with bitter anger. ¡°That¡¯s always been your problem, Lias. You see everything as some grand competition. Your ambition has gone too far.¡±


    A pensive look came over the wizard. ¡°Perhaps. Yet, if the beings who rule this land would keep us trapped in this tired dream, if I must burn it to wake us up...¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Well, cauterizing a limb is sometimes necessary, to prevent rot.¡±


    I bared my teeth at him. ¡°You sound like Reynard.¡±


    Lias flinched. Then, mastering himself, he held out his hand, palm up and empty. ¡°Please, Alken. You don¡¯t have to remain their hound.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m doing this for the gods?¡± I asked him. ¡°For faith? I thought you knew me better.¡±


    His eye and voice turned cold. ¡°We have been strangers for more than a decade now. I know you little better than you know me, paladin.¡±


    ¡°And Rose?¡± I asked him.


    Lias went very still. Then, his one eye narrowing he said, ¡°This is for Rosanna¡¯s good as much as anyone¡¯s. She could rule this land, if she was not so afraid of what she might become.¡±


    I remembered then, a conversation between me and my queen. Lias¡¯s queen, too. We¡¯d both sworn oaths.


    Am I a tyrant, Alken?


    I remember thinking about it for a long while.


    Yes. But this is a war. We can build from here, right?


    ...I¡¯m not certain.


    ¡°Something damned,¡± I replied, taking a guard.


    The hellhound stepped out of the bonfire. Bigger than any I¡¯d seen, twice as large at least as those Jon Orley had called during his fight with the Hunting knights. A low growl, more like the noise a furnace makes than any beast, rumbled through yellowed teeth.


    Worse, these flames didn¡¯t dissipate into harmless nothingness like normal phantasms. They began to spread across the floor.


    ¡°Get out of here,¡± I ordered the cleric at my side.


    ¡°Not without you,¡± she shot back, her fingers working with strings of aura.


    I expected an attack, but Vicar only glared at me, a threatening rumble building in his bloated chest. Heat built in between his huge jaws. I got the message ¡ª step closer, and I¡¯ll burn you to ash.


    Could I survive it? I tightened my grip on my axe, prepared to take the bet.


    I caught sight of Lias, and that gave me pause. He¡¯d stopped fighting, instead moving behind the podium. I caught sight of a bundle of red robes where the corpse of the Grand Prior lay.


    Lias knelt. When he stood, he had the quill in his hand.


    The quill with Horace Laudner¡¯s blood.


    My heart became ice.


    ¡°LIAS!¡± I roared, turning. ¡°STOP!¡±


    I made to rush toward him, but the hellhound leapt into my path. It spat a plume of fire, forcing me to throw a hand up as I flinched back.


    Calmly, almost without hurry, Lias wiped the quill on his sleeve, then stabbed it into his own palm. He winced. At first, I didn¡¯t understand.


    But I knew enough history that my confusion didn¡¯t last long.


    The Magi had helped found the Church. To the Zosite, who abided by ancient laws, they were as holy as any preost. More so, in some circles.


    Had this always been his plan? Or had he just taken the opportunity presented?


    I watched him, the man who was like a brother to me, cut our bond.


    With his own blood and name, Lias signed the parchment still lying on the cracked stand. The moment he drew his hand back, it burst into yellow hellfire. The flame engulfed the podium, forming a profane altar. I felt a terrible power exuding from it as the contract, the Oath, became inscribed into reality itself.


    Lias shuddered.


    I stared in horror. Lisette, who didn¡¯t understand, stood still and uncertain at my side, not knowing what to do with her magic.


    ¡°It is done,¡± Lias said, letting out a sigh of relief. ¡°Now there¡¯s no going back.¡±


    He met my eyes, and had the gall to smile. It was a remote, eerie smile, full of self-loathing and pride in equal measure.


    ¡°Traitor,¡± I called him.


    ¡°In your heart,¡± he told me, as mist flooding out of the broken chapel window encircled him, ¡°you betrayed them all long ago. Have you read the book I gave you?¡±


    That froze me. It gave Vicar time to leap back, landing on all fours next to the wizard. The mist wrapped them, becoming dense as a fog in the deep sea. Lias¡¯s power had been in the brume since the moment he¡¯d arrived.


    When it faded, he and Vicar were gone. So was the infernal contract.


    The Priory clerics had fled during the fight, terrified by their champion turning into a beast of Hell, and by the spreading flames. Some had died in the violence, their corpses scattered across the edges of the room.


    For them, this had been a matter of their leader promising... what? What had Horace told them about Vicar¡¯s scrap of parchment?


    I ignored the dead and fleeing, moving toward the window. I stopped where Lias had stood, staring out into the mist.


    Behind me, flames had begun to crawl up the walls.


    ¡°Alken!¡± Lisette cried out. ¡°We need to go! It¡¯s going to burn down!¡±


    I paused long enough to kneel and grab something off the ground ¡ª the thing which would change everything.


    When Lisette saw what I had taken, her already pale face blanched.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I told her quietly, feeling an odd calm.


    Lias had shown me who he really was. No, I¡¯d already known since we were young. Only, now we both understand the true trajectory of our separate paths. His would take him to some uncertain and frightening future, one of brutal progress, guided by beings who moved in shadow and secrecy. Mine...


    Dawn was coming.

 Arc 4: Chapter 27: Dawn and Doom

    Arc 4: Chapter 27: Dawn and Doom


    When the sun rose to burn away the fog, it arrived with every bell in the city tolling.


    The bells of Garihelm did not ring to welcome the dawn. They were a dirge.


    Rose Malin burned. The city became awash with fear and confusion. Some cried that the Priory and the Houses had finally gone to war. There was violence. Homes were broken into. The guard filled the streets, bringing order with a swift steel fist.


    There were deaths. The capital had been on the brink of this for most of a year. I didn''t let that knowledge convince me I shared no blame.


    I saw much of it while drifting through the waking streets, still covered in Priory blood. Few truly saw me, wrapped in glamour and the dregs of night and fog as I was. Lisette went with me, struggling to keep up, asking me where I intended to go, what I intended to do. She begged me to let her tend to my injuries.


    When I wouldn¡¯t answer, she eventually fell quiet and followed in worried silence. I suspected she did not know where else to go. Her cover with the Priory had been undone when she¡¯d saved me, or perhaps earlier when Oraise had revealed he knew her true allegiance.


    Just another reminder that my actions had consequences, and it wasn¡¯t always me who paid them.


    I eventually stopped at the edge of a deep canal near the bay. I smelled the sea, and let a sudden gust of air cool the sweat on my skin, the scalding pain in my left arm, and the pieces of my flesh that¡¯d been scorched by hellfire.


    Nearby, a piece of shadow disentangled itself from an alley. Lisette started and began to weave her threads of aura, but I put up a hand to stop her.


    ¡°You went and did it again,¡± Emma said, ignoring the cleric. ¡°Left me behind.¡±


    I had to force myself to speak. The shock of everything that¡¯d just happened still hadn¡¯t quite left. ¡°I told you. This part of my life... it¡¯s not for you.¡±


    I expected anger. My squire only followed my gaze to the fortress looming over the lagoon, her thoughts hidden. I suspected she hadn''t slept, by the shadows under her eyes. Lisette shifted, audible by her long priorguard robes, but kept her silence. Her face, stained with soot and weariness, looked ghostly in the poor light.


    ¡°I think...¡± Emma sighed and adjusted a lock of dark hair. ¡°I think I should be the one to decide that. Our fates are tied together, you and I. We both made the choice that day, remember?¡±


    I remembered cold seas and cold gods, a burnt man bound to a tree. I lifted my axe, feeling the unshaved wood of the branch it had been made from.


    ¡°Everything changes today,¡± I croaked. ¡°It was easy, before.¡±


    Emma lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Easy?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Easy. No one watched us. No one expected anything of us. I worked for years to keep my name and the people I love out of this, but I can¡¯t anymore. I can¡¯t live two lives.¡±


    ¡°Alken...¡± a worried note crept into the girl¡¯s voice.


    No, I corrected myself. She was a woman grown now.


    ¡°What are you planning?¡± She asked. ¡°Are we leaving the city now? With Yith and the council still at large?¡±


    That should be where this ends, I thought. That¡¯s what I would have done, before. Cut my losses, keep to my work, wait for the next chance to do it better.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not leaving.¡± I turned to face Emma, looking down to meet her eyes. She met mine evenly, squinting a bit at the light. She, too, had been touched by much darkness. It had left a mark on her, perhaps forever, and the power in me recognized it.


    I was beginning to think that whoever had woven my magic had been a bit of a bastard.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving,¡± I repeated. ¡°But you should.¡±


    Her face turned angry. ¡°How many times¡ª¡±


    She quieted as I put a hand covered in half dried blood on her shoulder.


    I saw the prince and princess of Talsyn and their delegation. The princess Hyperia watched me with pursed lips, looking bemused. Her brother Calerus, gaunt and fell eyed, stared at me like a hunting hawk.


    Atop the many-tiered dais of the High Seat, I saw more familiar faces. The Emperor, clad in darkened steel and filigreed gold, glared down at me like the most dour of judges. Behind him, the shadowed face of his First Sword stood beside the Royal Steward, who stroked his many chins as he watched me with narrow, thoughtful eyes.


    I forced myself to look at Rosanna. Beautiful as she¡¯d ever been, clad in silver and black, her black hair cascading around her shoulders in gem-woven braids. I saw the pain in her eyes, the confusion. My concealing garments didn''t fool her.


    She didn¡¯t understand, but she knew me, and she was very afraid. She hid it well. I doubt anyone else saw it. I could almost hear the shout she held back between tightly pressed, painted lips.


    What are you doing!?


    Her children were there too. A cruel coincidence, that. They shadowed the imperial thrones, standing between their parents. Kaia Gorr towered over them, arrayed in her pale green cloak, her spiraling seashell armor. Her expression was stone, unreadable.


    Laessa Greengood was there, standing near the Dances, surrounded by her relatives. There were white and gold robed priests, too, representing different branches of the Faith.


    I saw Oraise, his arm in a sling, still wearing a dust-stained uniform. I recognized other Priory clericons as well, their red garments marked by soot and sweat, all arrayed around him. No doubt they¡¯d been giving a report to explain the chaos in the Bell Ward. Prior Diana, most her face wrapped in bloody bandages, glared at me with cold hatred in her eyes.


    All actors were present. Now, to roll my dice and wait for judgement.


    No more hiding.


    Did you anticipate this, Umareon? Will you smite me here for my insolence, or disavow me?


    I did not pray. I did not expect salvation, or interdiction.


    I stopped halfway down the court chamber. The stunned onlookers waited with bated breath. I threw my cloak and cowl back, revealing the axe in my left hand. But that wasn¡¯t what all those eyes went to.


    I held up the head of Horace Laudner, so they all could see it, then threw it down before the throne. It rolled many times before stopping, almost seeming to move with some impossible momentum which carried it to the lowest step of the dais. I¡¯d left the circlet of clerical office on the old man¡¯s brow, and it came off during the roll.


    So like that scene with Bishop Emery, when I¡¯d resigned myself to isolation and blood.


    My voice, crackling with aura ¡ª I¡¯d held onto just enough for this ¡ª filled the chamber.


    ¡°I am the Headsman of Seydis. Doomsman of the Choir of Onsolem.¡±


    I waited until the last echo of that pronouncement had faded before pointing my bloodstained finger at the dead priest¡¯s head.


    ¡°Horace Laudner, Grand Prior of the Arda, has been judged by the lords of Heavensreach and given this doom. For conspiring with the denizens of Orkael, the Iron Hell. For commanding the murder of his rivals in the Church and the Houses. For the torment and unfair sentences given to the Hidden Folk, to common peoples across all the land, and to many others, he has been punished.¡±


    From the gathered nobles, Laessa watched me. I did not look at her, did not see the expression on her face, but I felt her eyes as sharply as I felt my queen¡¯s.


    I held up Faen Orgis, the Doomsman¡¯s Arm, to rest it on my palms. I lifted it in offering and bowed my head to the Emperor. The dregs of my power were fast fading, so my last words lacked any supernatural weight.


    A great weariness settled on me. I felt every injury, every day of missed sleep, every betrayal and wound. How I remained standing, I cannot say.


    I was so tired. But this had to be done.


    I spoke to Markham Forger. ¡°I await your judgement, my lord.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 28: The Headsman Revealed

    Arc 4: Chapter 28: The Headsman Revealed


    The silence in the imperial court broke when the Lord Steward lifted his finger, his deep voice filling the chamber like the deepest note on a pipe organ.


    ¡°SIEZE HIM!¡± The Emperor¡¯s chief advisor roared.


    At once, a cascade of noise filled the room. Lords and ladies began to speak all at once, asking questions, shouting demands, their voices lost in the din. Steel rattled as Accord knights, some of them Markham¡¯s own guard, but not all, rushed forward to obey the Steward¡¯s command.


    I caught Rosanna¡¯s eye. She clutched the arms of her throne, as though to rise to her feet, words already forming on her lips.


    I shook my head very slightly, and she froze. I watched her whisper something, perhaps a curse, or a prayer, and settle back. When she blinked, her face became cold and stern as her silent husband¡¯s.


    The knights disarmed me roughly, taking my cloak and belt as well. In a flash I was on my knees, the razor edges of two mirror-bright swords pressed beneath my chin, armored fingers wrenching my head back by my short hair. No less than six guards had subdued me, though I hadn¡¯t offered them a fight.


    A storm of noise filled the room. Once again, the thunderous bellow of the enormous steward drowned out all other noise, and near silence fell at the man¡¯s command. Some conversations still rolled across the court.


    My eyes rose to the Emperor. I couldn¡¯t move my head, not with the fingers in my hair and the blades at my neck, but the knights had made sure I looked at him.


    Markham Forger studied me. No longer caped and hooded, my face was on full display. I saw the furrow appear between his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He did not have an expressive face, that high king, but even still some emotion showed on it.


    I knew the moment he recognized me when his dark brows lifted. It had been most of eight years, so I didn¡¯t take offense he hadn¡¯t known my face at once.


    ¡°Alken Hewer...¡± Markham¡¯s voice rolled like a rumble of distant thunder across the chamber. The gossiping lords fell silent, and the Emperor of the Accorded Realms leaned forward on his dour throne.


    ¡°I believe,¡± he said calmly, ¡°that I banished you from court, and excommunicated you at the behest of the clergy. Now you come before this gathering of the peerage, bearing the head of an archclericon.¡±


    He nodded to the head lying beneath his raised throne. No one had moved to pick it up.


    I said nothing, waiting.


    ¡°Why should I not have my guard take your head in turn?¡± He asked, almost conversationally.


    I opened my mouth to speak, but one of the lords stepped out from the gathering. With a sense of sharp irony, I realized it was one of the Braeve delegation, a kinsman of Ser Maxim. I did not know his name, but I saw the aged paladin in the man¡¯s broad build and fiery eyes.


    ¡°You would let him speak?¡± Though he contained it, the nobleman¡¯s voice shook with anger. ¡°Your Grace, this man is a murderer and a renegade. I have heard of him, this Headsman. A man in a red cloak with an elven axe, who goes about the land dispensing vigilante justice...¡±


    The Braeve lord¡¯s eyes turned to me, and his lip curled in disgust. ¡°I do not know what madness brought him here, but he should be given immediate sentence, not allowed to defend himself!¡±


    ¡°I concur,¡± said the Lord Judge of the Bairn Cities, Oswald Pardoner, in a calm, sepulchral voice. Tall, with short black hair and a thin face. ¡°This is, I believe, the same man reported to be in Vinhithe the day the bishop there was murdered in his own cathedral. That city lies in my House¡¯s dominion, Your Grace, and I am bound to seek justice.¡±


    ¡°He is a butcher!¡± Prior Diana screeched, or tried to. Her ruined cheek made screeching hard, and it came out as more of a furious burble through her bandages.


    More voices were raised in agreement, a rolling din across the gathered highborn. Oraise, I noted, remained silent. So did the Farram princess, most of the tourney knights, and many of those clerics not part of the Priory group.


    Roland Marcher, the King of Venturmoor, stroked his fading blond beard as he studied me, keeping his own council. Neither did the Crown Prince of Lindenroad say anything. In his mid twenties, he seemed a studious boy with ordinary brown hair and a scholar¡¯s complexion.


    I¡¯ve been here before, I realized. Back during the end of the war, when all those who¡¯d hewn together against the Recusant Houses had gathered for a great council in the blasted city of Kingsmeet, which had once been proud as Garihelm.


    At that time, the lords had sought answers concerning the madness of the Alder Table, the actions of its surviving members, their reasons and whereabouts. I had none to give them, and they¡¯d settled for shaming me and sending me from their sight.


    History did have a way of repeating itself.


    Markham held up his right hand, the one clad in a gauntlet of filigreed gold, and all voices went silent. His eyes had also roamed the court, taking in those who¡¯d demanded my death.


    ¡°It seems this man is known to this court,¡± Markham said, his brow furrowed. ¡°I have also heard this name ¡ª that of the Headsman. There has been some conjecture as to his identity, I understand. This is not the first time he has appeared before the gathered lords of our Accord in this role. Is that correct?¡±


    He turned his head fractionally, and the Lord Steward bowed. Looming as he did with his prodigious size beside the high seat, the motion drew every eye.


    ¡°That is my understanding as well, Your Grace.¡± The Steward spoke calmly, though his basso voice still filled the hall. ¡°This past winter, the one claiming this identity of Headsman delivered a sentence passed by Maerlys Tuvonsdotter onto the Recusant, Rhan Harrower. He lopped off his head. I believe some here at this council were in attendance at the time.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Markham returned his eyes to me. Dark and flinty, I wondered what it would take to make them catch with a more lethal emotion.


    ¡°So we are to understand he acts under the purview of the elves?¡± Oswald Pardoner frowned deeply. ¡°And now he is here, taking the heads of our holy men? Markham, this cannot stand.¡±


    ¡°You will address the Emperor as Your Grace, Lord Oswald.¡± The steward¡¯s face, so like a great cherub¡¯s, turned to the Pardoner, whose frown deepened.


    Rosanna, cold and distant on her own high throne, kept her silence. She may as well have been one of the guardian angels wrought in gold and marble high up on the pillars.


    ¡°Perhaps we might let the man explain himself?¡± The Lady Ark, who sought to become Queen of the Bannerlands, suggested as she faced the Emperor. She had come in armor, like the tourney knights, one pauldron decorated with a crescent of gold like a sun ray, her long cape of palest blue pinned beneath it.


    The Lord Brightling, barely more than a boy, had been about to speak. He scowled at her.


    ¡°I concur,¡± Snoe? Farram said.


    Almost on cue, Hyperia Vyke¡¯s sweet voice piped across the throne room. ¡°My brother and I do, as well! Let the man speak. Tell us his story.¡±


    Murmurs of discontent filled the chamber, but I got the sense this wasn¡¯t the first time the Talsyn princess had made her voice heard. No one protested, but Snoe?¡¯s expression darkened.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the Vyke twins. Hyperia smiled her pleasant smile, not meeting my eyes, but Calerus hadn¡¯t taken his gaze off me. Did they recognize me? Did they not fear I would speak about their own plots? They had only met me once, and briefly.


    Of course they didn¡¯t fear what I¡¯d say. I was on trial here, not them, and no one would believe wild accusations.


    ¡°Let him speak!¡± A ginger haired giant bellowed. He stood near Laessa, and I recognized him, though he was much older than when we¡¯d last met. I knew also by the nearness of Lady Esmerelda, who grimaced as her older brother made himself heard.


    Harlan Grimheart turned his hazel eyes on me, his face stern and his voice strong. ¡°I fought with this man during the war, in this very city. My brother and I watched him slay demons. Do none of you here recognize a Knight of the Alder?¡±


    I winced. Sure enough, more discontent rose throughout the court.


    ¡°Those traitors!?¡± The young Lord Brightling demanded. ¡°They started all this!¡±


    ¡°Oh, please.¡± Lady Ark scoffed. ¡°You were still suckling at your mother¡¯s tit during the war, what do you know?¡±


    The youth¡¯s face went red with fury, and he clutched at his sword. The Braeve man shouted out a defense of the boy, which only seemed to make the young lord angrier.


    More voices, more argument, more conflicting demands. A bead of sweat formed on my brow, and the knights holding me down shifted with softly clinking armor. I felt very aware of the steel at my neck. It would only take one motion, one slip, and...


    The Emperor glowered at his bickering court, and perhaps suppressed a sigh.


    I blinked. Many others did too, I think.


    And all eyes went to Siriks Sontae.


    The brash young Cymrinorean stepped forward, heedless of all those eyes. He lifted his chin at me. ¡°This man, whatever his allegiances, stood in front of a storm ogre to save a girl. He single-handedly dismantled the priorguard on two separate occasions that I know of. Perhaps he is mad!¡±


    Siriks let out a bark of laughter, but had no smile as he continued. ¡°Either way, I don¡¯t see some patsy assassin in front of me, my lords. Maybe they were traitors and Recusants, but the Alder Knights did serve the gods. Is it so hard to believe one of them still is?¡±


    He waved a dismissive hand before stepping back, folding his arms and bowing his head. No one could miss the message. I¡¯ve said my piece, it¡¯s your problem now.


    God, I thought. He really is a lot like I used to be.


    ¡°May I speak?¡±


    The Emperor turned his stony gaze on an aged preost in the white garments of the Synodites, the arbiters of the clergy. I realized I recognized him ¡ª Father Alaric, the Starcanter.


    What had brought him here today? His kind rarely strayed out of their holy places, and certainly didn¡¯t engage in politics.


    I had no time to figure it out then. At Markham¡¯s gesture, the old confessor stepped forward. He cleared his throat, his fringe of wispy white hair very bright in the clean hall, his dark skin beaded with sweat. He was nervous, and his shadowed eyes told me hadn¡¯t slept.


    ¡°This man visited Myrr Arthor some days ago,¡± Alaric said to the gathered lords. ¡°He sought to undertake a rite of communion. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°And you allowed it?!¡± Prior Diana¡¯s voice lisped badly with her injury, but even still she made herself heard. Her eyes, through her bandages, blazed with cold fire.


    ¡°This man is an excommunicate!¡± She hissed. ¡°He is not allowed inside hallowed ground under pain of death!¡±


    ¡°It will be added to his list of crimes,¡± the Lord Steward intoned.


    Again, the old man swallowed. His voice came stronger when he spoke again. ¡°I did not know at the time. May I continue?¡±


    With the Emperor¡¯s gesture, he did. Alaric took a deep breath before addressing the court. ¡°I presided over the rite. I have served God all my life. At times I have felt the presence of Her servants, the blessed spirits we call Onsolain. Yet, that day...¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Something made its presence known to this man. He did indeed commune with the Choir, I am certain of it. I would stake my own life and name on it, my lords. By the blessed name of the Heir of Heaven, who is our God-Queen, I say it is true.¡±


    At that, there was silence. Starcanters are a rare and honored breed of holy servant. It would be very much like blasphemy to gainsay one.


    Even still, I knew it wouldn¡¯t be that easy.


    ¡°Heretic!¡± Prior Diana rasped at the old synodite. Many priests winced, and murmurs rippled through the court.


    ¡°The testimony of the starcanter, Father Alaric, will be taken into account.¡± Markham sighed and settled back in his throne. ¡°Even still, the fact this ritual was allowed under anathema will not be ignored.¡±


    The Emperor¡¯s gray eyes searched the court. They fell on Laessa Greengood.


    ¡°This man saved your life?¡± He asked the girl.


    Laessa¡¯s dark face went still, but I saw her force calm on it. She took a deep breath, then nodded. ¡°Yes, Your Grace. I did not know he was also this Headsman, or any of the rest, but he has treated me honorably. He saved me from torture and death at the hands of the priorguard, who invaded my home in the night.¡±


    The court stirred at that. I imagine most of them had already heard, but it is different to hear it directly from the source.


    Prior Diana bared her teeth and pointed a crooked finger at Laessa. ¡°This woman has been accused of witchcraft and murder by the Grand Prior himself! Her testimony is suspect, and her association with this butcher a stain on her family¡¯s name!¡±


    Laessa, to my surprise, seemed unfazed by the crone¡¯s venom. She kept her eyes on the throne.


    ¡°It seems to me,¡± the quiet, noble-featured King of Venturmoor said, ¡°that we are in something of a conundrum.¡±


    Markham nodded, unable to disagree with his peer. ¡°What would you suggest, Your Grace?¡±


    Roland Marcher studied me, running a hand through his long goatee, then shrugged. ¡°Perhaps it is true? Perhaps an angel of God did command this man to kill the Grand Prior of the Arda, and many others? The way I hear it, the vast majority of the Headsman¡¯s marks have been Recusants we were unable to nab after the war.¡±


    ¡°Not all,¡± Oswald Pardoner said.


    ¡°Not all,¡± King Roland agreed, sighing. ¡°A conundrum. I think the first step, my lords, is to determine whether this man is a liar, a madman, or some sort of dark messenger of the divine as he claims?¡±


    He shrugged, leaning on an ornate cane. He wasn¡¯t an old man, but life¡¯s burdens had faded him early. ¡°The question is, how?¡±


    How. How did I prove I wasn¡¯t a liar, or insane, to this court of the mighty? And even if I did, would it save my life?


    Nothing I said would sway them. I hadn¡¯t expected it to. When I¡¯d committed to this choice in the hour before I¡¯d launched my raid on Rose Malin, I had known it would lead me here, into the heart of the Fulgurkeep and the attentions of the Ardent Round.


    I couldn¡¯t keep wandering Urn forever, killing in the shadows. I¡¯d taken on more responsibilities than just that of a killer quietly sanctioned by the Choir. The way I saw it, I served the realms of men just as much, if not more so, than the immortals of Heavensreach or the Sidhe.


    If I was to be an executioner, a Doomsman, I should not hide it. The Accord needed to accept my existence, or reject it. Ultimately I served them, and they should have a choice whether or not to allow me to operate, just as the elves had.


    My role had never sat right with me, but the why of it had always been vague. I¡¯d felt dishonorable, and guilty, and wicked. But there had been more than that floating in the back of my mind.


    Umareon, and other members of the Choir, obviously wanted to keep their hands clean. They sent me out, without support or any surety they would have my back if I needed it. I was a convenience to them ¡ª a way to prune their garden of weeds, while they remained the wise, enigmatic elders to the elves and liege saints to man.


    No more. I would be Headsman. I would do their will. I would fight, and someday I would die. Perhaps I would die today?


    But I wouldn¡¯t be a dirty secret anymore. The lords of Urn, whom the Onsolain were meant to protect and guide, deserved a say in this. And I would not lurk in darkness any longer.


    Further...


    My eyes went to the Vyke twins, to the prince¡¯s sour face and his sister¡¯s bright, false smile. I couldn¡¯t fight enemies like that as a vagabond haunting lonely countrysides.


    Did I expect mercy? Acceptance? Deliverance?


    No. But this had been what felt right to me. Again, I glanced at my queen.


    Ah, Rose. I¡¯m so sorry. Please, do as you said. Disown me. It¡¯s best for both of us.


    She watched me, quiet as cold marble, and kept her lips pressed tight.

 Arc 4: Chapter 29: Judgment

    Arc 4: Chapter 29: Judgment


    Many had spoken, including me. Not all were in agreement about much, which told me something I¡¯d already suspected, as I¡¯d wandered the land these past eight years.


    The Accord was not united. The lords bickered, and held suspicions and jealousies toward one another. These things had sewn the seeds of the last war. Urnic nobility had always been quarrelsome. They were meant to be warriors, an army of God, so the infighting could hardly be called surprising.


    Even still, it disheartened me.


    Markham leant forward on his throne of iron and stone, and the court fell silent once again. His flinty eyes were an almost physical weight. I met them, and waited.


    By the weariness in his gaze, I knew the decision he¡¯d come to. I exhaled, unsure whether I felt acceptance or disappointment.


    Rosanna saw what her husband decided as well. She knew him better than I. She started to stand, drawing in a breath to speak.


    No! I bared my teeth, willing her not to.


    But neither Emperor nor Empress spoke. Instead, a sharp click echoed off the walls as a figure stepped out from the columns which lined the edges of the chamber.


    ¡°Apologies, great lord, but may I speak?¡±


    All eyes turned as the ancient music of that voice went forth. When the huge form concealed in layers of brown cloth removed their hood, the shadows in the hall seemed to brighten. A light shone from the face within, aura visible even to the naked eye.


    Oradyn Fen Harus bowed his head to the Emperor. ¡°Apologies, O¡¯ King, but I must say my piece. May I?¡±


    Markham tilted his head down in respect. ¡°Lord Fen Harus. I thought you intended to remain anonymous for these proceedings?¡±


    Murmurs filled the court as the alien features of the seydii elf, like some mix between a man and an albino deer, shifted into mirth. Once again Fen Harus spoke.


    ¡°I had intended it, but this matter bears weight on the fate of mine own people as well. My lady would wish me to speak.¡±


    Prior Diana took a step forward, her teeth bared. No doubt, she intended to spit more invective about the ¡°mad lady¡± of the Seydii.


    Oraise grabbed her shoulder, hard, and pulled her back. They spoke in hushed voices, but whatever the Presider said cowed the woman, and she went still.


    Fen Harus turned his dark eyes on me. I couldn¡¯t move my head much with the ungentle hands gripping my hair, but I met his gaze out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°This was rather brash,¡± he told me, his demeanor grandfatherly. ¡°Don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I lifted one shoulder, much as I could with the gauntlet pressing down on it, in a shrug.


    The elf snorted, then began to speak to the gathered nobles. ¡°It is true. This man serves as Doomsman, a sanctioned executioner among my folk.¡±


    Discontent stirred in the throne room once again.


    ¡°He has been killing mortals,¡± the Steward boomed, frowning deeply from atop the high dais. ¡°It has never been the place of elves to rule over men. Has that changed, ambassador?¡±


    ¡°Which part?¡± Fen Harus asked in a bright tone. ¡°Do you wish to know whether Ser Alken has stopped killing mortals, or if my people rule over yours now?¡±


    The Steward opened his mouth, then shut it. Confused murmurs rippled through the court.


    ¡°Is your realm complicit in the deaths of our nobles and priests, through Alken Hewer?¡± Lord Oswald clarified, his tone patient. His House, at least, had some elf lore, and much law.


    Fen Harus hook his head, his mane of silvered hair swinging with the motion. ¡°Ah, I understand.¡± He nodded his cervid head. ¡°I simply mean to say that my people see the position of Headsman as lawful. It is an ancient office, respected and pitied in equal measure.¡±


    Not much of an answer. I¡¯d gotten well used to this sort of thing with elves, and even my temples were beginning to ache.


    Roland Marcher spoke, leaning forward on his cane. ¡°So this man serves your lady, ser elf? Is it the Princess Maerlys who dispatches him on these errands?¡±


    All ears pricked at that. If the oradyn admitted as much, it would be as good as pinning all the blame on the elves. What was the old faerie¡¯s game? He couldn¡¯t mean to throw shade onto his own faction.


    ¡°He serves her as he serves all my people, and yours.¡± Fen Harus¡¯s lips, not quite human, turned up in a pleasant smile.


    The Lady Ark, frustrated, addressed the elf. ¡°I tire of this game. Speak plainly, elf. Is this man a vigilante, or do your people sanction him?¡±


    ¡°We do sanction him,¡± Fen Harus said. ¡°And we pity him.¡±


    ¡°Do you give him his names?¡± The Steward asked, growing more frustrated.


    ¡°Not all of them!¡± Fen Harus answered, his eyes full of mischief.


    The entire court glowered at the elf.


    Markham shook his head. ¡°You expect us to believe it is truly the gods?¡±


    Fen Harus shrugged. ¡°Your most ancient ancestors saw my people as gods. Who can say?¡±


    I blinked, confused. Murmurs rippled through the court. Everyone else seemed as nonplussed as me. If I didn''t suspect something else, I would have believed the elf mad. Most of them were, especially the older ones.


    The elf lord turned his head, and winked at me.


    I didn¡¯t¡ª


    Then I got it. He¡¯s stalling.


    Why? Did he expect me to do something? Say something?


    ¡°What is it you are trying to tell us?¡± Oswald Pardoner demanded, exasperated.


    ¡°I only mean to say that this is a most delicate circumstance,¡± Fen Harus told the man. ¡°Alken Hewer is a subject of your realms, and thus subject to your laws. But he is also an Alder Knight. He is subject to our customs as well, the bridge between our worlds.¡±


    He locked his fingers, four on each hand, together.


    Prior Diana spoke then, heedless of Oraise¡¯s gloomy countenance hovering behind her. ¡°He is not a knight! His name was stricken from canon the day of his excommunication.¡±


    ¡°An oath sworn to the ¡®corse of the Golden Alder binds for life,¡± Fen Harus told the woman calmly. ¡°Indeed, even beyond it. His dissolution changes nothing where my kind are concerned. He will always be of the Table.¡±


    ¡°Even though they are traitors?¡± The Emperor asked. ¡°Even though that order is dissolved?¡±


    ¡°So long as one persists who holds the flame She gifted,¡± Fen Harus said, ¡°it is so.¡±


    ¡°This is not a matter for the elves,¡± Eryn Brightling snapped. ¡°He spills our blood, so it is for us to judge.¡±


    Fen Harus bowed to the boy lord. ¡°Even so.¡±


    The Lady Ark rubbed at her chin, thoughtful. One of her knights whispered into her ear, but they kept their own council.


    The old abbot who¡¯d spoken on behalf of the amber priests turned to Markham. ¡°You are the Knight of the Faith, Your Grace. We will respect your judgement in this.¡±


    Roland Marcher nodded. ¡°Aye. I will as well.¡±


    More agreement from the higher ranking lords. Oswald Pardoner abstained from comment, as did the Prince of the Linden. The Vyke twins said nothing.


    Snoe? Farram, after much silent thought, spoke aloud to the court. ¡°I think we should spare him. Indeed, I think we should let him continue his work.¡± She shrugged, causing the snarling beast-hare on her left shoulder to bare its buck teeth. ¡°Seems like all those he¡¯s chopped have deserved it, to me, and we could use more demon slayers.¡±


    ¡°Heresy!¡± One of the Priory clerics shot at the princess. She only sniffed, and ignored him.


    ¡°Though they have suffered a tragedy,¡± the High Abbot said, ¡°and I am loathe to criticize, the Priory does not speak for all the Faith on this matter.¡±


    Fen Harus remained still and silent, his drooping sleeves folded.


    I thought furiously. Why was he stalling? What did he intend? What did he think I intended?


    Did he want me to try to escape? I didn¡¯t come here to run away. No, it had been the opposite.


    I hoped Emma didn¡¯t do anything foolish. For that matter, I hoped Rosanna kept her peace. I kept glancing at her, wondering when the dam would break.


    When she did speak, a spike of terror shot through me. But Rosanna wove her words with a calm mien, showing no particular bias toward me. Even still, a risk. Would someone here draw the connection between us, remember that Alken Hewer had been a Karledaler knight, once?


    ¡°Ser Headsman,¡± Rosanna Silvering said to me. ¡°There has been much talk about lives within our Accorded Realms you have taken unlawfully. I would ask, why? If the gods, or the elves, truly did command these things, what were the reasons?¡±


    She lifted her plucked eyebrows. Inside, I felt a surge of relief for my queen¡¯s cleverness.


    Many lords murmured agreeably. Markham indicated I should speak.


    I spoke.


    ¡°Horace Laudner, to speak of my actions this past night, had been taking council from a crowfriar. Do you know them, Your Graces?¡±


    Rosanna nodded slowly, though Markham frowned.


    ¡°A cult from the continent, I believe.¡± He turned to his steward, who shrugged.


    ¡°That is my understanding,¡± The Lord Steward noted. ¡°Though, from what I have heard, it is more a matter of western superstition.¡±


    One of the Bantesean dignitaries smiled blandly. Others in his delegation kept their expressions carefully neutral. They didn¡¯t much like speaking of the Missionaries of Hell in the west, either.


    ¡°They are real,¡± I said. ¡°The one I speak of had convinced the Grand Prior to sign all his order over to the Iron Tribunal, the lords of the Iron Hell.¡±


    Oswald Pardoner scoffed, as did the Brightling boy and many others. I spoke before I could be interrupted by another round of goring politics.


    ¡°The crowfriars were banished when our realms were established in this land,¡± I said. ¡°But they are returning since the war, and they are trying to claim influence. This isn¡¯t the only time I¡¯ve seen it. That, I understand, is why I was commanded to slay him.¡±


    ¡°You understand?¡± The Empress asked, frowning. ¡°There is more?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Horace Laudner has done much evil. Ask his priors. They saw their knight-confessor¡¯s true form.¡±


    All eyes turned to the Priory mob. Diana bared her teeth at me.


    ¡°All I saw was you, butcher!¡± She stepped forward, adjusting her soot-stained robes. ¡°I saw Ser Renuart Kross valiantly try to stop you, only for you to use your elf magic to brutally cut him down before leaving him to burn in the ensuing conflagration!¡±


    I was touched. But even still, it wouldn¡¯t be enough. I saw it in all those angry eyes, those mighty visages.


    I was a threat. A renegade, who¡¯d attacked a division of the Church in this very city. A dark rumor was one thing, but seeing what the Headsman was capable of... that had to be quite another.


    I don¡¯t think all of them seemed entirely against the idea of my existence. I saw more calculating eyes. The Graill princess, and Roland Marcher. The Grimhearts had vouched for me, as had the Greengoods. Hell, even proud young Siriks Sontae had spoken for me, as much good as it might do.


    The Vykes remained silent. I couldn¡¯t be certain, but I thought I saw glee in Hyperia¡¯s eyes. She had to have enjoyed seeing just how divided the leaders of the Accord were.


    None of them would save me. And Markham would do whatever would keep the lords united. If it meant killing me, he¡¯d do it without hesitation, apology, or guilt.


    And Rosanna would have to watch. Her sons would watch.


    Emma...


    I¡¯d failed her in this. I hoped she did the smart thing, and left.


    Markham¡¯s eyes narrowed, and he spoke.


    ¡°Call them.¡±


    I blinked. I imagined many others did as well.


    ¡°Your Grace?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°Call them,¡± the Emperor repeated. ¡°If you are the Choir¡¯s champion, if you deliver their edicts with steel and fire, then let them speak on your behalf.¡±


    He stood. As I¡¯d noted before, Markham Forger was no tall man. Stocky and solid, graying with age but firm still, he swept back his dark cape and held up a golden hand.


    ¡°The Choir of God is not God Herself,¡± Markham intoned, ¡°but they are our saints and protectors. I am the First Sword of the Aureate, the protector of our realms. I am no tyrant. This court has named me First Among Equals, but I accept there are powers greater than mine.¡±


    His flint eyes swept the court, his face a graven mask. ¡°Should the Onsolain declare for this man, and say he serves them, then I will not challenge it. Let them speak. Otherwise...¡±


    His iron gaze fell on me. ¡°I will judge you, and your death will be swift and done here, before all eyes.¡±


    My heart sank. I saw Rosanna close her eyes, already grieving. Faisa Dance shrugged, as though to say ah, well.


    Laessa Greengood turned her head, knowing her fate wouldn¡¯t be so pleasant after mine was sealed. The Priory cast glares of righteous triumph. Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight, stared at me with an intense, hawkish gaze that reminded me very much of Emma. What he thought, or expected, I couldn''t guess.


    Siriks Sontae shifted, his arms still folded, but looked more annoyed than defiant.


    Rosanna''s sons watched. The younger, Darsus, looked unnerved by the tense atmosphere but otherwise uncertain, his young age showing. Malcom resembled his father, and glared at me with stern disapproval. How pitiful I must look, after I''d knelt to them and offered my service like a knight.


    The knights let me stand. What did they have to fear? This was all just a show, a way for Markham to say he¡¯d acted the devout ruler, and make my death just.


    The Onsolain wouldn¡¯t save me. I¡¯d defied them in coming here today. I had always been their fall man, their tool so they could act without breaking the laws that kept them from direct interference.


    Even still. There was no harm in trying.


    The knights backed away from me, wary, their swords still drawn. All eyes in the court bore into the spot in which I stood, and I almost thought I might be crushed under their combined weight.


    I¡¯d never sought such attention. I¡¯d never wanted power, just as Rosanna had said.


    I held up a hand, staring at my bloodstained palm, and I prayed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve given all these years,¡± I said quietly.


    I didn¡¯t need to speak loud ¡ª I was no preoster, wailing before a congregation of the faithful. The gods would hear me, or they wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°I will keep fighting.¡± I closed my hand into a fist, my eyes downcast. ¡°I won¡¯t ever stop, no matter how many times I¡¯m broken. As long as there¡¯s something I love in this world, I will fight for it. I swear that. I make an oath of it. If that¡¯s enough... then give me a sign.¡±


    Am I your tool? I thought. Or your instrument?


    Tools are discarded. Instruments...


    The silence lingered. Before long, it cemented itself. I couldn¡¯t speak, could barely breathe.


    Someone coughed. Cloth rustled. I heard scattered voices whispering. Two or three people might have laughed quietly, amused. The Lady Ark hid a titter behind her fist. Laessa prayed openly, her hands clasped together, her head bowed.


    Markham, for his part, looked resigned more than satisfied. I did not believe him to be my enemy, even then.


    ¡°Your judgment?¡± Oswald Pardoner asked the Emperor in a solemn voice.


    Markham nodded, and began to pass my sentence. He lifted a hand, taking a breath to speak.


    Would the mad shades in my dreams take me? Or...


    There is no escape from me now, my knight.


    I heard the sound of rustling feathers. The chamber seemed to turn darker ¡ª perhaps a cloud passing overhead, blotting out the light of the high, slim windows.


    ¡°It is my judgement¡ª¡±


    There were gasps, followed by cries of panic, or wonder. The Emperor¡¯s voice went abruptly silent. Armor rattled and swords rasped out of their sheaths. I felt a gust of wind over my hair.


    I blinked, and turned my eyes up as a gentle hand laid itself over my shoulder.


    ¡°Ah, my sweet fool.¡± The face of an angel stared down at me, beautiful and terrible, wrought from love and grief older than the world itself.


    ¡°Lady Eanor,¡± I breathed, seeing the black tresses and shining eyes of the Saint of Love. I couldn¡¯t breathe, could barely think. I could only mumble a single word.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She wore a gown of purest white, and a single feathered wing, black and blue as the sky when night first settles, rose from her right shoulder. Her hair undulated softly, as though caught by some gentle current. She stood taller than any lord, even the High Steward.


    ¡°You made your oath with love,¡± the Onsolain murmured to me. ¡°Not with wrath, or pride, or despair. You did not think I would hear you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it wasn¡¯t all love. There is much wrath in this shell.¡±


    Another, much more dreadful presence cast its shadow over me. One of the Forger knights shivered, trembled, then grew. A single wing of deepest red, with cruel barbs hidden among its feathers, unfurled as the glamour lifted. Those knights nearby, seeing what they¡¯d believed to be a comrade transform before them, fell back with panicked cries.


    Thorned Nath, Angel of the Briar, placed her clawed fingers on my other shoulder. ¡°My dear sister will be chastised most grievously by Umareon, I think. He intended to let you perish.¡±


    Eanor frowned at her twin. ¡°You do not know that.¡±


    Nath only smiled.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked, stunned almost beyond words.


    Nath smiled, her empty eyes wide with cruel mirth. ¡°I intended to whisk my dear godchild away after this foolishness ¡ª I will not let her fall with you, knightling. But...¡±


    She looked to her sister. ¡°This one had to go and ruin that plan. Ah, well.¡±


    Eanor, for her part, only inclined her head demurely.


    The rattle of chain mail drew our attention. The court had been stunned speechless, from the highest lord to the priests, including the red ones. Many had fallen to their knees, clasping their hands or holding auremarks in trembling fists. Scattered voices filled the room.


    Rosanna had stood, with Ser Kaia moving to defend her. But it was Markham Forger, Emperor and King, who descended the steps of his dais on shaking legs.


    ¡°You...¡± The Emperor fell to one knee, bowing his head. ¡°Holy ones. I did not... I wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Raise your head,¡± Eanor told the old soldier in a kind voice. ¡°This is your court, O¡¯ King. We are but rude trespassers.¡±


    ¡°As you can see,¡± Nath said, ¡°we do claim him. Alken Hewer is our Headsman. His work is...¡± She seemed to taste the word. ¡°Holy.¡±


    I winced.


    ¡°Then we should spare him?¡± Markham asked the twin angels. ¡°Accept him?¡±


    Nath shrugged, her barbed wing flexing. ¡°Kill him if that is your wont. As my dear sister says, this is your court.¡±


    Eanor nodded, her immortal face dour. ¡°Alken Hewer was correct in this, O¡¯ King of Men. The peoples of Urn must sanction him, or he is no better than an assassin. One my kindred have used... poorly.¡±


    She frowned, tilting her head up to the sky. ¡°Dark days are coming, and dark champions must be needed to weather them. While there are those who might fight in the light...¡±


    She gestured toward the tourney knights, Ser Jocelyn and Lord Siriks foremost among them. Then she indicated me.


    ¡°This man has been touched by darkness, but still holds the aures, the Golden Fire. Let him bear a torch into the shadows. Our enemy still lurks there.¡±


    Markham nodded, though he seemed more dazed than agreeable. ¡°I...¡± He swallowed. ¡°I think I understand.¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± Nath threw back her head and let out a fell laugh. ¡°Then we have said our piece! Do with this fool as you will.¡±


    The two sisters, who had once been handmaidens to God, clasped hands. A black wing and a red furled together, two halves of one whole, peaceable night and bitter thorns.


    As the phantasms of the two Onsolain broke, more complex than all the spells mortals and elves could weave together, the court was left in a strange gloom. The world seemed more drab, with the angels departed.


    And I stood alone, amidst the lords of Urn.


    Markham stood, faced me, and gathered himself. Then he nodded.


    ¡°This court is adjourned. Alken Hewer, you will remain in the palace until I have decided what is to be done with you. Are there any objections to this?¡±


    There were none.

 Arc 4: Chapter 30: Consequences

    Arc 4: Chapter 30: Consequences


    I remember little of what came next. There was much commotion, confusion, and bickering. Stunned by all that had happened and feeling exhaustion slamming down on me, it all passed in a daze.


    I recall trying to meet Rosanna¡¯s eyes. Her guard, led by Kaia, bustled her out of the chamber. She couldn¡¯t, or wouldn¡¯t, look at me.


    Everything else became noise.


    The Storm Knights all but dragged me through the keep. After many winding halls and blurring scenes, I was shoved into an austere room with a dining table, a hearth, and ¡ª to my surprise ¡ª not a single alchemical lamp.


    Inside, Markham Forger waited for me. He stood by the fire, his armor doffed to leave him only in a black-and-gold doublet and high boots, his weighty crown replaced with a thinner circlet.


    There were some guards inside, including the nameless First Sword of House Forger, who retained his shadowy helm, the firelight glinting on its twin lightning-bolt crest.


    I did my best to stand straight, wary of the four knights who hovered around me with their hands on their swords. My axe had not been returned. Neither had my cloak and rondel. I stood there, bloodstained, injured, my black hauberk battered and rent so it hung like steel rags on my sore frame.


    Without looking at me, Markham spoke.


    ¡°I should kill you.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°Even after all that?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Even after all that. It would be simpler, and those...¡± He searched for words a moment. ¡°Those angels made it clear I would face no retribution for any decision I made. So I must make my choice based on the needs of the realms.¡±


    Pressing his hands into the small of his back, the Emperor turned to face me. Seeing him closer, I realized he was old. I didn¡¯t know his exact age ¡ª over fifty, at least. Yet, like with King Roland, his duties had weathered him well beyond even that. Most of the stocky muscle I remembered him having during the war had gone to fat. Where Rose had kept her beauty, refined it, Markham had become a shadow of the soldier he¡¯d once been.


    Yet his eyes remained clear, and his voice strong.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± He asked me.


    I hesitated.


    ¡°Did you know?¡± He continued, his voice steely with suppressed anger. ¡°That they would intervene?¡±


    He let the question hang a long moment. I tried and failed to swallow. ¡°No,¡± I croaked.


    Markham scoffed. ¡°I grew tired enough with sorcery and myth during the war. That whole fucking mess was a playground for wizards and monsters.¡±


    He lifted a thick finger. ¡°If this is some game, some ploy for power¡ª¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No. I expected to die today, Your Grace. I did not seek death, but I knew it to be the most likely outcome.¡±


    I¡¯d never wanted power. I¡¯d watched it corrupt Lias. I¡¯d watched it weigh my queen down with loneliness and guilt.


    Markham narrowed his eyes. ¡°I am not blind, Hewer. I know you¡¯ve been in the castle for weeks, lurking in my wife¡¯s bastion. We both have spies watching the other ¡ª we might be married, but she is the monarch of another realm and in many ways my rival, a check on my power. One I agreed to, yet...¡±


    He glowered at the fire. ¡°Believe me when I say I will have answers from her. I know you served her once. Was she part of this?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said firmly, almost growling the word. ¡°I admit she offered me sanctuary, Your Grace, but I kept my work as Headsman as distant from her as I could. Believe me, my secrets caused her grief.¡±


    Markham searched my eyes, then nodded. ¡°I can believe that, I suppose. Still, before those winged women appeared in the court, I half believed she¡¯d been using you as an assassin all these years. I could never prove it, so...¡±


    He waved a hand dismissively and began pacing. The knights did not move, so I didn¡¯t take it as permission to leave. I stood, injured and tired, and waited. His admission of distrust toward my queen, his wife and empress, disturbed me.


    Markham stopped when he¡¯d done almost a complete circuit around the table. Cursing, he faced me again. ¡°After that debacle, I cannot have you publicly executed. No doubt the Priory will want it. Damn you, man! Why couldn¡¯t you have just killed Horace quietly?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not good at quiet.¡±


    ¡°But you could have?¡± He asked, his gray eyes hard.


    ¡°...Yes,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Instead you brought an entire cathedral down around their heads.¡± Markham shook his head. ¡°As far as interviews go, it was a melodramatic one. Then again, I suppose it¡¯s par for the course for you Alder warlocks.¡±


    I frowned at being called a warlock. ¡°This wasn¡¯t an interview, Your Grace. My intention wasn¡¯t to impress anyone. As I said¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Markham waved my words off with a swinging hand. ¡°You don¡¯t want power. Well, too bad.¡± He regarded me coolly. ¡°You have it now.¡±


    I blinked, not understanding.


    Seeing my look, Markham¡¯s expression turned even more stern. ¡°What did you expect? You¡¯ve gone public, man. You want the Accord to sanction you? That comes with consequences.¡±


    He began to pace again, gesturing sharply as he spoke. ¡°Appearances matter in these things, and that means formalities. Responsibilities. I can¡¯t have one of my subjects roaming about chopping holy heads and burning churches down where he will. If you wanted to keep doing that, you should have stayed a renegade.¡±


    He stopped after he¡¯d drawn just shy of arm¡¯s length. The First Sword stepped closer, the motion almost mechanical. I felt the tension of the guards like an electric current against my skin.


    With eyes hard as fire-forged steel, Markham said his next words. ¡°From now on, you serve the Accorded Realms. That means you obey me, so long as you reside in my lands. Very likely, I will have you restored as a full lord. Perhaps I will even have your excommunication lifted, if I can get the College to agree.¡±


    Those words stunned me. ¡°Your Grace, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Markham ordered. ¡°I am not done.¡±


    I fell silent. Though he stood almost a head shorter than me, I felt no give in this man. In that moment, he was every inch a king.


    ¡°It will take time to get my fellow monarchs to agree on the details,¡± the Emperor said. ¡°But we will formalize your role. The Accord is young ¡ª there is room for such things. We will need to determine how your joint responsibilities to the Sidhe will be handled, which I will have to consult the Oradyn on. As for the Choir...¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Well, I imagine I can do little about that. Should they have orders for you, then that is between you and the gods, though I will protect my own.¡±


    He glared at me, and I recognized the threat for what it was. I nodded.


    ¡°I will find other ways to make use of you in the meantime,¡± Markham continued. ¡°You will have duties, the details of which I will have to you soon. You will attend councils, and uphold my laws. It is the same I expect for any other member of the peerage.¡±


    While my mind reeled with the implications of all this, the Emperor of Urn grinned, revealing missing teeth. It was not a friendly expression. He reached out to clap a heavy hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°Congratulations. Your stunt just made your life much more complicated. I will use you hard, Lord Alken.¡±


    I managed to swallow, nodded, and bowed my head. ¡°Thank you for your mercy, Your Grace.¡±


    Markham snorted as he turned his back on me. Then, almost conversationally he said, ¡°I know there were rumors about you and my lady wife, back in her home country.¡±


    He turned back to me, his expression neutral. ¡°Should I be concerned?¡±


    I lifted my chin, my pride stung. I did still have some. ¡°I am not cuckolding you, Your Grace. The Empress and I...¡±


    ¡°If you tell me there was nothing there,¡± Markham growled, ¡°I will call you a liar. She spoke of you once. I remember how she looked.¡±


    I thought about it a moment before answering. ¡°We were young, once.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. Well, step lightly there.¡± Markham moved back to the hearth, where he had begun the conversation. ¡°There will be much attention on you from here on out, and her. Some will make the connection that she was originally your liege lady. People will talk. Where there are no dirty secrets, they will be conjured. If I were you, I¡¯d keep my distance from Rosanna Silvering.¡±


    He waved a hand ¡ª his right hand, now free of the golden gauntlet. I realized most of the fingers were missing, and what remained had been marred by grievous burns.


    She waved a hand dismissively, then turned to leave.


    ¡°I half expected her to propose,¡± Emma muttered when the Greengood girl had gone.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said. ¡°Unless...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not abandoning you.¡± Emma sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t be droll. This is really quite good for me! I might became a real squire, rather than just an informal one.¡±


    We returned into the shadows of the great palace, with gargoyles and knight-sentries watching us closely. Emma chatted away, though I recognized the subtle tension beneath her youthful energy.


    I felt it too.


    The remnants of the Priory lifted up a new leader four days after Rose Malin burned. Grand Prior Diana Hallow publicly announced that she intended to maintain her predecessor¡¯s accusation of Laessa Greengood. The trial of arms to determine the girl¡¯s innocence, and fate, would be held during the Emperor¡¯s tournament, only a few weeks away. The first day of true summer would coincide with the opening lists. In the meantime, the summit continued.


    Lisette officially left the Priory, appearing instead in the Empress¡¯s retinue as a cleric-sister of the the Synodites. When next I saw her, she wore the yellow cloak and white robe of an Aureate adept.


    We spoke little, and her work as an aide for the Empress kept her well away from me. Even still, I felt glad to see her out of that order of secrets and brutal dogma. I¡¯d meant what I said. Her Art had been made for healing.


    There were still priorguard, but they moved less openly. I didn¡¯t take their lessened presence in the city as a permanent victory. The Priory had begun out in the country sides, in sleepy churches and rural monasteries, and I suspected its ideology would continue to fester out beyond the walls, especially as times got darker.


    Of Oraise, I saw and heard nothing.


    I was largely ignored, though I knew that wouldn¡¯t last long. Soon, Markham would have orders for me. Eventually, the Choir would as well. I also had the invitation from Maerlys Tuvonsdotter to fret over. And the Vyke twins, and the demon Yith.


    And my dreams.


    On the fifth night after Rose Malin, I wandered a set of back streets in the city. Rows of houses in varying states of disrepair or neglect, most of them communal tenements, rose to either side of a weathered stone path. I could still make out scars from the siege here. There were the burnt carcasses of churches, and whole sections of homes and shops knocked down by violence without being lifted back up.


    Suspicious eyes watched me from windows, and urchins, or changelings, skulked in the alleys. The glinting eyes of wild chimera, come in from the wilderness or bred in some hidden lab from the city¡¯s past, watched me from the shadows. Another remnant of Magi plots.


    I wore my armor and my red cloak. I had resolved not to go about incognito, not unless it was truly necessary. I could use glamour to hide myself if I needed to, and drift about the city as a ghost to all except the gargoyles, the Hidden Folk, and the truly dead.


    And the dead did follow me, whispering and mocking. I ignored them, knowing they would have the chance to say their piece next time I slept.


    Eventually, as I wandered the deep labyrinth of Urn¡¯s largest city, night drew near. A shadow spread over the capital, like the reaching claws of a yawning cat. I passed down a narrow street which widened out beneath a steep length of steps, and found my destination.


    Well, found isn¡¯t quite the right word. You don¡¯t find the Backroad. You get lost, and it draws you in.


    A single building, larger than most in the row and crammed between its neighbors like the bloated offspring of some avian brood parasite, loomed over the street. Light shone from its four stories, and a rickety sign hung over cobblestones, swinging as though caught in a breeze.


    Only, there was no wind.


    A skinny woman with short blond hair waited outside, like any working girl drawing customers into a brothel. She chewed on a length of wheat, her eyes bored, one shoe pressed against the wall at her back.


    I stopped near her, nodding my head in greeting. ¡°Joy.¡± I jerked my thumb at the sign. ¡°Back Row? I didn¡¯t realize the Keeper had a sense of humor.¡±


    Joy took the stalk out of her mouth, rolling her pale brown eyes to me. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡± She tilted her head to the door. ¡°She¡¯s in.¡±


    I nodded, and moved into the inn. A wave of warmth and sound slammed into me. A sizable crowd had gathered inside.


    I recognized some faces. Karog was there, talking to a group of changelings I recognized from the Drains. He noticed me and went silent. Others began to take the same cue. No doubt they¡¯d all heard about what had happened in the palace as well. I ignored them, my eyes searching for only one face. The pit in the center of the taproom roiled with fire. Just as always, I let it singe my hand in passing, the creature inside sniffing curiously.


    A variety of dubious characters watched me, some interested and some hostile. Some were human. Most weren¡¯t, not entirely. This place had long been where the outcast and the misbegotten had made connections and done business in my homeland. There were nobles too, vagabond peddlers, mercenaries, and perhaps some lesser sorcerers. Knights too, of the roughest sort, blackguards all.


    Now that I¡¯d put myself in a position where scruples would be much more difficult to keep, I considered that I might need to do real business here. It didn¡¯t sit well with me, but...


    I¡¯d sown these seeds. I¡¯d made my choice. I had another to make.


    The Keeper, an old man with features reminiscent of a vulture, wrinkled and balding, his gray hair long and lank, greeted me with a neutral nod. I returned it. I knew what he was now, but I wasn¡¯t going to do anything about it. Not yet. This was his domain, with laws as ironclad as any faerie court.


    In some ways, it was exactly that.


    Dis Myrddin sat next to the Keeper. He saw me and grinned, leaning over to say something to the man behind the bar. The Keeper scowled, but didn¡¯t reply to whatever was said. The master of the Backroad tilted his chin up, toward the upper floors.


    I set my jaw and moved forward, ignoring all those eyes. The noise receded behind me as I passed into a long hall lined with doors, all private rooms.


    Moving through them, I heard sounds within. Muffled laughs, snippets of conversation, arguments, moans of pleasure, or pain. From the floor above, I heard a rhythmic thumping sound.


    My jaw tightened. I knew the Keeper was master here, that he might be mocking me, but...


    I also knew what this place was.


    I went to the end of the hall, not quite sure what to do next. I felt foolish. I¡¯d hoped she would be in the taproom. I couldn¡¯t just start knocking on doors.


    Damn it. I turned back, intending to quit this before I¡ª


    A door behind me creaked open. I turned to see a long-limbed, brown-haired shape step out of it. Her eyes were sleepy, her movements languid, her chestnut hair even more disheveled than usual. She wore a thin dress and a bodice with most of the strings loose, the garment slipping off one shoulder.


    She saw me, and blinked. ¡°Alken.¡±


    I inhaled through my nostrils, steeling myself, and dipped my head. ¡°Catrin.¡±


    ¡°I...¡± The satisfied languor in her face fell away, replaced by a more nervous emotion. I heard rustling from the room she¡¯d exited, then a big man stepped into the doorway, scarred and muscled, with a thick beard and unkempt black hair.


    He didn¡¯t wear a shirt. It made the bleeding wound at his shoulder very visible.


    ¡°Problem?¡± He asked, glancing between us. I saw him tense.


    ¡°No, no.¡± Catrin bit down a half-formed word, maybe a curse, as she turned to the man. ¡°It¡¯s fine, he¡ª¡±


    I turned back toward the taproom. ¡°This is a bad time. I¡¯ll come back later.¡±


    I didn¡¯t plan to come back.


    Catrin did curse as I started to walk away, rushing after me with a hurried apology to the man in the room. I heard him laugh as he closed the door.


    ¡°Hey, wait!¡±


    She grabbed my arm. My left arm, at the crook of my elbow. I paused, gritting my teeth as I suppressed the urge to jerk away.


    Instead I turned to her.


    ¡°I heard about the palace,¡± she said. ¡°Everyone¡¯s heard.¡± She gave me a shy smile. ¡°You want to talk about it?¡±


    I don¡¯t know what my face looked like, but her smile faded as I stared at her. Then, calmly, I nodded.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡±

 Arc 4: Chapter 31: Trust

    Arc 4: Chapter 31: Trust


    Catrin and I walked together out of the inn, moving into the darkening streets. We went a ways in silence. The dhampir adjusted her dress, doing up some of the laces and covering her shoulder, while I brooded in my private thoughts.


    ¡°You got your gear back,¡± Catrin said, a forced cheer in her voice. ¡°You look dashing.¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± I asked, my eyes fixed on the row ahead.


    ¡°Well...¡± Catrin sucked in a breath through her sharp teeth. ¡°You look like...¡±


    ¡°Death¡¯s own executioner.¡± I remembered her words the day I¡¯d received the armor from Oradyn Irn Bale.


    ¡°Well.¡± Catrin skipped ahead of me, turning and hiding her hands behind her back as a wicked smile formed on her face. So much like a flirtatious village lass. ¡°Speaking as a dead girl, should I be worried?¡±


    I stopped. So did she. When my face remained blank, her grin faded.


    I tilted my head back toward the inn. ¡°The Keeper was always able to make the inn manifest in the city. That talk about not being able to enter with the inquisition, then later, about being here to spy on the lords for him... none of that was true.¡±


    I didn¡¯t make it a question.


    Catrin chewed on her lip a moment, not meeting my eyes. She hadn¡¯t met my eyes once since I¡¯d found her at that bedroom door.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t all lies,¡± she hedged. ¡°I just... stretched things.¡±


    The marks her fangs had made on my shoulder had healed into scar tissue already, the aureflame mending the wounds within days. Even still, I felt them prickle. Would they become like Fidei¡¯s scars, always reminding me of the pain?


    ¡°The Keeper,¡± I said, my voice almost low as a whisper. ¡°Did you know he used to be a crowfriar?¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes narrowed. In the gloom, their soft brown color had brightened into something less natural.


    ¡°You did,¡± I said.


    She nodded, her eyes downcast. ¡°I had my suspicions. We all tell stories about him, you know? The older patrons, and the older girls, they all say he¡¯s a devil. I thought it was just a saying at first. Folk like to call me a devil. They¡¯ve said it of you.¡±


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell me,¡± I said.


    Catrin sighed. ¡°No, I did not.¡±


    I hesitated, then spoke before I could convince myself not to. ¡°He wanted to know who I¡¯d been ordered to kill, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    Catrin flinched. I had my answer. My right hand squeezed into a fist beneath the cloak.


    ¡°Has it been like that the whole time?¡± I asked her, my eyes searching. ¡°From the first time I visited the Backroad... did he want you to shadow me?¡±


    Catrin shifted on one foot, licked her lips, and folded her arms as though cold. I felt my heart thumping in my chest, feeling as though I¡¯d been here before.


    I realized I was scared. Scared of her. More so than I¡¯d been of that court of lords.


    ¡°He did,¡± she admitted.


    My voice sounded dead to my own ears. ¡°I see.¡±


    I turned and began to walk away.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Catrin rushed after me. ¡°Al, just stop. Can¡¯t we talk about this?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to talk about.¡±


    ¡°The hell there isn¡¯t!¡±


    When I didn¡¯t stop, I felt her presence vanish behind me. A moment later, she slipped out of a patch of deep shadow in an alley ahead, moving into my path. I stopped, glaring down at her. Her brow had furrowed, her eyes fixed on some point below mine.


    ¡°Can you at least let me explain?¡± She pleaded.


    ¡°I understand it well enough.¡± I took a step forward, not sure if I would shove her aside.


    Catrin didn¡¯t budge. ¡°So that¡¯s it?¡± She asked, her features hardening with anger. ¡°You¡¯ll just let this all become some kind of...¡± She struggled for words, baring her fangs in an angry hiss. ¡°Some fucking unspoken thing between us? To the Pits with that! I deserve to say my piece.¡±


    She jabbed a sharp nail into her ribs, matching my glare without fully meeting it.


    I said nothing, and waited.


    Catrin took a deep breath, making a futile effort to adjust her mop of tangled hair. ¡°We¡¯re information brokers, Alken. This is my job. The feeding, the sex, that¡¯s part of it... but what I am is a spy, you know?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Not for a kingdom or a lord, but for that old devil in the Backroad. I listen to pillow whispers, and table talk over drinks, and I tell him what I hear. It¡¯s our deal. Our pact. In return, I get his protection. I get to take blood from his patrons without worrying about being hunted for it.¡±


    Her eyes took on a steely glint as she pointed at me. ¡°You knew this. Before you ever stepped into the inn after Caelfall, you knew what I am, what I do. Just like I knew what your job is. That¡¯s our work! I thought, outside of it...¡±


    Catrin hugged herself tighter. ¡°I thought we could get along anyway.¡±


    I had known. I¡¯d just convinced myself I was an exception. When I spoke, I could hear the coldness in my tone. I didn¡¯t try to mask it.


    ¡°My secrets... my secrets, Cat, are dangerous. People die if they fall into the wrong ears.¡±


    I thought of the Fane, of Ser Maxim ¡ª the last true Alder Knight, barely holding on to sanity. I thought of Emma¡¯s true identity, and the things Fidei had told me. I thought of all Rosanna¡¯s secrets, her fears and doubts, things her rivals could use as weapons.


    ¡°I trusted you.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I trusted you not to tell him the parts that mattered.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± Catrin insisted.


    ¡°When you found me that day...¡± I took a step closer and lowered my voice, looming over her now. ¡°When you found me in the inn during the festival, it wasn¡¯t a coincidence. You weren¡¯t just wandering the streets and happened to run into Emma. You were following me.¡±


    She didn¡¯t deny it. Her jaw clenched, and still she wouldn¡¯t look at me.


    ¡°All of that was to find out what had happened in Myrr Arthor, what my orders were." My next words came out through my teeth. "You took that secret right out of my blood.¡±


    Catrin became very still. Deathly still, more so than any human could have. She stopped breathing, stopped fidgeting. A light that had always been in her eyes seemed to just... vanish.


    ¡°You believe that?¡± She asked in a quiet, cool voice.


    ¡°You said it yourself.¡± A grim smile, unbidden, touched my lips. ¡°This is your job.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s lips pressed tight. ¡°Yeah. I guess I did say that.¡±


    I stepped past her and started to walk away, toward the distant palace. Better to cut the cord here, I thought. A clean break.


    One less tie to bind me.


    ¡°But I didn¡¯t tell him a thing.¡±


    I paused, turning my head slightly to one side. ¡°Come again?¡±


    Catrin had turned to face my back. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s all true. Soon as the Keeper knew who you were, and that we had a rapport, he wanted me to prod you for secrets. He wants leverage over the Choir, the elves, the lords. Everyone. That¡¯s where all his power is. And you know what?¡±


    I turned to her again. The dhampir¡¯s long face, which had always had that lazy cocksureness in it, with those sleepy eyes, that mischievous smile, set now with a strange calm.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told him things, true. Mostly to keep him happy. I¡¯ve told him things that¡¯ve hurt people, I won¡¯t deny it.¡± Catrin nodded. ¡°And yeah, when he found out you were here, he suspected your angels had you on the hunt. He wanted to know who you¡¯d been sent to axe, and by who. When I found you that night, I planned to seduce you and get the Keeper¡¯s secrets.¡±


    She shrugged, propping a fist on her hip. ¡°I felt bad about it, but I thought... I don¡¯t know. I figured you hated this job? This Headsman thing. I told myself I wasn¡¯t betraying you, just those shining bastards who make you do all this bad stuff.¡±


    I didn¡¯t interrupt now, or challenge her. I listened. The sun had nearly set completely, casting the streets in a deep gloom. My eyes had begun to adjust to it, the aura in them brightening in response to the dark. Catrin¡¯s eyes had brightened too, taking on an animal glint. She resembled the scavenger beasts I¡¯d noticed before, gaunt and hungry.


    I thought about it a moment. ¡°Lots of reasons. But, mainly, because I can¡¯t protect them from outside the walls.¡±


    I gestured toward the edge of the city, meaning to indicate the war torn realms beyond. ¡°Sure, anonymity has its benefits, but it limits me too. I didn¡¯t do any of this to gain power, Cat, I promise you, but...¡±


    The dhampir nodded. ¡°I believe you.¡±


    I gave her a grateful smile. ¡°Thanks. I don¡¯t think anyone else does. Still, the Emperor was right.¡±


    I looked to the black spires of the Fulgurkeep, where its silhouette loomed over the bay. ¡°That was always where this led. Maybe I can use this position as Headsman, especially now it¡¯s an official one, to change things. I can help make Emma a real knight now, and I can stop being blindsided by all the larger parts.¡±


    I could follow Rosanna¡¯s example, even if she hated me for it.


    ¡°It¡¯s big,¡± Catrin agreed. ¡°And dangerous. You know they¡¯ll try to assassinate you? Or humiliate you.¡± She folded her arms, her face pensive. ¡°That¡¯s how they work. I¡¯m scared for you, big man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be careful,¡± I told her. ¡°Besides, I was never going to be able to stop whatever the Council of Cael is planning from outside the peerage. They¡¯re playing some big game, and I think the goring King of Talsyn might be behind it all. I¡¯m going to need some power, to handle that.¡±


    There was the enigmatic polymath, Anselm of Ruon, as well. I still hadn¡¯t gotten to the bottom of that. I would. I hadn¡¯t been able to save Kieran, but I could still avenge him. I would settle my score with Yith first, and then the rest.


    ¡°And what about the Choir?¡± Catrin asked, as we came to the apex of a stone bridge. I recognized it as the same one we¡¯d watched fireworks from the night of the festival.


    I frowned. ¡°What about them?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Catrin hedged, scratching at her cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t you think they might get back at you for this? I kind of figured they wanted you to be some sort of secret boogeyman. Now you¡¯ve gone and told everyone they¡¯re having you chop heads. That¡¯s going to piss some of them off, yeah?¡±


    I stared down at the dark waters of the canal, considering. Nath had said it herself ¡ª Umareon wouldn¡¯t be pleased.


    Catrin shook her head, setting her frizzed mane swinging. ¡°I just have a bad feeling about it, is all. When your blood was in me, I kept hearing a name in your thoughts.¡± She tapped her chin, trying to remember. ¡°Something like, uh, Umare¡ª agh!¡±


    She staggered, clutching at her mouth. I turned, shocked, grabbing her shoulder as she stumbled into me. She¡¯d almost fallen off the bridge.


    ¡°Cat, what is it?¡± I held her close, worried and confused. Thinking we might be under attack, I surveyed our surroundings. All seemed quiet. A curfew had been set after the day of rioting following my battle with the Priory. Dead faces leered at me here and there, but scattered when my eyes fell on them.


    Catrin pulled her hand away from her mouth. Her lips were blistered. ¡°Fuck,¡± she hissed. ¡°That name does not like me.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s an angel,¡± I said. "An original onsolain, just one step down from a true god. His name is sacred.¡± I shook my head, distressed at her pain, and by the cause of it. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize...¡±


    ¡°You knew I had trouble with hallowed ground,¡± Catrin said, wincing. ¡°This shouldn¡¯t be a surprise. I¡¯m profane in this land, big man. This is what that looks like.¡±


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked her, disturbed. I hadn''t ever thought about this problem before, not really.


    ¡°I will be.¡± She sighed, rubbing at her jaw as though it had been struck. ¡°Anyway, yeah. That guy.¡±


    I let her go when she waved me off. Even still, I hovered, fretting. When the shock of the moment had passed, I steadied myself and nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not always the same one who gives me my tasks, but yes. Lord Umareon¡ª¡±


    Catrin winced. I hesitated, then continued.


    ¡°He¡¯s the greatest warrior among the Choir, the God-Queen¡¯s First Sword. Closest thing they have to a general, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Right...¡± Cat glanced at me with a single bright eye peeking from the shade of her hair. ¡°And you¡¯re scared of him.¡±


    I hesitated. Knights do not admit to fear.


    But I¡¯d never been a very good knight. I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Her eyes were fully of worry. Changing the subject I said, ¡°This thing with the Keeper... is he going to punish you?¡±


    Catrin averted her gaze, her expression turning remote. ¡°Maybe. I mean, you went and told the whole realm the exact thing he wanted to know, which is definitely going to annoy him. Even still, he knows I¡¯ve got... sympathies for you.¡±


    ¡°You should leave the Backroad.¡±


    When she turned to me, the motion sharp, I held up a hand. ¡°I don¡¯t mean it like last time. Even still... I do not trust that man. If he even is a man. He¡¯s hell bound, Cat, which means being involved with him is dangerous. That whole inn could be a soul trap.¡±


    I recalled Myrddin speaking to the Keeper. Trepidation coiled in my gut.


    Catrin frowned, shuffling. ¡°Maybe. I always thought I could just leave whenever I felt like it, but... that place has a way of keeping you. Half the people working for the Keep used to just be guests, pulled in off the road.¡±


    I thought about it a moment, then shrugged and gave her a soft smile. ¡°Maybe you could work for me? I might need... well, may as well not beat around it. I might need spies. It will be just as dangerous, but I think I can avoid condemning you to the Pits.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s face turned up to mine, the corners of her lips turning down. ¡°You¡¯d do that?¡± She asked, serious.


    I nodded. ¡°I would. What¡¯s the point of all of this, if I don¡¯t use it?¡± I gestured to the palace. ¡°I¡¯ll need a household, in any case. I would rather have people I trust.¡±


    Smiling, I tried for humor. ¡°It¡¯s not marriage. You don¡¯t have to stay forever, my word on it.¡±


    For several minutes, Catrin stared out at the waters.


    ¡°It¡¯s a kind offer,¡± she finally said. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it. Leaving the Keeper won¡¯t be easy, though.¡±


    ¡°I could kill him?¡± I suggested, half joking.


    Catrin laughed, flashing her crooked teeth. ¡°I¡¯m a big girl. Let me handle it. Though, I appreciate you offering to be my knight in shining armor.¡±


    I folded my arms, turning my head to the moonlit waters of the open lagoon where we''d ridden the gondola. "I haven''t been that in a long time."


    She turned to me then, running sharp nails down the black iron rings of my armor. ¡°Not that I mind the scary look, but I am bit curious what you used to look like... let me guess, you had a white cape? Golden armor?¡±


    I laughed. ¡°The cape was green... and the armor was a bit gold.¡±


    ¡°Knew it,¡± Catrin sang. Her hand lingered on the red cloth of my cloak, and her murmuring voice taking on a suggestive note. ¡°You thought about my offer?¡±


    I had. And I did, as I felt her cool breath, copper-scented thought it was, on my skin.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you already feed tonight?¡± I asked, remembering the man from the inn.


    The dhampir shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not just about the blood.¡±


    When I didn¡¯t answer, she pulled away with a sigh. Disappointed, but not surprised or angry. I didn''t know what to say.


    She didn¡¯t want to be mine. Then again, I¡¯d never be able to be hers, so why resent it? She was right. I felt too much loyalty to the realms, and I still wasn¡¯t over Fidei. I might never be over her.


    Cat lived in the shadows, and I hovered between the day and the night, dark and light. Melodramatic, maybe, but true.


    Even still... not everything in the darkness was evil. Perhaps there wasn¡¯t anything wrong with keeping a tie to it.


    For once, I gave in to impulse. Catrin gasped when I pulled her back and kissed her, hard. When I let her go, her eyes were bright with hunger. I wrapped her in my cloak, and the briarfae garment coiled around us both, almost a cocoon. I used it and my own height to shield her from the moonlight she seemed so wary of.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back to your inn,¡± I told her, my lips hovering just under her upturned nose. ¡°I should avoid that place, unless I need to use it for business.¡±


    The dhampir bit her lip. ¡°I still have a room at that other place. You want to...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have nightmares again,¡± I warned her.


    She didn¡¯t care. She kissed me again, then led me back to that small inn where we¡¯d made love the first time.


    The coming days would be complicated, difficult, and very likely lethal. I would have little time for simple pleasures.


    So I decided to take the time I had.

 Arc 4: Chapter 32: The Shadow

    Arc 4: Chapter 32: The Shadow


    I did dream, just as I¡¯d known I would. The forest waited for me, and once my exhausted mind finally succumbed, it dragged me in.


    ¡°Look at him,¡± Leonis sneered as I stumbled through the tangled undergrowth. ¡°Thinks he¡¯s some big hero.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll have you poisoned within the year!¡± Emery roared, hooting with laughter.


    ¡°Or the month,¡± Irene added, smiling her sweet, ghoulish smile.


    ¡°The gods didn¡¯t want you to be recognized, you goring idiot.¡± Rhan bared his teeth at me, bloodshot eyes wide with fury. ¡°You¡¯ve missed the whole point!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll punish you!¡± Irene sang.


    ¡°Abandon you,¡± Leonis spat.


    ¡°They¡¯ll all abandon you.¡±


    ¡°Die around you!¡±


    ¡°You will fail them again.¡±


    ¡°Damned,¡± the dead accused.


    ¡°Damned. DAMNED!¡±


    ¡°We are all damned!¡±


    Their gnashing teeth and bloodshot eyes surrounded me as I shuffled forward. My cloak, drenched with blood, caught at every root and twig, weighing me down.


    The newest head stared at me from a tangled mass of tangled limbs on the path ahead. Old, weathered, bookish. The priest sighed heavily. The branches had grown into his flesh.


    ¡°Where does this end?¡± He asked. ¡°What is the point? You changed nothing by killing me.¡±


    ¡°I changed everything,¡± I muttered, more to myself than him. Everything for me, anyway.


    Besides, I didn¡¯t regret taking that life. I could still see Oraise¡¯s dead eyes in my memory, still hear desperate cries for mercy in the priorguard dungeons. I could still remember the empty village in the countryside.


    I passed beneath the dead prior, searching the woods. There. I narrowed my eyes, seeing a flitting shadow in the deeper forest. The distant light had grown very faint, now. I¡¯d gone deep into this wilderness.


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± One of the heads cried out.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret it!¡± Another shrieked.


    ¡°He¡¯s addicted to regret,¡± Rhan hissed. ¡°A sick masochist, masquerading as a warrior.¡±


    The heads called out, demanding I turn back. I ignored them, stumbling deeper into the dark.


    ¡°Alken? Are you paying attention?¡±


    I blinked, lifting my head. I stood by the room¡¯s small window, one shutter open. Morning sunlight and birdsong came through.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said. ¡°Must have dozed off.¡±


    Sister Fidei smiled, lacing her fingers over the desk she sat at. She¡¯d been copying historical texts, and reading to me from them as she worked.


    ¡°Does any knight truly stand vigil through a whole day and night?¡± The holy scribe asked, quirking a light brown eyebrow. ¡°Or do you just get very good at sleeping while standing up?¡±


    I scoffed, rubbing at my eyes. ¡°I bet some do. Anyway, where were we?¡±


    Fidei sighed, pushing her chair back. ¡°I think I¡¯ve had enough of this drivel today. Walk with me?¡±


    I nodded, glad to be out of the study session. Some things she read to me I liked, and others made me want to dig my eyes out with a dirk.


    We moved out into the hall. The monastery where the Cenocaste nuns plied their scholarly work was a beautiful edifice, even by the standards of Seydis. Many storied, with hidden gardens and walkways crossing over interior atriums, its towers seemed like some artful flower unfolding within the depths of the city¡¯s expansive parks.


    Somewhere, I heard lay sisters singing in chorus. Fidei grimaced.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, biting down on my amusement. ¡°Aren¡¯t you literally a choir girl?¡±


    I¡¯d meant to tease her, but the nun just pursed her lips. ¡°I dislike singing. Listening to it I can tolerate, but I despise doing anything in unison with others. I find it... demeaning.¡±


    ¡°You have to admit the result is kind on the ears?¡± I reached through one of the walkway¡¯s windows and plucked an apple, tossing it idly as we walked.


    Fidei plucked the apple from the air in the fourth toss, studying it critically. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    She bit into the fruit, her gray eyes fixed forward as red juice ran down her chin. I resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it away. That couldn¡¯t be proper, and I buried the thought.


    I heard voices in the garden below. I leaned down, curious, but Fidei directed my attention back to her with a tug on my cape.


    ¡°I want to show you something,¡± she said.


    I hesitated. Down in the atrium, I hadn¡¯t seen anyone. But someone had been speaking.


    ¡°This way, my knight. Daylight is wasting.¡±


    More curious of what Fidei wanted to show me than what lay sisters were gossiping about, I followed her. We descended down an outer tower, arriving at a winding path cut between scattered ponds. Birds flitted through the trees, their music as fair in its own way as the monastic choir.


    Fidei seemed unimpressed. Then again, she listened to this every day. She glided through the ponds, her black cape and shawl fluttering behind her like a shroud of shadow. My own green-and-gold cape rippled along the path as I followed a step behind, sometimes blending with bands of sunlight or green-tinted shadow ¡ª the very things it had been woven from, so I understood.


    A group of nuns passed us, giggling when they saw me and hiding their faces. I caught a flash of bright white eyes and small teeth beneath their veils. My escort smiled and nodded to them as they spoke in perfect unison.


    ¡°Good day, sister! Ser Knight.¡± They hid their faces from me, giggling.


    ¡°Good day, sisters.¡± Fidei¡¯s smile was sweet as the bird song, though it faded as soon as we passed the trio. I quirked an eyebrow at her annoyed expression.


    ¡°They see a man once or twice a month in passing,¡± she groused, ¡°and suddenly they¡¯re like kynedeer in heat. So much for all their talk of abstinence.¡±


    ¡°I imagine it gets frustrating, looking at books all day.¡± I kept my tone neutral. Something about the laughter of those nuns had seemed off. They¡¯d all had the same voice.


    ¡°I quite like books,¡± Fidei noted with a shrug. ¡°Even when the author lies to you, there is truth to be found in it. Did you read yours?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What book?¡± Had she leant me something I¡¯d forgotten?


    I caught a flash of her gray-green eye beneath her wimple, before she turned her head. ¡°Nevermind.¡±


    We passed through the gardens, arriving in a tall wood. It wasn¡¯t just eardetrees which grew in the Blessed Country, though I understood any tree could become an earde with enough time. Here, they were towering redwoods of the kind which dominated across Urn¡¯s eastern coasts. We¡¯d passed beyond the bounds of the monastery, and the city.


    The holy scribe stopped when we reached a wide open space between the enormous trees. Lifting a hand from the layered folds of her monastic garments, causing one black sleeve to unfold like a dark wing, she pointed.


    ¡°There. You see it?¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± I begged her, my voice cracking.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done it before,¡± she breathed, her brow furrowing as the sword went another inch. She stepped forward. I stepped back. She took a firmer step, and I felt something give. One of her ribs had broken. She let out a sound very much like the ones the woman with the serpent made in the near distance.


    I tried to drop the sword, but it had fused to my hand.


    Slow and merciless, she made me kill her again. She took pleasurein it, and in the horror in my eyes.


    When she¡¯d drawn close enough for me to feel her breath on my face, she smiled. Her skin cracked like dry clay. When she spoke, blood fell in rivulets from her mouth.


    ¡°Try to climb up into the light all you like, my knight. You know where your heart truly resides. It is not with your angels. They won¡¯t have you, no matter how many corpses you stack to reach them.¡±


    Somewhere nearby, I heard the false nun with the snake moan. The walls beat with that thumping rhythm. In the further distance, I heard the cruel voices in the forest cursing me. Somewhere lost in the columns, the half-eaten fruit called out for help.


    I¡¯d already admitted as much to myself. Even still...


    ¡°I hate you,¡± I told her, half believing it.


    The Shadow tutted. ¡°You long for me. When you wake and see that blood drinker lying next to you, you will feel the cold creeping back in. When you stand among that council of petty warlords, you will remember all the times you confessed feeling like a fraud. You¡¯ve made it true, you foolish man.¡±


    Of all the demons I¡¯d slain, this shadow had to be among the weakest. Just a spell Pernicious Shyora had cast. A phantasm.


    And yet, I feared it even more than the lion.


    Fidei rose up on her toes, whispering into my ear. The motion drove the sword deeper, sending dark blood cascading over my arm. The fingers of her right hand traced my scars, sending lines of burning agony through them.


    ¡°I will see you again when next you sleep, my knight.¡±


    I woke covered in cold sweat. The room lay dark. Rain pattered against the roof, almost loud enough to drown out my panicked heart, my shallow breathing.


    A shape stirred next to me. I stiffened, instinctively reaching for a blade. When a familiar voice murmured, I remembered.


    Cat. I was in that quiet little inn with her again.


    The dhampir slept at my side, naked and content. Once I¡¯d managed to get my blood to stop beating in my veins, I sighed heavily. Leaning down, I adjusted the blanket and kissed Catrin on her brow. She mumbled an incoherent protest and weakly batted at me.


    I watched her a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dark. A different sort of pain clenched at my heart, not born of fear or hurt, but relieved warmth. And regret.


    I can¡¯t be your lady wife, Al. I¡¯m sorry.


    God, I wish I could heal this hole in you. I want to, but...


    ¡°You don¡¯t owe me anything,¡± I whispered to her, brushing at her tangled hair. ¡°This is enough.¡±


    She slept, breathing softly, very alive in that moment. I¡¯d let her feed on me a bit, even though she hadn¡¯t really needed it.


    When I felt certain sleep wouldn¡¯t reach out to drag me back into that terrible place again, I slipped out of the bed as quietly as I could. Naked and cold, I lit a candle and found the small desk near the window. I pulled up a chair, shuffled through my belongings, and found the small black journal Lias had given me.


    I stared at it a while. Slim, innocuous, it had no labeling on its binds. I ran my fingers over it. Then, holding it up, I moved it toward the candle.


    I paused just before making the choice, cursed, and placed it back down. Damn it, Li.


    With a steadying breath, I opened the journal. I found the wizard¡¯s manic scratching on the first page. Holding the candle close as I dared, I began to read.


    Al,


    I imagine the contents of these notes may be distressing for you. I understand you were quite enamored with the subject, or at least the guise it took. Understand, I do not wish to be callous. However, I have always firmly believed that all malady can be balmed with knowledge. Understanding that which causes us pain, or hardship, or confusion is, in my opinion, always preferable to willful ignorance.


    Even still, I do sympathize with your situation. Betrayal is never an easy thorn to pry out of the flesh. Rose would likely instruct me to be tactful, but we all know I am not much for tact. Your situation is quite dangerous, and I would much prefer to arm you with knowledge. With truth.


    So here is truth. The being who has caused you such woes has done it before, many times, and is quite adept at it. You are not the first, and I dare say won¡¯t be the last, to fall to its wiles. That may not comfort you, but know that you are no great fool for succumbing. I dare say, you got off better than most.


    Within this record are various findings I have collected over the years. Some of them I acquired before the war, though I did not realize they would become significant until later. The rest I gathered in the belief it might be needful ¡ª after all, demons have escaped the Pits of Orkael before.


    I snorted. Just like Li, to capitalize something like ¡°Pits.¡± Had I picked up that habit from him?


    I imagine this does little to make amends for my neglect since you joined the Table. I understand things became difficult for you after we started distancing ourselves from one another. Know that we are brothers, you and I, just as Rosanna is as a sister to me. I love you both, even if I may seem the cold and wicked sorcerer at times. Forgive me my nature, if you can.


    Li


    I checked the date he¡¯d added with the note. Eight years ago. He¡¯d started writing this after the war, then, or perhaps even during it. I drummed my fingers against the desk.


    I considered destroying it. Did I really want to know?


    I needed to. I flipped the page. Behind me, Catrin stirred in the bed and mumbled something. I wanted to crawl back in with her, let all my problems wait for sunrise.


    I made myself focus on the book. Lias¡¯s scrawl continued here, more impersonal than the last time. I knew, by the shift in language, this was something he¡¯d copied from another text, though he¡¯d added his personal thoughts and musings here and there. I recognized the chaos of his style. He¡¯d taught me cyphers with it.


    This being goes by many names, as most of the more active Abyssals do. It is probable other civilizations less known to us might have more. Here are a few.


    She Who Listens. Bather In Blood. Pernicious Shyora. Tormentsister. Heart-thief. Tutor of Malice. Redwidow. Lady Wurmwing. The Venal One. One Who Beheld The Burning.


    Note that this last name is shared among many of the Abgru?dai who participated in the sack of Onsolem. This would indicate the subject has been active in our histories for at least eleven centuries, and¡ª


    I closed the book, my heart beating loud in my chest. This had been a mistake. What had I expected to find? Something that made me feel right with all this? Had he believed this would ease my heartache?


    Damn you, Lias. It didn¡¯t work like that.


    I sat a while with that evil little tome lying under my hand and the scent of candle wax in the air. My bare skin prickled with goosebumps. Catrin¡¯s skin wouldn¡¯t help much with that, but the blanket would, and I liked lying next to her. Even if I didn¡¯t go back to sleep, I could listen to her murmur and rustle through the night.


    But...


    The wizard had been right on one point. Ignorance wouldn¡¯t help anything. I had many enemies, and one held more power over me than any other. I couldn¡¯t fight a war, for that was what I did ¡ª a quiet, ugly one though it might be ¡ª if I couldn¡¯t face the demons in my own past, literal and figurative.


    I had let nostalgia and misplaced trust pull a veil over my eyes, and it had led to Lias signing that contract right in front of me. It had pushed me to accept Rosanna¡¯s hospitality and protection, even though I had known it put her in danger, and would ultimately drive a rift between us both.


    It had made me playact the noble paladin, when being the blackguard was more honest, not to mention more practical.


    And it had made me quietly long for my dreams, for all the horrors in them.


    I steeled myself, and opened the book that would tell me who the woman I had loved truly was.


    End of Arc 4

 Another retrospective, big news, and going forward

    Another retrospective, big news, and going forward


    Hey friends, Sov here. Been a while since I¡¯ve done one of these, but I¡¯ve got some stuff to talk about.


    This has been a pretty wild journey so far. I¡¯ve been a web fiction author for going on eight months now, most of a year. After spending 6-7 years trying to find the right project to do a web story with and failing, this feels kind of incredible. Bonus points that I didn¡¯t expect Alken¡¯s tale to be the one I stuck with.


    I just closed out arc 4, Bind, which ended up being my longest so far, and I think also my best. This one was weird, because I expected to get through the entire ¡°summit and tournament¡± section of the story and wrap up the major events in the city all in one arc (some of you might have noticed that I changed the arc¡¯s name partway through). Turns out I bit off a lot more than I could chew with this leg of the journey, and I ended up deciding to split it into two arcs. I hope to wrap up this section with arc 5, which I¡¯ve already started working on.


    I expect Garihelm might end up becoming a central location in the narrative that we return to on occasion, with Alken now in a position as a lord and peer to the realms, but we¡¯ll see how that plays out. Things definitely won¡¯t be easy or simple from him from here on out.


    But that¡¯s author thoughts about the narrative, and I¡¯d rather keep my plans going forward vague to avoid spoilers. I have another bit of news to share, which is a lot bigger.


    Not long back, I had a publisher reach out to me after finding my fiction on Royal Road. They seemed to just be poking about my future plans, which I gathered is pretty normal after talking to some other authors in the same spaces. Long story short, after meeting with one of their agents, some emails, and a long think, I ended up signing with Podium.


    Oathbreaker is going to be published.


    But I¡¯m not getting any younger, and after consulting with friends and family, I decided to take the win. Part of this is because I won¡¯t actually have to change much about what I¡¯m doing ¡ª Podium is going to take care of pretty much all the work, while I get to just keep working on the story. It felt like the best of both worlds, far as I could tell.


    As for the heavier changes... I¡¯m on the fence about how I want to handle that. It¡¯s all my own work at this point, with the pubs own editors only coming in after I¡¯ve gotten a manuscript ready, so I don¡¯t feel any need to keep those hidden. That being said, I don¡¯t know if I want to fully release my revised version of arc 1 on Royal Road before stubbing so those of you who¡¯ve stuck with this through its run can see the differences first (this is what I¡¯d most like to do), or if that would be annoying since it almost feels like obligatory rereading.


    The other option is to make that a potential patreon benefit, which I am expecting I may set up soon ¡ª this is because the pub has told me I¡¯m allowed to keep my original versions of the story behind a patreon even if kindle unlimited rules compel me to remove the published parts from Royal Road. Since I don¡¯t tend to be far ahead of you folks and have held off on a patreon mainly because I don¡¯t really want to do advance chapters, this could be one benefit I can have there. Let me know what you think in the comments, for now I¡¯m on the fence about how I¡¯ll go about this.


    Other than that, the saga continues. Arc 4 was a doozy, and arc 5 I expect will also be pretty heavy. I¡¯ve been releasing 3+ chapters a week for most of a year now, and while I don¡¯t feel any need to stop or slow down, I¡¯ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I want to have my revisions of arc 1 done by the end of December, and I need to have an action plan firmly in place for arc 5.


    So I¡¯m planning to take a little break from posting. This is NOT a hiatus, not really. I don¡¯t expect it to last more than a couple of weeks while I make sure I¡¯m not overwhelmed, and I may have some posts in the meantime, possibly more lore blurbs and map updates if I can find the time.


    And that¡¯s basically it. This is just the start of things, but I won¡¯t deny it¡¯s kind of a life changer for me personally. I am just some rando on the internet who had a story he wanted to tell, and this all came at me really fast. My writing is a real job now... that feels weird, but good?


    If you¡¯ve gotten this far, thank you for reading my work. The regular comments, the number of readers who jump into each new chapter within hours of me sharing it, the discussions and reviews I¡¯ve been left, they¡¯ve all been far more than I expected when I started this. We are still in early days, as far as my journey as a writer and for Alken¡¯s story, which I intend to make an epic saga spanning many arcs and a number of years of my life. Thank you for being part of that.


    With much gratitude,


    Sov

 Interlude: Daughter of Shrikes

    Interlude: Daughter of Shrikes


    The days after Rose Malin burned passed in a mad rush. All the great and mighty lords of the Accorded Realms gathered, with all their kings and all their kings¡¯ men, and they rushed about like stunted cockatrices with their heads lopped off.


    Emma almost found it amusing. No, she did find it amusing, though no one else seemed to enjoy the joke quite so much as her.


    Lot of trouble over some bugger priests, she thought as her wandering steps brought her to an upper terrace of the Fulgurkeep. Ancient pillars held up the roof above her, connected to a short wall on one side over which the great fortress dropped steeply down to lower parapets and crashing waves below.


    Her gaze went out over the city, where smoke still rose here and there. Priory sympathizers had been rioting, blaming the Houses for the murder of Horace Laudner, Grand Prior of the Arda. Two weeks had passed since the old power monger¡¯s death, and the guard were just starting to get things under control.


    Emma sniffed at the scene. Of course, he goes and makes such a fuss and the nobility still gets most of the credit.


    And what did he get? Work. Always more work. And he seemed content with it, the masochistic brute.


    Well, he¡¯s not so grumpy nowadays. I suppose I have that blood wench to thank for that. Emma¡¯s lip turned up in a self amused smirk as she ran her fingers along the short wall, which rose just above waist height to her.


    ¡°It amuses you?¡±


    The voice was cold, angry. Emma would know that self righteous quiver anywhere. She kept the smile and paused, letting her fingers linger on the edge of a pillar.


    ¡°It does, in fact.¡± Emma turned, seeing a young woman only a year or two older than her standing a ways down the hall. Lisette had changed dramatically since she¡¯d quit the priorguard. She wore a yellow cloak over white robes now, the garments of a Synodite adept ¡ª the arbiters of the Aureate Church, rather than the shadowy kidnappers and torturers of the Priory.


    ¡°People are dying down there,¡± Lisette said, her brow furrowed over sky blue eyes. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t laugh at them.¡±


    ¡°They are dying down there, yes.¡± Emma waved a dismissive hand at the lagoon city. ¡°And I am so very far up here. Perhaps I would be more aggrieved if I could smell the violence. But I find the air quite pleasant high up, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She grinned. The priestess was not amused.


    ¡°Does it please you to play at being wicked?¡± Lisette asked.


    Emma adopted a frown, while inside her smile widened. ¡°Play? Why, my dear girl, haven¡¯t you heard? I am the official squire of the Fell Headsman himself! I have an image to uphold, for both of us.¡±


    Lisette let out an angry breath through her nostrils, adjusting the mantled yellow cloak she wore. She didn¡¯t seem altogether comfortable in it, and it had so many flappy bits. It almost seemed like the sort of thing that might be caught by a sudden squall, carrying the poor cleric off into the gray skyline above Garihelm like a flustered yellow bird.


    ¡°None of this is funny,¡± Lisette snapped. Emma realized she¡¯d been smiling again, though not at what the cleric believed. ¡°You think he enjoys this? That he wanted it?¡±


    Emma shrugged and turned, beginning to make her way along the pillars again. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You were there the night he massacred the Priory, not I. I was babysitting.¡±


    She still hadn¡¯t forgiven him for that. He¡¯d promised her they would fight side by side, after that fiasco following their arrival in the capital. Then he¡¯d gone off on his own again. Emma had understood the reasons, of course, but that didn¡¯t mean it did not irk her.


    Still, she couldn¡¯t complain at the results. It had been touch and go there for a bit, but now...


    She was so very high up.


    Emma sighed as she heard all the rustling cloth the cleric had draped herself in move.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand your role in all of this,¡± Lisette said as she began to follow, keeping a distance behind. ¡°I know you are highborn. It¡¯s obvious by the way you talk, and how you... treat people. Is this all a game to you? A way to gain power?¡±


    The bloody clericon still hadn¡¯t gotten over their conversation in Myrr Arthor, the great cathedral at the center of the Bell Ward. Emma could see it even from here, its high spires rising over the bay on a tall hill, almost rivaling the island palace upon whose walls she stood.


    Almost. The Church was an institute of scribes and preachers. All the power lay with the Houses, with the ancient bloodlines of warlords and knights who¡¯d conquered this land long centuries ago. Emma hadn¡¯t forgotten it, and the Priory had been reminded of it.


    ¡°Power, hm?¡± Emma said in a ponderous tone. ¡°Everything seems to turn on its axis, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Yes, she thought darkly. Had things gone different, I¡¯d be in Venturmoor and married, with very different prospects of advancement ahead of me.


    This was more dangerous, but far more fun. The opportunities were delicious.


    Folding her hands behind her back, Emma did a hop-skip forward as she turned sidelong to the cleric, maintaining her condescending smile. ¡°Being honest with you, Lis... can I call you Lis?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, Lizzie, you¡¯re quite right about one thing.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s pressed lips grew even thinner. Emma continued without losing her faint smile.


    ¡°This outcome is quite pleasing to me. After all, I¡¯ve found myself with far more opportunities than even a month ago. Living beneath everyone¡¯s notice had its perks, but...¡±


    Emma spread her hands in a shrug. ¡°Now I don¡¯t need to be quite so... quiet.¡±


    She turned to the end of the hall again. She could practically feel Lisette¡¯s angry blue stare boring a hole into the back of her neck. Again, she sighed. ¡°Did you need to tell me something, or are you just planning to follow me around? Make certain I don¡¯t do anything terribly villainous.¡±


    Emma heard Lisette come to a stop. She did as well, waiting, her head bowed and her eyes closed. Never let them see what you¡¯re truly feeling. Be a wall upon which anger and love break, and you shall be truly mighty.


    She still remembered her grandmother¡¯s lessons.


    Though she didn¡¯t see it, Emma knew Lisette drew herself up in prim and proper fashion by the rustling of cloth.


    ¡°Her Grace would like to deliver a message to your master.¡±


    Emma¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°Oh?¡± She said, struggling to maintain her blase? tone. The Empress had been ignoring them ever since the trial, partly for political reasons but mostly for deeply personal ones, so much as Emma understood.


    The empty darkness of the onsolain¡¯s eyes, though they had no pupil or iris to indicate where they looked, fell on Emma. She could feel that focused attention, like a pressure against her temples. The faint, serene smile ancient masons had carved into the angel statue¡¯s lips was also very familiar.


    ¡°I am pleased,¡± Thorned Nath, Angel of the Briar, said from within the statue. ¡°Cleaving to the Alder Knight¡¯s side has done you well, my godchild.¡±


    Swallowing, her throat feeling very dry, Emma nodded. ¡°Thank you, godmother. I do not regret the decision.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Nath chuckled. ¡°I wonder if he would be pleased to hear it. In any case, I wished to congratulate you on your ascension. With the Headsman of Seydis now a recognized peer of the Accorded Realms, your own prospects have been elevated.¡±


    Greatly daring, Emma let a bit of irony slip into her voice. ¡°And yours as well, godmother?¡±


    ¡°Ah! My dear heart. You know me well.¡±


    The rush of guilty excitement Emma always felt when her dark patron spoke to her became tempered by a more cautious emotion. Trepidation.


    ¡°Do...¡± She swallowed again. ¡°Do you have some task for me?¡±


    ¡°I am not your mistress!¡± Nath laughed, which was very unsettling from those stony, still lips, which did not move. ¡°I may be quite occupied soon, as will all my brethren. Powers move in the land, my sweetling, and I am afraid what aid we might give to our chosen will become quite... distant. Your mentor will not be able to pull a stunt like he did before the iron king and be so lucky again, I think.¡±


    Emma nodded. ¡°I will be cautious.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it.¡± Nath fell quiet a moment, and Emma got the sense the spirit¡¯s attention strayed from her.


    Then, in a less whimsical tone, Nath spoke again. ¡°You are in much danger, my godchild. All this realm is. I can speak little of it, for it is all very tangled.¡±


    Emma tried for humor. ¡°Do you not prefer things that way, godmother?¡±


    ¡°...I much prefer when I have tied the bramble vines myself,¡± Nath admitted. ¡°But know this ¡ª it is not only Alken Hewer¡¯s enemies you must fear. As you gain power, and a name of your own, there are still those who have not forgotten your true name.¡±


    Emma felt a chill. ¡°You mean the Carreons?¡±


    ¡°The Carreons were a High House,¡± Nath said. ¡°Their power reached far, and they had many loyal vassals. Even after a century of decline, some still cleave to their shadow. Step lightly, and use what tools you may. The tarnished knight is right in this, at least. Whether you desire power or no, you will need it to survive and protect what belongs to you. Do not spurn it.¡±


    Once again, Emma¡¯s eyes drifted to the knights. Nath, who had been watching her since she was a child, knew her mind.


    ¡°You do not need to feel love to wield it. It can be a mighty weapon. Among the most keen.¡±


    Emma frowned. ¡°You believe I should use the Hunting boy? Take advantage of his feelings for me?¡±


    ¡°It would be prudent. Can you afford to spurn tools? You will be hard pressed to find friends in the Headsman¡¯s shadow. Take his example.¡±


    A cocksure face drifted through Emma¡¯s thoughts. Imperfect, crooked-toothed, with hungry eyes and mussed hair. ¡°I don¡¯t think Alken would appreciate the dhampir being described as a tool,¡±she noted.


    ¡°But she is one! A very useful one, and dangerous. Oh, to have a Child of Ergoth held so close...¡±


    The statue trembled, pieces of it flaking away and falling. Emma felt a chill.


    ¡°It remains to be seen whether your master will be wise,¡± the fallen Onsolain continued, musing. ¡°Perhaps you may guide him to wisdom?¡±


    Emma took a deep breath through her nostrils, steadying her nerves. Keeping her thoughts wrapped in the most haughty voice she could, she nodded. ¡°I shall consider your advice. Thank you, godmother. And I should thank you for before, as well.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± The stone angel let out a sharp sound. More cracks had begun to appear around the eyes, widening them into web-shaped ravines. The dark spirit¡¯s presence was eroding the vessel.


    ¡°You saved my guardian¡¯s life,¡± Emma said. ¡°And likely mine. Not to mention the future I seek. You have my gratitude.¡±


    She turned and waved a dismissive hand. ¡°I really must be going. These chats are always so... pleasant.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better!¡± Nath laughed. ¡°I shall be watching you, child. I have such high hopes.¡±


    When Emma turned, the statue was empty of any dark presence. Most of the head had crumbled away, and briar vines ¡ª grown up from some lower garden of the tiered castle over weeks of neglect ¡ª ate through it. How had she not noticed that before?


    ¡°Tools, is it?¡± Emma glanced at the knights again. Such an ugly word. Alken would much prefer the term friends. Then again, all his friends seemed prone to betraying him.


    Emma had never had any friends. Everyone had been too scared of her growing up. When she¡¯d been quite young, and Qoth had been given to her, she¡¯d thought him a friend for a time. That foolishness hadn¡¯t lasted long.


    How did she even know what one was? She had enjoyed teasing the choir girl, but she doubted the feeling was mutual. Alken was more like... a very big, very surly brother? And Qoth a willful, murderous cat. He even took the form of one, sometimes.


    She would think about it. For the time, though...


    Bells began to toll in the city, drawing Emma¡¯s eyes back down to the lagoon. Spread across all its many islands, the city stirred with some intangible but very real quality, a pressure like the approach of a storm.


    Her eyes were drawn to one island in particular, where a ring of high walls formed a long, oval pit, a cleft splitting the end which faced the east, where the rising sun would shine through it.


    Soon enough, it would be full of roaring crowds, clashing steel, and singing phantasm. The boiling power inside Emma, a legacy as real and deadly as the heirloom sword at her hip, began to stir.


    The Emperor¡¯s tournament started soon.

 Arc 5: Roar || Chapter 1: Beneath The Streets

    Arc 5: Roar || Chapter 1: Beneath The Streets


    When the elves gave me golden eyes to illuminate dark places, I am certain they saw it as a blessing. Too often, it has been a curse.


    I¡¯ve heard it said that ignorance is bliss. That, I do believe. Garihelm is a beautiful city, built upon the hundred craggy islands of a lagoon within a bay of the Riven Sea, ancient and elegant, a metropolis of many bridges and soaring cathedrals.


    I could have lived a happier life having never seen the labyrinth of dank sewers and moldering catacombs beneath the proud capital of the Accorded Realms. Yet, they are there.


    Apparently, the city¡¯s ancient inhabitants had once used the canals for sewage, relying on the rain which fell over the coastlands year round and the deep waters beneath the high streets to process waste. More forward thinking minds had seen the long term problems with this as the city grew, or perhaps had just grown tired of the smell.


    Either way, proper sewers had been built beneath the stacked avenues of Garihelm, with clever architecture to carry rain and sea water, sending the detritus of a hundred thousand people far out into the lashing Riven.


    Never enough rain to truly clean those festering tunnels. Mud sticks. So does shit.


    I stepped through reeking darkness, the coat of black iron rings I wore rattling softly with each step, forming a steady rhythm with my calm breaths. Though I held no torch, the aura in my eyes made them shine with a pale light, forming faint beams which cut the darkness, allowing me to see.


    I held my axe in my right hand, the gnarled branch forming its handle grating against my palm as I squeezed it. Small burs and twigs grew from the dark oak, some of them wrapping around the weapon¡¯s head. Alloyed from steel and faerie bronze, the hooked blade held a brassy sheen.


    I didn¡¯t wear my red cloak. It would have been a hinderance in these cramped tunnels, so I¡¯d left it with my squire. My head bare, my short, shaggy copper hair matted with sweat and moisture from the damp air ¡ª I tried not to think too hard about what might be in that ¡ª I focused all my senses forward.


    Somewhere in the echoing dark of Garihelm¡¯s sewers, something profane skulked.


    Am I the hunter? I wondered. Or the hunted?


    Our roles could switch in an instant. If I was careless, no amount of faerie metal and sacred magic would save me. Plenty of paladins had died to ghouls, irks, shades, and other more common threats by being too careless, and too confident.


    I couldn¡¯t afford carelessness when hunting demons.


    The tunnel curved to the left as I reached its end. Wary of ambush, I navigated the bend with a tense caution. Every muscle beneath my moisture beaded skin was flexed taut, ready to send my limbs into violent action in an instant. I rested my axe on my right shoulder, my left hand hovering near the gnarled roots splitting from the handle¡¯s bottom.


    The darkness beyond my sight seemed somehow a living thing. It breathed like a beast, each inhale a silent threat, each exhale sending a gust of fetid air through the corridor.


    A draft blew in from somewhere. I went toward it, the lips on the edges of the tunnel just wide enough for me to navigate safely, the water in the trench between them too fouled to tell how deep it went. Hopefully, I wouldn¡¯t get the chance to find out.


    I sensed something directly ahead of me. Not with my powers. I could hear its breathing, feel its eyes. I slowly brought the axe on my shoulder back, letting the heavy blade tilt in expectation of levering it forward with all my weight.


    I began to form an Auratic Art ¡ª an arcane technique which would alter the shape of my soul, sending it forth as a deadly burning phantasm.


    Just before I released the magic, a silhouette appeared in the tunnel ahead. Huge, hulking, with a hunched shape that blended hillock shoulders with a relatively small head. Twin yellow eyes, ringed in furious red, flickered to life just beyond the illumination my eyes provided, glinting in the dark.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± a deep, guttural voice said. ¡°Unless you wish to settle our score here, elf friend?¡±


    I relaxed, cursed, and let the energy I¡¯d begun to shape dissipate into harmless unreality all at once. ¡°Karog. If you knew it was me, you could have said something. I almost smote you.¡±


    The shape lumbered forward into my full vision. Over eight feet tall, made all of leathery muscle and angry sinew, with simian features and clothes mostly consisting of hardboiled leather and trophy bones, the war ogre let out a derisive snort.


    ¡°I did not know it was you,¡± Karog muttered, his slit nostrils flaring. ¡°My eyes are not as keen as yours, elf friend, and this air irritates my sense of smell.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t argue with him there. ¡°Did you manage to pick up the trail?¡± I asked.


    Karog¡¯s yellow eyes narrowed. ¡°No. These tunnels are a labyrinth, and full of vermin. Our quarry is using beasts to mislead me.¡±


    I nodded. Many demons could exert influence over animals, especially hungry and unhealthy ones like those which would likely dwell in these fetid tunnels. They were well populated with stunted chimera of various kinds, remnants of creatures wizards and alchemists had loosed into the world long ago and let breed into strange new shapes.


    Many of them were man eaters. I had already spotted rats big as dogs, and I didn¡¯t even want to think about what the dogs might have mutated into down here.


    Sighing, I tapped my axe on one shoulder. ¡°I think I¡¯ve lost it, too. If it went into the Undercity¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then this was a waste of time,¡± Karog agreed.


    The ancient catacombs deep beneath Garihelm had been built by a civilization which preceded our own, sunken long ago beneath the waters of the Riven but kept intact by deeply intricate architecture. Full of restless spirits and deadly mechanisms, they were not a dungeon I felt keen on diving into unless I had no other choice.


    I might not have a choice. The thing we hunted very well may have retreated down into that darkness.


    ¡°Let¡¯s circle back around the way you came,¡± I suggested. ¡°Emma should be holding our exit. Don¡¯t want this thing changing the terrain on us.¡±


    Karog¡¯s craggy brow furrowed. ¡°It can do that?¡±


    I nodded grimly. ¡°Some of them, yes. They can warp the environment in subtle ways, or less subtle ones if they¡¯re strong enough. My squire should be able to keep us a path out with her magic, at least.¡±


    More precisely, with her familiar¡¯s magic.


    ¡°I do not trust that witch,¡± the ogre rumbled.


    I snorted. ¡°You don¡¯t trust anyone.¡±


    Karog didn¡¯t disagree.


    Karog remained silent, though a threatening rumble continued to emerge from deep within his chest. The chorn continued trying to engage us in conversation.


    You are hunting Yith.


    Would you like to know where he is?


    I know much.


    Each of the Abgru?dai ¡ª the demons of the Abyss ¡ª are uniquely dangerous. Few of them have much commonality, but there are exceptions. Chorn are among the weakest and most numerous. Still very dangerous. This one had been leaving raving amnesiacs across the Hammer Ward for the past two weeks, evading all our attempts to track it down until now.


    Either way, I¡¯d dealt with this kind of monster before.


    Will you not bargain?


    Perhaps if I were fairer.


    The filthy cloak of hair covering the chorn¡¯s back parted. From behind the canine head, the human arms shifted as a new shape began to emerge. The head and torso of a beautiful woman, dark hair obscuring her eyes, her skin corpse pale.


    ¡°My kindred know your tastes,¡± the woman said, lifting a hand to cup one breast. ¡°If you do not wish secrets, can I not offer you aught else, Alder Knight?¡±


    The surge of hate that roiled up in me made itself known as amber fire burning glowing scars into my axe¡¯s oak branch handle. Chorn are vicious tricksters, but they have a habit of avoiding confrontation.


    And I had known far better seductresses. All it did was piss me off, and gave me all the time I needed to shape the proper weapon.


    Concentrating on the echoing words of one of the oaths alloyed into my soul, I took a third step and thrust out my left palm, fingers pressed together in a shoving motion.


    The aureflame, the sacred golden fire of the Alder, condensed into a brilliant expanding ring of almost solid light. It ripped down the tunnel, evaporating the darkness like smoke in a sudden squall.


    The flames singed my fingers, but I¡¯d long since gotten used to the pain. I grit my teeth and kept my focus forward.


    The power of the chorn broke, the endless tunnel it had intended to lure us down vanishing as the hammer of my Art burned it away. The creature was revealed in its true position, clinging to the filthy wall of the sewer perhaps thirty feet way. It still had the naked woman growing from its back, who writhed as the aureflame scorched the creature, emitting a piercing shriek. With the canine head¡¯s own baleful howl, her voice formed a terrible double timbered noise that made my teeth clench.


    ¡°Karog!¡± I snapped, then dove out of the way. I hadn¡¯t acted a moment too soon. The ogre had already begun to charge, seeing the trick broken and a clear line of sight to his enemy.


    I don¡¯t know if every war ogre, a chimeric breed vat grown by continental alchemists to act as soldiers, move with such terrifying speed. Karog made loping direwolves look sluggish. Despite his immense mass, he was neither slow nor clumsy. He tore across the length between us and our target with long, hunched strides.


    The chorn hunched, then bounded off the wall like a big, emaciated toad. It moved fast, blurring with speed. Karog swiped his arm to one side, hurling his machete. It embedded itself in the wall where the demon had lurked, missing it by less than a foot.


    Karog snarled with rage and freed his second blade from its sheath. I wasn¡¯t far behind him, my axe ready.


    The chorn jumped to the rightmost wall, the blank white eyes of its main body moving to the ogre. It jumped just as Karog slammed into the wall in a shoulder charge. The tunnel rumbled, stone and dust and less sanitary things billowing around the point of impact.


    For a moment, I couldn¡¯t see anything through all the dust. I skidded to a stop, taking Faen Orgis in a two handed grip. I squinted into the cloud, the light in my eyes useless for this sort of obscurement.


    I heard a tittering, nervous laugh, oddly hollow. My only warning. I swung just as the chorn erupted from the dust cloud, cracked nails like avian talons slashing.


    I carved a gash along its chest and stomach as it went over me. Its claws caught me, but only sparked off the black iron rings of my hauberk.


    In a surreal moment of almost whimsical horror, I caught sight of the woman¡¯s body emerging from the thing¡¯s back. She flopped like a dead limb, toothless mouth split in a grin. She didn¡¯t have any eyes, just veined flesh where they should have been.


    Demons are immortal spirits, but they craft bodies of bone and flesh in order to walk in our material realm. When I cut it, its blood splattered me, reeking bad as the sewage. Some of it got near my eyes and began to burn.


    I stumbled, cursing and wiping at my face, only to hear a loud splash. I spun, but the murky water in the middle of the tunnel had already started to settle.


    Karog burst from the dust cloud behind me almost that same instant, ready for a fight. I pointed at the sewer water with my axe.


    ¡°It¡¯s in there.¡±


    Karog regarded the sludge for a second, then stepped forward to plunge in. I barred his way with my weapon.


    ¡°It¡¯s moving away,¡± I told him. The world still quietly thrummed with a sense of wrongness, but it faded fast.


    ¡°Which way?¡± Karog snapped.


    I narrowed my eyelids, concentrating. The city, the labyrinth of filth, my own racing heart, all of it obscured the sensations my powers game me. My aura worked best in quiet meadows and autumnal forests, where the magic had been cultivated. Here in this city...


    I had to guess. It wasn¡¯t difficult ¡ª the thing had taunted me, when it could have kept up this cat and mouse as long as it wanted. I spat out a savage curse and began to move even as I spoke.


    ¡°Emma. It¡¯s going for Emma.¡±


    Karog lumbered into step with me, though he asked his question even as we moved. ¡°Why?¡±


    Amber fire ate through the cracks in my axe¡¯s handle as I answered. ¡°Because Yith sent it. He wants revenge, and she was there when I hurt him.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 2: Costs

    Arc 5: Chapter 2: Costs


    This ugly hunt had been a distraction. And a message.


    For two weeks the Hammer Ward, a poorer district mostly populated by lower tier guild houses and workshops, had been inundated with cases of murder and arson. The court had suspected the Carmine Killer returned after weeks of silence, or perhaps more rioting from Priory sympathizers. I had investigated, and soon realized what we were dealing with.


    My leather boots slapped at the slick stone of the sewer tunnel as I moved fast as I dared, trying to remember the proper path. Karog lumbered behind me, his gait making me think he instinctively wanted to drop to all fours. With his cleaver in one hand and the big lantern in the other, he could not.


    Neither of us spoke, our pace too quick and the treacherous tunnel occupying all our attention. Once again, Karog spotted the threat before I did.


    ¡°Something ahead,¡± he huffed.


    I heard it a moment later. Claws scraping on stone, along with the sound of harsh, squealing voices. Like pigs, or...


    Their shapes coalesced ahead, lurching, shaggy and course, with bright red eyes bloated into tortured looking spheres.


    Rats. Woed rats.


    Each was half as large as a full grown man, mangy and gaunt, covered in cancerous protrusions of sharp bone. They swarmed forward, letting out eager cries only superficially like the creature they resembled as they spotted us. They crawled over one another in their fervor to get forward, their scabby mouths foaming.


    The nearest leapt, moving with uncanny speed. I sidestepped, almost going into the stew as the slick stone betrayed me, and fouled my cut. I took one of the woed¡¯s twisted forelimbs instead of cleaving its skull, sending a spray of blood in an arc across the floor.


    Karog finished it, ramming his machete into the huge rat¡¯s gut while it was still airborne. It scrabbled, enraged and snapping. The ogre sneered before hurling it into the sewer water.


    There were plenty more. I righted myself, cursing at the cramped environment. The rats filled the tunnel ahead, no doubt sent by the chorn to waylay us. It confirmed my suspicion about its goal.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to cut through them,¡± I said. Karog didn¡¯t reply. I had to hope he¡¯d heard.


    I lifted Faen Orgis in front of my face, almost as though saluting, and amber aureflame burned within the oak branch¡¯s cracks. It gave the hooked blade a brassy sheen as well, making it shimmer as I swept it to my right, ducking low.


    I shot forward, the metal rings of my hauberk rattling. The woed beasts bore down on me, crazed eyes forming a sickly constellation, their bodies pressed so close they were nearly one solid mass. They weren¡¯t demons. Not truly. Just poor, sick animals the demon had twisted to its purposes.


    Would that have been my fate, I wondered? Perhaps the thought colored some of the hatred, and the revulsion, that went into my clenched muscles.


    I clove one nearly in half in a flickering arc of soul fire as I swept my axe overhand. I cut the next, and the next, teeth clenched against the stink of burning, filthy fur and rancid blood. Karog let out a bellow as he barreled into the mass behind me, keeping the rats from surrounding us.


    One landed on me, claws digging into the gaps in my coat of iron rings, its buck teeth going for my neck. I stumbled back, momentum halted by its weight. This let another go for my legs. I¡¯d reinforced my shins with steel, but I didn¡¯t wear full plate.


    With a shout, I hurled the one on my chest into the wall. My whole body surged with aureflame, reinforcing my natural strength. The creature¡¯s bones cracked as it hit the oily stone. I rammed the sharp point of wood at my axe handle¡¯s base into the one below me, puncturing its brain. Even that didn¡¯t kill it instantly, as it continued trying to gnaw on my greave even as its legs spasmed.


    I kicked that one away, pulling my weapon free just in time to take the lower jaw off a particularly huge beast plowing toward me like a bloody eyed boar. It even had tusks like one, which I shattered in a spray of cutting shards. I went around it, wincing as bits of tooth struck me, letting it ram into the piling bodies. It would bleed out quick enough.


    Some of my own blood ran down my temple where a shard of tusk had stuck. I plucked it out, glaring into the tunnel ahead.


    Just like that, it was over. I had some scrapes and was out of breath, but little worse. Karog had killed more than half the things while I¡¯d carved a path through the swarm¡¯s center. His machete dripped dark blood into the trench.


    Wasted time. I started moving without a word, Karog lumbering into step behind me.


    Not far ahead, the tunnel widened into a chamber ending in a culvert. Drain water poured in a narrow waterfall into the central trench of the chamber, feeding fresh rain into the sludge.


    My squire waited for us there. Eighteen, slim and dark haired with avian brown eyes, she wore a shirt of chain mail under a thigh-length tunic. She was wet from rain runoff and had a foul expression on her face, but seemed otherwise unharmed.


    Fifty feet. ¡°Emma!¡± I shouted, slowing.


    Her eyes shot up, then narrowed to make me out. She would only be able to see the distant light of Karog¡¯s lantern, the rest of the light coming through the drain pipe from the street above. She had her sword, a long saber made for war with a slight curve and an ornate hilt, drawn and held in her right hand. Ready for trouble.


    She opened her mouth to say something, but I didn¡¯t hear it. I called out again, but the sewer tunnel seemed to swallow my words, making them hollow and short lived.


    I realized that Emma seemed to be getting further away even as I speed-walked toward her. Like a bad dream where you try to run to the end of a long tunnel even as it kept stretching out before you.


    The chorn had beaten us here.


    ¡°EMMA!¡± I roared. She called something back, but I only heard a distant tinny echo.


    Something began to emerge from the water in the trench below where Emma stood. Long, pale arms stretching up like some ghostly mermaid out of a fetid lagoon.


    I began to concentrate on the same dispelling Art I¡¯d used to destroy this trick before. No time, I realized. Phantasms needed time to form into the right shape along with the proper ritual motions, or they¡¯d be useless for their intended purpose. Just pretty glowing mist and light.


    I kept moving, breaking into a sprint. The sound of the tunnel turned surreal. My heavy breaths, my beating heart, the clinking rings of my armor overly loud in my ears. The fear struck me like a hammer.


    Emma had returned my cloak. The deep red garment, woven by Qoth¡¯s people, kept dry on the inside even in the steady downpour. The rain wasn¡¯t so cold as it had been in past weeks, one of many signs of the summer fast approaching. It should have left me shivering even so, but I wasn¡¯t often cold thanks to the blessed fire woven into me.


    This was how the guard found me. The clicks of iron-shod talons echoed off the square as a small contingent of mounted soldiers came down the street. They wore the yellow livery of Garihelm¡¯s regulars and rode cockatrices, large raptors favored by Reynish soldiery.


    The leader of the band didn¡¯t wear Reynish yellow, but instead an ornate set of white-green armor fashioned into the shape of ridged sea shells, one pauldron forming a spiral above one shoulder. A cape the color of sea foam kept the knight¡¯s gear relatively dry.


    The leader dismounted from her chimera and stomped over to me, sabatons clacking through the rain. She doffed her helmet in a single smooth motion, the curved two-hander on her back rattling dangerously as she fixed me with a scowl.


    Ser Kaia Gorr, the Empress¡¯s First Sword and leader of her household guard, was a big woman with nearly as many scars as me. She kept her ash colored hair shaved on the sides, forming a martial swoop that shadowed her right eye. Her voice had a faint accent common in the northern isles, clipped and guttural.


    ¡°You were supposed to wait for us to close off this area,¡± she snapped. ¡°I hadn¡¯t even gotten my men into the sewers.¡±


    I shrugged, little energy left to argue. I sat on the edge of the fountain still, my axe propped head down. I felt tired, sore, and wanted a proper bath even despite the rain. I wouldn¡¯t have minded a meal, though the horror down below the spot I presently sat remained too fresh for food to sound appealing.


    ¡°Well?¡± Kaia demanded. ¡°What do you have to report?¡±


    Karog had vanished already. He hadn¡¯t been here on behalf of the Imperial court, but for his own people down in the slums. No doubt he¡¯d gone to report our success to Parn and his people.


    I had people to answer to as well. Kaia Gorr was not one of them. Yet, I had enough enemies.


    I stood, and immediately felt the tension of the mounted guardsmen like a prickling electricity in the air. Their mounts shifted, beaks and talons clicking as they sensed the nervousness of their riders. The soldiers watched me from the shadows of their helms, hands lingering close to their weapons.


    Ignoring them, I spoke to the royal knight. ¡°The creature is dead. My squire finished it off.¡± No need to explain about the familiar. It was Emma¡¯s creature, so she got the credit.


    Kaia narrowed her eyes and glanced toward where Emma lingered nearby. The girl gave a condescending little finger wave, smirking. The Empress¡¯s champion snorted.


    ¡°There were mutant rats down there,¡± I added. ¡°I¡¯d have your guards sweep the tunnels in number, probably arm them with spears and crossbows. Woed are hard to kill, but not so hard as demons. Have a clericon soak their weapons in holy water, maybe send some who have a useful battle Art. Aura hurts them bad as anything.¡±


    Kaia nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Was it him? The Carmine Killer?¡±


    When I shook my head, she cursed savagely in her own language. Then she did it in the common speech for good measure.


    ¡°More than a year and this thing still eludes us,¡± she spat bitterly. ¡°And now there are more of them? Where are they all coming from?¡±


    A good question. One I was still trying to figure out an answer to.


    ¡°The gargoyles on the city walls and churches should be preventing them from crossing into the city easily,¡± I said. ¡°The whole capital should have a strong threshold too, being a cathedral city. It¡¯s a veritable fortress against the profane.¡±


    They managed to infiltrate Elfhome, I reminded myself. And the Blessed Country was far better guarded.


    Kaia glowered into the rain. ¡°Well, they are here. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be some expert at hunting them, Headsman?¡±


    My turn to glare. ¡°It¡¯s a large city, not even counting everything below the lagoon. If we could convince the court to provision an expedition into the Undercity...¡±


    Kaia snorted. ¡°With the summit still ongoing? There¡¯s a gaggle of monarchs in town, Hewer. The Emperor can¡¯t afford to show weakness by gutting his garrison for some foray into the crypts.¡±


    She clapped a gauntleted hand on my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s your job to hunt this thing. I can¡¯t spare men to help you every time. Priory sympathizers are still instigating violence every day, and there are hundreds of knights here for the tournament from other realms, some of them from one still technically at war with us.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t forgotten about Talsyn. Even still, I clenched my jaw in frustration.


    Kaia met my eyes evenly, where most would wince or squint at the glint of light in them. ¡°You want to provision resources for your monster hunt? Convince the Emperor. Her Grace has enough on her plate trying to calm tensions down from your stunt last month.¡±


    I winced. The city still reeled from the outbreak of violence following my raid on Rose Malin, the base of operations for the Priory of the Arda and stronghold of the Inquisition. I had delivered a sentence of execution to the Grand Prior, but there had been dramatic repercussions.


    Rosanna Silvering, the Empress of the Accorded Realms as well as my former liege lady and friend, had spent years trying to keep conflicts between the radical factions of the Church and the noble Houses from flaring into bloodshed. I had ruined all those efforts in a night. I¡¯d had good reasons, and perhaps stopped something worse. Even still...


    Rosanna hadn¡¯t spoken to me since. I¡¯d had to get Kaia to help with the chorn hunt as a favor, and I suspected the knight would not hesitate to call that in.


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll speak with the Emperor.¡±


    Kaia snorted again, this time with even more derision. ¡°Good luck getting a word in with him. We¡¯re less than a week from it now, you know.¡±


    I blinked. Had it really snuck up on us so fast? I caught Emma¡¯s excited expression, though she coughed and looked away when she saw my sour look.


    ¡°The damned tournament,¡± I growled. I had enough problems already.

 Arc 5: Chapter 3: Long Shadows

    Arc 5: Chapter 3: Long Shadows


    The rain let up as Emma and I approached the gates of the Fulgurkeep. Despite that, thunder rumbled in the dark clouds swirling high above the citadel. There always seemed to be thunder above the mighty fortress of House Forger. Perhaps that is how it got its name.


    Standing sentinel over the dark waters of the Riven Sea on a craggy island, the Emperor¡¯s palace consisted of multiple interconnected castles and a copious number of jutting towers and winding curtain walls. It rose high over the lashing waters of the bay, a brooding crown of solid stone and black volcanic rock, with knights and gargoyles standing sentry at every parapet.


    Three bridges connected the Fulgurkeep to different sections of the city, the sprawl of the capital blooming from its stem like a great flower. After I¡¯d arrived in the city and reconnected with Rosanna, I had tended to use the westernmost gate connected to her personal bastion, consisting of its own castle complex within the Fulgurkeep¡¯s whole.


    No longer. Now I used the main bridge, approaching openly and announcing myself to the sentries by name. I didn¡¯t dress in inconspicuous garb any longer, but in my blood red cloak and black chain mail, my elven axe visible at my hip where I kept it secured through an iron ring.


    The guards watched me warily as the gate swung open and I stepped through. My reputation, the dramatic display I¡¯d made in the court weeks before, and the fact I¡¯d single handedly slain a cathedral full of priorguard here in this very city had made many nervous around me.


    It wasn¡¯t an atmosphere I enjoyed, though it had its uses. And I¡¯d made this choice.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to appear before the court looking like that, are you?¡± Emma followed close at my heel, trying to keep up with my longer strides without looking like she tried. ¡°You¡¯ve still got blood and, uh... sewage on you.¡±


    ¡°My cloak will cover most of it,¡± I muttered back. ¡°Besides, they should see there¡¯s work that needs doing, and not all of it is clean.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor won¡¯t be pleased,¡± Emma warned in a low voice.


    ¡°I know,¡± I sighed.


    We had to step aside as a group of mounted nobles crossed the bridge. They were brightly dressed and bearing arms, and rode handsome steeds much closer to the classic horse than the guard cockatrices. They tossed us dubious looks as they passed, which I ignored and Emma returned with a stubborn lift of her chin.


    One of the nobles detached from the group, pulling up beside us on a roan beast with owlish ear tufts and a fox tail, its hooves shoed in brassy steel. The man astride it had dark yellow hair and a refined goatee.


    Recognizing him, I nodded a greeting. ¡°Ser Tegan.¡±


    Tegan Barker inclined his head, giving an even deeper bow to my squire. She sniffed at his gallantry, but didn¡¯t comment.


    ¡°Master Alken! I hear I¡¯ll be calling you Ser Alken before long. Perhaps even Lord.¡±


    I adjusted my cloak, torn between the urge to shrug and shuffle. ¡°That isn¡¯t set in stone yet.¡±


    Ser Tegan made a dismissive gesture. ¡°Everyone expects it. But I¡¯ve had a stomach full of politics today. You off to see His Grace?¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Which one?¡±


    Tegan let out a sharp, pitched laugh. ¡°Hah! Very good. Our blessed emperor is in court now, along with the Judge and some other big heads.¡±


    He shifted his mount closer with a deft pull of the reigns, lowering his voice so those sentries nearby couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°Some of the talk has been about that Greengood girl¡¯s trial. Have you given any thought to what I mentioned last we spoke?¡±


    I pitched my voice low as his and kept any emotion from it. ¡°I told you then, Tegan. It¡¯s a bad idea. It won¡¯t help her.¡±


    Tegan shook his head, exasperated. ¡°It¡¯ll help her if it means we win. There are some right tough bastards who took the Grand Prior¡¯s side. We have me, that Cymrinorean, and the Ironleaf. With you, our victory would be practically a foregone conclusion.¡±


    Despite the damage done to the Priory, not least of which included their reputation, they had insisted on upholding the accusation levied by the late Grand Prior against the lady Laessa, accusing her of witchcraft and holding her on suspicion of being involved in the Carmine Killings. Her fate would be decided in a trial of arms on the first day of the upcoming tournament.


    Tegan and some others seemed to think it a good idea for me to participate. I disagreed.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just about winning a bout in the Coloss, Tegan.¡± I shook my head tiredly, having already had this argument. ¡°If I throw in with you publicly, it¡¯ll tarnish the girl¡¯s reputation further. My position here is already tentative.¡±


    Ignoring all personal grievances, that was exactly why Rose and I had to distance from one another. I was a black sheep, a renegade who¡¯d bullied his way back into the peerage. No amount of divine intervention changed the politics of the matter.


    Little more than a month and I¡¯m already goring sick of politics, I silently grumbled.


    Tegan huffed, straightening on his saddle. ¡°Well, we¡¯ve got a bit of time. Think on it. We could use you, Hewer.¡±


    He gave Emma another nod, then spurred his beast on after the party he¡¯d ridden out with. Emma watched him go with a hawkish intensity I¡¯d learned to recognize as a dangerous sign.


    ¡°We should have steeds,¡± she said as we started walking again.


    ¡°I spend all my time in the city anyway,¡± I replied. ¡°And I¡¯ve told you why I don¡¯t do mounts.¡±


    I walked some haunted roads, and even in the depths of a metropolis like Garihelm, the risk of any beast I kept at hand getting possessed, driven insane, or butchered horribly was too great. My powers came with a number of costs, including a tendency to draw disquiet spirits and other ghastly attention. I¡¯d had terrible things happen to animals often enough over the years that I¡¯d decided to just keep to marching.


    Empty. I frowned at that. Where are you, Rose?


    My attention returned to the Verdanhigh nobleman as he addressed the leader of the realms. ¡°Understanding this loss and compensating for it are not the same, Your Grace. My people are outcasts, living off the charity of the Accord. All I ask is that we be given the resources needed to recover our homeland, so that we may provide for this confederation as equals.¡±


    By this point, I¡¯d reached a position in the ring of courtiers relatively close to the dais. Most moved for me, either because of my looming height or perhaps my odor. I didn¡¯t care either way. Cairbre had shuffled off somewhere when I¡¯d stopped asking questions, and only Emma shadowed me.


    I moved in to occupy the empty space around a tall figure clad in the brown robes of a monk. I muttered a greeting to the elf. Oradyn Fen Harus winked a deep blue eye at me before returning his attention to the scene at the court¡¯s center. Emma kept back a ways in the outer ring of lesser officials and servants waiting on the pleasure of the lords. Listening to their whispers as much as watching my back, I knew.


    ¡°You wish to benefit the Accord as equals,¡± a deeply basso voice rumbled with pipe organ tones. The Lord Steward, looming taller than any man in the court at the Emperor¡¯s right hand, leaned forward like some union between cherub and giant. ¡°Yet, Lord Desmond, you would place yourself far more deeply in our debt were we to indulge this request.¡±


    ¡°Indulge?¡± Lord Desmond asked, his aged voice taking on an edge.


    From below the throne, another figure cleared his throat. Oswald Pardoner, who was sometimes called Lord of Judges and spoke for the Bairn Cities, took a step forward to address the patriarch. Gaunt and normally sepulchral in his mannerisms and dark garments, he used a soothing, diplomatic voice now.


    ¡°Much of our land was left wounded by the war, my lord.¡± Oswald clasped his long fingers together, his voice and expression not unsympathetic. ¡°There are once fertile countrysides left to be reclaimed by the wilderness. Entire demesnes have been left without leadership. Prosperous new land could be claimed for your people, abandoned castles and manors restored for your knights. Reclaiming Verdanhigh from the woed beasts and other threats now occupying it could not be done without cost, and resettling such injured territory could be the work of generations.¡±


    The Pardoner lord spread his hands out, the sleeves of his black robes of state unfolding like crow wings. I saw Desmond¡¯s gnarled hands tighten on the head of his cane, tendons standing out. The only sign of his growing tension.


    ¡°Verdanhigh is our home,¡± Desmond said in a strained voice. ¡°Our people have worked that soil since the first days of Urn¡¯s settling by our nations.¡± He placed a hand to his breast. ¡°My House was tasked by God Herself to govern that land. It was blessed by Her own feet, its wheat made golden by Her own hand. The Heir of Heaven gave us this sacred duty.¡±


    Many in the court stirred with this show of piety. My attention remained on the growing sense of frustration and anger in the old man, and something else. He seemed familiar, but I couldn¡¯t place why.


    Desmond¡¯s voice took on an edge of grating steel. ¡°I will not abandon my charge to become some minor provincial vassal, left to oversee the tilling of fields that will not even feed mine own people. You would make slaves of us.¡±


    The Steward¡¯s face darkened. ¡°That is a serious accusation, Lord Desmond.¡±


    The old nobleman did not quaver or back down, as many did beneath the threatening baritones of the towering Steward. His attention remained fixed on the Emperor, his bright blue eyes clear as cerulean crystal despite his age.


    Markham Forger settled back into his throne. He didn¡¯t do anything so telling as sigh, though his voice came softer than it might have. ¡°I would not do such a thing to your House, not after all it has already suffered. However, all the land still bleeds from the war. New prosperity has been brought from our trade with the west, true, but it will take time for much of that to bear fruit. Even still...¡±


    Markham¡¯s eyes went to Oswald¡¯s, who nodded. The Emperor¡¯s voice lifted, and I knew he addressed the whole court then.


    ¡°In these trying times, we must pull together. The downfall of one great House is a tragedy, one we should neither dismiss nor allow through idleness. Therefore, I have decided to offer Lord Desmond a seat on the Ardent Round.¡±


    Fen Harus shuffled at my side, his cloven hooves striking the stone floor with audible clicks. ¡°A bold move,¡± the elf said in his soft, musical voice. With a four fingered hand, he stroked at the tufts of white hair falling from beneath his elongated chin. ¡°That will have repercussions.¡±


    Desmond looked stricken. He opened his mouth to speak, coughed, then adjusted his grip on his cane. ¡°That is a... but my House, and those it represents, have nothing to offer the Accord at this time. To give me a seat on its highest council...¡±


    He trailed off as Markham nodded. ¡°You have wisdom,¡± the Emperor said, ¡°and you are a high lord of Urn regardless of your circumstances. Your House bears blood from Edaea, and that should not be dismissed. Will you accept?¡±


    Not all the faces in that court looked pleased, I noted. In particular, the Princess of Graill, Snoe? Farram, had an expression not dissimilar to an angry thundercloud.


    ¡°I accept,¡± Lord Desmond said after regaining his composure. ¡°I will endeavor to prove worthy of the honor, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt,¡± the Emperor said without irony.


    Fen Harus lamented quietly at my side. ¡°This will earn them enemies. They have already suffered much, and few will see what good they might accomplish through the shadow cast over their line. Ah, poor House Wake! I fear they languish under a terrible curse.¡±


    I startled, looking first at the elf and then at the delegation of haunted eyed nobles, in their threadbare vestments and tarnished finery. ¡°Wait... that¡¯s House Wake? That¡¯s Desmond Wake?¡±


    I should have realized, but I¡¯d thought the clan destroyed or gone into hiding. I had known there were surviving highborn from Verdanhigh, but I hadn¡¯t thought the most famous ¡ª no, the most infamous ¡ª of them would make such a public appearance.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Fen Harus said sadly. ¡°They are still trying to make up for the treachery of their greatest daughter.¡±


    I let out a long breath, images of fire and horror playing behind my eyes. An immortal king, made not so immortal by the swords driven into his back, caped and armored figures encircling him.


    That was why the old man looked so familiar. I could see it in the lines of his face, the way he carried himself, hear it in the way he spoke. Desmond resembled her, his aunt, though she hadn¡¯t looked a day over forty when I¡¯d last seen her thanks to the Alder¡¯s blessings.


    The High Captain of the Knights of the Alder Table. My high captain, greatest of the paladins of Seydis, and the worst traitor in Urn¡¯s history save for only one. Her name escaped my lips without me meaning to say it, as though dragged forth by a hook.


    ¡°Alicia.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 4: The Game

    Arc 5: Chapter 4: The Game


    Not long after Desmond Wake made his address to the court, many of those gathered began to depart as the day aged and more pressing business concluded.


    So it was that a gutted assembly turned its attention when I was finally called to speak before the throne. I took a deep breath, traded a nod with the Seydii ambassador, and stepped out into the middle of the hall.


    More than a hundred eyes fell on me. Most of them were scribes and other bureaucrats, many of the lords having drifted out. Emma gave me an encouraging gesture, though I sensed some of my nervousness reflected in her face.


    Distantly, I heard the main doors crack open. I caught a glimpse of two people entering, but my brief look didn¡¯t tell me who they were before they shifted into the nooks behind the towering columns.


    Markham and the Lord Steward fixed their attention on me. Oswald remained, though Princess Snoe? had gone out not long after the Wakes. I saw no sign of the contending rulers of the Bannerlands, the Lady Ark and the young Lord Brightling. Roland, the King of Venturmoor, had taken a force out to investigate sightings of a rogue storm ogre still rampaging across the countryside, a sibling to the one I¡¯d killed more than a month before. Many of the greater lords weren¡¯t in attendance.


    And I still didn¡¯t see Rosanna.


    Emma shot a glare to Cairbre, who¡¯d been lurking off behind the assembly and trying not to be noticed. He flinched when he caught my squire¡¯s stare and cleared his throat, lifting his voice to echo across the chamber.


    ¡°Uh, yes, erm... presenting Alken Hewer, the Headsman of, uh... Seydis!¡±


    I winced. Titters ran like rustling leaves in a soft wind across the gathered officials. I took a deep breath, fought down my unease, and knelt on one knee before the throne.


    ¡°Rise.¡± Markham¡¯s voice once again filled the chamber with rumbling volume. I stood, tossed my cloak behind one shoulder so my weapons and armor were visible as was proper, and rested my hand on Faen Orgis¡¯s head.


    Best to remind them all who I am, I thought. Emma¡¯s warning hadn¡¯t failed to find some purchase.


    Markham¡¯s gray eyes took in my appearance, lingering on the signs of battle I hadn¡¯t yet removed. His lips formed a thinner line, though I couldn¡¯t tell if it was a pensive expression or a frustrated one.


    ¡°We have heard rumors of a disturbance in the Hammer Ward,¡± The Emperor said. ¡°What do you have to report, Headsman?¡±


    No additional title. A not so subtle reminder that my position here had yet to be formalized. I swallowed that pill and lifted my chin to speak clearly. I told the court of my investigation in the city, what I¡¯d discovered and how I¡¯d dealt with it. I told them of gaining support from the Drains, refusing to deny the changeling community credit. Without them, I never would have figured out that woed beasts were lurking in the sewers in such number. I spoke of how Karog and I had coordinated with the guard to entrap the chorn, and how my squire had finished it.


    This drew some looks Emma¡¯s way. She shifted off to the side, most of the other attendants having given her a wide berth. She seemed to form her own little island within the shadow of the columns.


    ¡°We have a report from the Empress¡¯s champion,¡± the Lord Steward intoned. ¡°Is it true that you triggered the chase for this beast before she had her men in position, engaging in pursuit which might have driven the creature deeper into the depths and beyond our reach?¡±


    I met the Steward¡¯s beady eyes, biting back my frustration. ¡°The chorn was onto us, Lord Steward. If I hadn¡¯t taken the opportunity to run it down, we might have lost our chance.¡±


    ¡°And you made this determination alone,¡± the Steward insisted. ¡°Throwing yourself and those you drafted into danger to claim personal victory.¡±


    Mutterings from the courtiers. My jaw clenched several times as I tried to find the right words to reply, juggling formality with succinct, factual information. It had always been a dance I had little skill in, even during my time as Rosanna¡¯s champion in the Karledale.


    I knew the Steward¡¯s type. He was a bureaucrat, twisting events in order to plant the seed of doubt into people¡¯s minds.


    ¡°I have experience hunting demons,¡± I said, addressing the whole court as much as arguing with the towering man beside the throne. ¡°I acted on that experience.¡±


    ¡°Your experience is well known to this court,¡± a gravelly voice called out from the remaining nobles. I suppressed another sigh, recognizing the speaker.


    Once again, the herald was late on the draw. ¡°Ah! Yes, the court recognizes, um, Lord Vander Braeve, the lord of, um.¡± Cairbre coughed loudly, shuffling. ¡°Of, uh... Burncastle?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t quite keep the note of question from the last part. Ignoring the nervous herald, a large man with dark brown hair and a short beard stepped forward. Dressed for war in the tradition of chivalry, the man was a knight as well as the speaker for his House.


    He also didn¡¯t like me much. Vander fixed me with his angry stare even as he addressed the throne. ¡°This man, Your Grace, has spent the last eight years acting independently of our... customs.¡±


    I could practically hear him almost say laws at the end.


    Vander¡¯s face turned red with rage. ¡°How dare you?¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Markham said, cutting our argument short. ¡°While his methods are not above reproach, Alken Hewer was given leave to deal with the threat as he saw fit. The creature is slain?¡±


    I forced my gaze away from Vander¡¯s hateful face to address the Emperor. ¡°Yes, Your Grace. As much as any demon can be.¡±


    Oswald Pardoner frowned, lifting a hand palm up in a beckoning gesture. ¡°What do you mean by this, Master Alken? Is it dead?¡±


    Oswald was an educated man, a scholar. He knew what I spoke of, and I felt a quiet surge of gratitude that he¡¯d decided to play dumb. I hadn¡¯t expected him to be my ally here, especially since he¡¯d argued against my pardon the day of my trial.


    ¡°Demons are immortal,¡± I said. ¡°Like elves. When one of the Sidhe die in body, their spirit remains imprinted into the world. They become part of the trees, the land, the light. Eventually, they reform.¡±


    Fen Harus nodded. ¡°This is so.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s similar for demons,¡± I added. ¡°Their spirits are drawn back to the Abyss., but they don¡¯t go gently. Their presence can sometimes burn holes into the fabric of our world to leave lasting wounds.¡±


    I glanced at the clericon. ¡°It is my recommendation that the site of the chorn¡¯s death be thoroughly cleansed.¡±


    The priest coughed and glanced at the Emperor. ¡°I concur with the Headsman¡¯s recommendation, Your Grace.¡±


    The Emperor nodded slowly. ¡°Granted. See to it.¡±


    The clericon bowed in a rustling of golden-brown cloth. Markham addressed me directly then. ¡°What of the Carmine Killer? Are you any closer to finding the source of this infestation?¡±


    I fought not to wince. ¡°My investigations are still ongoing, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe this monster has any connection to the one responsible for the events of the past year?¡± Oswald asked, his expression thoughtful.


    I nodded. ¡°It is possible, Lord Judge.¡±


    ¡°Possible,¡± The Steward repeated, clearly dissatisfied. The assembly stirred with discontent. I was losing them, I knew. No matter how much of an impression the appearance of two Onsolain might have made during my debut, my lack of results and the constant tide of events in the imperial court had done damage to their faith in me.


    It had done damage to my faith, as well. Three months, and all I¡¯d managed to do was kill a bunch of priests and ruin two friendships. Why had I bothered coming back to all of this?


    I caught a glimpse of Vander¡¯s face out of the corner of my vision. It remained taut with anger, his hand clenched into a fist near his sword. He hadn¡¯t taken his eyes off me.


    I had made another enemy, after all. I shouldn¡¯t have mentioned his father.


    I caught movement from the other side of the chamber. Two figures had slotted themselves into a space among the dignitaries, causing a small disturbance.


    They were both young, with dark brown hair and pale skin, a pair of twins. The brother was lanky, gaunt cheeked, with feverish eyes which never rested on any one thing for long. He wore his hair down to his shoulders, had an ashen complexion, and looked older than he was. He wore simple clothes, a tunic and breeches, with an unadorned sword at his hip.


    The sister, in contrast, had a classically pretty face, with lighter hair fashioned into twin coils above her ears. She wore a dress of burgundy and bright red, with tightly fit sleeves and a frilled collar. Much more the aristo than her brother.


    I knew them both, though I hadn¡¯t seen them more than a handful of times since they¡¯d arrived in the city. Hyperia Vyke, the Princess of Talsyn, caught my eye and tossed me a pleasant smile.


    My blood went cold.

 Arc 5: Chapter 5: Peer

    Arc 5: Chapter 5: Peer


    Later, in the Emperor¡¯s small council chamber, Markham tossed me a surly look as a servant worked at the fastens on his golden gauntlet.


    ¡°That was a shit show,¡± Markham said.


    He sat by the room¡¯s long table. His bodyguard stood near the door, helmed and anonymous as always. Off to the side, the Lord Steward and the Royal Clericon acted as the only other officials present, the latter armed with a quill in her function as scribe. I¡¯d had time to clean up some, get my armor scrubbed of filth and my cloak dried out, with fresh clothes beneath.


    I waited for more, but Markham¡¯s flint gray eyes seemed to look past me. Then with a sigh he said, ¡°Had I not cut in between you and Vander, he¡¯d probably have challenged you to a duel. Why did you have to mention his father?¡±


    I considered a moment, then decided excuses would get me nowhere. Not with this man. ¡°Because he irritated me. And because... it was true, Your Grace. Maxim Braeve was very dedicated to the Table, and he would have agreed with how I¡¯d handled that thing in the sewers.¡±


    In fact, he¡¯d have insisted on leaving Emma and Karog out of it. I didn¡¯t mention that part, and I was cautious not to imply that the old paladin still lived. That secret, along with the existence of Oria¡¯s Fane, were not mine to give. Perhaps Maxim¡¯s son deserved to know about his father, but it wasn¡¯t for me to decide.


    Markham grunted, then grit his teeth as the servant unlatched the last catch on his elaborate gauntlet and pulled it from his shoulder. The Emperor of the Accorded Realms lifted his mangled right hand, sighed, and leaned back in his chair to regard me with cool appraisal.


    ¡°My councilors had a point,¡± He said.


    Aware of the Steward looming nearby, I bit back the first retort that came to mind. Picking my words with care I said, ¡°The problems I¡¯m best at dealing with are those that need my personal hand, Your Grace. If I get held up by proper procedure, then¡ª¡±


    Markham leaned forward on his chair, something about his demeanor cutting my practiced words short. He wasn¡¯t a large man, or a thin one. Age and the rigors of his position had used him hard. Yet, despite that, he had a way of commanding without speaking.


    ¡°I am aware that your abilities and training with the Alder Table make you uniquely suited to dealing with supernatural threats,¡± Markham said. ¡°If I had a whole regiment of demon hunting warrior-priests, then believe me, I would use them. However, you are more than just a paladin of Seydis, Alken. You are the Headsman, and you agreed to integrate yourself into my government.¡±


    His expression hardened. ¡°If you throw yourself personally at every threat, alone or with just one or two in company, then there is every chance you will get yourself killed. Then I am left without an asset, and you have accomplished nothing. Your behavior also gives you tunnel vision. There is a reason generals do not often fight on the front line unless there is no other choice.¡±


    I suppressed a frustrated sigh. ¡°I am no general, Your Grace.¡±


    Markham drummed the intact fingers of his left hand on the table, ignoring the full cup of wine set there. ¡°Perhaps not. But we will both need to adapt for one another to make this work. I have been speaking with my councilors, including that Seydii ambassador, Fen Harus.¡±


    He waved his left hand, and the Lord Steward stepped forward.


    I did not know the man¡¯s name, and I suspected he might not be all human. Many aristocrats of the High Houses had old alchemy in their blood, from a darker era when mage-alchemists held much more power in the world. He stood more than seven feet tall, and it must have taken a small army of tailors to fit his bulk into his elaborate uniform, with all its buttons and fills. He had an almost cherubic face at odds with his size, with round cheeks and curled golden hair. His eyes tended to be hidden beneath a hanging brow, though I¡¯d caught a blue glint on the occasion he lifted one.


    Like Vander and some others in the court, he tended to challenge me on every occasion. However, with the Steward, I suspected this to be less of a personal grievance with me and more a service he provided for the Emperor. By being the accusatory voice in official affairs, he cut to the heart of matters that otherwise might be obscured by diplomatic poeticism.


    He also happened to have the honor of acting as the Emperor¡¯s closest advisor. When he spoke, it was wise to listen.


    ¡°Acting as the errant vigilante may have served you in the past,¡± the Steward said in his musical basso. ¡°However, it has also failed to provide results in the matter of the Carmine Killer, who you have hunted now for three months without success.¡±


    I tightened my jaw, refusing to rise to his flippant tone. The Steward lifted one of his drooping eyebrows, and I got the sense he approved. He continued in a more professional voice.


    ¡°This problem of the rogue spirit and whatever forces might be behind it will not be the only duty required of you. We are still working out the fine details, but you are to be given responsibilities outside of merely playing as the court monster hunter. Ser Fen Harus has informed us that the original holders of your title, the old Headsmen, were justiciars as well as executioners, and their actions were not always violent. They acted as arbiters, investigators, even diplomats of a sort.¡±


    I folded my arms. ¡°I¡¯m passingly familiar with the stories. The Headsmen were a type of doom bearer, dispensing judgements from the Sidhe lords across their realms.¡±


    It made sense to me that previous holders of my title acted in a preventative capacity. Their very reputation might stop disasters before they even had a chance to start, by cowing treacherous vassals into submission.


    The Steward nodded. ¡°Indeed. What this tells us is that using you merely as a hammer to strike at nails is an ill use of your talents, as both this thing and as an Alder Knight, who also had non martial functions. So, in the interest of... hm, let¡¯s just say refining your role in our Accord, we have decided to grant you certain duties in a trial capacity.¡±


    Unease, already coiling in my chest since I¡¯d entered the room for this private meeting, began to tighten its grip. ¡°Duties?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± The Steward said with the shadow of a smile, which I noted gave him dimples. ¡°First and foremost, outside of this ongoing investigation, you will be given some jurisdiction over various misdeeds in the city and its surrounds.¡±


    ¡°Misdeeds?¡± I asked.


    The Steward waved a hand, causing the rings on it to flash in the daylight spilling through the window. ¡°Crimes, mostly. Violent disturbances, particularly those the guard are unable to handle through ordinary means. We cannot always trust the Houses to be neutral in matters related to their own blood, and sometimes there is a case such as this creature you fought in the sewers.¡±


    The royal clericon¡¯s quill flitted dutifully on her podium. My heart sank. ¡°I see. And?¡±


    The Steward continued, beginning to pace along one side of the table opposite from Markham, who¡¯d remained silent through this. ¡°In the future, we may have you travel abroad to provide similar services across the Accord¡¯s member realms. That will require the Ardent Round to weigh in, and in the meantime there is enough to do here in the capital. You will deliver reports to the court in person once a month, and written reports to me weekly. You will also be required to keep records of your activities, and familiarize yourself with the city¡¯s laws and current events. You will coordinate with the guard, and keep up to date with their records of crime and punishment.¡±


    The Oradyn bowed, folding his monkish sleeves together. ¡°Gladly, O¡¯ King of Kings.¡±


    My mind had gone blank, refusing to accept what was happening, what I¡¯d started to suspect even as Fen Harus had entered. It was old tradition for one of the Sidhe to bear witness to such ceremonies, and give their kind¡¯s blessing.


    The Steward approached, his steps almost vibrating through the carpeted stone beneath me. He handed something to Markham. I didn¡¯t even need to look up to know what it was.


    The Emperor of the Accorded Realms of Urn lifted the sword in a practiced salute using his left hand. It was a slender thing, its hilt gilded and shaped into intricate spirals, prayers etched into the blade near the base.


    I could feel it through my aura. The sword had never seen battle, yet its touch had moved history, and history had clung to it as a near audible hum of power.


    My heart sounded a panicked rhythm in my ears. I didn¡¯t feel ready for this.


    ¡°I would have liked to do this in front of the court,¡± Markham said. ¡°But I think it best to keep the Accord¡¯s eyes off you until we remove the doubt surrounding this. Surrounding you. Those angels did much for you when they appeared that day, Alken, but they cannot make the realms believe in you. You must do that.¡±


    I bowed my head lower, taking a moment to find my voice. It came out hoarse. ¡°I understand, Your Grace.¡±


    A long silence. Then in a voice more quiet than I¡¯d ever heard from him Markham said, ¡°I believe you. I don¡¯t think many in all the legions of lords and knights and holy men I rule truly understand the stakes for which we play as you do, Alken. But you can no longer be the warrior vagabond. It is time to rejoin us, in truth.¡±


    He spoke words then, ones I¡¯d heard many times in my life. I had heard Rosanna speak them mostly, once with me kneeling at her feet as I did before her husband then. His voice had a sonorous quality, almost melodic, rolling over me like the ebb and flow of a heavy tide.


    In my memory, it overlapped with my queen¡¯s voice.


    He wove his own soul into those words. Markham was no paladin or magus, but he was leader of nations. He had a potent aura, and his words echoed into reality itself, sewn into the land¡¯s living memory.


    ¡°By the power vested in me as Knight Captain of the Faith, as King, as Emperor, as First Among Equals, I grant you these boons. I hereby restore to you the title of Lord, and all the responsibilities therein. You shall uphold my laws, act with grace in all matters, hold the traditions of our peoples close, and rule those beneath you justly in my name.¡±


    He tapped me on my left shoulder. I felt a thrum go through me, as though I¡¯d become the plucked chord on a harp.


    ¡°I restore to you the sacred honor of knighthood, to be canonized by the stewards of the Faith in the Golden Annals.¡±


    He tapped me on my right shoulder. My whole being quivered like a stricken bell. I gasped, forced to press a fist to the floor to keep upright.


    That hadn¡¯t happened the first time, all those years ago when Rosanna had knighted me. Then again, I hadn¡¯t been sewn up with sacred fire back then. This felt more like the second time, with the Archon.


    Markham made a flourishing salute with the sword, showing surprising dexterity considering he didn¡¯t use his dominant hand. ¡°By Blessed Gold, By the grace of Onsolem and its rightful queen, by all the saints dead and immortal, I grant it. Henceforth, you are a peer of the Accorded Realms and a Knight of the Aureate. Rise, Lord Alken.¡±


    I rose, feeling unsteady on my feet. My aura still thrummed with the change that had just been made to it. Such rites have very real consequence to me. I was practically a repository for them, thanks to what Fen Harus¡¯s people had done all those years ago.


    No going back now, not that I¡¯d intended to.


    Markham studied me a moment, as though inspecting a painting he¡¯d just put the finishing stroke on, then nodded. ¡°It is done. I will give you one night to perform whatever personal ritual you deem fit. Here in the north, we usually hold a night of vigil. I understand it is more common to have a feast in the south?¡±


    Taken aback, I nodded. ¡°There are many rituals in the south, Your Grace. Back in Karledale, the knights tended to celebrate with friends and family on such, uh, occasions.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t had any family back when Rosanna had knighted me, not any at hand. Just her and Lias. The three of us had spoken of the future late into the night. Then...


    White silk in the moonlight and hair like spun shadow under my hand. A voice softened by a nervousness I¡¯d never heard in it before.


    ¡°We have to be careful. This doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s alright.¡±


    Had that really been sixteen years ago? I still remembered it so clearly. I still felt the warmth of it.


    Markham put a hand on my shoulder. I pushed the memory aside, hoping my guilt didn¡¯t show on my face. ¡°Take tonight for yourself,¡± He said. ¡°Tomorrow, we get back to work.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 6: Home, For A Time

    Arc 5: Chapter 6: Home, For A Time


    As evening settled over the bay, the latest bout of rain broke to give way to a rising moon. It was the lesser one which waxed near full that night, distant and cold compared to its sibling, shaded in chill blues and dour grays. Its pale light left the waters of the bay a shining black, save for a single blade of silver tracing a path to the horizon.


    The eye of the Corpse Moon shone over the dock neighborhood where Emma and I had made our temporary home. One of many such waterside communities across the city, it was set near enough to the Fulgurkeep to give us easy access to the palace. We returned after nightfall, both dressed inconspicuously to lower the chances of anyone learning where we slept, our battle gear carried in bags.


    Our present lodgings consisted of a small house tucked near the wharf, two stories, with a tiled roof and its own little dock feeding into the lagoon. I¡¯d acquired a boat as well, allowing me to slip into the canals for more efficient travel.


    ¡°Pleasant night,¡± Rudy, the docker I paid to keep an eye on the place, said to us from where he sat with a fishing pole near the door.


    It was our code for ¡°all clear.¡± I nodded to him, slipped him some coin, and unlocked the door as he tipped his hat in thanks. When a gaggle of threatening whispers disturbed the shadows some distance away, he shuffled nervously and focused on his fishing. He hadn¡¯t yet gotten used to the eerie whispers and liquid darkness which tended to disturb my surroundings, the result of ghosts drawn by the aureflame I carried in me.


    The first floor of the little house was clean and bare of much furnishings. It had a stove for cooking and heat during colder weather, some stools and a table, and wall hooks for clothing or lamps. It had a pantry, a side room where Emma slept, and a set of stairs leading up to the second floor where I kept my things.


    Home. For now.


    Emma lit a pair of alchemical lamps, the most popular source of light since western trade had flooded into the subcontinent, and hung them along the wall. I got the stove going as she gathered some things from the pantry. We didn¡¯t talk much as I prepared a meal, both wandering the tangles of our own thoughts.


    When we both sat at the small table with bowls of steaming fish soup and buttered bread, Emma ignored the food at first and watched me. She¡¯d vanished into her room long enough to strip out of her billowy tunic and shirt of steel links, now left only in a cotton shirt and men¡¯s trousers not dissimilar from what I wore. I¡¯d stowed my armor and red cloak upstairs, leaving my axe propped against the wall nearby within easy reach, same as Emma did with her saber.


    ¡°So?¡± Emma asked, pressing the tips of her fingers together.


    I grunted, idly soaking my bread in the soup. ¡°So.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to look up to know she rolled her eyes. ¡°How did the meeting go with the Emperor?¡±


    I took the time to bite off a hunk of bread, chew it carefully, swallow, and take a few gulps of broth before finally meeting my squire¡¯s gaze. Her eyes were intent, curious and impatient at once. She¡¯d learned to read my moods, and had to know something had happened.


    I drummed the fingers of my left hand against the table, considering, then sighed. I wouldn¡¯t be able to keep it from her for long, and didn¡¯t have reason to anyway. I told her all of it, from the new responsibilities I¡¯d been given to my sudden elevation.


    After she¡¯d had time to chew on my story a while, along with the meal, Emma spoke in an uncharacteristically chipper voice. ¡°Honestly, you should be looking at this as a blessing in disguise.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Emma grinned brightly, though the malicious light in her eyes made the expression more manic than reassuring. ¡°Now you¡¯ll have fodder to throw at your problems, and won¡¯t have the need to blunder into every trap like some barbarian adventurer out of a Mirrebelian stage play.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°You know at least half the people they¡¯ll saddle me with will be spies, right? Just figuring out what sort of training they¡¯ll need, what they should and shouldn¡¯t know, how to make use of them without getting them all killed...¡±


    I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, feeling worn. ¡°It¡¯s a mess. I¡¯m not a leader, Em.¡±


    ¡°It will certainly be an adjustment.¡± Emma¡¯s lips pressed tight as she looked to the window across the room, unshuttered to let the cool night air in. It had been getting warmer every day. ¡°At the very least, you should use whatever staff you are provided to help ease some of the more clerical work. You don¡¯t have to let it be a burden, Alken. Let others bear some of that weight you¡¯re always lugging around.¡±


    I knew she wasn¡¯t just talking about potential subordinates. I managed a small smile. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. Besides, now my noble title is restored I¡¯ll need to start thinking about building a household. Perhaps I can make this the start of that.¡±


    Emma nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Am I going to be allowed to boss all these people around?¡±


    I shook my head in mock exasperation. ¡°They¡¯re not going to be your minions, Em. But... maybe. I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    Before either of us could say more, a knock came at the door. We both went still at once. There were many dangers in the city, especially since I had gone public. We¡¯d been careful to keep this place secret as we could, but the risk of getting tracked down by an enemy always hovered over us.


    Emma quietly shifted closer to her sword and nodded to me. I stood, moved to the little window, and checked outside. I caught a glimpse of Rudy sitting down the walk a ways, humming off key with his line still in the water.


    I went to the door, undid the bolt and chain, and cracked it open. A pale, smirking face greeted me, framed in a halo of chestnut curls.


    ¡°Hey, big man.¡± Catrin of Ergoth''s smirk became a grin, flashing slightly crooked teeth. ¡°Going to invite me in?¡±


    We went upstairs to talk in private while Emma cleaned up dinner and retired to her own room. Catrin paced around my bedroom, a simple space with a modest bed, a desk with some nick-knacks I¡¯d gathered, and a trunk for my things.


    She lingered by the window, glancing out over the wharf as I¡¯d done when she¡¯d knocked at the front door. Standing in the moonlight, she seemed to take on a sharper quality. The Greater Moon bothered her, but she basked in the touch of its colder sibling.


    Catrin looked to be in her late twenties, with a lean build and dark brown eyes arched by thick eyebrows, which tended to shift shades with her moods. Tonight, she wore a town girl¡¯s dress with a blue shawl and short, cuffed boots to navigate Garihelm¡¯s misty streets.


    I watched her a moment. ¡°You changed your hair.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s red-brown hair usually fell around her shoulders, left to grow in an unkempt mop. It had been more than a week since I¡¯d seen her last, and in that time she¡¯d trimmed her hair some and ironed it into ringlets.


    She turned sidelong to me, adjusting the neat curls in a self conscious gesture. ¡°Yeah. Just started a few days ago. Wanted to try something new, I guess.¡±


    ¡°It looks good,¡± I said.


    Catrin coughed and changed the subject. ¡°Settling in?¡± She asked conversationally.


    ¡°It¡¯s quiet here,¡± I said. ¡°I appreciate you helping us find it.¡±


    Catrin had helped me and Emma move around the city several times since I¡¯d had my invitation to the Empress¡¯s bastion revoked, leaving me in need of a place to rest my head. She knew people, and had her hands in webs of favors and information I could barely guess at. She moved through a very different world than the one I knew, one no less dangerous or complex. Where I rubbed elbows with kings, wizards, and immortals, her contacts included smugglers, prostitutes, mercenaries, and other seedy sorts.


    ¡°Hey now,¡± Catrin said in a tone of mock warning. ¡°Don¡¯t go thinking this is just some friendly favor. I¡¯m counting the debt, big man.¡±


    She turned from the window and held up a finger, brown eyes flashing with mischief.


    ¡°Oh?¡± I asked, leaning against the wall by my desk and folding my arms. ¡°And what would you have in return for our accommodations?¡±


    Catrin made a show of thinking about it as I moved to the desk, resting a hand near a small stack of papers.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± She asked, approaching to peek around my shoulder.


    The writing was my own ill-practiced scrawl, marking dates, locations, and other details of macabre events in the city over the past year. A black journal lay near it, some pots of ink and cheap quills, and not much else. The only other items included some stranger baubles, of the kind one might find in an alchemist¡¯s shop, or a witch¡¯s hut. Animal teeth, rare stones, old coins, and odder things.


    I suspected she¡¯d just meant my notes. ¡°Just what I¡¯ve gotten on the Carmine Killer so far,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to find connections, figure out if there¡¯s any thread between Yith¡¯s victims besides their involvement in the renaissance movement. It seemed like he was trying to ferment fear, sow discord between the nobles and the inquisitors, but there¡¯s got to be something more than that.¡±


    Catrin snorted, shaking her ringlets half in amusement and half in exasperation. I leaned forward on the chair, sighing.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain, Cat. This thing, getting my knighthood back, rejoining the peerage... it should feel different. I got driven into such a dark place when I lost it, but...¡±


    Catrin slipped from the bed and padded over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Al. I¡¯m listening.¡±


    I laid my hand over hers. Mine was bigger, and uglier. It had burn scars, starting at the fingers and running in jagged rivers up my wrist and crisscrossing all the way up the arm. I didn¡¯t have much hair left on my skin, not after years of being scorched by aureflame.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t earn all this back for some great deed,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not because the Houses and the Church regretted casting me out, or because I found penance or some redemption. I just killed a bunch of people.¡± I scoffed. ¡°Just like the first time, really. At least then it was Rose who gave it to me, and that mattered. I wanted to be her knight.¡±


    Catrin didn¡¯t say anything. Her hand was cold under mine, as it tended to be.


    Sighing, I finished my thoughts. ¡°This time, the honor comes with an office and a whole load of work. It hasn¡¯t fixed anything. Not like I thought it would.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve still got me, big man.¡± Catrin leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of my head. ¡°You¡¯ve got Emma, and you¡¯ve got a monster to slay. Don¡¯t go giving in to despair on me.¡±


    She sighed and rose back to her full height. ¡°It¡¯s getting late. I should get going. Ever since the Keeper latched the inn to this city, we¡¯ve been swamped.¡±


    She started to pull away. Before her hand slipped from mine, I tightened my hold on it. I kept my grip loose so she could pull away if she wanted to, careful not to seem possessive.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go so soon, do you?¡± I ran my thumb over the back of her hand. ¡°It¡¯s still early. Moon¡¯s only been up a couple hours.¡±


    ¡°Hm...¡± Catrin adopted a pensive expression. ¡°The Keep¡¯s been a real grouch lately. If I miss work, he¡¯ll make a stink of it.¡±


    She sighed regretfully. I kept my expression neutral. Her act might have been convincing, if she hadn¡¯t left her shawl on the bed or unlaced her boots while we¡¯d been talking.


    ¡°The Keeper has plenty of hands to pour drinks,¡± I reminded her. ¡°And you¡¯ve said it yourself, that the Headsman¡¯s secrets are valuable. He can¡¯t complain if you are working, even if it¡¯s outside the Backroad.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Catrin moved to stand in front of the chair, lacing her fingers through mine. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    Not the first time we¡¯d played this game. Her eyes were lit with humor, and hunger.


    I lifted her hand and kissed it. ¡°One question. Stay a while, and I¡¯ll let you ask one question. Anything you want, and I¡¯ll give you an honest and full answer. Up to you whether you give it to your inn or not.¡±


    I gave her a lot of trust with this. There were things she might ask me I didn¡¯t want going into her devil¡¯s inn, but she knew that too. I¡¯d trust her to decide what was safe to tell her master, and what she could keep for herself.


    Catrin slid into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and bringing our mouths close. Her cool breath brushed my face, inviting as the night air spilling through the window and tinted subtly with copper. She smelled of woodsmoke and something herbal.


    ¡°Emma is downstairs,¡± she reminded me with our lips inches apart. ¡°You sure?¡±


    I thought about it a moment, inhaling deeply, then shrugged. ¡°She¡¯s forgiven me for worse.¡±


    Catrin laughed, then kissed me deeply. We stayed like that until we were both breathless, then I carried her to the bed. She kept brushing me with her lips as I did, biting softly along my jaw, her fangs grazing my skin without breaking it. I felt a growing impatience in her, an insistence in her squirming limbs, in her grip around my shoulders.


    ¡°I was wondering...¡± She giggled as I bit gently at her tapered ear. She seemed to like when I did that.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I asked as she trailed off.


    ¡°Am I supposed to call you milord, now?¡±


    I tossed her onto the bed, then crawled over her. She stretched beneath me, biting her lip. Her eyes had taken on a brighter hue, eddies of red swirling through the brown to encircle pupils gone large with arousal. She pulled up her skirts to bare one pale leg, brushing it over my stomach, and lower.


    I grabbed the offered leg around the knee, eliciting a gasp. ¡°I would rather you didn¡¯t,¡± I said in as serious a voice as I could manage.


    She pouted. ¡°No fun.¡±


    Her body seemed colder than usual, but maybe that was just the damp dockside air blowing through the window. I¡¯d forgotten to close it. Ah, well.


    Catrin is not a patient lover. She likes to tease and play, but it¡¯s easy to get her worked up. Soon enough we had each other undressed, and she had me locked in her long limbs. I started gentle, but she got bored of that quickly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not one of your dainty ladies,¡± she hissed into my ear. ¡°You don¡¯t have to waste time like this, Hewer.¡±


    Was I holding back? I hadn¡¯t meant to.


    Catrin¡¯s sharp nails dug into my back, hard enough to break skin. I grunted. Again, her breathy voice chilled my neck.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re pent up. I know you¡¯ve seen some horrible shit, lately. You don¡¯t... ah! fuck... you don¡¯t have to hold back with me, Alken. I can take it.¡±


    Her claws dug in harder. like a spur into a riding chimera¡¯s flank. It had its intended effect. I stopped thinking, stopped fretting about tomorrow, stopped dwelling on what I had seen down in the stinking darkness beneath the streets, along with all the other terrible things trapped in my memory.


    I pushed away my fear that I might hurt the woman beneath me. She wanted me to. Catrin had her own darkness.


    I let it all go, and stopped holding back. Catrin¡¯s cries became louder, her pleas and breathless words of encouragement driven by approval now rather than frustration. She didn¡¯t care who heard. Soon enough, neither did I.


    When I felt her lips lingering at my neck, it was my turn to urge her on.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. You can.¡±


    She bared her sharp teeth against my skin, and through that sensation I felt her bloodlust. One snip, one flex of muscle, and she¡¯d bite through. She seemed to be hesitating, even as a soft moan of need escaped her.


    ¡°Just do it already.¡±


    I¡¯d been afraid of that hunger once, revolted by it, but I anticipated it now almost as much as the approaching release. I waited for her fangs to sink in.


    Catrin just held me tighter, and did not bite.

 Arc 5: Chapter 7: Admission

    Arc 5: Chapter 7: Admission


    We lay together after in a tangle of sweaty limbs and sheets. Catrin still held me tightly, nuzzling my chest so her curly mane hid her face.


    She cooled my heated skin as well as the open window did. I pulled her close, rewarded by the satisfied sigh I heard through her mussed hair. As she had done to me earlier, I pressed my lips to the top of her head. She said something in a muffled mumble I didn¡¯t catch.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I asked.


    Catrin shifted to look up at me. Her eyes had become a bright, almost liquid red, like pools of blood through her bangs. ¡°I asked if you¡¯re alright. I think I clawed up your back pretty bad.¡±


    I could feel the blood drying around my spine, along with a sharp heat where her nails had raked me. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± I said honestly. They were shallow wounds, and would heal within a day or so.


    ¡°I got a bit carried away,¡± she admitted, uncharacteristically embarrassed. ¡°If I¡¯d done that back at the inn and a guest made a stink of it...¡±


    She winced, realizing what she¡¯d said. It had bothered me a lot once, the fact she slept with the Backroad¡¯s guests, taking blood, coin, and secrets from them in return. This time I just held her closer, unbothered. I had no stones to throw, and was just glad of her company.


    ¡°I won¡¯t go tattle on your employer, promise. Besides, we were both a bit rough.¡± I hesitated a moment, unsure if I should ask. ¡°Are you not hungry?¡±


    She hadn¡¯t taken any of my blood. Her lips were very close to my heart. We could both feel it thump-thumping. Strangely, I didn¡¯t hear hers.


    Catrin stared at the spot a moment, unblinking, before closing her eyes and adjusting into a more comfortable position. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Confused, but not wanting to press, I let it go.


    ¡°You told me I get one question,¡± she said quietly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask it now,¡± I complained.


    ¡°Tsk-tsk. Shame on you Hewer, trying to get a tumble out of a working girl without paying.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    She laughed, and I trailed off. Then in a more serious tone she said, ¡°I can¡¯t stay the night. Gotta get going soon.¡±


    She pulled away, to my disappointment. Not a cold distance, just so she could prop her head up on a crooked arm and look into my face. The aura in my eyes wasn¡¯t comfortable for her, but she met them with narrowed lids and a notable expression of concentration.


    ¡°You know it doesn¡¯t work both ways, right?¡± I quirked an eyebrow. ¡°When an Alder Knight meets someone¡¯s gaze to compel truth, the knight is the one asking the questions.¡±


    Catrin set her mouth stubbornly. ¡°I don¡¯t need fancy elf magic to know when someone¡¯s bullshitting me, Hewer.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Fair enough, but don¡¯t look at them too long. You¡¯ll go blind.¡±


    A worried look crossed her face. When my lips twitched, she hit me on the shoulder.


    ¡°You bastard!¡±


    ¡°Thought you could see bullshit,¡± I noted dryly.


    Catrin flicked some curls out of her eyes and glared at me, pouting. I took a moment to burn the image into my memory, even as the golden ghosts sewn up in me whispered dour warnings. I shut them out of my thoughts. I¡¯d gotten used to the aureflame stirring in discontent whenever she got too close.


    Maybe Catrin was profane, but her nature didn¡¯t rule her heart. I wouldn¡¯t let mine rule me, either.


    Catrin studied me a while, considering. I¡¯d known her a year now, and had gotten familiar with her tells. She would press her tongue between her front teeth as she thought about something. She would work her jaw, take steady breaths, and tap her fingers in an idle fidget. Like with other kinds of undead, that constant fitfulness tricked her body into being more alive. Without those habits, she could be still and unfeeling as a corpse.


    Finally, in a much more serious tone Catrin asked, ¡°What¡¯s the deal between you and the Empress?¡±


    I went very still, my mind immediately going quiet. She hadn¡¯t taken any of my blood, so I knew she couldn¡¯t read my thoughts, but the reaction came on reflex.


    Catrin poked me in the chest with a claw-sharp nail. ¡°Hey, you promised. Any question, remember?¡±


    I stared at her glumly. ¡°That¡¯s the second time we¡¯ve been together and you¡¯ve asked me about my relationship with another woman.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s what I want to know about. Wait, you don¡¯t think I¡¯m doing the jealousy thing, do you?¡± She furrowed her brow. ¡°Al, do you want to know how many men I¡¯ve been with the last month? How about just the week?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± I cut in, holding up a hand. ¡°Really.¡± Then with a sigh I asked, ¡°What do you want to know?¡±


    Catrin thought about it a moment. ¡°Well, first of all, I know she¡¯s the main reason you came back to the city. I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s a lot of loyalty there, yeah?¡±


    That understated it. ¡°Yeah. There is.¡±


    She poked me again. ¡°Don¡¯t go getting all monosyllabic on me. Give me the details, big man.¡±


    I¡¯d rolled onto my back by then, pillowing my head on an upraised arm. I glanced at Catrin out of the corner of my eye, saw her intent expression, and relented.


    ¡°Back when I was a kid, my parents were part of the serving staff in a country castle. My father was a clerk, my mother a laundress. Rose ¡ª that is, Rosanna, was Princess of the Karledale back then. Her parents and siblings were murdered by more distant relatives in a coup. She came to the ¡®Hold seeking asylum. Lias cooked up a scheme to get her throne back.¡±


    I closed my eyes, drifting back into memory as Catrin listened.


    ¡°I love Rosanna,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯m not in love with her. That was all a very long time ago, Cat, when we were both young, alone, and afraid for our lives. She trusted me enough to be vulnerable, in private at least, and believed she could secure my loyalty by letting me have her. She didn¡¯t seem to get that she had it, favors or no.¡±


    ¡°If I heard that from anyone else,¡± Catrin noted with a cautious edge, ¡°it would seem cold. But you have this warmth in your eyes when you talk about being toyed with like that. She manipulated you, Al.¡±


    ¡°She watched her parents get butchered by their own blood,¡± I said, defensive. ¡°And spent years running from the same fate, or worse, from her own countrymen. She was very afraid of losing what she had, and knew I had feelings for her. I believe she had feelings for me too, or she wouldn¡¯t have... used that method to keep me close.¡±


    The image of my queen, older and with those children she¡¯d been so wary of clutching her skirts in a cold tower above a gray land, flashed through my mind. My heart clenched, but not in the way it would have once.


    I¡¯d left her there. I could have gone back to her after the Fall, and she would have spurned the Accord and the Church to keep me at her side. But I¡¯d been too stubborn, and too heartbroken over Fidei. How much would be different if I¡¯d made other choices? Trusted my friends?


    You still see her as a friend after she used you like an attack dog, slept with you as a reward for butchery, then carted you off to Seydis to elevate herself.


    Maybe I am twisted. I still saw Lias as my friend too, despite everything. Perhaps they were both wicked, but I''m no saint. Had I stayed, rather than going vagabond after the Fall...


    I could have kept Lias from going so far astray, been the bridge between the two of them as I¡¯d once been.


    ¡°She¡¯s grown into a very different woman than the ruthless princess I remember,¡± I said softly. ¡°And I think I¡¯ve messed things up badly between us.¡±


    No more questions after that. Catrin let out a contented sigh as she pressed close to me, closing her eyes. Not in such a hurry, though I knew our time ran short. She would go soon.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± I asked, stroking her shoulder with my thumb. ¡°I can¡¯t hear your mind through blood like you can.¡±


    She spoke without opening her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m thinking you are a good man, who¡¯s been made to do some bad things by some very bad people. It pisses me off, but it also makes me want to hold you like this.¡±


    She hugged me tightly.


    Emotion tightened my chest. Deflecting, I tried for a joke. ¡°I¡¯m not some whipped puppy.¡±


    ¡°Yes you are,¡± she argued. ¡°My big, sad, ginger boy.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem to think I was just a boy earlier, when¡ª¡±


    Without warning, Catrin clamped a hand over my mouth. Thinking she was just embarrassed, I reached up to pull it away and keep talking. But she applied more pressure, and I caught sight of her face.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes, reddened from hunger and arousal, had dimmed into something closer to dried blood than freshly spilled. They¡¯d gone out of focus, and her whole body had become very still. She didn¡¯t breathe, didn¡¯t fidget. I felt her heart beat through her chest where it pressed against mine, once and once only.


    Then I heard it, the same thing that must have made her silence me. A creaking floorboard.


    From downstairs? No, the stairs. A furtive step, but I thought also from a heavy frame. Emma wouldn¡¯t have made any noise if she¡¯d meant to be quiet, and if she were still awake she wouldn¡¯t have made a secret of it. She would have wanted us to know we¡¯d annoyed her.


    A second noise came from directly above, from the roof. Outside the open window, I heard the docks creaking in the water.


    Neither Catrin nor I spoke to one another. We didn¡¯t need to, communicating instead through the tension in our bodies, or with subtle eye movements. The lamp I¡¯d lit by the door still burned dimly, though it left most of the room in shadow save for where wan moonlight spilled in.


    ¡°Emma,¡± I whispered. ¡°Can you get to her?¡±


    I knew a bit about how the dhampir¡¯s powers worked from past conversations, and observation. Catrin could travel through shadows, but the ability had some limits. The shadows she moved through needed to form obvious and unbroken connections at least as big as her physical body, like channels of water to swim through. She couldn¡¯t use the power in pitch blackness ¡ª there needed to be a delineation between light and dark.


    She replied in a voice so soft I mostly felt it as breath against my face. ¡°Quicker than you can, at least.¡±


    No telling who was in the house, or on top of it. No point in conjecture and no time to investigate. I measured the distance to my axe where it lay against the wall by instinct and familiarity.


    It¡¯ll be a two pronged attack, I thought as I held Catrin tighter, feeling her cool skin against mine. Not just for reassurance ¡ª I moved just enough, making as little noise as I could, to block the light and give her a solid patch of dark.


    They¡¯ll come through the door and the window at the same time.


    ¡°My dagger,¡± Catrin breathed.


    I¡¯d tossed it onto the floor after using it to cut some of the trickier laces on her bodice, at her suggestion. She¡¯d seemed to find it exciting.


    ¡°No time,¡± I muttered. ¡°Just get to Emma. I¡¯ll keep them off you both.¡±


    There are at least four of them, I thought as I listened to the subtle creaks around the house. One¡¯s above, two on the stairs, one in the main room.


    Were they already about to burst into my squire¡¯s room, same as ours? Could Catrin get there in time? Once we moved, it would start. Carefully, I pulled the blanket up to block the moonlight, forming a veil over my companion.


    Another creak. The one ascending to the second floor had cleared the stair. They were just outside my door, now. I grabbed Catrin by the back of the head, pulling her hair to my lips as though for a kiss. I used her curls to muffle my voice.


    ¡°Now.¡±


    All hell broke loose.

 Arc 5: Chapter 8: Cackling Death

    Arc 5: Chapter 8: Cackling Death


    Several things happened at once.


    The sudden, abrupt empty space where Catrin had been took me off guard, even though I¡¯d expected it. She seemed to sink into the sheets, as though a hole had opened in the bed, and then just... wasn¡¯t there.


    The door exploded. A shower of splintered wood fragments and dust tore across the bedroom. Something came through the window on the room¡¯s opposite side, blurring fast and eerily silent.


    I leapt, going for my axe even as I hurled the sheet as an impromptu shield between me and the erupting door. Something got tangled in it, barreling into the bed I¡¯d left empty in a ripping, flailing mess. But the second one who¡¯d used the window wasn¡¯t tangled. I heard a soft thunk as they landed on the bedpost, along with a series of softer clicks.


    I ducked. Something, a blade, slashed through the cloud of dust where my neck had been an eye blink before. I lunged for the wall, grabbed my axe, and swept it up and around my head. The second blade, which would have skewered through my spine, instead broke off Faen Orgis¡¯s keen edge, spinning through the air to embed itself in a rafter.


    I did all of this without really seeing who was in the room with me. I didn¡¯t think, didn¡¯t bother strategizing or making demands. Just acted, my world a chaos of sound, motion, twitching reflex, and clenched muscle.


    Survival.


    The attacker I¡¯d almost died to went stumbling back, off balance from the force of my parry. I heard an odd noise, a rhythmic clicking, wood and metal shifting with stiff, jerking motions. The bedsheet I¡¯d thrown fell away as whatever had been tangled in it shredded free.


    The dust from the destroyed door cleared, and I got a look at my would-be killers. There were two of them, and neither were human. They were human sized but on the smaller side, both barely more than five feet tall, with cylindrical torsos and arms segmented by brassy spheres at each joint. They were mostly wood otherwise, their heads perfectly round and carved with deep slits for eyes and mouth, permanently fixed in expressions of squinting confusion.


    Their hands ended in weapons. A short blade of steel on the left, and a two-faced hammer on the right with a sharp spike on one end and a hexagonal bludgeon on the other.


    Marions. Dolls animated by sorcery, and crafted for murder.


    They crouched side by side, clicking and contorting like spiders of brass and wood. I heard a loud thud from downstairs, a shout, and my blood froze. There were more, and they were attacking Emma and Catrin too.


    From within the slit mouth of the left Marion, a hollow little giggle emanated.


    They would be strong. One of them had smashed through a solid door in a moment. They would be fast, and possibly have hidden weapons within those cylinder torsos.


    I had faced worse horrors, but was also naked just then. It would only take one slip to get a blade in the heart or a cut throat. Easy enough to go for my stomach, or slice an artery on my thighs. My magic could heal most wounds quicker and cleaner than natural, but it wasn¡¯t instant. If I took a lethal or maiming injury, that would be that.


    I tightened my axe, tensed, and waited. These things would be faster than me. I would need to react on pure, perfect reflex, or I¡¯d die. One of the Marion¡¯s tilted its head, an almost curious gesture, and again made that muted tittering sound.


    Another heavy impact from downstairs. I flinched, and both Marions flicked into action with the grating sound of cackling wood.


    I swung, barely aiming, and felt impact tremor through my limbs. The Marion on the left split in half, splinters of wood and metal bits flying in a shower as I smashed it. It was mostly wooden rope on the inside.


    Its blade would have gone right through my ribs, but it happened to be the dagger I¡¯d broken before. It left a deep gash, the jagged edge grating along bone, but didn¡¯t punch through. Even still, the bright flash of pain, the grinding sensation of it, made for a sickening pressure.


    I¡¯d aimed in such a way as to slam my target against its companion. They both went down in a jumble. They were heavier than they looked, but ungainly. The one I¡¯d cut went still, while the other thrashed and clicked as it tried to disentangle itself.


    Marions are a nightmare, among the worst weapons employed over the course of the last century. They¡¯d been forbidden by the clergy generations back, but many noble Houses, not all of them Recusant, had ignored the ban. Then, during the Fall, entire platoons of the murderous dolls had been unleashed.


    They were efficient, indiscriminate killers. Entire castles had been left as nothing more than bloodstained, abandoned shells by mere squads of these things. They had been used as shock troops and suicide soldiers on blasted battlefields across the war¡¯s many theaters.


    Or as assassins, like these.


    Here, in such close quarters, they were at their most deadly. The wound on my chest bled down over my stomach already. I ignored it, and the foe I hadn¡¯t destroyed, and went for the door. All I had in my thoughts right then were the two women downstairs, and that they might already be dead.


    A third Marion waited on the stairs. It crouched low, so I didn¡¯t see it until I¡¯d crested the lip, then hurled itself at me. They had some sort of spring built into their limb joints, and it made a harsh, barking crack! as it launched itself.


    I¡¯d known there was a third out on the stairs. Even still, I nearly died right there from the thing¡¯s sheer speed. It struck me, barreling us both back. All the wind went out of me in a wheeze. But I¡¯d caught the thing under my arm, trapping its blade hand against one side of my body and its neck against the other. We skidded back, my bare feet sliding over rough wooden boards.


    I would have started to choke a normal man, leaving them in too awkward a position to do much more than punch into my hip. But the doll¡¯s articulated hammer hand bent back, further than any human limb could have. It slammed the iron bludgeon into my back. The strike sent a flash of pain through the point of impact, breaking skin and bruising muscle.


    It wasn¡¯t a big or particularly heavy hammer ¡ª probably for smashing glass, prying away obstacles, or cracking a skull with a hard enough strike. A carpenter¡¯s tool, improvised into a weapon. Deadly enough if used properly.


    The Marion hit me again, in the knee this time. I let out a gasp as that leg buckled. I fell to one knee, still keeping hold of my captive.


    Her eyes brightened as she stared at the weeping wound. I watched her nostrils flare once, and a shudder run through her.


    ¡°I need to find Emma,¡± I said, keeping her focused. ¡°There might be more of these.¡±


    Catrin nodded, tearing her gaze away from my injury. ¡°Don¡¯t they usually have like... a handler?¡±


    ¡°A puppeteer, yes. Marions can act independently, but I don¡¯t think these are. These are assassins. Their master will be close.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go then.¡± Catrin started to move. ¡°I¡¯ll get bandages for that wound, and¡ª¡±


    I grabbed her by the arm. ¡°You should stay here.¡±


    In response Catrin spun, took my hand by the wrist, and lifted it to her mouth to bite into my palm with one fang. The motion had a calm, deliberate quality. She broke the skin, staring at me the whole time with brightly red eyes before pulling away.


    ¡°I¡¯m no damsel, Alken. Let me help.¡±


    I hesitated a moment, my attention lingering on her injury, then relented. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Catrin aimed a finger at me. ¡°Stay there.¡±


    Without explanation, she stepped back and sank into the shadows again. She reemerged into the moonlight several minutes later with an armful of items, dumping my shirt, breeches, and boots on the ground in a heap. My hauberk too, letting it collapsed in a weighty clank.


    I set my axe against the wall and dressed at speed. Catrin had dumped some rolls of linen I kept in my room with the clothes, and I wrapped them tightly around my chest to cover the open wound. It needed stitches, but there wasn¡¯t any time. My Alder given vitality would probably prevent infection, but not death by blood loss.


    Catrin hadn¡¯t grabbed her own clothes, remaining pale and naked. She clutched a length of deeply red material in her fist ¡ª my cloak. I reached for it, but she took a step back.


    ¡°Nope,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±


    Then, with a flourish, she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders.


    I grimaced. ¡°Cat, no. I¡¯m not going to use you as a decoy. Besides, you¡¯re too short.¡±


    The cloak trailed along the ground behind her. Even still, Catrin just smiled and pulled the pointed cowl up over her features, drowning her whole face in black save for twin points of red and the flash of sharp teeth. She seemed very much the vampire, then.


    ¡°Just trust me.¡±


    Then she stepped back into the shadows again, vanishing. I cursed, realized I was wasting time standing around. I grabbed my axe and started moving.


    Catrin had just handed over my coat of black rings, not all the other pieces of steel I usually strapped on with it. No time to fully armor myself, anyway. I moved to the door, finding it locked but not bolted. More evidence Emma had gone out at some point. The Marions must have come through the windows, using their small forms and clever tools to slip in. I remembered shuttering and latching the one in the main room.


    Assassins. I¡¯d known about that risk. My mind whirled as I moved out into the harbor town, thinking through who might have sent them.


    Too many possibilities. Figure it out later, make sure your squire is still alive now.


    A ways down from my home¡¯s front door, I found Rudy. He still sat by the edge of the canal, his pole held in stiff, pale hands. I approached, calling his name. No response. Soon enough, I had my suspicion confirmed when I caught sight of his staring eyes.


    The Marions had cut his throat first to silence him, then stabbed him repeatedly in the back. His blood dripped into the canal from where it had started to pool between his legs. The puppets had aimed for his kidneys and lungs.


    Marions aren¡¯t mindless automatons. Their makers bind spirits into them, and not always human ones. They can take a cruel delight in butchery.


    The man¡¯s glazed eyes stared at nothing. He¡¯d been an old widower, a veteran who¡¯d fought for the Bough during the war, with three sons who worked as ship hands. When he¡¯d learned I had also fought the Recusants, he hadn¡¯t even asked questions. He¡¯d just agreed to keep a lookout on our house, let me know if he saw anyone snooping.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I told the man I had gotten killed. Then I went to find the one responsible.

 Arc 5: Chapter 9: The Assassin

    Arc 5: Chapter 9: The Assassin


    I knew where Emma had gone, or at least had a strong suspicion. She had a favorite spot along the harbor, where she could look out over the bay without being disturbed during the late hours. With Qoth watching her back and her own talents to protect her, I hadn¡¯t minded the regular outings.


    Careless. I¡¯d known there was a risk of retaliation against us. From the Priory, from the court, from Yith. No more sleeping in humble shacks after tonight, I promised myself. We¡¯d move back into the castle, get strong stone walls between us and our enemies.


    You have enemies in the castle too, I reminded myself as I limped along, every step sending a freshly intense spike of agony up my thigh. The knee had already swollen with a hideous bruise.


    I¡¯d figure it out later. For now, the night still held danger.


    Fog rolled in as the night aged and cooler air settled, gathering thick over the water and rising up over the streets in a languid tide. It emerged from the waters below like the reaching fingers of some ghoulish horde, shrouding the sheer drops down into the lapping waters of the Riven. I knew where the docks were by the creaking of timber to my left. To my right, the city sprawl unfolded over this outer isle. The fog hadn¡¯t yet become thick enough to shroud the Corpse Moon glaring down from the sky.


    By the feeling around my ribs, blood had already soaked through my bandages. The pain had lessened, but the wound still bled, enough to be worried about it. I focused my attention on my surroundings, pushing my thoughts outside myself.


    It was quiet here. I could hear the ghosts dogging my steps more clearly, as the sea fog gave them something to congeal forms from. They taunted me as I moved, wounded and anxious, toward my destination.


    ¡°She¡¯s already dead!¡± The shades cackled.


    ¡°Had her throat cut just like that old widower, her body dumped into the bay. You¡¯ll find it a week hence, bloated and eaten by fish.¡±


    ¡°That whore betrayed you. She brought them, and screamed your name so sweetly so you wouldn¡¯t hear.¡±


    ¡°Now she¡¯s gone off to lead them to you.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have trusted!¡±


    ¡°Not the blood wench. Not anyone.¡±


    They formed around me like sinuous eels with ghastly human faces, grinning with empty, toothless mouths.


    ¡°They¡¯ll all betray you!¡±


    ¡°Leave you.¡±


    ¡°Die for your failures.¡±


    I ignored them, those disquiet spirits which had kept me company for most of a decade now. I knew they were treacherous, and twisted even honest words into something poisonous.


    Catrin had been the one to warn me of the attackers, anyway. I glanced up at what light I had left. The lesser moon didn¡¯t provide much, and it would vanish before long if all this thickened up.


    Where had Catrin gone? What was her plan?


    I heard a distant sound. A wooden rattle. I stopped, and the ghosts scattered with a chorus of giggles, like children caught in a prank. I glared into the mist, my night vision useless for piercing it. Another round of clicking echoes came, this time from a narrow street to my right.


    The same creature, or a second one moving to flank me? How many were left, and why hadn¡¯t they all gone into the house?


    Bodyguards, I realized. If the puppeteer, the real assassin, was competent, then they would keep one or two nearby to protect themself.


    Click, clack. From behind me now. I tightened my grip on my axe, feeling one of its hard little burs dig into my palm. One squeeze, and I¡¯d give the cursed branch enough blood to grow in size. A risk with what I¡¯d already lost, but the Marions were deadly at close range. I might need the reach.


    Clack. Click-clack-clack.


    Click.


    That last sound wasn¡¯t a wooden limb shifting. I spun and swung just as the crossbow fired, striking the bolt out of the air. I barely even heard the sharp punching sound of it firing through my own grunt, or the crack of split wood as I hit it. The shot came from so close that it all happened at nearly the same instant.


    The bolt fell in two smoking pieces to either side of me. A dark shape flitted into an alley and out of my sight, the sound of a tinny laugh chasing it.


    Bastards.


    I took a step forward, meaning to chase the thing, then froze as something scraped over the tiles of the roof above.


    A trap. There was one above me. I had the realization after it had already dropped.


    A piercing, metallic shriek disturbed the night. I felt a shiver in the world ¡ª no other way to describe the use of violent Art ¡ª and a molten missile slammed into the murderous doll right before it landed on me, pinning it against the side of the building. It hung there for a moment, the ornate spear stuck through it wreathed in scarlet lambency, before the phantasm broke and the Marion tumbled to the ground in a limp, twitching mound at my feet.


    I stared at it a moment, my heart thumping, knowing I¡¯d probably just come very close to death. It came as a numb realization, considering how many times I¡¯d nearly died in the last half hour.


    The Marion perched on a roof half a block down fired its crossbow. The bolt flitted through the air, far enough away I caught its glint in a beam of moonlight breaking through the clouds. I lifted my axe, using the broad blade as a shield.


    But the bolt hadn¡¯t been for me. It zipped past, close enough I felt a brush of air across my face. It struck its target with a meaty snap of impact.


    The body of the puppeteer hit the street with a quiet thump even as the archer vanished from sight.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Catrin barked, having not seen the bolt as I had. Emma said something, a more eloquent invective, even as I scanned the building for more threats.


    There were none. I turned and knelt by the man, putting a hand to his neck, then spat out a curse. Dead. His eyes were glassy as poor Rudy¡¯s had been. The bolt had struck just under his ear.


    His own puppet had killed him. Had he put that compulsion into his own creations?


    No. He¡¯d been terrified at the end, and not of me. What was going on here?


    ¡°Are there more?¡± Catrin asked. She and Emma had both crouched, using my mass a shield. I didn¡¯t take offense, considering I wore steel.


    I focused. Some Marions were simply puppeted by arcane techniques, but these had seemed very alive and independent. With disquiet spirits trapped in those shells, it was possible I could sense them if they were nearby, same as any demon or wraith.


    Should have done this before, I thought as I explored the surrounds with my aura. I¡¯d been too worked up from the violence at the house, and too worried about Emma. Ser Maxim would have berated me for hastiness. I¡¯d become less reliant on my paladin senses since coming to the capital, dulled as they were by the metropolis. But the fog, the city, the lapping waves, and creaking docks around me weren¡¯t unlike the rustling of a deep wood.


    Putting myself in that mindset, I reached out with my aura to feel at the nightscape around us. I did that for several minutes before drawing in a deep breath and turning to my companions. ¡°I think they¡¯re gone.¡± Looking to Emma I said, ¡°We¡¯re going back to the house. Grab everything you can carry.¡±


    Emma nodded, slamming her blade back into its scabbard as she stood. ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°And then...¡± I tapped my axe on one shoulder, thinking. Where was safe? What was the right move?


    The Backroad? No, that would be the same as announcing to every professional killer in Garihelm that I was spooked. Neither did I particularly trust the Keeper¡¯s protection, not after he¡¯d dispatched Catrin to seduce and steal secrets from me. I trusted her, but not her master.


    No right answer, so I chose the one with least risk. ¡°And then, we¡¯re going to the palace. I need to report this, and I don¡¯t want to be out in the city any longer than I need to. We¡¯ll take the streets. Don¡¯t want to get caught on the boat if there¡¯s another attempt.¡±


    Maybe someone in the palace was behind this, but they wouldn¡¯t try anything blatant within its walls. Emma started moving without complaint. I began to follow, but noticed Catrin lingering. I stepped up to her side.


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving the cloak back until I get some clothes,¡± she told me pointedly. ¡°You can look as much as you want another time.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡ª¡±


    I trailed off, knowing she was deflecting with her usual coquettish humor. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recognize him,¡± Catrin said, her eyes fixed on the corpse. ¡°I felt sure I would. Lot of professional killers use the Backroad.¡±


    ¡°I doubt all of them do,¡± I said. ¡°He could be anyone. I¡¯ll do some investigating.¡±


    The small, frail looking body had started to form a growing pool of blood, red leaking into the seams in the stone. Catrin stared at it with a fixed attention, her eyes gleaming like a beast¡¯s from within my cloak¡¯s cowl.


    I watched her take a step forward, a bare foot emerging from the red folds of the cloak to almost touch the pool of blood. She froze, licked her lips, then carefully backed away.


    ¡°We should go,¡± I said, thinking it best to draw her attention away from the corpse just then. Then in a lighter voice I said, ¡°I do need my cloak back.¡±


    Strange, I thought. It had reacted violently to anyone else touching it before, but the Briar cloak seemed passive on the dhampir. Did that have to do with Renuart Kross wounding it in Rose Malin, or something about her?


    Catrin¡¯s voice came with its usual edge of teasing humor. ¡°Only if you promise to let me wear it again.¡±


    My throat went dry at the sight of her fanged grin. ¡°I¡¯ll... think about it. Let¡¯s get back to the house for now. Emma and I need to pack up.¡±


    ¡°And you need to stitch up that wound,¡± Catrin said. ¡°I can smell it. It¡¯s... distracting.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°You should get back to your inn. It¡¯ll be safer there.¡±


    I¡¯d take her with me to the palace, and dare anyone to so much as raise an eyebrow, but the gargoyles wouldn¡¯t let her within sight of it. They were very vigilant against the undead, more than most any other threat. Besides, better she stay clear of me. For the time being, I would get Emma and I behind solid fortifications.


    Then, when the sun rose, I would start trying to find out who had attempted to kill me.

 Arc 5: Chapter 10: Crisis and Command

    Arc 5: Chapter 10: Crisis and Command


    We returned to the castle hours before dawn. Immediately, it became clear something was wrong.


    There were more guards at the gate than usual, including a contingent Storm Knights, the elite garrison of the Fulgurkeep. I recognized them by the brassy sheen of their steel plate, treated to give it a hue very near gold, and the sea-blue cloth of their capes and surcoats. Every tower had been festooned with lit braziers and alchemical lights in unison, making the massive castle complex and its bridge gates seem as though they had erupted like a smoldering volcano.


    I was stopped at the gate by sentries with hard eyes and twitching hands. After announcing myself and putting them at relative ease, I recognized one of them and grabbed him by the shoulder before going through.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± I asked. Even as I spoke, a group of armored riders emerged from the gate and tore into the city at speed.


    The knight turned his attention to me. Ser Moonbrand was a Karledaler, one of Rosanna¡¯s veterans who¡¯d integrated into the castle¡¯s royal guard in order to help bridge her people and her husband¡¯s. Though he wore the brassy plate and blue cloth of a Storm Knight, the medallion worked into his armor¡¯s heart protector remained emblazoned with the star of House Silvering.


    I¡¯d known him since well before his clipped hair had gone fully gray. Moonbrand had an angular face, gaunt cheeks, and a thin mouth almost always set in sour disapproval. Most notable was the scar tissue marring the right side of his face, very similar in color to frostbite. His right eye had a paler color than the left, closer to silver than blue.


    Despite his fastidious manners, I knew him to be a fierce man-at-arms. He¡¯d been my first choice to take on Emma¡¯s training, if something were to happen to me. The knight¡¯s mismatched eyes lit up when he saw me.


    ¡°Hewer.¡± He nodded a greeting. ¡°I thought you¡¯d been called back. You haven¡¯t heard?¡±


    ¡°Apparently not,¡± I said dryly. Somewhere out in the city, bells were ringing. ¡°What is all this?¡±


    ¡°There was an attack,¡± Ser Moonbrand told me, then corrected himself with a grimace. ¡°Several attacks. We¡¯re still getting reports in, but so far we¡¯ve had news of at least six different assaults across the city.¡±


    ¡°Six?¡± I asked dumbly. ¡°On who?¡±


    ¡°Lord Halburan and his wife are both dead,¡± Moonbrand said in a grim voice. ¡°Ser Alencourt is in critical condition. They brought him in half an hour ago. He¡¯d been in the city celebrating the birth of a son. He... looked in a bad way.¡±


    Ser Alencourt was another Fulgurkeep elite, a veteran like Moonbrand and well respected. I did not know the other name.


    Moonbrand lowered his voice. ¡°It very much all seems coordinated. We¡¯ve got the palace locked down until we learn more, on the Lord Steward¡¯s order.¡±


    ¡°My disciple and I were attacked,¡± I told him, then provided the details.


    ¡°Marions?¡± Ser Moonbrand¡¯s skin lost some color. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡±


    ¡°Intimately.¡± I nodded to the castle. ¡°I need to go.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor and the Lord Steward are both in the council chamber,¡± Moonbrand informed me. ¡°I¡¯ll take you there directly. You¡¯re the only one whose seen the attackers so far and can talk. The council will want to hear.¡±


    ¡°So we weren¡¯t the only ones,¡± Emma said to me as we passed into the ¡®Keep with the knight some paces ahead. ¡°Perhaps this wasn¡¯t personal after all?¡±


    ¡°My thought too,¡± I said. I wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about that. I¡¯d expected assassins would try me at some point. This, on the other hand...


    I quickened my pace. Before we passed into the waiting maw of the Fulgurkeep, my eyes were drawn up by the crack of stony wings.


    The castle¡¯s gargoyles were all awake, and circling the towers in flocks.


    I am not only tall, but brawny, and that combined with the glint of gold in my eyes, my black armor, and my red shroud made most give way for me. The presence of a Storm Knight helped as well, and soon enough I¡¯d been ushered up myriad flights of stairs and regal corridors to where the Emperor waited. Despite the late hour, or early hour, the castle had come alive.


    As though we¡¯re under siege, I thought. Hell, perhaps we were.


    Every step up those countless stairs felt like a dirk in my leg, and some smaller but no less keen blade in my chest. I tried to hide the discomfort, but Emma noticed.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be on your feet,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°No choice,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s just pain. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Emma said nothing, but I sensed her concern. I put it from my thoughts.


    The guard admitted me into the same room where I¡¯d had my meeting with Markham earlier in the day. The previous day, as we were already well past midnight. They kept Emma outside, which I knew frustrated her, but she caught my face and settled back to wait in the hall with some other servants and lesser officials.


    Markham stood at the head of the long war table, with a number of attendants and councilors I recognized. The Lord Steward towered over the gathering, his hands clasped behind his back and his cherub¡¯s face set in an expression of dour concentration.


    Oradyn Fen Harus was there in the background, his sagely visage tempered by the dire atmosphere. I also noted Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight, whose company of errant adventurers had come to the city for the tournament. He wore his armor of brassy scales and green chain with all its medals, as he had every time I¡¯d seen him, his almost effeminate features serene.


    Rosanna was there at her husband¡¯s side. I froze at the sight of her, then mastered myself and redirected my attention.


    ¡°Lord Halburan is... was a famed warrior from Reynwell¡¯s eastern countryside,¡± the Empress informed me. ¡°Lady Sandra is not, but her son just recently returned from errantry. He was the one who found her.¡±


    I inhaled deeply. ¡°These are all tourney knights.¡±


    More of those nearby fell quiet. Markham finally looked up from the table.


    The Steward lifted his drooping brow, giving me a glimpse of one bright blue eye. Then, with a hesitance uncharacteristic for the royal advisor he said, ¡°We would have to check the lists, but...¡±


    ¡°Ser Jocelyn was attacked here in the palace,¡± Markham said.


    We all turned to the Ironleaf, who gave a hesitant nod. In his almost shy alto the glorysworn knight said, ¡°I did not see my attacker. They vanished into the corridors.¡±


    ¡°You are unharmed?¡± Rosanna asked.


    Ser Jocelyn bowed, causing his brown hair to fall around his face. ¡°I am well, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°We are having every nook and cranny of the fortress searched,¡± the Steward told us. ¡°The Fulgurkeep is large, but we have ensured there are no idle hands. Even still...¡±


    ¡°We cannot discount the possibility these attacks have not ended.¡± The Empress finished the advisor¡¯s statement. ¡°If this happened anywhere else, I would think it a coup. However...¡±


    Markham finished for his wife. ¡°No one of high station has been targeted, so far as we know. None of the monarchs. The most notable name among these was Halburan''s. He was one of my barons.¡±


    Rosanna lifted her thumb to her lips, stopping just short of biting the nail. I remembered the old habit. ¡°If whoever is behind this did have targets of higher station, then they have certainly tipped their hand. We are on alert now.¡±


    The Lady Ark, who¡¯d been present in the room but silent until then, replied to the Empress. ¡°Perhaps it was meant to create panic, Your Grace? Get this exact reaction from us?¡±


    ¡°Or make our city seem unsafe,¡± the Steward suggested softly to Markham. ¡°To undermine your credibility, Your Grace.¡±


    That chilled me. I had suspicions about Yith¡¯s actions being meant to ferment fear in the city. Was he behind this? Then, another thought came on the tail of that.


    ¡°Where are the Vykes?¡± I asked.


    The Lord Steward gave me a dip of his chin. ¡°Our guests from Talsyn have been alerted to these happenings, and are being kept secure in their chambers. No harm will come to them, not under the Fulgurkeep¡¯s protection.¡±


    Fancy code for we have them under watch, and they aren¡¯t going anywhere. I gave him a sharp nod, oddly grateful for the usually frustrating advisor in that moment.


    Markham placed hand on the table. Something about his manner drew the room¡¯s attention. When all had gone quiet, the Emperor spoke to the lords and ladies who¡¯d gathered in the orotund tones of authority. ¡°Regardless of the reasons or purpose, we have come under attack. This will not stand, and those responsible will be found. Justice will be meted out.¡±


    His steely eyes ran across the nobles, lingering on me. I felt a moment of trepidation, sensing something in that look.


    ¡°Some of you in this room are already aware,¡± Markham continued. ¡°But just yesterday, Alken Hewer, who some call the Headsman of Seydis, was restored to the peerage.¡±


    Stunned silence. Somehow, I think that surprised many of them as much as it had me when it had happened. I did my best to stand straight, look suitably dour, and pretend like I wasn¡¯t venting half the fluid in my body through my ribs just then. Hopefully, I didn¡¯t start to drip.


    Markham turned to me. ¡°As of this moment, Ser Headsman, you are being given your first official order. By my authority as Emperor, I command you to find who is responsible for these attacks and bring them to justice. Learn their reasons, their benefactors, find any and all who might have given them aid or succor. Use any means at your disposal to bring this evil into the light.¡±


    This time, I wasn¡¯t taken so fully off guard. Aware of the many eyes on me, I knelt and dipped my head, even as my injured knee let out a despairing scream of protest. Hiding my wince I said, ¡°It will be done, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Rise,¡± Markham ordered. I did, just managing not to wobble.


    The Emperor studied me a moment, then turned to the courtiers. ¡°Questions will be asked. Whoever did this had resources. All of you will cooperate with Ser Alken, or you will answer to me.¡±


    He¡¯s making this as official as he can, I realized. It might not get the whole city to open their doors to me, but it was a start at least.


    It also made me a target. If anyone involved stood in this room, or heard about this...


    I put it out of my mind. I¡¯d gone up against long odds before. And I had it now, the thing I¡¯d been looking for.


    A course.

 Arc 5: Chapter 11: The Lance

    Arc 5: Chapter 11: The Lance


    Emma took one look at the room, sniffed and said, ¡°I think I preferred that shack by the docks.¡±


    I stepped past her, wincing as my recently stitched ribs twinged. ¡°It¡¯s not so bad. Just get rid of some dust, move some furniture in, and it¡¯ll serve.¡±


    ¡°Dust, sure.¡± Emma shook her head, her expression strained. ¡°But what about all the damp?¡±


    It was mid morning of the second day after what many in the city were already calling the ¡°Culling of Knights.¡± Melodramatic, but bards need to make a living. Emma and I had officially moved back into the Fulgurkeep, and neither of us felt particularly impressed by the new headquarters of my operations.


    Consisting of a set of five chambers, the largest of which wasn¡¯t much larger than the common room in that little house in the docks, it lacked any furnishment other than some rotten old crates. The walls sweated with damp, the stink of mildew hung in the air, and there were old cobwebs all over the ceiling. I guessed it to be an old stockpile.


    There were some windows, which made the location clear enough. We were on an outer tower of the citadel, set just above the rocky cliffs atop which the castle had been erected. We were low enough that the foamy waves crashing against the rocks below occasionally sent spray through the narrow windows, which explained the damp.


    It also produced a constant noise. The waters this side of the ¡®Keep were tumultuous, slamming against the black rocks of the isle as though the sea were waging a dogged war to reclaim it.


    Emma¡¯s aristocratic features shifted from merely disappointed to wrathful as we stared at our new accommodations. ¡°Do they mean to insult us?¡±


    I paced to one of the rooms. Each of them were connected by a single central chamber, large enough I believed we could use it for most of ours needs, with the connected spaces left for storing equipment. The one I checked had no window, was smaller than the others, and seemed relatively dry.


    ¡°Keep in mind the Fulgurkeep wasn¡¯t always meant to house the government for a whole confederation of realms,¡± I told my squire. ¡°Reynwell was just another kingdom before the Fall. This castle might look impressive, but it was made for House Forger, not the Ardent Round.¡±


    I turned to Emma and shrugged. ¡°I imagine room is scarce. Besides, it¡¯s tucked away and relatively private. I¡¯d rather listen to the sea all day than crowds of officials.¡±


    Emma cast a glum look at the window. ¡°Speak for yourself. That racket is atrocious.¡±


    Almost as though to make her point, she had to raise her voice on the last word to be heard over the slap of a particularly angry wave. Cold spray rained in through the main room¡¯s window.


    I didn¡¯t tell her I had a suspicion the tower had been used as a prison at some point. This sort of environment would have been ideal for wearing down the will of captives. Instead I said, ¡°No bitching. The Steward has offered some hands to help us get the place ready for operation. Let¡¯s get started.¡±


    Lord or no, I still helped do the heavy lifting, mainly because I was impatient to get this part out of the way. We brought what we needed to get started down what must have been every stair in the Fulgurkeep, including a pair of cots to sleep on, chests for supplies, and other essentials with the help of some palace servants.


    I oversaw everything, making sure to note every face that came and went, as well as ordering Emma to listen to their conversations. They spoke little, and I suspected that had not a little to do with fear. The nobles might gossip and snipe at me in court, but things are different where common folk are concerned.


    No telling who might be a spy. Or another assassin. Everyone was on guard after the Culling, and I was no exception.


    Normally, I¡¯d have a chamberlain to oversee this sort of thing. I imagined I¡¯d be assigned one eventually, but I wasn¡¯t about to go making more demands of the Emperor or his advisors. They had enough on their plate, and it was my job to get results. The kinks would be worked out in time.


    My headquarters turned out to be a bit larger than I¡¯d first assumed. A narrow set of stairs at the end of the hall outside wound down the guts of the tower to another corridor below, this one digging right into the island¡¯s tough rock. It was lined in small rooms, with heavy doors cut with barred windows.


    This confirmed my theory this had once been a dungeon.


    A locked door across from the main set of rooms, after we waited three hours for someone to find the right set of keys, turned out to lead up a long stairway to another set of chambers. I guessed they¡¯d once belonged to the captain in charge of the tower.


    When I asked the valet who led the servants about it, she clarified that the whole tower was mine, including the rooms below and the more spacious chambers above. This took me off guard, though I had noted the wing seemed to be unused.


    Perhaps the Steward wasn¡¯t trying to sabotage me, after all. The tower was dingy, noisy, and hidden in the ass end of the isle, but the security and space it provided couldn¡¯t be overstated.


    I decided to claim the upper chambers for myself. I could turn its main room into an office, and the adjoined spaces into my personal quarters. The rest of the tower would act as a barracks and archives.


    I suspected the Steward also expected me to use the cells below. I didn¡¯t much like the thought. I didn¡¯t like to think of myself as some sort of constable, but a more cynical voice whispered that was exactly where this had all been heading. The Headsman¡¯s was a judicial position.


    This didn¡¯t end with me playing the white knight.


    Getting situated in the tower was time consuming and tedious, and every moment could be one I would have used to hit the streets, run down what contacts I¡¯d made since arriving in the capital, do something. I knew that having a proper setup here would make the rest far more manageable, but I wasn¡¯t used to this. I was used to being given a mission, an enemy to fight, and that anticipation always helped quell my restlessness.


    Nothing for it. Even still, by the time Emma peeked into the bare room that would be my office, I was practically prowling around like a caged beast. I turned as my disciple entered.


    Emma wore the same clothes she¡¯d bought not long after arriving in the city during her time as a guest of the Empress, waiting for the chance to free me from the Priory¡¯s clutches. The outfit consisted of a loose-sleeved white shirt, black leggings, and high laced boots in a fashion popular with the capital¡¯s highborn youth. It had seen some wear, yet she managed to make the ensemble look sharp, almost martial. She¡¯d tied her dark hair, grown longer since we¡¯d come to Garihelm, into a tail, and had her saber worn at her right hip. Caim¡¯s armor gleamed beneath Emma¡¯s high collar, freshly polished.


    She didn¡¯t much look like the haughty youth I¡¯d met the past fall. Had that really been just three seasons ago? Her face and figure had turned leaner after months of my life style, hardened by travel and training. Her eyes had taken on a focused clarity, where they¡¯d once been full of distracted resentment.


    Emma didn¡¯t look an angry girl anymore. She looked like a capable young woman. One I would have to lean on, if I were to survive this mess.


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± Emma said in a more serious tone than she normally assumed.


    I nodded. ¡°Bring them up.¡± I adjusted my tunic, hoping I cut the right image.


    In this, Emma outdid me as far as fashion went. The castle tailors had sewn me a new uniform for the post. I wore a tunic of dark red checkered in black, with black leggings tucked into new boots of dark brown leather. My armor adorned a stand by the window, with my red cloak hung on the wall beside it.


    My knee had swollen up, giving me a bad limp, but the clericon who¡¯d looked me over had seemed certain it wasn¡¯t broken. They¡¯d told me to stay off of it for a week, but I didn¡¯t have that.


    ¡°What are you doing here, Hendry?¡± I asked him.


    The young man swallowed. He wore a white gambeson, the brassy armor and blue cloth of the Storm Knights absent since I¡¯d last seen him. ¡°I was assigned to your command for disciplinary reasons, ser.¡±


    I nodded, keeping my tone and expression neutral. ¡°Explain.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s eyes shifted, avoiding mine. Most people avoided direct eye contact with me, but I knew where his gaze went. He¡¯d done a good job of keeping his composure up until then, but he¡¯d just reflexively glanced behind me to where Emma stood. She hadn¡¯t so much as acknowledged him since bringing the group up.


    ¡°Insubordination, ser.¡± Hendry lifted his chin, making an effort to stand straighter. ¡°I missed two musters, got into a quarrel with one of my fellow knights, and spoke discourteously to my captain.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Yes, ser.¡±


    I studied him for a long minute, trying to decide how to handle this. Hendry Hunting was the eldest son and heir of Brenner Hunting, a Venturmoorian nobleman who¡¯d been Emma¡¯s guardian for many years, and a benefactor to her parents before their death. Brenner had intended to marry the girl to his son in a scheme to elevate his House into the upper tiers of the land¡¯s powers, something he could have accomplished with her storied bloodline.


    I¡¯d put an end to that plan by agreeing to take Emma on as my disciple and secreting her out of House Hunting¡¯s clutches. Two seasons later, I¡¯d met Lord Brenner¡¯s son again in the Fulgurkeep. He¡¯d won a tourney in the early spring and gotten a post with the prestigious Storm Knights, likely also one of his father¡¯s schemes for influence.


    Despite all that, Hendry seemed a good enough lad. He¡¯d nearly died in a reckless charge against an infernal champion on Emma¡¯s behalf, and so far as I knew he hadn¡¯t divulged her true lineage to anyone else since learning she was here in the city. He was earnest, if perhaps naive.


    And I certainly didn¡¯t believe he¡¯d suddenly shown his true colors as some sort of malcontent close to the same time I¡¯d needed to gather a team. The boy still had feelings for my squire.


    I considered sending him away. I could make do without him, and the council wouldn¡¯t protest it. I doubted Hendry had joined my command at his father¡¯s behest, or that the ambitious Lord Brenner would want such a dubious post for his son.


    As if sensing my deliberation, Hendry spoke with a breathy haste. ¡°I can make myself useful, ser. I am a good fighter, any of the palace guard will agree, and I...¡±


    He trailed off, glancing at the others. There were some curious looks, and some impatient ones. Kenneth seemed amused by the display, his lips pursed as though holding back a smile. I caught Penric¡¯s eye. The old archer shrugged. The cleric, who stood closest, mostly just seemed uncomfortable.


    ¡°Go on,¡± I urged him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve faced monsters before,¡± Hendry said quietly, his gaze holding firm under mine. ¡°I still have the scar to prove it. I know just what sort of things we might be going up against, ser.¡±


    He had a point. From what information I¡¯d been given, none of the other five had ever faced demons or other supernatural threats. Hendry had faced off with a Scorchknight of Orkael and survived. He might have simply been unhorsed by the hellbound warrior, but there were plenty who¡¯d left such encounters worse off. Or not at all.


    I turned to Emma. She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to comment. If that hurt Hendry, he didn¡¯t show it.


    Finally, relenting ¡ª mostly because I knew there was still a risk of the boy revealing to his father about Emma¡¯s presence in the city, and deciding it best to keep him close ¡ª I walked back to my desk. When I didn¡¯t dismiss Hendry from the room, he let out a breath of relief.


    I ran my gaze over the seven people who were to be my subordinates. My lance, for all intents and purposes. I¡¯d never had one, though most proper knights did. All the pieces of it were here. Several men-at-arms, an archer, a cleric, and a squire. The traditional chivalric war party.


    And I had to make use of them, without getting them all killed. Or worse.


    Taking a deep breath, I addressed the whole group. ¡°The Emperor and his council have commanded me to find whoever is responsible for the string of attacks the other night. We don¡¯t know much yet. We have more than a score of victims, many of whom were collateral damage to the real targets so far as we can tell. Few of the attackers shared similar methods, but they all acted within the same three hour window.¡±


    I paced in front of my desk as I spoke. The pain in my knee grew worse if I kept it still too long. ¡°We know most of the targets were expected to participate in the Emperor¡¯s tournament. This has led some on the council to suspect this might have been a ploy to take out competition. If so, the perpetrator not only has immense resources, but is very likely insane. I consider that unlikely.¡±


    ¡°Which part?¡± Kenneth chipped in, his tone bright. ¡°That they¡¯re powerful, or that they¡¯re insane?¡±


    There were some chuckles in the group. They stopped when I halted my pacing to look at Kenneth.


    ¡°I do not believe our quarry did all of this to ensure a better chance at glory in the tournament,¡± I clarified. ¡°It¡¯s more likely they wanted to remove potential obstacles to some future plan. Most of the people who died were fighters of some renown, and nearly all of them had a strong battle Art.¡±


    This much, I¡¯d learned in the last two days while going over reports that¡¯d touched the Steward¡¯s desk. He¡¯d passed all of it to me, leaving me and Emma to dig through the mess late into the night trying to look for threads.


    My words settled on the group, and no one had much laughter in them then. Kenneth cleared his throat.


    I walked around to the back of my desk, set the papers down, and splayed my hands on its surface. I met each pair of eyes in turn, not certain what I was looking for. Would one of them flinch at the lie-burning light in my gaze, if they were a spy? Would my glare impress the gravity of the situation on them?


    ¡°Somewhere in this city, a dangerous faction is lurking in the shadows, and I suspect they aren¡¯t done. It¡¯s no accident this is happening now, when all the Accord is gathering here for a show of unity.¡±


    I decided then for a show of melodrama. Sliding my axe out of its ring, I placed it down on the desk over the stacks of reports. It settled with two solid notes, metal and oak together. The six stared at it, that ill-rumored weapon of the Headsman.


    Best they see where their efforts ended. Whatever we found, Faen Orgis would have the final say.


    ¡°The Emperor¡¯s tournament starts in four days. Find me something I can use before then. Dismissed.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 12: The Headsman and The Lady Dance

    Arc 5: Chapter 12: The Headsman and The Lady Dance


    Some time later, I was getting ready to head out when Emma appeared at the door again.


    ¡°Someone here to see you,¡± she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. ¡°Also, I¡¯m not your secretary. Shouldn¡¯t we have a servant to answer the damned door?¡±


    I gave her a steady look. ¡°You¡¯re my squire. I should be having you scrub my armor and dress me. Would you prefer that?¡±


    Emma blew out a breath, sighing. ¡°Shall I see them up?¡±


    I waved my assent. A minute later, Faisa Dance stepped into my office.


    A tall, lavishly adorned woman in her fifties, Lady Faisa was the older sister to her House¡¯s leader and a leading name in the renaissance movement, a patron to artists and inventors. The Dance¡¯s were powerful and wealthy, rulers of the Duchy of Mirrebel. When I¡¯d first arrived in the capital, I¡¯d played the role of a mercenary sleuth investigating her lover¡¯s murder. Her cooperation had enabled me to learn that demonic activity was at work in the city.


    Needless to say, I bowed my head to the noblewoman and spoke in courteous tones. ¡°Lady Faisa. To what do I owe the honor?¡±


    Faisa Dance didn¡¯t reply immediately. She paced around the room, her layered skirts whispering along the freshly scrubbed stone of the floor. Bronze skinned and silver haired, Faisa had a piercing gaze shaped by a thin, elegant nose and high cheekbones. It was said by many she¡¯d been among Urn¡¯s greatest beauties in her youth, and I could still see it.


    And I didn¡¯t feel ready to host any one of her standing. My personal quarters were still mostly barren, and not as clean as I¡¯d like. There was the desk, my armor stand, and a shelf I¡¯d had brought up not two hours before to help organize some of the paperwork I¡¯d already been inundated with.


    Faisa paused by the desk, glancing over the stacks of reports. ¡°You¡¯ve come a long way since that day you were introduced to me as Lord Yuri¡¯s fetch,¡± she said, turning to face me. ¡°Alken of the Linden, was it?¡±


    I kept my chin lowered, feeling very wary of this powerful woman. ¡°I regret deceiving you, my lady, but I trust you understand the reasons.¡±


    Faisa snorted, then glided over to the window. ¡°Since then, I¡¯ve learned so many strange things about you. Not Alken of Lindenroad, but Alken Hewer of Karledale. Not a mere fetch, but the Headsman of Seydis and a Knight of the Alder Table, once sworn to the service of the Elf King.¡±


    She tilted her head to watch me out of the corner of my eye, judging my reaction. ¡°And before all that, you were our fair lady empress¡¯s man. Rosanna¡¯s Headsman. The Ram of Karles, First Sword to House Silvering. So. Many. Names.¡±


    My jaw flexed. ¡°Is there something I can help you with, my lady?¡±


    Faisa made an odd gesture, waving her hand through the air while fluttering her fingers, causing an emerald on the middle one to flash. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look so glum. I do not mean to threaten you, Ser Headsman, but you should be aware that I am not the only one who has made these connections.¡±


    She fixed me with a look very much like the admonishing one I¡¯d given Emma only minutes before. ¡°People talk. They gossip, and they whisper. They ask themselves, is the Headsman still bound to his old mistresses¡¯s leash? Did she force her husband to accept him, or are they in accord?¡±


    She turned to me, her bemused expression turning stern. ¡°They ask if the Emperor and Empress of the Accorded Realms have been using you to chop inconvenient heads. They ask if it was Markham Forger and Rosanna Silvering who ordered the death of the Grand Prior.¡±


    My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to keep my expression remote. ¡°Dangerous assumptions. Besides, you were there that day. You know who gave me that order.¡±


    ¡°Oh, very much so.¡± Faisa flashed even teeth in an almost feral little smile. ¡°And yet, things are assumed. Only a small portion of the peerage and some members of the clergy saw your angels, and besides.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°There is much phantasm in our world. Perhaps they were conjured?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe that?¡± I asked her.


    Faisa flicked her ringed hand. ¡°What people actually believe matters very little next to what they choose to say.¡± She leaned forward, enunciating carefully. ¡°Politics.¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to blackmail me?¡± I asked, letting a chill enter my voice. ¡°Or do you mean to blackmail our rulers through me? I won¡¯t take kindly to that, my lady.¡±


    Faisa made a show of shivering. ¡°Oh, so frightening. I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t realize what you were when I saw your golden eyes... ah! I can practically see the light in them. Is it true you Alder paladins can see lies?¡±


    I held her gaze. ¡°Try telling me one, and find out.¡±


    The Lady Faisa made a shooing gesture at me. ¡°Perhaps if I were twenty years younger. I am here for business, I¡¯m afraid, not pleasure.¡±


    I didn¡¯t bother hiding my scowl. I hadn¡¯t intended to flirt with her, and she¡¯d known it. I¡¯d heard rumors about how clever the thorned roses of House Dance could be with wordplay.


    I¡¯m outmatched, I thought. One slip, and she might get more from me than I want her to.


    The noblewoman watched me a moment, then sighed. ¡°My, you¡¯re dour. She wasn¡¯t lying after all.¡±No?v(el)B\\jnn


    I frowned. ¡°Who?¡±


    I knew what she was getting at. I¡¯d had a similar thought, and done some digging during the past two days. ¡°Several of those targeted during the Culling were knights who took the Priory¡¯s side,¡± I said. ¡°Two of them were killed.¡±


    Faisa cursed savagely. I understood her frustration. All this trouble being the work of zealots would have simplified things.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t discounted the possibility,¡± I admitted. ¡°They might have used most of the attacks as a cover for their real targets. Still, it seems brash even for them.¡±


    ¡°Brash for fanatic torturers who were kidnapping nobles for political leverage?¡± Faisa snorted. ¡°Unlikely. Even still, I had to ask. They spat in my face that night.¡±


    I sighed, spreading my hands out helplessly. ¡°My investigation has just started, my lady. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I truly have nothing so far. I just sent a team I was introduced to this morning out into the city barely three hours ago. I¡¯ve got them investigating different leads in pairs, and I expect to have a clearer picture of these attacks soon, but even still...¡±


    I glanced at my already cluttered desk. ¡°This will take time.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Faisa said. ¡°Forgive my haste, ser. In truth, I am here to assist you, not demand fast results. Forgive my theorizing.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°How do you intend to assist me, Lady Dance?¡± And what is it going to cost me? I added silently.


    ¡°I have information.¡± A tight smile formed on Faisa¡¯s painted lips. ¡°One of those attacked during the Culling was the Cymrinorean, Siriks Sontae.¡±


    ¡°Siriks?¡± I frowned, looking at the stacks of reports on my desk. ¡°I wasn¡¯t given his name.¡±


    ¡°The delegation from Cymrinor did not announce it,¡± Faisa informed me. ¡°I only know because of my own network of contacts. The peninsula has always been insular, and they still don¡¯t trust us. I believe they have kept this hidden from the rest of the city while they conduct their own investigations. Lord Siriks survived, but is presently recovering from wounds sustained that night within the Cymrinorean embassy.¡±


    Siriks had also put himself forward to defend Laessa during her trial, just as Jocelyn and Tegan had. No wonder Faisa thinks the Priory is involved, I thought.


    ¡°You think they know something the rest of us don¡¯t?¡± I asked, catching her drift. Then, startled I added, ¡°Do you think they managed to capture the assassin?¡±


    Faisa shrugged. ¡°I do not know, but they shut their doors that night and have refused to answer the palace since. Cymrinor is a member of the Accord, but the Princedoms have always been independent. They do not bow to the authority of the Ardent Round or the Emperor, and are here only as a courtesy. If they have decided to handle this problem themselves...¡±


    ¡°It could become a mess,¡± I finished, drumming my fingers on the desk. ¡°Damn.¡±


    Faisa turned to the door. I spoke before she left. ¡°This is helpful. Why are you telling me?¡±


    The noblewoman glanced over her shoulder. ¡°Because I am forward thinking enough to know that being in the good graces of the Headsman might be valuable, one day.¡±


    ¡°Sniping a favor from me, is it?¡± I smiled, finding I wasn¡¯t annoyed. ¡°Very well. You have my thanks, Lady Faisa.¡±


    She paused at the door, a hand lingering on the frame. ¡°I do not need your thanks, Ser Headsman. Find whoever is behind all of this. And find justice for my Yselda. I may not be a great sorceress, but I can be a petty witch. I will make it a curse, if I must.¡±


    She left then, leaving the door open. A minute later, Emma peeked back in.


    ¡°If you¡¯re about to tell me there¡¯s someone else here to meet me,¡± I growled, ¡°I¡¯m escaping through the window and swimming out of this damned castle.¡±


    My squire lifted a scroll. ¡°Just a letter, actually.¡±


    Sighing, I gestured for her to bring it. I checked the seal first. A bronze coin had been affixed to the letter in place of a more typical seal.


    Removing the coin and pocketing it, I read the letter. It was very short. I put it down, turned to the stand set on the back wall, and lifted my hauberk off it.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Emma asked, after I¡¯d let the coat of rings settle over my shoulders. ¡°Who is it from?¡±


    ¡°Grab your gear,¡± I ordered her, putting on the harness I wore over the hauberk, then sliding my axe back through its belt ring. I grabbed my rondel and other bits, gearing up fully without paying much attention to what I did. ¡°We¡¯re heading out.¡±


    When I turned, Emma had my cloak in hand. I met her eyes as I took it.


    ¡°It¡¯s from the Backroad Inn. We¡¯ve got a private audience with its keeper.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 13: Den of Wolves

    Arc 5: Chapter 13: Den of Wolves


    Inns are special places. They are where strangers meet and leave as friends, where quests start, where warmth and safety can be found regardless of your origin or destination. Lords and peasants can rub elbows by a quiet roadside hearth as anonymous travelers, without concern for station. There are old traditions around such places, strong as any devil¡¯s contract or elf¡¯s bargain.


    But there is one place like a shadow to these, latched to the border between the waking world and stranger realms like a leech on a vein. A meeting place for the lost and the desperate, for the apostate and the blackguard, for the dead and the damned.


    A den where hungry wolves can find their like.


    It can be found in any country, the Backroad Inn, if you know the signs to look for and if it wants to be found. Easier if you have a token from its master. I kept the bronze coin in a hand half hidden beneath my cloak, rolling it through my fingers.


    Some parts of Garihelm have no proper streets, and need to be navigated by boat. I found myself in one of these, the sleek gondola beneath me plying dark, burbling waters along a narrow stretch. Homes, shops, and brothels rose to either side of the drowned street, their windows and balconies set right over the water.


    Hendry, who rowed for us, watched the surrounding rows with a nervous eye. Many of them were populated by flint eyed men in the garb of dockworkers or fishermen.


    There wasn¡¯t much noise here. We were in a bad part of town.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to this place before?¡± The brawny lad asked me. He¡¯d switched out of his Storm Knight uniform, dressing instead in a simple coat and shirt like I¡¯d often worn after my tenure in Inquisition custody, his shaggy brown hair tied back from his face.


    ¡°This place?¡± I asked, glancing around at the neighborhood. ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Hendry frowned. ¡°Then...¡±


    Emma, reclining at the front of the boat with her boots crossed at the ankle, rolled her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t indulge him, he¡¯s being all blunt and mysterious. It¡¯s practically his favorite pastime. It¡¯s simple, really. The place we¡¯re going can¡¯t be found, it has to find you. He¡¯s just getting us lost in the ass end of the city to speed things along.¡±


    Hendry blinked. ¡°Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.¡±


    Emma looked to me, not bothering to hide her annoyance. ¡°Is there a reason why we needed a third wheel?¡±


    I¡¯d originally divided the six we¡¯d been given to assist with my work into pairs, sending them out to investigate several of the incidents from the night of the Culling. Hendry and Emil, the cleric, had been chasing leads in the palace to follow up on Ser Jocelyn¡¯s encounter. I¡¯d ended up pulling Hendry along into this, leaving his partner to pass along instructions to any of the others who reported back to the tower while I was away.


    ¡°Because this isn¡¯t like the other times I¡¯ve gone to the Backroad,¡± I told her. ¡°This is an official meeting.¡±


    Emma tilted her head, humming. ¡°And you look more official with two attendants. Or, one attendant and a thug, as it were.¡±


    Hendry, in an uncharacteristically bright tone said, ¡°You do have an intimidating glare, Em.¡±


    I swear, the air around the boat crackled. Emma went very still, save for a slow turn of her head as a pair of avian amber eyes fixed on Hendry. She spoke in a calm, patient voice sharp and hard enough to chisel steel.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± she told him. ¡°Ever.¡±


    Hendry froze, his rowing motions faltering. ¡°I... I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°No one told you to stop rowing,¡± she said, still in that deadly patient voice.


    The young man started rowing again, his face pale. I said nothing, though the cold fury in my disciple unsettled me.


    I¡¯m going to need to take care of that, I thought. Otherwise, I¡¯ll have to let Hendry go. Emma¡¯s anger toward House Hunting remained too raw.


    The rest of the ride passed in uncomfortable silence. Eventually, I had Hendry pull us up to a small dock set below a four story building larger than most of the others. There wasn¡¯t much different about its make, but I sensed something about it. It didn¡¯t belong.


    Or perhaps it was the lantern burning outside and the fact that the water below had a light mist coiling over it, despite the day being warm and clear. Who can say. My powers aren¡¯t really a science. I¡¯m guided by intuition more than anything, and when something feels out of place in the world around me, I¡¯ve learned to pay attention.


    Hendry and I tied up the boat before the three of us moved up the short stair to the front door. As we passed beneath the overhang of the roof, the bright early summer day seemed to grow dimmer. Emma paused, frowning, though Hendry didn¡¯t seem to notice. His aura wasn¡¯t awakened like ours.


    ¡°This is the place,¡± I said. ¡°Keep close to me, speak to no one, and don¡¯t let anything distract you. The inn is predatory.¡±


    Emma nodded, having gone into more than a few preternatural locations in her time. Hendry swallowed, but made a visible effort to steel himself.


    Truthfully, I hadn¡¯t wanted to bring Emma along. There were likely to be some beings, the Keeper himself not least amongst them, who would be very interested in her origins. If any of them found out the truth, that she was the last scion of the bloodline of House Carreon, it would be trouble.


    But I¡¯d rather keep her close, and I had promised to stop leaving her behind when I went into danger.


    Hendry was another problem. I¡¯d brought him mainly because he was the youngest member of my new lance, the least experienced and the most high risk with his status as a House heir. I wanted to observe him, see if he could be an asset or a handicap.


    What I¡¯d overlooked was the tension between my two companions. Emma had played nice so far, but the tense moment on the boat proved to me she wasn¡¯t fully accepting of her former betrothed¡¯s presence.


    Putting it from my mind, I stepped through the inn¡¯s front door. I¡¯d been in the Backroad a number of times, and expected the usual scene ¡ª a quiet, smoky room with two levels, a fire pit in the middle, and an assortment of dubious, threatening looking characters huddling over drinks as they conversed privately.


    Superficially, the room I entered looked as I¡¯d remembered. There was the fire pit, and the second level still had that walkway with extra tables and halls leading deeper into the building. There was the bar by the stairs, where the Keeper usually lurked as he glared about and served drinks. There were the tables, and the guests, and the...


    Dancers?


    We stepped from the quiet, waterlogged neighborhood into a violent, cacophonous siege on the senses. The inn¡¯s common room was packed with people either milling about the tables or clustered around them, the air filled with an eye-itching haze of smoke, sweat, musk, cooked meat, alcohol, and a dozen other nameless scents.


    In addition to the anonymous looking travelers I usually saw, there were also brightly dressed merchants and even what might have been nobles in current fashion. There were bankers, foresters, priests, guildsmen, and mercenaries in full war gear. I saw sailors, some of whom looked like they¡¯d fresh arrived from the continent by their strange dress and the various accents I caught snippets of in the din.


    The Keeper had often employed what would have passed as ordinary tavern maids anywhere else ¡ª usually women of varying ages. Now, most of the girls I saw with trays of steaming food or drinks wore more revealing outfits, with low-cut dresses, some of them slit up the legs. They wore jewelry and flamboyant hairstyles, painted their faces, even sported tattoos and elaborate piercings.


    And some of them entertained the guests with more than just conversation and drink.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say you¡¯re a big boy. I don¡¯t steal your lines.¡± She flashed a fanged smile, then nodded to the door. ¡°This is it.¡±


    She glanced at Emma and Hendry. ¡°Those two will have to wait out here. This is a private meeting. Why don¡¯t you two go get some drinks, take a load off? This might be a while.¡±


    I started to protest. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a¡ª¡±


    Catrin nudged me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re all under guest right. They¡¯ll be safe from any trickery. I¡¯ll put a couple of the girls I trust on them, just in case.¡±


    Hendry blushed. ¡°You mean...¡±


    Emma rolled her eyes. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t get all out of sorts, Hunting. You¡¯ve seen breasts before, surely.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s blush deepened. Catrin frowned, leaned close to the young man, and sniffed. The sniff immediately became a sharp inhale. He shuffled back a step, clearly uncomfortable.


    The dhampir¡¯s eyes widened and turned a paler color of brown. ¡°Shit. I don¡¯t think he has.¡± She looked at me with a reproachful expression. ¡°Al, this is a wolf¡¯s den. Why¡¯d you bring a lamb in?¡±


    Hendry¡¯s blush took on a different color, his face darkening with anger. ¡°I am no lamb. I am Ser Hendry of House Hunting, firstborn son of Lord Brenner Hunting. I was knighted by King Roland of Venturmoor, and earned a post with the Stormguard of Garihelm through feats of arms. I charged Jon Orley on the field of battle, and still bear the wound from it.¡±


    He pressed a hand to his left shoulder, took a deep breath, then spoke in a steadier voice. ¡°I will not be mocked.¡±


    He looked first at Catrin, then at Emma, who was staring at him with an openly surprised expression.


    Catrin, for her part, just gave him an approving nod. ¡°Right. Well, good on you.¡± In a half whisper to me she added, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure no one turns him into dinner, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to leave either of them to the inn¡¯s mercy, but I¡¯d come here for a purpose and I trusted Catrin. I turned to Emma. ¡°I want the two of you to listen, find out if anyone¡¯s talking about the other night.¡±


    Emma pursed her lips. ¡°Shall we ask questions?¡±


    I considered, then shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll leave it to your judgement, but try not to draw too much attention. I¡¯d rather it stay on me.¡±


    Emma wasn¡¯t slow, for all her flippancy. Her eyes widened a fraction. ¡°That¡¯s why you had us dress inconspicuously while you came fully arrayed as the Headsman. You¡¯re bait.¡±


    I gave her a tight smile. ¡°Someone might approach you and ask questions, or just stalk you. If that happens, mark them and let me know about it.¡±


    ¡°And if there¡¯s trouble with this broker?¡± She asked, glancing at the door.


    ¡°He might try to strong arm me in negotiations,¡± I admitted, ¡°but he¡¯s basically a lord, and we¡¯re in his hall. So long as we¡¯re good guests, he wouldn¡¯t dare do anything that might hurt his reputation.¡±


    I gave her one last significant look, then nodded to Hendry. Catrin had walked a distance away with him to chat, their conversation muffled by the muted din of the common room. He looked perplexed and anxious, but whatever she was saying to him seemed to be helping his nerves.


    ¡°I know there¡¯s some history between you two,¡± I said quietly. ¡°But keep things professional.¡±


    Emma scowled. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re prodding at him to get him to quit.¡± I spoke more sternly. ¡°I don¡¯t know that boy as well as you, Emma, but I don¡¯t think he has untoward intentions.¡±


    Her scowl deepened, but I fixed her with my most serious look. I still remembered my brief encounter with Hendry in Rosanna¡¯s bastion a month before. He¡¯d had so much regret in his eyes.


    ¡°I believe he cares about you,¡± I said. ¡°You don¡¯t have to reciprocate those feelings, and by all means draw whatever lines you think necessary, but give him a chance to help.¡±


    ¡°And what do you know about it?¡± Emma snapped, the anger she¡¯d been keeping inside all day bursting out. ¡°His father tried to use me for my name and my body, like a prized breeding mare. That was his stud of choice.¡±


    She pointed at Hendry, her eyes furious.


    ¡°I know,¡± I sighed. ¡°But that was his father. And... damn it Emma, I don¡¯t know the boy, but I think he feels bad about it. More than that, I could use someone whose motives I actually understand on this team I¡¯ve been saddled with. Even still...¡±


    I gave her a level look. ¡°If you want me to send him away, I¡¯ll do it. Is that what you want?¡±


    I watched her consider it. Then, sighing, she shook her head. ¡°No. Besides, his father might still show his bristly face at some point. Best we don¡¯t get blindsided by that.¡±


    I nodded, relieved. ¡°Good. Then don¡¯t get him killed. Catrin was serious about that wolf and lamb thing. Most of the Keeper¡¯s girls are predators, and use this place to get their meals. Don¡¯t let him out of your sight.¡±


    Emma suddenly looked more nervous, but nodded. ¡°If any fanged harlots flash their tits at him, I shall intervene.¡± She hesitated a moment before adding, ¡°Does that include her?¡±


    She pointed. I realized Catrin was laughing at something Hendry had said. She had her hand on one of his arms, as though she¡¯d patted him and let it linger there. He was smiling, looking more relaxed than he had before.


    A knot formed in my chest, one I¡¯d felt before. I knew she worked here, that this was normal for her, but even still...


    Seeing it was different. I took a deep breath, letting my tension loosen. ¡°Then... that¡¯s between them.¡± I shrugged it off. ¡°Hendry¡¯s a grown man, and Cat and I... we aren¡¯t really going steady, not like that. She can be with who she wants.¡±


    Catrin worked in a brothel, no matter how supernatural its trappings. Giving me her company once in a while didn¡¯t make her mine.


    Emma watched me steadily, not commenting. Almost as though drawn by my attention, Catrin looked away from Hendry and met my eyes. She nodded to the door, and I got the message. It¡¯s time.


    I gave Emma one last reassuring smile, not feeling it at all, then gestured for her to go with the other two. Then I turned to the door and stepped inside to meet a devil.

 Arc 5: Chapter 14: Broker of Secrets

    Arc 5: Chapter 14: Broker of Secrets


    I stepped from the innocuous hallway into a very different scene.


    The first thing that struck me was the silence. As the door clicked closed at my back, the roaring din of music, conversation, and more salacious entertainment vanished completely. The quiet that replaced it had a near deafening quality, like the moment after a thunderbolt. My ears even rang in the same way.


    The room itself was darkly lit, spacious, and comfortably furnished. Stands decorated with honest, old fashion candles stood at every corner, on the arms of a chandelier hung from the ceiling, and on the low table at the very center of the room.


    Sitting at that table were three figures. One was a man on a narrow couch. He looked to be around fifty, almost skeletally gaunt, with a thin neck hidden in a collar and neckcloth. His long gray hair receded from a spotted scalp, and he had a pale-eyed glare that seemed almost ghoulish in the dim lighting, not helped by a thin, almost lipless mouth perpetually caught in sour disdain. He wore a brown vest over a gray shirt, of fine quality if modest design.


    He had a beautiful woman in his lap, seated so a single long leg emerging from a green dress hung over the little couch¡¯s arm. Her head was propped on the opposite arm, her black hair falling nearly down to the carpeted floor. Her eyes were closed in drowsy contentment while the man ran his fingers through her raven locks with slow, unfocused motions.


    The third figure was a man in his thirties, handsome, and looked like a wealthy merchant. He wore layered clothes in an elaborate fashion, mostly black and white striped with splashes of brighter red. A chaperon hung over his face to shadow one eye. The other was so dark as to be nearly black, watching me with detached interest.


    The Keeper of the Backroad Inn scowled at me, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    He spoke without stopping the rhythmic motion of his fingers through the woman¡¯s hair. She murmured something and stirred without opening her eyes. I realized she was asleep.


    Or high. Smoke emerged from an intricately fashioned bronze pot on the table. As I stepped closer and got a whiff, it exuded a heady scent.


    I ignored his complaint, glancing at the second man. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me there¡¯d be someone else present for this.¡±


    I guessed the drowsing woman to be one of his employees, here to show status as much as the lavish, darkly furnished room did. The man, on the other hand, looked like one of his guests.


    ¡°I was just about to leave,¡± the stranger said in a deep, cultured voice, standing smoothly. He adjusted his hat, stepped around the table, and inclined his head to me, then to the man on the couch.


    ¡°Your inn is a house of delights, as always Keeper.¡±


    The Keeper tilted his head in return, and the man left with one last glance at me. He looked caught between curiosity and amusement. Maybe he just wasn¡¯t used to seeing someone in chainmail armor and a blood red cloak walking into the inn. Then again, I¡¯d hardly been the most eccentric figure among the crowd outside.


    ¡°Have a seat,¡± the Keeper said. It wasn¡¯t quite an order, but the man had a brusque, no nonsense way about him. I sat, occupying the chair to the left, opposite where the other guest had been seated.


    ¡°Get you anything?¡± The Keeper asked, reclining back and letting his eyes fall down to his companion, who still hadn¡¯t woken. ¡°Wine? A body to warm your lap? They¡¯re not all cold blooded like that graveborn you¡¯re so sweet on.¡±


    I kept my expression neutral, my posture relaxed. Was he trying to get a rise out of me? Or was the offer genuine?


    ¡°I¡¯d take some wine,¡± I said. While I didn¡¯t trust this man, I also didn¡¯t want to spurn his hospitality and doubted he¡¯d use poison. He was old, and that meant age old ideas on host and guest right.


    Besides, my powers would burn off most of the alcohol and keep my head clear. If it protected me from elf wine, surely it would save me from whatever a devil poured?


    With surprising elegance, the Keeper leaned forward without disturbing the resting woman and poured wine into a brass cup. The cups and jar of incense were all painted with colorful scenes of figures frolicking in parade, playing flutes, mating, or eating one another. Some did all of it at once. Many of them had the heads of wolves, goats, or hawks.


    ¡°I admit,¡± the Keeper said. ¡°I¡¯m surprised to see you.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I asked in the same courteous tone he used as I sipped at the wine.


    The Keeper leaned back again, watching me coolly. ¡°You¡¯ve risen high, I hear. High enough it must be easy to forget small men like me in our small dens.¡±


    He smirked. I waited a beat before answering him.


    ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s because you sent Catrin to seduce me, and get leverage on my patrons?¡± I returned his smile.


    The Keeper went very still. I gave him a level look, letting those words sink in, then continued.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not bullshit one another, Keeper. You are not a small man. You¡¯re playing the game of immortals, and I know those sorts of stakes. Neither are you just an ordinary proprietor. You agreed to this meeting because you have something that can help me, and I¡¯m here because you have connections I can¡¯t find anywhere else.¡±


    The Keeper made an odd sucking sound through his teeth, turning the motion into a cold scoff. ¡°So you knew what she was about, then. I wondered what was going on there. Not like my Cat to get stonewalled so bad.¡±


    I kept a faint, knowing smile on my face despite feeling uneasy inside. This was dangerous ground, and a risk. Catrin had given me some tips about her master¡¯s personality to help in these negotiations. By convincing him that I was onto his game, I presented myself as a challenge, as an equal. He was a scavenger, an opportunist, and would be far more cautious about me if he believed I could keep up with him.


    On the other hand, I had to pretend like I was taking advantage of Catrin, which didn¡¯t sit well with me. I understood its necessity, and knew it would do neither of us any good if the Keeper suspected we¡¯d been conspiring, but even still...


    I¡¯m not much of an actor. The aureflame lashes out at me when I break promises or tell blatant lies, same as it does when someone else lies to me while meeting my gaze.


    And more than that...


    She¡¯d told me to do this, but I inwardly cringed at what I was about to say. I needed no magical backlash to feel hideous about it.


    ¡°You should have sent a more clever whore,¡± I told him in my most dismissive, uninterested voice, leaning back and sipping at the wine. ¡°Or even a prettier one. Did you think a tavern wench who spends half her time lusting for what¡¯s in my veins would get all my secrets from me?¡±


    The Keeper shrugged, seemingly unbothered. ¡°You two had a rapport. Got one another out alive during that business in Caelfall.¡±


    ¡°I was always curious about that. Why send her into that snake pit?¡±


    The Keeper made a dismissive gesture, as though swiping away my words before they could reach him. ¡°A few reasons. For one, most of my employees are little more than appetites on legs. Catrin¡¯s got wits, most of the time."


    "Besides.¡± He smiled conspiratorially. ¡°As you said, she¡¯s not my prettiest. She¡¯s expendable.¡±


    The woman on his lap let out a quiet, throaty laugh. Not so asleep as she seemed.


    I kept my face blank, with effort. ¡°Well, don¡¯t bother sending another one of your parasites.¡±


    He nodded, relaxing back into his chair. He seemed more comfortable than before, as though my churlishness had put him at ease. ¡°So. You want to know about the Culling.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Anything you can tell me. I know your establishment gets traffic from mercenaries and assassins, and those who hire them.¡±


    ¡°Nothing was organized under my roof,¡± the Keeper said smoothly.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I agreed. ¡°I¡¯m not here to throw suspicion on you, Keeper.¡±


    Not that I¡¯m not suspicious, I added silently. He¡¯d elevated his business and obviously brought in new clientele. Had he also expanded into sedition, or even terrorism?


    This man was a crime lord. From Catrin, and my own observations, I knew not all his people were just bed warmers. He¡¯d hired Karog for a brief time as muscle, after all.


    ¡°Well, people say things.¡± The Keeper sipped at his own cup of wine. ¡°Sometimes, they say things they don¡¯t mean to say. Sometimes they whisper things in the dark, or cry them aloud in the throes of passion. Sometimes they spit them in hatred. And this place...¡±


    He gestured to the rich wooden walls. ¡°It remembers, and whispers it all to me.¡±


    The Keeper tilted his head in a lazy motion, then tipped his brass cup. Red wine, dark as blood, dripped down over the woman in his lap. It fell first on the pale skin between her breasts, then formed a meandering line of droplets like marks on an adventurer¡¯s map up her chest, her neck, then her chin.


    Her lips parted just as the dripping line reached them, letting the wine splash her tongue. She shuddered, the motion passing down her entire body like a cresting wave. The bare leg emerging from her dress rose before folding in, her toes brushing the green fabric.


    I didn¡¯t realize I was following that entire chain of motions until the Keeper chucked the empty cup onto the table, startling me with its clatter. It rolled a ways, almost tumbling off the opposite end. A single bead of liquid dripped down to the carpet as it came to a stop, putting a red stain there.


    ¡°I know there were thirty three people killed that night,¡± the Keeper said. ¡°A good number of them choked to death on their own vomit inside a mansion in the Fountain Ward. And all the targets...¡±


    He swiped a bit of wine off the woman¡¯s chin and pressed it to his mouth, suckling noisily. ¡°All of the targets were big names set to swing their steel cocks about in his majesty¡¯s big hoorah.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    I narrowed my eyes. I only had eighteen deaths reported, and a number more wounded, not counting the attackers themselves. ¡°Thirty three?¡±


    The Keeper sniffed, going back to playing with Saska¡¯s hair. ¡°I¡¯m just an innkeeper.¡±


    ¡°And now they¡¯re snooping around again,¡± I continued. ¡°I saw you talking to Myrddin last month.¡±


    He must have been the one to tell the Keeper about me, I thought. Or had it been Kross?


    It wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d come here to find out.


    The Keeper sneered. ¡°Ask your questions, Headsman. Three for three. I¡¯ll give you an answer for each secret I pulled from you.¡±


    Three questions. I slid my axe back into its ring, sat, and glared at the man as I considered what I should ask. He¡¯d thrown me off my guard, and I need to reassert control, make this count. Saska watched me with curious interest.


    I asked my first question, the one I found most pressing. ¡°Do you know who¡¯s behind these attacks?¡±


    The Keeper answered without hesitation. ¡°No, but I¡¯ve got some theories.¡±


    I nodded, waiting. Now he¡¯d gotten what he wanted, I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d toy with me any longer.


    ¡°All the targets were famous warriors with a known battle magic,¡± the Keeper elaborated. ¡°In other words, threats.¡±


    I¡¯d already guessed that much. ¡°Some members of the court are under the belief that this was someone¡¯s plan to ensure victory in the tournament, for themselves or a fighter of their choice.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe that?¡± The Keeper asked with a sneer, letting me know what he thought of the idea.


    ¡°No,¡± I admitted. ¡°That¡¯s too easy. And something about all this... it feels too manic.¡±


    The Keeper leaned forward, his voice lowering in volume even as it spiked with intensity. Saska curled closer to him in an almost unconscious reaction. ¡°It reminds you of the war, don¡¯t it?¡±


    I went still. I hadn¡¯t wanted to give the thought voice, but...


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Reminds of you of the Recusants,¡± the Keeper said with a cruel slash of a grin. ¡°And what do you know, there are two of their royals here in the city right now.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Calerus and Hyperia Vyke are guests of the Ardent Round. I hardly think they¡¯re in a position to organize a string of assassinations.¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s voice became deadly serious. ¡°You don¡¯t know the Condor, do you Headsman?¡±


    The Condor of Talsyn, otherwise known as King Hasur Vyke, was the last great Recusant leader since the war, the only one the Accord had never managed to cow or defeat.


    ¡°He sent his children here for peace talks,¡± I argued, not wanting to believe it. If the Vykes were behind this, then...


    That was a worst case scenario. I would exhaust all other possibilities first.


    ¡°Besides,¡± the Keeper added, shrugging. ¡°The Vykes don¡¯t have to lift a finger. My Cat told me they claimed a potent ally back in Caelfall.¡±


    ¡°Yith,¡± I breathed. ¡°This feels far too clean for a demon. They¡¯re wild dogs you loose on something you want dead, not poisoned arrows.¡±


    Even as I said it, I knew I was wrong. Some demons could be cunning. Those were often the most dangerous. The scars on my face itched.


    And Yith had been working this city for almost a year, fermenting paranoia and distrust. He¡¯d been quiet since I¡¯d wounded him in Lias¡¯s sanctum. Had this been what the bloated fly had been up to?


    I asked my second question. ¡°You said there were attacks outside the city. Who?¡±


    ¡°A retinue of knights from Idhir,¡± the Keeper said smoothly. Saska had poured him another cup of wine, which she held up to his lips for him to sip. ¡°Specifically, from Aureia¡¯s Gate. They¡¯d sent some of their best to make a show in Forger¡¯s tourney.¡±


    ¡°Are any of them still alive?¡± I asked.


    The Keeper lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Is that your third question?¡±


    I glared. ¡°No. Answer it or don¡¯t.¡±


    The Keeper smiled. ¡°One. I imagine they¡¯ll be arriving soon.¡±


    One more. I drummed my fingers on the chair¡¯s arm, thinking.


    ¡°Go on,¡± the Keeper cajoled me. ¡°You know what you want to ask, Headsman.¡±


    He leaned forward, his eyelids narrowing. ¡°Ask me about the artist. Ask me if I know who Anselm of Ruon is.¡±


    He had me, and we both knew it. I¡¯d been chasing that particular ghost almost as long as I¡¯d been in the city, and I felt certain he was involved in all of this.


    But I also sensed a trap. It felt too much like misdirection, like bait dangled in front of me on a line to lead me down a specific direction.


    Or maybe I was just paranoid. Even still, in a flash of intuition, I asked a different question.


    ¡°Can you help me track down Yith?¡± I asked the Keeper.


    The man¡¯s grin was terrible to behold, like a wound in his skull. ¡°Ah, you poor fool. He¡¯s just the attack dog, as you said.¡±


    ¡°If I can find him,¡± I disagreed, ¡°then I can defang this. If he¡¯s connected to these attacks, as you suggested, then I need to take him out of play.¡±


    After that, I would deal with the twins.


    The Keeper sank back into his couch, looking deflated. Saska gave him a pitying look, rubbing at his chest as though to comfort him.


    ¡°Fine,¡± the man sighed. ¡°I know someone who can help you track the Carmine Killer down. He¡¯ll extract his own price, though.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, impatient. ¡°Who is he? Where can I find him?¡±


    The Keeper lifted his chin, looking at me down his crooked nose. ¡°My Cat will take you.¡±


    He flicked his fingers, and almost as though he¡¯d cast a spell the door opened. Catrin stepped through, her chiton swishing quietly as she took up position on one side of the table, folding her hands behind her back.


    Had she been listening? Or did the Keeper have the ability to draw his people¡¯s attention somehow?


    ¡°Yes, boss?¡± She asked in a neutral, almost bored voice. She pointedly avoided looking at me.


    ¡°His lordship needs to speak to one of the old patrons,¡± the Keeper said, his pale gray eyes fixed on me. ¡°The Count.¡±


    Was it my imagination, or did Catrin¡¯s face go even paler than usual? ¡°Uh... you¡¯re sure, boss?¡±


    The Keeper shrugged. I caught Catrin¡¯s attention and nodded. She blew out a breath, adjusting a coil of chestnut hair.


    ¡°Well. Shit.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 15: The Brazen Woods

    Arc 5: Chapter 15: The Brazen Woods


    One we were back out in the hall, Catrin reached out to grab my arm. Her fingers curled around my left elbow, an almost unconscious habit she¡¯d kept for most of the time we¡¯d known one another.


    ¡°Hey big man, slow down. You look pissed.¡±


    I stopped, gritting my teeth. ¡°I am pissed.¡±


    Catrin stepped up to my side, pressing close. It seemed a very intimate position, one she didn¡¯t usually take in front of others, but when a heavyset lordling passed us with a woman on either arm I understood.


    I calmed down, getting myself under control. People are watching.


    Even still, I couldn¡¯t quite keep the bitter edge from my voice. ¡°That man is sick. The way he talks about you and the others, like...¡±


    I couldn¡¯t even put it into words.


    ¡°Like we¡¯re pieces of meat?¡± Catrin asked in a quiet voice.


    I glanced at her serious face, then nodded sharply.


    ¡°That¡¯s every pimp across the sphere of the world,¡± Catrin told me with mild reprimand. ¡°And he was probably playing it up to get under your skin. He¡¯s a creep, Al, but he¡¯s no Orson Falconer. Don¡¯t let him shove you around.¡±


    ¡°He had this woman with him,¡± I said. ¡°She almost seemed the worse of the pair.¡±


    Catrin shuddered against my side. ¡°Saska.¡±


    ¡°Who is she?¡± I asked.


    ¡°His enforcer,¡± Catrin said bitterly. ¡°When anyone gets on the ¡®Keep¡¯s bad side, he sends her. I don¡¯t know what she is, but she¡¯s not like the rest of us. She¡¯s been around longer than anyone else, and she¡¯s absolutely loyal to him. Not someone to mess with.¡±


    I sighed, forcing calm over myself. ¡°Let¡¯s collect Emma and Hendry. Who¡¯s this man you¡¯re taking me to? Is he here in the inn?¡±


    Catrin was quiet a moment. I got the sense she didn¡¯t want to answer, and did so only reluctantly.


    ¡°He¡¯s... it¡¯s hard to explain. I¡¯ll tell you more after we get the other two.¡±


    We moved out into the smoky chaos of the common room. Catrin remained pressed to my side like many of the other girls were with the guests. Even through my armor, I could feel her tension. I doubted my own helped much.


    Not caring who might see, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She relaxed, leaning in closer.


    We found Hendry and Emma up on the balcony. Emma was leaning against the railing, shoulder to shoulder with a petite young woman with blond curls who was telling a story with animated gestures. My squire seemed far more relaxed than normal, her amused expression genuine rather than condescending.


    Hendry was another story entirely. He sat at one of the tables with one of Catrin¡¯s peers on either side of him, both older than him and dressed in bright makeup and garish colors. One, the shorter of the two, was practically hanging off his arm. The other was tall, more cool in demeanor, but both had the boy trapped in his seat while they plied him with questions.


    ¡°So you work in the palace?¡± The shorter one was asking. ¡°But that must be scary. Those walls are so high, and it¡¯s always got terrible weather!¡±


    Hendry swallowed. ¡°It¡¯s, uh, not so bad. It¡¯s quiet higher up. Almost peaceful. And you can¡¯t even hear the wind or the waves when you¡¯re...¡±


    ¡°Inside?¡± The taller one finished for him, smiling innocently.


    Hendry¡¯s face turned beet red. ¡°I, uh...¡±


    ¡°That boy really needs to get laid,¡± Catrin muttered to me. ¡°I can set it up, if you want.¡±


    ¡°Maybe when the city isn¡¯t burning down around us,¡± I said dryly, then raised my voice to get their attention. ¡°Emma. Hendry.¡±


    Emma rolled her head over to look at me, while the pretty girl at her side pouted in disappointment. Hendry almost shot out of his seat, dislodging his hanger on in the process.


    ¡°We¡¯re going.¡±


    Catrin looked at one of the pair who¡¯d been working Hendry. ¡°What¡¯s the word, Eilidh?¡±


    The taller wench in the set shrugged. ¡°Had a few faces give them curious looks, but no one snooped about.¡±


    Her eyes went to me, and she pursed her lips. She had a face more handsome than fair, long nosed and strong jawed, and wore very little in the way of makeup or jewelry compared to the others.


    I inclined my head to her. ¡°Thank you for looking out for my people.¡±


    Eilidh let out a throaty laugh. ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re Cat¡¯s friend. Good to finally meet you.¡±


    She turned to Catrin. ¡°You should talk to Joy. She¡¯s been out of sorts for days.¡±


    Catrin frowned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Eilidh shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s Joy. Just talk to her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got orders from the boss,¡± Catrin sighed. ¡°Just keep an eye on her for me?¡±


    One of the other girls cut in. ¡°Oh, the big moon¡¯s going to be full soon. Joy is always a bitch around this time.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s always that,¡± another quipped.


    Eilidh reached out and squeezed Catrin¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll watch, but don¡¯t wait too long.¡±


    When they¡¯d moved off, I turned to Catrin. ¡°Do you need to take care of that?¡±


    She hesitated, then shook her head. ¡°This is more important. And I should warn you, Al...¡±No?v(el)B\\jnn


    Hendry and Emma both stepped up close to listen over the din. I looked down at the dhampir, curious.


    Catrin sighed. ¡°I know you¡¯re a champion of the realms, big bad axeman in red, all that... but the old benefactors, the Keeper¡¯s real patrons?¡±


    Her expression was deadly serious. ¡°They¡¯re old powers, and not the nice kind. You¡¯re not going to like this.¡±


    I glanced at Emma, and suspected she had the same thought. ¡°I did a job once for the Briar Angel,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll endure.¡±


    My bravado didn¡¯t seem to mollify Catrin in the slightest. She kept staring at me with cool intensity.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll show you the way.¡±


    She turned to go. Emma and Hendry followed when I nodded for them to, but I felt a hand on my arm before I did. I turned and found the older-looking member of the barmaid trio, Eilidh, looking at me with an odd expression.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I asked, wary.


    I knew not all the inn¡¯s inhabitants were vampiric like Catrin, but none of them were ordinary humans. Changelings mostly, with some odder things mixed in. I didn¡¯t feel any particular presence from the tall, freckled woman, but was still cautious.


    When she spoke, Eilidh¡¯s voice had a coldness to it. Anger, I realized. ¡°Have you been telling Catrin to stop feeding?¡± She demanded.


    I blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    The woman¡¯s lip curled, more the start of a snarl than a sneer. ¡°She¡¯s been fasting for far too long, and she¡¯s acted different ever since she started seeing you. I know what you are...¡±


    She sniffed, tilting her chin up defiantly. ¡°You might disapprove of what we do, holy man, what we are, but you don¡¯t have any right to judge us.¡±


    She did sneer then. ¡°Especially since you¡¯ve been partaking.¡±


    We followed her gaze, and immediately I saw what she meant. As we¡¯d gone further down the path, the tall, quiet trees had become thinner and more twisted. But it wasn¡¯t just their shape that¡¯d changed. Most of them seemed perforated somehow, like honey combs, their bark holding an almost metallic sheen somewhere between green and yellow.


    The wind picked up, and the forest filled with an undulating, brassy chorus of sound. Deep and sonorous, it sounded as though the hollow trees gave voice to some mournful dirge. The sound rose and fell in intensity as the wind carried across the woods, growing teeth-grindingly loud before muting into the far distance.


    It lasted a long time. We all paused to listen.


    ¡°They¡¯re like pipe organs,¡± Hendry said. His hand had been lingering on his sword¡¯s hilt since we¡¯d arrived. He held it now in a white knuckle grip.


    ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± Catrin said. She¡¯d grown more subdued the further we¡¯d gotten.


    As we started walking again, I drew close to her and lowered my voice. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    She wore heavy makeup, including white powder on her face, but even still I could tell there was a tightness to her jaw. Her eyes hadn¡¯t stopped moving once since we¡¯d passed into the Burrow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this place,¡± Catrin told me. ¡°It¡¯s like the air is trying to get into my skin. It itches.¡±


    I could smell something like rot in the air, sickly-sweet, but I didn¡¯t get the same sensation Catrin described. Beneath us, the fallen leaves seemed hard and brittle. Almost like glass.


    ¡°I¡¯m with you,¡± I said.


    She gave me a nervous smile, but I could tell she was still unsettled.


    Should have sent Hendry back, I thought, berating myself. He¡¯s not properly warded for this.


    I glanced back at the boy, who was hovering over Emma¡¯s shoulder in an almost unconsciously protective manner. She either didn¡¯t notice or didn¡¯t care, her own gaze roaming over the pipe organ trees. Like the Hunting, her hand lingered at the pommel of her sword.


    I had my powers, and Emma had her dwarven chain mail and sword to repel malignant od. Catrin was undead, and half-real realms held little danger for her. Hendry, on the other hand, was very vulnerable to possession and enchantment. I¡¯d been so fixed on my goal, I hadn¡¯t considered it.


    We crested the slope of a hill, and the forest opened up into a wide glade. The ground looked cracked and dry, no signs of the growth evident everywhere else.


    In the center of that field rose a manor. It wasn¡¯t quite a castle ¡ª it had a single broad tower of stone and some other fortified sections, but the rest was mostly wood and made for lavish comfort, not war. A moat, very deep and black, encircled the manor with a drawbridge leading to the entrance. The bridge was lowered.


    Beyond the field with the old manor, the forest of brass stretched off into a blood red sky which seemed to drink the sulfurous clouds.


    ¡°Behold the home of the Lord Laertes, Count of the Brazen Woods.¡± Catrin proclaimed with theatrical melancholy. The gravity of the moment was undercut a bit when she immediately sneezed, then rubbed at her nose with a finger. ¡°Bleeding Gates, this air.¡±


    ¡°So this is the home of a man whom even the Keeper of the Backroad Inn answers to,¡± Emma said thoughtfully, studying the scene with detached interest. ¡°Is he very powerful?¡±


    ¡°Theoretically,¡± Catrin said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he could arm wrestle either of our boys here, but he¡¯s probably not the type to need to.¡±


    Hendry turned to me. ¡°What¡¯s our plan, ser?¡±


    I thought a moment before speaking. ¡°The Keeper is a treacherous bastard,¡± I said aloud.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Catrin shot me an angry look. ¡°That¡¯s my employer you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    We all stared at her, and she lifted her hands in surrender. ¡°Fine, he¡¯s a bad guy. Please, continue. Ser.¡±


    I sighed. I couldn¡¯t even give a motivating speech in an eldritch hinterland properly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if he was just playing a con,¡± I continued, ¡°but the Keeper implied to me that the remnants of the Recusant Powers might be involved in this mess in the capital. I¡¯ve long suspected the Vykes have been up to something, and that they¡¯re behind Yith, but I never had any proof. Without proof, the Round won¡¯t do anything to risk war against Talsyn.¡±


    ¡°Why not just kill them?¡± Emma asked. ¡°And claim it was the Choir who ordered it. I doubt anyone would complain, least of all the gods.¡±


    ¡°Talsyn wouldn¡¯t see it any different,¡± I told her. ¡°They don¡¯t consider the Choir of Onsolem to be truly divine or worthy of obeisance. It¡¯s one of the original points of contest that caused them to fracture from us.¡±


    Hendry frowned, confused. ¡°How can they deny the divinity of God¡¯s own angels?¡±


    ¡°They see them as little different from elves and other immortals in the world,¡± I explained. ¡°And... I don¡¯t know, Hendry. Go ask a Recusant. I¡¯ve killed a bunch of them, it doesn¡¯t make me an expert. The point is that I can¡¯t just play the rogue vigilante with the Vykes. But if they are behind this, and this count can give me the proof I need...¡±


    I looked at the manor. ¡°Or at the very least give me a path to the demon they¡¯ve leashed, then I can stop whatever this scheme is before it plays out.¡±


    Perhaps I could have spent days running about the city, collecting assorted facts from the members of my lance, interrogating witnesses and running down suspects. I could have been clever, politically savvy, spotted all the connections until the full breadth of the web made its shape clear before my eyes.


    But I am no great strategist. I am a blunt instrument. More than that, I am an Alder Knight and the Headsman of Seydis. There is often a devious sorcerer to show one such as me the path.


    I just had to be ready to pay the price.


    As we crossed the field to the lonely manor, another evil wind came to fill the valley with more sonorous bellowing. Catrin shivered, baring her teeth as though to hiss at the hills, while Hendry just took a deep breath and kept his eyes fixed forward.


    ¡°I think I might like it,¡± Emma said after the sound faded. ¡°It¡¯s quite aesthetic, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Your Carreon is showing,¡± I told her. Emma shot me a withering glare, then pointedly turned her nose up.


    We reached the drawbridge. The manor seemed much larger up close, looming five stories tall in some places, with many sections decorating its face. The stone tower, perhaps part of an older, more functional structure, was the tallest portion. It connected to a stone walkway over the fourth level, with what looked like bedrooms or attic sections.


    The entrance lay atop a short flight of stairs, consisting of a tall, arched door of white wood framed in brass. Scanning the balconies, I saw no guards or sentries. No one to greet us either. The mansion remained still, silent, and dark.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go first,¡± I told them.


    Catrin nodded eagerly. ¡°I¡¯m alright with that.¡±


    I gave her my best put-upon look, then steeled myself and stepped forward. My cloak glided over the planks of the bridge in a quiet rustle. I had my hood down, my shroud tossed back on one shoulder to reveal my axe. I rested a hand on Faen Orgis¡¯s head. Not a threat, but I didn¡¯t want to disguise who I was.


    The Briar cloak I¡¯d been given by Nath seemed to hug my frame more tightly than normal, as though protective or perhaps frightened. Could the ensorceled thing feel fear?


    I crossed the bridge, looked up at the looming face of the manor, and called on the embers of power within me. When I spoke, my words carried the metallic ring of aura.


    ¡°I am Alken Hewer, Knight of the Accorded Realms and Headsman of Seydis. I come at the recommendation of the Keeper of the Backroad Inn, seeking your council. May my companions and I enter your hall?¡±


    I waited for ten seconds after the last echo of my speech had faded. Then, with an anticlimactic lack of volume or weight, the white doors swung open to reveal a dark interior.


    My companions came up behind me. Catrin patted me on the back of my arm. ¡°That was very good,¡± she said. ¡°Your voice is incredible when you do that thing with it. Very hot.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said dryly. Emma snickered, while Hendry muttered the words of a prayer.


    ¡°May the rightful queen of Heaven give strength to our arms, pride to our hearts, and breath to our lungs. May She carry us on strong, fast winds. May Her wisdom grace us, Her resolve guide us, Her faith bind us. Blessed are we, and may the Gates reopen.¡±


    He didn¡¯t speak with any self-righteous airs or forcefulness. His soft voice had a quiet, restrained quality. He made the sign of the auremark over his chest, a long arc from shoulder to neck to shoulder, followed by a line from brow to sternum. He did it properly, swiftly, with the decisive motions of practice.


    I felt a warmth touch the air. It settled in me, notable even with the flicker of aureflame already there. Hendry might not have awakened his soul, or any particular power to call his own, but all living things have the potential. His will, his faith, was real and tangible to my senses.


    And not just mine. Catrin took a step away from the young knight, a sour look on her face as though Hendry suddenly exuded a bad smell.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I told him. He nodded, making a good show of stoicism. A knight never shows fear, after all.


    I wondered if I would be able to keep hold of my own. I felt little terror of some eldritch lord hiding in this strange wilderness, but I did feel fear for those I¡¯d brought with me.


    Taking a deep breath and pushing my doubts down, I stepped into the House of Count Laertes.

 Arc 5: Chapter 16: Fang and Phalanx

    Arc 5: Chapter 16: Fang and Phalanx


    We stepped into the hall of Count Laertes. The foyer was spacious and lavish, with white statues set on plinths around the mouths of side halls and the bottom of a spiral stair at the far end. Chandeliers crafted into interlocking circles hung from the ceiling, and tall windows let the muted yellow light of the dusky woods in.


    The floor was checkered. Most everything else was white or brown wood, but brass was dominant. It gilded the railings of the balcony and stairs, crowned the marble statues, and framed the ornate clock set on one wall.


    And it fashioned the enormous pipe organ. It had been constructed within the curved inner line of the stairway, its pipes forming a zig-zagging pattern over the wall to erupt like a broken sunburst above the balcony.


    The room was large enough to hold a ball in. I stepped over the white-and-black squares of the floor, my boots clicking in arhythmic tones with the steps of my companions.


    The door swung closed at our backs. Hendry jumped, moving for his sword. Even Emma bared her teeth and tensed.


    I held out a hand to stall them, having expected these kinds of theatrics. ¡°Hold,¡± I said. ¡°Follow my lead.¡±


    Catrin wasn¡¯t any more impressed than me. ¡°This guy is really playing to the classics, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    I moved ahead to stand in the center of the cavernous foyer, searching the room. Without using magic this time, I called out. ¡°I submit my group as guests in your hall, o¡¯ lord. We bring no harm to you that isn¡¯t invited, and shall stay no longer than we are welcome, or wish to remain.¡±


    Best to play to tradition. I didn¡¯t want to get us trapped here for a century to indulge some faerie noble¡¯s sense of whimsy. Neither did I want to put an aggressive face forward. I was here in an official capacity.


    The shadows clung tight where the faint light didn¡¯t touch. The shuffling steps and nervous breaths of my group seemed overloud in the silence.


    It lingered long, like a slow building pressure in the air. A wire of steel stretching. Then...


    ¡°You speak the old words well, Alder Knight.¡±


    Someone behind me drew in a sharp breath. I couldn¡¯t tell who. The room remained empty so far as I could tell, but I felt...


    A great heart beating out of rhythm deep beneath the world. Much further away than usual, as though I only caught the faintest after-echoes of its vibration.


    I was very far away from familiar lands.


    ¡°Show yourself,¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Making demands of me?¡±


    ¡°...In my house?¡±


    ¡°Where is that chivalrous mien, ser knight..."


    The voice kept emanating from different directions. I couldn¡¯t pinpoint its source. It had an odd cadence, perhaps an accent, each syllable pronounced with deep, deliberate clarity.


    This place was like Lias¡¯s sanctum. The Count was everywhere. We may as well be in the palm of his hand. Or, more accurately, at the crest of his throat as he waited to swallow.


    I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, even as I began to stoke the aureflame to life. It went from dull embers to a flare, like cooling firewood catching a breeze.


    ¡°You know what I am,¡± I said to the empty room.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°And who you are.¡±


    ¡°Strange, though...¡±


    ¡°...Are you not here to claim my head, executioner?¡±


    After my encounter with the Keeper, my patience for games had run very thin. ¡°I¡¯m here for help,¡± I said in a hard voice. ¡°There are demons and traitors at work in the capital city of the Accorded Realms, and I intend to hunt them down. The Keeper sent me here. He told me you could help me find where my enemy hides.¡±


    Catrin spoke up. ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m one of the Keeper¡¯s staff, I can vouch for him.¡±


    A long pause followed her words. I felt a spike of tension, one I couldn¡¯t name, in that silence.


    ¡°Interesting.¡±


    ¡°...Falstaff knows me well.¡±


    ¡°Not only does he send me one of Tuvon¡¯s knights...¡±


    ¡°But a child of Ergoth as well.¡±


    I spun around to face the door, and the three people I¡¯d brought into this place with me. Into this trap.


    Catrin stood at the back of the group, closest to the door. Something else loomed behind her. A towering shape, utterly black and featureless as though all the shadows in the room clung to it.


    ¡°Catrin!¡± I shouted, already drawing my axe.


    Her eyes went wide. She started to turn, but didn¡¯t do much more than twist her head a bit to the left before the shadow enveloped her.


    Then...


    Vanished. Gone in the blink of an eye, as though it had never been there.


    It took Catrin with it.


    In a blaze of amber light, I erupted with aureflame. It flared up from my shoulders, caught at the ends of my hair, framed my red cloak in a sudden writhing, twisting conflagration. The darkness of the room receded, and where my blazing golden eyes went I cut through it with a mere glance.


    The golden fire burned me, but I was long used to the pain. I ignored it, searching for the thing that¡¯d taken Catrin.


    Hendry and Emma both drew their swords at once. Emma¡¯s, a long keen saber of rare design, looked like a white sliver in the air, the horned hawk on its hilt a bloody crimson. Hendry¡¯s sword was humbler of design, longer and broader, with the silver stag of House Hunting worked into the hilt, entwined antlers framing the base of the blade.


    ¡°Form up!¡± I barked. ¡°The fire won¡¯t burn you.¡±


    It scorched me only because I¡¯d failed it so badly.


    ¡°Emma!¡± Hendry shouted, turning. One of the wolves leapt onto his back, trying to knock him over. He stumbled, but somehow kept upright. Gritting his teeth, the boy grabbed the wolf by its scruff and hurled it away with shocking strength.


    He stepped forward, brought up a limb, and caught the snapping jaws of a phantom wolf on his forearm. It clamped down hard. Hendry grit his teeth, ignoring it as he swung one-handed with his sword to cut down a beast darting in for Emma.


    Hendry barreled into the mass, a boy-faced titan, no fear in his eyes as he stood between the monsters and my squire. He shook the wolf on his arm off with a savage jerk, losing most of his sleeve in the process. His arm was bloody, but he didn¡¯t seem to register the injury.


    A wolf slammed into him, a shoulder charge, and he stumbled. Another caught him the same way, while a third went for his leg just as they had to Emma. He stumbled.


    It all happened so fast. I moved to help him, but two wolves got in my way. They¡¯d broken into our circle. I slashed at one, using a lesser Art to extend the length of the dagger into a burning gold sickle of pure aura perhaps three feet long, slashing it down in a blur of light.


    I followed into another Art, one of my preferred moves. Curved horns of shining amber glass burst from my shoulders, back, and arms, very much like the proud antlers of a great sunlit stag. I crouched, feeling the ensuing tug of ethereal wind that would hurl me through the enemy like a battering ram.


    But I wasn¡¯t just fighting dumb beasts. The Count puppeted these, using them like his own fingers. Even as I manifested my phantasm, the wolves piled in on me. Heedless of the sharp horns, they impaled themselves one after the other, weighing me down.


    The wind tugged at me, but I didn¡¯t go far enough. First two wolves, then four, then seven. I collapsed under a growing mound of their bodies.


    And I watched helplessly as the horde closed in on Hendry and Emma.


    No. It couldn¡¯t end like this.


    Hendry had lost his sword, leaving him defenseless. Emma, recovering herself, grit her teeth and let out a howl of rage. Scarlet light burst to life around her, and all the drops of blood scattered by her own intent or the fangs and claws of the wolves sprouted shrieking spikes. These seemed cruder, lacking the artistic shapes they usually did, but cut just as well.


    Emma¡¯s Shrike Forest formed a cage around her and Hendry, coming barely short of stabbing through the big knight. He seemed heedless of them, still grappling with two of the wolves. It kept most of the beasts at bay, leaving them to snap and bark around the barrier.


    One of them dislodged itself, turned, and went directly for the back of Emma¡¯s neck.


    Hendry let out a shout of terror and denial, lunged forward, and brought his bare fist down on the back of the wolf¡¯s head.


    I expected a meaty thump, perhaps for him to distract the thing for a moment. I did not expect him to hit it with all the fury of an iron portcullis slamming down as its hinges were cut.


    A metallic clang! filled the air, melding with the noise of the wolf¡¯s skull breaking. It fell to the ground, instantly dead, and I realized he¡¯d probably snapped its neck too. He turned, lifted the other wolf by its neck as it twisted and bit at him, but his grip was a steel vice.


    He slammed his forehead against the monster¡¯s snout. It crumpled in a spray of blood and broken teeth. Hendry dropped it, his expression terrible. Blood poured down over his nose, much of it his own, but he barely seemed to notice.


    Emma stared up at the young man, as shocked as I was.


    But there was no time to be surprised. I grit my teeth, forced calm over myself when I realized we were not all dead, and got a boot under me. The piling bodies, some of them still writhing and trying to kill me, were an impossible weight.


    I refused it. Refused that impossibility. The golden fire of the Alder crackled within me, full of the echoing words and wills of older paladins. It had been maimed, misused, turned fitful and volatile, but it hadn¡¯t burned out.


    I reached into it. The fire lashed out, scorching me from within. My physical body spat out a growl, along with some unintelligible curse, and I thrust a mental arm back into the flame.


    It hurt. My real flesh blistered and cracked from a sudden heat that came from within, manifesting as flickering amber light across my frame. The wolves let out pitiful howls as it hurt them too, causing some to slough away into phantasmal muck, unmade by that sacred fire.


    The weight on me lessened, but I wasn¡¯t going to outlast the Count. I needed to break his power completely.


    It doesn¡¯t matter how mighty an Art is. When Lias had tried to pull me into a burning red sun, all it had taken was a brief lapse in his concentration to shatter that image and correct reality.


    Art is just the manifestation of a dream, and dreams are fragile.


    The words of the oaths I¡¯d sworn to the Table thrummed within my soul as I reached deeper into that power than I had since before Alicia Wake had driven her sword through Tuvon¡¯s back.


    I hold the door against the shadow. I guard the ways and walk the paths.


    I am gold and iron. I am the sentinel flame.


    I am the bough from which the Alder¡¯s shoots become a phalanx.


    The molten fire around me changed. It became brighter, cleaner, more like sunlight than melting metal. The horns of the Eardeking¡¯s Lance grew, twisting, branching.


    A bright golden tree erupted from me, shining, twenty feet tall and nearly opaque, just transparent enough so I blazed at its center. The wolves atop and directly around me scattered, breaking into unreality. Its branches and roots were like golden glass, sharp and hard as steel. They shot out, punching through more of the wolves, impaling them.


    But it wasn¡¯t just to clear more of that infinite horde that I¡¯d summoned the Phalanx Oak. My eyes searched the scattering gloom...


    And there, atop the balcony, I saw him. My axe had been freed when the wolf I¡¯d stuck it in had died. I grabbed my it, brought it above my head, and hurled it.


    Blazing with sacred fire, no Thing Of Darkness should have been able to endure the touch of that blessed, cursed weapon. It formed a molten star as it seemed to hang in the air a moment, just an afterimage of its path.


    Count Laertes swiped his hand, and batted it aside.


    I stared, at first not understanding what I¡¯d just seen. Impossible. What he¡¯d just done was impossible.


    Unless...


    Faen Orgis whirled through the air, struck the towering pipes of the organ, and embedded there. Even as it began to cool, a dolorous boom engulfed the room.


    ¡°Well done.¡±


    Once again, that mocking rumble filled the room. I blinked, and when my eyes were open again the Count no longer stood on the balcony.


    On instinct I turned. Most of the wolves were gone, along with the stew of darkness they¡¯d been emerging from. Something worse had replaced them.


    The towering shape that¡¯d taken Catrin stood over Emma now. Even as I watched, a fanged smile split its face.


    ¡°But how shall you counter my other Arts, ser knight?¡±


    A terrible suspicion had already taken root in me, but those words confirmed it. We weren¡¯t facing some petty sorcerer or wicked elf.


    Count Laertes was Magi.

 Arc 5: Chapter 17: Laertes

    Arc 5: Chapter 17: Laertes


    ¡°Emma, behind you!¡±


    My warning came too late. I¡¯d known it would, and was already moving. But without my axe...


    Emma had managed to get one foot under her, though it was clear the wolves had hurt her bad. She brought up her sword, but it was a distraction. Her other hand flexed, and three shrikespears screamed up from the melting bodies scattered around her.


    All three went into the Count, punching through his ribs before emerging from his back with sickening squelching sounds. I heard him grunt, a very human noise, and he stopped.


    Emma bared her teeth in a feral expression I couldn¡¯t call a smile, then swiped her blade sharply from left to right in a flourish, right through the Count¡¯s jugular.


    The hulking form slumped, a tongue of viscous blood seeping down from the wound below his chin. I saw him better then, though most of his features remained caught in some unnatural darkness, giving only telltale signs of what he looked like. He was inhumanly tall, over seven feet, and might have been even taller considering his dramatically hunched posture. He wore some kind of rich enshrouding robe or coat lined in fur, giving him a broad, shapeless figure.


    His eyes were milky and pale, and those I could see clearly. Further, by the way they shifted down to Emma even after his throat had been sliced, I knew he wasn¡¯t dead.


    ¡°Hendry!¡± I barked. ¡°Your sword!¡±


    Hendry had moved forward to help Emma, but her own pikes blocked his way. Most of them had disintegrated, but some remained. His gaze flinched in my direction. He hesitated a moment, then tossed his sword through the air.


    I tracked its motion as it tumbled end over end, reached out, and caught it by the handle. I stepped forward to save my apprentice.


    And¡ª


    I hold a gilded sword in my hand, sheathed in black blood. Pale fingers grasp it, while more reach for my face to stroke the fresh wounds there.


    ¡°Ah... my heart.¡±


    I try to let go of the sword, but my hand won¡¯t obey me. It feels stiff, numb. Everything feels numb.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t... I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±


    She¡¯s breaking apart, her face cracking like dry clay. Her eyes crinkle with pain, or sorrow.


    ¡°We could have lived in a dream.¡±


    Back in the manor, a ringing clatter filled the air. I¡¯d dropped the sword.


    Count Laertes¡¯s left hand shot out. The appendage was long, spindly, with ragged nails like claws. It seemed to move independently of his body, writhing and bending in mantis motions even as the rest of him remained slumped and still on Emma¡¯s pikes.


    He grabbed Emma by the neck, lifting her. She fought savagely, kicking and tearing at his hand with her nails. When she swiped at him with her sword, his other hand emerged from his cloak to grab her by the wrist.


    He squeezed, and Emma let out a choked cry.


    Pushing away my trance, I moved forward. The Count¡¯s voice rang out, coming from his own lips now rather than from some intangible space.


    ¡°Do not move, or I shall tear her in half.¡±


    I stopped. Hendry, having been just behind me, did the same.


    It took a moment to catch my breath. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    Instead, the Count leaned down to inspect Emma. As I¡¯d suspected at first, he stood with a dramatic hunch that did very little to mute his unnatural height. By the way he held a grown woman up as though she weighed no more than a doll, I suspected he was very strong.


    ¡°Do my eyes deceive me?¡±


    His voice was deep, almost guttural, not unlike the Lord Steward¡¯s baritones. Unlike the melodious tones of the Steward, however, Laertes had a guttural growl, his words drifting through droning inflections.


    ¡°A daughter of House Carreon, here before me in the flesh... ah, where have you hid all this time, little shrike?¡±


    The Count¡¯s ghostly eyes drew very close to Emma¡¯s neck. She¡¯d stopped struggling. She didn¡¯t even seem to be breathing anymore.


    ¡°You look just like her. For a moment, I thought dear Astraea herself stood before me.¡±


    ¡°Hurt her,¡± I snarled, ¡°and I will burn you to your bones.¡±


    Golden fire flared up my right arm in an almost unconscious surge of power. I hadn¡¯t felt this angry, or this scared, in a long time.


    The Count¡¯s milky eyes drifted lazily up to me. ¡°You wield that holy fire like a bludgeon. Are you a knight, or a barbarian brute? There is far more to a sorcerous duel than simply hurling one Art after another at your foe.¡±


    He sighed, as though I¡¯d greatly disappointed him.


    ¡°Where is Catrin?¡± I demanded. She hadn¡¯t reappeared with the Count.


    ¡°Hm?¡± He seemed distracted, his eyes going back to Emma. ¡°Ah, the Child of Ergoth. She is lost in the shadows. I will pluck her out when I am ready. She is very close to blooming, the little grave bud.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what that meant, and had no patience for poeticism just then. ¡°Let them go. Whatever you want from me, we can discuss it.¡±


    Like Catrin.


    ¡°You are a vampire,¡± I said aloud.


    ¡°I am Magi,¡± Count Laertes rumbled. ¡°And I will be treated with respect in my hall, Alder Knight, or you shall be cast from it. We are far from any paths your kind has tread.¡±


    He paused, letting those words linger, then spoke in a calmer voice. ¡°The Keeper believed I could assist you, hm? With what?¡±


    After the terror of the battle I¡¯d just been forced to fight, it took me a moment to circle my thoughts back to my original purpose. ¡°There is a hidden faction at work in Garihelm, one that¡¯s allied to an Abgru?dai demon known as Yith Golonac. I believe it¡¯s still in the city, and the Keeper believed you could help me track it down.¡±


    ¡°Yith...¡± Laertes turned, so the yellow light beyond the windows silhouetted him. ¡°That is a name I know. One of Reynard¡¯s thralls.¡±


    ¡°The Vykes have bound it now,¡± I said. ¡°With the help of a petty sorcerer, one whose dead now. They¡¯re planning something, and I need to banish the demon. I can¡¯t do that if I can¡¯t find him.¡±


    For more than a minute, Laertes didn¡¯t answer. I kept my silence, not willing to prod this dangerous, probably unstable being. Even still, my impatience nearly got the better of me.


    Finally, Laertes spoke. ¡°I shall consider how I might help you, and what I shall ask in return. For now...¡±


    He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and started to move toward the stairs. ¡°You shall be my guests, you and your companions. Tend to your injuries and rest.¡±


    I took a step forward. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for¡ª¡±


    Laertes spun, looming tall and terrible in a sudden display of rage. ¡°YOU SHALL WAIT.¡±


    He calmed just as suddenly. ¡°Your young fellows are wounded and tired. Besides...¡±


    He chuckled as he turned again. ¡°You should collect your graveflower. She is calling for you.¡±


    Catrin. ¡°Where is she?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Wandering the upper halls,¡± Laertes told me. ¡°She found her way out of my labyrinth rather quickly... clever bud. It took something from her, though.¡±


    He¡¯d trapped her in some Art. The bastard.


    Laertes didn¡¯t go up the stairs, instead moving to the elaborate altar of the enormous pipe organ. He paused there, reaching his clawed fingers out without touching it.


    Ignoring him for the time, I walked over to Emma. Hendry knelt at her side already. Her leggings had been shredded below the knee, along with much of the flesh beneath. After inspecting it, I didn¡¯t think any tendons were cut or bones broken, but it looked bad.


    Hendry was injured too, but not nearly as much as he should have been. He bled from his arms and shoulders, and his legs, but all the injuries looked superficial. I remembered how he¡¯d killed one of the wolves with a punch, the sound it had made, and his display of almost superhuman strength.


    I¡¯d ask him about it later.


    Emma looked furious. ¡°The Keeper betrayed us!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure,¡± I said quietly. ¡°We¡¯ll find out if we survive the night.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s face blanched. ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay here a night.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I,¡± I admitted. ¡°But I came here for a reason. Besides...¡±


    I glanced at the towering back of the undead wizard. ¡°I¡¯m not prepared to provoke him further. I don¡¯t think I can beat him.¡±


    Emma scowled, her anger overcoming the pain she must have been feeling. Then again, she¡¯d always been a tough girl. ¡°He had to take me and Catrin hostage. I think he¡¯s scared of you.¡±


    I considered it a moment. ¡°Maybe. But even if I could smite him, I¡¯d probably lose one or all of you in the attempt. I¡¯m not prepared for that.¡±


    Hendry blinked. I think I¡¯d taken him off guard with that statement. Then again, he only knew me as the sorcerer vagabond who¡¯d stolen away with his betrothed, killed a bunch of priests, and threatened him. I¡¯d almost forgotten about that bit.


    Emma just scoffed, though she didn¡¯t argue further. She looked very pale, and I knew she was in a lot of pain.


    ¡°Help her up,¡± I told Hendry. I took one of her arms, and the Hunting boy took the other. I thought she¡¯d snap both our heads off, but she endured it with gritted teeth.


    I looked at Karog, who remained near the hallway he¡¯d emerged from. ¡°Why are you serving him?¡± I asked in a hard voice. ¡°Didn¡¯t you learn your lesson with the Vykes?¡±


    My anger rolled off the ogre¡¯s massive shoulders. ¡°You should see to your people, elf friend. Our conversation can wait.¡±


    His voice changed, becoming less dismissive. ¡°You should go find the leech. I have been inside the Count¡¯s labyrinth. It is... ungentle.¡±


    Those words chilled me. Before I could respond, the pipe organ gave off a single mournful note. We all looked to the Count.


    Laertes¡¯s voice followed the key he¡¯d played, just as deep. ¡°There will be rooms on the second level. They will have supplies to treat your injuries, food, fire to warm you. You shall rest tonight... and in the morning we will discuss how we may be of use to one another.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 18: Graveflower

    Arc 5: Chapter 18: Graveflower


    It took some doing, but we got Emma up the stairs and into the inner halls of the mansion.


    Those halls were carpeted, lined in metal braziers and decorated with paintings and tapestries, all of it old and lavish as anything I¡¯d seen in a king¡¯s court. Otherwise there wasn¡¯t much to distinguish it from countless other noble dwellings I¡¯d been in.


    Other than the brass pipes. They ran across the walls and ceilings like veins, riddled with holes of varying sizes and shapes. Did they all connect to that instrument in the foyer, I wondered?


    Did the whole forest connect to this place?


    We limped along in silence for a time. Emma, propped between me and Hendry, eventually broke it.


    ¡°If no one else is going to say anything, I will.¡± I got the sense she was mostly just distracting herself from her injuries. ¡°What the hell was that back there, Hendry? Since when were you strong as an ogre?¡±


    We went ten steps before Hendry spoke. When he did, his voice was subdued. ¡°I¡¯ll show you after we see to your legs.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t press him. Soon enough, I found an open room with light inside. It turned out to be a comfortable bedroom, with a clean bed replete with a curtain and a smaller adjacent room for washing.


    We got Emma into the bed, and I inspected the damage. Bad, as I¡¯d thought. Not for the first time, I cursed that I¡¯d lost my healing touch.


    You managed to call on a High Art not half an hour ago, I told myself. Maybe that¡¯s not as out of reach as you thought?


    There were rolls of linen on a table, and other supplies. Hendry and I got to work, getting Emma¡¯s legs clean, sanitizing the wounds, then wrapping them up. I didn¡¯t question how this had all been readied so quickly. We were in a wizard¡¯s sanctum, and I had seen stranger things.


    ¡°Your leggings are ruined,¡± I told her.


    Emma lifted an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not going to walk around without pants.¡±


    Almost on cue, Hendry opened one of the huge mahogany wardrobes. There were dresses inside. Emma sighed.


    ¡°For now, just stay in bed. Maybe we can find something else.¡± I patted her on the shoulder before standing. Hendry and I were both covered in bite and claw wounds, which we tended to. When there was nothing left to do, Emma and I turned to Hendry.


    Hendry shifted uncomfortably. ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Our lives are complicated, Hunting.¡± Emma¡¯s voice sounded heavy. Once the rage of battle had fully faded, exhaustion had taken its place. She¡¯d lost a lot of blood, both from the wolves and her own Art.


    Taking a deep breath, Hendry steeled himself and lifted a hand to his left shoulder. He¡¯d stripped out of his coat and vest, leaving just a brown tunic beneath. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, he pulled the collar down to show us his bare shoulder.


    It revealed a gruesome sight. The flesh just beneath his collar bone was bruised nearly black and mottled, almost warped, forming a spiral shape of discolored tissue. It radiated out into angry scars, lumpy in some places and sunken in others. The bones of his shoulder and collar looked sharp and disfigured, as though straining against the skin.


    I suspected it went further. And much of it looked like bad burns.


    ¡°That...¡± Emma swallowed, less flippant now. ¡°That is where Jon Orley stabbed you?¡±


    Hendry nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    He wouldn¡¯t meet our gazes, his blue eyes fixed on some point in front of his feet. He licked his lips, then explained in a hasty, nervous voice.


    ¡°After I was wounded, I lay in bed for a long time. I don¡¯t remember much of it, but... I remember pain. Strange dreams. Some of Orley¡¯s spear got stuck in me. It fused to the bone.¡±


    My own shoulder, the right, twinged. ¡°Devil Iron.¡±


    Hendry met my eyes. ¡°You know of it?¡±


    I gestured to my shoulder. ¡°I got some of the scorchknight¡¯s spear in me, too. My powers kept it from spreading. You could say it died before it could take root. I¡¯m guessing it wasn¡¯t the same for you?¡±


    Hendry looked sick as he talked. ¡°Over the weeks after that, it spread through my bones. It started with my shoulder, then took the whole arm, then...¡±


    Emma shook her head, looking horrified. ¡°Hen, are you saying... that all of your bones are made of iron now?¡±


    When he nodded, my squire spoke in a strained voice I¡¯d never heard from her before.


    ¡°How can you even stand!?¡±


    ¡°I got used to it,¡± Hendry said, looking ashamed. ¡°It¡¯s... heavy. And it still hurts, all the time. I get stiff, and if I¡¯m still too long it hurts a lot. I don¡¯t know how I can still move.¡±


    I noted then how deep the shadows under his eyes were. I¡¯d missed it before.


    No, I just hadn¡¯t paid the boy much mind. I felt ashamed of that, then.


    ¡°Devil Iron isn¡¯t a natural substance,¡± I told him. ¡°I don¡¯t know much, but it¡¯s a weapon crafted by the masters of the Iron Hell. I¡¯ve never heard of it doing this before.¡±


    Considering, I frowned and said, ¡°I don¡¯t understand, though. The clericons should have been able to cleanse you of the taint. They did perform an exorcism, right?¡±


    Hendry shrugged. ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    His voice became flat. ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡±


    I let it go.


    Turning to the door, I went three paces before Emma spoke at my back. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    I paused at the door. ¡°To find Catrin.¡± I pointed down. ¡°You two stay here, look after one another.¡±


    ¡°We should stay together,¡± Emma argued.


    ¡°You can¡¯t move,¡± I reasoned to her. ¡°And I¡¯m not going to leave Cat out there alone.¡±


    I let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Cat.¡±


    ¡°Hey, big man.¡± Catrin smiled wanly. ¡°What, thought I was a ghost?¡±


    I¡¯d considered it. Instead of saying as much I tilted my head toward the door. ¡°Emma¡¯s wounded. Hendry¡¯s with her. The Count is keeping us here as his guests tonight.¡±


    Catrin answered with a slow nod, still with that remote expression on her face.


    I took a step closer and reached out with my free hand to her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    She spoke in a curt voice. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±


    I froze. ¡°Alright. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She shook her head, taking a steadying breath. She was breathing a lot, I noticed, each one looking deliberately spaced and full. Focusing on being alive, I realized.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry,¡± Catrin said. ¡°I¡¯m just... when he took me, the place I went... it¡¯s hard to explain. It felt like I was there for hours.¡±


    It had been less than one since we¡¯d arrived in the manor. ¡°Did he hurt you?¡± I asked, feeling a ripple of anger shoot through me.


    ¡°I never saw him,¡± Catrin said. ¡°I was lost in this winding labyrinth. It was full of... things. Monsters, voices, shadows that weren¡¯t shadows.¡±


    She ran a hand through her hair, then hugged herself. ¡°It was a lot. I freaked out, lost my calm. I just managed to get my glamour back up a bit ago.¡±


    I knew she didn¡¯t actually look like the attractive, lean commoner woman she seemed. I¡¯d seen a glimpse of her true face once. A pallid, almost elfin thing with a mouth full of uneven fangs and crimson eyes.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to hide it from me,¡± I said quietly. ¡°If it¡¯s hard, I mean. I won¡¯t think less of you.¡±


    Catrin sniffed, glanced at me, then shuffled back against the wall. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Cross my heart.¡±


    I knew she was lying, but didn¡¯t want to press. Before I could say anything else, I felt a shudder across my back, and the distant beating of a great heart. Something else had entered the room.


    ¡°You should listen to the gilded knight,¡± Laertes rumbled from the door. ¡°Do not hide your true self, child. This chameleon existence does not suit a Child of Ergoth.¡±


    My hand clenched into a fist around my axe¡¯s grip. I took a moment to wrestle control over myself, then turned to glare at the Count. ¡°Leave her alone. You¡¯ve done enough.¡±


    The looming shadow of the vampire filled the doorway, hunching dramatically just to fit in the frame. His corpse eyes peered at me, mocking and hungry.


    ¡°All I have done is show her the folly of this half life,¡± Laertes said in his guttural, rhythmic growl. ¡°Within my labyrinth, I peeled back her flesh to see the spirit beneath. Free and wild, yet she sells her body and affections for the pleasure of insignificant men, lying with them like a lowly bitch hound mewling for warmth.¡±


    I could hear his rage quivering through the sonorous depths of his voice. ¡°It is a mockery.¡±


    Catrin spoke before I could. ¡°If you wanted to fuck me, Count, you could have just said as much.¡±


    I shot her a horrified look, but Catrin¡¯s eyes were calm, remaining fixed on Laertes.


    The Count scoffed. ¡°I have no taste for the fragrance of unbloomed roses. This mortal mask you cling to diminishes you, little bud. You are no mongrel changeling to languish between two worlds. You were born of grave soil and Corpse Moon¡¯s light.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s voice shot out with a cold anger I¡¯d never heard in it before. ¡°My parents were farmers. You don¡¯t know a fucking thing about me.¡±


    ¡°I know you are starving,¡± Laertes crooned, his overlong fingers curling together in front of his chest as though clutching at a rope. ¡°I know you feel the vestiges of your accursed mortality dying within you. You weaken yourself to delay the inevitable, but this cannot be avoided, graveflower.¡±


    Catrin bared her fangs, thin and paltry looking compared to the wolf¡¯s teeth cramming the Count¡¯s mouth. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°I only speak a truth,¡± Laertes continued, sounding perplexed. ¡°I did not create this reality, graveflower.¡±


    I stepped between them, clutching my shining axe tighter. ¡°She asked you to leave her be, Count. I¡¯m going to have to insist.¡±


    Laertes¡¯s ghostly eyes went to me, then flicked down to my axe. He drew his beckoning claws back into the folds of his robes.


    ¡°Such a strange damsel you have chosen to guard, knight of Seydis. She is no virtuous maiden to have earned such chivalry. Vermin and maggots have had their way with her.¡±


    ¡°If you insult her one more time,¡± I said in a very calm voice, ¡°I will kill you.¡±


    The Count¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°You would attack me after I have extended you guest right? The Alder¡¯s fire would burn you past the brink of madness for that, paladin.¡±


    For a long while, none of us said anything. The Count stood in the doorway, huge and silent, his eyes wide with an almost feral malevolence. Neither of the two vampires breathed, so only my own exhales disturbed the dangerous quiet.


    Then, Laertes turned toward the hall. ¡°I shall not disturb you further. We will speak in the morning, ser knight. Rest well.¡±


    He glided off with the sound of fur and cloth brushing carpet. I let out a breath of relief, then turned to Catrin. She was still holding herself, her expression miserable.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I told her. ¡°There are some rooms ready for us, and I want to check on the other two.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±


    I wanted to say more, to try and comfort her, but I could tell the Count¡¯s words had shaken her. I decided to wait until she was ready to talk.


    Instead I settled with, ¡°I¡¯m with you, Cat. Don¡¯t listen to him.¡±


    Catrin tossed me an uneasy smile. ¡°He doesn¡¯t scare me. Ugly cockwart.¡±


    But I could tell she was afraid.

 Arc 5: Chapter 19: Fear, and Hunger

    Arc 5: Chapter 19: Fear, and Hunger


    After seeing to Emma and Hendry, I found another room in the same hall as theirs on the second floor. Fully furnished and clean, I noted a distinct lack of brass pipes. They seemed to be in some rooms, but not others.


    Catrin had said very little, her normal gregariousness giving way to a pensive distance. I¡¯d kept my silence about the encounter with Laertes when we¡¯d checked on the younger members of our quartet. Hendry told me he¡¯d keep guard over Emma, who seemed irritated by the whole thing but hadn¡¯t had the energy to argue much.


    Though I was loath to leave myself defenseless for even a moment, I decided to wash myself and clean my gear. Phantasmal muck still coated my axe, armor, and cloak, and I took an hour or so to scrub all of it off. Most of it faded into nonexistence as I did, but even still the sight of aura lingering in a physical state reminded me where I was. I used the washroom for my own body, tense and anxious of ambush the whole time.


    The Count¡¯s manse had running water, probably pumped up from the same source as the moat. I normally wouldn¡¯t trust any water in the Wend, but it gave off no alarm bells to either my physical or spiritual senses.


    I¡¯d just finished folding my cloak and hauberk on the foot of the bed when that lonely quiet was finally disturbed. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a subtle warning from my powers. I¡¯d leaned my axe against the bedpost after shaving its handle down. Instinctively, I reached for it.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± a quiet voice said.


    I¡¯d lit some candles in the room, leaving deep shadows in several spots. Catrin stepped out of one of them, adjusting her hair before folding her arms. Her gestures didn¡¯t have their usual energy. She seemed subdued and uncomfortable.


    ¡°I¡¯d have just knocked,¡± she said with a half-hearted smile. ¡°But I didn¡¯t really want to be in the hallways alone. This place...¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t like it here. So we¡¯re stuck until morning?¡±


    I nodded, moving around to the foot of the bed to sit against the frame. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± She asked, still keeping a distance as though ready to leap back into the darkness she¡¯d emerged from at any moment.


    ¡°I tell the Count what I want,¡± I said. ¡°And he tells me what it¡¯s going to cost me. Probably with some more power games and verbal sparring, which I will endure.¡±


    ¡°Heh.¡± Catrin¡¯s smile seemed more genuine then. ¡°You mentioned Karog. I was kind of out of it upstairs. Give me the whole thing?¡±


    I told her about the entire encounter with the Count. By the time I¡¯d finished, Catrin was shaking her head with an exasperated frown.


    ¡°Karog... ever since he tried to kill you at the inn last winter, he¡¯s been an enigma. I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s on our side or if he¡¯ll end up ripping all our heads off.¡±


    ¡°Our side?¡± I asked, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m a knight of the realms. You¡¯re a... hm.¡±


    ¡°Damsel of darkness?¡± Catrin asked, as though trying the phrase out.


    I grimaced. Catrin batted my reaction away with a lazy wave of her sharp nails.


    I studied her a moment, searching for the right words. Despite the attempts at banter, I knew she wasn¡¯t well. I¡¯d seen her in the grip of meloncholy before, especially when it came to her history and nature. Laertes had picked at a festering wound.


    I noticed some details as I considered how to address it, or whether I should address it. She¡¯d brushed the ringlets out of her hair, leaving it in a lazy messy of curls. It hid the slight points in her ears, but did little for the thinness of her cheeks, or the shadows under her eyes, especially since she¡¯d wiped all the makeup off. I realized the powder hadn¡¯t been meant to make her look fairer, in the habit of some nobles and women in Catrin¡¯s profession. Without it, her pale skin had a very slight tinge of gray, with visible veins beneath. She looked pallid.


    She looked like an hours old corpse. Still pretty, but faded. Her hair had almost no red in it now, just an ashy brown, and her eyes were dark and listless.


    ¡°Go ahead and say it,¡± Catrin said. She hadn¡¯t missed my staring. ¡°I look awful.¡±


    Rather than jumping into a denial, I took in more details. She still wore the chiton from the inn. It only had one strap, so it fell off the left shoulder, with a sash running across the line of that gap to hug her left bicep. The dress was white, the sash red, and a very thin belt ¡ª little more than a cord ¡ª wrapped twice around her waist.


    She¡¯d hung Shivers from that belt in a leather sheath decorated with little green tassels, making the fell armament seem almost cute. That was very her, and it made me smile inside.


    I wanted to make a quip, redirect the conversation, find some way to comfort her. But I knew that wouldn¡¯t help her.


    ¡°When was the last time you fed?¡± I asked quietly.


    She glanced at me, then away. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m worried about you.¡±


    Catrin stepped over to the room¡¯s wardrobe and leaned her back against it. She didn¡¯t sigh or fidget much, or do any of the subtle, thoughtless things people tend to do when they¡¯re thinking, talking, or just idling. When she did, it had a deliberate quality. Even her breaths looked thought out, and she seemed to forget every few minutes, lapsing into an uncanny stillness.


    I didn¡¯t push her. Minutes passed before she spoke again.


    ¡°The last time was with you,¡± she finally admitted.


    I took that in, doing the math. She¡¯d refused to drink my blood when we¡¯d lain together the night of the Culling, which meant it had been the time before that.


    ¡°Cat, that was nearly two weeks ago.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Was it? I wasn¡¯t keeping track of the days.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°Is it... because of me? Because of us?¡±


    Catrin blinked, and this time it didn¡¯t seem deliberate. ¡°What? Wait, when Eilidh talked to you earlier, was that what she said?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°She thought I¡¯d made you stop.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s expression softened. ¡°No, Al. It¡¯s not because of you. Well... maybe there¡¯s a bit of that.¡±


    ¡°I never wanted you to hurt yourself over us,¡± I said, feeling miserable. ¡°Over me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± Catrin insisted in a regretful voice. ¡°Yeah, I stopped taking as much from my customers because... well...¡±


    She hedged. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    When I tilted my head at her, she hastily explained.


    ¡°It made it better. With you.¡± Catrin laughed quietly. ¡°It sounds lame, but I¡¯m used to getting people off, Alken. With you, you¡¯re interested in me enjoying it. I get men who do that sometimes, but it¡¯s mostly an ego trip on their part. For you it¡¯s...¡±


    She searched for words a moment. ¡°More honest, I guess?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand,¡± I admitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the topic but not wanting her to clam up again.


    ¡°I was fasting because being hungrier, having more bloodlust, it made our times together more exciting.¡± Catrin¡¯s smile had an apologetic tint. ¡°It made me angrier, more impatient, but I never felt like that threatened you, so it felt safe. It was fun waiting for that satisfaction, I guess.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I think I can understand that. Like having a feast after a week of tourney.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Though, if I¡¯d really feasted you¡¯d be dead.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°But that¡¯s not why you¡¯ve been starving yourself. This seems different.¡± I studied her corpse-like complexion.


    Catrin¡¯s mood turned dour again, and she tucked her hands under her arms. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain.¡±


    I nodded, keeping my own arms loose and open. ¡°I¡¯m willing to hear it, if you want to talk.¡±


    She was quiet so long, I wasn¡¯t sure she would. When she did speak, her voice was nearly a whisper.


    ¡°I¡¯ve trusted you,¡± I reminded her. ¡°Trust me, now.¡±


    I saw her self control fracture. Perhaps that was cruel of me, but I would not let her kill herself over this fear. Was she a monster? Perhaps. But hardly a worse one than me. I still remembered what she¡¯d told me that night of the festival.


    I love you, Alken. I¡¯m here for you.


    I had spilled plenty of blood in my life. I could give some of my own to help someone I loved.


    We sat together on the bed. Catrin¡¯s eyes were distant, unfocused. I brushed her hair back from one pointed ear and spoke in a gentle voice.


    ¡°Where do you want to do it?¡±


    She licked her lips, the motion one of nervousness rather than anticipation. Her tongue looked oddly gray. Perhaps the dim lighting, but I wasn¡¯t sure. Her hands reached out, cool fingers feeling at my wrist, my arm, my chest. Like a blind woman trying to memorize my features, she touched my neck and shoulders, traced the contours of my jaw. She did it all without looking at me.


    Finally, her hand drifted back down to my left arm, sharp nails lingering above the elbow.


    ¡°Here,¡± she said. ¡°Can it be here?¡±


    The first place she¡¯d taken from me. I smiled. ¡°Sure.¡±


    I had her lay down across my lap, so her body stretched across the side of the bed. Her white dress made the posture seem elegant, like a lady reclining for an artist¡¯s brush.


    I took a deep breath, flexing my fingers several times. I wanted to keep my heart calm.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Catrin told me quietly. ¡°I¡¯d have caved at the inn before much longer.¡±


    ¡°Do you want it to be someone else?¡± I asked her.


    Her face went steely. ¡°No. I want your thoughts in my veins.¡±


    I offered my arm. She took it, pulled the crook of my elbow close to her mouth, and inhaled deeply.


    I tensed when she bit down. There was no numbness to it, no unnatural pleasure. It hurt, and kept hurting, but I made myself relax. Catrin remained gentle for some time, taking small gulps while her teeth applied only so much pressure as they needed to.


    After a while, however, I felt her tongue pressing against the wounds with more force. She grew impatient, taking from me faster. When her jaws tightened, threatening to tear a more grievous wound than I felt strictly necessary, I muttered a warning. ¡°Careful.¡±


    She grunted, a frustrated sound, and dug her nails into my flesh as though wary of me pulling her prize away. I grit my teeth while she started to writhe along the side of the bed, the thin silk of her dress rustling as her legs slid together beneath the material. Her bare shoulder made slow, small circles as her whole body moved in time with her swallows.


    I closed my eyes and waited, measuring my own heartbeat while she tasted its pulse.


    Unexpectedly, Catrin pulled away on her own well before I would have made her stop. Free of her lips, a line of my blood ran down my forearm. But she didn¡¯t look any better. Her red eyes blazed with unsatisfied hunger as she lifted herself into a seated position next to me.


    ¡°It¡¯s not enough,¡± she growled in a furious voice.


    ¡°You can take more,¡± I said in confusion.


    Her hand reached out to grasp me by the back of my head, and not gently. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean.¡±


    She pulled my face to hers in a fierce kiss. She tasted of my own blood. A life of violence had made me used to that taste, and I relaxed into the kiss at first. That is, until a bright flash of pain erupted in my lower lip.


    I jerked back, taken off guard, but she followed me with aggressive fervor. I felt her tongue digging into my mouth, her teeth tugging at my cut lip, threatening to worsen the wound.


    Frustrated, I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away. She barely seemed to register it, her eyes wide and unblinking as they bore into mine with an almost mad lust.


    ¡°I want you inside me.¡±


    I was breathing hard, pain throbbing through my lip with every beat of my heart. Catrin barely breathed at all. There was no flush on her cheeks, no pulse through her skin. She was still, focused. It unsettled me.


    It did more than unsettle me.


    Setting my jaw, I tugged at the cord belting her waist until it came free, then tossed it and her dagger to the floor. She undid the laces on my shirt with quick, practiced motions. Our movements gained haste, both of us impatient.


    How had this happened? I¡¯d meant to just let her feed on me, help her get some self control back. But then she¡¯d kissed me, and...


    To hell with it.


    Such a strange damsel you have chosen to guard.


    Vermin and maggots have had their way with her.


    I needed to drown the Count¡¯s voice out.


    ¡°You hear him too?¡± Catrin asked in a breathless voice. One of us, perhaps both of us, had gotten her dress hitched up. She straddled me, ready.


    She had my blood in her now, and my thoughts. No point lying.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about him,¡± I growled.


    Something fierce flashed in Catrin¡¯s eyes. ¡°Prove it.¡±


    Her grip tightened. I thrust once to the sound of her sharp inhale. Our hands found each other, the fingers locking together as we moved at a fast increasing pace.


    ¡°You¡¯re a bad knight,¡± Catrin told me, pressing her lips to my jaw. I felt her fangs brush against the bone, threatening to slice the skin.


    ¡°I know,¡± I grunted, heated and breathless.


    ¡°Good knights don¡¯t do this sort of thing,¡± she hissed. ¡°They don¡¯t like this sort of thing.¡±


    She¡¯d smeared my blood across her lips, giving it a color that¡¯d been absent before. Her skin was cold against mine, her eyes never blinking as they remained locked on my face. The light must have stung her, but it only seemed to enhance her focus.


    I remembered her comment about pulpits. For some insane reason, it excited me.


    Catrin snipped her teeth together barely a finger¡¯s width from my lips. ¡°You¡¯re starting to get it.¡±


    I glared at her. ¡°Are you going to do it or not?¡±


    In answer, Catrin pushed me onto my back. She poised there for a short while, her motions sinuous in their rhythm. Her fingers glided up my stomach, my chest, my neck. They were cool and dry, the sharp nails threatening to cut. A bead of sweat made its way down my brow as I waited, anticipating what came next.


    She brushed the scars on my face, her touch lingering on them. When she spoke, her voice held an icy calm.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you forget about that bitch.¡±


    Then she ripped my shirt open, leaned down, and sank her teeth into my chest.

 Arc 5: Chapter 20: Wars of Old, Wars of Today

    Arc 5: Chapter 20: Wars of Old, Wars of Today


    Morning came to the Manse Laertes with a dull yellow glow at the windows. It did not provide the same sense of renewal an ordinary dawn would have, only a creeping impression of dread.


    I dressed quietly, not hurrying despite everything I needed to attend to. I¡¯d put a whole night into this endeavor, and I needed to get back to the city, figure out what had become of the group I¡¯d sent investigating.


    But I knew what came before that, and I didn¡¯t feel eager to leap into it.


    I heard rustling behind me. Turning around, I saw Catrin slipping into her dress, her movements composed and languid as mine.


    I watched her a time. Her skin had more color now, that ghostly paleness mostly gone from it. Her hair had returned to its usual chestnut shade, and she seemed to fill the dress in more, the shape of her lean muscles more pronounced.


    ¡°I can feel you staring.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, returning to my tunic¡¯s laces.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    More rustling and bare feet padding against the carpet told me she approached. I felt her arms wrap around my waist, her forehead rest against my back.


    ¡°Let me see?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± I said.


    ¡°Please?¡±


    I turned slowly. Catrin pulled my half laced shirt open, inspecting the bandages there with a critical eye. There were more around my left arm, and those on my chest wrapped around my shoulder too.


    ¡°I really messed you up,¡± Catrin said in a voice full of apology.


    She¡¯d practically mauled me. It didn¡¯t stop me from tilting her chin up and planting a kiss on the corner of her mouth. ¡°I told you I¡¯m fine. You stopped.¡±


    ¡°Barely. That was stupid. We shouldn¡¯t have¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have what?¡± I asked in a stern voice. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have taken care of this before you got back to the city? Let someone else help you?¡±


    ¡°Someone without your muscles, you mean?¡± Catrin quirked an eyebrow.


    By the end, I¡¯d had to pry her off me. She¡¯d taken flesh for it, hence the bandages, but I would heal.


    I could tell she was still bothered. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.


    Catrin pursed her lips. ¡°I said some things last night.¡±


    ¡°You called me a bad knight,¡± I remembered.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± She grimaced. ¡°Listen, I didn¡¯t mean any of it. I was just sort of in the moment, and started saying things...¡±


    ¡°I am a bad knight,¡± I admitted. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    She nodded, clearly still dissatisfied. ¡°Alright.¡±


    We finished dressing in silence. I put on my hauberk. Catrin laced on her sandals and some bits of jewelry she¡¯d been wearing from the inn.


    ¡°You seemed to sleep alright,¡± she said.


    I¡¯d barely slept at all. ¡°Did I?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she sighed. ¡°When we get back to the city, you really need to get some rest.¡±


    ¡°I just haven¡¯t had any time. There was that hunt for the chorn, then this mess started up...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still having those dreams?¡± Catrin asked quietly, her voice full of concern. ¡°The one about the forest, and... the rest of it?¡±


    She knew about the ghosts who haunted my sleeping hours. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying some new things,¡± I said as I adjusted my cloak. ¡°Charms, wards, meditation. It¡¯s helped a bit, but nothing works as well as my ring did.¡±


    When I started putting my belt on, Catrin stepped forward to help me with it. With deft, assured movements, she tightened the straps and got it into the correct position.


    I didn¡¯t want to distract her in the middle of everything else, and had almost forgotten with the mess around the vampire lord, but I knew it needed to be said.


    ¡°The Keeper knows you¡¯ve been helping me.¡± I took her by the wrist. ¡°He knows you¡¯ve been lying to him.¡±


    Catrin stiffened. A moment later, her face twisted into a furious expression. ¡°Shit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried,¡± I said. ¡°Is he going to come down on you? That girl of his, Saska, will she¡ª¡±


    Catrin put her hand over mine. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. The Keeper might not trust me with as many sensitive jobs, but he¡¯s not going to send his pet after my neck. You have to piss him off pretty bad for that. I¡¯m talking about things like hurting one of us, or...¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± I asked when she trailed off.


    She gave me a reassuring smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve gotten on his bad side.¡±


    She seemed certain, but I couldn¡¯t shake my uneasy feelings. When I took my axe to slip it into its ring, she stopped me with a hand on my wrist. I gave her a questioning look, but her eyes were distant and distracted.


    ¡°There¡¯s something I want to try,¡± she told me. ¡°It might help you.¡±


    Curious, I waited for an explanation.


    ¡°You know I can pull things into my shadows, right?¡± She asked.


    I nodded, remembering her comment about being naked all the time if she couldn¡¯t. Catrin heard the thought and giggled, almost girlishly.


    ¡°This is a trick I¡¯ve been thinking about for a while,¡± she told me. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure how it would work, but I¡¯ve picked up some things about your axe. It¡¯s like me, right? It drinks your blood?¡±


    I nodded, still not sure where this was going. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°You and vampires,¡± Catrin said with mock severity. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got a lot of your blood in me right now, so I think this might work.¡±


    She started pulling the axe out of my hand. In a flash of panic, I tugged it away.


    ¡°Catrin, this thing is cursed. If anyone else touches it¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she said. ¡°See?¡±


    Her hands curled around the weapon¡¯s rough hewn branch. To my surprise, it didn¡¯t cut her. That is, until she squeezed. The little barbs along the handle¡¯s surface bit her palms, letting a rivulet of blood spill down its length.


    My blood, I realized.


    The branch shuddered in our hands, threatening to grow. When Catrin pulled at it, I let her take it from me.


    ¡°My shadows aren¡¯t too different from how this works,¡± Catrin explained. ¡°They let me in because they know me. Anyone else, they¡¯re not quite so nice to.¡±


    ¡°Like that puppeteer,¡± I remembered.


    She nodded. ¡°They¡¯re not really nice to anything alive, but this thing is vampiric. Like me. I think...¡±


    She stepped over to the deeper shadows still clinging between the bed and the wall across from the window. She hesitated a moment, then stepped into them.


    ¡°Like the gratitude you have shown to him, leech?¡± The ogre asked Catrin, amused. ¡°Yes, I can tell by the blush on your cheeks that you are quite grateful. How kind of you, to leave him enough of his life to share this meal with us.¡±


    The whole table jumped, all the items on it clattering in a brief, piercing racket. Hendry, seated next to me, flinched at the noise. Emma¡¯s lips formed a tight line. Karog turned to look at me, alertness replacing his derision.


    Catrin¡¯s face had drained of color, her anger given way to shame.


    I had struck the table with my fist. I took a moment to get control of myself, inhaled deeply, then looked at Karog. He returned my stare with stoic neutrality.


    ¡°She has a name,¡± I told him calmly. ¡°If you call her leech one more time, I will take grievance with it.¡±


    A long, tense silence followed my words. Karog had propped his knuckles down on the floor, his posture hunching. I recognized the threat in that stance. The others remained perfectly still and quiet. Some wine spilled down onto the checkered floor from an upturned glass.


    ¡°Well spoken.¡±


    ¡°Such gallantry suits a True Knight.¡±


    Hendry drew in a sharp breath next to me. Catrin bared her fangs in a hiss, and Emma lowered a hand to her sword.


    Laertes made no sound when he appeared. He was just there, pacing along the edge of the table behind the two women seated across from me like a tall, stooped shadow.


    It was the first time I¡¯d gotten a good look at him. The unnatural veil of gloom which had obscured his features the previous night had vanished, revealing the Count in all his glory.


    As I¡¯d thought, he stood taller than any human I¡¯d seen besides the Royal Steward. He dressed like an ancient king, in a trailing black coat lined in silver fur with burgundy robes beneath. In his clawed fingers, he supported himself on a cane of black wood ornamented in brass.


    He had gray hair, long and badly kept so it hung over his face in uneven strands to meld with a heavy beard. And the face beneath that hair...


    A dead face, gray and pitted, with filmy eyes sunken deep into the skull and flesh like dry parchment clinging tight to bone.


    The Count¡¯s hunched posture did little to make him seem less like the giant he was. Every pair of eyes in the room followed his path as he navigated to the chair at the very end of the table, the one furthest from the door. His cane, large enough to be a staff in an ordinary man¡¯s hand, struck the floor with thuds heavy as an iron door knocker with each step.


    Catrin seemed to shrink in on herself, almost sinking into her chair. I wished then I¡¯d had her sit next to me instead of Emma. I¡¯d at least have been able to take her hand.


    Maybe I couldn¡¯t physically, but we were still connected. I tried to project reassurance to her, to keep my own thoughts calm and my tension in check. I will get us back home, I promised within my thoughts.


    Her eyes flicked to me, and a small, grateful smile tugged at the corner of her lip.


    Laertes seated himself, looming over us even lowered into a chair. He propped his brass-headed cane against the table, pressed the tips of his twisted fingers together, and fixed us all in his dead-eyed regard.


    ¡°You have a request to make of me,¡± he said aloud in his slow, guttural cadence. ¡°But first, you have questions. About this, and about the contender I have placed into the Emperor¡¯s festival of war.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Why do you want Karog in the tournament? What does it gain you, my lord?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t certain he¡¯d answer me, but Laertes barely hesitated.


    ¡°I have involved myself in these matters for one simple reason, ser knight. Old powers have placed their own pieces onto this board, and I move to check them.¡±


    ¡°Old powers?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You are aware of some small part of this game,¡± Laertes told me. ¡°As a champion of the Seydii, you were given the tools to hold your own.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re talking about demons,¡± I said. ¡°The Abgru?dai.¡±


    To my surprise, Laertes scoffed. ¡°The spawn of the Abyss are as they have always been. They have no great purpose, no investment in our struggles. They simply wish to feast. Demons have ever been merely a dangerous tool used by those with the knowledge to bind them.¡±


    ¡°The Church teaches us that demons lay siege to Heaven,¡± Hendry said in a quiet, nervous voice. ¡°That they are the reason it is lost to us. They are the Adversary, the greatest threat to our souls.¡±


    When Laertes turned his cold gaze on the boy, Hendry swallowed and hastily added, ¡°That is what I have been taught, your lordship.¡±


    ¡°There is truth to your theology,¡± Laertes said. ¡°And there is, as ever, far more than the Church knows or is willing to reveal. Demonkind is a ravening chaos which may be directed toward certain aims. More often than not, it lashes back at the hand which feeds it and does as it will.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°You¡¯re saying... they were used?¡±


    I tried to put aside that the Count casually referred to events of distant, mythic legend. It was too much to wrap my head around. Like anyone brought up within, or even on the periphery of the Faith I had been taught about the Sack of Heaven and the events which had led the Onsolain to our shores. If I¡¯d had this conversation a decade before, or even five years before, I¡¯d have dismissed it like I would any theological debate between clericons.


    But I couldn¡¯t help but remember a line I¡¯d read in the book Lias had given me.


    Note that this last name is shared among many of the Abgru?dai who participated in the Sack of Onsolem. This would indicate the subject has been active in our histories for at least eleven centuries.


    And I knew both Shyora and Yith shared a name ¡ª One Who Beheld The Burning.


    I had known beings involved in those events. I had watched demigods debate about it the day I¡¯d fought for Emma¡¯s future against a crowfriar devil.


    The realization made me feel small, and insignificant.


    Almost as though reading my thoughts like Catrin did, Laertes addressed me again. ¡°The Knight of Seydis knows of what I speak. He witnessed a microcosm of this war.¡±


    ¡°A microcosm?¡± I asked. Then, realizing what he must mean I sat up straighter. ¡°You¡¯re saying the Fall was just a, what? A skirmish of some much bigger conflict?¡±


    ¡°This should not surprise you,¡± Laertes said in a dispassionate voice. His eyes hadn¡¯t blinked once throughout the conversation. ¡°Your own priests teach you as much.¡±


    They spoke of salvation and damnation, sure. Of the Heir of Heaven¡¯s return following some promised victory in faraway realms, of the exodus of our languishing dead to a brighter kingdom.


    They¡¯d never said that it was all just part of some secret contest between ancient, hidden powers. And if the hordes of darkness were just tools, then who...


    No. I clamped a lid down on that dangerous, terrifying thought. It was all too big, and not relevant. I needed to shrink my problems down to the here and now, into something I could actually effect.


    ¡°I know the Traitor Magi orchestrated that war alongside the Recusant Lords,¡± I said. ¡°He bound the eight demons who laid waste to Seydis, brought together the rebel factions, and suborned the Alder Knights.¡±


    ¡°Reynard sought to become a player in the Great Game,¡± Laertes said. ¡°He failed to understand the scope of the board, or the distance he must climb to even reach its surface. He bound eight demons, but there were near half a million children of the Abyss who besieged Onsolem over a thousand years ago. Six hundred and sixty-six, times six hundred and sixty-six again.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s face drained of color. Even Catrin, who had no interest in myth or cosmology on the best of days, let out a long whistle.


    Emma¡¯s eyes were wide and intent, her imagination caught.


    Laertes laced his monstrous fingers together and leaned forward, his voice eerily calm. ¡°And young Reynard failed to take into account the ambitions of his allies.¡±


    ¡°Hasur Vyke,¡± I said with a low growl. I was getting very sick of hearing that old man¡¯s name.


    ¡°The King of Talsyn would make himself high lord of all Urn,¡± Laertes intoned. ¡°Even if he should make it into a wasteland. Like Reynard, he has seen beyond the veil. Rather than filling him with a fervor for escape, it has filled him instead with delusions of dire godhood. A Vulture King, to sit upon a throne of bones rising high as mountains.¡±


    While the rest of us absorbed that disturbing prophecy, Emma narrowed her eyes at the Count.


    ¡°And who are you to know so much about these grand affairs?¡± She asked the wizard. ¡°How do you know about the infamous Reynard¡¯s ambitions, and about the goals of the King of Talsyn?¡±


    I looked at Emma, frowning, then to the Count. It was a good question, one I shouldn¡¯t have missed in all the rest.


    Laertes leaned back in his chair, his posture almost straightening. ¡°Whether tied by blood or not, a father knows his son.¡±


    ¡°Son?¡± Hendry asked, his eyes widening.


    The vampire¡¯s cracked lips split in a fanged grin. ¡°Close enough. Reynard was my apprentice.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 21: The Path Forward

    Arc 5: Chapter 21: The Path Forward


    How does one properly respond to learning they are talking to a man who¡¯d taught the greatest villain of the age everything he knows?


    I didn¡¯t know. So I kept quiet, letting the knowledge settle itself into my mind, coming to terms with it before I did or said anything foolish. Shocking perhaps, but I can occasionally have some tact.


    Hendry did not have my self control. He shot to his feet, his hand reaching for the sword belted at his hip.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I barked. Hendry froze, his shaken expression turning to me in surprise.


    ¡°But...¡± The young knight glanced fearfully at the vampire. ¡°He just said¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what he just said." I kept my eyes fixed on the Count, even as I addressed Hendry. ¡°Sit down.¡±


    Emma had remained calm, at least. She looked more interested than shocked. Catrin was looking around at everyone in confusion. Her knowledge extended to a lower class of villain, not nightmares who tore down kingdoms.


    Reynard was the evil wizard who killed off half the elves, I thought. A gross oversimplification, but I had no time for more expositing.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened in understanding. ¡°Ahh,¡± she said aloud.


    Karog¡¯s gaze was fixed on Laertes. I couldn¡¯t tell what he thought, or if he¡¯d already known any of this.


    The Count had watched Hendry reach for his weapon, though he seemed more amused than anything and hadn¡¯t budged from his seat so much as an inch.


    I took a deep breath, forcing myself to circle back around to more immediate concerns. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying that Hasur Vyke intends to reignite the war, and win it this time? And it has something to do with all this mess in the city?¡±


    Laertes just watched me. I knew this game. He wanted me to draw my own conclusions, not have them fed to me. The fact he¡¯d revealed so much let me know he had a purpose in mind for us.


    What did he want? That was the real question, the one at the root of this present encounter.


    ¡°You said you¡¯re trying to check another old power,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that means you consider yourself one?¡±


    ¡°I have no delusions of godhood,¡± Laertes said dryly. ¡°Or even demigodhood. The Magi were intended to be custodians of knowledge, not brutes who rattle cosmic truths like swords in the scabbard.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re at odds with your old apprentice?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°I do not know my wayward disciple¡¯s whereabouts,¡± Laertes admitted. ¡°Nor do I believe he is involved in this. Hasur Vyke has his own ambitions, and will conduct his crusade with or without the involvement of the Magi. More than likely, the Condor has simply stolen one of Reynard¡¯s slaves for his own purposes.¡±


    ¡°So in short,¡± I said, ¡°you know that the Recusants have some grand plot, and you¡¯re trying to check it. Does that make you an ally to the Accord?¡±


    ¡°I am an ally to order.¡± Laertes spoke with grave seriousness. ¡°Our world is badly abused, and has been so repeatedly for a long time. The Elf King¡¯s death was a maiming blow to what stability remained, and now carrion feeders like the Condor of Talsyn seek to take advantage. I would not go so far as to say I am your ally, Knight of Seydis, but I am enemy of your enemy.¡±


    ¡°Then Talsyn is behind these attacks?¡± I asked. ¡°King Hasur is Yith¡¯s master?¡±


    Laertes nodded. ¡°That is my belief.¡±


    A fierce emotion swelled up in me, and not an entirely pleasant one. Triumph mixed with dread. My suspicions confirmed, and my worst fears realized.


    ¡°Do you have proof?¡± I asked, somewhat breathless.


    ¡°I have a plan,¡± Laertes corrected.


    He placed his clawed fingers down on the table and pushed, standing from his chair to his full, intimidating height. His gray hair fell to form a shroud around his desiccated features. It struck me that he looked very much like the animate carcass of some great, ancient king.


    Perhaps he was. The old wizards were often monarchs.


    ¡°You are aware that King Hasur¡¯s son intends to compete in the Emperor¡¯s tournament?¡± Laertes asked me.


    ¡°I had heard that,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Something about showing camaraderie along with the cessation of hostilities.¡±


    ¡°A cover for a more sinister aim,¡± Laertes said darkly. ¡°Are you also aware of the prize offered to the champion?¡±


    I blinked. Usually in such competitions, the winner got a number of boons. Honors bestowed on them by whatever lord or monarch hosted the festival, glory, bragging rights. Sometimes, lands and titles were offered, or even marriages. I hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the tournament beyond its inconvenience as a deadline, and the traffic it had brought to the capital.


    ¡°Usually,¡± I said uncertainly, ¡°the winner claims the Right of Tribute.¡±


    Catrin frowned. ¡°What¡¯s that? I don¡¯t know much about all this knight stuff.¡±


    Hendry spoke up for the first time since he¡¯d almost drawn on the Count, seated again and in control of himself. ¡°It is an old custom, my lady.¡±


    Catrin snorted out a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m no lady. You met me in a brothel, kid.¡±


    Hendry blushed. ¡°Right. Sorry, uh, ma¡¯am. Anyway, when a knight is defeated in a tourney, or even in a personal duel, the winner claims all their arms and armor as the prize. They usually take their chimeric mount too, and sometimes other trinkets.¡±


    ¡°My grandmother used to tell me that the winner might even claim a night with the loser¡¯s spouse sometimes.¡± Emma said this like it was some fun, obscure fact. ¡°That¡¯s actually how she met my grandfather. Good thing too, because her first husband was apparently a useless wastrel.¡±


    Catrin made a small hm at that and popped a berry into her mouth, while Hendry grimaced. Knowing a bit of the sordid history of Emma¡¯s ancestors, it came as little surprise to me that Anastasia Carreon had cuckolded her husband with the man who¡¯d beaten him in war play.


    Urn had not always had particularly fair or gentle customs. It is a land of warriors, and war is rarely just.


    ¡°The tradition usually ends with the tournament champion giving everything he claimed back,¡± I added to keep the conversation on track. ¡°As a show of magnanimity, and to cool hot tempers.¡±


    ¡°No doubt this custom will be invoked,¡± Laertes agreed. ¡°Normally, it would mean enough wealth for a lesser knight to enhance his prospects, perhaps even gain a lordship, or for a lord to gain prestige among his fellows. But this is the greatest gathering of arms for such a ritual since the earliest days of Urn¡¯s settling. More than a thousand warriors will clash within the Grand Coloss. Many will have awakened souls, and those who do not may ignite as they struggle, triumph, and lament in failure.¡±


    I nodded slowly, familiar with this. When I once again caught Catrin¡¯s confused expression, I explained for her benefit. ¡°It¡¯s fairly common for fighters to awaken their aura when they fight hard enough. The heightened emotions, the need to survive and win, the fear... it can trigger the change. It usually happens in war, but I¡¯ve heard of it happening in tournaments and duels on occasion.¡±


    ¡°Is that how it happened for you?¡± She asked me with genuine curiosity.


    I shook my head. ¡°No. I came close a few times, but it wasn¡¯t until I swore my oaths to the Table that I gained the ability to wield aura.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been able to do it since I was a child,¡± Emma stated smugly.


    ¡°Blood Art is cheating,¡± I told her. ¡°It doesn¡¯t count.¡±


    My squire turned her nose up haughtily. ¡°And using some magic piece of furniture isn¡¯t cheating?¡±


    She had me there.


    ¡°There is more than just the competitors in play,¡± Laertes continued, our banter rolling off his dour shoulders. ¡°Thousands will observe the festival. Their joy, their distress, their will shall pour into the results of these battles. Tens of thousands in the city or across the realms shall weigh their futures upon the result of this great struggle. This is the fulcrum of the future, a chance for old rivalries to be resolved, for new ones to be born, for champions of old to indulge in their final glories while those of a new age are born within the tournament¡¯s crucible.¡±


    I felt suddenly cold. ¡°Then the Right of Tribute... it¡¯s not going to be about treasures, is it?¡±


    The undead Magi spread out his arms in a grandiose motion, his rich garments unfolding like black wings. ¡°Make no mistake, my guests. This festival is no trifling distraction, but the pendulum upon which Urn¡¯s future swings. The Coloss shall become as a vortex of souls, raising the battles within to great heights.¡±


    He revealed his wolf¡¯s teeth in a savage grin. ¡°It will make history.¡±


    Hendry piped in. ¡°Why not just tell the Emperor about the plot, and have him order the Vykes to withdraw from the tourney?¡±


    ¡°Calerus is representing a sovereign country,¡± I said. ¡°It would be a grave insult, one Talsyn could use to gain support and destabilize the realms. It would be nearly as bad as just killing the little bastard.¡±


    Emma pressed her argument, speaking in a reasonable tone. ¡°This is the best of all worlds, Alken. You can¡¯t kill the prince, or block him from competing, but if you beat him then this scheme is stopped and they¡¯ll probably bugger off. For a while, at least, giving us time to take further action.¡±


    I caught Catrin nodding in agreement. When she saw my angry look, she shrugged. ¡°Sorry, big man, but it¡¯s not a bad idea. What¡¯s a little scandal next to everything his countship just told us?¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be a little scandal,¡± I said stubbornly. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s a moot point. The Emperor won¡¯t let me compete.¡±


    I felt sure of that. Markham needed to look neutral, a dispassionate judge standing above the rest. With him as my direct superior, and with my role as a servant to the Divine Choir, everyone involved in the competition would cry foul if I joined.


    My days of fighting for glory and honor were long done.


    ¡°There are other ways to deal with this,¡± I said. ¡°I can work behind the scenes, make sure the Vykes don¡¯t cheat.¡± Maybe even do some cheating myself, I thought.


    When Emma opened her mouth for a furious retort, I spoke over her. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not just Calerus we have to deal with. There¡¯s his sister, Hyperia.¡±


    She had given me an unsettling feeling, and had been the more talkative of the two. I also hadn¡¯t forgotten my original purpose in coming here.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s Yith. I know he¡¯s going to be involved in all this somehow, and I¡¯d rather chance on taking him out of play.¡±


    I turned my attention back to Laertes. ¡°The Keeper believed you could help me track the bug down. Can you?¡±


    The vampire folded his fingers together, clawed digits locking in front of his waist. ¡°The demon is of concern. It is possible it even has a role in whatever power our enemy seeks to invoke.¡±


    He considered a moment, then lifted his gray head to look at me. ¡°Calling a demon bound to another master is next to impossible, or I would simply suggest performing our own summoning. Likewise, tracking a creature of darkness into the shadows where it dwells is often a fool¡¯s game. Yith is old and cunning, and can sink into deeper depths than even a wielder of the Alder¡¯s fire may safely follow.¡±


    ¡°Shadows?¡±


    I froze, then looked to the one who¡¯d spoken. Catrin stared at Laertes, her lips pursed thoughtfully.


    ¡°Catrin.¡± I drew her attention to me. ¡°No.¡±


    Her brow furrowed. ¡°Why not?¡±


    She stood, fulling joining the circle the Count, Emma, and I had formed. Placing a hand to her chest, Catrin spoke in a calm, collected voice. ¡°I can move through shadows. I know that realm, or whatever you want to call it. If Yith is hiding in my territory, then let me try to sniff him out.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll end up sniffing you out,¡± I argued. ¡°Remember what you said about being the little monster, Cat? Yith is a big one. If he catches on to you, and you¡¯re not where I can protect you...¡±


    I trailed off, instead pushing my worries forward in thought. I can¡¯t let you do this. It¡¯s too dangerous.


    Catrin clenched one hand into a fist on the table, her jaw stubbornly set. I couldn¡¯t read her thoughts back, a fact that struck me hard just then.


    ¡°I have a say in this too,¡± she said calmly. ¡°I lost someone I cared about back in Caelfall to these bastards. I saw what they did to give that thing its body. If there¡¯s a way for me to help, then I¡¯m doing it.¡±


    Before I could answer, she turned to the Count. ¡°Could I do it?¡±


    To my dismay, Laertes looked thoughtful. ¡°It is possible. Yith is known as Corpsefather, a master of crawling vermin. Your own aspect is not far off, graveflower, and could form a link to whatever paths he traverses. Demons often move through paths of abstraction just as the more ancient elves do.¡±


    ¡°And what if she gets stuck in there with him?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Then you must be the guiding light which draws her back from those depths,¡± Laertes told me.


    Had this been why the Keeper had sent Catrin with us? Had he known? Or was this some gross coincidence orchestrated by this old, malignant mastermind in front of me?


    Catrin must have felt my fear, because she gave me an apologetic smile. ¡°Sorry, big man, but I can¡¯t just stand by and let my friends take on all the risk.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t look much more excited about the idea than me. ¡°Catrin, are you sure? This is incredibly dangerous.¡±


    Catrin patted my squire¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright, droplet. Much as I enjoy giving our boy pep talks and riding the stress out of him, it¡¯ll be good to play hero for once.¡±


    Emma snorted. Hendry adopted a scandalized expression. I let out a heavy sigh. Perhaps I should have been embarrassed, but I just felt too glad to see her back to her usual self, and too afraid for what might happen to her.


    Catrin looked at me. ¡°Will you guide me back? Be my torch?¡±


    I wanted to push against it. I was supposed to be the vanguard, the one who got torn up by the monsters so no one else had to be.


    ¡°Is there another way?¡± I asked the Count in desperation.


    Laertes nodded. ¡°Of course. Wait for the demon to reveal itself and kill it before whatever goal it has in mind is done. You may have a small window.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a damned stupid risk if there¡¯s a way to remove the bastard early,¡± Catrin stated flatly. ¡°I¡¯m doing it.¡±


    She refused to meet my eye, instead keeping her attention on the elder vampire. ¡°Can you show me how to track him down?¡±


    Laertes inclined his head. ¡°I can provide some wisdom that may aid you, graveflower. Know that there will be risks, and not just from the demon¡¯s claws.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± I asked in alarm.


    ¡°I shall explain them to her,¡± Laertes said with a gesture to Catrin. ¡°They are for her ears, and for her to choose to share should she wish. There are secrets I will not give to one of Tuvon¡¯s warriors by my own lips. She is of the dead, just as I am, and has a right to this knowledge.¡±


    His voice hardened. ¡°You do not.¡±


    I glowered at him, frustrated, but saw no give in that corpse face. Catrin didn¡¯t jump in to help either, instead remaining quiet and thoughtful. If she heard the panic in my thoughts, she didn¡¯t comment on it.


    ¡°What now?¡± Hendry asked me. ¡°Should we report back to the palace, ser?¡±


    It was a good question. How much of this did I reveal to the Emperor? How much would he believe when it came to diabolical plots and dark rituals? I doubted I¡¯d be able to get him to stop the tournament, not with the grievous loss of face it would cause.


    There would be some time to figure it out.


    No there won¡¯t, I mocked myself. The tournament starts the day after tomorrow.


    Two days. The realization felt like an anvil pressing down on my shoulders.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get back to the city for now,¡± I said aloud to the group. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out then.¡±


    ¡°You may leave the way you came,¡± Laertes said. ¡°You shall not be obstructed. I wish you all luck, for all our sakes.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 22: Ire and Intrigue

    Arc 5: Chapter 22: Ire and Intrigue


    Our return to the city coincided with an onset of rain, and distant black clouds threatening worse. True summer was only a bare handful of days away, and with it would come summer storms.


    My powers warn me when danger from beyond my homeland¡¯s shores is near. I could feel a rancorous wind in the north, though it had not yet arrived to trouble the capital. It would be full of heat from warmer lands, ready to drive away the last vestiges of winter¡¯s chill.


    Somehow, I knew that long winter would not loosen its grip easily.


    I tried to put the troubled sky out of my thoughts as Hendry and Emma followed me back to the palace. As I went, I thought about what needed to be done, and what I should say to the Emperor. My companions kept their own silences as we moved through the streets.


    Catrin remained at the inn, making me promise I would return before the fighting started. I wanted to see her again. And I dreaded it.


    Churning thunder guided us to the Fulgurkeep through streets teeming with people. Another batch of knightly retinues had arrived, bringing crowds out to greet them and plead for news from afar. A fever seemed to hang over the city, fear and anticipation boiling into an anxious flavor.


    Navigating through the mess took time, and every wasted moment frustrated me.


    ¡°What are you going to tell the Emperor?¡± Emma asked me as we cut through some alleys to avoid the throngs.


    I still hadn¡¯t decided, and had no answer to give her. She must have sensed my mood, because she fell quiet.


    We managed to beat the tourney prospects to the Fulgurkeep¡¯s main bridge gate. Just as I was leading our trio out into the avenue, what I had at first taken to be part of a building suddenly rose to its full height and stepped out to greet us.


    It emerged from the gap between a church tower and a court hall, rising near tall as both. The three of us all tensed, and I suspected my young followers had the same thought I did ¡ª that another storm ogre had appeared in the capital.


    Indeed, the looming figure which stepped into our path was huge as one of the western beasts. It stood twenty-five feet high, wore enough steel to arm a platoon of knights, and enough cloth to warm a village through winter. A split triangle of steel crowned the bright helm, the Y shaped opening in the mask beneath revealing two dim blue eyes.


    Hendry took a step back, while Emma lifted her chin defiantly in her habitual refusal to show fear. I stood my ground, wary but not immediately threatened. Not easy, considering the air had shifted just from the act of the towering warrior standing up and taking two steps.


    The dwarf giant reached up, plucked off his ceremonial helm to let a cascade of mountain silver hair fall over a kindly face, and inclined his head.


    ¡°Well met, Ser Headsman. I have heard some tales of you these past weeks.¡±


    No doubt he recognized me by my accoutrements, which I made no effort to hide. The voice was powerful, pushed into the air by lungs that probably weighed more than I did, yet surprisingly soft.


    I studied the crest of the helm a moment, and a matching insignia worked into a badge pinned to a strap across the figure¡¯s chest. Many more medals adorned that chest, all large as shields. His armor was like polished silver, reflecting my face back at me and making the rain on it gleam.


    The dwarf was a knight. Not only that, but I suspected I knew where from. I inclined my own head, letting some rainwater fall down my brow. ¡°It is an honor to meet a Warden of the Gate.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s eyes widened, while Emma pursed her lips.


    ¡°I am Ser Nimryd,¡± the dwarf said. ¡°Here to represent the defenders of Aureia¡¯s Gate in the Emperor¡¯s tournament.¡± His voice softened into something more fragile. ¡°And to report the deaths of my comrades.¡±


    ¡°They were set upon by two storm ogres some days ago,¡± the Royal Steward said in an unusually somber tone. ¡°Likely remnants from the incursion last month.¡±


    Markham was quiet a minute, his gray eyes scanning the report laid out on the table in front of him. It included a list of names, each of them belonging to someone lost in the attack. We stood in his small council chamber, listening to the storm rumble outside.


    ¡°And what of Roland?¡± Markham asked.


    ¡°King Roland and his retinue have yet to return from their hunt,¡± the Steward replied smoothly. ¡°We¡¯ve received no communication, but our last report had him near Ottershall five days ago. That is perhaps thirty miles south of the city, and well away from any path the delegation from Idhir would have taken.¡±


    ¡°Tell me the moment we hear from him,¡± Markham told his advisor. ¡°That will be all.¡±


    The Steward bowed, nodded to me, then left to attend some other business. That left me alone as I¡¯d ever been with the Emperor of the Accorded Realms. The Twinbolt Knight loomed near the door, silent and watchful.


    Markham waited several minutes, and did not look at me when he spoke. ¡°Where were you?¡±


    I considered my answer a moment before speaking. ¡°It is hard to explain, Your Grace.¡±


    An edge of steel creeped into the high king¡¯s voice. ¡°Do so anyway.¡±


    I had yet even to check in on my team, having been summoned to this meeting the moment Markham became aware I¡¯d returned to the castle. The Idhiran I¡¯d met at the gate waited in the court below, the upper halls unable to accommodate his size.


    ¡°I was investigating the attacks,¡± I said. ¡°I got a lead, and it brought me to a place I didn¡¯t expect, one I couldn¡¯t easily leave.¡±


    I ended up telling him all of it, leaving out only that the contact who¡¯d led me to Count Laertes was a crime lord and a brothel owner, and the part about the vampire¡¯s connection to the Traitor Magi. I didn¡¯t want to make it harder than needed to get him to swallow the story.


    Markham paced over to the fireplace during my account, holding a goblet of wine in his hand as though it were a talisman against evil. He drained the remnants in one swallow when I¡¯d finished, threw his head back, and sighed.


    ¡°God save us from wizards.¡±


    I could hardly disagree.


    ¡°First my wife¡¯s spymaster, now this.¡± He turned to glower at me, clutching his cup as though he intended to crush it. ¡°They are schemers who care nothing for the laws of mortal men. How can you trust this... what did you say he was, some kind of revenant?¡±


    ¡°A vampire, I think.¡± I shrugged. ¡°He didn¡¯t exactly confirm it, Your Grace, and there are so many variety of undead...¡±


    Markham waved my hedging off. ¡°My point remains. What if he was deceiving you? I¡¯ve heard members of your order have the ability to tell when someone is lying. Did you use this power on him?¡±


    ¡°I did not,¡± I admitted. ¡°I¡¯m not even sure it would work on someone strong as him, and he would have taken it as an insult. I can only go on his word, Your Grace. If he was lying, it¡¯s an elaborate one, and if he isn¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°So in short,¡± Markham said, ¡°Prince Calerus intends to co-opt my tournament to forge some terrible weapon for an unknown but likely devastating purpose. He and his sister are behind these recent attacks, or their father is. You don¡¯t know what this sorcery will end up looking like or what they plan to do with it, but whatever their plan it will end with a new war, one they expect to win. Have I described the situation well enough, Ser Alken?¡±


    His brusque tone held an edge of danger in it. I stood straight and nodded. ¡°That is the short of it, Your Grace.¡±


    Markham shook his head, his eyes sliding to the fire. ¡°It sounds ludicrous, but it¡¯s exactly the sort of thing the Recusants did back during the war. It sounds just like what happened to Elfhome. I will not allow my city to die for some madman¡¯s scheme.¡±


    Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. I¡¯d expected to need more convincing to get Markham to take my story seriously, but he was a veteran of the Fall same as I.


    Lifting the still-intact fingers of his left hand to point at me, the Emperor spoke in a dangerous voice. ¡°I cannot cancel the tournament, before you even suggest it.¡±


    I just bowed my head, having known he wouldn¡¯t. There was far too much political and economic investment put into the whole thing, and Markham couldn¡¯t afford that blow to his reputation when the peace was still so young.


    He started to pace. ¡°I can¡¯t just send those two brats packing, either. There are still rats and wolves who¡¯d side with Hasur scurrying around my feet. Fuck!¡±


    Markham chucked his goblet, a small fortune in silver and gemstones, onto the floor in an almost petulant display.


    I had never seen him this openly angry. Then again, I¡¯d rarely seen him without a gaggle of advisors to stifle him. Both the Steward and the Royal Cleric were attending other business.


    The image of my queen hidden away in her lonely tower above the sea flashed through my mind. Perhaps I wasn¡¯t the only one to understand her in this gray northern land, after all.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Emma quipped. ¡°I had you covered from the dire princeling.¡±


    ¡°The Twinbolt saw you,¡± I told her.


    ¡°He did not!¡± Emma snapped, affronted.


    ¡°He did,¡± I insisted in a light voice. He hadn¡¯t been distracted at all. He¡¯d seen my squire, even while she¡¯d been concealed by her glamour. A dangerous man, if it was a man under that shadowed helm.


    ¡°Let¡¯s check on our team,¡± I told her. ¡°Maybe they will have something useful for us.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t expected to lose an entire night on my errand at the Backroad Inn. As I navigated the winding corridors of the Fulgurkeep, a thought struck me as I remembered what had occupied so much time. How had the Keeper of the Backroad known about the delegation from Idhir being attacked before Ser Nimryd, the last survivor, had arrived?


    I couldn¡¯t guess at the resources held by the immortal information broker. I still wasn¡¯t even certain he and Laertes hadn¡¯t conspired to set up that meeting.


    ¡°Explain it to me again,¡± I demanded with a patience I did not feel. ¡°All of it.¡±


    The blunt features of Mallet, my recruit from the militia, twisted into an angry scowl. ¡°Nuffin¡¯ more to be said. We¡¯re fucked.¡±


    When I stared at him levelly, the stocky man shifted a step and added, ¡°Ser.¡±


    I stood in the main chamber of my tower headquarters on the Fulgurkeep¡¯s wave-battered northern cliffs. My new subordinates arrayed themselves around me, and they were a sore sight. Penric had a nasty bruise swelling up one half of his face, the result of a broken nose, and Beatriz had one arm in a sling. The nobleman, Kenneth, looked more disheveled than I remembered him but had otherwise gotten off with a cut lip.


    The cleric stood off to the side, clutching his holy amulet in tight fingers and murmuring to himself. He looked fine, physically, but his eyes were unfocused and his prayers had a manic edge.


    It took me a moment to recall his name. Emil.


    I scanned the room, catching a brief glimpse of my squire lurking near the door with her usual bored indifference. Kenneth looked amused by the whole thing, as though the group were getting lectured for some mischief done on a drunken night. Beatriz looked like she hadn¡¯t slept since I¡¯d last seen her, though her brown eyes carried a defiant glint.


    Instead of demanding elaboration from the militiaman, I looked at Penric. He was the oldest of the group, and seemed to be the most level headed.


    The archer made an effort to stand straighter, though the motion looked more habitual than respectful. ¡°It was a mess, ser, and no mistake.¡±


    He went over the details one more time, which made more sense without Kenneth¡¯s lax drawl or Mallet¡¯s gruff terseness. As I¡¯d ordered, the group had split up to investigate different leads across the city and gain a clearer picture of the attacks. Kenneth and Beatriz had looked into the alchemical attack that¡¯d targeted a mansion on the Fountain Ward, while Penric and the other two had started with the tavern where a barmaid had stabbed one of the Storm Knights.


    Penric¡¯s group had gained little success. The girl who¡¯d shanked Ser Alencourt had allegedly been a quiet, sweet tempered maid who¡¯d lived on the Street of Whistles her whole life. She¡¯d been seventeen, the daughter of a carpenter, and had worked in the tavern for years.


    By all accounts, she hadn¡¯t left the city once in her life. Hardly the sort of suspicious character I¡¯d imagine for an assassin. The girl had taken her own life afterward, leaving no explanations.


    Kenneth and Beatriz had spoken to watchmen and servants at the manor of the earl whose whole household had been poisoned by gas. They had gained a bit more, finding the device used in the attack tucked away inside the mansion¡¯s cellars. Some sort of alchemical contraption, complicated in design.


    They had to describe it to me, because it had been confiscated by House Rathur. This is where things had gone wrong. Once the object of the assassination had been located, relatives of the deceased earl had demanded it be turned over to them. They had their own private investigation going, and wanted the device as evidence.


    And they were not the only ones. As my lance had spread their investigation across the city, they kept getting frustrated by servants operating on behalf of one family or another. Penric believed they were mostly private House guard, men-at-arms kept on retainer by the noble families and loyal to those clans. They beat my team to witnesses, confiscated evidence, frustrated us at every opportunity.


    Things had escalated, and when both teams had reconnoitered to look in on the death of Elmira Worthy, who¡¯d been poisoned at a gala, other agents had arrived just after them. Beatriz had gotten into a scuffle with two of them, which Kenneth had tried to deescalate. One of the men-at-arms had said something untoward to the woman, and Mallet had broken the man¡¯s teeth for it.


    Everyone there had been armed. It could have been much worse, but the nobleman in charge of this rival team of sleuths had stepped in and ordered his people to back off. He¡¯d then ordered my people to leave, and none of them had possessed the authority to challenge him.


    ¡°He said it was the Houses who were attacked,¡± Penric finished in his raspy voice. ¡°And the Houses who would protect their own.¡±


    ¡°Who was this man?¡± I asked.


    The archer frowned, rubbing his swollen jaw in thought. It was Kenneth who piped in with the answer.


    ¡°It was Lord Vander,¡± the handsome nobleman said. ¡°Of House Braeve, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡±


    Vander Braeve. I bit back a bitter curse. The man had made his distrust and dislike for me clear enough in court. Did he mean to sabotage me?


    No. After a moment¡¯s thought, I didn¡¯t think this was personal. The Houses of Urn had always been fractious, distrustful, and proud. It didn¡¯t surprise me that some of them had decided to take matters into their own hands, distrustful of the palace¡¯s interference.


    ¡°You did announce yourself?¡± I asked the whole group. ¡°Told them who you answer to?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Kenneth said without losing his pleasant smile. ¡°But, um...¡±


    He glanced at the others for support. Mallet spoke up with a growling tone that didn¡¯t bother to hide his anger, and his eyes remained fixed on me as he spoke.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t here, ser. We had no one to back us up.¡±


    I clenched my jaw, fighting back an angry retort I knew none of them had earned.


    Faisa Dance had warned me of this, when she¡¯d mentioned the Cymrinoreans closing their doors to us. And I hadn¡¯t been there to step in as a higher authority. My position was less than a week old, officially. To the whole city, my team would look like a rag-tag band of ne¡¯er do-wells.


    More than that, the Accord itself was young, untested, and made up of an enormous confederation of formerly independent and often rival feudal realms. I should have foreseen this, I thought tiredly.


    I felt my headache, growing ever since I¡¯d returned to the palace, spike in intensity.


    ¡°Perhaps a uniform?¡± Kenneth suggested helpfully. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt. We could make it red!¡±


    When I turned a slow stare on him, he coughed and fell silent. Seeing Emma trying to hold back laughter in the background did little to help my temper.


    ¡°And where have you been since yesterday, ser?¡± Beatriz stared at me with nearly as much hostility as Mallet.


    ¡°Running down my own leads,¡± I said vaguely, too annoyed to be politic about it. After a minute¡¯s consideration, I turned to Penric. He was the only one who hadn¡¯t pissed me off, so far.


    ¡°I want you to get a message to House Braeve,¡± I told him. ¡°Tell them I¡¯d like to meet with Lord Vander at his earliest convenience. Make it clear that I would prefer he inconvenience himself for it.¡±


    Penric snapped out a salute, though his calm, almost drowsy eyes didn¡¯t match the crisp motion. ¡°I¡¯ll have it done.¡±


    If I was going to do this, I¡¯d do this part by the book. The nobility would take me seriously, or I would stop playing nice. I decided to call on House Dance as well, sending Hendry on that errand. Lady Faisa seemed to be my ally, and she was far more powerful than Vander.


    I might hate politics, but playing the game badly would get people killed. Catrin was willing to risk her life against a Demon of the Abyss. Next to that, I had no right to be cowed by court intrigue.

 Arc 5: Chapter 23: Brittle Armor

    Arc 5: Chapter 23: Brittle Armor


    I dismissed Penric to see to his errand, and had the others retire for rest and recovery. Some beds had been moved into the tower while I¡¯d been away, the result of requests I¡¯d made before I¡¯d gone to the Backroad, making the place a functional if poorly provisioned barracks. The cleric, Emil, had no proper healing Art but could work his aura well enough to purify wounds and speed their mending.


    I had him tend to Emma as well. She¡¯d scowled about it, but I could tell she¡¯d been putting on a brave face all day. Her limp had gotten noticeably worse.


    I¡¯d gone up to my office ¡ª I hated calling it that, but had no better word ¡ª when a knock came at the door. I¡¯d just sat down to take a breath for the first time since the meeting with Count Laertes, and had to quash the impulse to ignore it. The chair I¡¯d had brought up wasn¡¯t particularly rich or comfortable, but it had arms and I¡¯d slept on worse.


    I knew I needed rest. I hadn¡¯t even gotten out of my armor and cloak, too worn and distracted to worry much about comfort.


    I could hear the surly growl in my voice when I told the knocker to enter. I heard the clink of metal, then a tall, powerfully built woman with ash-colored hair and sea green armor stepped into the room.


    I stared, taken aback. ¡°Ser Kaia. What are you¡ª¡±


    I almost choked when the royal champion stepped aside and a second figure glided in after her.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡± I stood immediately, thoughtlessly, stepping around to the front of the desk before sinking down to one knee. Propping a fist against the cold stone of the tower floor, I bowed my head before my face could betray any emotion.


    Rosanna stopped in the middle of the room. She wore a very pale blue dress accented with darker greens and threaded with silver designs, its long skirts trailing along the floor to meld with a silk cape. A veil, encircled by her spiked silver crown, concealed her black hair. The maker of that ancient crown had worked aura into it, so it seemed to shimmer with strange lights and patterns. I had once seen it shining like a frozen star, the day she¡¯d been declared Queen of the Karledale.


    She looked every inch the Empress. Her pale, pretty face peered down at me like a cold moon beneath that gleaming silver crown.


    ¡°Could you leave us a while, Ser Kaia?¡± Her voice sounded calm, collected. I could detect no emotion in it.


    Unlike a previous time we¡¯d had such an encounter, the adventurer-turned-knight didn¡¯t hesitate or argue. She left, closing the door behind her. I knew she¡¯d still be outside, keeping watch and making sure we weren¡¯t disturbed.


    When the bodyguard had gone, Rosanna let out a quiet breath I barely heard. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that. It¡¯s just me and you here.¡±


    I remained quiet long enough to listen as a wave struck the rocks below the tower. ¡°You know that I do, Your Grace.¡±


    Things could not be like they were. I was the Headsman, and she was the Empress. Better for us both if it remained that simple.


    I heard silk rustle as she approached, which made me tense. She didn¡¯t say anything at first, and I got the sense she waited for something.


    ¡°Must I order you to stand?¡± She asked.


    We remained like that a while, a strange battle of wills. Long enough my knee started to ache.


    I¡¯m not really sure who won, but Rosanna broke the silence first in a voice cold as brittle ice. ¡°Very well. Rise, Ser Headsman.¡±


    I did, standing to my full height. The Empress poised just barely out of arm¡¯s reach. She had to tilt her chin up to look at my face.


    ¡°How may I serve you, Your Grace?¡± I kept my expression and voice carefully blank, remaining as neutral as I could. Solid iron to her smooth ice.


    I could tell I¡¯d stung her, by the way her green eyes glinted with anger. ¡°Firstly, by talking to me. I did not enjoy hearing about Lias from my husband instead of you.¡±


    I felt my own anger creep up, all my exhaustion, frustration, stress, and worry cracking the frost of my calm. ¡°And what was I to do? It took a literal divine miracle to get me out of that mess last month, and the whole city still sees me as some sort of dangerous renegade. Distancing myself was the wiser action.¡±


    Smiling coldly I added, ¡°I know you agree, since you had me barred from your embassy.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°You had just murdered an archclericon while I had been sheltering you. What did you expect me to do?¡±


    I opened my mouth to speak, but whatever I might have said crammed in my throat. Had I planned this? How could she believe it, of me of all people?


    I wanted to yell at her, shout and snarl, laugh in her face. Instead I just found myself slowly shaking my head, unable to settle on a single emotion. She waited, calm as marble, not offering me anything to grasp onto.


    With an effort of will, I managed to bury the most immediate and hostile emotions stewing in me. It gave me a clear enough head to think. Part of me had suspected this, even if facing it was another beast entirely.


    It would have looked like I¡¯d schemed and abused her trust. I¡¯d kept things from her ¡ª by her own compliance, true, but she couldn¡¯t have expected things to go the way they did. I had pledged my loyalty to her, offered my services to her own children, then thrown myself at her husband¡¯s feet and spent this past month in his confidence instead. I had slain her political rival, directing suspicion and risk on her authority while I¡¯d seemed to rise in influence with the Emperor himself.


    From the outside, my actions would have looked brazen, even calculated.


    No wonder Malcolm was so angry with me earlier, I thought grimly. He must have seen how much more isolated his mother became after my debut.


    She hadn¡¯t been attending other business or occupied with the summit these past weeks. Rosanna had been avoiding the public eye in order to let the dust settle from my actions.


    And why wouldn¡¯t she believe it of me? We had been strangers for well over a decade, distant ever since she¡¯d shipped me off to Elfhome as her ambassador. In my youth, I¡¯d been an impetuous, brash warrior given to her so a country lord could secure a debt. I¡¯d been loyal to her, but mostly because I was attracted to her and wanted the glory life in her service offered.


    My respect for her, and my love, had grown slowly and quietly, something I kept inside. I couldn¡¯t recall ever speaking of it aloud, not to her at least.


    When I¡¯d finally returned from a long exile, I had been full of secrets and silence, practically a stranger. Lias had betrayed her twice. I doubted Rosanna had much faith left in people, and she¡¯d never had much to begin with. Her relatives had butchered her parents in their own castle.


    It all made sense. And none of it did. How had our lives gotten so twisted?


    My voice sounded hoarse to my own ears. ¡°I came to this city because Lias said you both needed help. I swear it¡¯s true, my queen.¡±


    Even needing to say it aloud, I felt a crack form in my heart. I hadn¡¯t expected it to hurt so much, seeing the distrust in Rose¡¯s face. She looked at me like I was a stranger.


    And I knew that was why I hadn¡¯t just covered myself in glamour and stolen into her bastion in the middle of the night to have this talk. Not for anything noble or self sacrificing or practical, but because I had feared this moment.


    Rosanna studied me a while, then took a step closer. Without looking away from my face she said, ¡°You swear it? On your knighthood and your oaths? On the vows you swore to me?¡±


    ¡°That is cruel,¡± I said. She knew how much all of that meant to me.


    ¡°Do you swear it?¡± She repeated, her eyes wide and devoid of mercy.


    I bowed my head, feeling hollow. ¡°I swear it. I never meant to betray you. I came here for you, Rose. For both of you.¡±


    Again, she inhaled through her nose. The breath had a slight tremor in it. ¡°Did he really betray us?¡± She asked with a sudden softness. ¡°Is Li gone?¡±


    A tightness formed in my throat. ¡°He¡¯s gone,¡± I croaked.


    ¡°He really tried to kill you?¡± Her mouth had formed a thin line.


    I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    I thought I had shed all the tears I would over Lias Hexer. But when I watched the ice in Rosanna¡¯s eyes shatter, and tears well up in its place, my vision blurred. We had known one another twenty years, and I had never seen my queen cry.


    She had never seen me cry, either. It must have shocked her as much as me, because she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. I held her, and we stood there together a long while, grieving for the man who¡¯d been like a brother to us both.

 Arc 5: Chapter 24: A Lesser Villain

    Arc 5: Chapter 24: A Lesser Villain


    ¡°You should have guards,¡± Rosanna told me some time later. She had mastered herself, once again donning her royal mask. ¡°Kaia and I were not challenged when we arrived.¡±


    She sat on my chair, while I leaned against the wall by the window. The sea seemed to have calmed outside.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been a bit busy to worry about security,¡± I said.


    ¡°I heard they also assigned malcontents to you,¡± Rosanna added thoughtfully. ¡°You need a proper household. It took me more than half an hour to reach this tower, and most of it seems unused. You¡¯re isolated out here. You should have a cook for your meals, along with a chamberlain to see to daily needs. Has my husband not provided any of this?¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s been a bit busy too,¡± I noted dryly.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Rosanna considered a moment, then seemed to dismiss the issue. ¡°I have been appraised somewhat of your investigation. You just returned to the castle this morning, along with that dwarven knight from Idhir?¡±


    I didn¡¯t much want to explain the whole story again, and felt certain Markham would demand the conspiracy I¡¯d uncovered stay in that council room. But Rosanna was my monarch, the only one I¡¯d ever actually followed because I had wanted to. Besides, she had a shrewdness to match her husband¡¯s and fewer distractions than him presently. She might be able to help me.


    As I spoke, Rosanna occasionally asked clarifying questions. They were sharp and poignant, rarely diverging the conversation so far off course as to waste time. I had her caught up to speed soon enough.


    ¡°I have not been idle this past week,¡± Rosanna stated when my tale was done. ¡°I¡¯ve had Kaia chasing leads as well, and I am aware of this confederation of noble families taking matters into their own hands. I will speak to Markham about it, but for now...¡±


    She adjusted her skirts and stood. Her advanced pregnancy seemed to trouble her, and I had to resist the urge to help. I knew she would not appreciate it. ¡°I have some information that might help you. The assassin who targeted the Ironleaf was caught.¡±


    I started. ¡°What? Why haven¡¯t I heard of this?¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s lips pursed. ¡°Because House Braeve is the one who found him. I only know of it because their alliance includes a secret ally of mine, one who passed this information to my people.¡±


    I cursed bitterly. ¡°I can¡¯t keep up with all the resources of Garihelm¡¯s elite with less than a dozen people, especially when the city is battling me every step. I¡¯m drowning, Rose.¡±


    Rosanna cast me a sympathetic look. ¡°There are many who want you to fail, Alken. They see you as a threat, and fear what you represent. What happened that day in court... it scared many people.¡±


    I knew she spoke of the Onsolain. ¡°So what became of this assassin?¡±


    ¡°That is where it gets complicated,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°It was a courier, a commoner who had worked in the castle for years. He was young, married to a laundress who also works in the palace, and could not tell the interrogators anything about his motives. He would not say who hired him, what they offered or threatened to make him do their will, or anything of value. Even under torture, he gave them nothing but pleas for mercy.¡±


    ¡°How did these nobles know he was their man?¡± I asked, frowning.


    ¡°Ser Jocelyn cut his assassin on the neck with a dagger,¡± Rosanna explained. ¡°Here.¡± She tapped her neck just above the collar bone. ¡°A shallow strike, but enough to leave a mark. He was reported by some of the other servants when they noticed the wound.¡±


    ¡°Plenty of agents are trained to endure torture,¡± I noted.


    ¡°True.¡± Rosanna leaned forward, her green eyes intent. ¡°But that is not the strange part. My people questioned his wife. According to her, he went missing in the Hammer Ward three weeks ago. He returned to the palace only a few nights before the Culling, and did not know her. He acted like a stranger.¡±


    I remained silent a long while at that information. ¡°A stranger, was it?¡±


    Rosanna had no doubt heard about my report the day her husband restored my knighthood. I suspected she¡¯d already drawn the same conclusion solidifying itself in my mind.


    ¡°The chorn,¡± I breathed. ¡°It was eating people¡¯s memories. Eating them, and perhaps putting something else in their place.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s face paled. ¡°They can do that?¡±


    ¡°The forces of darkness can do many terrifying things,¡± I said darkly. Like put a parasite in your dreams.


    I recalled the old puppeteer who¡¯d attacked me, paranoid and fearful of his own creations. I remembered the report my lance had given about the innocuous maid who¡¯d stabbed Ser Alencourt in a tavern, even though her family lived not three blocks away.


    I had been wondering how the Vykes managed to position so many assassins in the city for something of this scale. They hadn¡¯t. They had created them from innocent people.


    ¡°One of the twins, or perhaps a member of their retinue, is a warlock.¡± I met Rosanna¡¯s eye. ¡°Do you think anyone else has figured it out?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even certain until now,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°Very few people outside of the Magi and the elves know much demon lore. Perhaps Lias could have made us aware of this plot earlier, but...¡±


    But he had abandoned us.


    ¡°I¡¯m only guessing at what makes sense, and what I think is possible.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t actually know if that chorn was capable of something this complex. I¡¯ll have to talk to Fen Harus, get his opinion. His people trained the Table to fight demons in the first place, so maybe he will know something.¡±


    ¡°I will pass on a message for you so he knows you want to meet,¡± Rosanna offered.


    I glared at the floor, chewing on my lip. ¡°Those two Talsyner shits are very good at carrying out their schemes in ways we can¡¯t prove, even when we¡¯re certain they are the culprits.¡±


    I started to pace, frustrated. ¡°I should just kill them.¡±


    ¡°You will start a war,¡± Rosanna said warningly.


    ¡°We¡¯re already at war. If it¡¯s a choice between that and letting them kill us by inches...¡± I turned and gave her a hard look. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time something is actually done about the Condor.¡±


    I wondered then why the Choir had never sent me after his head. I suspected plenty of his allies had fallen under my axe, even if I hadn¡¯t known them as such at the time.


    ¡°You and I cannot make that choice,¡± Rosanna insisted.


    ¡°You¡¯re the empress,¡± I reminded her.


    ¡°The lords follow Markham,¡± Rosanna told me soberly. ¡°The Church has put its faith in him as well. I am the mother of his children and the leader of the southern realms, or what¡¯s left of them. And I know he will not choose to field his armies unless there is no other option, not when Hasur Vyke has the support he needs to make any victory we might win a pyrrhic one. Talsyn is nigh unassailable in those mountains with even a small army defending it. And they will not have a small army. Who knows what evils he¡¯s been preparing these past eight years, what alliances he has made?¡±


    I remembered Orson Falconer and his council. I looked at the floor, frustrated because I knew she was right. I¡¯d made those very same arguments to Emma and Hendry just that morning.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Rosanna added in a grim voice. ¡°King Hasur is hardly the greatest threat we face. It is no accident Markham extended an invitation to Graill and has been in private councils with Princess Snoe?. He intends to prepare us to retake the east, even if it does not happen in his lifetime.¡±


    Startled, my gaze shot to her. ¡°Markham is preparing to reclaim Seydis?¡±


    Rosanna nodded. ¡°Few know. The Ignited Lands grow every year, and there are rumors of terrible things straying out of them into Lindenroad, Graill, and some of the southern realms as well.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why Markham invited House Wake to join his council,¡± I realized. ¡°Resettling Verdanhigh is just the beginning, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Rosanna approached me, not quite to the intimate distance she had before but still standing very close. Her green eyes were sharp and bright as twin gemstones. ¡°We must deal with Talsyn without resorting to open war. If we have to use force of arms to oust the Vykes, then the Accorded Realms will be left crippled for generations. We cannot afford that with a warlord of the Adversary still lurking inside our shores.¡±


    I closed my eyes against the roar of inhuman laughter echoing through my memories. There were far worse monsters than Hasur Vyke, or even Yith Golonac. I had seen the Gorelion only once, and it had scarred me.


    ¡°You are right,¡± Rosanna said quietly. ¡°We are at war. A war of shadows and sorcery and man-made monsters. If our enemies will not fight us in the open, then we must meet them where they are.¡±


    I scoffed.


    ¡°You disagree?¡± Rosanna asked sharply.


    ¡°No, I...¡± I shrugged and smiled lightly at her. ¡°It¡¯s just, you¡¯re making the same argument I made to myself when I accepted this duty. When I became the Headsman.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s eyes softened, then roamed the room a moment. I knew she was looking for my axe, but she wouldn¡¯t find it.


    Seeming to put it out of her mind, she paced to the door. ¡°I brought some other items that might help you. Reports from my embassy¡¯s own investigation, mostly, but I¡¯ve been looking into your own staff as well.¡±


    He stood up straight and spread his hands out. There he was, indeed. A villain. Not a particularly impressive or frightening one. Definitely not the sort I¡¯d be tasked to wield Faen Orgis on. I admit, I considered it.


    I took a slow breath to make sure I spoke calmly. ¡°Get out.¡±


    Kenneth blinked. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°Get. Out.¡±


    I met his eyes directly, something I avoided doing in most casual interactions, so he could see the golden glint in them. ¡°Pack your things and leave the tower. I don¡¯t want to see you ever again. I don¡¯t want to see you near my people again.¡±


    Kenneth let out a disbelieving laugh. ¡°You can¡¯t just dismiss me! I¡¯m a son of House Garder.¡±


    I stepped around the desk so it no longer formed a barrier between us. Kenneth took a single reflexive step back, though he squared up and stopped himself from budging any further. He had to look up to meet my gaze as I moved closer to him. His hand dropped to the side sword belted at his hip. I ignored it.


    ¡°You are the fourth son of a minor House,¡± I told him in a quiet, slow voice. ¡°One that¡¯s already had to intervene so you don¡¯t cause them scandal. You will get out of my sight and never return, or I will throw you into the sea. And no one will care, Kenneth, because you¡¯re a worm.¡±


    The man¡¯s handsome face twisted with undisguised fury. ¡°How dare you threaten me!¡±


    ¡°How dare I?¡± I tilted my head to look at him sidelong. ¡°I cut Horace Laudner¡¯s head off in front of his entire following last month. I dare a lot.¡±


    I gestured with my chin to the door. ¡°Last chance.¡±


    I will give him this. He stood there for a while, long enough I thought he might refuse or draw on me. His hand remained on the sword, knuckles white. His glare held no artifice in it, just unmasked hate.


    I hadn¡¯t mentioned it, but the report Rosanna had given me also included details of an incident with the merchant¡¯s son. Kenneth had nearly killed him when the other man had tried to defend his sister. That had not been the first time he¡¯d hurt people.


    The man had a lot of anger and violence in him. I understood why the Steward had given him to me.


    But I wouldn¡¯t have him.


    Finally, with stiff motions, Kenneth backed away and spun. The door slammed behind him a moment later. I let out a breath, and removed my hand from within my cloak.


    ¡°It¡¯s over now,¡± I said aloud. ¡°You can come out.¡±


    Emma stepped out of the shadows in the corner, dropping her glamour. ¡°That was tense. You think what he said about the others is true?¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± I said.


    Emma tilted her head at me, curious. ¡°You seem troubled. Why? You got rid of him, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I shook my head, trying to sort through my feelings. ¡°When that group of misfits was passed onto me, I thought it was because the council didn¡¯t have much faith in my position. I even suspected they might be trying to sabotage me. But now...¡±


    I turned to look at my squire. ¡°Now I see that the Steward, and maybe even the Emperor himself, had good reason for assigning me the kind of people they did. I just don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ¡°It makes sense, I suppose.¡± Emma pursed her lips. ¡°So you¡¯re saying Kenneth had good points?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Doesn¡¯t change my decision, though. It¡¯s strange, Emma. I¡¯m relieved, because finding out he was just a bastard rather than some kind of dangerous double agent simplified things. And I¡¯m frustrated, because it shows the council¡¯s opinion of me more clearly. They think I¡¯m a villain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s all relative.¡± Emma drifted toward the door. ¡°If you¡¯re asking me whether you did the smart thing, then I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have an answer for you. What I can say is that I won¡¯t complain about not having to share a roof with a rapist.¡±


    She shrugged, as though it were no big matter, then studied my troubled face. ¡°Do you want me to kill him? Will that make you feel better?¡±


    I realized then that part of what bothered me was that I¡¯d only dismissed him. I had wanted to do worse.


    ¡°No,¡± I decided. ¡°House Garder could make trouble for us. I was bluffing earlier.¡±


    Emma snorted. ¡°Ah, well. Let me know if you change your mind.¡±


    She turned to go, but I stopped her. ¡°Where is Hendry? I haven¡¯t heard from him in hours.¡±


    Emma paused, her own troubled expression forming. ¡°Ah, I meant to tell you. Apparently, his father just arrived from Venturmoor. He went to greet him.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Damn.¡±


    Emma seemed to agree. ¡°I...¡± She sighed, shaking her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think Hendry will betray us to his father. We spoke a bit at that vampire¡¯s mansion. I got the distinct impression he and Brenner aren¡¯t on the best of terms these days.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t particularly frightened of Brenner Hunting, but the man did know Emma¡¯s true identity. He could make trouble for us if he decided to use it.


    ¡°Let me know when Hendry is back,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to him, even if it¡¯s just to make sure he¡¯s alright. He¡¯s part of this now. I¡¯ll look out for him.¡±


    Emma looked surprised, but not displeased. ¡°Yes. I think I will as well. I was... cruel to him. More than I should have been. He¡¯s not had it easy.¡±


    I sat down at my desk again. ¡°Also, Lisette has been assigned to us. Make sure she gets settled in?¡±


    Emma¡¯s thoughtful expression gave way to an annoyed scowl. ¡°The choir girl? Why in any Hell would we need her?¡±


    I quirked an eyebrow as I picked up a quill, preparing to pen a letter making Kenneth¡¯s dismissal from my command official. ¡°She was a member of the Inquisition, and not a low ranking one. She also has one of the most versatile Arts I¡¯ve ever run across. Besides, it¡¯s a gift from the Empress. We can¡¯t really refuse.¡±


    Emma scowled, but didn¡¯t argue further. After she¡¯d gone, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. My eyes felt heavy. My whole body felt heavy. I hadn¡¯t slept in most of a week. My night with Catrin hadn¡¯t exactly been restful, and mild anemia wasn¡¯t helping.


    I knew I should rest, but there was so much to do. I would be meeting Catrin that night so we could make an attempt at tracking down Yith, and it would leave me with only a day before the tournament. I needed to talk to Fen Harus and confirm my suspicions about the chorn with him, and I needed to have a meeting with Vander so I could convince him to stop blocking my people. I needed to submit a report to the Emperor, coordinate efforts to look for dangerous amnesiacs who might still be waiting throughout the city like vipers poised to strike. Not every attacker had been caught.


    I needed to figure out what to do about Hyperia and Calerus.


    So much to do. If I missed anything, it could cost lives.


    Why did I come to this city? I asked myself. If I hadn¡¯t, would Lias have managed all this on his own? With the crowfriars behind him, he might have countered the Vykes.


    If I¡¯d returned earlier, could I have stopped him from going so far astray?


    Would Kenneth be the worst of the people I might have to cooperate with in this post? He was right about my work being ugly.


    It doesn¡¯t mean we have to be ugly, a voice in the back of my head whispered. That¡¯s just an excuse to make the rest easier to swallow. I had never bought the idea that a cruel world should be answered with heartlessness, even if I¡¯d strayed near that line before.


    I should have talked to Rosanna about Lias earlier, just as she¡¯d said. Avoiding her for political reasons had also been an excuse.


    The shadows in the room seemed to creep closer, quickly melding with the darkness behind my eyes. Troubled thoughts swirled around in my skull like gnashing fish as my exhaustion reached out to drag me into its waiting depths.


    As always when I slept, I felt fear.


    And anticipation.

 Arc 5: Chapter 25: A Violent Impulse

    Arc 5: Chapter 25: A Violent Impulse


    The dream began with the sound of fire, and the stink of burning flesh.


    I walked through a ruined city. Cracked towers rose in twisted columns into an acrid sky, stretching above pitted streets collecting a slow falling ash. Steam rose from those pits, as though they were openings into some volcanic depth. The ground seemed blistered, raw, ready to grow callouses.


    There were bodies. Soldiers, both Ardent Bough and Recusant, and civilians as well. Their glassy eyes followed me as I stumbled drunkenly through them, while their withered lips muttered sullen curses. To me, it seemed as though the very stone of the city whispered its hate, and its pain.


    I held a broken sword in my hand ¡ª it was fused to my hand ¡ª and wore the battered gold-and-green armor of an Alder Knight. Scars disfigured the filigree on my gauntlets, and the visor on my helm had been warped by heat and savage blows so it would no longer lower or lift, forming a twisted mask over my eyes. It made it harder to see, so I kept my eyes on the treacherous ground.


    The city was familiar. Kingsmeet, I thought, after it had been left in ruins. Once the crossroads of the Urnic Realms, now reduced to this fuming carcass.


    But some details were wrong. I crossed a bridge over a canal full of murmuring fog, and could see the cracked face of Myrr Arthor in the distance. It was Kingsmeet, but it was also Garihelm. The towers jockeyed for space with soaring trees left as blackened skeletons, like shadowy fingers desperately clawing at the burnt sky.


    Bits of Elfhome were here, too. Giggling, faceless manikins dressed as nuns watched me from the alleys, quickly flitting out of my sight when I glanced at them. Their mocking laughter echoed at the edge of hearing.


    Ash collected across the city, and on me, as I walked. I didn¡¯t have a destination, didn¡¯t know where I should go or what I should do. It took me a long while to recognize myself, and manage to form a thought.


    Stopping, I studied the scene around me. I stood in a ruined plaza. Once noble buildings formed an ugly ridge of shapeless rubble encircling the square. This had been the first battle where the Recusant armies had fielded cannons.


    They had used Marions here, and worse.


    ¡°What sin did I commit here, Dei?¡±


    No answer. My eyes tracked to a scorched tree, this one ordinary in size. A set of statues stood near it, or what was left of them. They had once depicted the founding stewards of the city, a council who governed Kingsmeet as neutral arbiters within the feudal realms. Precursors to the Ardent Round, which Markham had used as models for his own government.


    The last batch of those stewards to ever hold that post had been impaled on iron spikes in place of those honored ancestors. Flies gathered around them in a hazy black cloud.


    I waited, but the fiendish shadow who¡¯d been haunting my dreams since the past year did not make an appearance. I narrowed my eyes, trying to find some flitting phantom, or any other sign I was being stalked.


    Silence. Flames rose in the distance, but I couldn¡¯t even hear them. I was alone with the falling ash and the flies and the corpses. The dead had stopped whispering. The faceless priestesses hid, or they had fled.


    ¡°Where are you, demon?¡± I scanned the smoking ruins, all but holding my breath.


    The shriek of metal broke the silence. I startled, instinctively lifting my half-useless weapon and turning toward the sound. A shape sat on the edge of the fountain where the dead stewards had been spit. It reminded me of Laertes in the way light seemed to avoid it, leaving detailed features trapped in a clinging veil of gloom.


    It was big ¡ª at least as big as Karog, and I suspected more so should it stand. It held a brutal looking weapon in a fist larger than my skull. A spear with a serrated blade, which it ground along an iron bracer strapped to its left forearm, sharpening the edge. With each stroke, a piercing, ear-torturing screech cut the air.


    Sparks flew from the metal, briefly illuminating scattered hints of the thing¡¯s features. It had a dramatic hunch, with what might have been a long strip of bristles or hair running from a flat skull all the way down its curled spine. Its arms were like a man¡¯s, or an ape¡¯s, and thick as tree trunks. Muscle seemed to erupt from it, drowning the curved neck in leathery flesh the color of dried blood.


    But what my eyes lingered on were the enormous horns emerging from either side of its skull, curving down below its jutting chin. They were both at least as long as my forearm, like those of a bull or an ox.


    The demon drew its spear over the bracer one more time. In that flash of sparks, I caught a glimpse of empty pits where its eyes should have been. It had a skull¡¯s face, locked into a perpetual feral grin.


    ¡°Sin?¡± It said with a low chuckle. ¡°Yes, there was much sin here. Such a bloodbath.¡±


    Judging by its brutish appearance, I would have expected the creature to have a deep, guttural voice. There was a growl in it, but it spoke in surprisingly high tones. They were not fair or melodic, but carried to my ears with a buzzing, throaty rasp, almost artificial. Rusted metal given a voice.


    I started walking again, not getting closer to the seated figure or retreating, but pacing in a wide circle around it. My armor clicked mutedly with each step.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re surprised to see me?¡± The demon hissed with a laugh sounding like nothing so much as an animal trying to cough something foul up. Something buzzed beneath, or within, that voice.


    The flies, I realized. They were buzzing in tune with it, echoing its words.


    ¡°Rath El Kur,¡± I named the creature. ¡°I killed you.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The demon¡¯s locked, pointed teeth did not move when it spoke. It kept that nightmare smile, its voice originating somewhere deeper within. Was this a vision, I wondered? Some construct of my memory fashioned by Shyora¡¯s shadow into another old nightmare? And where was she? She did not always make a personal appearance in my dreams, but usually I felt her hand in them.


    But she had not been there when I had battled this creature. Most of the scenes the Shadow weaved were of things we had shared, or spoken of.


    ¡°I am real enough.¡± Rath El Kur, who had also been called Paingorger, Feeds-The-Flies, The Brute of Rancor, and many other putrid names, responded as though reading my thoughts. ¡°You know better than most that death is not an end, paladin. That wretched fire in you draws the dead.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I demanded. Stopping my pacing, I shifted to face the monster directly.


    Would it try to fight me? Repeat our battle? I¡¯d slain it here, in this city. I hadn¡¯t done it before the beast had put scores up on spikes. Their screams had drawn me to it, just as it had intended. In the midst of all that torment, it had been truly strong.


    My hate, and my despair, had proved stronger.


    ¡°Want?¡±


    Rath El Kur seemed to chew on the word a long while, tilting its eyeless, perpetually grinning face to one side as it studied its barbed weapon. ¡°Why should I want anything?¡± The demon hissed sullenly. ¡°You have given me everything I could ever need, Alder Knight.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± A bead of sweat made its way down my temple.


    The abgru?dai stood to its full height. It was taller than Karog, by at least a head. Every fiber of it was calloused sinew and ill-formed muscle. When it stepped forward on cloven hooves encrusted with half dry blood, the reek of gore and feces lingering in the air grew sharper. The sound of buzzing flies rose in pitch as well. With every syllable the beast uttered, their tiny wings melded with its voice to create a foul chorus.


    ¡°You mortals bound me into this form.¡± The ground trembled with every slow step the demon took as it walked forward. ¡°You gave me horns, and claws, and fangs. You molded me into your image of fear. You sent me to slay your enemies. You chained me to flesh. To bile.¡±


    I took another step back. My back pressed against something, blocking my retreat. Split bark, encrusted with blood and smoldering with dull yellow fire. A twisted tree. An Executioner¡¯s Tree.


    ¡°You can deny it until the moment that golden flame turns against you. It will. It roils every time you let that corpse caress you.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t true. Catrin was a good heart, no matter her past. She deserved the aureflame¡¯s protection as much as anyone.


    This time, the dhampir¡¯s voice emerged from the demon¡¯s teeth. ¡°I can feel that sacred fire in you baring its teeth at me. I hate it... and it makes me hate you sometimes.¡±


    The buzzing of the flies grew louder, lustier. Like they were laughing at me too.


    The demon leaned close, the reeking, grinning face drawing almost near enough to kiss. ¡°You left the path of righteousness behind long ago. This land will have war again, Hewer... and you will be its herald.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I promised.


    I had only fallen for a demon¡¯s lies once. I¡¯d let it convince me it loved me. It had taken my loneliness, my longing, my need to believe in something, and lured me into the same trap as legions of other dupes.


    ¡°If I am wrong,¡± the demon asked, ¡°then why are all your dreams of war?¡±


    I woke with a snarl barely recognizable as a human sound and moved without thought. I didn¡¯t see the figure standing next to me, didn¡¯t know who they were, only that they were close enough to put a knife into my neck.


    In a blurring series of movements, I kicked the chair back out of my way, grabbed the arm hovering near my shoulder and twisted. There came a sharp gasp, cut off as I put the arm into a lock and slammed its owner face first onto the desk with a loud bang. One of us, maybe both of us, let out a muted grunt. Papers and other material went flying in every direction.


    I didn¡¯t recall drawing my rondel dagger, but it was in my hand. A solid spike of steel, made to punch through gaps in armor. I pressed its point against my attacker¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Shit! Wait, stop, it¡¯s just me!¡±


    My nostrils flared with every heavy breath, and red seemed to crawl in at the edges of my vision. My fight or flight instincts ¡ª mostly fight ¡ª roared at me to end the threat, to shut it up before it could call for help or get a blade into position. The fact I didn¡¯t recognize the face beneath me immediately didn¡¯t help stall that instinct. Medium-toned skin, black hair, a heavy-jawed face with panicked brown eyes.


    Recognition came as I studied the face, and with it my heart started to calm. ¡°Beatriz. What were you doing?¡±


    The guardswoman swallowed, a bead of sweat forming on her temple. ¡°I was trying to wake you up. You wouldn¡¯t answer the door.¡±


    I glanced at the window. The light looked dimmer. Nearly dusk. How long had I slept?


    ¡°Can you let me go, ser?¡± Beatriz¡¯s voice was tight with fear.


    Realizing I hadn¡¯t broken my lock, I stepped back to let the woman stand. She grabbed her right arm, wincing and cradling it against her chest. I sheathed my dagger. Though I tried to do it calmly, Beatriz flinched at the motion.


    With a shaking voice, she explained her presence. ¡°Your squire told us you needed rest, so we didn¡¯t disturb you. But it¡¯s nearly dark now, and there¡¯s a letter for you, and she said you needed to go out soon.¡±


    To meet Catrin, I realized. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. ¡°I understand. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°The letter is on your desk.¡± Beatriz made a brief gesture at the mess. ¡°It¡¯s sealed.¡±


    She turned to the door, not waiting on a dismissal. I sighed.


    ¡°Beatriz.¡±


    She froze, turning slightly. Her fists were clenched at her sides.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I told her. ¡°You startled me, and... I don¡¯t sleep well. Next time, get Emma if you can¡¯t wake me.¡±


    She nodded stiffly. ¡°Yes, ser.¡±


    When she had gone, I straightened up the desk and found the letter she¡¯d left. The seal had the insignia of a golden leaf, and looked oddly glassy. On a strange impulse I sniffed it. Rather than the scent of wax, I got sap.


    Opening the letter, I began to read the artful script inside. It had been written in elvish, the same script used in Seydis. I grimaced, trying to parse the contents. I¡¯d only been in the Golden Country for a few years. Hardly enough time to master a language literally older than human civilization.


    Fen Harus must have been conscious of this, because the message turned out to be simple by his people¡¯s standards. We should meet and discuss your theories. You may find me in the gardens on the eastern face of the palace before noon.


    Actually, what it said was closer to thy mind is an enticing mystery, mortal brother. Let us meet in the hours before the Day Star reaches its ascendancy, upon that place within this fair abode where the petals beckon the light.


    As I said, it was simple by his people¡¯s standards. At least he didn¡¯t hide the message in a poem.


    I put the letter down and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, letting the last of the angry heat in my blood fade. Had it just been a reaction to being woken suddenly, or...


    The details of the nightmare were vague and scattered, but I recalled enough to feel uneasy. I had wanted to kill the woman, even after recognizing her. To lash out at something, ease the boil in my veins. Had that been me, or the influence of the dead? My lost ring had been intended to protect me from such manipulation.


    Either way, I needed to take better precautions. I shouldn¡¯t have let myself sleep without my wards.


    I doubted I would be sleeping again that night, at least. The demons in my dreams were gone, just echoes of themselves. There was still one who roamed free, and it had come time to hunt it down.


    Yith would die that night.

 Arc 5: Chapter 26: They Who Hunt Demons

    arc 5: chapter 26: they who hunt demons


    the corpse moon crested high over the riven, its cold light catching in the mist coiling through garihelm¡¯s streets to set it aglow. it was a thin mist this night, doing little to obscure the light of my party¡¯s lanterns as they surveyed the baroque structures around us. towering edifices of stone rose into the night in a gray maze, blocking out the surrounding township.


    the cemetery lay outside the city proper, within the bounds of a dilapidated village on the coast where there was enough soil above hard rock to bury the dead. even so, this place had not been used for that purpose in a very long time.


    ¡°not sure i like this spot, captain.¡± penric drew close to me, squinting as he held his lantern aloft. despite his age, his vision still seemed sharp. ¡°no sightlines. anything comes on us, it¡¯ll be on our asses before we can even draw steel.¡±


    spoken like an archer. i did not carry a lantern, scanning the darkness ahead with only my naked eyes. i could see through it further than the others.


    penric let out a cough at my silence. ¡°so what¡¯s the plan, ser?¡±


    the shuffling feet behind us seemed to grow notably louder, almost as though reminding me of my following. i hadn¡¯t been able to give the lance much of a rundown before heading out, having been wary of my time, and i¡¯d barely paid attention to their conversation in my distraction.


    i paused in the square between three mausoleums and turned to the group. emma had the lead behind penric. she wore a simple light tunic with short sleeves, red in color, over her shirt of chain mail, along with practical leggings tucked into high boots. her sword was visible at her hip, concealed by nothing.


    the others had also come armed. penric wore a battered old breastplate over a gambeson, standard archer gear. his long neck had a slight dip in it, as though weighed down by the modest helm over his brow. he carried a crossbow instead of the standard implement of his profession, a more practical tool in the cramped environs of garihelm. beatriz had pilfered the fulgurkeep¡¯s armories for her gear, festooning herself in light armor, a shield, and short spear.


    mallet, true to his name, carried a block headed hammer. it looked more like something a laborer might use than a warrior, but it was heavy enough to crack stone. he wore no armor, only a jacket over simple city-dweller clothes.


    most impressive was hendry. he had been allowed to keep his storm knight gear, minus the crested surcoat and cape, and walked resplendent in brass-colored plate from neck to foot. his antler-hilted longsword hung at his side. he held his bolt-crested helmet in the crook of his left arm, revealing his boyish face.


    i¡¯ll see about getting us a proper armory if we survive the next week, i promised myself. my eyes went to the last two members of our band. emil looked none too pleased to be there, his brown hair worked into a club to reveal his sweating, nervous face. he clutched his auremark tightly.


    the second cleric in our group looked far calmer. lisette had changed in the year since i¡¯d first met her. she looked less like a distrustful, gangly girl and more like a poised young woman. unlike emil¡¯s modest amber robe, her layered white garments and tasseled yellow cape were a splash of bright color in the gray night. the white wimple and yellow veil, bound in the rose-gold circlet of a synodite adept, concealed her blond hair and made her thin features look stark and focused. her blue eyes watched me, waiting.


    eight of us. nine soon, when the last member of this initiative arrived. would it be enough? was i leading all these people to their deaths?


    for most of three months, i had floundered in a growing morass of politics, intrigue, and rising danger. my enemies had eluded me, one way or another. no more. i had resources now, allies, and i would not fail my queen or my homeland.


    i was done using half measures.


    ¡°some of you already know this,¡± i began. ¡°but the carmine killer who¡¯s plagued this city for the past year is not a man. it is a monster from the lowest reaches of hell. a demon.¡±


    i saw a number of reactions. emma nodded her head approvingly at my frankness, while lisette just took a deep breath. she had already encountered yith once, but controlled her fear. mallet spat on the ground, penric let out a small huff of breath, and emil¡¯s face went deathly pale.


    beatriz just frowned, while hendry squared his shoulders.


    ¡°the creature is connected to a larger plot, one i have been untangling for some time. our task is to track it down and take care of it before it can be used by its masters against us in the days to come.¡±


    penric leaned forward, propping a foot up on his braced crossbow like it were a cane. ¡°how do we kill it?¡±


    just the kind of question i liked. nodding to him, i replied in a similarly professional tone. ¡°demons are immortal, strictly speaking, but they need to use bodies in order to interact with our world. that means bones, organs, blood.¡±


    i listed those things off on my fingers. mallet grinned savagely. ¡°stuff we can smash, you mean.¡±


    ¡°indeed. do enough damage and their spirits will come loose. same rules as most undead, but it¡¯s only a temporary solution, since they can make or steal a new body with time. they are very hard to meaningfully injure with mortal weapons, which is where our two clerics come in.¡±


    i nodded to emil and lisette. ¡°earlier, you all had your weaponry reinforced by sister lisette¡¯s art, among some other rituals. this will help you hurt the demon¡¯s spirit, and do more damage to its body. they are half phantasm even when fully manifested, so it should help.¡±


    ¡°should?¡± beatriz asked pointedly, while mallet studied the golden lattice burned into his hammer from lisette¡¯s threads. she and emil had performed some other rituals to reinforce our group, pretty much everything i could think of. holy water, talismans and charms, rites of protection against the adversary.


    ¡°i have been studying some techniques of late,¡± lisette told the group shyly. ¡°weapons fashioned of or reinforced with aura are more potent against many supernatural beings, but demons are most hurt by sacred gold, just like banesilver is best against the undead. i wove my threads while meditating over a golden grail, so they have some of that aspect now.¡±


    she looked at me then. ¡°i remember what happened last time. it should not repeat.¡±


    her powers had not proven so effective against yith¡¯s minions the last time. i inclined my head, glad of her foresight. ¡°that will be a last resort to defend yourselves,¡± i explained. ¡°a precaution. your jobs are to help me counter the demon¡¯s tricks until i can strike at it directly. i can banish it.¡±


    mallet sneered, though the expression was more one of skepticism than disgust. he always seemed to be sneering or scowling. ¡°what makes you so special? ser.¡±


    i didn¡¯t comment on his belated use of my title. i still hadn¡¯t become used to it again, anyway. ¡°i¡¯m certain you have all heard stories,¡± i told the group. ¡°about me, and the things i¡¯ve done. this is not the first time i¡¯ve faced this kind of evil. i possess abilities that make me more apt at dealing with it.¡±


    beatriz shuffled uncomfortably. ¡°we have heard stories, ser. that you¡¯re some kind of sorcerer. they say you used magic against the, uh...¡±


    she trailed off, looking nervous. mallet finished for her. ¡°they say you used dark magic against the priory. that you can call demons.¡±


    i noted how tight his fist was on the hammer. ¡°is that what they say?¡± i asked thoughtfully.


    i¡¯d known there were wild rumors across the city about me, very few of them charitable. it did not surprise me to hear the priory, and perhaps some other groups, had been smearing my name by insisting i used more profane powers to attack them.


    ¡°i fought in the war,¡± penric piped in. ¡°several wars, really. don¡¯t tell me you whippersnappers are all too young to remember? ah, beatriz, i guess you¡¯d have just been a lass. anyhow, you¡¯ve all heard tales of the faerie knights and their like. men and women blessed with the magics of the sidhe.¡±


    he nodded, while mallet and beatriz gave me looks of reappraisal, mixing doubt with something i¡¯d stared into before. superstition. the alder knights had been more rumor and legend than daily fact since well before lyda¡¯s plague, known better to great lords and kings than common folk. and recent generations had more than a little distrust toward elves, not all thanks to the priory.


    ¡°i learned my skills from the sidhe,¡± i told them honestly. ¡°i do not truck with the occult.¡±


    i saw skepticism, especially on emil¡¯s face. the occasional eerie whisper from the shadows and the way the mist seemed to swirl around me more thickly than elsewhere did not seem to help in convincing them. damn ghosts.


    penric, bless him, redirected the conversation to more useful topics. ¡°why are we here? is this the beastie¡¯s layer?¡±


    he cast his sleepy eyes around the crypts and temple mausoleums.


    ¡°not exactly,¡± i replied. ¡°this burial ground has fallen out of use. back during the war, the recusant lords employed adepts. among them were necromancers. during the siege of garihelm, these apostates tried to call the dead against the city.¡±


    the group cast suddenly fearful eyes around the graveyard. i think beatriz might have muttered a hasty prayer.


    ¡°i remember that,¡± penric said.


    ¡°aye,¡± mallet admitted. ¡°i served then, too. the moaners turned on the traitors.¡±


    ¡°they did,¡± i confirmed. ¡°even still, many of the graveyards and cemeteries in the city¡¯s surrounding towns were left desecrated and unhallowed. this is one the church hasn¡¯t managed to reconsecrate. we¡¯re going to start our search here.¡±


    ¡°how will we track it?¡± emil asked.


    ¡°there¡¯s someone else who¡¯s going to be helping us. once she¡¯s here, i¡¯ll explain the rest of the plan. does anyone have any questions?¡±


    ¡°yeah,¡± mallet growled. ¡°lots. i¡¯ve never faced no fucking demon.¡±


    ¡°as i said, none of you are going to be facing the creature directly. that¡¯s my job. you¡¯re all here because our enemy does not work alone. do any of you know what a woed is?¡±


    by their expressions, they all did. lisette certainly did, at least.


    ¡°people and animals turned into monsters by a demon¡¯s influence,¡± the cleric stated softly, her eyes distant. ¡°damned souls.¡±


    ¡°there¡¯s a chance the demon might send some against us,¡± i told them frankly. ¡°it might even use them as guards. i need to focus on their master, so your job is to keep its minions off my back. that is, if you are willing.¡±


    i met each pair of eyes in turn. ¡°make no mistake, this is going to be very dangerous. i¡¯m taking you into battle. i understand not all of you signed up for this job, or really understood what it might entail when you were assigned. so i¡¯m giving you the option now to return to the tower. i will not lead anyone who isn¡¯t willing to follow.¡±


    yith would certainly use doubtful minds against me.


    mallet rested his hammer on the grass, propping one foot up on the head. ¡°beatriz and i were facing the noose before they assigned us to this,¡± he said darkly. ¡°there isn¡¯t a choice for us, so let¡¯s just get on with it.¡±


    despite her assurance, i could feel her fear in the tightness of her grip. even still, i helped her down into the cavity. her body vanished into the darkness until only her head and a single arm remained illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the hole in the roof.


    ¡°i¡¯ll be right here,¡± i told her. my heart thumped in my chest, giving the lie to the calm in my voice. i cursed myself for feeling so afraid, knowing she could feel it too.


    ¡°just like swimming,¡± catrin said with a nervous laugh. ¡°is it a bad time to mention that i can¡¯t swim?¡±


    her fingers, still slightly warmer than normal from the blood she¡¯d taken the last night, slid from mine. when she sank into the darkness of the pit, it was like she¡¯d gone underwater. her presence faded completely from my senses. i stopped hearing her breaths, no longer felt her furtive movements at my side.


    i am a terrible knight, to have let her go into this danger in my place. i hated myself for it.


    i knelt there above the burial cavity for more than ten minutes, waiting. the darkness around the patch of moonlight i knelt in writhed with ghosts, eager for my attention now the dhampir had left. i gave them none.


    i didn¡¯t know how long this would take, or what i should do in the meantime. i only stirred from my brooding when i heard movement at the door of the mausoleum.


    rising from my kneeling position, i walked to the entrance to find mallet outside. he tried to peer around me, no doubt knowing i¡¯d gone inside with catrin. when i just stared at him pointedly, he shuffled up close and spoke in a lowered voice.


    ¡°you got rid of kenneth.¡±


    i didn¡¯t answer him at first, instead studying the man. mallet was of average height, but solidly built ¡ª he reminded me of markham, more stocky than anything, though the militiaman was younger and more broad shouldered.


    ¡°i did,¡± i said in a neutral voice.


    ¡°why?¡± mallet¡¯s manner was accusing, hostile. or was that just his normal demeanor? i couldn¡¯t tell.


    ¡°i found out some of the things he¡¯d been doing with the city guard,¡± i told the man. ¡°i did not approve.¡±


    mallet stared at me hard, blocking the mausoleum exit. his stare only averted when a voice murmured in the darkness behind me.


    ¡°is there a problem, soldier?¡± i asked, drawing his attention back to me.


    the legbreaker turned militiaman did not seem cowed by my eyes like many were, or by the atmosphere of threat exuded by the shades he could certainly feel, if not see. he glared into the darkness, but when he couldn¡¯t see anything he looked at me. ¡°you should have killed him. that¡¯s what you do, yeah? kill big folk who deserve it?¡±


    his voice hardened. ¡°that bastard deserved it.¡±


    i decided not to mention i almost had killed the nobleman. instead i just said, ¡°he¡¯s not going to be hurting anyone else.¡±


    between my dismissal and the scandal kenneth had caused between the nobles and the merchant class, i doubted he¡¯d ever be given a post of any means again.


    thinking that was all, i turned to walk back into the crypt. but mallet wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°who¡¯s the woman?¡± he asked. ¡°some kind of witch? we have two priests, why do we need her?¡±


    i drew in a deep breath. ¡°mallet, i gave you the option to back out of this already, and i¡¯m not going to explain myself further. now go do your job.¡±


    he stalked off, muttering darkly. emma wandered down the grave rows to replace him before i could retreat.


    ¡°they¡¯re all scared out of their brains, but i don¡¯t think anyone will bolt.¡± she considered a moment, then corrected herself. ¡°except that priest, emil. he seems ready to vomit.¡±


    ¡°if you see him, tell him to try vomiting. it often helps soldiers before action. how are your legs?¡±


    emma¡¯s turn to look annoyed. ¡°i must admit, that choir girl¡¯s magic is no joke. i barely feel my injuries anymore.¡±


    i paused at the mausoleum door and scanned the cemetery. quiet, misty, softly touched by the lesser moon, it seemed almost picturesque.


    ¡°catrin¡¯s gone into her shadows?¡± emma asked.


    when i nodded, my squire ascended the stairs to stand at my side.


    ¡°any luck calling qoth back?¡± we had both agreed it would be best to call on every resource we could for this.


    emma sighed. ¡°no. he hasn¡¯t answered my summons since the chorn. i think he was more injured than we thought.¡±


    ¡°demons leave wounds that don¡¯t heal easily,¡± i told her in a soft voice. ¡°sometimes, they don¡¯t truly heal at all.¡±


    her eyes went to the scars on my face, then quickly looked away.


    ¡°how¡¯s hendry?¡± i asked. he¡¯d returned from greeting his father barely moments before we set out. i had nearly left him behind.


    ¡°i¡¯m not sure,¡± emma admitted. ¡°he¡¯s never been a chatty boy, but he¡¯s especially terse tonight. then again, i don¡¯t think any of us are well rested.¡±


    she gave me a once over and added, ¡°speaking of, you look pale.¡±


    her smug tone annoyed me. ¡°i¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°having a vampire lover must be difficult,¡± emma mused. ¡°and exciting. perhaps i¡¯ll try it one day? make it part of my legend.¡±


    in a more serious voice she added, ¡°i don¡¯t want to intrude into your private matters, but you really should avoid letting her drain you to anemia before we battle demons. it seems ill advised.¡±


    i turned toward the door. ¡°is that all, squire?¡±


    before emma could respond to that, a piercing whistle filled the air. we both looked toward the center of the cemetery, where i caught sight of penric. despite his advanced age, the man had scrambled onto the top of a steep sepulcher like a monkey. he was waving, and pointing.


    i followed his gesturing with my eyes. he pointed down, but i couldn¡¯t see what he did from where i stood.


    ¡°i need to be here,¡± i said.


    emma nodded. ¡°i will go investigate.¡±


    she sprinted off, leaving me to fret. the moment i stood alone again, the shades gathered close. i tuned their voices out, focused on other worries.


    in truth, i did not know what form the threat would take. the goal was for catrin to lure yith here through the spaces they could both travel, but how she intended to draw the demon¡¯s attention and get it to fall into our trap i did not truly understand. i could only be here, ready to pull her back out and punish the fly for showing his face.


    for that, i would need my weapon. closing my eyes, i reached into the shadows inside the mausoleum. clearing my mind, i let my thoughts linger on the same sensations i had in that room inside the manse laertes. i recalled catrin¡¯s cool skin against mine, her encouraging whispers in the dark. i focused on the image of her eyes, both warm brown and full of humor and red with hunger.


    and just as she¡¯d showed me, the darkness gave way, and what had been just empty space and an absence of light transformed into something deeper. the illusion of a stable, sensible world rippled, and i reached into that ripple.


    when i pulled my hand back out into the moonlight, i held my axe. gray shadows cascaded off it like steam off ice under sunlight, soon revealing the gold-inlayed steel and oaken branch. the cold inside that place i¡¯d reached stabbed at my hand, but it faded soon enough.


    in a similarly abstract place inside of me, the aureflame stirred. it felt something drawing near, and its warning was not gentle. i winced at the lance of angry heat in my chest.


    the shades had vanished, scared off by whatever approached. the scars on my face began to itch. i could hear something.


    looking down, i soon realized what it was. the damp soil of the cemetery moved. it writhed and rose with a subtle motion i had to focus on to make out. a growing mound near the mausoleum stair suddenly burst like an overfull boil, and small, skittering things emerged, scattering in every direction as though desperate to escape their earthen prison. some of them crawled up into the crypt, and i had to move my boots to avoid their manic path.


    the whole cemetery boiled with that ascending migration. beneath my feet crawled thousands of insects.


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 Arc 5: Chapter 27: Moth

    Arc 5: Chapter 27: Moth


    For a moment, fear gripped me. Would we be swarmed by an endless legion of crawling, biting insects?


    But I soon realized the swarm emerging from underground wasn¡¯t hostile. They were fleeing, escaping in every direction. Not just them, either. Trees rustled in the near distance as bats and birds took wing into the night in flocks. Even the shades scattered like startled fish. For once, the absence of their cacophony did not comfort me.


    Catrin had drawn Yith¡¯s attention, and he was near. Quelling my nerves best I could, I walked back to the grave and positioned myself at its edge. Closing my eyes, I focused on the already stirring flame within me.


    Whatever threat might emerge outside, the help I¡¯d brought would need to deal with it. Penric, Beatriz, and Mallet might be ordinary, but supported by a trained knight and two adepts they shouldn¡¯t be dead weight.


    As I called on my aura, it started to appear in the world as visible gilt phantasm. Dim tongues of flame wreathed my shoulders, then flickered along my fingers. I did not burn it hot enough to shape into any weapons, not yet. Like tossing a small log onto a campfire cooled down to mere embers, I stoked it to easy readiness with murmured words.


    When it surged hotter than I¡¯d intended, enough to let out an audible fiery growl and scald me along my left forearm, I grit my teeth and clenched that hand into a fist.


    I had not used my powers since the fight against Laertes. Was this because of the High Art I¡¯d forced out then? There had been a shift in that moment.


    ¡°That looks painful.¡±


    I turned to the crypt¡¯s door. In it stood the slender, amber robed figure of Emil.


    ¡°You should be with the others.¡± My voice was hoarse from concentration and pain.


    Emil¡¯s large, sad eyes drifted down to the pit in the floor. He clicked his tongue once, a disapproving noise. ¡°You told all of them that you don¡¯t truck with the occult, yet here you are helping an undead witch employ her powers. No wonder your own magic bites you.¡±


    I stared at him, confused by his tone and words. This didn¡¯t sound like the shy, nervous priest I¡¯d known the last several days. In the distance, I heard a shout. It might have been Mallet or Penric, judging by how deep the voice sounded. Something was happening out there.


    And Emil remained in the door, framed in pale moonlight, watching me.


    ¡°I have been trying to figure you out for some time now,¡± Emil said in a conversational voice. He¡¯d tucked his hands into his robe¡¯s sleeves, looking for all the world like we were just engaging in pleasant banter. ¡°It took me longer than I would like to admit to recognize you.¡±


    ¡°Recognize me?¡± I asked. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Sliding his hands apart, the clericon held one finger up toward his chin. ¡°Your face. I recognized it that day, but I could not decide from where. I¡¯ve never been much good with faces, you see. They tend to blend together in my mind, but your scars, and those eyes... then you strode right up to that old Forger orc, and tossed the red prophet¡¯s head at his feet. Oh, it came back to me then!¡±


    His own ordinary brown eyes met mine, then narrowed as he winced. ¡°Ah, that burns. Must make it hard to have conversations. Or to fuck. Do you have to take your whores from behind so they don¡¯t go blind?¡±


    No, he didn¡¯t sound at all like he had before. There was mockery in his voice, and underneath it lay a bubbling humor, almost sickly-sweet in cadence.


    But that wasn¡¯t the only reason I turned and tightened my grip on my axe, or opened my eyes wide to fix him with the full weight of my golden gaze.


    My eyes only cause people pain when they lie to me. Emil hadn¡¯t met them once since we had met. He did not meet them now.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I demanded.


    The man¡¯s grin widened into something ghoulish. ¡°So your eyes aren¡¯t infallible! I heard so many stories about your order growing up, but you all went mad and burned out before the war had barely begun, so it was all just that. Stories. I¡¯m so tired of hearing stories. Much more fun to make my own.¡±


    Another shout, and a piercing metal shriek. I felt a shudder in the air, my aura¡¯s senses rather than my body¡¯s. Emma was using her Art.


    ¡°Oh, a conundrum.¡± Emil tutted and shook his head, looking aggrieved on my behalf. ¡°Go help them and abandon your bitch, or stay here and wonder if they¡¯re all dying. I don¡¯t envy you that choice, Headsman.¡±


    The voice was male, but I did recognize it. Not as Emil, the holy scribe, but from someone else¡¯s lips. The reason he couldn¡¯t meet my gaze without pain was not because he told a lie, but because he was a lie.


    Glamour. A very good one.


    ¡°Hyperia.¡±


    The priest¡¯s face went still, all humor fleeing from it as I spoke the name aloud. The voice was different, but the way the false cleric spoke, like he were suppressing sweet laughter with every breath, I had heard before. At Caelfall in Orson Falconer¡¯s keep, and when the Vykes had introduced themselves to the court.


    He ¡ª or more precisely she ¡ª adopted a much colder smile.


    ¡°So many times I have wondered what your motives are,¡± the Princess of Talsyn said in a thoughtful voice, her assumed form¡¯s brow furrowing. ¡°I never got the opportunity to learn much about you back at Orson¡¯s gathering. Then we heard he¡¯d died, and not at the hands of the Mistwalkers we left to tie up that loose end. A strange mystery, one left unanswered for a year and more, though I had suspicions when I kept hearing stories about a man in a red cloak. A man who seemed intent on pruning Recusant heads.¡±


    She pointed at me, her smile widening in satisfaction. ¡°And then you appeared here. Yith warned me of you, and I thought you were a threat that needed silencing. But then you killed the Grand Prior, and I wasn¡¯t certain. Were you an ally, as intent on tearing down this wretched Accord as we? I wanted to approach you and make an offer, but my brother wouldn¡¯t have it.¡±


    ¡°Your brother must be smarter than you,¡± I said. As I spoke, I let my muscles shift into readiness. Hyperia didn¡¯t miss the subtle motion.


    ¡°Kill me,¡± she said without fear, ¡°and my brother will burn this city to its foundations. I have studied you, Alken Hewer, and I know you and the cowards who hold your leash fear war.¡±


    Her eyes turned hard and sharp as cut glass. ¡°I assure you, we do not. Calerus and I have prepared for it since we were children.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still children,¡± I assured her. ¡°This sick game of yours ends tonight.¡±


    ¡°Because you mean to kill my demon?¡± She asked. Then in a sweeter voice she added, ¡°You believe I will let you?¡±


    Why had she revealed herself to me now? It seemed such a foolish thing to do, giving up her guise and putting herself in my reach.


    Unless...


    She did it to stall me.


    Hyperia must have seen the flash of realization in my face, because she chose that moment to act. She lifted her right arm so the palm faced me, along with the drooping interior of the clerical robe¡¯s sleeve.


    I thought magic, at first. Then I heard a soft click.


    On pure reflex I slashed, Faen Orgis blurring through the air in a trail of heat to cut the missile out of the air. It landed behind me in two smoking pieces. A crossbow bolt.


    Even still, Catrin made a fight of it. She held her elven dagger, and wherever she found one of the demon¡¯s threads she slashed it in passing. The banesilver cut true, severing the ichor and breaking links in Yith¡¯s complex spell.


    I felt the demon¡¯s anger, but he wouldn¡¯t be baited. He remained at the center of his construct, letting his disciples congregate around the intruder. There were far too many lines in the web for Catrin to do more than superficial damage. It touched near every surface in the city.


    I found the image I looked into was not fixed. Where my golden eyes focused, the city twisted as though on a rotating axis. I saw a succession of halls and streets. Sometimes I even looked down the length of towers, the whole scene unbound by anything like up and down.


    I could tell Catrin was lost. She kept moving about the city, attacking Yith¡¯s nest where she could, but never seemed to draw any closer to the original door she had opened into it, the one where I stood. More monsters gathered, heading her off, surrounding her. Her red eyes grew steadily more panicked by the moment.


    She needed her torch.


    ¡°Catrin.¡±


    My voice echoed with aura, rippling out into those depths like a bell toll. The dhampir heard it. Though I saw her as though from a great distance, her face turned in my direction. She seemed to focus, and started to run again even as something worm-like and gibbering fell in a writhing heap onto the path behind her.


    She wasn¡¯t the only one who heard me. In a flash, all the scattered images of pain and sorrow in Yith¡¯s insectoid eyes vanished, replaced by the Undercity itself. They changed again, showing Catrin¡¯s sprinting form from a score of angles.


    The demon started to move with terrible speed, its many limbs blurring with motion. I felt its laugh like a shiver in the world.


    Catrin¡¯s meager efforts would not bait it, but the chance to hurt me by taking her would.


    My eyes fixed on a single string of Yith¡¯s ichorous web, then narrowed. I lifted Faen Orgis to my lips, whispered words from my oath, then cocked it back in both hands like a lumberjack.


    If Catrin could injure that substance with her silver, then sacred gold would certainly hurt it. How long had the demon prepared this, I wondered? Months, and more. A year¡¯s constant, careful work, a magic of enormous complexity tended to with every scrap of attention the beast could spare.


    In the moment before I swung, Yith¡¯s eyes changed again to reveal me. To him, and perhaps to Catrin, I looked like a blazing flame standing high above, a beckoning gold beacon in a moonless night.


    Too late, bastard. I swung, and the aureflame swept into that space-defying darkness. It struck a single thread of the enormous abyssal web, and it began to burn.


    The ensuing conflagration was fast, and dramatic. What began as a single arc of auratic power striking a single thread among thousands quickly spread, fast as a candle flame touching a sheaf of dry paper. Golden flames raced down that line, spread to others, expanding, illuminating. The dim, ghost-lit city erupted with light, the Alder¡¯s magic chasing away the shadows.


    Woed creatures, either crawling on their master¡¯s web or still gestating inside its various imperfections, were caught in the blaze. Many dropped rather than cling to that hateful fire, vanishing into the depths of the chasm. Others fled in a mad rush, scores of them, letting out panicked shrieks that echoed through the Undercity.


    It was like an Art, that foul web. The demon had used it to spread his awareness and his malign influence throughout the capital, stoking it toward whatever evil end his masters intended. And, like any phantasmal construct, it was fragile.


    And my magic is particularly potent against all that is profane.


    Yith spread his wings, much like those a fly might have but jagged and leathery. Even as they began to beat, the aureflame caught him. The demon recoiled, one thorned arm flinching away from the fire, only for a second to be touched, then a third.


    Desperate, he launched himself off the web like a missile, ploughing into the side of a temple-like structure. Dust and debris exploded from his point of impact, obscuring him from view.


    My eyes went back to Catrin. Her avenue of escape had narrowed with the spreading fire, and she made a direct line to me. I do not know whether it was my will or hers that formed the path between us.


    From her perspective, she ran down an alleyway between two tall buildings, barely wide enough for her to pump her arms in a sprint. To me, I looked down, so it seemed as though she ran up the sheer wall of a cliff atop which I stood.


    I let the aureflame burn around my figure, giving her something to focus on. It burnt me, but I could endure the pain. It would heal.


    ¡°Alken!¡± She shouted.


    Almost there. She closed fast, her feet sure and swift. The city filled with dour golden light around her, like the pale rays of a setting sun illuminated it.


    I knelt at the side of the grave and reached out my free hand. ¡°Cat! I¡¯ve got you.¡±


    A relieved laugh escaped Catrin¡¯s lips, and she picked up her pace. I could hear her shoes striking the stone with each step, echoing off the high walls around her.


    A shadow appeared within the molten light of the city. Huge, winged, with long spindly arms and eyes like broken glass. Yith¡¯s tortured body crawled with sacred fire, the magic forming furrows and cracks in his flesh.


    But he was alive, and enraged. He squeezed himself into the alley, contorting his already twisted mass into a too-narrow space, and began to crawl forward at shocking speed.


    No. ¡°Hurry, Catrin! Faster!¡±


    Catrin didn¡¯t look back, or slow, but she saw the fear in me and must have heard the demon behind her. Her legs blurred with speed, her teeth baring in a furious mask of effort.


    The whole scene was strangely muted. I only really heard her echoing footsteps, and the growl of distant fire. Worse, whatever door Catrin and I had opened between us was closing, as though it were a breach in the surface of water now rushing to fill itself. Black crawled in at the edges of the vision, quicker by the moment.


    There was still time. I would pull Catrin out, and before this door closed I would deliver the final blow to Corpsefather. His dark spirit would scream down into Orkael, where the pitiless angels of the Iron Hell would have a pit waiting for him. Gilded fire snarled around my axe, eager for that end as I.


    Closer, and closer. Only seconds now. I stretched far as I could, reaching out my open hand. Yith advanced, looking bigger and more monstrous with every step, an oncoming avalanche of hate.


    I stretched just a bit further. Catrin lowered herself into a lunging stride, letting out a shout. Her pale hand, tipped in sharp nails and clever quick, shot out to grasp mine. I wanted to shout with the relief, even as my hate of the thing behind her focused itself into its most lethal point.


    Catrin¡¯s fingers brushed mine, and¡ª


    The aureflame lashed out. It crawled down my arm, my fingers, and struck her. Catrin¡¯s eyes went wide, her expression one of incomprehension, then pain, then horror. The same emotions I felt in that moment.


    That fire, which had been quietly baring its fangs at her since we¡¯d first met, slipped its leash and bit. She recoiled away from me, letting out a scream of shock. The golden fire clung to her hand, quickly racing up her arm, hungrily as it had consumed Yith¡¯s web.


    Catrin stumbled away from me, just as the coiled proboscis beneath Yith¡¯s fractal eyes shot out, punched through her shoulder, and dragged her out of my reach.


    Like a dream ending, darkness engulfed the scene. I knelt there with my hand still extended, but all that lay beneath me was an empty grave.

 Arc 5: Chapter 28: A True Knight

    Arc 5: Chapter 28: A True Knight


    ¡°Catrin?¡±


    I stared into the grave pit. Like an idiot, I waited for a response, my hand outstretched as if I expected she might suddenly reach out from the darkness and grasp it.


    She had grasped it. I had her, and then...


    ¡°No. No, no, no, no, no, no.¡±


    The voice didn¡¯t sound like my own. It came out as a pathetic whine, my head shaking from side to side. A dull pressure throbbed in my chest.


    ¡°No. Cat, I didn¡¯t... I didn¡¯t mean to...¡±


    This wasn¡¯t happening. This was another bad dream, a nightmare. I was still in that hateful forest with the dead, with the Shadow, being tormented by my worst fears.


    I was half right. I did kneel there among the dead, and they were all too happy to gloat as the mist spilled into the crypt to swirl around me.


    ¡°Did it again, crusader.¡±


    ¡°Smote the evil well!¡±


    ¡°Sent it right back into the dark, into the fire, where it belongs...¡±


    Faces formed in the mist, stretched and bloated, smiles like putrid wounds leering at me. I barely saw them, barely felt aware of the world at all. I could only see Catrin¡¯s face, staring at me with confusion and horror.


    Aureflame still flickered around my shoulders, tongues of it dancing between my fingers. It looked brighter, and felt calmer, as though satisfied at work well done. Instead of biting me, its warmth soothed as it once had.


    My left hand clenched into a fist. ¡°Go away.¡±


    I tried to dismiss the fire as I had a thousand times before. It didn¡¯t even fight me this time, but obeyed easily, retreating back into my flesh to leave the crypt dark and cold.


    But it wasn¡¯t gone. I could still feel it inside my skin, along with every beat of my heart. I placed my hand against the cool metal links of my armor, but it wouldn¡¯t stop, would not slow.


    ¡°Alken?¡±


    My eyes flicked to the crypt door. Emma stood there, framed in mist and moonlight. She was injured, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Blood dripped down her right arm to patter against the ground, her dark hair clung to her sweating face, and her sword hung limp in her left hand.


    She stared at me, then at the empty grave. Her eyes widened.


    ¡°Please,¡± Lurching to my feet, I took a step toward my squire, toward the disciple of Bloody Nath. I pointed at the grave. ¡°You have power over shadows too. Open it again. She¡¯s down there, down below. Open it.¡±


    ¡°I...¡± Emma was shaking her head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Alken, what happened?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s down there. With him. I almost had her, I swear, but¡ª¡±


    I stumbled, almost falling. My heart was beating too fast. I couldn¡¯t get it under control.


    ¡°She¡¯s trapped?¡± Emma¡¯s face drained of color.


    ¡°Open it!¡± I pleaded. ¡°Use some spell, some Briar magic. Call your godmother if you have to, but please.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Regret crawled over the girl¡¯s features. ¡°I know some glamour and other tricks, Alken, but not¡ª¡±


    I spun away from her. ¡°Nath! Eanor!? I know you can hear me up on your mountains!¡±


    Pressing a hand to my beating chest, I bared my teeth in an animal rictus and spat into the shadows. ¡°I have bled for you all these years. I swore to give the rest of my life to this fucking thing!¡±


    I lifted the axe up to the moonlight, feeling its hateful branch dig into my palm. ¡°My life. Not hers. She did not deserve this, did not earn it. You saved me that day, I know you can intervene. If there was ever a time, it¡¯s now.¡±


    I took a step toward the light. ¡°Open the way. Let me save her.¡±


    Even the ghosts fell silent long enough to wait for an answer. When none came, they hissed with laughter. A soft clink filled the room as my shoulders slumped, letting my weapon¡¯s heavy head strike the floor in limp fingers. Emma did not interrupt with more questions. She stood in the doorway, watching me.


    My eyes went down to the axe. Was it possible?


    Lurching toward the grave, I knelt and held my weapon over the blackness. Baring my teeth, I focused on the place I¡¯d just left, imagined myself sinking into it. I forced myself to see Catrin as she¡¯d been in that last moment. Painful as it was, I needed to form a connection.


    The axe, and my hand, sunk into the darkness. I felt something give, along with a flash of stabbing cold, and then¡ª


    Emma slammed into me. She hit me hard, sending us both into a tumble. Before I even had the thought to defend myself, she was poised above me with a knee pressed into my sternum and a hand trapping my right wrist against the damp stone of the crypt floor.


    ¡°Get off!¡± I snarled into her face. ¡°Let me go to her.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never reach her, you fool!¡± Emma answered my fury with her own, her aristocratic features turned near fiendish in the dim light, her amber eyes bright. ¡°I know enough about the Wend to know that. The way is closed. You go into that pit, you¡¯ll just end up lost in the cracks and dead within minutes. The road she used is for the dead. The living cannot touch it.¡±


    I could still feel the onset of frostbite on my fingers. Even still, I shook my head in denial. ¡°I saw through it,¡± I told her desperately. ¡°I was able to reach her.¡±


    ¡°A temporary breach,¡± Emma insisted. ¡°A window, nothing more. You open the way again, it might go a thousand other places, if it goes anywhere at all. Think, Alken. I learned half this lore from you and Maxim.¡±


    She dug her knee into my chest, as though the pain might wake me out of my madness. It did, somewhat, and after she¡¯d made her point Emma heaved herself up. She nearly stumbled back to the floor before making it to one of the pillars holding up the half-intact roof, breathing hard for nearly a minute before seeming to steady.


    I stood as well. My lips moved, and words came out, though I heard myself as though at a great distance and did not think about what I said. ¡°You¡¯re injured.¡±


    I looked at Emma, who stared at me with a mixture of apprehension and residual anger. ¡°What happened? The others, are they still fighting?¡±


    Emma took a deep breath. ¡°These things attacked us. Some kind of soldier, but they did not seem normal. They appeared out of the mist, like they were formed from it. Undead, I think.¡±


    The ghouls. Mistwalkers. I had glimpsed them before going back to help Catrin.


    ¡°They are gone now,¡± Emma continued. ¡°You should...¡± She had to catch her breath again. ¡°You should return to the group. There¡¯s someone else here. Better if you hear the whole thing at once.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t just leave her,¡± I said dully. My eyes went back to the grave. ¡°I brought her here. I let her go through with this.¡±No?v(el)B\\jnn


    You trapped her in there.


    ¡°And if there is a way to help her, it won¡¯t be done standing here over a hole in the ground.¡± Emma took a step forward. ¡°We need to go. There is still danger.¡±


    Her callous honesty infuriated me more in that moment than it had in all the months we¡¯d known one another. Yet, I had enough self-awareness left to know she mostly just wanted to get me out of that room. The shadows and mist boiled with the dead, their wispy fingers clawing at the hem of my cloak. Their voices had become an unintelligible cacophony. Rarely had they dared to draw so close to me.


    They filled the grave pit too, beckoning me. Some of them whispered in Catrin¡¯s voice. Emma had probably just saved my life from a very foolish act.


    I barely noticed them. Already I was mapping out the image of that subterranean city in my mind, trying to think of who in Garihelm might be able to show me a path down there. Architects? Scholars? Graverobbers perhaps, or even smugglers. I knew some were brave or foolish enough to stray into the depths.


    Catrin was smart, and resourceful. She could hold out until I reached her, perhaps even find a way to escape on her own, and¡ª


    The image of Yith¡¯s stabbing beak punching through her shoulder flashed through my mind. Cold sweat dripped down my temple.


    ¡°Come out of there, Alken.¡± Emma held out a bloodstained hand, still weeping from a cut palm. She had moved back to the doorway. ¡°Please.¡±


    I followed her out of the mausoleum in a daze. She limped badly, but refused my help. As we passed over the still body of the Marion, her eyes went to it. She didn¡¯t miss the golden-brown robes it still wore.


    ¡°Emil,¡± I explained. ¡°One of the twins was watching us through him.¡±


    She said nothing to that, instead leading me to the cemetery square in a dull silence where the battered members of my lance waited. Whatever victory they had won, it had been a pyrrhic one. Mallet lay against the side of a statue plinth, one leg stretched out as Lisette wove her threads of aura through his sliced ankle. His teeth were clenched, his face pale as a ghost¡¯s.


    The others looked hardly better. Penric sat on the steps of a structure much like the one I¡¯d just left. His axe was broken, his crossbow resting in his lap, and someone had bandaged his head up tightly so only his nose, mouth, and one eye peered out. Hendry seemed uninjured, his helmet doffed and left on a patch of lichen while he helped tend to Mallet.


    Beatriz sat in a fetal position near Penric, hugging her knees close to her chest. Her spear and shield lay on the ground at her side. She stared at nothing, her eyes blank and distant.


    Dead or dying ghouls lay scattered across the square. Their kind do not die easily, and even dismembered and brutalized I could still see their bodies twitching. A severed arm crawled across the path before us, blindly groping for its owner. Emma hissed and stabbed down at it, her sword pinning it in place. The limb went still.


    That drew the attention of the others. Mallet, sweating and bloody, glared at me. ¡°Where the fuck were you?¡± He demanded.


    Instead of answering the man, I looked to the figure who stepped into the square just after Emma and I did. Tall, clad in green-and-brass scales and rich cloth woven in autumnal colors, the Ironleaf Knight met my gaze in the same moment he sheathed his sword.


    ¡°Jocelyn.¡± Unconsciously, my grip tightened on my axe. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the one I mentioned,¡± Emma muttered at my side. ¡°He appeared after the ghouls. Saved our lives, probably.¡±


    The tourney knight stopped as all eyes went to him. Tall, lean, with fair features on the verge of being effeminate, he spoke in the soft alto I had come to associate with him.


    ¡°I was following you,¡± he told me. ¡°From the time you left the palace, I covered myself in glamour and kept close. I am very good at moving unseen when I wish.¡±


    I didn¡¯t particularly care about his skill at stealth. ¡°Why?¡± I growled.


    Jocelyn blinked, but seemed otherwise unfazed by my tone and all the death around him. ¡°Because I wanted to know what you were up to. I was there when the Emperor ordered you to find our enemy, and thought perhaps I might be of help. I¡¯ve also been wanting to speak with you for some days.¡±


    ¡°Then you should have just spoken with me,¡± I snapped. ¡°This is not a very good time to be stalking me, Ser Jocelyn. It¡¯s a good way to make me think you are my enemy.¡±


    The knight frowned, as though confused why I would be angry. ¡°I am not your enemy. At least, I do not believe so.¡±


    He suddenly tilted his head, as though listening to something. ¡°This is not a good place to speak. The Legion is here, and they can move through the mist freely. This was just a scouting party. I believe there are many more, scattered across the countryside beyond the city.¡±


    ¡°Then we should get behind walls,¡± Penric said in a tired voice, heaving himself to his feet.


    The Ironleaf didn¡¯t seem to agree. ¡°We are too far. There is a hunger to the fog this night. We need to find shelter, and quickly.¡±


    The knowledge of lurking danger and the fact there were more people I needed to get to safety, and the mystery of Ser Jocelyn, tugged at my attention. There was still a battle to be fought, enemies nearby, and I needed to keep focused.


    Keeping focused was the only way to stop myself from breaking down. Or abandoning all of this and descending down into the Undercity. Even still, I resented the distraction.


    ¡°You are saying they¡¯re guarding the ways into the city?¡± I asked. ¡°Or even in the city?¡±


    ¡°The gargoyles would not have let that many undead over the walls,¡± Lisette said. She looked haggard, but seemed to have saved Mallet¡¯s leg. Faint golden lines stitched his severed tendon, visible where his pant leg had been pulled up.


    I stared at him. ¡°You know about the tournament¡¯s prize?¡±


    Jocelyn nodded. ¡°Besides glory and wealth, you mean? Yes, I am aware of the High Art the victor may claim. I was told of it by the Sidhe.¡±


    A small smile touched his lips. ¡°I intend to claim it myself.¡±


    Sardonically, I wondered how many more people knew about this great ritual I¡¯d had to risk my life against an ancient, likely malignant sorcerer to learn about.


    Another thought struck me. ¡°Both you and Siriks are set to fight on Laessa Greengood¡¯s behalf tomorrow morning.¡±


    Jocelyn shrugged. ¡°Regardless of his motives in all this, I do not believe Lord Siriks is an evil man. He is angry, and desires justice the Accord cannot give him, but I have interacted with him enough to know he has honor. No, I believe he will fight for the Lady Laessa. Do not concern yourself with that battle, Ser Headsman. We have it well in hand.¡±


    I let out a breath, not sure of my own feelings. Every time I remembered about the Greengood girl, I felt a stab of guilt that I¡¯d been part of involving her in that mess with the Priory, and yet had to stand aside and let others risk themselves on her behalf.


    The rest of me struggled to care about any of this. I couldn¡¯t get Catrin¡¯s face out of my mind, her eyes wide with horror as the demon reached out for her. I didn¡¯t have time to hear all of this now.


    And I needed to hear all of it.


    Clenching my hand into a fist, I turned to Fen Harus. ¡°So the Sidhe know about all this?¡± My voice hardened. ¡°Why wasn¡¯t I warned?¡±


    The elf studied me a moment, no sign of apology on his half-animal face. ¡°You have not been given a name, Ser Headsman. All involvement you have in this matter is of your own will.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s shit.¡±


    Jocelyn stared at me in shock, no doubt horrified I would talk to a faerie elder that way, but I ignored him. ¡°I¡¯m fighting for all of us. The Vykes are our people¡¯s mutual enemy. They burned your groves, mutilated your princess, led that war.¡±


    ¡°And we are fighting them,¡± the elf assured me.


    I felt all too aware of Ser Jocelyn standing nearby. Nor could I fail to remember the cold words of the angel Umareon, about other champions being prepared to fight in the light.


    Baring my teeth I asked, ¡°Why haven¡¯t I been ordered to kill Hasur already?¡±


    I had no doubt this old faerie would know. He was advisor to Princess Maerlys, leader of the Seydii Elves, and she was peer to the Onsolain.


    Without rising to my temper, the elf replied in an even tone. ¡°Because you would have failed, Alken Hewer. You would never have breached into the heart of Talsyn, and the Choir would not waste you.¡±


    His honesty stung me, and for a moment I was speechless. I had never considered they abstained from using me because they doubted my ability to succeed. There had always been a chance of failure.


    It was a bitter mixture to swallow.


    ¡°Then give me a name now,¡± I pleaded. ¡°The twins, or even Siriks Sontae, it doesn¡¯t matter. Just tell me who I can end to finish all this.¡±


    The sooner I was released from this duty, the sooner I could try to find her.


    Fen Harus¡¯s silver face seemed to fade in color, perhaps his version of a deflated sigh. ¡°There is no single head you might claim with your axe to stop all this evil, Ser Headsman. These seeds were sewn long ago, and now they grow thorned fruit. We can only move to check our enemy where we will, and hope our actions do not cause the weeds to catch fire.¡±


    I had little patience for his poetry just then. ¡°Then what am I to do? Everyone insists I can¡¯t just kill the evil bastards behind this, even though we know where they are, what they¡¯re doing, how they intend to do it. Everyone says it will just make everything worse. So we just let them play this game?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Jocelyn said. ¡°We beat them at their own game. If neither Siriks or Calerus claim the tournaments great prize, then they will not have the leverage they need.¡±


    Fen Harus nodded. ¡°The warlords of Cymrinor value strength of arms above almost everything else. If they see that the last survivor of House Sontae can challenge the High Prince, they will rally behind him. Similarly, if those sympathetic to the Vykes see a chance at not only renewing but winning the next war, they will shirk the Emperor¡¯s authority.¡±


    ¡°This weapon will be that powerful?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It will be born from the clash of the land¡¯s greatest warriors in this, the dawning of a new era.¡± Fen Harus dipped his cervid head. ¡°In every age there is a magic born of this quality, and they are never quiet. Those who inherit the power in later years will possess only a faded image of it, but whoever claims it at its birth will wield an armament that can cower armies, at least for a time. Its power will fade as the wound its birth will leave heals.¡±


    A wound. Something touched at the back of my thoughts, a sense of unease I could not name. I felt like I¡¯d had a conversation like this before, about something else.


    While the four of us had been talking, Hendry and Lisette had drawn near to listen, while the other three remained by the fire, too tired or too uninterested for talk of nations.


    I didn¡¯t see much reason to keep them out of the loop. Propping my axe on the ground much as Emma did with her weapon, I leaned forward to study my reflection in the water as I thought.


    ¡°Another player in this game has already placed a check on the Talsyner prince,¡± I said as I recalled our conversation with Laertes. Looking at Jocelyn I asked, ¡°Can you beat Siriks, if it comes to that?¡±


    The knight considered for a moment, but I saw his answer in the doubt on his face. ¡°I have seen Siriks Sontae fight in earnest only once,¡± he told me. Then, shaking his head he added, ¡°No, I am not at all certain I can beat him. It is very possible that man is the most dangerous warrior in all of Urn, or he could become it in time.¡±


    ¡°Does he have a mighty Art?¡± Emma asked. ¡°He¡¯s hardly older than me.¡±


    Jocelyn nodded. ¡°That is part of it. He...¡± The knight frowned, searching for words. ¡°It is hard to explain. He becomes the center.¡±


    ¡°The center of what?¡± Hendry asked.


    ¡°Everything,¡± Jocelyn said.


    My companions all gave the man nonplussed looks. Fen Harus kept his attention on me, and I knew his question before he asked it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I told him. ¡°I don¡¯t need to explain it to you, oradyn.¡±


    Fen Harus shuffled closer to me on his hoofed feet, lowering his voice into an earnest pitch. ¡°There is far more at stake here than a bit of scandal. We cannot employ you as the Headsman in this ¡ª that will give our enemy half of what they want.¡±


    Lisette frowned in confusion. She had not been present during our discussion with Laertes.


    ¡°Our brooding leader insists he cannot participate in the tournament without spinning the Accord¡¯s collective head,¡± Emma told the cleric in a droll voice. ¡°So he¡¯ll just keep running about fighting our enemy¡¯s minions until he¡¯s worn out.¡±


    I wheeled on her. ¡°Then what better idea do you have, girl? What genius idea would you submit to this wise council? Tell me what I should do.¡±


    Emma stared at me with wide eyes, clearly taken aback. I had never barked at her so furiously after one of her needling quips. I felt no contrition just then, only impotent rage.


    ¡°Well?¡± I demanded through my teeth, glaring down at her. I didn¡¯t remember moving, but I stood almost directly over her in that moment.


    The others remained silent, no one seeming to know what to say. I didn¡¯t care what any of them thought. Not unless they could give me a miracle to reverse the past several hours. Emma opened her mouth, closed it, then lowered her eyes. A blush colored her face, anger and shame intermingling.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± she said in a small voice. ¡°Forgive me for speaking out of turn, ser.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem to have any of the sternness with which she¡¯d stopped me in the crypt earlier. I lacked the focus to question it just then.


    Lisette, who¡¯d held a ponderous expression throughout the confrontation, suddenly spoke up. ¡°What about a disguise?¡±


    I turned my head to look at her. ¡°What?¡±


    Lisette¡¯s blue eyes stared at me, as though she were as surprised at the comment as the rest of us. ¡°Um... a disguise? It¡¯s a knight¡¯s tourney, right? Everyone¡¯s going to be wearing armor and helmets. I mean... no has to know it¡¯s you, do they?¡±


    I stared at her, for a moment at a loss for words. Ludicrous. The idea was idiotic, like something out of a bad play put on by traveling entertainers. And yet, others in the circle were adopting thoughtful expressions. Lisette, looking embarrassed at the attention, hastened to explain.


    ¡°When I was a little girl, the lord who governed our village hosted a small tourney. I remember there was a knight who competed. He never took off his helmet, and no one knew who he was. They called him the Sparrow Knight, because he had this little bird as a pet, and...¡±


    She coughed, sensing the story had begun to lose its thread. ¡°Well, anyway, no one could beat him until the end, when the lord¡¯s son managed to knock him off his chimera and compel his surrender. Then the young lord made the mystery knight take his helmet off, and it turned out to be the boy¡¯s uncle!¡±


    The lay sister was smiling, I realized. ¡°It was all great fun.¡±


    Hendry drew Emma¡¯s attention when he suddenly pumped his fist. ¡°Like my cousin, Derrik. He did the same thing. Do you remember, Emma?¡±


    Emma lifted her face, some of the anger our quarrel had put in it fading as she considered. ¡°Yes, I do remember that. Mostly how angry your father got every time this capering stranger unseated one of his picks.¡±


    ¡°My people are also known to play this game,¡± Fen Harus informed us. ¡°Often has there been one of the Old Children disguised as a mere errant warrior, to test the mettle of mortals and share in their exultations.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game,¡± I butted in. The wary looks on their faces after that moment of shared excitement suited my mood. ¡°This is the Grand Tournament of Garihelm, the first of its like since the Accord was formalized.¡±


    ¡°It is not a game,¡± Fen Harus agreed. ¡°But it is tradition. No doubt there will be a handful of anonymous fighters already. You may draw some curiosity, but not the sort of attention you fear should you participate as yourself.¡±


    ¡°And it is a way for you to take an active hand in this struggle,¡± Jocelyn added. ¡°The Vykes have made themselves impossible to target directly by all avenues save for this, where their champion welcomes our steel. Let us accept Calerus¡¯s bluff, and show him there is still strength in our Accord.¡±


    I found myself shaking my head, denying their assurances that it could be that simple. I wanted to deny it. I had no stomach for this game, not that night. ¡°I do not believe the Vykes will hedge all of their bets on Calerus. They¡¯re clearly planning something more here. I... saw something earlier. They had a demon building some enormous construct in the old catacombs. Then there are the Mistwalkers, possibly other sleeper agents and monsters in the city.¡±


    I turned to Fen Harus. ¡°I think they are preparing a coup.¡±


    The elf nodded. ¡°I agree. I also know that they will not succeed if the realms remain united. The Vykes seek to prove that they can win the next war, and turn support to Talsyn. By displaying strength, or by forcing us to act rashly, they can accomplish that aim.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s eyes seemed to brighten. ¡°But if we can show the realms that they are not stronger than us, even expose their machinations...¡±


    ¡°Then Talsyn would be very foolish to choose open war,¡± Fen Harus stated. ¡°They would find themselves fighting alone within a sea of enemies, and be starved inside their mountains.¡±


    He focused his attention on me, his slanted sapphire eyes uncanny in the way they failed to blink even once. ¡°I know you are waiting for an authority, mortal or immortal, to give you leave to let loose. That will not happen, Alken Hewer, not unless there is no other recourse. We do not want this to escalate that far. Will you not at least attempt to choose the less bloody path?¡±


    And how could I refuse, when he worded it like that? Damn all elves and gods. Some evils need their blood to be spilled, or else they would just profligate.


    I turned my back on him before my derision could show in my face. ¡°I... need to think on it. For now, my companions are injured and need rest. They can stay here?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Fen Harus agreed easily.


    Emma started to follow me. I turned and stopped her. She still had a hurt expression on her face, but also a stubborn one. I knew she didn¡¯t want to leave me alone.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going far,¡± I promised her. ¡°Or to do anything rash. I just need to think.¡±


    Emma pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. ¡°Very well. Should I make you swear an oath on it?¡±


    The faintest smile touched the corner of my lip. ¡°No need.¡±


    I left them to their plots, and walked into the woods to grapple with my grief alone.

 Arc 5: Chapter 29: A Bitter Duty

    Arc 5: Chapter 29: A Bitter Duty


    I walked aimlessly through the elfwood for some time. An hour, perhaps two, and all the while I was blessedly free of intrigue and duty.


    I was not free of the memory of Catrin¡¯s shocked face, or the image of the demonic fly looming behind her. Nor was I free of Fen Harus¡¯s pointed words. Will you not at least attempt the less bloody path?


    Maybe I wanted blood. Perhaps it would wash out all this doubt. Freeing myself of all restraint had worked well enough against the Priory. Why not here?


    I knew why. I just resented it.


    Within the protected bounds of that faerie wood, the more insidious ghosts did not trouble me. Neither was I fully free of them. There were less malignant shades the elfwood did not repel, and they watched me from the shadows with sad eyes. I could not hear them with my ears, but their pleas plucked at my soul.


    Help us. Warm us. Protect us. Guide us. Bless us.


    Once, that had been all the land¡¯s dead had wanted from me, from any True Knight. Now, most of them abhored my fire even as they longed for it.


    Those hollow eyes became too much to bear, and I fled from them. With my red cloak rippling behind me in a soft wind, I followed the scent of the sea until I came to a cliff overlooking the bay. To my left I could see Garihelm¡¯s sprawl, lit by ten thousand lights, the high shadow of the Fulgurkeep marked by a crown of swirling storm clouds. The outer sea wall kept the lashing waters of the Riven from overtaking the metropolis, but further out the illusion of distance made the waves seem more calm. I focused on that, standing there in the glow of the Living Moon as it heaved its bulk through the stars.


    Closing my eyes, I breathed in deep of the clean air and let the od shining down from on high warm me. It almost drowned out that constant inner warmth, let me pretend like it came from somewhere else. When the undergrowth rustled, and my senses felt a brush of something not unlike the moonlight against my back, I knew who¡¯d followed me.


    ¡°Oradyn.¡±


    The elf shuffled over to stand just out of arm¡¯s reach, joining me on the cliffside. ¡°Your companions worry for you,¡± he told me kindly. ¡°Should they?¡±


    His eyes drifted to the precipice beneath us. I snorted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not out here to kill myself, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re all worried about. I¡¯ve had plenty of opportunities to do that.¡±


    ¡°And yet there is grief in you sharp enough to rend flesh.¡± Fen Harus¡¯s gaze drifted out over the lapping waters. ¡°You lost someone tonight.¡±


    I inhaled deeply before I dared to speak. ¡°I¡¯m not certain. She might still be alive, but I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s actually for the best.¡±


    Fen Harus didn¡¯t appear fazed by the seemingly cruel words. ¡°She was taken?¡±


    ¡°Yes. By an abgru?dai.¡±


    The old elf bowed his head. ¡°That is often a fate worse than death. I am sorry.¡±


    I almost left it at that. What could he say, or do, to change what had happened? What empty wisdom could that old immortal offer me to make it all right? It wasn¡¯t right, and I did not want to be at peace with it.


    ¡°It was my fault,¡± I blurted. Then, since the traitorous words had already escaped my lips, I continued. ¡°When I tried to pull her out of the Undercity, my magic lashed out at her.¡±


    I stared down at my scarred hand. ¡°I¡¯ve lost control of it before, but it¡¯s only ever burned me. I understand why. The Alder Knights betrayed their oaths, abused the magic we were given, failed everyone. We deserve to be punished for it. But it¡¯s meant to protect people from monsters, not send them into their jaws.¡±


    ¡°Who was this companion of yours?¡± Fen Harus asked.


    I hesitated, then admitted the truth. ¡°She is a dhampir. She was stillborn in the marchlands, revived by some errant magic there.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Fen Harus replied, as though my brief descriptor explained all of it. Perhaps he didn¡¯t intend dismissal, but I felt my anger resurge.


    ¡°And why should that matter?¡± I snapped. ¡°She was... is a good woman. She can love, and show kindness. Why shouldn¡¯t she have the Alder¡¯s protection, same as anyone?¡±


    Fen Harus did not answer me for some time. A wind rustled the leaves, my cloak, and his silver hair. Only when the night breeze had passed did he speak again.


    ¡°When my people wove the aures, the Alder¡¯s fire, our intention was to grant your ancestors a means to protect themselves against the potent foes we knew would be set against you. Aye, and to protect us. I will not pretend that it was a selfless act. But we also had another goal in mind for the aureflame, as your folk call it.¡±


    I folded my arms, listening. I had not expected a history lesson, but sensed what the elf said was important.


    ¡°It was also intended to protect you,¡± he continued. ¡°The Alder Knights themselves. The power has a will of its own. It is not intelligent ¡ª not exactly, but it acts in accordance with its design. That is to abjure evil, to heal the beleaguered, and to light the darkness. Most of all, it illuminates truth and punishes lies.¡±


    Fen Harus folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe, pondering his ancient memories a moment. ¡°Men are fallible. Indeed, even elves and gods are fallible. We knew that even those we blessed with power and knowledge could go astray, or be deceived. Many damned creatures wear fair forms so that they may walk among mortals like wolves among sheep, preying on their victims with impunity. The aureflame protects you from these hidden dangers. It warns you when beings of darker nature are near, and may even lash out on its own should they become too brazen.¡±


    I clenched my jaw, fully aware of his meaning. ¡°I knew her hungers. She did not mean me true harm.¡±


    ¡°No predator born of death and darkness can survive long without doing evil,¡± Fen Harus said calmly. ¡°Perhaps she was repentant, even held love for you, but there was certainly also a great part of her nature which desired to do you harm. Whatever else she desired of you as a woman, your blood was a siren¡¯s song to the vampire in her. That could not be hidden from your magic.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying the aureflame attacked her because she is evil?¡± I asked. ¡°Because she was born evil, and always will be?¡±


    ¡°Because she had done evil,¡± Fen Harus insisted. ¡°And would do it again.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t my magic burn her to ash the first time we met?¡± I demanded, turning to face him.


    ¡°The aures is tied to your own soul,¡± Fen Harus explained. ¡°It is not unaffected by the stirrings of your heart. Indeed, part of its design is to read them and adjust itself accordingly, to hold you to your oaths and help guide your doubts toward truth. It is not all knowing, and needs your hand to direct it. That is why you must look into a being¡¯s eyes, the windows of the soul, for it to see lies. When you let it take shape as fire, then it illuminates truth.¡±


    ¡°What truth?¡± I asked bitterly.


    ¡°That there is evil in our existence. It wears many faces, and speaks many sweet lies, but it is a poison. Did your paramour never do you any harm? Did she do no harm that you are aware of?¡±


    The unhealed wound on my chest ached. There were other marks Catrin had given me.


    I just told you I used to eat kids, Al. You can really accept that?


    I can feel that holy fire in you baring its fangs at me. I hate it.


    I squeezed my eyes shut again, gritting my teeth against the flood of unease that shot through me. ¡°People can change.¡±


    ¡°People can,¡± Fen Harus agreed. ¡°But the undead steal their time among the living by parasitizing life. Whatever the nature of her heart, this malcathe took every moment she pretended to live from those who truly did. Just as demons often play at having individuality, but are ultimately only vessels for the Abyss to consume more of Creation.¡±


    A violent tremor overtook my left hand, and I had to clamp down on my wrist to quell it. It did not help the sudden unsteady rhythm of my heart. ¡°You¡¯re saying... you are saying that the aureflame was designed to attack the undead? And demons, and anything else its makers considered evil? That it doesn¡¯t matter what choices they make, or who they become, just the nature they had from the start?¡±


    Not just undead and fiends. Apostates too, and those who had been shorn of grace. My powers had even stirred in restless discontent at Emma sometimes, and she had never done evil in her life, only been born of an echo of it.


    How much control did the old powers who¡¯d fashioned these rules have over what my magic considered profane? Did my own feelings on it not matter at all?


    Perhaps he sensed my unease, because Fen Harus¡¯s voice became stern. ¡°It was designed to protect you from being taken in by their deceptions. Too many times has the Adversary ruined good people by playing on their sympathies. Even my kind are not immune to this, and we have often needed to learn the lesson anew. The Alder Table, and many other works of our hands and souls, were meant to keep us from forgetting.¡±


    ¡°It did not protect me when I needed it.¡± I held a closed fist against my chest. ¡°When the Adversary was close enough to grip my heart, your damned magic failed me.¡±


    The elf leaned closer. ¡°Did it not warn you, Alken Hewer? Or did you not heed its warnings?¡±@@@@


    Tucking my hands into my cloak, I turned from the moonlit sea to face the shadowed woods. I¡¯d heard enough bitter truths for one night.


    ¡°What will you do?¡± Fen Harus asked me without stepping away from the cliff.


    I paused, searching the tangle of my feelings. ¡°I need to talk to my group. Then, I need to get back to the city. I have preparations to make.¡±


    I left that wise elf there on the cliff, and forged back into the haunted forest with all its restless dead. Among them was Emma, who¡¯d followed me after all. At least she had kept her distance and given me some privacy. I decided not to reprimand her for it, especially after Fen Harus had made me aware of what everyone feared from me.


    Unlike with me, the ghosts did not cling to Emma¡¯s shadow. They kept well away from her, and I heard snippets of their furtive whispers. Carreon. Shrike Daughter. Wicked One. Spawn of murder. Bastard witch. Do not let her take us, O¡¯ Knight. Protect us.


    ¡°Then the best way to prevent that is to have you on the ground. Our trump card...¡± She glanced at me. ¡°You will not be able to use your powers. They are too flashy, and will tell everyone who you are. That will be a significant handicap.¡±


    I gave her a pained look. ¡°Rose... you mademe your First Sword well before you sent me to the Table. Did you do that as a favor?¡±


    A flicker of fierce emotion lit in my queen¡¯s green eyes. ¡°No. I did it because you defeated my enemies.¡±


    ¡°Calerus and Siriks are boys,¡± I said in a hard voice. ¡°Boys playing a dangerous game. By the time I was their age, I had slain warlords. No, I don¡¯t need my magic to beat those two brats.¡±


    ¡°The Ram of Karles reborn?¡± Rosanna¡¯s lips quirked into a smile. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure I would ever see it.¡±


    ¡°Neither was I,¡± I admitted. ¡°I¡¯ve earned less flattering names since then.¡±


    Rosanna moved to the window, staring out over the city. ¡°And you¡¯re telling me all of this because you need a patron to claim a spot on the lists. One with great power to do it on such short notice. And you¡¯re asking me instead of my husband because he will not gamble on you.¡±


    She had always been shrewd, my queen. ¡°You can do it?¡± I asked.


    Rosanna sniffed. ¡°Who do you take me for? I may need to call in favors, but I am still Empress.¡±


    She drew closer to me, and in a gesture that defied our stations placed her hand on my wrist. ¡°There¡¯s something else. I¡¯ve known you long enough to see when there is a shadow behind your eyes. Something happened tonight.¡±


    Damn her uncanny intuition. Even unrefined into a true magic, her aura was perceptive. Or did she truly just know me that well, even after all this time?


    ¡°I lost someone,¡± I told her after a moment¡¯s uncertainty. ¡°Someone I cared about. Yith took her. Probably she¡¯s dead, or worse.¡±


    Would tears come, as they had when we¡¯d last spoken? Had that really just been the previous day?


    None did. I felt only rage, and a burning focus on what came next.


    ¡°She?¡± Rosanna didn¡¯t have jealousy in her voice, which told me her feelings for me weren¡¯t far off from my own for her. Her eyes crinkled with sympathy. ¡°I am so sorry, my sword. I am sorry for binding you to this life.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t used that name for me since we¡¯d been young. I tried to find some lingering resentment toward her, but none came. ¡°No use regretting it now. This was the demon, and the Vykes.¡± And me, I thought bitterly. ¡°Not you.¡±


    I put my hand over hers. ¡°Get me on the lists. I¡¯ll need a set of armor, too. And a chimera.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Consider it done. You will have everything you need.¡±


    Not everything. There was one part of the plan I had not informed her of. If it backfired, the Empress could have no attachment to it.


    ¡°And you should get yourself a hearth hound, or some other protecter for this room.¡± I smiled to take any rebuke out of my voice. ¡°If I can steal in here with a cheap glamour, others can. Ser Kaia didn¡¯t notice me.¡±


    Rosanna pursed her lips, a flicker of concern crossing her face.


    I turned to leave, but Rosanna stopped me. With a gentle hand, she turned me so I faced her directly, then placed her hands on either side of my face. Unconsciously, I bent down so I didn¡¯t tower over her. She planted a kiss on my brow, as a monarch does to a favored vassal.


    ¡°I will not be able to do this publicly.¡± Her breath was warm against my skin. ¡°But go with God¡¯s grace and my blessing, Knight of Karles. I will pray for your success.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t so arrogant as to not be humbled by that gesture from the Empress of Urn. ¡°I will not fail you, my queen. I swear it.¡±


    A foolish oath, but I had already failed one person that night. If I had to bind myself to keep from doing it again, then I would.


    I returned to my lonely tower on the island¡¯s edge in the dim hours of the morning. It was cold, dark, and empty. The others wouldn¡¯t return until later that day. There were still some hours left until I would need to get back to work. Time enough to get a bit of rest.


    I trudged up to the higher chambers where my dingy office, with its cluttered desk, chests, and shelves waited. The room where I slept waited beyond that, with a clean bed and a small fireplace to chase away the coastal chill.


    The room where I slept. My room. If we survived the next few days, this would be my new home for the foreseeable future, possibly even the rest of my life. I had yet to decide what to feel about that.


    Separated from the greater fortress complex by a narrow bridge, the old prison tower I¡¯d been given lacked the blessings and other protections that helped keep the Fulgurkeep free of malison. Shades crawled in the shadows, drawn by the gloom, the night, and my isolated presence. I tuned their sulking whispers out as I worked.


    I got my armor and cloak off, put them on their stands in the main room, then pulled several items out of a single small chest I¡¯d kept from my temporary house in the docks. There were three strings covered in little talismans, and these I wrapped around both my wrists. Two on the right, one on the left. I unstoppered a small vial and pressed a tongue-wetted finger into it before dabbing its contents on my eyelids. A small pouch contained a powder, which I rubbed into my ears. A bronze medallion packed with scented roses tied to my left palm.


    On it went, until I¡¯d festooned myself with enough accoutrements to perform some ancient pagan ritual. I¡¯d added to the collection the past several months. Some of them I had made myself, and others I¡¯d bought or traded for.


    The arsenal of wards would grant me at least a few hours of safe rest, protecting me from parasitic od and ghosts as my lost ring once had.


    But not from my own mind.


    How could I rest, when my enemies abounded with their plots? I had hurt Hyperia, and she seemed malicious enough to be brash and vengeful.


    How could I rest, when she might be suffering?


    But I needed rest, or I would be no good to anyone.


    I was moving toward the bedroom when my senses shivered with warning. Freezing, I touched the dagger at my belt. Faster than summoning my axe, which I¡¯d sheathed into the shadows, and better in these close quarters.


    I¡¯d lit no lamp or candle, relying on the light in my eyes to see through the dark room. Searching, I tried to find the source of my sudden unease. My gaze went to the single window overlooking the sea, a sliver of moonlight in the otherwise pitch black chamber.


    And almost as though they had waited for that, a figure stepped into the moonlight. At first it only seemed a human-shaped shadow, slender and quiet. I caught no sight of a weapon, but the sensation thrumming through me warned of something malign.


    But as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the pale material of a white camisole and waist wrap, and curling red-brown hair.


    My heart lurched.


    The figure¡¯s head lifted, fixing me with two ruby red eyes that shone in the darkness.


    At first, a wave of sheer relief and joy almost staggered me. But even as I stepped forward, the fire in me crackled hot enough to become pain. It made me pause.


    She clutched her right arm close to her chest. As I focused on it, I could make out an array of ugly burns from hand to elbow, many of them bloody and weeping. Even as I noticed that, she noted my wards. Her face twisted.


    ¡°You¡¯re about to sleep? It¡¯s only been hours, Alken. Did you even try to find me?¡±


    My stomach dropped. ¡°Of course I did! But...¡±


    But I¡¯d believed her dead, or trapped where I couldn¡¯t reach her. ¡°I had a plan,¡± I hastened to explain. Then, to try and change the subject, ¡°How did you get out?¡±


    Her red eyes watched me steadily. Again, I felt the aureflame roil in warning. Remembering what had already happened, I forced it down with a savage effort.


    When she said nothing, I took another step forward. ¡°We need to get your wounds taken care of. I can¡ª¡±


    Catrin flinched, almost cowering against the window. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    I froze, then in a tight voice said, ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you again. I swear it.¡±


    She stared for a long moment, her shadowed features unreadable. I realized she¡¯d bared her fangs. She seemed to get control of herself, shuddered, and spoke more calmly.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t escape, Al. Yith is here with me... and he wants to talk.¡±

 Arc 5: Chapter 30: The Soft Matter of Sin

    Arc 5: Chapter 30: The Soft Matter of Sin


    For a long moment, we just watched each other. I stood in the center of the tower room, Catrin by the moonlit window, with only the sound of the waves stretching over the island¡¯s rock to break the silence.


    I inhaled deeply, and smelled something sickly sweet in the air, a crisp scent it took me a moment to recognize. It smelled like a beetle¡¯s shell, like the deep parts of a lightless wood. Like rot.


    And through the tower¡¯s stone, I could feel a great heart beating in warning.


    My entire focus had been on the figure standing there, framed in the window. But now I paid more attention, the shadows around her seemed to move. I could hear many tiny, scuttling legs around me, beating wings, and clacking mandibles. All those sounds fused into one chorus, and the demon spoke.


    Your ploy this night almost had me, marked one.


    I felt certain I would taste the bite of your axe.


    Some of the insects were crawling on Catrin herself. I bared my teeth. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    I will not.


    Something crawled up the side of Catrin¡¯s neck. A crimson beetle. She shuddered, but made no move to bat it away.


    Inside, I felt terrible relief at seeing her right there in front of me. And fear, because another innocent had been used by this thing as a suit, and Yith had not been gentle with that poor boy¡¯s undead flesh. In addition to an array of lesser injuries, mostly cuts and bruises on her arms and neck, I could also make out the mottled tissue surrounding a more hideous wound in her shoulder. Her hair and clothes were filthy, like she¡¯d just crawled out of a pit.


    Or a grave.


    I also couldn¡¯t help but note the injuries I had given her, the burns. The sight of those made me feel even more sick than the bugs did.


    Forcing myself to calm, and fighting against the rising surge of sacred fire eager to show itself and smite this evil, I spoke in the most level voice I could manage.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Then, looking at Catrin I asked, ¡°Is she actually alive?¡±


    Yith giggled, the entire room seeming to tremble with the sound. I felt as though I were surrounded by ten thousand unseen insects. The sensation was a disorienting one.


    She is not!


    She was not when you were inside her all those times.


    Oh, you are a naughty one. No wonder Tormentsister had your fancy.


    Catrin just stared at me in watchfull stillness. The beetle poised beneath her left ear. I could make out a strange deformation on the shell.


    A face. Its lips moved.


    Grappling my fury into submission, I spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± Catrin said softly. ¡°He hasn¡¯t hurt me, not yet.¡± She winced and placed a hand to the hole in her shoulder. ¡°Besides this.¡±


    The unnatural laughter subsided, and the demon let a long moment of uneasy silence linger.


    The shell is not emptied.


    She could be restored to you.


    Whole, and unaltered.


    I understood the threat. ¡°What do you want of me?¡±


    I want...


    Ah, I want so many things!


    ...I want to crawl through you and feast on the rotting hollow of your soul.


    I want to spread myself across this land and burrow into every misdeed, every hateful thought, every bitter regret...


    I want to share in the depravities and failures of your people.


    To whisper in their ears until their thin armor breaks from the holes in it and I can watch them crumble into their true selves.


    I want to nest in the soft matter of your sins.


    Catrin drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes. She almost seemed entranced by the demon¡¯s voice.


    As for what I want from you...


    I want my freedom.


    I frowned. ¡°Your freedom?¡±


    I have only ever named one mortal my master by mine own choice.


    And Hyperia Vyke is not Reynard.


    Yet, the witch child holds my names in bondage.


    The voice went silent. Catrin focused, then fixed her red eyes on me. ¡°He wants you to kill her. The princess.¡±


    ¡°You want me to murder your own ally?¡± I asked in disbelief.


    The demon¡¯s crooning voice became a furious hiss.


    My slaver.


    A thief.


    Murderer interloper coward liar betrayer halfbreed witch sinner usurper bastardchildhateherkillherrendbreakshredripteardevourBURNFLAYDAMNTOHELL¡ª


    Both Catrin and I gasped, staggering under the onslaught of that wave of rage. It was a physical, almost elemental thing, a buzzing, shrieking torrent of pure and unrestrained hate.


    As quickly as it had come, it stopped.


    We are not allies.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But if I did play along, tens of thousands might suffer. My homeland might burn again, even as the ashes from the last conflict were still in the process of cooling. To indulge Yith would be to betray my queen and the new vow I had sworn to the nation she served.


    Watching Catrin¡¯s miserable expression, I felt my jaw set into a stubborn line. I would find a way.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to get you out of this, Cat. I swear it.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± She asked dully. ¡°You heard him.¡±


    There were exorcisms, ways to cleanse her of the demon¡¯s influence. Nothing good ever came of trusting an abgru?dai to play fair.


    Some of my blood must have still been in her, because Catrin¡¯s eyes fixed on me sharply. ¡°You try to burn him out of me, you¡¯ll end up destroying us both. Don¡¯t you remember what happened earlier? Your magic hates me as much as it hates him.¡±


    She made no effort to disguise the bitterness in her voice. ¡°This whole land resents me being here. It hates me for not staying dead like I¡¯m supposed to.¡±


    My heart squeezed. I had seen her melancholic, but never like this. ¡°I am so sorry, Cat. I didn¡¯t realize... if I¡¯d remembered, been more cautious, it wouldn¡¯t have happened like that.¡±


    She let out a tired sigh. ¡°I think it would have, eventually. It¡¯s not really your power, is it? You¡¯re just a vessel, a conduit. We were playing with fire, Al. Should have expected to get burned.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Yith talking.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    The demonic beetle on her neck had vanished. Swallowing, I reached out a hand. ¡°Let me at least see to your wounds.¡±


    Catrin stared at my hand a long moment, then shook her head. ¡°No. Better I don¡¯t stick around here. You don¡¯t need distractions in the middle of everything else, and... I might be dangerous right now. I can still hear him whispering to me.¡±


    I put more force into my voice. ¡°You are not a distraction.¡±


    A familiar wry smile quirked her lips. ¡°I always was. Like you said, I¡¯m the little monster. I punched out of my weight, and the exact thing you warned me about happened. This is my fault.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said forcefully. ¡°This is him. You were just trying to do the right thing.¡±


    ¡°I was trying to impress you,¡± she said bluntly. ¡°I never really cared about revenge or saving the kingdom. I just liked the way you were with me.¡±


    Her head tilted to one side, her gaze sliding away from my face. ¡°Selfish, isn¡¯t it? And now I¡¯ve gone and messed everything up.¡±


    ¡°I will find a way to save you,¡± I promised her.


    ¡°And get this war you¡¯ve been trying to stop in the bargain?¡± Her smile turned brittle. ¡°I¡¯m not worth it.¡±


    My mouth opened, then closed. I¡¯d been about to say she was.


    But I didn¡¯t really need to say it, either. Catrin shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not. I don¡¯t want that.¡±


    She backed out of the moonlight, and I could seeher body sinking into the darkness like it were black water. Desperate, I took another step forward.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go. It¡¯s not safe for you to be alone right now, Cat.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t want me near you,¡± she said regretfully. ¡°He says you¡¯ll kill me, to save me from worse.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t!¡±


    I could only see her face now. She gave me a sad smile. ¡°You would. No matter how much it would hurt, you¡¯d do it for me. That¡¯s part of what I love about you.¡±


    I begged her to stop, but the next moment she had gone. Vampire and demon fled into the cracks between worlds, and I could no longer reach them.


    I¡¯m not certain how long I stood there, listening to the waves and the empty quality of Catrin¡¯s absence. Through my magic, I could still feel Yith¡¯s brief onslaught of hate like a burn mark in the world. Perhaps it would always linger in this tower, like an unseen stain.


    In a daze, I pulled my axe out of the darkness. Resting it in my shaking hands, I felt the dull despair creeping through me since the cemetery surge up strong enough to choke. Why show me how to touch her world, if I couldn¡¯t be with her there?


    I tossed the damned thing onto the floor, letting it clang over the stones.


    Three days. Three to kill Hyperia, and four to make sure two war-hungry lunatics didn¡¯t win the tournament. But if I killed the witch, I may as well kill her brother. It would end the same.


    Leave the Vykes be, and do my duty by the realms. Spare them, and betray Catrin to a fate worse than death. Kill them, and betray everyone else.


    I wasn¡¯t cut out for this. A crueler man would know what to do.


    Something stirred in the darkness. A soft thump, and a rustling noise. Immediately I went on guard. Had Yith returned? Or was it just the shades?


    Turning, I scanned the chamber. I saw nothing, and got no warning stir from my magic. But there had been something.


    My eyes fell on my cluttered desk. A breeze through the open window had scattered some paperwork. Approaching the desk, my eyes quickly fell on a single black book, little more than a journal, open to one of the middle pages.


    Lias¡¯s book. I hadn¡¯t been reading it lately. Had it been opened by the wind?


    The thought that spies might have been snooping around up here also passed through my thoughts. I did need some kind of guard.


    Picking the book up, I glanced at the page it had been open on. It wasn¡¯t one of the transcriptions the wizard had copied from the works of other scholars, but my old friend¡¯s personal research. I knew by the signature he¡¯d left on it. Arrogant fop.


    I started reading, and my heart began to beat quicker. Once again, I glanced around the room to see if I was truly alone. There was no sign of any soul, living or dead.


    Had one of the ghosts helped me? They weren¡¯t all malicious, though the more benign ones tended to keep away for fear of the predators prone to dogging my steps.


    Forcing calm, I looked back down to the page. The first passage was titled On the subject of extraplanar summoning, and of binding names.


    This could not be a coincidence. Lifting my eyes, I spoke to the seemingly empty room.


    ¡°Whoever you are, thank you.¡±


    Whether a ghost or some fey spirit tailing me from the elfwood, they had given me a small measure of hope. My plan might still work. Calerus, Hyperia, Yith, and all the other parasites who would turn my home into a waking nightmare would regret drawing my ire.


    I did not know if it would be the Headsman of Seydis or Rosanna¡¯s Sword who would raise steel at the end, but neither man would fail the people he loved.


    End of Arc 5

 Interlude: Proven By The Sword

    Interlude: Proven By The Sword


    Lightning flickered over distant waves as the two warriors faced each other. The storm lay too far out for the blast of thunder to be heard, and their meeting was preceded only by the stirring of a restless wind.


    Only ten long strides of trampled coastal gravel separated the two. It crunched softly beneath a steel sabaton as one knight shifted his step ever so slightly to the left. He adjusted his grip on the ornamented handle of his maul, a long pole studded with tiny jewels upon which a two-faced hammer had been grafted. The loose rocks beneath him shivered as the head of the weapon glided over them.


    His opponent stood still and serene as an aged tree, the green scales of his armor turned to brass by the scattered blades of sunlight breaking through the gray sky. His plumed helmet, crowned in metal antlers, shadowed all but the calm glint of focus in his eyes. This second knight held a long, slender sword in his right hand and a tower shield shaped like an oak leaf in his left.@@@@


    A second breeze stirred both warriors¡¯ decorative surcoats, made the little bells and fetishes on their armor rattle. The sun beams set their steel to shining and reflected bright on the medals they wore around shoulder and waist, each the mark of an honor gained or a land visited, each trapping precious memories and nostalgic scents inside.


    The warrior with the maul wore dark gray iron inlayed with images of snarling hounds and wizened trolls. He was from a mountain realm, stocky and strong, his weapon as good for cracking the stone skin of feral dwarf giants and the vaults they guarded as for laying low other men. His helm covered his entire head and face, leaving only a thin slit for the eyes and a scattering of breathing holes like freckles beneath.


    His opponent was tall and festooned in autumnal colors, like some hunter lord out of an old fable. He held an elegant sword entwined with living vines from pommel to hilt. Ashen brown hair spilled from his bright helm.


    They were not alone on the field, but they were the last to bare fangs at one another. The wounded and surrendered sat, crouched, or lay limp on the gritty terrain around them, forced to wait for the conclusion of their melee to play out before they could rest or tend to their injuries.


    A young man with a warrior¡¯s braid and garments of white and blue robe beneath his half-plate sat on a cracked boulder nearby, a heavy swordspear propped against his seat. He leaned forward, his youthful face intent on the duel. He had not yet cleaned the blood from his weapon, and spared not a glance for the still body sprawled nearby.


    Over the disquiet sea, more lightning flashed. This time, the muted rumble of distant thunder did reach the fighters.


    The hammer wielder moved first. The enchantment woven into his helm made his furious shout a brassy growl, and in a storm of scattering rock and wind he brought his weapon down on the field. Hard packed sand and solid rock erupted in a splintering line near thirty feet long, shredding its way toward his opponent. Along that line, jagged stone teeth punched upward like falling dominoes in reverse.


    A two-pronged attack. The initial shudder of disrupted earth made the scaled knight stumble, leaving him off guard for the ensuing phalanx of emerging rock.


    He righted himself, making it look as though he used the trembling ground to propel that motion, then moved with a flicker of speed that beggared belief and tricked the eye. Like a tumbling leaf on an errant breeze, like a sparrow taking flight, he flashed into motion. Dodging each stone blade even as it burst up to skewer him, he pirouetted toward his opponent on elf-light feet.


    He leapt, a maneuver that should not have been possible in his heavy coat of scales and plates of steel, nor with the weight of a shield barely more than a head shorter than himself. His steel shoes lit sparks across a tooth of stone kicked up by the hammer wielder¡¯s technique, turning that weapon intended to bow him into a stepping stone to his own victory.


    If the mountain knight¡¯s eyes widened beneath his helm, it could not be seen through the mask. But he watched, transfixed, doing little more than lifting his armament in a half hearted defense.


    The Ironleaf landed, skidding to a stop several paces behind his opponent with his shield upraised as though to meet a charge and his blade stretched to the side. The residue of morning rain scattered around him.


    Also curious the enigmatic Presider spoke for his faction. That did not seem to bode well for the spitting viper they¡¯d voted into command. Jocelyn wondered if he should feel comforted by that, or trepidatious.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Siriks Sontae griped from his rock. ¡°All this fuss, and they just let it go?¡±


    The swirling eddies of wind did not catch the young warrior¡¯s voice for the stands. Jocelyn wasn¡¯t quite certain how that worked, and why some words they could speak normally and others the Coloss enhanced. He ignored Siriks, all too glad for this sad dispute to be done.


    His eyes went to the girl this matter was all about, or at least the one who¡¯d found herself unwilling mascot to it. Laessa Greengood stood among her relatives and allies, most prominently the Grimhearts. She¡¯d been given a spot of honor directly below and to the left of the Empress, who sat beside her husband on the royal spire. A not-so-subtle snub to the Priory, there. No older than twenty, Laessa¡¯s expression seemed shocked, like she couldn¡¯t quite believe the result.


    Somewhere within Jocelyn, something serpentine and hungry stirred from its fitful slumber. He had been cautious during the fight, keeping himself from feeling too impassioned, maintaining his stoic calm for fear it might sense the violence and emerge.


    He had let his guard down for just a moment, letting himself feel satisfied in success, and the Other had sensed it. It followed the direction of his gaze, and let out a greedy hiss that thrummed through his soul.


    You have saved her. Now claim her. Make her yours. Belongs to you. Kill the rest. Let all know you are mightiest. Kill. Claim. Take. Feast. Rule.


    Jocelyn drew in a sharp, shuddering breath and fought the presence down. He would not lose control here. He was himself. He was human. He was not that thing.


    She is not mine, she is her own. I am my own. You are a parasite.


    The Other bared its teeth at him in that abstract place it resided, both real and unreal, like an unspoken thought. It retreated back into the shadowed recesses of potentiality, and went quiet.


    But not gone. Always there, and always ready to test him. Jocelyn breathed hard from more than just the fresh exertion of battle. He caught the eye of the Cymrinorean, who was smirking at him, and quickly averted his gaze. He almost missed one of the Grimheart men stepping forward, his hand on Lady Laessa¡¯s shoulder as he pumped a fist into the air.


    Jocelyn felt a stab of anger, and it wasn¡¯t all the wyrm.


    ¡°Do you hear!?¡± Gerard Grimheart¡¯s voice boomed into the sky. ¡°Tell all you meet! She is not a witch! She is not guilty! LAESSA IS INNOCENT!¡±


    And the thousands packed upon the high walls of the Coloss began to roar.

 Arc 6: Chapter 1: Coloss

    Arc 6: Chapter 1: Coloss


    Before the soaring spires of the Fulgurkeep were lifted up from lashing, storm-wracked waters of Garihelm¡¯s bay, the Coloss was the crown of the coastal realms. And like the golden circlets of many famed monarchs, it had been baptized in blood.


    It stands upon a long point of near solid rock, a stony cleft jutting out from the winding islands of the capital¡¯s lagoon like a belligerent spear. Dominating most of that island, the central field of the arena is mostly hard packed gray coastal sand and gravel scattered over smooth slate. It holds an almost imperceptible incline, rising even as it narrows and stabs over the water.


    To either side of this shelf are two arcs of elevated stone, and these were not made from the violence of now dead volcanoes. They were lifted by the ancient builders who once ruled the coastlands, perhaps by the very ones who¡¯d fashioned the deep catacombs beneath the lagoon. Tall, carved from stone such a pale gray it is nearly like marble, these soaring curtain walls curve toward one another like reaching lovers, and within their inner curves are tiered rows and sheltered nooks where thousands can gather to watch the struggles inside their shadow.


    The walls rise directly from the sea along the narrowest reach of the island, connecting to the arena field by narrow bridges and supported by pillars strong as the roots of mountains. Near every inch of these spires are carved with intricate designs, forming windows and shelves upon its face where the visages of weeping saints and robed lords pass silent judgement on those who fight beneath them.


    Only later, after the eastward exodus and the rise of the Reynish kings, did gargoyles come to nest in place of those more ancient figures, making the stadium pillars seem more like bee hives of snarling devils.


    The Coloss has seen more death than even some of the oldest elves. I could feel the violent history of the place through my fingertips where they brushed stone, or like a hum in my ears. The lamentations of defeat and the roars of triumph hummed through me, not unlike the half-real voices of a remembered dream.


    And I had to wonder whether those were the kinds of ghosts we might wake from their dreams, should our struggling grow too loud.


    Waves lapped against the structure beneath me. The recessed walkway in which I stood was intended for competitors, a sheltered alcove beneath the stands where the tourney knights could get a close view of the battles across the arena¡¯s moat. There were stables for war chimera below, and many other rooms. The way I¡¯d heard it, the pagan kings who once ruled these islands had kept beasts down there to murder their slaves for sport.


    I would like to have felt sickened by that, but were our ways any less barbaric? We prettied our sacrifices up more and lavished them with names and honors, but this was no gentle play. There would be blood spilled over the next three days.


    There had been already. Three of those who had fought either on behalf of the Priory or the formerly accused Laessa Greengood had died of their wounds that morning. A fourth had been killed outright by the Cymrinorean, Siriks Sontae, before he had sat the rest of the melee out and allowed the Ironleaf to claim the final glory.


    Or so I¡¯d heard. I witnessed none of it, having had other business to attend.


    I passed through scattered groups of competitors as I navigated the alcoves. Not even during the subcontinent¡¯s great civil war had I seen so many different realms represented in a such a compact space. There were Reynish knight-marines, Bannerlands cavaliers, a mismatched assortment of warriors from the Bairn Cities who looked at one another with more suspicion than they did any foreigner. Festooned in silvered steel bright enough to reflect my image back at me stood Idhiran lancers fresh arrived from their rich valleys. They intermingled with graceful swordmasters from Mirrebel and proud lordlings from Venturmoor.


    And more still, from a score of disparate realms and far flung corners of Urn. Richly adorned knight-rangers from Lindenroad, who are said to have elven blood in their veins. There were axe-wielding woodsmen in long hauberks from the outskirts of Hast Eryn and hunching, sullen warriors from the Wyldedales, whose eyes held a distinctly animal glint.


    Hardly any two matched, and each fighter wore their legend on their person in medals, trophies, curious favors, and distinctive or even outlandish styles both in steel and cloth. Our trade with the continent had elevated a standing tradition of artistry in war, and I saw many helms resembling strange fish or fruits, or even more abstract images.


    Compared to them, I must have been a dingy and uninspiring sight. Clad in shadowy black chain mail torn and disfigured from countless battles so it hung around my shoulders and thighs in a shroud of broken links, and wrapped in a cloak red as blood with a pointed cowl, I did not look much like a tourney knight.


    I did not intend to. I walked then as the Headsman, and did not care who saw.


    The eyes of those I passed followed me as I drifted through the viewing halls, conversation halting in my wake like a passing wave of silence. Some wore all their finery, while others sat on stools or the bases of pillars while they prepped their gear. Many had squires and pages attending to their needs, while others were of a more modest sort.


    They knew who I was, or they had heard the stories. Some gave me nods of what might have been respect, while others turned up their noses or glared in anger or challenge. I ignored every eye.


    Through the stone above my head, the muted thunder of the crowd near shook the hallway. The urge to look out over the water and see what had caused the fuss tugged at me, but I remained focused on my task.


    Finding a stairwell leading down into the bowels of the wall, I padded down until the omnipresent din of the spectators and chatting knights faded. The musk of beasts and stale air replaced the scents of sword oil and rain.


    Compared to the open design of the higher levels, the sections below were darkly lit and claustrophobic. There were more knights down here, but they were well outnumbered by laborers, pages, animal handlers, and other assorted staff. I went from a narrow hall into a huge tunnel, one of three spread across the wall¡¯s long arc. Cages of wood and iron held the steeds that would carry prospective champions onto the field when the tall doors at the end of the tunnel lifted.


    Those pens were lit by an array of alchemical lanterns, where in the past I suspected more traditional oil lamps and braziers would have dominated. I appreciated the change, as it kept air already gravid with chimera stink from being doubly filled with damp heat and clinging smoke.


    I had to pause as a harried looking page carrying buckets full of boiled pig¡¯s blood passed, no doubt hauling his burden to the pen of an impatient war beast. One lesson I learned early in my life ¡ª no matter how hard one thinks themself, never get in a page¡¯s way when they¡¯re on an urgent task.


    I took that moment to scan the crowded room, and found my target. Forging through the chaos, I soon drew near a man wearing the uniform of a tournament organizer, with a long scroll pinned to a wooden block in one hand and a length of charcoal in the other. He noticed me before I reached him. His face went pale, his posture stiffening. He tried to find an exit. The pen of a particularly irate and spiny cockatrice stood at his back, and most everywhere else was blocked off by people.


    That moment¡¯s indecision gave me the time to reach out and grasp his shoulder before he could bolt. The lanky man froze and forced a shaky smile onto his face. ¡°Ah! Alken, it¡¯s so good to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Save it.¡± Narrowing my eyes I added, ¡°What are you doing down here?¡±


    Cairbre, royal herald of the imperial court, hesitated. His gaunt features beaded with sweat, most of it from the humid, crowded tunnel. His shoulders slumped in a sighed. ¡°I was let go from my position with the court.¡±


    Cairbre had been a terrible herald. His memory was sharp, and he could hold a ridiculous number of names and titles in his head, but he got terrible fits of nervousness when any sort of attention was directed his way. I hadn¡¯t expected to see him in the livery of a tournament organizer, though I would take the stroke of luck.


    Despite my pressed time, I was still curious enough to ask. ¡°Why?¡±


    Cairbre let out another defeated sigh. ¡°I announced the Lady Janice Martyr as Zelda of Hacklewood, who is significantly, um, older and more robust of frame. She did not take it well.¡±


    I inwardly winced in sympathy for the man. ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my first mishap, as you well know.¡± Cairbre turned his glum eyes on me, which suddenly hardened with irritation. ¡°So if you¡¯re here for court gossip, I must disappoint you. As you can see, I am quite busy with other matters.¡±


    He waved at the stables with his tablet.


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not here for gossip.¡± I pointed at his scroll. ¡°I want to see the tourney lists.¡±


    Cairbre let out a titter. When I just stared at him levelly, he frowned. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. Only the tourney council is allowed to know what¡¯s on the lists, and its members are hand picked by the Emperor! I can¡¯t just let you look at them.¡±


    He lowered his voice to a hiss. ¡°It would be cheating.¡±


    I folded my arms, glowering down at him. ¡°I answer directly to His Grace.¡±


    Cairbre nodded indulgently. ¡°Then you must have a writ from him explaining that you are allowed to see the lists?¡±


    When I just stared, he let a queasy smile curve his lips. ¡°No? Well then.¡±


    He started to turn. I shifted to block his path. He swallowed, but a stubborn glint lit in his eyes.


    ¡°I am lucky not to be a beggar on the streets right now!¡± The former herald growled. ¡°The Royal Steward gave me this post, a chance to redeem myself and show my quality. I¡¯m not going to mess it up on your account, Hewer. You can find out who¡¯s fighting who as they are announced, just like everyone else.¡±


    I admit to being impressed. I¡¯d taken Cairbre as a wet blanket, and hadn¡¯t expected this sort of defiance from him. He¡¯d caved to my earlier methods of intimidation after I¡¯d caught him wracking up gambling debts in brothels and seedy taverns.


    But I didn¡¯t have time to respect his resolve. Instead, leaning forward and lowering my voice much as I could and still be heard over the stable¡¯s din, I made him an offer.


    ¡°I know you have a taste for less conventional entertainment, Cairbre.¡±


    The man sniffed. ¡°What of it?¡±


    I leaned closer, almost speaking into his ear. ¡°I can get you into the Backroad.¡±


    The change in his thin features was immediate and dramatic. His jaw flexed. His eyes lit with excitement, then doubt, then a restless hunger.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± he accused.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I told him calmly. ¡°I have an open invitation, and I know people there. I¡¯ve even spoken with the Keeper a number of times. I¡¯m certain I could get you through the door.¡±


    ¡°What are you, some kind of devil? I¡¯ve heard the rumors about that place... about what it costs to use it.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to give your soul,¡± I told him bluntly. Not the first time, anyway.


    I didn¡¯t comment on his devil accusation. It wasn¡¯t too far off the mark, as far as the realms were concerned. The memory of all those suspicious, angry eyes among the knights in the halls above flashed through my thoughts.


    He was torn, I could tell. The Backroad is a place one finds by invitation only, or it finds you. Those who knew its name of it often hungered for the unearthly delights it offered. Secrets, paths to hidden domains, the pleasure of inhuman company. All of it was on offer in that ill-rumored establishment.


    Did I feel good about tossing this man into that fly trap? Cairbre wasn¡¯t an evil fellow. A bit of a wastrel, perhaps, but he¡¯d never hurt anyone to my knowledge.


    I did not have the time to be scrupulous about my methods. If Cairbre gave more of himself than was wise to the Keeper¡¯s dangerous garden, then that was his folly. There was more at stake.


    So, making the choice to push through his shaking resolve, I plucked an ancient bronze coin from my belt. Holding it out, I showed him the odd designs on its face. ¡°This will get you through the front door. I¡¯ll tell you the trick to finding it... after I see the lists.¡±


    Caibre swallowed, hesitated another moment, then snatched the coin out of my hand. ¡°Fine. Fine, just... follow me, then.¡±


    He led me through the stables, navigating the crowded space with the ease of familiarity. For partly the same reason I wanted to see the lists, I noted all the different and exotic beasts who would soon be snarling and snapping at each other down on the island.


    In ancient days, the fabled steeds known by names such as Destrier and Courser were the loyal companions of chivalrous knights. That had been before mage-alchemists and their ilk had made the chimera and all its many strange variations, spreading them across the world to proliferate and dominate wild ecosystems.


    And yet, something of the horse still resided in those creatures around me. Perhaps it¡¯s nostalgia that made it so, but it is considered a mark of prestige to ride a war beast more closely resembling the traditional knightly mount. Some were bulky and powerful, others sleek and swift, and just as many sported razor sharp scales as fur, or snapping beaks rather than teeth. Some were omnivorous, or even fully predators rather than herbivores.


    But each of them had something of the shape of the horse. All had been bred for battle, to carry an armored warrior and act as both weapon and companion.


    It had been a long time since I¡¯d ridden one.


    Cairbre noted where my gaze lingered. ¡°Gorgeous beasts, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    I glanced at him in surprise. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you as a man to appreciate animals, Cairbre.¡±


    He sniffed. ¡°There¡¯s a lot about me you don¡¯t know, Hewer.¡±


    That was fair enough, and I let the matter drop. The man led me down a side passage, and we passed a number of small rooms. Some of them held the muted sound of conversation, or even argument.


    Another uproar from the stands hushed our conversation as Ser Orion, desperate to turn the tables, delivered a furious upward slash that caught his brother under the helm. His twin jerked back, stumbled, and fell in a clattering heap. His helmet had split, and even from a distance I could see blood dripping down to the gray sand.


    Aura worked into the blade, I thought. Gives it a bite that can cleave even steel. I wondered how many such fell tools would be used in this.


    There probably wouldn¡¯t be many who didn¡¯t. There would be no blunted swords down on that rock, much less blunted souls.


    Ser Alphus still lived, though it had to be an ugly wound beneath his helmet. Orion started to pace around him. Though I should not have been able to hear what he said from so far, the strange magic of the Coloss took up his voice and turned it into a rolling, growling echo that circled around the stands like a swirling wave.


    ¡°Get up.¡± The older man made a lunging motion at his brother, then started pacing again. ¡°Get up, damn you!¡±


    Movement at the end of the alcove drew my eye away from the battle. Ser Jocelyn, still clad in his tournament armor, approached me with his usual serene expression. Dust and a bit of blood still clung to him. In the tradition of tourney, no one would wash their gear until the day¡¯s struggles were done.


    On the glorysworn¡¯s arm strode Lady Laessa Greengood, along with a pair of lesser ranking handmaidens and her friend, Esmeralda.


    I bowed to the group. ¡°My lady. You have my congratulations on the outcome of this morning¡¯s contest.¡±


    Esmerelda, who bore the family name Grimheart and who looked like a particularly cheerful orange flower, replied on her friend¡¯s behalf in a bubbling gush. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s Jocelyn you should be congratulating. Did you see that move at the end? He was like a harlequin. A particularly lethal, handsome one.¡±


    Jocelyn coughed, while Laessa¡¯s dusky skin turned even darker with a blush. I did not want to admit that after everything, I hadn¡¯t even watched her trial by combat.


    ¡°The last we spoke,¡± I noted cautiously, ¡°you told me it would be best if we did not associate, my lady.¡±


    Laessa nodded cooly. ¡°I am simply taking a stroll along the walls on my way to see some of my family¡¯s benefactors, and enjoying the company of the champion who proved my innocence. If I run across another servant of the Emperor during my rounds, then it is of little consequence.¡±


    The two handmaidens looked very nervous at the sight of me, while Esmerelda only giggled prettily. I caught Jocelyn¡¯s calm eyes, and understood.


    The click of boots echoing down the alcove interrupted our conversation. The moment I saw who approached my guard went up. Laessa went still, Esmerelda lost her smile, and Ser Jocelyn took a slight step closer to his charge.


    The man who walked to us stood just above average height, had a scarecrow¡¯s build, and wore a black uniform and black cape colored only by the red trident stitched at his shoulder. He met my eyes evenly, without seeming bothered by the golden glint int hem. His own were a faded blue, and devoid of passion.


    ¡°You should not be here, Presider.¡± Esmerelda¡¯s voice almost shook with anger. ¡°This is most uncouth.¡±


    Oraise, Presider of the Aureate Inquisition, gave our group a correct bow. His voice held a dryness to it that went beyond any lack of emotion. ¡°I simply wished to offer my congratulations to the good knight on his victory, and assure House Greengood that it should fear no reprisal from the Priory.¡±


    Laessa¡¯s voice snapped out like a wintry gust. ¡°You could have said as much with a letter, ser.¡±


    The inquisitor¡¯s neutral expression did not so much as twitch. ¡°Perhaps.¡± He glanced at me, and I understood then this had very little to do with Laessa Greengood. It never had, really.


    ¡°How¡¯s your shoulder?¡± I asked him. Petty, perhaps, but I can be that at times.


    Oraise did smile then. A stiff, cool little twitch of his lips. ¡°I am well on the road to recovery. I understand you are owed congratulations as well, Ser Alken. You lacked that title last we spoke. Now you have the Emperor¡¯s ear.¡±


    ¡°Like you did?¡± I lifted an eyebrow at him. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you at council all these weeks.¡±


    ¡°The Priory is undergoing a certain degree of... reorganization. We have you to thank for that, of course.¡±


    ¡°Are you here to threaten us?¡± Laessa glared at the man who would have been her confessor, and torturer.


    Oraise blinked. ¡°No. I am here to deliver a message.¡±


    He turned directly to me then, making no effort to hide who the message was for. ¡°All involved in our dispute believed they were doing their duty on behalf of this Accord. We struck our blows, and took our wounds, but we are all still the Emperor¡¯s servants, and Hers. It is my order¡¯s sincerest hope that we might move forward more amicably, perhaps even cooperate in the distribution of justice.¡±


    ¡°Justice!?¡± Esmerelda let out a high, shrill laugh. ¡°Is that what you want to call what your priorguard were doing?¡±


    The Presider ignored the Grimheart, keeping his ice-chip eyes on me. I studied him, and felt a small chill.


    ¡°Should I assume this message comes from the Priory as a whole?¡± I asked him. ¡°The way I hear it, your Grand Prior isn¡¯t too happy about my elevation, or Ser Jocelyn¡¯s victory.¡±


    Oraise¡¯s expression turned remote again. ¡°Grand Prior Diana is still grieving over the death of her predecessor. I am certain she will be made to see a more constructive path forward, with time and council.¡±


    Which meant this message wasn¡¯t from the current leader of the Priory. At least, not the perceived leader.


    ¡°Tell your order...¡± I paused a moment, considering my words. ¡°Tell your leader that I will be happy to have a discussion about everything that¡¯s happened any time. Face to face.¡±


    Oraise considered my words a moment, and I think he understood them. ¡°I shall pass along the message. My ladies. Ser Ironleaf. Headsman.¡±


    He bowed to the others, then turned and departed in a swirl of black cloth and clicking boots. I watched him go until he¡¯d vanished up a stair at the alcove¡¯s far end, trying to hide my reeling emotions beneath a calm exterior.


    Lias. Just what are you up to?


    ¡°I do not like that man,¡± Lady Esmerelda said conversationally. ¡°He has the eyes of a corpse. Do you think he¡¯s a dyghoul?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I told her with assurance. ¡°He is very much alive, in body at least.¡±


    Laessa shivered as though from a sudden chill, then disentangled from the Ironleaf¡¯s arm. ¡°I need some fresh air. If you ladies would accompany me up to the stands?¡±


    The young women departed, save for Emma. She skulked in the shadows, wary of the young aristos despite them being of age. She had never seemed comfortable around what should have been her peers.


    Jocelyn drew up close so he could speak in a hushed voice. ¡°Were you successful?¡±


    I folded my arms, forcing the encounter with Oraise out of my mind. ¡°Yes. You¡¯re probably not going to get a chance at Calerus today. The Emperor is trying to attrition him through mass melees. I¡¯m probably going to be fighting Siriks at some point, but I can¡¯t tell how soon.¡±


    ¡°The time each bout takes can be hard to predict,¡± Jocelyn agreed. ¡°And this other ally of yours?¡±


    I had told him a bit about Karog. ¡°He¡¯ll probably get a shot at our foe before either of us. As a foreigner of no renown, he¡¯s also been consigned to group skirmishes.¡± I snorted. ¡°We should pity the chaff that get tossed in with him.¡±


    Jocelyn¡¯s eyes drifted down to the field. The younger Hakker was still struggling to rise, with his brother heckling and berating him. I could see steam rising from the gray rock around Alphus, more signs of his nascent power. Shouts and jeers ran across the stands above us, half muted by the thick stone roof.


    ¡°Ugly business,¡± I noted idly. ¡°Brother against brother.¡±


    ¡°There are many ugly feelings wrapped up in all of this,¡± Jocelyn said. ¡°I feel as though the Emperor underestimated just how much.¡±


    I studied him in silence. I did not know much about Ser Jocelyn, other than the fact there was much I did not know.


    ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± the Ironleaf said. ¡°You look troubled, and did before that inquisitor interrupted us.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Just some small hitch in the plan. I¡¯ll deal with it.¡± He did not need to worry over my matchups.


    Jocelyn didn¡¯t seem convinced, but I had no interest in confiding in a near stranger. We might have been allies, but he did not need to know about my secret plans.


    Or about Catrin.


    He let the matter drop, turning in a rustle of his autumn-orange cape. ¡°I need to prepare for my next bout. I¡¯ve heard Lord Aining is a keen blade, and I wish to be ready.¡±


    I nodded. Jocelyn paused before ascending one of the nearby stairs to rejoin his entourage.


    ¡°We may not get many more chances to speak privately through all of this, but I wish you luck. And should we meet down on that field, I will fight you honorably.¡±


    I regarded him with a soft smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t promise the same, Ironleaf. There¡¯s too much at stake for me to hold back.¡±


    He considered that a moment, then nodded. ¡°I understand. In any case, I will probably not even know you, so the matter is moot.¡±


    After he¡¯d gone, Emma sidled up to my side. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell him how to recognize you?¡±


    ¡°The fewer who know, the less chance the secret will get out. Better if I catch our enemies by surprise.¡±


    I turned to leave myself, then glanced at my squire. ¡°Is the lance ready?¡±


    She gave me a Carreon smile. ¡°Oh, we are prepared. Though, Hendry is held up with his father currently. I¡¯m concerned he may be too preoccupied for this.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Well, we¡¯ll make do without him if we have to. Let¡¯s get going. I¡¯m set to fight not long after Jocelyn, and I need to be ready.¡±


    ¡°Time to see our illustrious leaders then?¡± Emma took up position at my side.


    A sudden silence fell over the Coloss, allowing us to a hear a hoarse shout from down below. The arena¡¯s magic did not enhance it, making the cry of anguish seem oddly muted. We looked down to the field.


    The second brother had not gotten back up.

 Arc 6: Chapter 2: Festival of War

    Arc 6: Chapter 2: Festival of War


    The royal box, better known as the Arbiter¡¯s Spire, swarmed with activity as I entered. Just my luck.


    House Forger elites stood guard at the stair, and they admitted me without hassle. Emma had to wait outside, and she made a good show of scowling about it before slinking off to wait for me. The sullen youth, sent off while her master attended more interesting business.


    Or so we wanted anyone watching to believe. After Emil, I did not know who to trust even among the royal household.


    The stair cut directly into the column itself, winding up in a spiral until it brought me into what could best be described as an open mouth or eye within the structure. I took in the high ceiling on entering, the walls decorated with curtains and tapestries, the unwalled section overlooking the arena island.


    The Twinbolt Knight, apparently told to expect my arrival, quietly ushered me off to the side and indicated I should wait. He did it all without speaking a word, but I understood what he wanted easily enough just by observing the room.


    The Emperor was in attendance with guests. When I saw who one of those guests were, it took every ounce of my self control not to react.


    ¡°I understand your father¡¯s concerns, princess.¡± Markham spoke in a voice calm as spring rain. ¡°And I am not blind to the misgivings shared by many of the factions once at odds with we who founded this Accord. I can tell you that I am interested in peace and stability, not reprisal.¡±


    ¡°Well spoken, Your Majesty, but I must confess some small measure of doubt on behalf of my family and those it represents. After all, you have been keeping him close to you. Well met, Ser Headsman.¡±


    My entry had not gone unnoticed as I¡¯d hoped. All eyes in the room went to me, and I regretted not waiting outside longer. Not that I could¡¯ve known there would be a viper waiting for me.


    The spacious room contained some seats, all arranged so they could look out over the rocky island below. Two of those were ornate cushioned thrones for the comfort of the Imperial Presences, and both were presently occupied by the Emperor and the Empress. Markham sat dour and dark on the right seat, his golden gauntlet and circlet the only color against his militant garb. Rosanna had opted for dark garments as well, perhaps conscientious of the martial atmosphere. She caught my eye without turning her head, and I saw the cautious set of her mouth.


    There were others, mostly courtiers and important guests. The Royal Steward was not in attendance, perhaps busying himself with the palace¡¯s care in its masters absence, but the Royal Clericon stood at a podium with all her scribing tools. The old advisor who¡¯d been with Snoe? Farram stood on the wall opposite me. The Graillman looked to be in hushed conversation with Oswald Pardoner, High Judge and Lord-Protector of the Bairn Cities.


    Most of the courtiers stood, with only a few of the more honored ones given humbler chairs spread around the twin thrones like unfolded wings. Desmond Wake stood at the Emperor¡¯s side, just to the right and behind his throne. He seemed quiet, old, and calm. He also looked at me, though I could not read the emotion behind his thoughtful eyes.


    My attention remained firmly on the young woman seated on a cushioned stool at the Emperor¡¯s right hand, the most honored spot in the box. She flashed white teeth at me in a beatific smile.


    Taking a deep breath to steady the sudden uncertain patter of my heart, I moved at a small gesture of Markham¡¯s left hand to stand with the group at the room¡¯s front. Warm air smelling of rain brushed my face as I drew near the window overlooking the Coloss. It cut out nearly the entire wall on that section of the room, with only a waist-high ledge to keep me from falling.


    The only place to stand and not be right next to the witch was at Rosanna¡¯s left. This put me on the opposite side of the two leaders of the realms from my enemy. I did not miss the symbolism in that, however circumstantial it might have been.


    ¡°I understand you have not been formally introduced to the princess, Ser Alken?¡± Markham said conversationally, reaching for a tall cup of wine set on a small table between the two thrones. An old tradition, for two married monarchs to share from one cup in settings like this.


    ¡°We have passed one another by a few times, Your Grace.¡± I kept my voice casual as his, doing my best to look at the field below while keeping the Vyke in the corner of my vision.


    ¡°I have been so curious!¡± Hyperia Vyke tittered girlishly. ¡°You have made such a name for yourself these past months. I¡¯ve wanted to talk face to face, but you¡¯re always rushing about.¡±


    ¡°Ser Alken has been given a very trying and complicated set of duties,¡± the Empress said. She impressed me with how calm and courteous she made the statement, no double meaning or aggression slipping through. ¡°It makes it very difficult for him to engage more personally with the court.¡±


    ¡°A shame,¡± the Princess of Talsyn sighed. ¡°It can be all too easy to become alienated from those you serve with distance. Why, my own people feel very isolated from the realms at large, in the embrace of our mountains. I must say, it is very impressive how much change has touched this great city since the war. The way the knights back in Talsyn say it, it practically burned to its roots!¡±


    Only by clamping my jaw shut hard enough to make my teeth ache did I manage not to reply. Her father had been the general behind this city¡¯s siege. His men had burned the fields, destroyed the sacred forests, foolishly broken open ancient crypts across the countryside. They had butchered the bridge trolls who¡¯d collected their tolls since our realms were young like cattle, and smashed this city with weapons the God-Queen Herself had forbidden.


    The Emperor¡¯s own father had died in that battle. How could he sit there and let this girl mock him? But he remained calm as the stone around us, sipping at his goblet before passing it to Rosanna, who also tasted its contents. They both seemed relaxed.


    This is going to drive me mad, I thought.


    ¡°To address your concern regarding my court¡¯s latest addition,¡± Markham said after he¡¯d settled back into his throne. ¡°As you were there that day, I am certain you understand the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°You mean how he is a murderous vigilante, Your Grace, and we¡¯ve all accepted him because two beings who profess to be angels told us he serves them?¡±


    The hush in the viewing box took on a sharper quality. Rosanna¡¯s fingers tightened against the left arm of her chair, something only I noticed.


    Hyperia let that silence linger, then let out a breathy laugh. ¡°Ah! Apologies. I forget how pious the majority can be. In Talsyn, we still follow the old ways. The Onsolain are often honored, but we do not see them as our liege lords. More like... volatile forces of nature to be appeased.¡±


    ¡°They are the stewards of God,¡± the Royal Clericon said from behind her stand. She was not as good at hiding her unease as the Empress. ¡°We tend to this land under their guidance.¡±


    Hyperia cast a disdainful look at the old cleric. ¡°So when they redirect rivers on idle whims, when rakish elves steal our people and alter our children, when they lay curses on us for being human and enact punishment when we stray, that is just guidance?¡±


    She glanced at me as she said this, the twinkle of amusement in her eyes never fading.


    ¡°I am well aware of the discontent that led to our divisions,¡± Markham interjected. ¡°But your father¡¯s higher ideals about mortal autonomy did not create the Fall, princess. That war was generations in the making, and brewed from old grudges among the Houses. It was a war between mortal men, not gods and devils, even if we did end up involving them in our quarrels.¡±


    Laertes doesn¡¯t think so, I thought. But then, could that old vampire really be trusted? Any truth he offered might have contained a drip of poison. He could also be mad.


    I wanted him to be mad. That was a less frightening prospect than the things he¡¯d implied.


    Again Markham took up the lacquered cup set between him and his wife. A beautiful piece encased in spiraling vines of gold and silver, House Forger and House Silvering interlinked over a strong body. Aspirational, that cup.


    ¡°I will not dispute that,¡± Hyperia offered. She seemed genuine, which I did not trust. ¡°But you must understand, Your Grace, that it is difficult for my country to expect good faith from you, when institutions such as the Inquisition are reformed and given the power to root out heresy. The Church sees my entire people as apostate. Will we be forced to reconvert? To give up our old traditions, to bow before the edicts of enigmatic immortal masters and their priests? Even when many of those priests seem disfavored by the divine?¡±


    The Royal Clericon, rattled but seeming calmer, pushed back into the conversation. By the stubborn glint in her eyes, I got the sense the two had locked horns about this before. ¡°The Priory acted on its own, flaunting its power over the people. It does not represent the Church as a whole, but it does represent a key problem with our clergy being so factionalized. Besides, the clergy still maintains a presence in your homeland, princess.¡±


    Hyperia smirked. ¡°The Oracastia, you mean? I am afraid it has little in common with the modern Church. They are scribes, astrologers, and keepers of knowledge, not preachers who maintain doctrine with an iron fist.¡±@@@@


    The cleric¡¯s voice took on an insistent quality. ¡°But you accept that the God-Queen of Urn is also the one True God, rightful heir to the Throne of Heaven? That all belongs to Her, by divine right, and that Her laws are sacrosanct?¡±


    I could see the sneer in Hyperia¡¯s eyes, even if it did not form on her lips. She loathed that old priestess, but she also sat next to the man called the First Sword of the Aureate Faith, whose position relied on the clergy¡¯s good will. She just smiled sweetly.


    I wondered if the old priestess was acting. Emil had been her man. Did she conspire with the Vykes? Did they have some blackmail on her? I couldn¡¯t be certain, and hadn¡¯t dared questioned her about it.


    ¡°Her laws, perhaps.¡± Hyperia waved an airy hand at the old woman. ¡°But my people also remember well the old annals, which say many of those spirits we call Onsolain were once the pagan godlings who ruled this world through fear as much as love. God is absent now, waging war to reclaim Her divine kingdom. It has been most of a millennium, good clericon. Who is to say those old powers who bent the knee to our God-Queen do not now chafe under Her laws? That they do not seek to once again rule us as dread lords, as they did over our ancient ancestors?¡±


    ¡°A most disturbing suggestion, princess.¡± Rosanna gave the younger woman an indulgent smile. ¡°And all your people feel this may be the case?¡±


    Hyperia shrugged. ¡°There is plenty of evidence. Just take our friend in the red cloak here. When lords and priests anger the gods, they send him with his fell axe. And where is your weapon, Headsman? Did the guards have to take it from you before allowing you near the imperial family?¡±


    Inhaling slowly, I turned my head to meet the princess¡¯s eyes. In my calmest, most assured voice I said, ¡°I am always prepared to protect my homeland, princess.¡±


    Evangeline rode almost to the opposing group of knights before turning, the motion haughty in its elegance. Her steed pranced along their line, mocking them while they watched in grim silence.


    The bear snorted and shook, jostling its rider on his seat. He jerked the reins savagely, emitting another brassy growl from his chimera but forcing it to settle and turn. He lowered his weapon again. A squire rushed through the ranks of competitors to give the Lady Ark another lance, which she took calmly.


    The herald¡¯s voice boomed out over the shouting crowds. ¡°BEAUTIFULLY STRUCK! The first pass to the Lady Ark!¡±


    Hyperia laughed and clapped her hands. ¡°Oh, I like her! Do you see how that man trembles with indignation? Will he boil inside his armor, do you think?¡±


    Rosanna spoke with far more calm. ¡°She has much to prove, princess. Evangeline seeks a throne, and the Bannerlands have not seen strong leadership in many years.¡±


    Conversation trailed off as the knights once more took up position, this time starting from opposite ends from where they¡¯d begun.


    And the drums thundered. BUM. BUM. BA-BA-BUM.


    Again, the two jousters charged. This time, Lochlan¡¯s bear swiped at the destrier with a steel-weighted paw. Its claws scraped the ram¡¯s barding, sending out a shower of sparks. The ram danced aside, letting out a snort as it turned off course.


    With a perfunctory, almost indifferent motion, Evangeline tossed her unbroken lance to the ground and drew her sword.


    ¡°Uh oh,¡± Hyperia giggled. ¡°Now it¡¯s personal!¡±


    The herald seemed near breathlessness. ¡°Lady Evangeline wishes to continue the match with small arms!¡±


    Lochlan also threw his lance down before loosening a short warhammer from its saddle holster. He twirled it, and the air seemed to shiver around the weapon¡¯s head. Magicked.


    ¡°Won¡¯t the bear tear that prancing creature apart?¡± Hyperia asked doubtfully. ¡°Why throw away her advantage with the lance?¡±


    ¡°I believe that¡¯s rather the point, princess.¡± Lord Desmond spoke from behind her, the first time the old man had broken his silence since I¡¯d entered the room. ¡°She wishes to make a point, I think.¡±


    Hyperia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.


    The two combatants began to circle one another while the drums altered rhythm to match this more intimate leg of the battle. The swirling dust their passes had already kicked up began to form a curling spiral around them. They circled twice before Lochlan let out a vicious shout, kicking his bear forward. The bear was all too eager to comply, lunging forward with a roar.


    Evangeline¡¯s chimera dipped, almost like it were bowing, then whipped its steel-shod horns up and to the side in a sharp motion. It smacked the bear¡¯s skull, and would have broken it if the other beast hadn¡¯t been helmed. It still stunned the other creature, causing it to stumble and fouling Lochlan¡¯s swing. His shivering hammer blurred through the air.


    Evangeline parried, turning her opponent¡¯s weapon, then delivered a precise thrust into his shoulder. Her blade caught him, but didn¡¯t find a sufficient gap to do any real damage. She pulled back, seemed to judge the distance, then leaned away to dodge a furious riposte from Lochlan¡¯s hammer.


    Beneath them, their mounts fought in a savage flurry of slashing, stomping limbs. The bear surged forward into a tackle, trying to bowl the other beast over with its shoulder. The ram had clearly been trained to fight less conventional mounts like this, because rather than trying to avoid the other animal it pressed close to it and turned, forcing the bear to match its motion or risk getting those deadly horns punched into its side.


    All the while, the two knights cut at one another. Lochlan swept his hammer about his head like a brand, and the tremorous energy around its head seemed to intensify with each swing. I could hear the hum of aura even from a distance.


    The weapon¡¯s power, or the wielder¡¯s? Relatively few warriors ever learn how to wield their soul, and fewer still ever refine that ability into a proper technique. To compensate, most knights tend to acquire sorcerously potent weapons and other tools to make the difference.


    Yet, whatever difference it made, Evangeline fought like a steel wind. She used no magic I could detect, just fiendish clever sword play. She and her chimera fought like one creature, moving with a coordination that tricked the eye. Lochlan was good ¡ª very good ¡ª and his beast possessed a fierce strength that would have done it well in the fury of a battlefield.


    But he was outmatched. I saw it, and I¡¯m certain he saw it, but he was a proper knight and his pride spurred him on.


    Until Evangeline¡¯s sword traced a bright a line sharply from right to left, cleaving through the layers of steel and chain between Lochlan¡¯s forearm and hand. His hammer went spinning through the air to land on the sand a distance away even as an arc of blood whipped through the air.


    The Venturmoorian clutched at his wrist. I winced, having judged the cut with my eyes. Only his gauntlet kept his hand from dangling off the arm by little more than skin.


    ¡°A beautiful disarm!¡± The herald bellowed, the last syllable of his pronouncement drowned out in the clamor of the spectators. Hyperia clapped cheerfully, while Rosanna clapped more for proprieties sake, in her role as Lady of the Realm and expected to show support for every fighter. Markham stroked his chin with his gauntleted hand, his narrowed eyes thoughtful.


    The end of that duel sparked the next phase of the bout. Evangeline bowed from the saddle to her opponent and asked after his hand, and Lochlan gallantly told her it was merely a flesh wound. It was very clearly not, but he retired from the field in good grace without accepting help from any of his squires or pages. Then, at another round of trumpets and horns, all six mounted bands advanced at once to clash in a great charge. The ensuing uproar from the stands near deafened me.


    And through it all, rain continued to fall.


    ¡°I think the next three days will be very fun!¡± Hyperia laughed when the noise had died enough for us to hear one another.


    I¡¯d grown very tired of her cheerful quips. Against my better judgement, I replied to her. ¡°Fun from up here, perhaps. But people have already died down on that field today, princess.¡±


    I caught Rosanna¡¯s warning glance, but the anger I felt toward the Vykes had reached a boil well before I¡¯d entered that room.


    Hyperia flashed her small teeth. ¡°I find it commendable to see so many brave souls willing to shed their own blood to show their measure. It puts this Accord in good standing in my eyes, Ser Headsman.¡±


    I turned my eyes back down to the fighting, not wanting to give away my anger. ¡°I am glad we are able to impress you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s been entertaining enough.¡± Hyperia also returned her attention to the island, some of her mirth fading as her lips formed a thoughtful line. ¡°But you have not yet seen my brother fight.¡±


    For some reason, that idle statement put a chill in me. And I could no longer stand breathing the same air as the woman who¡¯d overseen the slaughter of Cael Village, and whose creature held Catrin hostage.


    ¡°I must return to my duties, Your Graces.¡± I bowed to Rosanna and Markham. ¡°If I have your leave?¡±


    The Emperor nodded without taking his eyes off the field. ¡°You have it. Be vigilant, Ser Alken.¡±


    I traded one last look with Rosanna, and I could see much of my own discontent reflected in her green eyes. She didn¡¯t like this any more than I did. There was more in that gaze too, a significance that seemed to say be ready.


    I was as prepared for what came next as it was possible to be. I¡¯d made a show of patrolling the Coloss, put anxiety into whatever agents might answer to the Vykes, playacted the nervous circling bird in front of Hyperia. Sometimes, it is best to fool an enemy by making them believe they know where you are and what you do. Glamour often works that way, by taking what is expected and what one believes, then twisting it to fool the eye.


    She would know I was about, and would believe I chased shadows and watched from the sidelines, an inept bystander to where her faction¡¯s own efforts concentrated.


    When I next acted, she would not know it. She would not know me.


    My turn to play war.

 Arc 6: Chapter 3: Armory

    Arc 6: Chapter 3: Armory


    ¡°Your lady is very fortunate I am a resourceful woman,¡± Faisa Dance said testily. ¡°And a patient one.¡±


    Her irritation rolled off my shoulders. ¡°You have our sincerest thanks, Duchess.¡±


    The aged noblewoman clucked her tongue. ¡°If I¡¯d known my generous offer of information that day would encourage the both of you to press on my aid at will, I might have abstained! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to conjure a false identity on such short notice? Not only that, but to prepare all the necessary accessories?¡±


    She paced around the room, her layered skirts rustling like the regal plumage of a wrathful bird. We stood in one of the many interior spaces of the Coloss complex, which could be near as intricate and winding as the Fulgurkeep in some ways.


    This one was used as a private armory. The walls were hung with lanterns and hooks displaying various implements of war, along with the items needed to tend them. There were swords, maces, axes, a variety of polearm, exquisitely carved bows, and a score of other cruel implements. Beneath them stood tables and shelves with an array of items, from little hammers to work out dents in a breast plate to whetstones for sharpening. There were kits for sewing, tools for patching leather, oils, spare straps, cloths, and much more.


    That dim, small room acted in many ways as both a workshop and an altar. It contained everything a knight might need to prepare for war, and for the theater of war.


    ¡°This space will be at your disposal,¡± the Duchess told me. ¡°It is private, untrafficked, and I will have a trustworthy guard keep watch on it surreptitiously. You will need such privacy over the next three days, to keep up this farce.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t particularly comfortable, with only a stool to sit on and a cold stone floor spread with hay against the damp, but it would serve. I nodded my thanks. The Lady Dance glided to stand behind an object in the low-lit room¡¯s center. Hidden beneath a dark cloth, I could not see what lay within.


    ¡°And here is the centerpiece of my efforts. I do hope you like it.¡±


    She gestured with a gloved hand. Taking her cue, I stepped forward and pulled the cover off. Behind me, Emma drew in a sharp breath. Despite everything else, my heart quickened.


    The armor was beautiful, in a grim fashion. Set on a stand so I could guess at what it would look like on my own frame, the narrow eye slits in the black helm stared back at me from an even height. A greathelm of the kind traditionally used in tourneys across much of the land, it would have been little more than a cylindrical bucket if not for the artfully cut frame and ornate emblem fixed to the mask.


    ¡°A trident?¡± I asked, studying the image affixed to the helm¡¯s front. Worked from copper or a metal treated to show the same hue, it formed angry slashes of red against the dark steel.


    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± Faisa told me. ¡°The Inquisition adopted the barbed auremark for their own uses, but it is one of many variations on the symbol. In centuries past, it was worn by crusader knights as a mark of penance, but this mark is even older than that. Folklore has it that devils would carry just such an implement when they walked the land, using them to claim the souls of those guilty of terrible crimes before dragging them down to Hell for justice.¡±


    ¡°Devils, is it?¡± I studied the ominous helmet. Wrought of heat-blackened iron and perforated with breathing holes, it only had two narrow slits for eyes. The copper trident stood between the eye slits, its wings curving under them to sweep back along the temples, jutting out into points very much like thin horns. The central line of the emblem descended down over nose and chin, into what almost resembled a spiked goatee.


    Faisa had either picked well used armor or had it made to look weathered. There were myriad scars along the metalwork, from thin scrapes to little dents and other imperfections. Much like the armor I normally wore, it gave the impression of countless fierce altercations.


    But my ancient elven chain and second-hand steel this was not. The cuirass sported a more current design, with closely fit plates and subtle curves so it would fit comfortably over my frame and articulate just as well. It almost resembled a human torso, artfully shaped to suggest musculature. The pauldrons were hefty and full, each made of three layered pieces to protect my shoulders and upper arms, framed in paler metal much like the helmet. The left shoulder had a long, curling spike of decorative steel almost like a metal antler, the right a smaller one in a different shape.


    The set included an array of plates to encase my arms, hands, legs, and feet in solid, tightly fit layers of protection. It also came with chainmail to be worn underneath, lighter and thinner than my hauberk but still very well made.


    Not a single inch of my body would be soft.


    ¡°Lots of superfluous pieces,¡± Faisa noted as she touched one of the sharp horns on the helm. ¡°But this is tournament armor. It requires a bit of panache. There are other items in this room to decorate it as you see fit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± I told her honestly.


    ¡°It looks rather villainous,¡± Emma noted with more reserve. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have prepared something a bit less conspicuous?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The scarred, dark steel and sharp decorative did make the set look like something the classical Black Knight in a chivalrous romance might wear. I¡¯d been too enamored with it to realize at first.


    ¡°He¡¯s hardly going to be the most ostentatious vision down on that sand,¡± Faisa told my squire. ¡°Besides, consider it this way. If he starts winning fight after fight and finds himself set against great names as a dingy vagabond, people will question it. This way, it will be obvious he has some wealthy patron or great name, and people will accept it more readily. The mighty are known to be eccentric. They will question and be curious, but they will be more prone to anticipating the reveal of his identity, rather than seeking to unmask it out of outrage.¡±


    ¡°A Dance would know theater,¡± I stated dryly.


    ¡°Posh,¡± Faisa admonished me. ¡°But yes.¡±


    Emma pressed her lips together into an uncertain line, looking unconvinced. ¡°It¡¯s just very showy, is all. I thought the point was to not draw attention.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t win without drawing attention,¡± I said. ¡°The Lady Dance has a point. Besides.¡±


    I glanced at her and pointed to the black and copper mask. ¡°It¡¯s my color.¡±


    Emma gave my lame attempt at humor a withering look. ¡°Better hope no one else makes that connection. So when will you be fighting?¡±


    ¡°Soon enough,¡± I assured her. ¡°This first day is mostly group battles to help winnow the tournament¡¯s participants down. As an unknown contender, I¡¯ll have to manage through at least one or two of those. Tomorrow is where you get more of the traditional jousts, with the final day being dedicated to the real matches, the ones that will create a champion.¡±


    If I had my way, we would never need to worry about that final day. I intended to cut an artery in House Vyke¡¯s meddling well before then.


    ¡°That reminds me.¡± I turned to Faisa. ¡°I need a mount. The Empress hasn¡¯t gotten back to me on that.¡±


    The Duchess just smiled. ¡°It is being taken care of. You will have your valiant steed when it is needed, Ser Headsman, you have my word on it.¡±


    I had little patience for vagaries, but even less for trying to get a straight answer out of a Dance. Besides, my first match would be a foot skirmish anyway.


    ¡°I shall leave you to prepare,¡± Faisa said brusquely as she moved to the door. ¡°People are used to me being eccentric and flighty, but if I¡¯m gone too long there will be questions. Also...¡±


    She turned and squinted at me. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some tell that a certain red cloaked apparition has been seen wandering the arena. You are not making an effort to stay out of the public eye.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I gave her a pointed look. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    She looked perplexed, but shrugged it off and left. I turned to stare at the armor and the array of weapons. Everything I needed to carry this mad plan out.


    Was this really the best I could come up with? A disguise and a prayer that I might stop the villains in fair combat? It wouldn¡¯t be that simple.


    And it would not save Catrin. Barely a moment had passed where I hadn¡¯t dwelt on how she might be suffering. The knowledge ate at my guts like a devouring ague. Two nights had passed since Yith took her into captivity. What torments did she have to endure while waiting on me to conduct my schemes? I could have cleaved Hyperia Vyke down that first night and been done.


    I felt a tight grip on my arm, and turned to see Emma¡¯s fierce amber eyes.


    ¡°You are distracted,¡± she stated. ¡°You need to focus, or none of this is going to work.¡±


    ¡°Those are my lines,¡± I told her with a smile I didn¡¯t really feel.


    ¡°You can play the teacher another time,¡± she promised. ¡°For now, you need to survive today. We will help Catrin, but we need to do it smart. There¡¯s still a plan, remember? You¡¯re not alone in this.¡±


    I had told no one about Yith¡¯s blackmail except for Emma. She was the only one who both understood the dhampir¡¯s true nature and my relationship with her. I doubted anyone else would consider her worth risking the Accorded Realms on.


    Part of me wasn¡¯t certain she was, and I hated that side of me. The one who would choose duty over love, my vows over friends. And yet, that man was in me.


    ¡°I need to get this on.¡± Turning to the stand, I began to lift one of the pauldrons off. Again, Emma put a hand on my arm, stopping me.


    When I gave her a questioning look, she shook her head. ¡°All these long months, I have not gotten the chance to truly squire for you. Let me do it now.¡±


    Her face seemed calm, even determined. Some emotion I could not readily name built up in my chest. Gratitude? Pride? Some mix of the two, certainly.


    Emma had me sit on the room¡¯s lone stool. She did not hurry about her work, but she did work with a focused surety. She didn¡¯t allow me to help much during the process, either.


    In my memory, the wizard¡¯s soft voice echoed the words of the song he would hum at the end of the tale.


    And here ends the song of Ban Sain, love¡¯s fool and dragon¡¯s bane.


    Who won a frozen heart and Death¡¯s disdain.


    Rosanna had loved that story. I had too, though I would never admit it to either of them. Not least of all because Rosanna seemed that frozen heart to me back then.


    A knock came at the door. I waited while Emma checked, and she peeked back into the room a moment later.


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± she said. ¡°Your block is being called.¡±


    Unable to properly nod with the greathelm on, I gestured. ¡°I¡¯ll be out soon. Just want to do a last check of my gear.¡±


    Emma vanished, off to other tasks I¡¯d given her. Through the walls, I could feel an odd hum. Distant drums, and several thousand spectators eager to see chivalrous blood.


    I took the helm off, staring at the emblem worked into its mask. ¡°A devil, huh?¡±


    Was I that? Would that be how the realms remembered me? Could I accept that?


    The demon appeared very suddenly. Without warning, the room¡¯s temperature seemed to drop. The air took on a slimy quality, like grave worms wriggled over my skin. My breath came out as a visible mist. A melodious voice whispered from the shadows.


    Playing war, Alder Knight?


    While your lady love wallows in


    darkness?


    Yith¡¯s sinister laugh filled the room. I could hear scuttling insects, and caught sight of a large crimson beetle on a nearby table.


    ¡°I have not forgotten,¡± I told the demon.


    Why play out this farce?


    There is only one way.


    Kill the witch.


    Kill her brother.


    Kill them all!


    War is inevitable.


    ¡°...Maybe,¡± I admitted. Then, turning my back on that foul presence, I moved to the door. ¡°But I can at least make sure we¡¯ll win before it starts.¡±


    Pausing, I turned to glare at the beetle. A carmine beetle, red as blood with a pattern on the shell very much like a face. ¡°If you¡¯ve hurt her...¡±


    She scurries about the shadow world.


    I know her whereabouts always, thanks to my larva.


    But she is unharmed by my hand.


    Another thought, almost as unsettling as that, made me ask my next question. ¡°Are you going to tell your mistress about my disguise?¡±


    Only if she asks.


    I must answer all her questions truthfully.


    But only if she asks.


    Which meant I would need to keep Hyperia from being suspicious. If she commanded her demon to inform on me, then he would and the game would be up.


    The game would be up if I killed her, too. I let none of my doubt show on my face. ¡°If you want Hyperia Vyke dead so badly, then why don¡¯t you help me? Tell me what she¡¯s planning while her brother plays at tourney.¡±


    The darkness seemed to shiver. Anger? Amusement? Doubt? The sense of the demon in the room made my blood cold and confused my senses. Between the dull ache in the scars Shyora had given me and the way the aureflame crackled with righteous fury, it took concentration to focus on the creature more minutely.


    ¡°You can¡¯t, can you?¡± I tried to find Yith¡¯s true presence, but it felt faint. Most likely, he wasn¡¯t actually here. Just talking to me through a fragment of his spirit.


    I can bring no direct harm to Hyperia Vyke.


    Or her allies.


    Or her kin.


    I cannot share her secrets.


    ¡°But you have enough give in your leash to act independently,¡± I mused. ¡°Enough to make this bargain with me.¡± Narrowing my eyes, I continued the thought. ¡°Which means she¡¯s bad at this. Reynard would never have allowed you to betray him so brazenly.¡±


    My master was mighty.


    Few mortals have ever known my kind so well.


    And if my enemy wasn¡¯t fully competent, much of the rest made more sense. The reckless intrigue, the attacks, Yith¡¯s presence in the city... an amateur sleuth could have eventually traced it all back to the source. I had, and I¡¯m a blunt instrument.


    Something stank. Everything I knew about Hasur Vyke, the true mastermind behind the twins, told me he wasn¡¯t the kind of man to act so clumsily. Was this a case of less capable children mishandling his plans? Or was there more?


    No time. The drums outside sounded louder.


    Two days, Alder Knight.


    I slipped the helmet back on as Yith¡¯s presence retreated from the room. My scars continued to sting. I lifted a hand to feel at the part of the helm covering my left eye, tracing the marks beneath.


    I¡¯d faced a more clever demon than Yith Golonac once, and survived it. He might know my scheme with the tournament from his spying, but he did not know my other plan.

 Arc 6: Chapter 4: Melee

    Arc 6: Chapter 4: Melee


    Twenty fighters filled the tunnel. The humid early summer air stank of leather, oil, and human bodies.


    The people around me were a far cry from the gleaming stock who¡¯d acted as accessories to Evangeline Ark¡¯s joust. These were freeswords, adventurers, third and fourth sons from lesser families eager to make a name for themselves in a world where wealth so often bought one prestige. There were a crop of proper knights, clad in full plate like mine with distinctive helmets and brightly dyed cloth. Just as many would have looked at home in a band of brigands, though all made at least some concession for theater.


    A brawny man who¡¯d dressed himself like a coastal marauder, complete with a crudely beaten iron helm sporting twin horns, was in the middle of regaling the group with some story as I took up position among them. His bristling black beard erupted from the open faced helmet, and he rested a hefty flat-bladed axe, just as crude and impractical as the helm, on one shoulder.


    There, I thought. Knew I wouldn¡¯t be the only one.


    ¡°Aye, it¡¯s a good show!¡± He said in a spitting bluster. ¡°A very good show, yes indeed. Haven¡¯t seen its like in some time. Remember lads, when they open those gates, all¡¯s fair. No hard feelings! Ha!¡±


    He spoke in an accent common among the rugged folk who populated the subcontinent¡¯s southeastern shores. At least, he made an earnest attempt at it. I¡¯d had some exposure to the dialect. They tended to roam the winding rivers of Urn on sleek ships as traders, sometimes as raiders, and held a number of small kingdoms not far to the south of Elfhome.


    I highly doubted this hairy axeman was actually from Alheid, but I couldn¡¯t begrudge him a bit of playacting. Especially since it would be hypocritical.


    ¡°Ah, and the Black Knight himself joins us!¡± The probably-fake sea raider let out a booming laugh as he turned to me. ¡°Should I take it that means our team has been cast as the villains this time?¡±


    One of the knights among that misfit band eyed me up and down. His visor was raised, giving me a glimpse of a young face with lazy eyes and a snub nose. Others turned to glance at me as well, and many shifted nervously. I imagined I cut a gloomy figure.


    But hardly the most eccentric one. Besides the marauder, the group contained a particularly stunted dwarf no taller than nine feet, who kept to the back and hunched as though fearful someone might notice him. He wore a lumpy helm and not enough armor, as though whatever rural village he hailed from hadn¡¯t been able to produce enough metal to outfit him properly. A cat-eyed youth in green who I suspected was a changeling kept trying to flirt with a scarred woman with spiked hair and a single pauldron onto which the carving of a weeping maiden had been chained.


    Lovely bunch.


    ¡°Ah, you wield an axe!¡± The marauder nodded at the weapon at my belt. ¡°A man¡¯s weapon! Good. The name¡¯s Harald, ser knight. Harald of Hroth.¡±


    I just tilted my head to him, much as my helmet allowed.


    ¡°Man told you his name.¡± This came from an aged veteran in dingy armor who might have been a man-at-arms in some lord¡¯s retinue. ¡°Polite to return the same, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    A number of hard eyes fixed on me. Inside the helmet, I sighed softly. I¡¯d played this game before. The game of bluster, of trying to create a hierarchy before steel even started to swing. These were the chaff I¡¯d mentioned to Jocelyn before, part of the masses of home town heroes and opportunistic sellswords here for a long shot at grabbing even a scrap of wealth or glory.


    I did not much want to dialogue with them, and didn¡¯t want to raise any hackles with my magicked helm. So, instead, I shrugged and made a sharp gesture with one hand, the steel plates on it clicking as I worked my fingers.


    The man-at-arms snorted. ¡°Great. A mute. Just what this pack of freaks needed.¡±


    The cat-eyed man watched me thoughtfully, then shrugged and returned to chatting with spike hair. Harald blinked as though my silence perplexed him, then grinned.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve all got our little quirks! I wish you luck today, my quiet friend.¡±


    He went back to chattering, as though a silent audience was just what he¡¯d been looking for. I endured it stoically, occasionally gesturing in response to some question or jest. If they wanted to think me the mute, I was happy to play the role and knew enough hand signs to make it convincing.


    Outside, I could hear the drums and the half-muted voice of the tourney herald. Clumps of dust occasionally fell from the ceiling, dislodged by the motion above.


    A tourney organizer stepped between us and the gate. When I recognized Cairbre¡¯s face, I stiffened. But his bored eyes slid over me, and I relaxed.


    ¡°Five minutes!¡± He said in his court voice, making his words undulate over the din. ¡°When the gates open, you will all file out onto the island in an orderly fashion! You will not swing your weapons until the drums stop! You will all wear these to mark your comrades.¡±


    He held up a yellow cloth. Some other Coloss staff members were passing around more of them. I took mine from a wisp of a girl no older than fifteen, who paled when my helmed visage turned down to her and scuttled off.


    ¡°You will not attack anyone wearing a yellow cloth,¡± Cairbre continued. ¡°You will avoid killing. If an opponent surrenders or is clearly unable to continue the bout, you shall leave them be! All the realm is watching this, my fellows, so have some fucking tact.¡±


    I blinked. This brusque man was a far cry from the stuttering fop I¡¯d taken advantage of at court.


    ¡°What if someone dies?¡± The woman with the weeping maiden on her shoulder asked. ¡°By accident, I mean.¡±


    There were dark chuckles. Cairbre sighed.


    ¡°You are all using real weapons, so accidents will happen. If it becomes a matter of urgency, you are permitted to defend your own life. You will not be penalized unless malicious intent is obvious. Remember there are several thousand people watching. Some of them are kings. Don¡¯t embarrass yourselves.¡±


    That took the humor out of them. Most of these people weren¡¯t even here to win, but to catch the eye of some lord or wealthy official and gain a comfortable post the vagrant¡¯s life didn¡¯t offer. Cairbre studied the group, judging their mood, then continued.


    ¡°When only those wearing a single color are left on the field, then we shall finish the round with single duels. This will be more informal, with each of you pairing up until only one stands. There will be two other teams, for a total of sixty fighters, and only one of you will move on to the next bracket.¡±


    ¡°One!?¡± The dingy veteran spat a foul curse. ¡°That¡¯s fucked.¡±


    Cairbre shrugged, unbothered. ¡°There are over a thousand competitors, and most of them are far more important than any of you. The tourney council intends to weed you all out until only the best are left. I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re a peasant or a churl, but if you want to stand among champions, then prove you¡¯re worthy.¡±


    That didn¡¯t seem to satisfy the man, but he kept his silence. The mood seemed much subdued from when I¡¯d entered the tunnel. At my side, Harald of Hroth just grinned and chuckled, tapping his wedge-bladed axe on one shoulder eagerly.


    Sixty fighters, and only one would move on. Had I been overconfident about this?


    The rhythm of the drums changed, taking on a slow, ominous beat. Cairbre drew himself up.@@@@


    ¡°It¡¯s time. In an orderly fashion, people! And good luck.¡±


    Fighters started lacing their helmets on and doing last checks of their gear. Some rubbed river stones or shards of volcanic rock over their weapons, covering their gear with a bit of natural aura. Harald made a minute adjustment to his pot helm. Spike Hair slipped an iron mask over her face, securing it around the back of her neck to leave her bristling locks untouched. The small dwarf giant laced a too-small shield onto his arm, while the changeling stepped close and patted him on one shoulder, muttering some encouraging words.


    The gate began to grind open, spilling more dust from the ceiling.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got this,¡± Harald rumbled at my side. By the cadence of his voice, I got the sense he said it to himself as much as anyone else. ¡°Weee¡¯ve got this. A bit of sound and bustle, and it¡¯s done. Right!¡±


    A bead of sweat worked its way down his neck. I wondered who he really was. A farmer or craftsmen who¡¯d decided to play the adventurer barbarian? His axe looked home made. The metal wasn¡¯t professionally shaped, and I guessed it to be modified from a lumber tool. The balance had to be terrible.


    I elbowed him. He started, glanced at me, then flashed a nervous grin.


    ¡°Step aside, ser knight.¡± She flashed her teeth at me in a wolf¡¯s grin.


    ¡°He¡¯s probably devilspawn, too.¡± This came from the man with the studded club, a mercenary in mismatched armor. ¡°No telling what that creepy helmet is hiding.¡±


    Ignoring their taunts, I glanced back at the young dwarf. His pale eyes, better for darker environments, were large and full of fear. The rain had plastered his wispy hair to his skull, making those shaved horns stand out starkly.


    I turned my attention back to the would-be monster hunters. No doubt some of them were that, out in the world.


    The woman with the meteor hammer came at me first while the others gave her the spotlight. She swung her weighty weapon in complex arcs, forming figure eights in the swirling clouds of dust.


    I felt energy gathering. Some lesser Art to give her unconventional weapon a mightier punch, I suspected. The feeling intensified with each moment it kept swinging in preparatory arcs. A ritual motion?


    Interesting.


    I did not watch the ball at the end of that chain. I watched her instead, judging the flex of her muscles, the glint in her eyes. When her feet shifted and her eyes widened, only then did I move.


    I cheated a bit, because I was angry at them and because I needed to conserve strength for the rest. I put some aureflame into my downward chop, just enough to give the battleaxe a slight brassy hue only a keen eye would have noticed.


    As far as paladin smites went, it didn¡¯t count amongst my most dramatic. It did its job, however. The edge of the axe struck the oncoming ball dead center, and shattered it in an eruption of flying steel splinters. Several pinged off my armor, shredding some of the blue cloth I wore over it but doing no real damage. Other onlookers let out shocked cries and curses.


    Spike Hair¡¯s eyes went wide as her broken weapon flopped to the ground. It gave off smoky vapor, like the hot remnants of a cannonball. Had this been a real life or death situation, I would have dashed forward and cut her down. It took a force of will to stop myself, the bloodlust I¡¯d refined through long years of ugly, desperate fights screaming at me to kill, kill, kill.


    Through the din, I heard a sinister croon in my memory, half-remembered from a dark dream. You long for war. For blood.


    Too many demons haunting me. This wasn¡¯t the place for brutal pragmatism. This was theater, and I would not sully this sacred ground with unhindered violence.


    So I just canted my head to one side and shrugged as though to say that¡¯s it?


    This must have sparked a competitive spirit in the group, because rather than reacting with fear, their eyes all sparked with interest. Many of those nearest stopped fighting each other and turned to me.


    So much for saving my energy. I twirled my axe once, lifted my shield, and waited for them.


    The first came at me with a halberd. I chopped his weapon in half, punched him with the rim of my shield, then kicked him back into the next pair. That gave me the space to turn and parry a sword stroke. Steel ground against steel, burning sparks showering into my helmet, threatening to find the gaps and sting my eyes.


    Something hit me, bouncing off my backplate but still knocking out my breath. I staggered forward, got hit in the shoulder, then managed to get my shield up. Blows drummed against it, sending lightning shocks through my arm.


    Too many. Can¡¯t cover every angle.


    There had been more in Rose Malin. But I hadn¡¯t held back then. I¡¯d slaughtered them.


    This wasn¡¯t the place for the Headsman.


    Rose... did you name me your First Sword as a favor?


    No. I did it because you defeated my enemies.


    Where was that man? Where was Alken Hewer, First Sword of Queen Rosanna and Ram of Karles? I needed to find him again.


    A maul whooshed through the air, coming right at my face. I caught it with the shield, heard wood splinter and felt my arm go numb. Snarling, I ripped my axe blade across the shield¡¯s leather straps to free myself of it. Taking the hefty weapon in both hands, I swung in a savage fury. A man-at-arms fell back as his chain mail splintered. The axe came away bloody.


    Some of those gathering to take me down balked. This time, I punished them for it. My weapon slammed against the barbute of a Bairn knight, denting it and dropping him. I put some aura into a left handed punch, caving a fighter¡¯s breastplate in and sending him to his knees, unable to inhale.


    Too brutal, a voice in the back of my head warned.


    I stopped, taking a step back to keep myself between them and the two changelings. The green one seemed to still be alive, though he struggled to breathe.


    I glared at the rest through my helmet. There were few left, and some scattered pairs still fighting in the surrounding dust. The man I¡¯d punched writhed on the ground, scrabbling at his armor. When I loosened the fist I¡¯d made with my left hand, it emitted a molten glow which faded after a moment.


    Pointing my axe at the others, I lifted it high before hurling it. The man with the crumpled breastplate flinched as it sank into the sand inches from his head. I drew my dagger, knelt, and grabbed the man by his gorget. He¡¯d managed to get his visor up, but it wasn¡¯t what blocked his air. Beneath it, his face was turning blue.


    I sliced the straps holding his cuirass together and yanked the breastplate off. The man sucked in a breath. I took my weapon back up and stood.


    Scattered beads of rain pattered against my armor, soaking the dyed cloth Emma had picked for it. The storm muttered high overhead. Up on his balcony, the herald paused to listen to another man whisper into his ear. I risked a glimpse at the Arbiter¡¯s Spire. From below, the royal box looked like little more than a window in the structure with small figures seated inside, surrounded by flapping banners.


    Rosanna would know me, surely. Would Markham guess? Would Hyperia? Her demon had found me in the armory. All Yith needed to do was out me to his mistress, and all of this fell apart. I couldn¡¯t be certain the fly would choose his freedom over causing me grief.


    Returning my attention to the field, I showed the remaining competitors my bloodied axe. No words, no taunts or challenges. I felt the message was clear enough.


    I will take you all.


    Movement at my side almost made me reflexively swing, but when I caught a flash of yellow cloth and a bristling beard I paused. Harald took up position at my side, grinned, and faced the others. He had an ugly bruise purpling his nose, seemed to be favoring his left arm, but otherwise looked eager to fight. He¡¯d taken my cue and claimed several strips of cloth as trophies from his foes.


    One of the other fighters jumped twice and let out a shout, working himself up, then charged. His courage spurred on some of the others.


    Harald roared with laughter at my side, while I just lowered myself into a hunch to provide a smaller target and took the battle axe in both hands.


    I could not laugh. All I felt in my soul was anger at those who¡¯d poisoned this festival with their schemes, and a reminder that I could not let myself take joy in this anymore. That road was too dangerous.


    And I felt shame, because for the brief time I¡¯d lost myself to the melee, I hadn¡¯t thought about Catrin.

 Arc 6: Chapter 5: The Cymrinorean

    Arc 6: Chapter 5: The Cymrinorean


    My own breath filled the confines of my helm, loud and bestial where it escaped the lattice of small holes in the mask. My whole body quivered with energy, with the aftershock of countless blows, with my own suppressed desire to keep moving, keep swinging.


    But there was nothing left to swing at. Only a young soldier who¡¯d probably been a squire not long before the tourney kneeling at my feet, his sword held in slightly trembling hands.


    ¡°I yield, ser.¡± The boy was also breathing hard. ¡°I yield.¡±


    Coward, an ugly voice hissed in the back of my thoughts. You still have fight in you.


    I fought my bloodlust down, straightened, and turned my gaze up to the Spire. I barely heard the herald announce my victory through the rush of blood in my ears.


    Once I was back in the tunnel, the brawny marauder clapped a hand on my shoulder. He¡¯d also surrendered, at the end, but only after I¡¯d put steel against his neck and demanded it.


    ¡°That was well earned!¡± Harald laughed. ¡°Ah, a disappointment though. I wanted to reach the second day. Now you¡¯ll have to win, or I¡¯ll never hear the end of it.¡±


    Before I could ask from who? A high voice called out through the bustle of Coloss staff and defeated fighters. A young girl with brown hair and a peasant¡¯s dress sprinted through the crowd, then all but leapt at the hairy warrior. By the resemblance, no doubt in my mind who she was.


    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be down here!¡± He admonished her, and forgot his Alheider accent. There was no real bite in his voice, and she immediately began an excited chatter in a rural dialect I could barely make out. She didn¡¯t seem displeased by her father¡¯s loss.


    That¡¯s the kind of man who should be winning this, I thought. Probably best for him to return home and remember this as a passing adventure. Lifting my axe, I noted the jagged edge on both blades, the bits missing and cracks marring the good steel. I grimaced.


    A figure lingering near one of the doors motioned me over. When I drew near Kaia Gorr lowered her voice so no one else could hear.


    ¡°Empress wants to see you.¡±


    ¡°Rose, this is... too much.¡±


    The Empress and I stood together in one of the Coloss¡¯s private stables. There were a few, kept for knightly steeds either too precious or too volatile to be left out in the tunnels with all the noise and bustle. We¡¯d passed midday, and Rosanna had managed to steal an excuse to meet me.


    Still, there was little time before she needed to show her face publicly again. For once, all that urgency slipped from my mind as I appreciated the vision in that room.


    The beast was beautiful, more so by far than Faisa Dance¡¯s armor. Tall and lean, but powerfully built, it stood calm in the low lit room. Calm, but not placid. It held the poise of a night creature, secure in its environs, watchful. Black as midnight shadows with eyes like twin rubies, it had a long and sinuous neck and a whip-like tail. Its elegant legs ended in feet halfway between claws and hooves, nimble as they were deadly.


    I could not decide if it were more reptile or mammal. The eyes were glassy, with only subtle shifts in shade to hint at a slitted pupil. Through its mane of almost liquid black hair, I could make out twin strips of spiny fins.


    It watched me, that dark chimera, as though judging. Or waiting.


    ¡°You needed a mount,¡± Rosanna said simply. She paced around the beast, keeping just out of arm¡¯s reach, her dress trailing along the stone behind her. ¡°This is one I had available. You recognize her?¡±


    I realized I did. ¡°One of the pair who drew your coach. The scadumares.¡±


    The other died that night in my battle against the priorguard, while rescuing Laessa Greengood.


    Rosanna held out a hand, not quite touching the beast. It turned its serpentine neck. Its head looked very much like a horse¡¯s, save for perhaps a subtle point in the upper jaw like a beak. A forked tongue emerged to lick at the Empress¡¯s hand, but its ears remained pricked and aimed at me.


    ¡°They are very difficult to keep,¡± Rosanna explained. ¡°They are all female, this breed, and will not accept any other kindred of chimera. So, there are few of them. They are long lived, so some have survived through the centuries, but this may be one of the last. They are also very solitary by nature, but when they do bond the loss of their companion will strike them hard.¡±


    Her voice turned wistful. ¡°I have tried to find something to do with her, but she has languished since her sister¡¯s death. I think this is as worthy a purpose as any. Come.¡± She beckoned me with a ringed hand. ¡°Let her take your scent.¡±


    The scadumare watched me as I approached. When I offered my hand, she sniffed at it first with her nostrils then flashed that serpent¡¯s tongue to take my taste as well. I noted the sharp, curling horns emerging from her artfully shaped skull.


    Cautiously, I placed the palm of my hand against the chimera¡¯s brow. When she let me, it encouraged my other hand to stroke at her strong neck. Her skin seemed oddly leathery, though looking at its sleek color I would have thought it smooth. R?¦¡?NO??b§¦S?


    ¡°You and your sister saved our lives that night,¡± I whispered to the scadumare. ¡°I am sorry it cost you.¡±


    Oddly, the mare began to purr like a cat.


    ¡°She likes you,¡± Rosanna noted. ¡°Careful. She¡¯s a predator, and her teeth are quite sharp.¡±


    I did my best not to react. ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±


    ¡°Morgause. Her twin was Morgan.¡±


    While I spent time admiring and murmuring to the chimera, letting it memorize my voice, Rosanna¡¯s voice turned more conversational. ¡°The commons are talking about you, you know.¡±


    ¡°Are they?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You caused quite a stir with your show earlier. Everyone wants to know who the gallant warrior defending poor eld is.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°In any other situation, they all would have cheered those other knights while they butchered those two. The Priory¡¯s support mostly came from the commons, remember?¡±


    Rosanna waved a hand in acknowledgement. ¡°I remember.¡±


    Bright red blood dripped from his cut wrist.


    ¡°Did you see it?¡± The man next to me asked excitedly. He wore dun metal closer to brown than gray, so badly battered and old I couldn¡¯t tell what the designs inscribed into the metal originally depicted. Like me, he wore his helmet even off the field.


    I shook my head. He¡¯s fast. But... it¡¯s not just that.


    I¡¯d felt something in the moment before Siriks moved. Another shift in the air. Again, I noted how all the other fighters watching the duel play out kept low to the ground. One of them had even sunk his sword into the sand, and clutched at its grip.


    The settling dust gave Siriks more cover, and he used it. Flying into motion with the nimble speed of a panther, he dashed around behind the dwarf giant to get at his ankles. Nimryd clearly wasn¡¯t unfamiliar with such tactics, because he took a long step back before lifting an armored foot to stomp.


    The entire island shuddered. People across the stands let out cries of alarm, and more than a little excitement. More thunder rumbled above.


    Siriks lost his light footing with the tremor, tumbling into a roll. He came up crouching, only to find the giant¡¯s sword slicing across the ground towards him like a killing wave, its tip sunk deep enough to create a furrow. He brought his own weapon up, as though to block it.


    He couldn¡¯t block that. But¡ª


    He swept the swordspear to one side in a sharp motion, letting out a piercing shout. And much like when Laertes deflected my thrown axe, he knocked the blade aside.


    He used his aura to do it. I felt the shift in energies, the sudden outburst of his spirit emerging into the world like a repudiating backhand. It wasn¡¯t an Art ¡ª something less focused than that. There was no manifestation of phantasm, no carefully shaped technique. Just raw will, and a sound like a church bell struck by lightning. Racing lines of broken earth formed in the same direction as that cut, creating a scar across the island near twenty feet long.


    The dwarf knight¡¯s blade splintered, the end crumbling away and cracks marring it nearly up to the hilt. Nimryd staggered from the force of impact, nearly going to one knee. Again, the whole world seemed to shake as he slammed a foot down to keep himself balanced.


    Once more, Siriks flickered with unnatural speed. That, I suspected, was some sign of his actual ability. This time I tried to trace the motion. He crouched low, bending one knee dramatically, and looked like he threw his weapon ¡ª only he kept hold of it, and it carried him.


    He¡¯s using his weapon to drag himself around, I thought. An enchanted arm?


    It turned him into a living missile. He slammed into Nimryd¡¯s chest, the sharp point of his weapon sinking into solid steel. Not so deep enough to pierce the heart beneath, but it latched the smaller warrior against his foe. Still holding the haft of his polearm, Siriks braced himself on it with one foot and drew a long dagger from a sheath on his back ¡ª a seax.


    He slashed, right into Nimryd¡¯s visor.


    The dwarf¡¯s roar of pain and shock near deafened me. It was no human sound, but something like a howling wind combined with a war horn. He let his sword go, and reached up to pluck that deadly fly off him.


    Siriks brought his sidearm back for another strike. ¡°YIELD!¡± He roared. ¡°OR I TAKE THE OTHER EYE!¡±


    Nimryd paused, half blind and enraged, but still present enough in mind to hear reason. His hand, still dripping blood through the seams in the gauntlet from a cut wrist, trembled.


    ¡°...I... yield.¡±


    The arm dropped limply, and the giant leant forward as though bowing before a king. Siriks ripped his blade free of Nimryd¡¯s cuirass and hopped down, getting clear of his surrendered opponent. He paced some fifteen steps before stopping. His eyes, wide enough I saw their whites even from a distance beneath his roaring helm, swept across the other competitors.


    ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡±


    None moved. Siriks started to pace, impatient as a caged beast. ¡°Anyone!?¡± He snarled.


    Again, when no one stood to meet his challenge, the northerner whirled to face the Arbiter¡¯s Spire. He raised his voice to echo around the stands, louder even than the angry waves of the bay.


    ¡°Is this your best?¡± He demanded of the royal box, and the high king who sat within it. ¡°Is this all the strength your Accord can show me!? Greedy mercenaries, scheming courtiers, and aged heroes too afraid of their own strength to fight properly!?¡±


    He hurled his bloodied seax down on the sand, then used his swordspear to point at the defeated giant. I followed that gesture, frowning. Had Nimryd held back?


    Of course he had. With public opinion against the eld, he wouldn¡¯t have wanted to kill anyone and look more the monster. I recalled his halted blow from before. He¡¯d done that himself, not Siriks with some sorcery.


    No response from the Emperor to that challenge. The crowd seemed to hold its breath.


    ¡°Arrogant pup,¡± one of the tourney knights around me spat. ¡°Who does he think he is?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what he thinks,¡± another said with more reserve, ¡°but I¡¯ve never seen anyone take down a full grown dweorg like that.¡±


    The tourney herald stepped forward onto his balcony and brandished his scepter. ¡°The Crown wishes to commend Siriks of House Sontae for his display of valor, and extends its assurance that the young lord shall not be left bereft of challenge for long.¡±


    Of that, I had no doubt. It would be my turn soon. There was just one new problem with the plan. After seeing him fight, I wasn¡¯t so certain I could beat him without using all my powers.


    The knight next to me, the one in dingy armor, let out a low, rasping laugh. ¡°Now that¡¯s a warrior! Makes me glad I came to this city. Sorry for my old man, too. He¡¯d have enjoyed this. Shame.¡±


    He propped an iron shoe up on the ledge and rested an arm on his knee. The eyes beneath his lifted visor were alight with interest. I knew those eyes. I¡¯d seen them less than two hours ago up in the royal box, only in a more feminine version of the same face.


    Prince Calerus flashed a grin at me. ¡°Can you feel it in the air? There¡¯s a storm coming, and it¡¯s going to be legendary.¡±

 Arc 6: Chapter 6: A Son of House Hunting

    Arc 6: Chapter 6: A Son of House Hunting


    It took every ounce of my self control not to react. It was harder than when I¡¯d walked in on Hyperia sitting barely more than an arm¡¯s reach from my queen. This felt more sudden, more intimate.


    But I remembered who I pretended to be, and said nothing while the surrounding tourney knights chatted about the Cymrinorean¡¯s brash display. I folded my arms as though in contemplation, mostly to keep my clenched fist from being too obvious.


    The narrowed vision of my helm made it so I didn¡¯t see the prince out of the corner of my eye, but I knew he watched me. I could feel his eyes, hard and focused, like a pressure against the side of my skull.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who fought in that melee earlier,¡± he muttered. ¡°I watched that fight. You didn¡¯t belong with those riff-raff.¡±


    I tilted my head to look at him again and shrugged one shoulder, playing the mute. This let me get a better look at him. The prince, who was twin to his sister and couldn¡¯t have been older than twenty, did not have a young man¡¯s voice. It rasped like a veteran who¡¯d inhaled too much smoke from alchemical weapons, or a lifetime smoker. Neither was he particularly tall. His face, which bore an uncanny resemblance with Hyperia¡¯s, also held an unhealthier complexion, like he was recovering from a long illness.


    His armor wasn¡¯t princely. As I¡¯d noted before, it looked dingy and old, holding a rust-brown hue. There were intricate designs on the metal, but they¡¯d been so marred by time and violence I couldn¡¯t make them out. His visored helm hugged tight to his skull, with only a black plume of hair for decorative.


    His eyes were like his sister¡¯s in color, but they held none of her low cunning or cruel mirth. They would have been an ordinary brown, but something about them made my teeth itch. There was death in those eyes. When they narrowed as though trying to see through my mask, a bead of cold sweat formed on my temple.


    Fear. I¡¯d faced demons and tyrants, and this boy made me feel cold with just a look.


    ¡°Where do I know you from?¡± He asked.


    My muscles tightened beneath layers of steel. Could he see through the glamour on my helm? We¡¯d only encountered one another a handful of times, and never spoken.


    Still playing casual, I gestured down to the field. Calerus wasn''t amused.


    "No. We''ve met before... Ser Sain, was it? I don''t know your name, but..."


    Abruptly, Calerus shrugged and the odd pressure of his eyes vanished. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You fought well. Maybe we¡¯ll meet again down there.¡±


    He nodded to the island, his eyes becoming distant. The dismissal, at least, was very princely.


    I returned to my private armory, taking some time to prepare for my next bout and shake off the nerves from my close encounter with Calerus Vyke. I tried to tell myself I¡¯d just been startled by the unexpected nearness, but something definitely felt wrong about the young man. Where his sister had seemed ordinary and human, if malicious in temperament, he made my hackles stand on end.


    My distraction almost made me miss the sound of voices as I drew near a junction in the halls. I would have kept going, but one of them sounded familiar. On instinct I paused, slinking behind the corner to listen.


    The man speaking made a half-hearted effort to be quiet, but anger gave breath to his voice. He sounded older, gruff. I knew him, though I hadn¡¯t heard the voice since the past fall.


    Brenner Hunting.


    ¡°How many more favors do I need to do for you just to have them pissed away, boy?¡±


    ¡°Favors? Is that you want to call it, father?¡±


    Hendry didn¡¯t sound like he usually did. His voice held a tight edge to it, though he made an obvious effort to speak courteously.


    ¡°Yes!¡± The lad¡¯s father hissed. ¡°It is a father¡¯s duty to desire greatness from his child. You are my first born son, and all I do is for your sake, your inheritance. You pissed away your betrothal to that Carreon witch, let her run off with a vagabond, and now I travel across endless miles for this tournament only to discover you¡¯ve lost the post I got you with the Emperor¡¯s guard!?¡± R?¦Á?No?¦¢E?S


    Hendry hid his anger less well then. ¡°The post you got me? I don¡¯t recall you beating Ser Elgrimr in the spring tourney, father.¡±


    Brenner audibly scoffed. ¡°Please. The Storm Knights wouldn¡¯t even know your name if I hadn¡¯t greased palms. We cannot be idle, boy. Our family might have some influence back home, but the theater is bigger now. You need to start thinking bigger.¡±


    Hendry¡¯s voice became defensive. ¡°The Headsman serves the Emperor directly.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes.¡± Brenner¡¯s voice turned almost acidic. ¡°I¡¯ve heard about this man, and the kind of people who work for him. A blackguard who consorts with all manner of scum. I did not get you a position in this city so you could stand beside conscripted criminals.¡±


    ¡°We are doing good work,¡± Hendry insisted. ¡°We¡¯re doing far more for the Emperor than you have, father.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare take that tone with me.¡± Brenner¡¯s voice turned dark, threatening. ¡°Had you put more effort into wooing the Carreon, we wouldn¡¯t be in this mess. You wouldn¡¯t even have a spot on the lists if not for me.¡±


    My breath caught. Hendry was fighting in the tourney? How had I missed that?


    I¡¯d more or less ignored the boy since he¡¯d joined my command. More than likely, I¡¯d missed a lot.


    ¡°I have much to thank you for, father.¡± Hendry spoke in an equally low voice, one I had to strain to hear. ¡°Of that, I am under no illusion.¡±


    A pause. One of them shifted, cloth rustling.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Brenner made an effort to sound dismissive, but I caught the edge in his words. Nervousness?


    ¡°Must I say it aloud?¡± Hendry asked. He sounded oddly calm.


    ¡°I have no clue what you mean.¡± The boy¡¯s father adopted a bored manner. ¡°We can discuss this later, when there¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    I heard steel plates click, and knew Hendry wore armor by the sound. ¡°We can have the talk now. I think it¡¯s well past time.¡±


    ¡°Boy...¡± Brenner¡¯s voice held a warning note, but his son ignored it.


    ¡°I know, father. I know what you did.¡±


    Hendry drew in a ragged breath. He was scared. More scared than angry, and I knew somehow that saying this to his father terrified him more in some ways even than charging Jon Orley, or following me into the Manse of Count Laertes.


    ¡°After Orley stabbed me, and I lay dying in our castle, I wasn¡¯t fully unconscious through all of it. I remember the clericon telling you that an exorcism needed to be performed, before the Devil Iron took me. I remember you talking with Ser Kross after, when he told you I might survive it. But I probably wouldn¡¯t survive it, and it would change me.¡±


    More clicking plates. I could almost imagine Hendry clutching one of his arms, but there was little weakness in his voice.@@@@


    ¡°Can be a bastard?¡± I asked.


    Hendry blushed. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen my father since I was younger than you,¡± I told him. ¡°But he and I had a strained relationship as well. I chafed at his opinion of me, and his expectations.¡±


    My father considered me half an idiot. I saw much of him in Brenner.


    ¡°I never resented my duties,¡± Hendry said.


    Just the man who demanded them. I could understand that.


    ¡°You¡¯re fighting next?¡± I asked him.


    He nodded. ¡°I should get to my tunnel.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you. I¡¯m up next as well. Looks like we might be together out there.¡±


    Hendry started. ¡°Do you want me to¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you ask me if I want you to throw the match on my behalf, I¡¯ll box your ears.¡±


    He clamped his mouth shut. I smiled to take the sting out of my words, then showed him my greathelm.


    ¡°Memorize my helmet. It¡¯s magicked, and you might forget it¡¯s me under this if you don¡¯t.¡±


    I slipped the helm back on, then did what his father should have and walked that brave young man to his next bout.


    The next fight wasn¡¯t much like the last. The tunnel wasn¡¯t full of angry-eyed mercenaries, and in fact was hardly full at all.


    There were five of us, and all were true contenders with good harness and steady eyes. Two were well born like Hendry, save for one warrior monk from one of the more martial castias. His glaive was carved from the dimly shining wood of an eardetree, producing its own soft yellow light in the dim room.


    Strange. You didn¡¯t often see fighting clerics in these sorts of competitions, where one fought for the love of fighting and for the honor of their House, not for God.


    Cairbre was our proctor again. He noted me and Hendry walk in, and nodded.


    ¡°Right! You all know the drill by now, but the tourney council is being more lax now that we¡¯ve whittled down the chaff. There will be one other team, and all those belonging to the winning side will move on. Win here, and you won¡¯t have to fight again until the mounted bouts tomorrow. You¡¯re one of our last blocks for the day.¡±


    I studied my new comrades. Besides the monk, a broadly built man seemed the most capable. His angry red armor bore a trophy monster horn worked onto one pauldron and a helm sporting the angry eyes and lolling tongue of a gargoyle. He carried a polearm, a halberd with a sharp blade and a spear point. A versatile tool. The other knight, a woman in her late twenties, used a broadsword and a round shield.


    ¡°Ser Jorg,¡± the gargoyle knight introduced himself to us. No House name, which told me he was probably glorysworn, a knight errant like Jocelyn. The others also gave introductions. The manner here was far removed from my last bout, none of the hostile competitiveness evident. These men and women were here to celebrate knighthood, and saw us as kindred souls rather than obstacles.


    I played the mute again, hand signing in reply to questions or jibs, but they all seemed to know me already. Apparently, rumors of the black knight who¡¯d protected less able competitors on the field were making the rounds. Ser Jorg didn¡¯t even bring up the fact the two I¡¯d defended were faerie kin, which made me like him more.


    Hendry carried his family sword and a heater shield, which meant our team opted away from the more eccentric weapons I¡¯d seen some of the freeswords using. As for myself, I¡¯d taken a fresh shield and switched the battleaxe out for a warhammer. The weapon I¡¯d used in the last skirmish ended up with a brittle edge, near crumbling even after such a short fight. I¡¯d used it too hard, having gotten used to the unnaturally durable alloy Faen Orgis enjoyed.


    Hopefully, the new weapon would hold out better. It sported a handle long as my arm, with a flat-headed bludgeoning end and a slightly curved back spike. It couldn¡¯t parry, which I wasn¡¯t keen on, but I hoped to keep the shield this time.


    Once again, the tempo of the drums outside warned us of the match¡¯s start. The din of noise outside seemed louder, almost humming through the Coloss¡¯s thick stone. The fervor of the crowd grew hotter with each match, and Siriks¡¯s dramatic display must have brought it to a crest. Not every day the commons got to see both sorcery and steel wielded so fiercely.


    Hendry laced his helmet on. A visored piece with the stag crest of his House, pale steel rather than the near gold of his Fulgurkeep plate. He drew in a deep breath.


    I nudged him, and he shot me a nervous look and a nod. The one woman in the group, a quiet figure with serpent motifs on her armor, handed Hendry a dimly shining sea shell. He nodded his thanks and started rubbing it along the edge of his sword, but she stopped him.


    ¡°Your shield,¡± she said kindly. ¡°Tie it on the inside, here... that¡¯s it. It¡¯s a ward. It¡¯ll help block phantasm.¡±


    A very generous gift. Hendry nodded, blushing, not least of all because the woman was pretty. She introduced herself as Narinae Tarner, a reynish knight from the countryside.


    Ser Jorg took the lead as we stomped out over the bridge. Armor clinked and rattled, breath huffed through helm slits, and churning waves swirled and spat below.


    Much the same as the last time. The growling sky, the high walls, the enthusiastic crowds. Nobles given lower seats under covered awnings, with the commons left to weather the fouler winds higher up. I knew Faisa Dance, Laessa, Jocelyn, Gerard, and all the other acquaintances I¡¯d made since coming to the city were up there, watching.


    I knew that even as I fought down here to help keep our enemies focused on the spectacle, my subordinates prepared the mechanisms of my counter scheme. I was no man for intrigue, and knew there were a hundred things that could go wrong, but I¡¯d done my best. Every favor and resource I¡¯d managed to earn in Garihelm was in play.


    Time to let the dice land where they may.


    Some of those on the lower stands tossed down dyed ribbons and bundles of flowers, which rained around us in a strange storm of its own. I managed to catch a tied bundle of small blue flowers with bell-shaped petals. A bit soggy from the rain, but still pretty. Hyacinths.


    On a whim I sniffed them through the holes in my helm, expecting it might be the last pleasant thing I smelled for a while, then held them up in thanks to whoever had tossed them before tucking them into my left pauldron.


    The other team moved out, spreading into line even as we did. When I saw them, my step nearly faltered. Hendry¡¯s did too.


    ¡°Keep moving,¡± I muttered. ¡°Don¡¯t react.¡±


    Taking my own advice, I kept pace with the others. Even still, my attention fixed on the one who stepped forth from the opposite tunnel among four other tourney fighters.


    The herald¡¯s words passed over me, barely heard. I only had mind to pay for my opponent.


    Karog glared back at me, and bared his sharp teeth.

 Arc 6: Chapter 7: Challenge

    Arc 6: Chapter 7: Challenge


    Laertes had gifted his champion ancient armor to fit his hulking frame, fashioned of bronze rather than iron. It glinted angry red and brown in the clouded daylight, a fresh polish reflecting our team back at us. Heavy spaulders lined in chimera fur hung on inhumanly broad shoulders, and a fanged helm sporting a white plume sat upon a craggy brow. Angry yellow eyes glared from within.


    In his right hand he wielded a a hacking cleaver, half sword and half axe, with a decorative brass skull for a pommel. In his left he held a tall spear with a leaf-shaped blade.


    I¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to this, that we¡¯d take our true enemy out of play before being set against one another. Could I signal him somehow? Let him know it was me under this helm?


    To what end, I admonished myself. Karog wouldn¡¯t surrender or go easy even if he knew it were me. He intended to win this thing, not just for his revenge but for his ambitions as well.


    Should I throw the fight? Let him move on?


    I thought of how easily Siriks took down Nimryd. Karog might be potent, but I wasn¡¯t at all certain it was wise to leave this all on his shoulders.


    Besides. I still had some pride.


    Our two teams took up position, both forming a loose line with a section of the field left between us. This was where things were less certain. We could all charge and fight in a mad rush, two teams skirmishing for dominance. Or we could play at formality.


    Ser Jorg decided for us. Stepping forward with a rhythmic click of his ornate armor, he spun his halberd once in a dextrous motion that made wind whistle around its blade and scattered rainwater. He stopped the flourish with the three-bladed head of the weapon pointed directly at a knight from the opposite team, a tall and uncanny figure in a helm shaped almost like a stylized tree.


    The tourney herald¡¯s voice boomed over the island. ¡°Ser Jorg, the Grotesque Knight, wishes to begin the match with single combat! Who shall meet his challenge?¡±


    Oak Helm stepped forward. He wielded a sword and a tower shield, the latter thin and embossed with abstract geometric designs. He lifted the shield, and¡ª@@@@


    Karog shouldered him aside, almost making the man stumble. The ogre let out a snort of near visible breath, as though he blew steam from his nostrils.


    The anger of the knights was obvious. Who was this foreign beastman to steal their show? I knew their thoughts, knew how their pride worked. The crowd, however, seemed to enjoy this little surprise. Noise surged along the stands.


    Ser Jorg hesitated, then seemed to accept this change and gripped his weapon in both hands. He aimed the halberd¡¯s tip forward, chopping blade down, back spike upraised. A good, professional stance, no more theatrics.


    I felt a stirring of power as he shaped his aura. Rather than forming a flashy Art, he reinforced himself against his opponent¡¯s inhuman mass. A pale sheen formed over him, making his armor gleam as though touched by a sun still hidden behind storm clouds. The stylized eyes on his helm¡¯s brow took on a white glow.


    Karog noted this too, and a sneer pulled his lips back from ivory fangs.


    The fight was over in five moves. Karog picked up speed very suddenly, an odd sound halfway between a shout and a bark escaping his maw. Jorg stepped forward into a thrust, going low to stab upward just like he would to meet a cavalry charge, letting his enemy¡¯s momentum do all the work. But Karog was no war chimera spurred into an unstoppable advance. He sidestepped, swept out with his cleaver. Jorg ducked it, barely, and fell for the feint.


    The ogre kicked him, hard, driving a knee directly into the big man¡¯s stomach. He went down, tried to roll, and found Karog¡¯s spear digging into the join between pauldron and breastplate, pinning him against the ground.


    The ogre¡¯s angry yellow eyes glared down at him like twin baleful candles. ¡°Yield,¡± he commanded in a guttural snarl.


    I couldn¡¯t see Jorg¡¯s expression from the angle with his helmet, but he let the halberd go and showed his hands. Karog snorted contemptuously before lifting his spear back up. He swept the rest of us with his threatening gaze.


    ¡°Next.¡±


    I could feel his derision beating off him like waves of heat. Karog hated this pomp and ceremony. He was here for a purpose, to show his strength and defeat enemies, yet he was told to avoid killing and act with courteous restraint. He did so, because it was expected of him for the prize he wanted, but he was visibly impatient with it.


    It pissed the other knights off, but the commons seemed to love it. Their excitement raised an octave.


    He would go through this group one by one. His own team traded glances, but no one stepped forward to protest this greediness.


    Next to me, Hendry hesitated a beat before taking a step forward. I pressed my hammer to his breastplate to stop him and stepped ahead.


    I helped Jorg to his feet while Karog watched from a distance. He was angry, but more embarrassed. ¡°Beat that bastard,¡± he growled at me.


    I pressed a hand to his shoulder and pointed at his halberd. He blinked, confused at first, then shrugged and handed it off. I traded him my hammer and shield. They would do me little good against an enemy with as much strength and speed as Karog.


    I tested the weapon as I strode forward to take up position. A beautiful piece, with vine patterns in copper wrapped about the black wood and a pommel on the bottom as a counter balance. It was taller than me, and could slash as well as stab with its three blades. Those blades sported an artful inlay.


    I often used Faen Orgis¡¯s changeable haft to wield it like a halberd, so I knew some moves, and I¡¯d probably need the extra reach.


    I swept it down to point the spear tip at Karog, cocking my body at an angle and holding the weapon in one hand. The ogre narrowed his eyes at me, sniffed, then went still a moment. His eyes widened.


    ¡°You,¡± he said in a low rumble.


    He must have recognized my scent. I didn¡¯t reply, keeping up my mute act. We¡¯d danced around one another a long time, me and Karog. Part of me had known this would happen eventually.


    He started to pace. I did as well, and we began to circle one another. Scattered drops of rain wet the gray sand here and there, some pinging off our armor. The waves rumbled and cracked against the island¡¯s rocky walls.


    ¡°Laertes said you wouldn¡¯t be able to avoid this,¡± Karog said quietly, so only we could hear. ¡°That this place would call you.¡±


    I risked breaking my silence. ¡°You should have done this for the Drains. You¡¯re better than that creature, Karog.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve had your choice of masters,¡± Karog snapped. ¡°I have not been so lucky.¡±


    Perhaps that was fair. I changed my grip, adjusted my stance. Karog¡¯s step slowed just a fraction.


    The cymrinorean ignored the man. ¡°You¡¯re strong,¡± he told me. ¡°I watched your fight earlier. You can do better than this. You can all do better. You think this is a game?¡±


    ¡°It is a game,¡± Ser Narinae said with a frown. ¡°It¡¯s tourney.¡±


    Siriks fell quite a moment. Then, half to himself he said, ¡°He was right about all of you.¡±


    My muscles tightened with a thrill of tension.


    A voice like angry thunder quaked the air. The Emperor had stood, and spoke himself rather than delegating to his herald. ¡°What is the meaning of this, Lord Siriks? You would show such disrespect to me?¡±


    The young man lifted his voice for all in the Coloss to hear. ¡°My understanding, Your Grace, was that this tournament was meant to test the mettle of your Accord and see it prepared for the trials to come. And yet, I see your city beset by enemies, your people threatened in their own streets, your knights butchered by assassins. Monsters and false prophets have their way with this realm. How can my countrymen tie themselves to this?¡±


    He let himself fall to the ground, pulled his weapon from the sand, and pointed it at me. ¡°As ambassador of Cymrinor, I demand the right to test this nation¡¯s strength. Let me fight this man. No theater, no showing off. The one who can no longer stand at the end loses.¡±


    Silence. The crowds probably felt as much shock as the knights.


    I risked a glance at the Arbiter¡¯s Spire. Markham stood at the window of his box, his hands braced against the ledge. A dour figure in dark iron and grim gold, a judge of war.


    I knew his decision even as it formed on his lips.


    ¡°Very well. Ser Sain has conducted himself with honor. Perhaps he will teach you some restraint, young man. But you have interrupted this ceremony, and there must be consequence. Should you lose here, then this will be as far as you go in this festival.¡±


    He paused, then added another addendum.


    ¡°You will fight as knights. Your chimera will be brought out.¡±


    He sat, leaving me staring at him with wariness only masked by a layer of anonymous steel.


    Of course he wouldn¡¯t stop this. His people watched, and they were here for just this kind of drama. I¡¯d even seen similar scenes in such gatherings before. Only, the stakes here were too high. Did Markham even know I was down here? Had his wife warned him?


    It probably wouldn¡¯t matter.


    The tourney knights spread out, giving us some space while we waited for Coloss pages to fetch our mounts. Siriks started to pace, restless, his weighty blade propped on one shoulder. He had no taunts for me, no bragging or threats. To him, this was a deadly serious affair.


    I¡¯d hoped to observe more of his fights, get an idea of how his magic worked. There are few things more frustrating or dangerous than dealing with an Art one doesn¡¯t understand. When one knows the trick to someone¡¯s unique sorcery, it¡¯s usually fairly simple to counter or break it.


    It¡¯s the mystery that gets you killed. And I had no doubt Siriks was willing to kill me. I felt battle rage beating off him. His soul burned.


    ¡°They¡¯ve all forgotten,¡± the young warrior said. He held a frustrated look, very much the confused youth.


    I decided my mute act wasn¡¯t that important in this moment. ¡°Forgotten what?¡±


    ¡°War.¡±


    Sometimes, my powers act without me willing them to. They give me insights and flashes of times past, or show me the true nature of things. It happened then, as Siriks¡¯s rage rose to a crest, as the excitement and anticipation of several thousand people poured down on us. The worry of the commons, looking for a distraction from their woes and assurances that the Houses could still protect them. The fears and hopes of people like Rosanna, who¡¯d dedicated her life to building this nation. The knights, whose pasts and future revolved around this festival.


    The strength of will wielded by their emperor, whose soul blazed upon his tower like a bonfire to my senses.


    Their spirits poured into that ancient arena, all focused on the northerner. And in those spiritual eddies I saw¡ª


    Fire. Burning fields. Mounted soldiers butchering by the score, by the hundred, blades shining red under a smoke choked sky.


    A boy, no older than fourteen, protecting even younger siblings. The cruel laughter of those men as they beat him down, taking the others under rough hands.


    ¡°The prince only needs one.¡±


    ¡°They say your House commands the tides. Let¡¯s see if that¡¯s true.¡±


    They threw his sisters off a cliff. Made him watch.


    They made him kneel before the high prince and thank him for his mercy.


    The last son of House Sontae saw all of this, every day, every moment. He saw it now. I watched those visions flash across the surface of his soul.


    This was no game to him.


    Thunder roiled high in the clouds, and for the first time that day visible lightning flashed around the Coloss. The wind rose in strength, making Siriks¡¯s red braid dance and the blue cloth on my helmet flutter.


    Above us, the clouds had begun to form a vortex.

 Arc 6: Chapter 8: Wave Crash, Thunder Roar

    Arc 6: Chapter 8: Wave Crash, Thunder Roar


    Morgause stepped onto the field as a war steed, with barding reinforced by plates of deep blue steel. I took some minutes with her, letting the chimera get used to the sound of my voice and judging her temper.


    I needn¡¯t have bothered. The scadumare seemed calm, even with the watching crowds, noise, and worsening storm. Despite the regular rumbles of thunder in the sky, the rain barely touched the field as I did my own check of her harness.


    I mounted, then turned my attention on my opponent. Siriks rode the same monster he¡¯d battled the storm ogre on, that first night I¡¯d met him not long after arriving in Garihelm. A manticore with a leanly powerful frame and a feline head maned in ruddy brown fur, armed with a lashing scorpion¡¯s tail. Like my own mount, it wore elaborate armor of its own.


    There were no melodramatic pronouncements from the herald this time. If the Crown spoke, it would be with Markham Forger¡¯s voice. This was no longer just spectacle, but a duel as dire as the one which decided Laessa Greengood¡¯s fate.


    Siriks had challenged the Emperor himself, in front of all his lords, allies, and subjects. I¡¯d just been the unlucky bastard to fall into the role of royal advocate. Probably served me right, for showing off with Karog.


    But if I beat him, then the only remaining threat would be Calerus.


    Hendry cast me worried looks, but I ignored him. We were technically strangers in my current guise. Karog watched from the opposite side of the field, burly arms folded and eyes focused. If he was angry that his own struggles went on hold for this, he did not show it.


    Our mounts began to circle without any pronouncement from the spire. Siriks watched me, his swordspear held at an angle to his right, his manticore¡¯s tail twitching in anticipation. It had a gaunt face with large ears, as much bat as lion. Rumbling growls emerged from its bared fangs, blending with the vitriol of the angry sky.


    Morgause, for her part, remained demurely quiet save for the crunch of her claw-hooves on gravel, and the low swish, swish of her sinuous tail whipping the air at my back.


    I¡¯d spent much of the day dwelling on why I was here, what I needed to accomplish, my doubts. I put all of it aside, and let my entire world become that narrow window of vision offered by my helmet, and the warrior waiting in it. The murmuring crowds upon the high walls faded from my notice, along with the other knights observing from the edges of the island.


    Lightning forked over the sea. A wave crested the northern point of the isle, spray bursting up in a shower that rained down on us a moment later as the wind caught it.


    The rumble of that distant bolt reached us a breath later.


    The manticore charged, letting out a ripping growl. Siriks shouted in harmony with his beast, taking his great blade in both hands and cocking it back as he advanced.


    I didn¡¯t even have to spur Morgause on. She moved, her training perfect, and I found myself readying my hammer without concern for what my beast did.


    Another flash of lightning. A second cresting wave.


    We struck at near perfect center of the field. Our chimera passed one another, almost close enough for steel barding to grind together. Intentional on my part, because it neutered the full weight of Siriks¡¯s mighty swing.


    His blade went past my helmet at an angle, missing only because I bent sharply to one side at the last instant. I struck out with my hammer, catching him on the shoulder. His armor took the blow, but he felt the knock. Sparks danced just as if I¡¯d struck an anvil.


    The manticore twisted out of my reach even as Morgause turned, readying to capitalize on my score. The larger beast prowled, snarling at me, while Siriks winced and prodded at his shoulder armor with one hand. I¡¯d left a dent in it.


    We circled. Siriks bared his teeth at me, brandished his blade. His eyes almost glowed with approval.


    I caught his second attack on my shield. The manticore lunged, a leaping motion no equine beast could have copied with such speed. Its iron-shod claws lashed out, forcing my own mount to backpedal. The swordspear, so much like an oversized glaive or halberd, slammed down.


    I turned it, shield up and over my head, but the blow¡¯s power sent a shockwave through my arm.


    No aura. That¡¯d been all him, and the weight of his weapon.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the one playing?¡± I snapped.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put my soul into it when you do!¡± Siriks laughed, spinning the weapon at his side like it weighed no more than a baton, its blade singing as it whirlwinded the air.


    Very suddenly, he ducked low and clutched at his manticore¡¯s neck. In the same instant, its scorpion tail lashed out. It almost went right into my breast plate, but my mount saved me. Morgause danced back, nimble as a fawn, and I got my shield up to block the stinger.


    Perhaps as a concession to his fellow knights, Siriks had shelled the stinger in metal to trap its venom. Even still, the deadly point punched right through my shield and emerged a finger¡¯s width from my helm¡¯s eye slit.


    The design of the stinger¡¯s ¡°armor¡± included a barb very much like a fish hook. I saw this in the same moment it ripped back, and nearly pulled me right off my mare as it caught inside my shield.


    I let it have the shield, because the alternative would have ripped my arm right out of its socket. Even still, a flash of sharp pain spiked into my shoulder. The manticore¡¯s tail flicked, flinging its prize away.


    That beast was deadly. Every part of it was strong, fast, and sharp. More than that, Siriks fought in perfect sync with it, the two forming a brutal engine of war.


    Morgause was a good steed, but not a proper war chimera. Her kind were taken from the wild more as a luxury mount than anything, a symbol of rarity and status. She performed well, but wasn¡¯t a living weapon.


    I needed a counter, something to even the playing field.


    I found it, and grasped my steed¡¯s reins. Siriks¡¯s eyes narrowed, perhaps sensing some change in my manner. He hunched low over his elaborate saddle. The manticore¡¯s tail twitched.


    I spurred my mount on with a kick, directing her not at my opponent, but to his left. Siriks lunged at the same moment, but he¡¯d anticipated a charge. I didn¡¯t go at him, but skirted past.


    Not out of reach of his beast. The tail lashed, and I reacted on flinching reflex, having already traced its motion. My hammer struck at the dense cluster of muscle right above the barbed sting. It too was armored, and a piercing clang! shocked the air at the impact, given greater volume by a less natural sound ¡ª the humming music of aura.


    My blow knocked the armored tail so hard that metal bent, the flesh beneath bruising, cartilage tearing. The manticore let out a shriek of pain, a yowling sound that made my teeth clench. Eddies of gilt vapor coiled through the air where hammer and tail met, fading like mist off hot stone even as I spurred Morgause on. She flew over the sand, sleek as a bird¡¯s shadow.


    My left hand shot out, and grabbed my advantage.


    The great spear, discarded by Karog as a show of cooperation, ripped from the ground as I pulled it. I spun it even as my chimera kept her speed, adjusting my grip on the move, lifting the spear high into the air like a waving banner. To the ogre it had been a flexible sidearm, but to me it may as well have been a hefty war lance.


    Morgause turned without slowing hardly a step, until we once again bore down on our opponent. Siriks struggled to get his mount focused as it lashed its tail about, driven into a rage by pain. He gave his reins a savage yank, spat something in his country¡¯s tongue, and managed to get the manticore back in control. His eyes shot up to me.


    The sky had grown darker even in the short time since our duel began. There was hardly a break in the rumbling lines of thunder stretching across encircling clouds. Though hardly any wind seemed to touch the island, the sea practically boiled around the Coloss, waves cracking and reaching across the walls, the trenches separating them from the tourney field, the sharp point of coastal rock at the far end.


    The sky itself seemed to bend toward us.


    Siriks spurred his mount on to meet me, but I was too close and my steed too fast. He wouldn¡¯t be able to pick up enough speed to counter my charge. Mere heartbeats separated the point of my lance and him, all my focus, my will, narrowing to the joining of those two objects.


    Strangely, Siriks took his hand off the manticore¡¯s reins and spread his arms out, as though welcoming the blow. I sensed something. A shiver in the world.


    In the moment before I struck him, the cymrinorean vanished. He was in the saddle, and then... gone. The manticore remained, lashing out with its claws in a blow Morgause dodged with a nimble sidestep that should have been impossible at that speed. I had to tighten on my grip on her to keep from being thrown off.


    Something struck me, hard. The blow caught me across my chest at an angle, hard steel slicing across breastplate and pauldron. The armor saved me, but the force of the blow ripped me right out of the saddle.


    The world tilted, turned, spun. Karog¡¯s spear struck the ground before I did. The wooden handle bent and snapped. I hit an instant later, in a bone jarring fall that sent me rolling, then sliding across the flat isle.


    It took me near half a minute to realize I¡¯d already stopped moving before my mind caught up. My vision reeled, my bones ached. My beautiful armor and rich blue cloth were gray with dust and wet sand.


    I¡¯d lost the spear in the fall, and the hammer... still nearby, just a few feet. I got to one knee, reached for it¡ª


    Movement in the corner of my helm¡¯s eye slit made me react on pure instinct. I turned, lifting a vambrace to block what I expected to be a blade.


    It turned out to be a boot. It went past my guard, slamming into my chest and knocking me on my back. It struck hard, and for a moment I wondered if it were Karog rather than the lean northerner who¡¯d attacked me.


    The next thing I saw was Siriks above me, more demon than man with his leviathan helm and twisting braid framed by the storm-blackened sky. He lifted his swordspear up with both hands, readying to bring it down point first, his left hand gripping the hollow above the weapon¡¯s cross hilt.


    I kicked out at his shin, made him stumble, then rolled as the weighty blade embedded itself into the sand where my head had been. I rolled over my fallen hammer, cradling it against my chest. With my left hand, I grabbed a clump of sand and hurled it right into Siriks¡¯s face as I rose.


    Not the most knightly move, but I¡¯d learned how to fight in the bailey of the Herdhold, not on the tourney field. Siriks flung an arm up to shield his face, but some of the dust must have gotten into his helmet. He stumbled back. I managed to stand.


    The crowd stirred around us, near loud as the growing storm with excitement. I barely noticed them.


    What just happened? He¡¯d seemed to flicker out of his saddle, gone in the blink of an eye. Teleportation?


    He swung with a shout, a cleaving blow with all his blade¡¯s weight behind it. I stepped backed, waited for the reckless blow to sink the spear¡¯s tip into the sand. I trapped it under one boot, then pressed the fingers of my left hand to my helm¡¯s mask, blowing the cymrinorean a mock kiss.


    I got the reaction I¡¯d wanted from the stands. Siriks¡¯s face reddened with rage, even as he fought to catch his breath.


    ¡°Need to sit a moment?¡± I asked him.


    He yanked his blade from under my boot, then used his Art again more in desperation than strategy. A blast of wind tugged him away from me in a flash, taking him from my reach as suddenly as a sail ripped from its bindings. The same pull dragged at me, but I was ready for it this time. Dropping to one knee, I sank the back-spike of my hammer into the ground, using it to anchor me. I also focused my own will, concentrating on staying grounded. In all auratic combat, willpower was half the fight.


    Even still, I was almost ripped right up into the sky. A terrifying sensation.


    This time I tracked him, looking up, and sure enough found his figure suspended in the sky, distant and small in that space before he started to tumble back down. I caught a flash behind him, an odd light.


    So that¡¯s how it was.


    He twisted, lashed out while still in midair, and a shape blurred toward me. I avoided the hurled spear by inches, letting it embed itself into the island.


    Once again Siriks fell, landing behind me before lashing out with a seax, the same dagger he¡¯d used to take Nimryd¡¯s eye. I ducked the swing, slashed at his wrist with my rondel, caught only the solid steel of his vambrace in a brief flash of sparks. I followed with the hammer, nearly catching his chin before he tilted away from the blow.


    Swing, dip, dodge, parry, slash, feint, riposte. A dance I knew well, and Siriks did not prove a disappointing partner. He fought like a young lion, strong as he was fast. He matched me in footwork if not in brawn.


    When I backed away, he snarled at me. ¡°Why are you holding back!?¡±


    Holding back? I was barely keeping up. Jocelyn had been right ¡ª this lad was a monster.


    But neither was I done. I crossed my two weapons again, waiting for him. Eyes popping wide in rage, he reached out with his free hand as though to claw at me. Again, I felt that odd shiver in the air, saw a light form behind him¡ª


    I rolled aside, even as that sucking power ¡ª gravity, Lias had called it ¡ª ripped air, debris, and water into a whipping orbit around Siriks. His spear flew from the ground where he¡¯d hurled it, flying back into his hand. If I hadn¡¯t dodged, it would have impaled me right through the back on its way to him.


    Three times now, four counting his earlier fight. I felt like I could almost grasp on how his power worked, or at least felt a solid hunch.


    All Art involves the manifestation of a phantasm, a spiritual construct of aura which acts as the tool by which one¡¯s power affects the world. This can be simple as a blade of fire, or complex as the internal mechanisms of a Marion.


    Siriks¡¯s power was no different. The problem was understanding the form it took, and how he could manipulate it.


    Siriks crouched, levered his spear back, one foot sliding sharply to the side beneath him. I waited for his Art to activate, ready for it this time. Let him bring me close, I thought.


    When I felt the pull behind me, it took me completely off guard and changed my perception of how his power worked in an instant. Is he not its center?


    I tilted backwards, off balance. Siriks shot forward, using the pull of his own magic to give himself unnatural speed. His feet lifted off the ground, his spear point driving forward with all the strength of a chimera-sped lance.


    Too close, too sudden, too fast. My own Art didn¡¯t have time to finish forming. He hit me. I felt the sharp point of his spear bite through steel, through chain, through cloth, flesh¡ª


    My feet left the ground. I had to drop my dagger and grab the spear just to stop it from going right through my abdomen. Even still, I lost the ground, lost my sense of up and down. Gray sand raced beneath us until we stopped, very suddenly, at the edge of the island.


    Angry water cracked and spat below, a shapeless monster eager to welcome me into its maw. I braced myself against the cliff¡¯s edge, grunting in pain at the metal biting into my skin. The spear formed a breach in my armor. Small, but large enough to be lethal if it went much deeper.


    ¡°What trick were you about to pull?¡± Siriks asked me. He stood very close.


    I tightened my grip on the spear, then lashed out with the hammer. Siriks caught my hand by the wrist, squeezing hard enough to make metal creak. His flaring power gave him unnatural strength.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go for a little ride, black knight!¡±


    Before I could so much as blink in response to that statement, we started moving again. Still digging the spear into the gap it¡¯d broken in my armor, Siriks was caught in the grip of his magic and began to rise.


    This time, he took me with him.


    Wind rushed around us, filling the gaps in my armor, whistling in my ears. Once more I felt that eldritch pull.


    We rose. Up, up...


    Into the storm.


    I¡¯d never flown before. For a moment, the fight for my life, even the pain of the metal threatening to tear my guts, faded from my thoughts. I saw the twin arcs of the Coloss wall, the island between them like a broken plate at the edge of Garihelm¡¯s lagoon. It grew smaller, the crowds on the stands blurring into an indistinct mess.


    The coast stretched out before me, distant mountains curtained in rain. And the sea...


    I saw the sea in flashes of pale lightning. Far out, waterspouts crawled over the unsettled waves. Terrifying. Enormous.


    Beautiful.


    Siriks¡¯s voice found me through the rushing wind, muffled even though he spoke nearly next to my ear. ¡°Yield, and I won¡¯t drop you!¡±


    I took a moment to burn that horizon into my memory. We were near the low-hanging clouds now. A fork of lightning cut them, unnervingly close. Siriks¡¯s demand for my surrender was lost in its boom.


    In that flash, I saw dark shapes in the clouds with simian arms and eerie white eyes, each large as a castle.


    ¡°YIELD!¡± Siriks roared over the wind. ¡°OR DIE!¡±


    The air grew cold. And hot. The storm was gravid with power, more primal than almost anything I¡¯d ever felt.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Siriks placed a hand on my shoulder. ¡°If you don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    I grabbed him around the back of the neck and pulled him close, cutting him off. I laced my breath with aura, so he could hear me clearly even over the howling wind.


    What I told him made his eyes widen. I let the words sink in, then twisted against his grip, endured the spike of agony as the spear tip bent in my flesh, and flung my hammer.


    It whipped through the air, end over end, flickering with golden fire. I had been a bit overconfident in my talk with Rose.


    And there is nothing better for breaking sorcery than aureflame.


    The hammer struck my target, and the sky behind Siriks erupted like shattered glass. Brilliant silver light burst into existence, chasing away the gold of my own magic.


    For a moment, within that flash, I saw Siriks¡¯s phantasm. An adamant moon, a guiding body to protect and shelter the last son of House Sontae. As my own power burned hot to reveal it in the same way I¡¯d stolen that earlier vision of the boy¡¯s past, I saw its true nature.


    A Blood Art, just like Emma¡¯s. Clean and cold, hard as diamond, yet paradoxically fragile. I felt I could almost touch on its true name.


    But I never learned it, and it was lost to the world that day.


    When my hammer broke the moon, it wasn¡¯t unlike breaking a rare and precious treasure. Siriks had suffered much in his life, and that construct was all he had left of his family. Perhaps he would be able to reforge it one day, but never quite the same.


    That was his consequence to bear.


    The spear point snapped in my flesh. Siriks stared at me, stunned both by what I¡¯d done and what I¡¯d just told him. The wind caught at his braid.


    We both began to fall.

 Arc 6: Chapter 9: Sunset

    Arc 6: Chapter 9: Sunset


    The wind howled. It tore away sound, thought, sensation. I was nothing, just a crumbling fragment of debris in the storm¡¯s grip. Siriks and I drifted further and further apart as we were buffeted by warring currents, slammed by slicing torrents of unsettled air.


    It seemed to last forever. And yet, the ancient broken ring of the Coloss and its little gray island, like an abstracted eye from this angle, swiftly grew larger in my vision. Siriks shouted something at me. I couldn¡¯t be sure, but it sounded like ¡°You fool!¡±


    Fair. I ignored him, focusing on the swift encroaching ground. Unfortunately, I possessed no sorceries for flight.


    Even as we fell to our deaths, a stray thought wormed through my growing panic. There are ogres in the storm.


    A problem for later. My focus went to the clusters of indistinct black shapes scattered beyond the outer ring of the tournament island. Like flocks of birds, only I knew they weren¡¯t birds. Their shapes grew more distinct as we fell, clarifying into stony gray forms with huge wings and gleaming silver eyes.


    While I hadn¡¯t exactly expected to need them this way, I felt a surge of relief that Markham had heeded my warnings. I¡¯d told his small council about the Mistwalkers gathering around the city, and he¡¯d released them out in force to guard the tournament.


    I focused on the nearest gargoyle, laced my breath with aura, and spoke.


    ¡°Catch us.¡±


    My command rang out, audible as any peel of thunder rolling across the storm above. Immediately, the nearest sentinels peeled off from their flocks.


    The ground dominated my vision. I could make out the inner ring of statues and spires along the Coloss walls now, the congregated masses on the stands, even the tiny figures of the tourney knights still waiting on the island. I forced myself to relax.


    A particularly large beast swiped the air like a diving falcon and caught me, not as gently as I¡¯d have liked. Clawed appendages closed on my shoulders and waist, three separate sets of digits clamping down. If not for my armor, I suspected they would have cut me to ribbons. The gargoyle sported a cherubic face fashioned of gold, like a mask set over its pitted gray flesh, and twin sets of wings carved to evoke the feathered mantle of a seraph. Its body otherwise resembled a chimeric union between a lion and an eagle.


    When the contents of my skull no longer felt like jelly, I searched and found Siriks. Two smaller gargoyles had him, each holding a shoulder so he hung suspended between their beating wings. Not the most dignified look, but at least he wasn¡¯t paste.


    The bit of metal still embedded into my stomach was agony, but I grit my teeth against the pain and focused on the ground.


    ¡°Set us down on the island.¡±


    The gold-masked golem let out a growl, but acquiesced to my order. It dropped me perhaps ten feet off the island¡¯s surface, and I had to roll into the fall. The lance of pain in my abdomen nearly made me faint. I managed to get to a knee, placing a hand against the gap in my breastplate as I caught my breath.


    The gargoyles dropped Siriks a moment later. He stumbled, righted himself, then stared at me in something between wariness and incomprehension.


    I felt the eyes of several thousand people on me. Ignoring them all, I heaved to my feet and faced the cymrinorean ambassador.


    He¡¯d managed to keep his spear. How knightly, to keep hold of his steel even as a death no feat of arms could avert rushed right for him.


    And I was weaponless. Even still I faced him calmly, while the storm muttered above and the sea rolled against the island.


    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± he told me bluntly.


    I shrugged. Siriks shook his head slowly.


    ¡°What you said... is it true?¡±


    I said nothing. No telling when the Coloss¡¯s strange magic would make my voice audible to the stands. He seemed to understand.


    His eyes drifted to the breach in my armor. ¡°You¡¯re injured. And weaponless.¡±


    I nodded.


    Siriks sniffed, pace several steps to his left, then lifted his spear high. Its broken tip gleamed with rain dew. I tensed.


    He planted it in the sand, let his hand rest on the lacquered haft a moment, then stepped back. A calmness fell over his youthful face.


    ¡°I yield. You fought very well, Ser Sain. I am satisfied.¡±


    He turned and spoke directly to the royal box. ¡°Cymrinor withdraws from this tourney.¡±


    In the tradition of tourney, no fighter is allowed to withdraw from the field until a match is resolved. However, in light of my victory over Siriks Sontae, the Emperor allowed the melee to continue while I observed from the sidelines, immune to the results.


    Ser Jorg had already yielded, so he sat with me and chatted, oddly casual after the epic clash he¡¯d just observed. He proved to be a friendly, personable man, the Grotesque Knight. He told me I was blessed, to have earned such mercy from the gargoyles whose resemblance he¡¯d taken for his armor.


    I decided not to tell him I¡¯d used my powers to compel them. I felt it might put a damper on his mood.


    Siriks stood alone near the edge of the island, arms folded and expression pensive. Whatever he thought, he kept it to himself and didn¡¯t offer me so much as a glance.


    He didn¡¯t know. I hadn¡¯t been sure.


    Karog waited until every member of his team had lost, then fought both Narinae Tarner and Hendry Hunting at once. He insisted on fighting them together, in fact. Narinae proved shockingly good, fast as a hummingbird and more aggressive than I¡¯d have expected. Hendry was a staunch support, big and solid at her back, preventing Karog from simply overpowering the smaller fighter with sheer aggression.


    When Karog slapped the boy hard enough to crack his spine, an angry backhand I suspected was more reflex than intent, I winced in tune with a wave of dismay from the stands. When Hendry just stood up, rubbing at his neck, Karog¡¯s eyes widened.


    It was obvious neither of them could beat the ogre. He was too powerful, too fast, too skilled. He seemed to have limitless stamina, not so much as breaking a sweat or pausing for breath as he battered at the two humans.


    But Narinae maintained a stoic focus, concentrating on keeping her feet and preventing a situation where she might have to yield, and Hendry kept pace with them both.


    ¡°She can¡¯t win,¡± Ser Jorg said, rubbing at the stylized goatee on his helmet. ¡°What¡¯s the lass doing?¡±


    ¡°Making certain she doesn¡¯t leave empty handed,¡± I said. The other knight glanced at me, surprised at my sudden verbosity.


    Sure enough, I sensed a strange tension from the woman. She threw herself into the fight, the eyes beneath her burgonet shockingly bright. Even after the spectacle between Siriks and me, the crowd grew more and more excited.


    Karog lashed out with his cleaver, using it skillfully as an assassin¡¯s dagger, the weapon blurring through the air as he advanced in a relentless barrage. Narinae deflected or dodged every strike, but she was flagging. I could hear her muffled shouts and grunts through her helm, as she poured every ounce of strength she had into staying up, staying in the fight.


    The storm continued to swirl, a spiral of clouds centered directly above the island. I found my eyes half lidded, soaking in that feeling. And I kept my attention on the storm, wary of the beasts I now knew lurked in it.


    Hendry made a mistake that cost him the fight. Narinae was hurled back by an almost casual swipe of Karog¡¯s blade, one that knocked the sword from her hand. Hendry placed himself in front of her. Gallant, but foolish.


    Karog kicked him, hard. Hendry went down on his back in an impact so hard it bounced him. Before he could rise, the ogre stepped forward and planted a boot heavy as a tree stump on his chest, pinning him. I heard his guttural demand for the boy to yield.


    Perhaps Hendry¡¯s iron bones weren¡¯t easy to break, but they could still warp. Karog pressed down, and I saw the lad¡¯s breastplate deform. I fought against the urge to intervene.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    No one else heard Hendry surrender, but Karog was close enough to hear, or perhaps just read his lips. The ogre stepped off him.


    Narinae found her sword, and dove back into the fight.


    It happened very suddenly. It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d seen it, that moment of awakening, but even still the intensity of it shocked me. Karog roared at his remaining opponent, the sound incredibly similar to the throaty bellow of a lion. He lunged forward, clove down with all his considerable weight behind the blow.


    She laughed softly. ¡°I kind of like it. Besides, you¡¯re the one who took these.¡±


    She reached out and brushed the blue flowers, where they remained tucked into my left pauldron above my heart.


    ¡°Just playacting,¡± I said.


    She was a quiet a while, then spoke in a softer voice. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I think...¡±


    She propped herself up on her hands, staring at me. ¡°I think you were more yourself than you¡¯ve been in a long while down there, maybe ever. I¡¯ve seen it a few times, you know. How noble you can be. I think the helmet let you be more honest to yourself.¡±


    I lifted my eyebrows. ¡°You think that prancing cock was who I really am?¡±


    She flicked my nose. ¡°I think that gallant knight is who you want to be.¡±


    Outside, the sun set. Catrin seemed to grow less lethargic, her grip on my arm tightening. The dull color of her eyes brightened, taking on a nocturnal glow. Her nails scraped against the steel over my bicep.


    ¡°Are you going to do it?¡± She whispered.


    I sensed the change in her, and knew to be cautious. ¡°Do what?¡±


    ¡°Kill her.¡±


    My eyes opened, staring into the room¡¯s darkness.


    ¡°Al?¡±


    ¡°I have a plan,¡± I said. ¡°The pieces are already moving.¡±


    Catrin curled closer against me, one leg brushing over my thigh. ¡°Will you tell me? I want to help.¡±


    Again, I didn¡¯t answer at first. My senses weren¡¯t just on her, but on the surrounding room. When she¡¯d entered, I hadn¡¯t known it was Catrin at first.


    It had felt like the demon.


    ¡°I need you to trust me,¡± I said.


    Her voice came out tighter. ¡°He¡¯s not listening.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to kill her not?¡± Then, with less anger she added, ¡°I¡¯m scared, Alken. I don¡¯t want to die. I don¡¯t want to stay like this. It hurts.¡±


    Another voice echoed through my memory. Hurts, hurts, hurts, it hurts¡ª


    I laced my fingers through her hair, pulling her against my chest. She clutched me tightly.


    I wouldn¡¯t fail her like I¡¯d failed Kieran. I wasn¡¯t certain I¡¯d survive it any more than she would.


    ¡°Tomorrow night,¡± I said. ¡°This will all end tomorrow night.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea to tell you. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Her nails made white marks along my armor. ¡°I thought you trusted me.¡±


    ¡°I do. But you¡¯re not all yourself right now.¡±


    More angrily she said, ¡°I could take it from your blood.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°You could, if I was willing to let you.¡±


    ¡°Yith said you wouldn¡¯t trust me. That you¡¯d choose them. This damned kingdom that¡¯s made you miserable.¡±


    My jaw tightened. ¡°Yith is a parasite.¡±


    ¡°So am I.¡±


    She has stolen every moment she¡¯s pretended to be alive from those who truly are.


    I pressed my lips to her hair and spoke softly. ¡°I know it hurts. I know it¡¯s hard. Just endure it one more day.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have to if you just killed that bitch!¡±


    When I didn¡¯t answer, she began to plead.


    ¡°Please, Alken.¡±


    ¡°She deserves it. She¡¯s evil.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a slaver.¡±


    ¡°A murderer.¡±


    ¡°It hurts, I need it to stop.¡±


    ¡°You promised you would save me.¡±


    ¡°Just kill her. Let the rest of these bastards sort it out.¡±


    ¡°Please. Please please please please¡ª¡±


    I held her tightly, let her rave, and hated myself.


    But I did not tell her my plan.


    And I did not give in to her pleas.


    And I swore to myself that I would send Yith Golonac screaming back into Hell.

 Arc 6: Chapter 10: The Second Day

    Arc 6: Chapter 10: The Second Day


    ¡°You must convince him to stop this.¡±


    I sighed without slowing my pace. ¡°You know he won¡¯t. Besides, why don¡¯t you do it? You and the steward have been his councilors for years.¡±


    The Royal Clericon, whose real name was Candice Fletcher, struggled to keep pace with me. She wasn¡¯t a young woman, nor in the best health.


    ¡°Would you stop!?¡± She insisted.


    Suppressing a growl, I did and wheeled on her. Pale and silver haired, the Emperor¡¯s scribe was an almost ghostly woman in her gold-trimmed white habit and silky veil, though the glint of anger in her eyes made her seem more solid.


    ¡°You and I shouldn¡¯t even be seen talking,¡± I told her sternly. Not least of all because I¡¯m not certain you¡¯re not a traitor, I added to myself. I was dressed as the Headsman then, on my way back from delivering a report to the royal box. The brief errand cost me time, and I needed to get my tourney armor on and get down to the field for first muster. The sun was less than hour risen, and already the stands were filling.


    I was tired. My injury and half a night spent trying to calm a terrified, demon-possessed vampire had taken their toll. Catrin had slipped back into her shadows before sunrise, leaving me a scant few hours for troubled sleep. I worried for her.


    ¡°We¡¯ve tried. But he heeds your warnings, Ser Alken. You personally knew the man responsible for planning this tournament.¡±


    I folded my arms, uncomfortable with the mention of Lias. ¡°What of it?¡±


    Steel crept into Sister Candice¡¯s eyes. ¡°The phenomenon we expected to emerge during this festival is occurring far faster and more fiercely than our projections indicated. This... ritual is old magic, pagan magic. I already advised the Emperor against it, but he insisted it is necessary. And I fear...¡±


    ¡°Fear what?¡± I asked, somewhat mollified by the worry in the old scribe¡¯s eyes as she trailed off.


    ¡°Without Master Hexer, we do not understand this phenomenon well enough to act appropriately if something goes awry. There¡¯s a bloody hurricane brewing out there, for God¡¯s sake!¡±


    Almost on cue, a rumble of bitter sounding thunder all but shook the corridor we stood in. I winced.


    It would be all too easy if the tournament could simply be canceled, but doing so would anger the lords and make the Emperor look weak. He couldn¡¯t afford that. Candice knew it, I knew it, and Markham knew it.


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± I asked. ¡°Besides calling the tourney off.¡±


    She considered a moment. ¡°First of all, we should send the commonfolk back into the city. They¡¯re adding to it, and it might delay the effects.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to go over well with the commons,¡± I noted dryly. ¡°They¡¯re as hungry for blood as anyone.¡±


    ¡°Better than them being swept away by the sea,¡± the cleric stated icily.


    I nodded. ¡°Suggest it to the Emperor, tell him I thought it prudent.¡± Then after more thought I added, ¡°Tell the Empress first. She¡¯ll help convince him.¡±


    It clearly didn¡¯t appease the old woman, but she bowed and departed. That left me standing alone, with one more thing to fret over. Just one more day. If everything went to plan, we wouldn¡¯t need to worry about the third.


    My eyes were drawn to a flicker of movement at the end of the hall, opposite the way the Royal Clericon went. A man stood there. I approached him. He wore the elaborate, flaring garments popular with merchants from Bantes. Only, instead of sporting garish colors as many bantesian traders preferred, his were all in shades of gray.


    He regarded me with a flinty smile, the same one he¡¯d offered during our brief encounter at the Backroad Inn, inside the Keeper¡¯s private room. His teeth were the color of old iron.


    ¡°Ser Headsman.¡±


    ¡°Devil.¡±


    The crowfriar placed a hand to his heart, playacting at hurt. ¡°So uncouth! And I thought we¡¯d been getting on well.¡±


    ¡°I will never get on well with your order.¡± I inhaled slowly, finding my calm. ¡°But I¡¯m tolerating the lesser evil. Are your people ready?¡±


    Ostanes grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve run into some... complications.¡±


    ¡°What complications?¡± I growled.


    ¡°To put it simply...¡± The elegant man showed his palms, revealing subtle burn scars on his fingers not dissimilar from my own. ¡°My brothers and sisters do not trust you. We understand your spat with the Vicar was somewhat... personal, but even still. Many see you as brazen and uncontrollable, and fear you¡¯re luring them into some sort of trap.¡±


    He drew a thumb across his neck. I noted an old scar there. A rope burn.


    ¡°Your realm touts itself on the containment of demonkind,¡± I said darkly. ¡°There¡¯s one here. You would turn a blind eye? I know Vicar and Oraise were hunting it.¡±


    To be fair, I reminded myself, that was before you drove them from the capital.


    He nodded indulgently, adjusting his toadstool hat. ¡°Yes, well, we are still on the back foot in this land. Understand, we must take each case with due caution. So, you have me. I know the rites, Headsman, don¡¯t you fear.¡±


    ¡°If you cross me...¡± I warned.


    Ostanes held up his hands again. ¡°I would much prefer to be owed a favor than vengeance, trust me. Just call for me when I¡¯m needed.¡±


    With that, he tipped his hat and seemed to dissolve into the shadows. It was far creepier than what Catrin or Emma did, like he disintegrated into the darkness. All he left was the subtle reek of sulfur.


    Show off. Even as I glared at the space he¡¯d occupied, I knew my anger wasn¡¯t all with the devil or his flippancy.


    Pages had my steed waiting for me. I mounted Morgause, who purred at my touch. Hardly any two knights rode the same sort of beast. Preferences and breeding practices varied across the subcontinent, and even more exotic creatures from beyond our shores had recently come into style. There were cockatrices, lionhounds, unicorns, kynedeer, kelpie, golden bears. I even saw one fin-crested lancer on a salamander, with fire flickering behind its teeth.


    Some of them murmured greetings to me, using my assumed name. I gave those a nod, but kept my silence.


    Karog happened to be on my left. He still wore his archaic looking bronze armor, and held a new cleaver with an exotically hooked blade. He side-eyed me, but said nothing. He was the only fighter without a chimera, probably having found no beast capable of bearing his weight. He remained at a height with many of those mounted knights around him, so I suspected he could make do without.


    The drums started to beat, ushering us out onto the island. I spurred my scadumare after the knight ahead of me, a short figure in rounded armor given extra height by a distinctly mushroom shaped helm. He hummed as we went, his voice given an artificial baritone by his mask.


    The storm had gotten worse, just as the Royal Clericon warned me. The spitting, snarling black clouds formed a vortex directly above the Coloss, intermittently illuminated by blooms of light. The air reeked of rain and felt charged, both to my mundane and auratic senses.


    Strangely, very little of the storm actually seemed to touch the island. A light rain fell on us, mostly made of whatever the wind caught. This was not true beyond the ancient arena¡¯s walls. Across Garihelm¡¯s lagoon and the bay beyond, a veritable howl of wind and shrouding rain swept across the capital of the Accorded Realms.


    I glanced at the stands, and to my relief it seemed like Markham had taken the advice I¡¯d filtered through Sister Candice. There were still hundreds of nobles and dignitaries filling their private boxes and alcoves, or lined up along the lower stands, but the vast majority of common folk seemed to have been ushered out and asked to return home.


    I doubted that would please Garihelm¡¯s citizens, but better disgruntled than in danger. After Siriks¡¯s display of power the day before, I worried about collateral damage.


    The herald¡¯s bombastic voice faded into the background, same as the unsettled weather, as I took in all the knights who¡¯d made it through the grueling gauntlet of the tourney¡¯s first day. All remaining competitors were organized into a great ring around the island, facing toward the center. I caught sight of Jocelyn across the way, arrayed all in autumnal colors and sat proud on his pegadrake.


    I searched, and found Calerus Vyke. Now I knew him, he wasn¡¯t hard to spot. Where those lancers around him wore bright steel and dyed cloth, he remained in dingy rust brown armor covered in weathered designs, his sallow face shrouded by a battered helm. Like my scadumare and Jocelyn¡¯s pegadrake, his mount held something of the reptile in its form, with flesh reminiscent of thick, cracking leather. However, rather than being equine it resembled a brutish, heavy jawed dog, with a steel helm sporting three heavy spikes.


    Proudest of all was the lady Evangeline Ark, contender for the throne of the Bannerlands, arrayed in white steel inscribed with golden scripture and crowned in a haloed helm. Not far from her I noted the princess Snoe? Farram of Graill, who hadn¡¯t returned to her homeland in protest after all. She wore the same fur-mantled plate she had the first day I¡¯d seen her, decorated by the snarling pelt of a wolpertinger.


    No more fighting adventurers. This gathering was made of the lords of Urn, and I would be crossing lances with some of the mightiest names in all the Accorded Realms.


    The Lady Ark was called out first, and she spurred her armored ram into the center of the island. A different game was played this time, and the herald called on volunteers to cross lances with the Bannerlands champion. The Farram princess went out first on her dire wolf. It was a mountain beast glutted on generations of magic pouring out of the Blessed Country, huge and intelligent, white as snow.


    Their fight lasted more than ten minutes, a very long time for a duel. They jousted at first, but both grew bored after only three passes and drew their blades. They proved well matched. Though Princess Snoe? was most of a decade younger, she¡¯d clearly trained well and enjoyed a vicious sword arm. She had far more patience than the bear rider from the day before, refusing to let the older woman bait her to anger.


    I felt Lady Evangeline¡¯s Art form seconds before she revealed it. Lightning flickered around the Coloss, the energy of the storm drawn to that gathering power as though it were an alchemist¡¯s eldritch machine. She whipped her sword about, her mount turning in a sharp circle in time with the motion, and a gleaming halo burned itself into the ground. It started out with the color and glow of hot metal, but quickly cooled to something closer to quicksilver. The circle wasn¡¯t complete, forming a shape more like a slim crescent moon. Her nimble ram leapt out of the circle, passing through the narrow gap on one side.


    Snoe?¡¯s eyes widened beneath her helm. Her dire wolf had gone in for a leap, and couldn¡¯t alter its course. Its front paws landed inside that circle of aura. There was a flash of light, a keening note, and then¡ª


    The circle rose, expanding, shifting, until it formed a glimmering helix in the air which completely encircled the Graill princess and her chimera. The wolf snarled at the light. When it stilled, it formed a cage of shining, curved points all facing inward.


    Just like an iron maiden, I thought.


    ¡°That rune is quite sharp,¡± Evangeline called out with a high laugh. ¡°But your armor is very good! Would you like to test it, princess?¡±


    Snoe? glared at the auratic cage a short while, then sheathed her sword. ¡°No. I yield, Lady Evangeline. Well played.¡±


    The Lady Ark spurred her mount forward, studied the helix, then swiped her sword once. It shattered, quickly disintegrating into a cascade of glassy motes. Her opponent visibly flinched.


    The two women retired back to the ring of knights. The herald called another forward, this one a rider I did not know by the name of Ser Konrad.


    Konrad was a huge man on a huge beast. His chimera hardly looked like it needed armor, and indeed wore very little. Its leathery hide was made of overlapping plates of bone, with a small, blunt head horned like one of the unicorns. The knight himself wore angry red armor and a helm crested with mighty serrated horns. In each hand he clutched a heavy battle axe, and a thong of medals hung over his breastplate.


    By the weathered look of those medals and the fact no two were quite alike, I guessed them to be trophies.


    Again, the tourney herald called for a challenger to step forward and I understood the game. I glanced at Markham, and wondered if he¡¯d suggested this ritual or if Lias had.


    In old days, tribal armies would conduct combat trials amongst their champions. One would be called forward, and a challenger asked to present themselves. The loser would retire from the combat, while the winner would gain the opportunity to fight again. Simple enough, but there was more to it than that.


    At my side, Karog stirred and began to step forward. I held out a hand to stop him, eliciting a growl.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I said. He did, tossing me a curious glance.


    The knight on the salamander moved into the ring. He was a thin man in closely fitted armor, giving him an almost irkish look. His helm sported two decorative webbed fins, matching the more natural growths on his mount. The beast stared at all of us with almost tumorous eyes, huge and extending out of their sockets. The chimera¡¯s helm included protective blinders for those bugging orbs.


    But he wasn¡¯t the only one to meet the red knight¡¯s challenge. A rider on a barbed cockatrice across the way also stepped forward.


    The herald¡¯s voice boomed over us. ¡°Ser Rubek and Ser Cassim have both accepted Ser Konrad¡¯s challenge! They will now fight to determine who shall have the honor of facing him.¡±


    My hunch had been right. A contender got called forward, then anyone who wanted to could challenge them. If more than one challenger stepped forward, they would fight instead and the first knight would face the victor. It would go on like that until only a certain number of warriors were left.


    An elaborate game of chicken. If you accepted a challenge at the same time as another, then you¡¯d have to fight multiple opponents in a row and be at a disadvantage. It tested both the courage and restraint of every participant. Be too eager, and you risked exhausting yourself. Be too timid, and you got no chances to distinguish yourself and risked earning the derision of your fellow warriors. It was a social game as much as a martial one.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Karog rumbled. He understood now too, and I suspected he got the same idea I did.


    This was our shot at Calerus.

 Arc 6: Chapter 11: Flash of The Blade

    Arc 6: Chapter 11: Flash of The Blade


    Ser Konrad¡¯s axes formed blurring lines of heat. Their edges glowed red hot, each swipe trailing a cascade of smoldering embers. He made elaborate patterns in the air, ones that tricked the eye and disoriented his foe.


    He¡¯s using that deliberately, I thought, impressed. Even as I felt disgruntled seeing someone else employ a technique so similar to my own, I wasn¡¯t too proud not to take inspiration.


    Ser Rubek¡¯s salamander recoiled, letting out a shockingly loud hiss. Fire smoldered behind its jaws a moment before it let out a cough, sending a plume of broiling heat flaring through the air.


    Konrad¡¯s mount charged through the flame undeterred. Fire curled along the red knight¡¯s heavy armor, barely doing more than leaving black marks along his pauldrons. He swept a burning axe even as the salamander skittered out of the way of its brutish foe. Rubek parried, only to have his sword literally cleaved in half as the axe swept across its middle, leaving the line of the cut glowing like it were hot off a forge. No less than half the sword¡¯s length landed in a smoldering, melting heap in the sand. It had been struck many times already.


    The thin knight¡¯s surrender came as a choked gasp I barely heard. Konrad lifted his twin weapons and clashed them together, brandishing their blazing edges for the gathered nobles to see as the herald proclaimed his victory.


    ¡°Well fought!¡± The herald roared. ¡°You may return to your fellows, Ser Konrad.¡±


    The Crimsonbrand Knight lifted his glaring mask to the Arbiter¡¯s Spire and boomed a response. ¡°I will not! Let the next face me!¡±


    Rather than show annoyance at this refusal, the herald melodramatically flourished his scepter and poised with it in the air, waiting. Slowly, theatrically, he lifted his eyes to the Emperor.


    Markham raised his golden gauntlet, nodding. The herald pointed his scepter at Konrad.


    ¡°Granted! May the next challenger step forward!¡±


    It was clear most of those gathered did not want to risk their steel on Konrad¡¯s blazing axes. Even if they won, he threatened to ruin their precious war gear.


    ¡°Can I participate now?¡± Karog asked me testily.


    ¡°Wait for Calerus,¡± I told him. ¡°And watch this.¡±


    He glowered at me, unamused as I spurred Morgause forward. The scadumare stepped into the ring with imperious calm. Nearly a hundred and fifty sets of eyes watched me from the circle of waiting knights, many more from the walls.


    I¡¯d also intended to wait, but Calerus seemed suspicious of my disguise already. Better to not give him any reason to suspect I was coordinating against him, especially since he¡¯d no doubt recognized his former ally standing next to me.


    Besides. Ser Konrad was using my own technique. I wanted to test myself against it. I reached back and grasped the hilt of my sword. It hadn¡¯t come with a proper sheath, just a leather wrap, a strap, and an iron ring to secure it to my backplate. I unhooked it.


    I needed to know, before the moment it truly mattered.


    If I could still fight as I once had.


    The gathered warriors watched, judging, as my mare¡¯s claws crunched the island¡¯s brittle rock. Thunder rolled across the sky, distant wind howled, and banners flapped.


    I nudged Morgause with my boot, and she quickened her step. Faster, the air whistling through the gaps in my helmet. My vision condensed, focused, locked on my target. Konrad clashed his axes together, producing sparks and intensifying the hot glow on each blade.


    My world became the flex of muscle beneath my armor, the rhythmic breaths filling the inside of my helm, the ripping music of cloth as wind caught it. I kept the claymos at my back as my chimera broke into a gallop. When she advanced to a sprint, I lifted my left hand to brush the pommel with my fingers, cocking the war blade over my right shoulder. Konrad waited until I¡¯d covered half the distance, then spurred his war beast forward. It came on like an avalanche, all leathery hide and metal and anger.


    As my fingers curled around the sword¡¯s leather-wrapped grip, I felt it all. Her blood on my hands, her lips on mine, her last words in my ears. My eyes stung. Wind, I think.


    But I had other memories of the sword. A hundred battles across a hundred fields, an endless parade of triumphs and glories and regrets. I drowned myself in that sea, let it sweep me away for just a moment.


    I did not fight the memories, but immolated in them.


    Steel parted air with a bitter music. A burning axe swung, forming a molten blur that burned itself into my sight. A single flex of muscle, a moment of strain, a muffled grunt, a tremor of impact.


    Konrad¡¯s ornate axe shattered into fragments. Some pinged off my armor, others embedded themselves into the sand or into the larger chimera¡¯s thick hide. One found a gap in the man¡¯s helmet and blinded that eye forever.


    We passed each other. When I turned, Konrad was slumped in his saddle. The smoldering hilt of the ruined weapon in his right hand tumbled to the ground as he reached for his face. One of the curling horns on his helmet had been sliced off, along with a decorative crest on his right pauldron.


    And after I told Siriks to restrain himself. I cursed my lack of self control. I could have killed the man. The edge of my sword was glowing red hot down nearly a third of its length.


    Konrad whirled his beast around with a savage yank on the reins. He looked like a demon, with his single remaining horn and red armor and monstrous chimera. He lifted the axe in his left hand. A shard of his broken weapon formed a rent in the vent-like slits on his helm, just where the right eye would be. It trailed smoke, and probably pained him terribly.


    Enough to drive him into a rage. I hefted my sword back onto my shoulder while Morgause circled calmly.


    ¡°BASTARD!¡± He roared. ¡°Do you have any idea how hard these axes are to make!? That¡¯s dwarf work, you churl!¡±


    I blinked. Was he not upset about the eye? In question, I pointed at it.


    Whatever the case, it spooked the unicorn. Even as Vander spurred it on with a kick, the chimera seemed unwilling to get near that serpentine blade. Myrice made figure eights with it, daring him to get close. Her weapon audibly hummed through the air, hissing and droning like a living thing.


    The technique the Gorgon was famous for didn¡¯t work like many auratic powers. It was a curse, a bane which advanced in intensity the longer one let a fight drag out. It rested in the eyes of the caster, a light that burned what it touched. Those burns would quickly form into callous, then calcify, thickening until a victim was trapped in a shell of stone, suffocated alive within that prison.


    I could see Myrice¡¯s eyes through the fanged mask of her helmet. They glowed green.


    The effect wouldn¡¯t be lethal at first. The Gorgons mostly used it to cause lethargy in their opponent, weighing them down and slowing them so they could go in for a killing blow with ordinary weapons. It could affect inorganic material as well as flesh. The one who¡¯d fought me had tried to trap me inside my own armor.


    She¡¯ll try to make him yield. I could practically feel the woman¡¯s rage, but also her pride. She would not shame herself in front of this gathering with murder. She¡¯ll leave him too heavy to move, then stop the curse.


    Vander knew his enemy as well. He did not drag the fight out.


    Maxim¡¯s son flicked his mace to one side, then brought it up above his head. The motion continued, oddly mechanical, like he was indicating points on a map. I felt the change that often came over the environment when an Art manifested, that strange sense of reality bending into some strange new pattern.


    Each spot Vander indicated with his weapon suddenly bloomed into a bright blue sphere, like a star. The scene before my eyes seemed to darken, so those points became uncannily bright. I could make out the lines between them, a pale wire of connectivity.


    A constellation, I realized. It was a map, of the kind a navigator at sea might use.


    Vander ended his ritual, and when he brandished his flanged mace it seemed to catch the shining line between those auratic stars, pulling them into his swing. He wielded his own sort of whip then, only his had more in common with a flail. The burning green points of Myrice¡¯s eyes widened. She stopped her dexterous display and lifted her shield, just as Vander swung.


    She should have dodged. The weaponized constellation struck like a comet. I didn¡¯t even see the impact, just a blinding flash of light followed by an eerie hum that seemed to linger in the air a long time. I threw up an arm to shield my face.


    When that blinding light faded and I managed to blink its afterimage away, the scene had changed drastically. There was a glowing crater in the middle of the field, still shining with hot blue aura. Myrice¡¯s chimera was dead, its remnants scattered for nearly twenty feet. Its mistress lay on the ground. Though she lived and seemed to be trying to stand, she¡¯d been injured badly. She had a broken arm, the metal of her intricate armor twisted and disfigured on one side. When she got to one knee, her damaged helm slipped off to reveal a shaken young woman of perhaps twenty five. She had black hair cut above her shoulders, and bright green eyes full of shocked pain.


    Very calmly, Vander dismounted and approached her. He studied the fallen Gorgon a moment, and I couldn¡¯t read his face through his helmet.


    I knew he was full of anger. I debated interfering. Part of me looked at the former Recusant and saw another Hyperia, or even another Orson. An equally large part of me saw Emma.


    Vander was no Headsman, and we didn¡¯t need more spite between the land¡¯s families. We didn¡¯t need more Carreons, or even more Orleys. I tightened my grip on my chimera''s reins and prepared to move.


    But Vander paused with his mace half lifted. ¡°Do you yield?¡± His voice was cold, without passion.


    Fear crept through the pain on the young woman¡¯s face. If she refused to yield, then he could kill her without censure. In tourney, being unable to compel an opponent¡¯s surrender was considered a kind of defeat, but that wouldn¡¯t matter to Myrice or her family.


    Even still, I saw defiance flicker in the young knight¡¯s eyes, fighting against the terror. She opened her mouth, closed it, then lifted her chin.


    Vander lifted his arm above his head, and once again that flail of blue stars smoldered into reality. Doubt blotted out the obstinance in his opponent¡¯s face, just for a moment before he swung. There was another eruption, another blinding flash.


    When done, Myrice blinked. She was still alive and intact. Her alchesteel sword, however, lay in glowing splinters across the sand.


    ¡°My opponent cannot continue the fight,¡± Vander said aloud for the whole field to hear. ¡°Unless someone would like to offer her a weapon?¡±


    We all waited. Myrice scanned the ring of knights for anyone willing to enable her to continue. Everyone saw her eyes linger on the talsyner prince. When he just stared coldly, her face turned red with shame.


    It was the Emperor¡¯s own thunderous voice that ended the match. ¡°House Gorgon is unable to continue. House Braeve will pay reparations for Ser Myrice¡¯s chimera. Both of you, return to the circle.¡±


    Vander turned to the Spire, bowed, and replied in courteous tones. ¡°I have acted with ill restraint, Your Grace. House Braeve requests permission to withdraw from this tournament, and will pay reparations.¡±


    There were mutters around me, and from the stands. Markham stared down at Vander, his distant features remote and unreadable as a moon.


    ¡°Granted. House Braeve quits the tourney. I ask that you return to the city, Lord Vander.¡±


    Vander''s withdrawal became official when he removed his helmet. He took his unicorn¡¯s reins and started to make his way to one of the tunnels.


    Karog unfolded his arms and forward. ¡°What was that about?¡±


    I stared after Vander. He met no one¡¯s eyes as he left, his back straight and his chin lifted proudly. And why should he be ashamed? This tournament meant little to him. As he¡¯d proven several times to me, he served the Accorded Realms first, even if it made him enemies. To everyone else, his actions would look emotional, simply the result of a personal drama. I knew better.


    The plan was in motion.

 Arc 6: Chapter 13: Wyrmblighted

    Arc 6: Chapter 13: Wyrmblighted


    A single bolt of lightning wreathed the sky, and in its flash the nightmare lifted its head high and revealed a forked tongue as though tasting the storm. Nearly two hundred knights and more than a thousand bystanders stared, trapped in a lasting moment of eerie stillness.


    It had no wings, and eight limbs to support its ungainly mass. The first two looked disturbingly like human arms, twisted and stunted to curl over a bulging pot belly set below an emaciated chest. Two tails whipped the air, viscous strings of bloody membrane connecting them. A crown of sickly yellow horns weighed down its arrow-shaped head, no two grown in quite the same shape. Its scales grew in a patternless chaos, even bursting from one eye socket like a cancer. The remaining eye looked white and blind.


    Indeed, it did not seem to notice the rest of us. The creature¡¯s head swayed back and forth, almost drunkenly, an unbroken hiss escaping its parted jaws to produce a sound like building steam.


    I spoke to the knight next to me, keeping my voice low. ¡°Take some of these others with you and get the emperor and empress out of here. Start clearing the stands.¡±


    The lordly knight remained still a moment. Though the bearded mask of his helmet hid his face, I sensed he was stunned.


    ¡°Do you hear me?¡± I said more urgently. ¡°Start evacuating the Coloss, now.¡±


    He startled. In that same moment, one of the knights lost control of his animal. It reared, screaming, and the wyrm¡¯s head tilted towards it.


    Everything went wrong. People up on the walls started shouting. So did the tourney knights. One baronet began to shout prayers at the creature like it were a demon he meant to banish. The dragon stilled its swaying, then in an almost ponderous movement its towering neck dropped like a felled tree.


    But not because that pious knight¡¯s invocation had hurt it. The neck fell, and crushed the praying man beneath it along with his chimera.


    Its milky eye stared out at us, and the thing that had been Jocelyn chuckled.


    Its six twisted legs began to work like an insect¡¯s, propelling the creature¡¯s mass forward at shocking speed. Dust and gravelly island rock erupted around it as it crawled on its belly, keeping its horned head low to the ground. Its maw opened, snapped shut over a fully armored cockatrice, dislodging its rider only to crush him underfoot. Blood splattered knights more than twenty feet away.


    The monster passed perhaps thirty feet to my right, ploughing through tourney knights as it went and killing at least six by doing little more than moving through them. When one Westvale lancer tried to get away on his nimble kynedeer, the wyrm caught him with its horns ¡ª more like antlers, I realized ¡ª and gored him straight through. The man remained stuck to that crown, flailing and still alive, as the dragon began to turn.


    It had another man in its mouth. Ser Gerard, I realized. Even in the moment I registered that, it lifted its head to toss the man, opened its maw wide, and swallowed him whole. His choked scream cut off abruptly.


    The monster made an odd gulping motion, like a pelican taking a fish too big for it. Its neck wasn¡¯t particularly large just below the jaws, and I could see the bulge where Gerard was, see his legs kicking in the air a moment before the thing¡¯s mouth closed. It made a horrible sound, a sort of bass, hiccupping gulp as it worked the muscles in its throat. A man I¡¯d fought alongside and almost died with was gone, just like that.


    What was happening? What was this nightmare? Jocelyn had been a dragon?


    No. This didn¡¯t feel like a discarded disguise. I recalled his last words before the change.


    Wyrmblight.


    Calerus and Karog, who¡¯d been on the verge of having their long awaited showdown, both stared at the monster just like everyone else. By the prince¡¯s expression, I decided this wasn¡¯t another one of his family¡¯s insidious schemes.


    Cursing, I lifted my sword and focused my will. This was a crisis, no longer a cautious game where I needed to concern myself with misdirection and strategy. If I didn¡¯t act, people would die. Some already had. I¡¯d never faced this kind of creature before, only knew the stories, but the feeling in my soul and the cold sweat on my skin told me a simple truth.


    It was dangerous. More so by far than the storm ogre. My emperor and empress were threatened.


    What did I do? I wanted to go straight to Rosanna, get her out safely rather than trusting anyone else to do it. I wasn¡¯t responsible for all these other lives, and there was every chance Hyperia or Yith might take this opportunity to act against us. Perhaps they¡¯d even set this up somehow, and not warned Calerus.


    A stretch, but...


    No. I¡¯d stop it here, make sure it didn¡¯t get out into the city. I had a responsibility as a knight.


    Morgause did not hesitate to move forward, the brave girl, and we advanced on the scaled nightmare like a black wind. I took my sword in both hands, levering it back in preparation for a swing. I aimed for one of the creature¡¯s ankles on its back leg, the sturdiest looking of the set. If I could cripple it, maybe¡ª


    A flash of movement made me instinctively pull back on my chimera¡¯s reins. She let out a sound somewhere between a chirp and a whinny. One of the wyrm¡¯s tails whipped through the air, huge and fast as a sudden breeze. I saw the lesions on it, the ill-grown scales, the yellow, brittle-looking spines.


    I swung my sword, and probably saved my chimera¡¯s life. I cut the end of that tail clean off. The second tail, however, struck me like a giant¡¯s club and took me off my saddle. The world spun, blurred, and for the second time that day I hit the island hard enough to lose all the air in my lungs.


    Slam, crash, roll. An uncontrollable movement. I lost my sword, had to tuck my arms and legs in. My armor probably saved me from being flayed by the sharp rocks. My left leg twisted under me. A lightning bolt of pain exploded in it.


    The situation escalated within the half minute it took me to get a knee under me and stop the world from spinning. Everything was chaos under the black, flickering clouds spiraling above the arena. Knights moved about, some trying to get out of the way and others trying to fight the monster.


    There, I saw one brave man couch his lance and charge. His chimera looked like an ox of some kind, a tri-horn from the pastoral baronies of the Gylden. He was using a tourney lance, useless against this enemy, but even as I watched him build speed a pale light formed around his weapon, increasing its length and making it shine like a star.


    He hit. The lance broke, but the aura he¡¯d wreathed it in held the force of a cannonball. A cascade of steaming blood exploded from the wyrm¡¯s hind leg as scales shattered and muscle ruptured. The knight turned his mount and went under the thing¡¯s tail, getting out of the way.


    Emboldened by this, others turned to fight. These were warriors, some of them veterans of the Fall, and they were not unprepared to defend themselves. I saw the wounded, half blind Ser Konrad front and center, his remaining axe glowing red as he shouted orders.


    Turning my attention from that, I found Morgause. She cantered a distance away, keeping her distance. I left her be for the time, instead trying to get a lay of the battlefield.


    I didn¡¯t see the knight with the masked helm. Hopefully, he¡¯d gone to do what I¡¯d told him and get people out.


    Then, just when I prepared to move again, a voice like thunder crashed down on the island as the Emperor spoke.


    ¡°Knights of the Accord, stall that creature while the arena is emptied. Do not let it out from this place!¡±


    A figure appeared at my side, getting a hand under my arm to help me up. My left leg almost buckled as I put weight on it, and I found an unsettlingly deep dent in my breastplate from where the monster¡¯s tail struck me. Pain throbbed dully through my ribs. I¡¯d fractured some, probably.


    The one who¡¯d helped me was the knight in the mushroom helm. ¡°Are you alright?¡± He asked.


    I startled as I recognized the voice within. ¡°Fen Harus? What¡ª¡±


    ¡°I wished to test this generation for myself,¡± the disguised elf said flatly, none of his usual wizened bemusement showing. The knight looked too short to be the seydii elf, but his people were very good at glamour and not married to their forms like humans are.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°A troubling curse,¡± the oradyn said. ¡°One I believed better controlled, but it seems the power gathering here had unforeseen effects.¡±


    ¡°You knew about this!?¡±


    ¡°Later. Focus, Alder Knight.¡±


    The wyrm moved again. Getting struck by the jouster seemed to have stunned it a minute, but now more of the knights were pelting it with weapons and Art. Our land is not inexperienced in warfare against monstrous foes. Those with spears or lances charged from different directions, surrounding it, while others attacked where they had openings with phantasmal blades and other auratic weapons that could breach its hard scales. I saw Karog slouching behind the mounted riders, looking for an opening rather than charging recklessly.


    And Calerus... where was he? There, not far from Ser Konrad. He held a broadsword of middling size and a round shield old as his armor. He¡¯d been standing near the creature¡¯s path during its destructive charge, and seemed to have lost his mount.


    ¡°Wyrmblight...¡± I tried to recall what I knew about it. ¡°It can spread, right? Like a disease?¡±


    ¡°Only from a true dragon,¡± Fen Harus corrected. ¡°Jocelyn is infested, yes, but he is not that. If he were, this city would be doomed. This creature is a lindwurm. But you must listen, Ser Alken, it is also¡ª¡±


    He was cut off by a shout nearby. One of the knights pointed to the sky. Following his motion, I saw at what. The Fulgurkeep gargoyles were circling above us, drawn by the command of their lord. They came in all sorts of forms, each more devilish in appearance than the last, and held halberds and poleaxes fashioned in the armories of House Forger.


    The flock swarmed the wyrm, diving and striking at it with their weapons. I¡¯d seen this before, during the siege of Garihelm in the last year of the war. They¡¯d turned back the Recusants and all their fiendish weapons, emerging from the palace in such numbers they¡¯d blotted out the moons.


    Not so many now. Many, perhaps most, died during that siege eight years before. But there were at least thirty of the creatures, plenty enough to be deadly.


    One caught the lindwurm across its face, marking it. The creature let out a furious hiss that sounding like nothing so much as an angry geyser. Its serpentine head reared back, and the milky orb of its left eye suddenly seemed to brighten. Its jaws opened, revealing more of that cancerous growth of scales inside, cramming for space with yellow teeth.


    A light appeared inside its maw. I knew enough of the stories to understand what that meant.


    ¡°GET BACK!¡± I roared.


    Almost as though in mockery of my attempted warning, the sky broke out into a furious barrage of lightning, the ensuing thunder drowning out all other sound.


    The wyrm breathed fire. It was not a majestic sight, but more like watching something sick vomit a cascade of deadly bile. The creature¡¯s long neck bulged, glowing from within, its one eye popped open so wide I thought it might burst out of the socket, and amber-green death flooded from between its teeth. It ripped that plume across the swarming gargoyles first, melting many in their own stone flesh. Where the fire, half gas and half liquid, fell in a rain across the knights, they boiled inside their own armor along with their chimera.


    The screams were terrible. Some of the worst I¡¯d ever heard.


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    The wyrm twisted its neck around in a circle several times, showering the entire field. Some of that spew made it all the way to the wall, killing some of the spectators who were still clamoring towards the exits and blocking their paths by leaving pools of toxic steam.


    ¡°We need to bring it down.¡± I finished standing. A shock of pain through my side made me gasp.


    ¡°Buy me time,¡± Fen Harus instructed.


    I didn¡¯t know what he planned, but he seemed to know more about this creature than I did. The lindwurm paused a moment, sucking in labored breaths from its open maw. Viscous glowing drool dripped from between its fangs, sizzling on the ground. The smoking, melting corpses of gargoyles, humans, and chimeric animals alike surrounded it.


    It froze suddenly, coughed, then spat something onto the ground. A twisted, blackened thing like a piece of wet charcoal landed beneath it.


    I realized in a moment of horror it was what remained of Ser Gerard.


    Only a few minutes, and it had caused this much damage.


    A shape clamored up onto the winded monster¡¯s back. Karog, scrabbling up the beast like an ape. The wyrm noticed him and bucked, twisting its long neck around to snap at him. Karog dodged the blow, slashed at its eye to force it to recoil, then leapt up to grab the base of its skull.


    The ogre was heavy, and the lindwurm¡¯s head relatively small compared to the rest of its bulk. His weight slammed the thing down, giving me a clear shot at it. I stepped forward, almost keeled over as another bolt of pain shot through my side. I was injured badly, but had no time to deal with it. I¡¯d fought through pain before.


    The wyrm¡¯s jaws opened, and once again that hellish glow lit within. Karog saw it and got the creature¡¯s jaws into a lock, clamping it closed. It tossed its head, nearly dislodged him. Its thrashing brought its head close enough to threaten me and I swung, but all I claimed was a single two-pronged antler, which broke like brittle bone and spat green ichor from the hollow remains. Where that substance touched my sword, it steamed and began to melt.


    I stared at the fine sword, now ruined, and felt something hollow creep through my battle focus. This thing had to be made of phantasm, and yet it seemed so real


    . Even demons need to build their forms from real substance, but this thing had manifested from seemingly nothing fully formed.


    The creature backpedaled away from me, still trying to throw Karog off. This gave me some space, and before I could advance again a huge armor clad beast took up position next to me. When Ser Konrad saw my sword, he cursed.


    ¡°Acid blood!?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°Just like the wyverns who haunt the southern coasts,¡± the Lord of Burncastle muttered darkly. ¡°This isn¡¯t my first time fighting a wyrmblighted thing.¡±


    ¡°Then how do we stop it?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. Atop the lindwurm¡¯s neck, Karog managed to get his cleaver up and drive it back down. Perhaps he missed the brain, or the aura-born creature just didn¡¯t have any such thing it needed, because instead of dying it lashed out with its twin tails and struck him off.


    Freed, the beast lifted its head and glowered down at the scattered knights. It seemed to be searching for something. Its forked tongue flicked out twice, tasting the air while it turned its head about. It seemed blind, but reacted violently at most noise. Karog rolled onto his stomach a distance away, his cleaver broken off in the monster¡¯s scales. I saw some of its tail spines still stuck into his back, where they¡¯d punched right through his bronze plate.


    ¡°We don¡¯t kill it,¡± a dry voice said to my left.


    I glanced at Calerus Vyke. He stared at the dragon, his shadowed eyes wide beneath his helm in an intense expression. He¡¯d lost his mount at some point, and I recalled him being near the path of the wyrm¡¯s destructive charge. He seemed uninjured.


    When he caught my look, he explained. ¡°That beast is all aura, little different from the mist that clings to a wight¡¯s bones. You don¡¯t strike the mist, but break the skeleton. Destroy what anchors the will and it will disperse.¡±


    I understood. Jocelyn. He was still inside that thing.


    Suddenly, the lindwurm¡¯s head tilted sharply to one side. I glanced in the direction of its gaze, and saw a small figure atop the Coloss wall, her hands clutching the edge. I recognized dark skin, black hair, a green dress.


    Laessa. Her escape had been cut off by the lindwurm¡¯s shower of burning ichor, and now she stood, trapped and watching the scene unfold. The wyrm watched her intently. I could not make out her own expression, but she seemed frozen to the spot, a bird caught in the eyes of a serpent.


    Another voice rang out through the storm. Fen Harus, still wearing his knightly disguise, strode towards the beast with slow, cautious steps. He spoke in his people¡¯s own language, the words ringing out with an unnatural timbre. I could not parse each word, but felt a solid grasp on their meaning. A sleeping chant, almost a lullaby. The wyrm turned towards him and bared its fangs in an angry hiss.


    It breathed flame again, the toxic-looking amber stream carving its way in a straight line across the island. I thought Fen Harus dead a moment, but suddenly he leapt and the short, plump looking knight was gone, replaced by a taller figure with thinner proportions. He moved swiftly, almost flying as he avoided the blast of fire. He no longer canted at the thing.


    I took up my damaged blade, and beneath my helmet I closed my eyes in concentration. Within me, the Alder¡¯s fire burned hot in agitation. This creature, while not abgru?dai, still registered as profane to my senses. The flame wanted me to smite it, but the sensation felt strange. Ambivalent, almost. Perhaps even afraid.


    I knew the aureflame had a will of its own, but I¡¯d never ascribed anything like personality to it. I¡¯d never imagined it could balk at a threat, and I¡¯d always assumed all doubt came from me.


    A question for Fen Harus later perhaps, if we survived this. I focused on the words of my oath, and began to shape a weapon I knew could bring low any enemy, no matter how large and strong. Godsven¡¯s Dawn would certainly reveal me to those present, but that didn¡¯t seem high on my list of priorities just then.


    The mechanisms of my altered soul began to reshape it, ghostly words murmuring through my thoughts, warmth blooming somewhere in my chest. I took the claymos in both hands, lifting it up above my head. The power surged, flared, became visible as tongues of gilt light along the sword¡¯s blade.


    Both Konrad and Calerus must have seen it, but neither said anything. I opened my eyes and fixed them on the wyrmblighted. ¡°I need it to stay still,¡± I said aloud, my voice humming with an uncanny music. It would take time for this Art to fully form, and I could not risk missing.


    If I¡¯d had Faen Orgis in hand, I would have attempted to bind the thing with the Malison Oak, but there were no shadows dark enough to draw the axe out. Besides, best to just destroy it. If it was pure phantasm, then the Dawn would burn it away.


    Without any objection, both the Prince of Talsyn and the Lord of Burncastle moved forward. Konrad¡¯s ornate gold-plated axe glowed with heat, while Calerus showed no signs of any particular magic. He only gave his broadsword a flourish and lifted his shield.


    The lindwurm suddenly lifted its head. One of the almost bat-like ears growing from its skull twitched. It turned toward me. By this point, I was wreathed in golden fire already in the process of forming itself into abstracted symbols as my Art took form. The creature bared its fangs.


    Sense this might hurt you, eh? I slowly brought my sword up above my head.


    The lindwurm began to move, advancing toward me like an evil wave of scales and fangs and burning ichor. Its jaws opened wide, once more revealing that infernal glow.


    Konrad¡¯s heavy mount swept past it. His axe lashed out, carving along the muscles of one thigh. The creature snapped at him, missed, and he managed to get clear. Calerus came in a moment later, but he didn¡¯t have the mounted knight¡¯s mobility. He used the wyrm¡¯s distraction to dash forward, stabbing at its exposed chest where the scales seemed thinner, giving way to thin-looking hide. His blade struck, drawing more acid blood as he pulled savagely to one side to open the wound wider.


    Calerus danced away from the ensuing spray. He moved like a wraith, so fast I had trouble tracking him. The lindwurm¡¯s twisted forelimbs clawed at him uselessly, then its tails swept in just as when it¡¯d knocked me off my chimera.


    Calerus ducked the first tail, twisted, and slashed the second as he came up at a sharp angle. More blood splattered. His sword steamed, its blade already deforming as the ichor ate at it, but he seemed calm and focused as he backed away. When the lindwurm turned on him, he lifted his shield and slapped at it with the flat of his blade, producing a mocking ring.


    But this was no animal. It glared down at the prince, practically glowing with hate, then turned back to me. Its eye fell on me, and I felt its malice like a sudden ray of desert sunlight.


    It lowered down onto its belly, protecting its vulnerable underside from further attack, and charged.


    No one else would stop it this time. Karog was badly injured and still down, Konrad too far away, and Calerus¡¯s sword left useless. I blew out a golden breath, took a single step forward, and brought my blade down.


    That blast of power held just as much strength as the blow I¡¯d used to cleave Rose Malin in half. All the aureflame circling me condensed into a blinding golden thunderbolt that ripped across the ground between me and the creature. It was a blade of sunlight, an auratic storm that flickered like a hundred bonfires, hummed like an angel¡¯s chorus. It struck the monster dead center, engulfed it, turned it into a shadow within a nova of white-gold light.


    The creature reared up, let out a trumpeting howl. More natural lightning flickered above, as though drawn to it.


    The light of my Art faded. The lindwurm remained fully intact. It glowed like a coal for a moment, but then that light vanished. No, it did not fade, but receded into the creature¡¯s body. Just like when it had taken Gerard, it made that odd gulping hiccup.


    It stared down at me with a yellow eye slitted by a red pupil, bared its teeth, and let out a long sigh.


    It had grown bigger.


    It devoured my Art.


    And not just mine. Already its wounds were closing, its form swelling. I recalled all the sorcery and auratically enhanced weapons the other knights had barraged it with.


    This thing could eat aura. The realization left me stunned. My most powerful technique, and it hadn¡¯t left a scratch. My shoulders slumped. What remained of my sword cracked, a piece of the blade falling away. Other knights on the field had seen my attack fail, and many of them paused. Those who¡¯d been ready to charge into the fray hesitated. Some even started backing away as their morale wavered. We¡¯d seemed to be winning, but...


    A sudden, unexpected sound filled the air. The dragon¡¯s pointed ears flicked, and its now unblinded eye moved to my right. I followed its gaze, and saw the knight who was actually Fen Harus standing alone on the field. He still wore his pale armor, though it looked oddly organic now, like it were made from petrified plant matter. His cloven hooves were revealed, his arms turned long and ungainly, but the toadstool shaped helm remained. He had a white flute in hand, carved from ivory or bone by the look of it. One end of the instrument was hidden inside a hole in his helmet near where his mouth would be.


    He played a melody on the flute, and as that second set of notes met my ears my vision blurred. I stumbled, caught myself, shook my head furiously against the alien will I felt.


    Strangely, few of the other knights seemed as affected. Calerus just frowned, while Ser Konrad watched in silence. A few seemed to waver as I had, but the animals were more strongly affected. One cockatrice who¡¯d lost its rider simply lay down on its belly and went to sleep right there. I saw Morgause in the distance, and the scadumare tossed her black mane as though shaking off a biting fly.


    By the fifth refrain, I wasn¡¯t certain I could resist the pull into blackness. With a force of will I kept my eyes on the lindwurm. Its head swayed back and forth, like a snake charmed by some magician¡¯s flute. Its one eye drifted closed, opened, then closed again.


    We all watched, transfixed, as the elf lulled the dragon to sleep. It took many minutes, and for all that time even the storm seemed to quiet so it could listen. It was a bittersweet melody, full of yearning and a sort of dark triumph. Images flashed through my mind, but I could not parse them. I tried not too, fearful that lingering on them would drag me down into unconsciousness.


    The wyrm began to breathe harder, its lower jaw drooping open to reveal a swollen, hanging tongue. It hissed in rage, but the sound seemed half hearted.


    Then, it did something else I didn¡¯t expect. It began to melt. Starting from its spiked cranium, its scaled hide began to slough away like mud under rain to reveal a green skeleton beneath. That too started to crumple, and before long only the cracked and smoking remnants of its bones remained.


    And there, kneeling within that pile of molten bones, was Jocelyn of Ekarleon. He looked intact and still in armor. He slumped on his knees, his head bowed and hair fallen to obscure his face.


    I tried to walk forward. My left leg buckled. I went down to a knee, gasping. My ribs were afire, and my leg throbbed with sharp, razor lines of agony. I couldn¡¯t breathe. I needed to get the helmet off, but couldn¡¯t muster the strength.


    Fen Harus approached me, and by his drooping posture I sensed he felt a similar fatigue. ¡°The Lindwurm drained your strength,¡± he told me. ¡°Your healing and tolerance for pain are nearly mortal right now. Best not to move. You¡¯ve got a twisted leg and broken ribs, I think.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you use that flute earlier?¡± I asked him in a hoarse voice.


    He showed it to me. It was an ugly piece closer up, twisted and lumpy. Definitely bone. I felt a sense of disgust looking at it, and almost vomited before averting my eyes.


    ¡°What is that thing?¡±


    ¡°Something I would rather have not used,¡± the elf said sadly.


    I followed his gesture, and saw many of those who¡¯d been wounded and left where they lay. They were all still and unmoving. One of them was the yellow-clothed knight in blue armor I¡¯d fought before Jocelyn had changed. His fine steel looked rusted now, the cloth mottled as though eaten by moths, and within...


    Just bones. The dragon hadn¡¯t done that.


    I shivered at the realization. ¡°Then is it dead?¡± I croaked.


    Fen Harus was quiet a moment, then shook his head. ¡°It is not so easy to slay. It remains within Ser Jocelyn.¡±


    My gaze went to the unconscious Ironleaf, lying amid all the other bodies in a ring of smoking gray sand. Many knights were beginning to gather close. One of the gates had lowered, and a retinue of fresh and fully armored reynish soldiers came through. At their head was the Emperor. The Twinbolt Knight shadowed him. There were more troops on the walls now, city guard armed with arbalests.


    Markham approached to stand just outside the ring of burnt ground around the Ironleaf, took a long look at the man, then set his face into a grim mask.


    One of those knights who¡¯d survived the battle saw the Emperor¡¯s look and stepped forward. Lady Evangeline Ark looked almost half a corpse herself, her beautiful armor warped and melted over much of the left side of her body, the arm curled stiffly against her stomach. She¡¯d been caught in the burning rain early in the fight. How she remained standing and not screaming I had no idea, but her face was terrible as she stepped up behind the kneeling Jocelyn and lifted her sword high.


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    Fen Harus glided to Markham¡¯s side and removed his helmet before sinking to one knee. ¡°Please, O¡¯ King of Kings, spare him. He is not a danger now.¡±


    Markham glowered, his face pitiless as it took in all the destruction. ¡°He carries the Blight. He is a danger to this entire realm.¡±


    ¡°It cannot spread from him!¡± The elf insisted.


    Markham¡¯s face darkened further. ¡°You knew?¡±


    The oradyn bowed his head. ¡°Yes.¡±


    There were murmurs among the knights. Markham paused, considering the elf¡¯s words. Then, reaching a decision he turned to his soldiers and nodded to Jocelyn.


    ¡°Put this man in chains.¡± He wheeled on the Seydii ambassador. ¡°The Ardent Round will have answers from you, oradyn. You will come with me to the court. Now.¡±

 Arc 6: Chapter 14: Audience

    Arc 6: Chapter 14: Audience


    The lindwurm killed more than two hundred people that day. More than fifty knights died on the island, though I suspected more than a few of those would have survived were it not for Fen Harus¡¯s wicked song. Most were bystanders, those lesser nobles, dignitaries, and their retinues who¡¯d been caught on the stands when burning ichor rained over them.


    It took less than ten minutes.


    There were also reports from the city as well. Many of the sick and old had died in their beds, some even dropping from stopped hearts where they stood. Those numbers were still being counted in the hours after the event, and I suspected would continue to be tallied in the days to come. Whether the oradyn or the wyrm was responsible, none could say.


    After the court gathered back in the Fulgurkeep, Fen Harus refused to speak much. He only told the gathered nobles and tourney knights who demanded answers that Ser Jocelyn was his people¡¯s ward, and he must consult with his lady before offering any further council. Otherwise he remained still and silent, serene as a willow tree in winter.


    We all knew what that must mean. Maerlys Tuvonsdotter wanted the Ironleaf alive, and her servant wasn¡¯t permitted to say why. The wise hesitated to risk the displeasure of the mad princess of elvendom.


    But not all were wise, and even some who might have been otherwise let their rage and grief speak for them. Many of the gathered nobles demanded Jocelyn be slain, his body dismembered and the pieces weighed down with iron and sunk to the bottom of the Riven. They demanded the Coloss be quarantined and sanctified by the clergy lest the blight spread. The Lady of House Ark was foremost among these voices, at least before her injuries left her unable to speak and the clericons took her.


    She had many supporters, and the oradyn¡¯s insistence that Jocelyn could not spread the Dragon¡¯s Plague met many deaf ears. But the Emperor did not permit an execution, and the prisoner remained in a deep slumber within the bowels of the palace island, awaiting judgement. I¡¯d been left injured and weakened, down two allies with Jocelyn in a dungeon and Karog badly wounded. The whole city was in uproar, with fear and confusion rampant.


    And Yith¡¯s deadline drew closer with every breath. The sun dipped low behind the anger of a building sea storm, turning the horizon black. When it rose again, Catrin would die.


    What I¡¯d set in motion couldn¡¯t be stopped, but its chances of success became far slimmer.


    The palace throne room had been set up for a feast. Long tables were set with dishware and sculpture between high columns hung with banners showing the sigils of every attendant House. Just like at Faisa Dance¡¯s gala, Wil-O¡¯ Wisps flitted about to provide their own strange music and ambient light. Living ivy with blooms shining with odlight spiraled each pillar, making the dour hall seem like some overgrown structure in the deep wilderness. Not a single alchemical light or mundane torch was in use. It had been decided that the tourney feast would celebrate the traditional aesthetics of Urn.


    But no one sat at the tables, or enjoyed the fine wines and honeyed meads imported from every corner of the eastern world. More than a hundred lords and ladies, some clericons, and other high ranking officials of the Ardent Round stood and waited for their emperor¡¯s lead.


    Markham sat upon his throne, his cape still damp from the rain. He rested his head on one upraised fist. He¡¯d not spoken in some time. His empress, steward, and the court clericon winged his throne.


    The rustling of layered skirts drew my attention as Faisa Dance took up position next to me. I still wore my battered tourney armor, including the helmet. I¡¯d decided to maintain the disguise long as I could, and hope the majority wouldn¡¯t connect my display of power against the Lindwurm to my true identity. Few even knew that Alken Hewer, the Headsman of Seydis, had once been a Knight of the Alder Table.


    The powerful lady next to me was one of those few. We stood near one of the side exits at the far end of the hall from the throne, where few would notice us.


    ¡°The Emperor intended for Ser Jocelyn to become one of his high captains,¡± she finally said in a conversational voice. ¡°Perhaps even to take a prime position in the new military he is trying to build. This was a great loss, in more than one way.¡±


    I took that in. It made sense. Jocelyn fought in the continent as a mercenary. He knew much about modern warfare and the threats developing beyond our land¡¯s shores. He was well regarded, experienced, and young enough to be of value for many years to come.


    I recalled how much time he¡¯d spent with Laessa, and realized something else. ¡°The Emperor wanted him to marry into the nobility, didn¡¯t he? With Laessa Greengood.¡±


    Faisa dipped her head in acknowledgment while I frowned.


    ¡°I heard another rumor she was being matched with a Grimheart.¡±


    ¡°Their families are close, yes, but Ser Gerard was intending to become glorysworn and his brother is already wed. The nobles are always gossiping.¡±


    ¡°The rumors also involved the Empress. She spread that story to take attention off Jocelyn, didn¡¯t she? So no one would object to a landless sellsword gaining influence before he¡¯d earned his place.¡±


    The duchess said nothing, allowing me to reach my own conclusions. I recalled how the creature had gone straight for Gerard, and wondered if those idle rumors cost the man his life.


    ¡°Will the tournament be canceled?¡± I asked.


    Faisa shrugged. ¡°No one is certain. You know I was put on the tourney council?¡± She snorted. ¡°I earn a bit of a reputation as a dabbling occultist, and they think me an expert. Anyway, some of the clericons I took as advisors tell me that much of the power we¡¯d gathered seems almost depleted now. They believe that monster ate it.¡±


    I recalled how the wyrm seemed to swell in size through the fight, and how it shrugged off my strongest attack. ¡°We might have made it strong enough to level this whole city.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Can the ritual still be completed?¡±


    She shrugged again. ¡°Perhaps. More than half of those who fought the last two days ¡ª those who still live, anyway ¡ª ended up awakening their aura. We did not come out of this empty handed, regardless.¡±


    When she noticed my helmed face turned toward her, she batted my silent ire aside. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me that look. I am not cold to the tragedy we just faced, Ser Hewer, but we must be practical. By the way, is that you over there?¡±


    She nodded to a tall figure standing in the shadow of the throne dais. His pointed hood was up to shadow his features in near total darkness, and the bulk of broad shoulders and iron chain strained at the red material of his cloak.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Motion caught my eye from a nearby doorway. Bowing to the bemused Lady Dance, I moved over to the one standing at the exit. My left leg felt stiff, and every step sent a spike of hot iron through it. My chest felt like little bits of steel glass ground together inside every time I shifted so much as an inch, or took a breath. I hadn¡¯t had my injuries looked at since returning from the Coloss.


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Emma told me. ¡°The others are waiting for you.¡±


    My heart picked up in tempo. ¡°It¡¯s done?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Oh, we got it done. It was shockingly easy, although I don¡¯t expect that will last long.¡±


    She studied me a moment and frowned. ¡°No one¡¯s talking about what happened at the Coloss. What are¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later.¡± Emma hadn¡¯t been present during the Lindwurm¡¯s appearance, and the Emperor had ordered the court to silence. He did not want the entire city in more of a panic, and even so much as the rumor of wyrmblight would lead to riots. Probably worse.


    We started to move. Emma didn¡¯t miss my limping gait.


    ¡°You¡¯re injured.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Lisette? I might need her threads.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s at the tower with the others, but I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s time for her to heal you. You know her Art doesn¡¯t work instantly, right? Just speeds the process.¡±


    I was too distracted to be annoyed at her lecturing me on what I already knew. She was right, anyway. This was probably the worst time to become half a cripple, but...


    No going back now. While I didn¡¯t feel there was any positive in what happened at the arena, I couldn¡¯t deny that the distracted court gave me something of a head start.


    The rattle of armor and shifting cloth at my back made me freeze. Emma went still at my side, already reaching for her saber as we turned. I had nothing but my rondel, but my hand drifted towards it on instinct.


    A young man in white steel worn over a warrior¡¯s robe stepped out of a side passage and positioned himself in the middle of the hall. Without his helmet, Siriks¡¯s red braid hung over one shoulder like a bloodstained rope.


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    The three of us stood there in silence a while before the cymrinorean broke it. ¡°Where are you going, Hyacinth?¡±


    I watched him without answering. Emma was a wire string at my side, ready to snap into violence at my lead.


    Siriks tapped the side of his head. ¡°When I fought you, I wasn¡¯t certain who you were. I¡¯ve got a hunch now.¡± He tilted his head back to the throne room. ¡°So who¡¯s in the red cape back there?¡±


    I shrugged. Siriks scoffed. I¡¯d destroyed his Art, but that didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t dangerous. He¡¯d overpowered Nimryd with brute force and speed, and fought me evenly blade to blade. I had Emma with me, but he could still stall us long enough to make everything go wrong.


    ¡°What you told me before...¡± The young man¡¯s eyes narrowed as he turned his head, eyeing me sidelong. ¡°How do you know it¡¯s true? What evidence do you have?¡±


    Emma glanced at me curiously. I considered a moment, then reached up to lift my helm. Siriks¡¯s eyes widened. He must not have been fully sure his hunch about my identity was right.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have all the proof you need,¡± I told him. ¡°By the end of this night, this will be decided one way or another. All I ask is that you do nothing.¡±


    Siriks folded his arms. ¡°Nothing? You¡¯re not going to try to recruit me?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I know you¡¯re waiting to see who¡¯s earned you as an ally. The Accord, or the Vykes? I can promise you they won¡¯t help you win back your homeland, Siriks. All they want to do is dismantle the peace. They don¡¯t care what happens after. They¡¯ll return to their mountains and let the rest of us burn.¡±


    ¡°Calerus told me we¡¯ve never known peace,¡± Siriks admitted. ¡°That these last eight years have been a farce, and nothing will change unless we turn it all over. I¡¯m inclined to believe him.¡± His expression darkened. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know peace if it means leaving my homeland as it is, in his hands.¡±


    His eyes returned to mine. They were black, contrasting sharply with his bronzed skin and dark red hair. ¡°Tell me why I should stand aside,¡± he said. ¡°And not stop you from whatever scheme you¡¯re hatching?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe you can stall me, boy?¡± I let a smile cross my lips. ¡°I beat you once already.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± he admitted. ¡°But you¡¯re injured, and I¡¯m pretty sure I can take your little crow there.¡±


    ¡°Oh, is that so?¡± Emma let a feral grin form. ¡°You think I won¡¯t cut you to pieces?¡±


    Siriks snorted. ¡°I might like you, crow. But yes, I think I can take you both as you are.¡±


    His hand went to the side sword at his belt. Emma stiffened.


    I made no move for a weapon. Instead, I reached a decision. ¡°Very soon, a certain nobleman is going to address the court. You¡¯ll know who I mean when you see him. I want you to listen to what he has to say, and if you still want to fight us when he¡¯s done, then I won¡¯t complain.¡±


    Siriks¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°That¡¯s it? You want me to let you go with just that?¡±


    I put Ser Sain¡¯s helmet back on, letting my next words emerge with an unnatural baritone. ¡°Yes.¡±


    He glared at me for a long minute. I waited, ready to defend myself. I wasn¡¯t even certain I could conjure aureflame just then, and even the thought of fighting made my fractured ribs howl in objection. Even breathing wasn¡¯t easy, but I wouldn¡¯t let him kill Emma.


    More likely that Emma would stop him from killing me.


    Finally, Siriks relaxed. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll hear your man. Consider me neutral for now, Hewer.¡±


    He made a mock salute with two fingers, then turned and started making his way back to the court. I let out a sigh of relief.


    ¡°What a cock,¡± Emma said bluntly.


    ¡°He¡¯s arrogant,¡± I agreed, ¡°but he might end up being one of the greatest fighters of this century.¡±


    Whether he would be remembered as one of the great names who helped saved the Accord, or destroyed it, remained to be seen.


    Night had fallen by the time I returned to the dungeon tower at the Fulgurkeep¡¯s sea-facing edge. Even with the sky blackened by sunset, light flickered across the clouds almost constantly as the storm blew over us. Wind howled, and violent waves cracked against the cliffs from which the old spire jutted.


    If that thing Jocelyn changed into truly did steal whatever power we¡¯d been gathering, then it certainly hadn¡¯t quelled the weather¡¯s anger. Garihelm was built to withstand flooding, but this storm showed no signs of letting up.


    A narrow stone bridge separated my tower from the rest of the fortress, and crossing it with the wind tearing at us and the waves stretching up to drag us down if our feet proved unsure was a terrifying experience. We made it across, and Emma pounded on the door. After a moment, Beatriz opened it and we stepped into the tower¡¯s entry hall. Both women had to work together to shut the siege door against the storm. I doffed my helm and adjusted my short hair, flicking some of the damp out of it.


    Beatriz¡¯s eyes looked shadowed and wary. She hadn¡¯t slept in some time, I guessed. ¡°Aureia¡¯s Tits, you took your sweet time. What the fuck is happening out there?¡±


    She caught herself and coughed. ¡°Uh, ser.¡±


    Emma threw me a meaningful look. I shook my head, sighing. ¡°There was trouble. The tournament is probably off, or at least postponed.¡±


    Beatriz¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. Have the Vykes made their play?¡±


    I noted with approval that she still wore armor and a war pick hung at her belt along with no less than three daggers. Ready for trouble. While she¡¯d only been a private guard for a minor noble family, Beatriz was still a soldier.


    I didn¡¯t have the time or patience to explain. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    Beatriz snapped to attention. ¡°Upstairs, ser. We set up in your office, as ordered.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s not waste any time.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I have other business to attend.¡±


    Beatriz and Emma both whirled, hands going for weapons. The older woman spat a vulgar curse. I just sighed.


    ¡°Master Ostanes. Please try not to spook my people, we¡¯re all on edge.¡±


    The crowfriar stepped out from the shadows. He still looked like a handsome middle aged man in merchant¡¯s garb, complete with a toadstool hat and finely trimmed beard. He gave me an apologetic smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes.


    ¡°I am glad to see you survived that mess in the Coloss, ser knight.¡±


    I stared at him hard for a moment. ¡°You saw that?¡±


    He shrugged, though his nonchalance faded when I took a step closer. His throat bobbed as I met his eyes, his own gray irises sliding away from my golden ones.


    ¡°You will not spread word of that to the citizens,¡± I said slowly.


    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± He played it casual, but he¡¯d backed up a step towards the wall and his eyes remained downcast.


    ¡°Because I know your order. You spread fear and paranoia for your own gain.¡± I held a finger up. ¡°I am only tolerating you breathing the same air as me because you are of use, devil. Don¡¯t make me regret it more than I already do.¡±


    ¡°Word will certainly spread,¡± he told me bluntly. ¡°But... not from me, and not tonight. I am here under contract, just as we arranged the day before the tourney. You have my services until dawn, Ser Headsman.¡±


    He gestured down the hall. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    Leaning back, I nodded to Beatriz. She seemed wary of the man and the way he¡¯d appeared seemingly from nowhere, but didn¡¯t question as she started leading him down the hall. Emma remained back, her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me you brought a crowfriar into this,¡± she said quietly.


    I suppressed a wince. I¡¯d known she wouldn¡¯t like it, considering her own history with Ostanes¡¯s order, and hadn¡¯t enjoyed the time or energy to spare arguing with her before now. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± She snapped.


    I set my jaw.


    ¡°Did you think I couldn¡¯t handle it?¡±


    ¡°Are you handling it?¡± I asked her.


    Her amber eyes were furious. ¡°I deserved to know.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I admitted. ¡°And you¡¯re right, I should have told you. But I didn¡¯t, because we would have argued and it would have distracted you. Am I wrong?¡±


    She pressed her lips into a tight line. ¡°No, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°I need you with me, Em.¡± I gave her a steady look. ¡°I do trust you, probably more than anyone else in my whole damn life right now. Even Catrin is...¡±


    I trailed off, and some of Emma¡¯s anger ebbed. ¡°Have you seen her?¡± She asked me in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Once, last night. She¡¯s not doing well. I believe Yith is influencing her thoughts.¡±


    Emma let out a breath. ¡°Empty Throne. Fine. Fine! I¡¯ll deal with it. But if that bastard so much as twitches wrong...¡±


    ¡°You can kill him dead as you like,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just pretend like he¡¯s Vicar,¡± she muttered stonily.


    We walked together into the tower¡¯s main chamber, where most of the extra rooms were located. Beatriz and Ostanes waited by the stair leading up to my quarters.


    ¡°Why not use the dungeons down below?¡± The crowfriar asked me.


    ¡°Too cramped,¡± I told him. ¡°We¡¯ll need the space, right?¡±


    He considered a moment, then shrugged. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    We went upstairs with me in the lead, Emma taking the rear just behind our ¡°guest.¡± I¡¯d been the one to set up the codes, so I knew to knock three times, then four, then twice on the door at the top.


    ¡°Cute,¡± Ostanes muttered.


    ¡°Speak out of turn again,¡± Emma said in a very calm voice, ¡°and I¡¯ll take your tongue.¡±


    He did not speak again. I waited, taking a steadying breath and focusing through my injuries. I¡¯d never been formally trained to put aside pain, and while I wasn¡¯t a stranger to it I¡¯d forgotten how reliant I¡¯d become on my magic numbing it for me.


    I could not show weakness once I¡¯d stepped through this door.


    The door opened, revealing the blunt features of Mallet. He took one look at me, nodded, and stepped aside to let me in.


    My office was much changed from when I¡¯d last seen it. The large desk had been pushed aside to provide more room, the window was boarded up so no rain or sea spray could get in, and an intricate design drawn in chalk dominated much of the floor. An outer circle ringed a complex array of interlocking designs, some I recognized as variations on the holy auremark while others were more esoteric. By the way the white chalk glittered, I knew gold dust was mixed into it. There were candles arrayed at various points, most set on a golden frame, though a few were silver.


    Lisette was still hard at work on the project. She paced around it, arrayed in her white and yellow habit, murmuring and swinging a thurible. The chain holding the incense burner rattled gently as she worked it in a steady rhythm. I felt her aura humming in the air, and knew she¡¯d been at work for hours.


    The ritual she¡¯d prepared would have cost a small fortune in materials alone. Having access to royal resources did have its perks, sometimes.


    Ostanes whistled at the circle. ¡°Now that is impressive work. Some of those are alchemical symbols, and... ah! Is that silver mercury in those bowls?¡±


    Mallet sniffed at the man. ¡°The fuck is he?¡±


    ¡°Hired help,¡± I said without looking at either of them, busy admiring Lisette¡¯s preparations. Then, steadying myself, I focused on the figure in the middle of the circle. They¡¯d been chained to a heavy chair fashioned from as much iron as wood, its legs bolted to the floor so it couldn¡¯t be tipped over. Their face was obscured by a bag, though it didn¡¯t hide their slender figure or the black and burgundy dress they wore.


    ¡°Take that off,¡± I said and nodded to the bag.


    Penric, who¡¯d been leaning against a wall out of the door¡¯s immediate sightline, stepped forward and hoisted his crossbow onto one shoulder. Like Beatriz and Mallet, he wore more than one weapon and looked ready to wage a small war despite his advanced age and stooped posture. On cat-light feet, he navigated over the ritual circle without touching any of the lines or tipping any of the candles and ceremonial bowls. Carefully, as though handling a feral chimera caught fresh from the wild, he tugged the rope around the prisoner¡¯s neck and slipped the bag off.


    The young woman beneath it looked disheveled, the kohl on her eyelids left shapeless by sweat and her elaborate buns ruined so half-braided brown hair fell wild around her head. Despite that, her eyes were strangely calm as they met mine.


    ¡°Princess,¡± I greeted Hyperia Vyke with stoic formality. ¡°I humbly request an audience.¡±

 Arc 6: Chapter 15: The Hostage

    Arc 6: Chapter 15: The Hostage


    I hadn¡¯t been idle the day before the tournament started. The first thing I¡¯d done was have my meeting with Vander Braeve. Afterwards, I¡¯d paid a visit to the Backroad and convinced the Keeper to facilitate a deal between me and Ostanes. The inn¡¯s enigmatic master agreed to help me with little fuss, after I¡¯d told him what happened to Catrin.


    I wasn¡¯t sure it would work, but something had bothered me ever since my last visit to the inn. The other women seemed fond of Catrin, even protective of her. She was liked there, trusted even, and I¡¯d needed help. Even the Keeper¡¯s unsettling bodyguard listened with something very near sympathy in her wolf¡¯s eyes, leaving me to wonder how much of what he¡¯d said during our previous audience was just for show.


    No one else would care about Catrin¡¯s fate, save perhaps those other outcasts. If I wanted to save her, and stop this war, I needed to make compromises. Even if it meant compromising myself to those I¡¯d considered enemies.


    Regardless, we¡¯d worked out a contract with the Keeper as mediator. Those two meetings done, I¡¯d strategized with my lance. While I helped distract Calerus with war play and tried to forestall disaster on the arena island, they waited for the hours to creep closer to the grand feast which would close out the tourney¡¯s second day. When the opportunity presented itself and her brother couldn¡¯t intervene, they¡¯d taken the Princess of Talsyn into custody. The chaos of the evacuation proved to be an unexpected boon in that regard.


    They¡¯d brought her here, to this place, while her brother remained with the other lords and Vander carried out the other part of this scheme. The man definitely didn¡¯t like or trust me, but I felt he was fully willing to act in defense of the realm. Getting him to cooperate with my plan took some doing, and I fully suspected he¡¯d make me pay for it one day.


    But for the time being we had a mutual goal, at least where it concerned the Vykes.


    The sea writhed beneath the cliffside tower. The sky growled and barked, the structure¡¯s thick stone walls not fully muffling the storm. For a long minute, no one said anything. Hyperia inspected the room, taking in the group arrayed around her, the ritual circle, and me in my tourney armor. I doubted they¡¯d let her see her prison before my arrival.


    ¡°So it was you under there all that time, executioner.¡± A flinty smile quirked the young tyrant¡¯s modest lips before she glanced at the ritual circle. ¡°How exciting. I¡¯m not sure exactly what you have in mind here, but I admit to some... curiosity.¡±


    She tested her bonds, rolled her shoulders, and raised her eyebrows suggestively.


    Emma regarded the Vyke with a baleful expression. ¡°Does she have to speak? Can¡¯t we gag her?¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s gaze shot to my squire. ¡°Ah! You must be the Shrike. You¡¯re a bit skinnier than I anticipated. Wasn¡¯t your ancestor supposed to be among our land¡¯s great beauties? Perhaps the blood has thinned.¡±


    She laughed softly, releasing the bubbling gush that hung in nearly every one of her words. Emma went still, then wheeled on Ostanes with death in her eyes.


    The crowfriar held up his hands. ¡°We didn¡¯t tell them.¡±


    I studied him a moment, but couldn¡¯t tell if he was lying. What advantage would the missionaries of Orkael have in revealing Emma¡¯s identity to the Vykes?


    No, it didn¡¯t add up. They¡¯d found out some other way. Yith, probably.


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°Oh, I can tell this is going to be fun. What did you hope to accomplish here, again? You do know you¡¯ve violated near every custom of hospitality by taking me prisoner while I¡¯m under guest right?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve violated near every custom of guest right since you¡¯ve arrived, princess.¡± I folded my arms, glaring down at her. ¡°By the end of the night, everyone in this castle will know it.¡±


    Hyperia considered that a moment, but didn¡¯t seem altogether impressed. She tilted her chin to Ostanes. ¡°And who is he?¡±


    That was interesting. Hyperia was a powerful warlock capable of binding an entity dangerous as Yith, and yet she didn¡¯t recognize the crowfriar for what he was. I could use that.


    At my continued silence, some of the mirth faded from the princess¡¯s face. ¡°Well?¡± She snapped at the whole room. ¡°What is it you all want? If you intend to use me as a hostage against my brother, then you¡¯ve made a grave mistake. He will butcher you all the moment he learns of this.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t get here in time to save you, princess.¡±


    She fell quiet at that, fixing her attention back on me. ¡°At the Coloss... your people took me during the evacuation. What happened after? Is my brother...¡±


    She clicked her teeth together, anger and doubt flexing the muscles in her face. She didn¡¯t want to give me anything, but her concern for Calerus was obvious. It told me there was some loyalty between the two of them, at least.


    ¡°He is alive,¡± I offered. ¡°Probably wondering where you are, but the Emperor is keeping him close. I believe His Grace might be a bit suspicious that your family is behind what happened with Ser Jocelyn.¡±


    Hyperia scoffed. ¡°Please, that¡¯s ridiculous. How in the world would...¡±


    She trailed off.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been using proxies, dupes, fiends, and forbidden alchemy during the entire length of this shadow war between us,¡± I said. ¡°Why not the Dragon¡¯s Plague, too? You¡¯ve already proven you¡¯re not averse to heresy.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°And you¡¯re all too happy to sell that story to the realms, are you?¡± She settled back in her chair. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s fair, though it doesn¡¯t explain why you¡¯ve locked me in a tower. What do you want of me, Headsman?¡±


    Instead of answering immediately, I took some time to study my prisoner. As I¡¯d thought on previous encounters, she was very young. Not much older than Emma. It seemed strange to me that she could be responsible for so much of my recent troubles, and yet we¡¯d been able to capture and subdue her with a handful of people and no great battle.


    Probably because her position had been tenuous as mine, all this time. Strange, how the simple appearance of strength could accomplish so much.


    ¡°I want a number of things.¡± I began to pace in front of her with slow, measured steps. Ignoring the pain in my leg and ribs, I made myself seem relaxed. ¡°I want you and your family to go back into your hills and never trouble us again. I want you to pay for your crimes at Caelfall, and to pay reparations to the families of every man and woman your schemes have killed. I want to know what you thought to gain from all this, except for more death.¡±


    ¡°Our birthright.¡±


    I wheeled on her, not bothering to hide my anger anymore. ¡°Your birthright was the throne of Talsyn and the custodianship of your people, both of which you and your family have abused in your warmongering.¡±


    ¡°A lord of slaves is still a slave,¡± Hyperia said in a dark voice. ¡°You turn the lock to your own collar and call yourself noble, and think to lecture me on responsibility? Please.¡± She sighed and grew calm again. ¡°But what should I expect from a dog but to bark? And I doubt you brought me here for a debate on the philosophy of rule, Headsman.¡±


    I took a deep breath. ¡°No, I did not.¡±


    Turning to Mallet, I nodded to the door. He and Beatriz both went downstairs to guard the tower entrance. I didn¡¯t expect they¡¯d much like what happened next. Penric probably wouldn¡¯t like it either, but I suspected the retired assassin had a stronger stomach.


    Hyperia noted this with a poised disinterest, though the act wasn¡¯t perfect. When Ostanes shuffled in the corner and adjusted his hat, her eyes flinched to him.


    I noted this and gestured towards the gray-garbed man. ¡°Princess, I would like to introduce you to Master Ostanes. I¡¯ve hired him as a notary for this matter.¡±


    Hyperia blinked, nonplussed. ¡°A notary?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°...I see. And all this?¡± She tilted her head down to the complex diagram on the floor.


    Lisette answered for me. ¡°That is partially for your own protection, princess.¡±


    The cleric did not elaborate. Hyperia considered a moment, her lidded eyes studying the circle in closer detail. ¡°So what?¡± She murmured distractedly. ¡°Are you going to torture me? Is this some elaborate spell to force truth out of my lips, or rip out my memories? I¡¯ve heard rumors that the Priory was developing new rites to compel confession and bind aura. Perhaps you intend to¡ª¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Emma interrupted. ¡°You ramble when you¡¯re nervous, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Hyperia glared at my squire. ¡°And you could have regained your family¡¯s throne had you joined us. It¡¯s not too late, you know. High House Carreon could be mighty again.¡±


    Emma shrugged. ¡°House Carreon is dead. They were foolish and short sighted, just like you. History might remember tyrants, Hyperia, but it does not love them.¡±


    Hyperia snorted with laughter. ¡°And you care about love? You, a daughter of House Carreon?¡±


    ¡°Not particularly. However, I¡¯m not much interested in becoming another Astraea. Her story didn¡¯t end very well. Neither, I suspect, will yours.¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes hardened, then drifted back to me. ¡°Explain.¡±


    A true royal, giving orders even when chained and surrounded by enemies. I decided to indulge her.


    ¡°About now,¡± I said, ¡°a lord by the name of Vander Braeve is addressing the court. He is providing evidence gathered by a confederation of nearly a dozen noble houses tying your family to the string of murders that occurred before the tournament. I¡¯m afraid the evidence is damning. It includes accounts by a number of witnesses our clericons managed to save from your demon¡¯s influence, along with some of your agents we managed to take into custody within the last day.¡±


    I regarded her steadily. ¡°You and your brother were too focused on the tournament ¡ª you shouldn¡¯t have expected us to hedge all our bets on it. Some of the changeling community has come forward as well. They see almost everything.¡±


    I let her take all that in before continuing. ¡°His people also managed to track down the shop of a toy maker in the city.¡± The same one who¡¯d tried to kill me with his puppets the night of the Culling, in fact. ¡°Strange how a minor adept who made dancing puppets to entertain children suddenly started fielding war marions almost identical to those used by Recusant armies. His shop was raided. We found the diagrams your people provided. I assume you ordered him to burn those, but he must have wanted leverage. Or perhaps he just didn¡¯t want to lose the designs.¡±


    I shrugged.


    ¡°Some scraps of paper, and the accounts of a few half-mad peasants and a gaggle of mongrels tie nothing to us,¡± Hyperia insisted, though I heard some doubt creep into her voice.


    ¡°Lord Vander also had the device your agents planted to gas a mansion in the Fountain Ward taken apart,¡± I informed her. ¡°An expert on alchemical warfare here as one of the Emperor¡¯s guests from Bantes took a look at it. It¡¯s an outdated design, so no one from the continent would have been using its like. The Emperor ordered a purge of that kind of weapon in every fiefdom from here to the Westvales, but Talsyn never signed onto the Accord. I¡¯d guess your family has more of its like in your arsenal. Am I wrong?¡±


    Hyperia sneered. ¡°Has your precious emperor inspected every cellar personally?¡±


    Time for the hammer blow. I glanced at Emma, and she nodded. This, much like the spectacles on the Coloss island, was a sort of melodramatic game. We needed our prisoner to understand her situation, or she wouldn¡¯t cooperate. She would not surrender if she believed there was a chance at salvaging this.


    ¡°Markham Forger is no fool. The very day I made it known to him that your family was possibly involved in this matter, he was already acting.¡±


    In fact, Markham had started acting the same day I¡¯d warned Rosanna about the Vykes, before I¡¯d even killed Horus Laudner or presented myself to the Round. She¡¯d insisted he wouldn¡¯t do anything brash without evidence, and he¡¯d certainly kept his plans quiet.


    Hyperia stared at me for a long moment with a blank expression. ¡°What have you done?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done very little, truthfully.¡± I took a step closer to the circle. ¡°Mostly rushed about trying to collect all the pieces. I expect when the dust settles from this, it will be King Roland who gets most of the glory.¡±


    The princess frowned, nonplussed. ¡°Roland Marcher? The King of Venturmoor? But he¡¯s off chasing storm beasts in the hills.¡±


    I nodded soberly. ¡°Yes. Or at least, that¡¯s what we¡¯ve made sure everyone in the city believes. In fact, as of yesterday morning according to the last messenger bird we received, his retinue, swelled by more than two hundred lances gathered across the Reynish countryside, has crossed the border into Talsyn and taken Illiark Castle.¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s face went bone white.


    ¡°According to that same message,¡± I continued calmly, ¡°the garrison opened the gates for him. They were starving and sick. Roland wrote of desiccated villages in nearly every valley. The castle¡¯s commander admitted that no one has been in your father¡¯s palace in over a year, and few even dare approach it.¡±


    Hyperia drew in a deep breath. ¡°This is a lie. You are lying to me so I¡¯ll give you whatever you want. It won¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a lie, and you know it. Your kingdom has been dying for some time, princess. Your father locked himself in his castle and let plague and famine ravage his people rather than admit defeat and surrender to the Accorded Realms. You are here because you believe that dismantling the peace and regaining what allies your family still has would let you pillage what you needed to revive Talsyn from the chaos. When Karog saw all of this and realized he¡¯d joined the losing side, you tried to use the chorn to take his wits and enslave him, but he escaped.¡±


    I let out a dry laugh. ¡°For all of that, he refused to tell me what he saw in your kingdom. He said he wouldn¡¯t betray the secrets of his employers, past or present. The fomori have very strange ideas about honor. He was willing to help kill you, but not to rat you out.¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes shut, and did not reopen for a long while. I sighed, then knelt on my right knee. The movement sent spikes of agony through my body, dragging out a wince, but I endured it and spoke to the Vyke at eye level.


    ¡°You have nothing more to gain from this, princess. The only reason you¡¯re still alive is that the Emperor does want peace. If Talsyn is left without leadership, then the vultures will gather to pick it clean and we¡¯ll end up with another ugly war. Maybe not as bad as the one I feared, but bad enough. And I don¡¯t think you truly came here to martyr yourself.¡±


    ¡°You said something to the cymrinorean.¡± Hyperia opened her eyes to meet mine. There was no emotion in them, just a crystal focus. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have surrendered so easily otherwise. What did you say?¡±


    ¡°I think you know.¡±


    ¡°I want to hear you say it.¡±


    Leaning closer, I said the same words I¡¯d whispered into Siriks¡¯s ears after he¡¯d lifted me above the Coloss.


    ¡°Hasur Vyke is dead. You and your brother killed him.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened in shock. Penric cursed savagely behind me, while Ostanes let out a dry chuckle. Emma, who I¡¯d shared the theory with already and who¡¯d agreed it seemed likely, said nothing.


    Hyperia let out a shuddering breath, her shoulders slumping. ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡±


    ¡°Yith told me.¡±


    Hyperia bared her teeth. ¡°Impossible! He is bound to me!¡±


    We all let those words linger in the air a long minute. I glanced back at Ostanes. He was studying the circle, his eyes drifting across the candles set at various points within its diagram.


    ¡°Truth,¡± he decided. ¡°Well, I suppose that¡¯s that.¡±


    Hyperia looked between us. ¡°What? What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°You were right earlier.¡± I nodded to the circle. ¡°Among other things, this detects lies. With the candles, see? They waver when you tell one. It¡¯s a Priory ritual. Sister Lisette was a member of the Inquisition. It works much the same as my eyes.¡± I tapped my own temple. ¡°Though it¡¯s a bit more gentle than my method.¡±


    I heaved myself to my feet, grimacing, then couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore. I started coughing, my fingers rising to my throat. The gorget of my armor prevented me from rubbing at it, so my fingers just brushed cold metal. Emma already had a cup of water in hand. I took it gratefully and started draining it. Hyperia watched me the whole time, not understanding.


    Emma helpfully explained. ¡°His magic. It burns his throat and tongue when he tells lies. Quite inconvenient, really.¡±


    ¡°Tells lies?¡± She asked, her brow furrowing. ¡°You...¡± Her expression darkened as she understood. ¡°You bastard!¡±


    ¡°King Roland is gathering an army to reinforce the border against your homeland,¡± I croaked through my scalded tongue. ¡°And the Emperor has been sending missives out for weeks to ready us for war. But he isn¡¯t going to preempt an invasion and risk being the one seen to end the peace first.¡±


    ¡°Then, all that about the famine and my father...¡± Hyperia was shaking her head.


    ¡°Guesswork on my part. Educated guesswork, but I wanted to see how close to the mark I was. As for your father, a lot about this has struck me odd. For one thing, Hasur wouldn¡¯t have been as sloppy as you and your brother have been. Yith also basically told me, though I didn¡¯t realize at first and I don¡¯t believe he meant to. I pissed him off, and the fly let it slip.¡±


    He¡¯d called her murderer. Traitor. Usurper. Perhaps the demon was referring to Reynard, his previous master, but I¡¯d played on the hunch. The rest of the picture I¡¯d painted about the state of Talsyn seemed plausible, especially with how little information we had about what was going on there. Rosanna was the one who¡¯d offered the most likely scenario for what the mountain country might look like, if it were debilitated and starved of resources.


    If I¡¯d been off, it would have tipped this game to Hyperia before her reaction confirmed the truth. But that¡¯s why it¡¯s called a gamble.


    ¡°You and Calerus wanted the tournament¡¯s prize to give yourselves an edge, and you wanted to use your demons and your plots to destabilize the realm and start a civil war. Even after everyone learned the truth about your father, it would be too late to stop what you¡¯d already set in motion.¡±


    I spread my hands out. ¡°Once this has all come to light, no House in its right mind will follow you. The game is over, Hyperia.¡±


    The remaining Recusants, both those in hiding and those who might join their ranks if it seemed opportune to do so, all harkened to the banner of the Condor of Talsyn. Once they learned his children were fratricides in command of a wasted realm, they would never throw in with them.


    ¡°Is it?¡± Hyperia¡¯s demeanor had become detached during my monologue, her head rolling to one side.


    I glanced at Lisette, who was studying the candles intently. ¡°How many times has she tried?¡±


    ¡°Five now,¡± Lisette said. ¡°The barrier seems to be holding.¡±


    Hyperia blinked, and this time I explained the trick. ¡°You can¡¯t call Yith from in there. It¡¯s an auratic barrier, blocks spiritual signals. And on that subject, I think it¡¯s time to let you know why Master Ostanes is here.¡±


    I turned away from her reddening face to gesture to the crowfriar, then stepped back to let him approach our prisoner.


    ¡°You¡¯ve found yourself in a spot of trouble, young lady.¡± The man¡¯s flint-gray eyes crinkled at the corners. His tone was sympathetic, almost grandfatherly. ¡°I do not mean to alarm you, but I¡¯m afraid the consequences are quite severe.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The princess asked.


    ¡°I am a brother of the Credo Ferrum and a missionary of the Iron Tribunal of Orkael, granted authority to make contracts in its name, to offer its knowledge to mortal kind, and...¡± Here he lingered. ¡°To enact punishment on those who break the Tribunal¡¯s laws.¡±


    Hyperia bared her teeth. ¡°Your laws have no power in this land, devil. This is the God-Queen¡¯s domain, and She banished you.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s not quite true!¡± Ostanes held up a finger. ¡°She banned us, but allowed room in the Riven Order for us to return to the fold under certain conditions. We have returned, lawfully, and thanks to the actions of Horace Laudner and Lias Hexer we now hold some authority with your clergy.¡±


    He began to pace, enjoying the show far more than I did. ¡°In older times, when our order wasn¡¯t quite so at odds with the infrastructure of divinity, we performed a number of roles. Primary among those is the containment of demon kind... and delivering sentence to those who willfully consort with them.¡±


    He paused, turned, and bestowed an iron-toothed grin on the princess. ¡°You understand, yes? We are the original Inquisition.¡±

 Arc 6: Chapter 16: Yield

    Arc 6: Chapter 16: Yield


    ¡°It¡¯s very simple, Hyperia.¡±


    I moved to stand next to Ostanes, who watched our prisoner with an intent expression. Emma stood near the corner on the other side of the crowfriar, and when she caught my eye I gave her an apologetic look. Doing things this way didn¡¯t sit well with me, and I did regret keeping her ignorant of this part of the plan.


    Putting it from my mind for the time, I turned to face the Vyke. ¡°Ostanes has as close to a confession as he needs. You have bound one of the abgru?dai to your service, and that is not only heresy under the God-Queen¡¯s law, but it also breaks the edicts of Orkael.¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡± Hyperia impressed me by seeming calm, even curious, though she must have known how hopeless her situation was. ¡°And what does that mean, precisely?¡±


    ¡°It means your soul is forfeit.¡± Ostanes smiled and shrugged. ¡°All the old stories of sinners being dragged down into the flames of Hell, back before this land¡¯s underworld was dug out? This is what those referred to. Those who willfully call the denizens of the Abyss forth and make our job more difficult must be dealt with somehow. Punished.¡±


    He waved a hand, revealing his burnt fingers. He¡¯d changed while he talked. Gone was the handsome western merchant. In his place stood a figure very much like the form Vicar had taken during Emma¡¯s trial before the Choir. A grievously burned man stood next to me, clad in tattered robes in varying shades of gray like an ash-drowned monk. He didn¡¯t wear a hood like Vicar had, only a scarf over a mostly fleshless neck, so the weeping, oily scabs on his bald skull were fully visible. His eyes burned like hot coals in pitted eyes.


    The stink of cooked meat and sulfur filled the room.


    ¡°I will take you with me when I go from this place,¡± the monk of Hell rasped through what remained of his teeth. ¡°My masters will mete out your full doom once I bring you before the Tribunal.¡±


    Hyperia was not a demon, or a great magus. She was just a young woman with some occultism who¡¯d been raised by a very bad man. She stared at the face of her death, and there was fear in her eyes.


    Penric swore an oath, stepping away from the living corpse who now occupied the room with us. I gave him a hard look, noting that he¡¯d taken his crossbow in both hands. A bolt was loaded, and his face beaded with sweat.


    Lisette stared at Ostanes with a less clear emotion. She was a devotee of the Church, a scribe of God who¡¯d dedicated her life to the teachings of the Heir of Heaven. Yet, she¡¯d also seen the ugliest sides of her own faith. She knew, as I did, that there were many complications and half-truths to the beliefs we¡¯d been raised on.


    Emma was another story. She believed in gods and devils, but she liked none of them and trusted their authority even less. She stared hard at the infernal monk, her hands clasped firmly behind her back, and said nothing.


    ¡°Ser,¡± Penric addressed me in a tight voice. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me that...¡±


    ¡°That I¡¯d involved an occult power in this?¡±


    Penric¡¯s lips formed a firm line. ¡°This is profane.¡±


    Perhaps. I wasn¡¯t even certain he was wrong, and didn¡¯t have time to explain my own reasoning, especially with Hyperia right there. ¡°You can wait downstairs with Beatriz and Mallet if you want, bowman. This doesn¡¯t need to involve you.¡±


    Just because my faith was often challenged didn¡¯t mean I needed to beat an old man over the head with doubt. I¡¯d not expected him to care so much, but perhaps Kenneth¡¯s cold summary of the archer had influenced my opinion of him. He wouldn¡¯t be the first killer I knew with strong faith.


    Penric glanced at me, then at our prisoner. He considered a moment, sighed, and hoisted his crossbow onto one shoulder. ¡°I have your leave, ser?¡±


    Disappointed but not surprised, I nodded. He left the room. I turned my attention to Lisette. When she noticed my look, she gave me a brave smile.


    ¡°I will not abandon you, Alken. I understand what is at stake.¡±


    ¡°And what is at stake?¡± Hyperia spoke in a dull voice, most of her flippant defiance now withered. ¡°You have me, don¡¯t you? What¡¯s the point of all this theater?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s still a choice to make, princess.¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°A way to spare your soul from eternal torment. Perhaps even to live through this.¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes went to me, a frown creasing her brow.


    ¡°We want Yith. You hold his true name. Give it over to Ostanes, and he¡¯ll settle for binding the demon and returning it to its gaol. Do that, and you will only be judged by your fellow mortals. I¡¯ll take you before the emperor and let him decide. More than likely, he¡¯ll make you and your brother swear obeisance and restore you to your throne.¡±


    ¡°As puppets,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°But your House will survive, and perhaps one day even regain its honor. It¡¯s the best deal you¡¯re going to get.¡±


    ¡°I could fight you and become a martyr. Even if I burn, the rest of this wretched land can do it with me.¡±


    She was right. A new rebellion might not follow her without King Hasur, but it would happily use her and her brother as a symbol.


    I studied her a long moment. ¡°Why did you do it? Why did you kill your father?¡±


    Hyperia blinked, then turned her eyes down. At first, I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d answer. But after a minute she began to speak in a pensive voice.


    ¡°Yith was not the first demon my family bound. Father learned how to do it from Reynard, back before the war when we were still children. He would loose them in a wing of our castle and have his guards lock me and Calerus in. It was how he trained us. Once, it took us eleven days to find our way out.¡±


    Lisette held a hand to her mouth. ¡°Golden Heart of God,¡± she breathed. Even Emma looked taken aback.


    I tried to imagine it. The twisted labyrinths those hungering spirits would create in the halls, the mind games they would play. The worst part was I could imagine it ¡ª I¡¯d experienced it. But I¡¯d been able to fight back.


    To condemn children to that...


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes lifted to mine, her mouth opening slightly as she lingered on some memory. ¡°You¡¯ve seen my brother? The way he looks?¡±


    She explained after I¡¯d nodded. ¡°He¡¯s a ghoul. It was the only way he could gain the strength to protect me from our father¡¯s creatures. He broke into the old crypts when we were twelve years old and ate the marrow of the dead until he vomited. Then he kept eating. For days. The strength of our ancestors fills him like a wellspring.¡±


    She leaned forward, her expression hardening. ¡°He ate the bones of our father. Calerus is my king, not that old beast, and if you think our home is without strength, then you are sadly mistaken.¡±


    She sucked in a shuddering breath and leaned her head back on the chair, looking deflated. ¡°So do as you will with me, executioner. You do not have my brother. He is the one who will lift us out of this endless nightmare. It is his destiny, what he was born for. The strength and knowledge of every Vyke who was buried beneath the Peak of Garlands resides within him.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°And we will balk from no heresy if it leads us to overturning this decaying order.¡±


    I stared at her, my jaw clenched tight. My doubt was reflected in Lisette¡¯s eyes, and Emma wore a frustrated expression. We¡¯d all hoped laying out the situation in full would compel the talsyner princess to see reason. But there was conviction in her eyes, the burning light of fanaticism.


    Ostanes tilted his head. ¡°Odd... you said Calerus devoured the dead to gain the strength to protect you. Is that correct?¡±


    Hyperia went still, perhaps sensing something in the crowfriar¡¯s tone that made her wary. ¡°Yes.¡±


    The devil monk smiled. ¡°I wonder, would he sacrifice anything to achieve this grand rebellion of yours? Would he sacrifice you?¡±


    The burnt man leaned forward, his hellfire eyes flaring into bright crimson spots. ¡°If I showed him your soul after I¡¯ve ripped it from you and told him what you will suffer, would he accept it?¡±


    ¡°He would delve into the very flame to take me back!¡±


    Ostanes¡¯s terrible grin widened. Hyperia realized her mistake and blanched.


    ¡°How quaint. And if I told you that he would share your fate? I¡¯m certain I could mock up evidence that he¡¯s complicit enough for the Tribunal to accept it. I am very good at this, my lady.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t take him. Even the leader of your order couldn¡¯t beat him.¡± She gestured to me with her head.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t lay a hand on either of you.¡± Ostanes held a charred finger to his lips, or what remained of them. ¡°For this sort of matter, I¡¯d use Scorchknights. I¡¯d only really need one, but I think three would resolve the matter in an orderly fashion.¡±


    Three Jon Orley¡¯s. The idea made me feel ill. Hyperia must not have been unfamiliar with the term, because she fell silent.


    ¡°There is an alternative,¡± Ostanes offered. ¡°The demon¡¯s name, Hyperia.¡±


    The princess closed her eyes. I glanced at Lisette, but the cleric shook her head. Our prisoner wasn¡¯t trying to call her minion again. Just weighing her options. Reaching a decision.


    Hyperia looked at me. ¡°You promise my brother and I will be allowed to keep Talsyn?¡±


    ¡°I can promise you nothing,¡± I told her bluntly. ¡°But I think you¡¯ve seen enough of Markham Forger to know that he¡¯ll make the decision that keeps our realms stable. If I had to guess, he¡¯ll keep you as a hostage and let Calerus go home. Your people will be offered food and healers.¡±


    Hyperia scoffed. ¡°Along with Accord soldiers, no doubt.¡± She inhaled through her nose, considering, then nodded slowly. ¡°And if the gods order you to take our heads?¡±


    I said nothing. That would be just, for all the evil they¡¯d done. Yet, the satisfaction of punishing the Vykes for their crimes wouldn¡¯t help our land heal.


    A compromise, much like the one that¡¯d led me to allying with Ostanes.


    In tourney, it is always better to make your enemy surrender. To kill them is tantamount to admitting that your cause is not just. When the God-Queen stood before Her armies at the very gates of this land and handed down the tenets of chivalry and knighthood, She also implored one truth upon those warriors of legend.


    Might does not make right. To forget that truth is to become little better than beasts in shining armor, and to invite the worst to inherit the mantle.


    I did not expect her to cave, even after all this. I¡¯d anticipated reckless madness, bravado, defiance to the very end. Some horrible trick that¡¯d free her and force my hand. I¡¯d seen it in other madmen and man-made monsters who¡¯d been given the Headsman¡¯s doom. In the face of defeat, they almost always went down fighting.


    So when Hyperia looked to the crowfriar and sighed, I¡¯ll admit it shocked me. ¡°I bound Yith with more than just his true name. It will take some time to give up all those rites. How good is your memory?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± Ostanes said while glancing at me sidelong, some of my surprise reflected in his desiccated features. ¡°Best we get started.¡±


    A tightness in my chest loosened for the first time in many days. Was this actually going to work?


    A knock came at the door, and Penric peeked back in. ¡°Ser, you¡¯re needed downstairs.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Best you see for yourself.¡± He glanced at the prisoner meaningfully.


    I didn¡¯t want to leave and risk something going wrong, but both Emma and Lisette were present and Hyperia couldn¡¯t work aura inside that circle.


    ¡°Stay here and guard her,¡± I ordered Penric. If he had qualms about the crowfriar, then he could swallow them for five minutes. There was too much at stake.


    The old archer didn¡¯t argue, and I made my way downstairs. Beatriz and Mallet both waited in the first floor¡¯s main chamber, their expressions tense and hands tight on their weapons.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Someone knocking on the door,¡± Mallet told me, nodding to the tower¡¯s entrance. I could hear the storm outside, stirring the water below us into a violent churn.


    ¡°Least, we think so.¡± Beatriz shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s damn loud out there, but we both heard it.¡±


    I frowned. Someone from the court? Had Markham or Rosanna sent a messenger? I¡¯d ordered my people to admit no one without my say so. Nodding my thanks to the two, I ordered them to be ready and went to the door. Without removing the bar, I listened closely. The waves crashed, the rain pounded down above, and thunder rumbled almost incessantly.


    But I heard nothing else. Closing my eyes, I focused my less mortal senses. The storm made those less reliable too. Violent weather attracts aura in much the same way the tournament did by design. Anything that draws strong emotions, be it fear or awe, also draws forth the spiritual emanations of living beings. It¡¯s why storm ogres are so mighty compared to their more earthly cousins.


    It also made my powers less reliable. The weather interfered, so all I could sense were the crackling energies coalescing above the Fulgurkeep.


    But something felt wrong. An instinct, or a hunch, more than any supernatural premonition. Lisette and I had spent time warding the tower before all this so I wouldn¡¯t get another surprise visit from Yith. Even still, what if Calerus could command the demon too? What if he¡¯d sent it to look for his sister, and this was the first place it thought to check?


    Very likely.


    ¡°Weapons out,¡± I said and backed away from the door. Only the sound of steel hissing against leather told me the two soldiers had followed my order.


    I closed my eyes in concentration and reached into a patch of shadows along the wall. It took roughly five breaths to find that sensation I¡¯d started to become accustomed to, and my hand sunk into the Wend. Immediately I felt the gnarled branch of Faen Orgis¡¯s handle along with the biting sensation of deathly cold that seemed to dominate that other space. Oddly, the wood under my hand felt slightly damp as though it were raining on the other side.


    I started to pull it out. I¡¯d revealed perhaps half of the handle when a pale hand burst from the shadows and grasped my wrist.


    Beatriz let out a cry of alarm. Mallet cursed like only a dockhand can. Their stomping boots warned me they¡¯d back away. Instinctively I pulled back, and the slender form of a rain-soaked and very annoyed vampire emerged along with my weapon.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me knocking?¡± Catrin hissed furiously, still clamping onto my wrist. If not for my gauntlet, she¡¯d have been digging her nails into my flesh. ¡°And why can¡¯t I get into the tower? It was like trying to swim through molasses.¡±


    But she¡¯d been able to slip past the wards when I¡¯d pulled the axe out. Did it work like an invitation, or had I inadvertently punched some sort of hole through the barrier? Interesting, either way.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I asked her.


    Catrin frowned, as though confused by the question. She looked worse than the previous night, her skin deathly gray and tight on her bones. She¡¯d found a change of clothes, now dressed in a skirt, boots, and a tunic laced from collar to sternum. It didn¡¯t quite hide some of the necrotizing wounds crawling up the right side of her neck, and the skin was so thin on one cheek it was near to forming a hole that¡¯d reveal some of her back teeth when it appeared.


    Whatever Yith had done to her was making her deteriorate very quickly. I could smell it.


    ¡°I tried to find you,¡± Catrin said with worry in her eyes, which were so pale they¡¯d nearly gone milk white. ¡°I was worried. The Coloss got evacuated, and there were soldiers everywhere. I thought the Vykes had started their big coup. Then I found someone dressed like you, but he wasn¡¯t you.¡±


    Her eyes hardened. ¡°His blood didn¡¯t taste right at all.¡±


    My heart skipped a beat. Hendry. Grabbing the dhampir by the shoulders, I gave her a shake and made her focus. ¡°Cat, that was Hendry pretending to be me. What did you do? Is he...¡±


    What had she done?


    Catrin gave me a lazy smile. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s fiiiine. I just had a little nibble. He tasted terrible.


    Like bad eggs and metal. But he shouldn¡¯t have taken your things! I came to tell you. And I was wondering...¡±


    She bit her lower lip, then glanced at Mallet and Beatriz. ¡°Well, maybe we could talk in private?¡± She leaned forward and stage whispered. ¡°I need to get your doppleganger¡¯s taste out of my mouth, if you know what I mean.¡±


    She giggled. I stared at her, a sinking feeling forming in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, Mallet was staring at Catrin with something halfway between horror and disgust. He directed some of it at me. I could hear Beatriz slinking around behind me, moving to surround the dhampir.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes suddenly shot to the guardswoman, going wide and still as an animal¡¯s. Her faded pupils expanded, and some red veins began to form along the sclera.


    ¡°You.¡± She leaned towards Beatriz, and I think only my grip on her shoulders stopped her from advancing on the other woman. ¡°What¡¯s that for, huh? That for me, girlie?¡±


    Beatriz had drawn her war pick. I caught her eye, saw the fear on her face. She was waiting for my order.


    I returned my attention to Catrin and spoke in as soothing a voice as I could. ¡°Cat, I need you to listen. Are you listening?¡±


    Her eerie eyes slid from Beatriz, narrowing as they looked directly into mine. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve mentioned this, but those peepers of yours are so hot. They hurt like hell to stare at, but I just can¡¯t help it. Is that what staring at the sun is like?¡±


    Where I grasped her right shoulder, a single small red beetle was crawling across the back of my hand. I clenched my jaw at the sight and tried to keep myself calm. ¡°Cat, I need you to go. Get somewhere safe and wait until sunrise, then find me. Can you do that?¡±


    She frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go. I was worried about you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said insistently.


    ¡°You¡¯re not.¡± She gave me a level look. ¡°You¡¯ve got three fractured ribs and a break just below your left knee. A bit of the bone is poking into your muscle. I can...¡± Her eyes closed and she shuddered. ¡°I can smell it. I can make it feel better, Al. I can numb your pain.¡±


    Her hands slid up my breastplate, gliding along the smooth metal. ¡°We just need to get this off.¡±


    A creak as Beatriz adjusted her stance. Catrin¡¯s eyes flicked to her, and narrowed.


    ¡°The fuck is going on here?¡± Mallet asked. ¡°Is that a dyghoul?¡±


    Catrin bared her fangs in a feral expression I would not call a grin. ¡°What¡¯d you just call me, anvil face?¡± When she caught my eye again, she frowned. ¡°Al, did you not tell your new friends about us?¡±


    She leaned toward Beatriz. ¡°We¡¯re sort of a thing. He said he likes my eyes.¡±


    She laughed that drunken laugh again, even as her corpse eyes darkened further to red. Her canines looked more pronounced now. Beatriz swallowed, a bead of sweat working its way down her temple.


    Closing my eyes, I took a resigned breath and reached a decision. Putting what little aura I could muster into my voice, I spoke with the echoing power of a command.


    ¡°Catrin of Ergoth. Look into my eyes.¡±


    She shivered, and met my gaze. Her eyes widened and lost some of their bestial tint.


    ¡°You are not well,¡± I said with less power, not wanting to hurt her. ¡°You need to find a place to hide and wait for me.¡±


    Her expression became uncertain. ¡°But...¡±


    I cupped her chin in one hand and tilted her mouth up. Her lips parted. I ignored the sickly-sweet scent of her breath, and the stray crawling thing I spotted on her. ¡°Please, Cat. This is almost over.¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°It is? You mean...¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said in relief at the sudden focus in her expression. ¡°I managed to get Hyperia to surrender, we just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Surrender?¡±


    The sharp edge in her voice made me freeze, and in a rush of panic I realized my mistake. ¡°Catrin,¡± I said sternly. ¡°Listen to me, and¡ª¡±


    But there was no longer any warmth or doubt in her eyes. ¡°That evil bitch!¡± She hissed savagely. ¡°She¡¯s gotten into your head, hasn¡¯t she? Just like... oh, Al, she¡¯s a wicked one. You can¡¯t let her keep doing this to you.¡±


    Suddenly, her head shot to one side and she looked past me, sniffing the air like an animal. Her eyes widened further. ¡°She¡¯s here.¡±


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t concern you,¡± I said more harshly. ¡°You¡¯re not yourself right now, Cat.¡±


    But she didn¡¯t seem to hear me. Catrin was nodding, her brow furrowed with a sudden determined focus. ¡°I¡¯ll free you. I¡¯ll make you forget her. She¡¯ll never hurt you again. Then maybe we can...¡±


    She saw the confusion in my eyes, bit her lip, then slugged me right in the chin. It was an uppercut, and a damn good one. I hadn¡¯t been ready for it at all. I lost my grip and stumbled back into Mallet, who barely caught me before I bowled us both over. He wasn¡¯t very tall, but he was built like a castle turret and about as solid.


    Before I could right myself, Catrin slipped back into the shadows. The last I saw of her were her apologetic eyes and her angry, determined expression.


    And the dagger she clutched in her hand.

 Arc 6: Chapter 17: Kindling

    Arc 6: Chapter 17: Kindling


    I stared at the wall for a moment, like a fool, but Catrin was gone.


    Not gone. Slipped back into the Wend, and...


    ¡°Upstairs. Now!¡±


    My voice came as a harsh bark. Both Mallet and Beatriz, confused at what just happened, snapped to attention as I bulled past them toward the stairs leading up to my quarters. I had my axe in hand, the damp branch grating along my leather gloves. The stabbing pain in my knee barely registered as I stormed up the stair and burst into my office, the two soldiers close at heel.


    I entered into a scene of chaos. Penric sat against the wall near the door, his crossbow lying a distance away. He clutched his side, and blood ran through his fingers. Lisette was on the ground as well, unconscious. No doubt Catrin remembered our confrontation with her and Olliard a year earlier, and had known to take the cleric and her binding threads out of play immediately. The young priest had blood running down her neck from a wound on the back of her skull, probably from clipping the table on her way down judging by a red mark there.


    Catrin faced off with Emma. My squire stood between the angry dhampir and Hyperia with her saber drawn. The princess remained bound to her chair in the middle of our auratic barrier. Ostanes stood near the window, his hands folded into his sleeves. While he still wore the monkish crowfriar garb, he¡¯d returned to his human form. He glanced at me and offered a grimace, but did not move to interfere.


    I took in the whole scene and spoke to the two at my back. ¡°Get Penric and Sister Lisette. Make sure they don¡¯t bleed out. Let me handle her.¡±


    They moved to obey. Catrin clutched her elven dagger, the banesilver gleaming unnaturally in the room¡¯s bad light. It still had Penric¡¯s blood on it. Emma¡¯s sword was a far longer and more effective weapon, but I knew Catrin could be fast and vicious in a fight.


    She saw me in the doorway, and a pained expression touched her pallid features. ¡°Alken,¡± she almost keened. ¡°Just let me do this!¡±


    Any sudden movements and she would go for the kill. She¡¯d be faster than me. But could I keep her talking long enough to get close?


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± I said as calmly as I could with my leg screaming and two of my people lying in pools of their own blood. ¡°I¡¯ve found another way. To save you, to stop all of this.¡±


    Catrin glanced at the crowfriar. She must have recognized what he was, because her face twisted further. ¡°No. I won¡¯t let you sell your soul for me. You don¡¯t deserve that!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not selling my soul to anyone,¡± I said soothingly, like I would to calm a frightened animal. Even as we spoke, I took a cautious step forward and held out my left hand. ¡°Yith is in your head, Cat. He¡¯s whispering to you, isn¡¯t he? Changing what you see, muddying your thoughts? Listen to my voice and push him out.¡±


    She shook her head, a red tear forming at the corner of her eye. ¡°I can¡¯t. He¡¯s in me, Alken. I can feel him under my skin.¡±


    That made a thrill of terror go through me. An ugly memory flashed through my thoughts, of Kieran¡¯s abused corpse erupting as Yith emerged, wearing the poor boy like a sack.


    ¡°He¡¯ll leave if she dies!¡± Catrin bared her fangs at Hyperia, who stared back with wide eyes. ¡°I know why you won¡¯t. You¡¯re trying to take care of everyone, but they don¡¯t deserve you.¡±


    ¡°Catrin...¡± Emma adjusted her guard, taking a step to one side to better block the vampire¡¯s path forward. The back of her fine boots almost touched the barrier¡¯s outer circle. ¡°Listen to us. We have this under control already. We¡¯re going to help you, but if you make us we¡¯ll knock you out and tie you up until you¡¯ve cooled off.¡±


    Catrin gave the girl a fond look. ¡°Oh, droplet. I¡¯m glad he has you. You¡¯re good for him, you know? You keep his head on straight.¡±


    Emma nodded, her expression never changing. ¡°Yes. And you are good for him, too. Don¡¯t make us hurt you.¡±


    Mallet and Beatriz had retrieved the wounded. Beatriz dragged Lisette nearer to the door. When she caught my eye, the guardswoman grimaced. I got the message. It¡¯s bad. Penric looked conscious, at least, but he¡¯d taken a bad cut.


    I forced myself to focus on Catrin, and took another cautious step forward. Almost in reach now. Just one lunge, and I could grab her and keep her from shifting back into the Wend. She had to move fully into a dark shadow to change location, so all I needed to do was stop her from moving.


    But she was fast. Faster than me, especially with my injuries. Perhaps an auratic command? I didn¡¯t have much power still. My spirit would be depleted until I rested and let my body heal.


    No time for that.


    Indecision, fear, anger, hunger, and a dozen other twisted emotions all writhed on Catrin¡¯s undead features. She bared her teeth, shook her head furiously. ¡°I know! Shut up!¡±


    No one had said anything, but I could guess who she spoke to. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Cat. Listen to my voice.¡±


    Hyperia caught my attention. She threw a pointed look at the candles, and I got the message. She was Yith¡¯s master. With the barrier gone, she could command him to stop.


    Or she might just turn him on us and make her escape. Even with her desperate situation, being free and having some power in negotiations would be vastly preferable to her present circumstances.


    She was still an enemy. I could talk Catrin down, or subdue her.


    Another step. One more, and I could grab her. It would hurt like hell and she¡¯d fight me, but we were so close to ending all of this. Once Ostanes had Yith bound, Lisette could help me purge his mark from Cat¡¯s flesh without the demon interfering.


    If Lisette wasn¡¯t dead already. Damn it, how had this all gone so wrong?


    ¡°Enough! They didn¡¯t warn me you were a sentimental fool!¡±


    Ostanes moved, striding forward as his flesh peeled and blackened to reveal his true form. ¡°I¡¯m not going back empty handed because of this sickly sweet nonsense!¡±


    He lifted a hand, and a burning sigil flared into scarlet brilliance on his ruined palm. A grim heat filled the air, the stink of sulfur intensified, and I tasted something burnt and metallic in the back of my throat. There were several flashes of sickly yellow light, then chains of black iron burst from the walls at various points. Each had a barbed blade on the end, and they all converged on Catrin like hungry serpents.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    Even as I shouted, I dove forward to tackle Catrin out of the way. A chain carved along my cuirass, leaving a burning hot gash in the metal. Each link of the thing was sharp, and it ground against my armor with an ear splitting screech and showering sparks. But it missed its target, punching into the wooden floor instead. The floorboards began to smoke.


    Catrin dodged the others, and me, dashing forward with vampire speed. She caught the crowfriar by the neck, her sharp nails digging into his vertebrae. Her glamour fell away with her rage, and gone was the cheerful Cat I knew. Her skin turned an ashen gray, her lips peeled back from a mouthful of sharp, crooked teeth, and her eyes became blank and red like a fiendish shark¡¯s.


    I thought she¡¯d tear into him with those fangs. It was worse. Instead, she vomited on him.


    The spew contained some blood, but it mostly consisted of crawling bugs. There were a hundred kinds. Spiders, centipedes, beetles, wingless flies, stranger things I had no name for. Ostanes started to scream, but the shout quickly died under that torrent.


    Catrin let him go as she backed away and started coughing. The man sunk to his knees while a living carpet of tiny red monsters swarmed over him. I saw his mouth work once, and a hand lift as though to reach for help.


    And from the swarm, congealing from blood and the bodies of those lesser creatures, even collecting scraps of shadow and dust from the walls, the hunched and jewel-eyed form of a nightmare rose up behind Ostanes. Huge enough to nearly scrape the ceiling, with a curled back covered in bristling black spines and multi-faceted eyes that showed our warped faces back at us, the demon let out a dry laugh.


    Ah, clever!


    But you are weak, Alder Knight.


    Wounded.


    Four of Yith¡¯s segmented arms, much like the limbs of an arachnid save that they ended in six-fingered hands, grasped Ostanes by his arms and shoulders.


    Speak your words, gaoler!


    Bind me.


    Oh...


    Is there something holding your tongue?


    Ostanes could not speak. His throat was full of insects, choking him. He¡¯d become a bloody mess under that biting mass, but still lived. Even with his eyes gone, he struggled against the grip holding him.


    I took up Faen Orgis and dashed forward, ignoring the pain in my leg. He was in my reach. I could¡ª


    Catrin let out a scream, one of her arms twisted sharply to one side, and like a puppet on invisible strings she slashed at me with Shivers. I barely avoided the blow, surprised both by her speed and the sudden attack. The elven blade scraped my jaw, drawing blood but not cutting all the way to the bone.


    She slashed again. I knocked the dagger out of her hand with a swing of my axe and it clattered against the wall in a flash of sparks. Catrin stumbled back.


    Behind me, I heard a shuffling noise and a gravelly voice. ¡°Down!¡±


    Without thinking I ducked. The heavy twang of a wire string slapping a bolt forward filled the room. Mallet held Penric¡¯s crossbow.


    I¡¯d had Lisette use some of our gold powder to bless all the lance¡¯s equipment. The bolt struck Yith in the shoulder, and flared into a pale rose-gold fire. The demon hissed ominously, the sound like a thousand cicadas chirping in anger. To the right, Emma leapt over the ritual circle and slashed at him with her Carreon sword. It glowed a bloody scarlet as her own angry blood gave it a burning edge.


    Her technique, improvised by observing how I used aureflame behind many of my attacks, made her sword howl like an iron wraith. She lopped off one of the demon¡¯s bristled arms near the shoulder.


    Yith took the still living, half eaten body of Ostanes and used him like a club, slapping Emma away. She went flying, landing against my desk in a heap as her sword tumbled from her hand.


    Catrin remained in my way, her limbs twisting horribly as Yith puppeted her. Her eyes were wide with fear as her neck twisted sharply to one side.


    ¡°Alken,¡± she pleaded. ¡°Help me!¡±


    Bloody tears streaked her face. The beetles crawling on her all had wrinkled faces on their shells, and they whispered in terrible little voices, laughing and singing like a chorus of demonic children. Some of them repeated her plea, mocking her. I could hear her limbs creaking. Something snapped, and she let out a choked cry.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The terror in her voice and the sight of her pain made me hesitate.


    Just as Yith knew it would.


    It can stop!


    With one hand the demon held Ostanes up by the neck, studied him a moment, then extended its proboscis and sank it into his skull. The orkaelin missionary began to deflate as Yith ate him, sucking out his organs like a spider.


    He ate the crowfriar¡¯s soul. I watched it happen. The demon suddenly flared with hellfire, and swelled even larger. His voice lost its gleeful, almost childish edge and transformed into something ancient and crooked.


    It can stop.


    You know how.


    Hyperia remained in the ritual circle. She was struggling against her bonds, cursing and spitting, but Penric and Mallet had fashioned a very good chair. Mallet was loading another bolt behind me, but some of Yith¡¯s swarm of insects had reached him and Beatriz. I could hear them shouting at each other behind me, distracted by the need to defend themselves.


    Some of the insects were getting close to Penric and Lisette, both wounded and helpless. The old archer saw them and started scrambling back in terror.


    Hyperia¡¯s voice suddenly rang out. ¡°Yith Golonac! I command you to stop!¡±


    Apparently, verbal commands still worked even from within the barrier. Yith paused, his enormous body going still. All of the insects halted as well, and a disconcerting silence consumed the room. Hyperia glared at her treacherous minion, more angry than afraid. Her hair was even more disheveled now from her attempts at escape. Insects crawled around the barrier circle, but none passed the outer ring.


    ¡°Free me!¡± Hyperia screamed, her eyes wide and furious, spittle flying from her mouth.


    Ostanes was dead. With him went our compromise. I saw it in the princess¡¯s gleaming, almost feral eyes ¡ª she would let none of us leave this room alive. Yith was back in her power.


    I¡¯d failed.


    No, not yet. I could still smite the demon. I just needed enough strength for one, certain blow. With a whispered word, I flared with golden fire and took my axe in both hands. The whispering bugs trying to find gaps in my armor burned away. With Hyperia¡¯s command, Yith stood frozen and shivering, visibly fighting against the order that would ruin all his own hopes of freedom.


    When the aureflame wreathed me, Catrin flinched and whimpered. The sight made my heart clench, but I forced myself to focus.


    I had a chance.


    Emma was starting to rise on the other side of the circle, but she looked dazed.


    My steps quickened. Thump, thump, thump. Hard boots over a floor stained by blood and dead insects. One leap, one blow, and this would be done. Just a little more strength, a little more effort. The aureflame seemed dim and came fitfully, but I wreathed my axe in it and for the first time in many years I prayed to God.


    I wondered later if that was my mistake. Our God had been gone for centuries, and even if She weren¡¯t She¡¯d probably have hated me.


    She was not listening.


    The shard of bone sticking out of my knee shifted, and the bright flash of pain that followed made me shout and stumble. I missed my swing, and Yith¡¯s beak snapped out. It carved through my right ear, almost slicing it from the rest of my head. I slashed half-blind, and the demon lost another hand. He reeled back, flaring with the hellish flame he¡¯d stolen from Ostanes.


    ¡°Yith! You treacherous bug, stop her!¡±


    The demon and I both turned, and my heart almost stopped as I saw Catrin stepping into the circle. She avoided the candles and white chalk lines with cautious steps. Yith no longer held her limbs hostage.


    He couldn¡¯t, I realized. It had to be her choice, or his bonds wouldn¡¯t allow it. Yith shivered, then in a voice mixing both sullen venom and a dark glee he answered his mistress.


    I cannot, my lady.


    We¡¯d warded that circle against him. Physically, he could not cross it and obey the command.


    But Catrin wasn¡¯t a demon.


    ¡°Catrin, stop!¡± I started towards her, but Yith breathed a plume of hellfire at me. I threw up an arm and backpedaled, feeling my armor warm dangerously at the touch of that infernal heat. Yith cackled.


    She cannot hear you.


    She wants to save you.


    Would you like to know who she sees in that chair?


    Yith crawled towards me, his buzzing voice a low croon.


    I¡¯ve showed her the form your old paramour once took.


    Oh, she was pretty!


    The leech hid her jealousy well.


    Yith rose up to his full height, his crystal eyes now a sulfurous yellow.


    But as I once told you.


    I crawl in the hollow places.


    Catrin took the princess of Talsyn by her hair. Hyperia struggled helplessly to no avail.


    I tried to go forward again, not caring if I broke the circle or if Yith¡¯s fire melted my armor to my flesh. A string snapped, and my vision went white for a moment. Caught mid stride, I put too much weight on my left leg and went down with an agonized cry. I caught myself, propped my axe on the floor to keep upright. My right shoulder felt stiff. Glancing back, I saw Mallet on the floor, dead or unconscious. Penric stood above him with his crossbow.


    His eyes were empty pits, eaten, his face split with a macabre grin. A red beetle with a face on its shell skittered over his forehead. He brought up the crossbow, another bolt already loaded.


    Beatriz came up behind him, her face pale with effort and terror, and swung her pick into the archer¡¯s skull. Like the bolts, it had been sanctified with blessed gold. The possessed corpse spasmed as the creatures inside of it began to burn.


    I turned away from the scene.


    In the circle, Catrin bent down and sank her fangs into Hyperia¡¯s neck.


    She barely took any blood. She bit down savagely, getting a mouthful of flesh, then jerked her head to one side. It took barely the space of a breath, sudden as I might take a hunk of bread off a loaf. Hyperia stared at her killer, shocked, as blood bubbled up through her lips. She was missing nearly a third of her jugular, red quickly ruining her fine dress.


    I watched all my hopes of peace drain her life blood onto the floor, the light in her eyes fading out and her struggles ceasing as Catrin held her. I could not see the dhampir¡¯s face with her back to me, but I think she whispered something to the dying woman.


    And Yith howled.


    FREE!


    UNBOUND!


    UNCHAINED!


    A series of iron shrieks filled the room, and no less than a dozen crimson spears flared to life and struck the bloated fly through from every direction. Emma was standing, one hand on the desk to support herself and the other forming a clawing gesture in the air. She breathed hard, blood trickling down her face.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a new cage for you!¡± She snarled.


    The blood she¡¯d put on her sword had scattered everywhere when she¡¯d swung it before. Clever girl. The spears did form a sort of cage, penning Yith in even as they stuck him in place. But they wouldn¡¯t hold forever. Only so long as Emma¡¯s concentration did.


    The bolt in my shoulder grated against a bone when I tried to move. My teeth clenched. I ignored it and my screaming leg and took up my axe.


    It was just pain. Just flesh. The only thing I¡¯d ever truly had control over was my own body, and I would not allow it to fail me here.


    Just pain. Just weakness leaving.


    I¡¯d sworn that I''d send Yith back to Hell.


    I¡¯d made an oath of it.


    But the fire in me was so dim. The Lindenwurm, and perhaps days on end of fighting and stress, had left me near empty. Once, the Table provided its own constant source of power, a distant ray of sun warming my back where I walked. But it was gone now, broken, leaving me with only a pitiful share of its flame.


    But I¡¯d dredged up a great fountain of strength during my battle with Laertes. Where did that come from? Where had it gone?


    I¡¯d reached deep then. I did it again, sending my will into the core of my own soul. I barely recognized it. Tuvon¡¯s people had changed me forever, torn my spirit apart and resewn it with golden fire. Touching it hurt. It blinded. It repudiated.


    It hated me, because I¡¯d failed it.


    No. I felt cool hands on my face, their tips sharp. Warm breath on my cheek where freshly riven wounds were dug into my flesh.


    You have to know that I do love you. That wasn¡¯t a lie.


    Part of me kept wanting to believe it, just as I¡¯d refused to push Cat away even when it would have been wise. I kept courting the darkness, trying to find...


    What?


    The Alder¡¯s flame hated me for that, for refusing to let go of that wanting. When I asked for more, it charred me in return. It was happy to be a weapon, to keep me strong and healthy so I could fight, but it would not bestow that gift to others anymore. Whatever embers I¡¯d been left were angry and bitter.


    Damn that fire, then. If it would not stir at my direst need, then I would throw kindling onto it.


    The room around me was dark, the candles dimmed, the lanterns by the door flickering and sporadic. Catrin was kneeling by Hyperia¡¯s body, sobbing. Beatriz was shouting something. Emma held Yith in place, but with one flex he shattered three of her pikes. She shouted in pain as lacerations tore at one shoulder, the broken magic sending deadly feedback her way. The rest of the shrike spears weakened, white cracks marring the glowing red of their forms.


    I needed strength. Aura. There wasn¡¯t enough inside, but...


    Where the dark inspiration for what I did next came from, I could not say. Without knowing whether it would work, I focused on the darkness pooling beneath me, much of it from the demon¡¯s swollen presence in the room, and with bared teeth I thrust my axe in.


    I didn¡¯t try to find the sinking sense of peace Catrin had taught me. I imbued the weapon with aura, punching into that darkness, breaching it. Immediately I felt the cold of the Wend creeping into my arms, but the aureflame fought it, warming me.


    A losing battle. The flame was too weak. I had just enough left to lace my breath with it and speak to the beings who inhabited those hidden paths Catrin had let me touch.


    The very same paths my tormentors used.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been dogging me for over ten years. Well, here I am. You want this fire?¡±


    I glared into the darkness, and saw something like distant shapes congealing in it. Faces, hands, stretched mouths, grasping fingers.


    ¡°Warm yourselves.¡±


    The Dead surged forward in an eager, hungry tide. The breach I¡¯d made into whatever hinterland they were lost in was small, but at their advance reality itself seemed to crack around the edges of that window. The floor beneath me gave way like brittle rock or broken glass.


    The darkness solidified, then became something other than darkness. Cold swept into the room like a stygian wind, making the steel covering my body frost and shrink against my frame. Hands, twisted and inhuman, black as the space between stars, clutched at my wrist, my arms, my shoulders, my legs, my neck.


    The Alder¡¯s fire reacted to the presence of those damned souls. It flared to life, acting to protect me ¡ª and itself ¡ª and at its repudiating touch many of the dead balked and retreated.


    Again, I commanded them.


    ¡°Warm yourselves.¡±


    They howled at me, needful and frustrated at once. The aureflame lashed out, striking a burning line across my jaw. This was not what it was meant for. I grit my teeth and kept my focus.


    ¡°Take it. Warm yourselves. Come into the flame.¡±


    Most of the ghosts I¡¯d drawn forward retreated, angry and frightened by the blessed fire. They were drawn to it like moths were, but they could not touch it.


    But some ¡ª the angriest, the most violent, those who¡¯d been so twisted by rage and madness they no longer looked human ¡ª took the risk the rest fled from. With wails and howls and desperate, hungry cries they threw themselves into the fire I offered.


    And the flame took them. They added to it, and it surged and roiled, flaring with sudden furious strength.


    It changed. It scoured me. It turned from a sullen, molten color into something closer to white gold, then paled more into an eerie, ghostly sheen. I felt that altered flame flow back into me, and...


    It did not warm me. It did not light my world and provide surety and strength. It was cold, and desolate.


    It was angry.


    So was I. We fed one another with our bitterness.


    I stood, and lifted my axe.


    Yith and Emma both paused their struggle. Emma¡¯s eyes went wide in shock. When I passed Catrin, she shivered and looked up like I¡¯d called her name. Her red eyes turned bone white as they reflected the light, like it drained their color.


    I was cloaked in ghostly white flame, a living torch, but I did not light the room. What natural light there was seemed to dim around me, like I absorbed or even repelled it. With every step, the floorboards beneath me cracked and rotted like they aged a hundred years in a moment. Yith¡¯s scarlet insects crumpled into husks where they drew too close.


    In the flame, seething voices hissed and whispered. The faces of grinning skulls and fanged animals formed in the flickering tongues around my shoulders, urging me on.


    Yith stared at me, and in his reflective eyes I saw myself a dozen times over. Within the blazing torch of ghost flame, I looked pale and gaunt, almost a dead thing myself.


    Perhaps I was, but I could only care about one thing then.


    What have you done, Alder Knight?


    I didn¡¯t answer, just kept walking forward.


    This is necromancy.


    Blasphemy.


    Your own gods will snuff you out.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said with the voices of the dead echoing my words. ¡°But you won¡¯t be around to see it.¡±


    The pain in my ribs, shoulder, and leg weren¡¯t gone. It just didn¡¯t seem to matter anymore. I wasn¡¯t even sure it was me moving my own limbs.


    Yith rose up to a truly monstrous size, filling my world. His many limbs and hairy, leathery hide cracked and split, revealing a putrid fire within. In four of his remaining six-fingered hands, scarlet blades appeared as he shaped the power he¡¯d stolen into deadly phantasm.


    He struck with all four blades at once, like a giant mantis taking its pray. I stepped forward, not entirely by choice, and no longer stood where he¡¯d stabbed. His blades went into the floor, embedding themselves there.


    I was right underneath him, both hands on my axe. The wraith fire sank into Faen Orgis. When I swung, the dead howled in unholy triumph. Maybe I did too. Perhaps some of those angry shades had followed me all the way from Caelfall, waiting for the chance to take their revenge.


    A burning white line shot through Yith from the tip of his skull to the thorned end of his bloated abdomen, tracing the line of my cut. It burned into the ceiling, the floor, the barricaded window. The boards on the window cracked, rotted, and erupted. The spirits of the damned screamed out of the tower through that breach and announced their vengeance into the storm.


    And the storm fell quiet.


    Yith collapsed at my feet. The hellfire inside his body dimmed. Shrunken and twisted almost beyond recognition, my foe lifted his head. I could barely see him through the pale, dancing light. Burning shades gnawed on his flesh, eating him like a pack of hungry dogs. Or, more ironically, like insects.


    ¡°Ah, look at you. A shadow in truth.¡±


    I lifted my axe and adopted a headsman¡¯s stance, holding the burning weapon in both hands and twisting my body to face the demon sidelong.


    ¡°Tormentsister did her work well. The slut is probably touching herself in Hell right now, celebrating this moment...¡±


    His words washed off me like so much air. ¡°You can deliver a message for me to the rest of your kind when you go to your Pit. Tell them that if any show their face in my homeland, I will find them.¡±


    I swung, and took Yith Golonac¡¯s head in one swing. There was a roar, a high keening wail, and the wraith fire became a whirling inferno. It spread, crawling over the floor to form a circle around my feet.


    Emma¡¯s voice broke through the blaze. ¡°Alken!¡±


    I turned to her.


    The fire closed in to drown me.

 Arc 6: Chapter 18: Reanimation

    Arc 6: Chapter 18: Reanimation


    The forest burned.


    I¡¯d lost count of how many times I¡¯d walked through it while locked within haunted dreams. But the bloody creeks and murmuring ambience of my many victims were gone now, replaced by the crackle of a spreading wildfire.


    The heads remained, but they¡¯d changed. They were charred and warped, some reduced nearly to bare skulls. Many looked bigger than they¡¯d been, bloated like cancerous fruit, white fire spilling out of their mouths and eyes. Even the shadows seemed to burn, writhing like worms rather than being chased away by the unnatural light.


    What had I done?


    What you had to.


    I¡¯d become the very monster I¡¯d sworn to fight. Yith spoke the truth. This was profane, and the sacred flame I¡¯d been entrusted with, it was...


    The dead were not gone or destroyed. The fire seemed to invigorate them, and most were lost in some strange euphoria, mumbling and gibbering to themselves while they basked in its haunting radiance. Unlike previous times, my red cloak wasn¡¯t soaked with dripping blood. Instead, its ends burnt away into colorless flame, and creeping hands extended out to me from the bramble-carpeted ground, grasping longingly at my ankles. The distant woods were lost in a pale, blinding glow.


    There had to have been another way.


    Many, but that is what it is to live.


    To make choices.


    To be awake.


    That voice... Yith?


    No, he was gone. What little I¡¯d left of his spirit would be hurtling through the Wend, drawn inexorably towards the Abyss. Or, more precisely, the iron gaols the Zosite had fashioned over it. Even if those failed to catch him, it would be centuries before he regained the strength to crawl back out, if not millennia.


    He is gone.


    This enemy, at least, is beaten.


    I searched the burning forest. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    No reply. Could it be...


    ¡°Back before the tournament, there was something in the tower besides Yith that night. Was that you?¡±


    I¡¯d suspected it to be one of the ghosts who followed me, perhaps a more benevolent one. It had drawn my attention to Lias¡¯s journal, the wizard¡¯s attempt to help me protect myself with knowledge. But how would one of the ghosts know what the journal contained? How would they know the exact piece of it that would give me the answer I sought, the way to beat the Vykes and Yith?


    There was only one spirit in my wake who knew that collected history well enough.


    ¡°I have no more patience for games, Dei. That¡¯s you, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Even as I said the words, I doubted my guess. Shyora was in Hell, I knew that. The visions I¡¯d seen of her since my imprisonment beneath Rose Malin were just the result of a spell, little different from a malicious, semi-sentient hate letter. Was this that shadow?


    Why would it help me? It didn¡¯t add up, especially after endless weeks of being tormented in my sleep by that same entity.


    Then who had helped me that night?


    I could remember the scene still. The demon¡¯s presence lingering in the room like a bad smell, Catrin¡¯s last words ringing in my ears, a sense of hopelessness chased away by the beginnings of a plan.


    And just like that, the forest was gone. I stood in my tower office and it was empty and clean again, calmer waves rolling over the isle below. The moons turned over the night sky, and my hand brushed the page beneath me.


    On it was an image. A sketch showing a beautiful woman, nude, long limbed and silk haired. Her fair features were marred by two leathery, hook-clawed wings, a pair of small horns, and a spindly tail segmented and barbed like a scorpion¡¯s. She held a pose and expression like a saint in prayer, eyes closed and fingers clasped, wings folded around her.


    Almost like an angel, until you looked closer.


    The page included a copy of the diagram a long dead alchemist had used to bind her. The sketch was how she¡¯d appeared to that foolish summoner, his lustful rendition.


    I¡¯d noted how he got her hair and build right, but not her face. Her lips hadn¡¯t been that full.


    The page next to it was an account of the interview between the summoner and Tormentsister. They¡¯d spoken at length, and the man took detailed notes. I could almost hear Fidei¡¯s dulcet voice echoing through my mind as I read the transcription of her words.


    So you were there? When Heaven burned?


    If you want to give it that name.


    What was it like? What did you see?


    The man recorded how Shyora had laughed.


    It would take far longer than this circle will hold me to describe all I¡¯ve seen, mortal. I would counsel you to narrow your question.


    Answer me, demon. Is it real? The First Kingdom? Is Onsolem¡ª


    She¡¯d interrupted.


    You hold all the power of creation and destruction in this very laboratory. You can turn water to wine, wood to gold, even reach forth through the fabric of existence and drag me here, and you doubt the existence of God?


    There are many beings we might call gods. I want to know the truth. The origin.


    Poor, tired old man. Do you fear your death? If you ask, I will take you in my arms and we will sink together into that great darkness. I will hold you close and show you horrors and wonders.


    You really think I¡¯ll just give you my soul?


    I¡¯ll take better care of it than the one you seek.


    The interview went on for some time. It became clear the alchemist himself wasn¡¯t recording it, but an apprentice. The encounter was interrupted, not by some attempt on the succubus¡¯s part to escape, but by intruders.


    Scorchknights. They¡¯d tried to subdue the demon, but it escaped. They¡¯d taken the alchemist instead, and made the apprentice record his fate. Summoning an abgru?dai broke Orkaelin law, and gave them the right to claim the man¡¯s soul. They¡¯d branded him, flayed him alive, and left his corpse chained in his own study.


    The apprentice¡¯s manic account detailed how his master remained alive for hours.


    This passage was what gave me the idea to seek Ostanes and gain his cooperation. While they¡¯d failed to capture their target, it told me the agents of Hell must have some way to bind a stray demon. It seemed far more sure a plan than waiting for an opportunity to smite Yith, something I¡¯d failed to accomplish. He was too canny, and rarely showed his true form for long.


    But it all failed. I¡¯d failed. Hyperia was dead, several of my people were probably dead.


    Was I dead?


    Do you want to be?


    I still had people to take care of.


    Is that all you live for?


    I¡¯d endured all these years without that. There was my duty. My penance.


    What do you repent for?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked the darkness. The sound of the Forest of Heads burning remained in the background, distant but close enough in this dream space.


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    Pain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Pain is weakness leaving the body.


    Most cannot endure it.


    They discard it.


    Grow callouses.


    ...But not you.


    You cling to yours like a talisman.


    ¡°You¡¯re my pain?¡±


    No answer.


    ¡°Did you show me how to use the shades as fuel?¡± Had this presence been putting ideas into my thoughts as I slept? I¡¯d never considered doing it, until that moment where I¡¯d needed more strength.


    If the malcathe had not let you touch the roads of the dead, you would not have known it was possible.


    Had you not become apostate and drawn the dead to you through these years, it would not be possible.


    Had you not been willing to become the vessel for their rancor, they would not have hurled themselves into the fire.


    No single being is responsible for everything.


    All choices intersect.


    ¡°That didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    Then you should have asked a better one.


    Frustrated, I lapsed into silence as I searched for words. The sound of the burning forest was becoming louder.


    ¡°Why did you help me?¡± I asked.


    Because you needed it.


    ¡°And what¡¯s that to you? Who are you?¡±


    You cannot feel it?


    I pressed my hands to either side of the open journal, feeling tired. Fire was beginning to form along the edges of the walls, but I felt strangely unconcerned. My eyes fell again to the page, and the image there. I lifted a hand to feel at the scars over my left eye. My jaw tightened.


    ¡°You¡¯re not her.¡±


    No.


    But you already guessed that.


    My hand drifted over the page. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, I turned it. A different old sketch lay beneath me then, this one of a shadowy silhouette drawn all in scratchy lines with eyes the color of pale bone. It had horns, and wings, but few other distinguishing features.


    ¡°You¡¯re an abyssal ghost. A...¡± I searched for the right word, drudged up from Lias¡¯s lessons and my own scattered research. ¡°A scadudemon.¡±


    I¡¯ve protected you.


    Without me, the dead would have driven you insane after the loss of your elven ring.


    They still might.


    You¡¯ve made them stronger.


    Though, they have given you strength in turn.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been torturing me with my own memories,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t expect me to think you¡¯re an ally. If you wanted me to believe that, you wouldn¡¯t have taken her face.¡±


    I turned to face the room. White fire creeped close, some reaching lines of it nearly at my feet. I focused on the presence I sensed beyond the blaze.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    I am want.


    ¡°I thought you were pain?¡±


    No answer again. I grit my teeth at this continued back and forth. ¡°I¡¯m tired of games. That¡¯s all everything is to your kind, isn¡¯t it? Twisted distractions that leave death and tragedy in your wake. I¡¯m sick of it.¡±


    Then stop fighting.


    Stop hurting.


    Just die.


    ¡°Is that what this is all about?¡± I asked. ¡°Making me give up?¡±


    Believe as you will.


    I am tired of games too.


    And it¡¯s time to wake up.


    ¡°Alken, I swear to every god and devil, if you die I will¡ª¡±


    I reached out and caught someone by the wrist. There was a gasp, a curse, the sound of a floorboard creaking as a foot shifted.


    ¡°Is he...¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not undead. At least, I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    That last voice... soft, slightly sad.


    ¡°Lisette?¡± My voice emerged as a dull, half-audible croak even to my own ears.


    ¡°Yes.¡± She sounded relieved, and very tired.


    I tried to rise, but a firm hand pushed me back down. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± That was Emma. ¡°You¡¯re still badly hurt. Lisette¡¯s got her threads in you, but you¡¯re barely in one piece. Why in all hells didn¡¯t you see a healer as soon as you left the Coloss?¡±


    They¡¯d taken my armor and arming clothes off, leaving me mostly naked. They¡¯d cut my trousers up past the left knee, and removed my shirt as well. My left leg was covered in dry blood, though some effort had been taken to clean it and they¡¯d wrapped it liberally in bandages. I could feel a warmth beneath that material. Lisette¡¯s Art.


    They¡¯d removed the bolt in my shoulder too, and the cleric¡¯s auratic threads were in my jaw, my ear, and half a dozen other places I¡¯d not even realized I was injured. Everything hurt, but not as bad as I felt it should have.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t do anything about your broken ribs,¡± Lisette said apologetically. My chest was horribly bruised. ¡°I haven¡¯t mastered the trick of sewing injuries I can¡¯t see or touch, and without cutting your chest open and getting to the bone directly...¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s maybe avoid surgery for now,¡± I rasped. ¡°How long was I out?¡±


    ¡°A couple hours,¡± Emma said.


    They¡¯d boarded up the window again, but I could hear the storm rolling overhead. It sounded quieter. Two hours... anything could have happened in the rest of the fortress in that time.


    ¡°Help me up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s really not¡ª¡±


    I hardened my voice. ¡°Do it.¡±


    With obvious reluctance, the two women got me into a sitting position. I nearly passed out again, but managed to keep from embarrassing myself and inspected the room. It looked like a small war zone. Hyperia remained chained to her chair, the only part of the warding circle still intact. The princess¡¯s eyes were open, glassily staring at nothing. Her throat, chin, and chest were a mess of half-dry blood. It formed a sticky pool around the chair.


    I turned my eyes away from that gruesome sight. Penric lay on the floor still, his brains opened up by the blow he¡¯d taken to his skull. Beatriz sat against the wall by the door to my bedchamber, which I noted was ajar. The guardswoman sat in a fetal position, her eyes dull and listless. Alive, but not all there.


    ¡°Mallet¡¯s dead,¡± Emma informed me. ¡°Penric got him with a knife. Major artery, nothing we could do.¡±


    ¡°Not Penric,¡± Lisette corrected softly.


    Emma considered a moment, then nodded.


    I took a deep, painful breath and started to speak. Emma knew what I wanted to ask and answered before I voiced the question. ¡°Over there.¡± She nodded to the corner by the window.


    I turned, and saw Catrin. She lay on her side with her back to me. ¡°Is she...¡±


    ¡°Alive,¡± Emma informed me. ¡°Well, as much as she ever is. I gave her a bit of blood. She¡¯s stable we think, but hasn¡¯t been speaking.¡±


    Lisette threw Emma a reproachful look. ¡°I told you that was a bad idea. You¡¯d already lost too much.¡±


    Emma rolled her eyes. ¡°Calm down, choir girl. It was hardly a sip and it helps her rest. Besides, my blood is quite spicy. A little goes a long way, and if she goes berserk again, then...¡±


    She shrugged, then made an explosive gesture by unfolding her fingers. That was a disturbing thought. Could she really use her powers that way?


    ¡°Don¡¯t hurt her anymore,¡± I croaked, having meant to make it a growl.


    Emma watched me a moment, then nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t want to. It¡¯s just a precaution.¡±


    ¡°Let me talk to her.¡±


    Neither seemed to want to comply, but something in my face must have convinced them. I got a leg under me, grimaced, then stood. When I managed it with little help, it took us all by surprise.


    Lisette frowned. ¡°You should not be able to do that.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t healed. My injuries were definitely still there, shouting for my attention, but they felt strangely numb. When I tested my left leg, it elicited a wince but not a shout or a bad fall. My right shoulder felt stiff, but not exactly like there was a hole in it.


    On a hunch, I closed my eyes and looked inward. Tentatively, like one touching an infected wound, I tested my own aura.


    And was shocked to find it burning hot. It felt stronger than it had in a long time, filling my limbs with warmth and my blood with strength. One of my hands clenched into a fist and I lifted it. Most of my more recent burn scars, which my armor wouldn¡¯t protect me from at all given they came from my own magic, looked faded. There was new, pink skin growing.


    What had done it? Lisette¡¯s threads were clean aura, freely given, and I suspected my own spirit was absorbing that energy. But it couldn¡¯t be all that. I¡¯d slain Yith. That, I believed, did act as the culmination of a long-carried oath, something I¡¯d been burning to do since Caelfall a year past. Had that act reinvigorated the aureflame?


    Then there was what I¡¯d done with the shades. I¡¯d used them as kindling. Part of me expected that blasphemy to send the holy fire into a consumptive fury, spurring it to burn me until I became a living torch driven insane by the pain. That¡¯s how the other Table knights had gone, back in Seydis after the Archon died.


    I hadn¡¯t really taken the time to think it through, but I¡¯d felt that fate in the back of my mind even as I¡¯d acted. I¡¯d accepted the possibility, if it meant defeating the demon and saving a few lives. I hadn¡¯t expected that act of necromancy to do this.


    Rather than relief, I felt a subtle sense of unease at my unexpected recovery.


    No time to grapple with it. My eyes went to Catrin. Waving off the other two, I approached her with cautious steps and knelt just out of arm¡¯s reach.


    ¡°Cat?¡± I asked softly. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    She was still a moment. So still she seemed just a corpse. Then I heard a rustle, and her left hand curled over her right arm. She wouldn¡¯t look at me. A tightness formed in my throat.


    I felt a hand on my shoulder. Emma spoke with an uncharacteristic gentleness. ¡°She¡¯s just experienced something terrible. Several days of it. We should give her some time.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say what I thought ¡ª that I just wanted to know she was alright. I knew she wasn¡¯t alright, and might never be again. Demons leave lasting wounds.


    I cupped her face in my hand and leaned down to kiss her hair. Her chin was still covered in Hyperia¡¯s blood, and she still looked like a three day old corpse, but her eyes no longer held that manic glint of possession. Yith was gone. He could no longer exert his influence over her from the depths I¡¯d sent him to.


    Her eyes closed and her lips pressed tight. ¡°Alken,¡± she breathed. ¡°Please forgive me.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to forgive. None of this is your fault. Rest now. We¡¯ll talk later.¡±


    She curled into a ball, retreating back into herself. I stood and walked back to the edge of the circle.


    ¡°Well,¡± Emma said at my side. ¡°This is a right mess. Do you think Vander had better luck?¡±


    I met her eyes, finding Lisette¡¯s staring curiously back at me too. Amber and blue, both waiting for my leadership even after all this.


    ¡°Has there been any word from the rest of the fortress?¡±


    ¡°All quiet,¡± Emma noted. ¡°But we¡¯re isolated out here, so that¡¯s not unusual.¡±


    ¡°Vander should have sent a messenger by now.¡± If not him, then Markham or Rosanna would have called for me. I had a bad feeling.


    ¡°Hyperia was never going to cooperate,¡± I told them. ¡°She acted like she¡¯d given up, but when Yith arrived she tried to betray us. She would have sabotaged negotiations somehow, I know it.¡±


    Lisette frowned. ¡°How can you be sure?¡±


    ¡°She told us about her home, remember? There are more demons in the Vyke castle. She was willing to give Yith over to Ostanes because he wasn¡¯t her only tool. I see that now.¡± I shook my head, feeling tired. ¡°It¡¯s all a mess. I thought I had this under control, but...¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re with you,¡± Emma said. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Before I could answer, the creak of straining wood and rattle of chains drew our attention. We all turned, and stared at Hyperia¡¯s corpse.


    It was moving. Glassy eyes stared forward, and the exposed vessels in her shredded throat did not pump fresh blood, but the warlock¡¯s head was turning to one side. Blue lips moved, but only a raspy whisper emerged, and a sickening gurgle.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°God in Heaven, she can¡¯t still be alive!?¡±


    The cleric started forward, her fingers already moving as she began weaving aura into shape, but I grabbed her shoulder to stop her.


    ¡°She¡¯s not alive,¡± I said darkly. ¡°Not exactly. We should have anticipated this.¡±


    Emma understood what I meant. ¡°The barrier! It trapped her ghost at the moment of her death.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± I agreed, ¡°and a lifetime of exposing herself to occult rituals and profane powers. Her soul is heavy with sin. No surprise it clung tight.¡±


    Hyperia Vyke was reanimating as a dyghoul.


    And I was starting to conjure another plan.

 Arc 6: Chapter 19: The Back Halls

    Arc 6: Chapter 19: The Back Halls


    Emma helped me get my armor back on, despite Lisette¡¯s misgivings.


    ¡°You¡¯re not fully recovered,¡± the cleric insisted. ¡°You should rest. Let Emma and I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I need you here to tend to Beatriz,¡± I told her. ¡°We¡¯ve lost enough tonight, and you¡¯re hurt too.¡±


    Lisette hit her head hard when Catrin knocked her out. She seemed stable, but I wasn¡¯t going to take the chance of losing my entire command.


    ¡°Besides,¡± I added, ¡°I¡¯m not going to just sit around and wait for the sun to rise. I need to know what¡¯s going on outside.¡±


    We were on the tower¡¯s main level. Emma stood by the door leading out to the bridge which linked the dungeon tower to the rest of the Fulgurkeep. She had one hand on the arm of the figure next to her. Still clad in a burgundy dress ruined by blood, Hyperia wore a bag over her head. She seemed complacent and hadn¡¯t yet said a word, but we were watchful of her. Dyghouls sometimes never regained their full faculties, depending on how much damage was done to the ghost.


    The bag deprived her senses, which I hoped would keep her confused and slow down the process. It wasn¡¯t as good as a grave. I¡¯d heard of some risen who took days to realize they were still trapped in their own corpse, even weeks, but doubted we¡¯d be that lucky.


    ¡°So what is the plan?¡± Emma asked tartly.


    ¡°Make our way back to the court. If everyone is feasting and having a grand time, we¡¯ll end up looking foolish and I¡¯ll have to face the music for the princess¡¯s death. If the castle is full of enemies, we cut our way through everything that looks at us funny until we reach the Emperor.¡±


    Lisette looked startled. ¡°Do you think the castle will be full of enemies?¡±


    I considered it, feeling more sure of myself with every moment. ¡°Vander was going to accuse the Vykes of sedition and murder in front of several hundred people, many of whom are members of the Ardent Round. In addition, Hyperia will have been missing for hours. Our original plan was to secure her cooperation and take her before the court, let her talk Calerus down before he did anything rash. It¡¯s too late for that, now. There were also Mistwalkers lurking outside the city the other night.¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s words lingered in my mind. Calerus is my king, and if you think our homeland is without strength then you are sadly mistaken.


    I looked at them both. ¡°I think it¡¯s very likely that Calerus has gone ahead and launched his coup. With several hundred undead mercenaries, he could take and hold this fortress indefinitely.¡±


    Emma looked unconvinced. ¡°The gargoyles would warn the keep of any undead approaching.¡±


    ¡°A lot of them were killed by that thing Jocelyn turned into. I don¡¯t think we can rely on them to protect us.¡±


    ¡°The palace is well warded,¡± Lisette argued. ¡°The Church has been sanctifying its halls regularly since the war.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not full proof, and you know it.¡± I didn¡¯t mention that I suspected the Royal Clericon might be a traitor. Before saying more I paused and turned to the door. ¡°Do you hear that?¡±


    They both listened. Emma replied first. ¡°No. What is it?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything,¡± Lisette said.


    ¡°Exactly.¡± I started towards the door. ¡°The storm¡¯s stopped.¡±


    Just as I¡¯d feared, the downpour which had battered the city for most of two days had ceased. The night was unseasonably cold, and a deep and consuming veil of fog encircled the Fulgurkeep.


    I couldn¡¯t even see the water beneath me as I crossed the bridge. I suspected that if I stood on one of the walls facing the city, I¡¯d fail to make out the rest of Garihelm. The towering edifice of House Forger¡¯s ancestral home rose above us, little more than a shapeless black shadow through the drifting clouds rising into indistinct and dizzying heights.


    It reminded me of Orson Falconer¡¯s keep, floating on its dead lake in an unnatural fog just like this one. Dread coiled in my gut like a fat serpent. Was I already too late?


    Lisette remained behind, tending to our sanctuary. We¡¯d agreed the tower could act as a fallback point if we needed to send survivors of an attack elsewhere. Emma strode behind me, slowed somewhat by our silent prisoner, though she had little trouble keeping up with my limp. We said nothing as we moved onto a stairway cut directly from the dark rock of the main island. It wound up a ways, narrow, treacherous, and slick from two days of rain before sinking into a doorless entry dug out from the island itself, not much different from a cave.


    The Fulgurkeep was enormous, and ancient. In old days when the Forgers drove out the troll king who¡¯d dwelt within the island¡¯s caves, they¡¯d discovered a vast wealth of metals within. These became the bloodline of the great smithies from which the clan took its name, allowing them to outfit a mighty army. Over generations they¡¯d laid the stones of the castle complex, building it over the clustered isles flaring out from the lagoon.


    Huge as the ¡®Keep was, the mines beneath were larger. They went deep, probably as deep as the labyrinthine undercity sleeping below the lagoon. The ones closer to the surface were incorporated into the fortress¡¯s structure, fashioned into winding stone halls and solid vaults containing the armories of House Forger.


    Emma and I made our way through this maze, tracing a path we¡¯d learned well since we¡¯d been given the isolated tower at the island¡¯s edge as our base of operations. Neither of us said anything, keeping our focus on the path ahead and wary of danger.


    We encountered no one. The dark hallways were silent, eerily so, and our footsteps were overloud in that echoing space.


    Emma broke the silence at little more than a whisper. ¡°She¡¯s going to be alright. Catrin¡¯s tough, and I doubt this will break her. She probably has more sense than half the population of Urn put together.¡± ?a??O??B¦¥s??


    ¡°I doubt that. She got involved with me.¡±


    ¡°You give yourself too little credit. When you¡¯re not being a brooding brute, you can be quite endearing in an odd sort of way. Like a big grumpy dog.¡±


    ¡°...Thanks.¡± That was the second time someone had compared me to a dog. Third, if I counted Hyperia¡¯s insult.


    ¡°If you keep worrying about her, it¡¯s going to hurt your focus. The demon is gone. She¡¯s not a hostage anymore. You freed her.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t bring myself to say what I knew. Those who become the victims of demons are never really free. They dig their way too deep.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Emma hesitated. ¡°What happened back there, what you did...¡±


    ¡°You should forget that.¡±


    If the Church found out I¡¯d used unsanctioned necromancy, they¡¯d come down on me hard for it. Then again, they already believed I was an apostate and probably worse yet, so maybe not. Still, I wouldn¡¯t let Emma become collateral if I could avoid it.


    My squire sighed, exasperated. ¡°Alken, I¡¯m the disciple of Bloody Nath and a warlock myself. I¡¯m not going to judge you, but...¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason practitioners use ritual to bind supernatural beings. Without those protections, then...¡±


    She fell quiet a while, then changed the subject. ¡°So we¡¯re going to find Rosanna, right?¡±


    I glanced back at her. ¡°That¡¯s not what I said earlier.¡±


    Emma met my eye knowingly.


    I turned my attention back forward. ¡°Rosanna was probably with her husband. That means she had Kaia, the Twinbolt, and half a hundred other elite soldiers with her. She¡¯s as safe as she can be.¡±


    I tightened my grip on my axe. ¡°We¡¯re going after Calerus. Hyperia might have had Yith, but her brother was always the leader of this. He¡¯s the goring King of Talsyn, even if the rest of the realms don¡¯t know it. If we stop him, then his allies will scatter.¡±


    I hoped. Calerus couldn¡¯t keep the secret of his father¡¯s murder forever, but if he performed an act of strategy worthy of the Condor of Talsyn then it wouldn¡¯t matter. Claiming the Fulgurkeep would do it.


    But I¡¯d tipped his hand early, before he¡¯d gained prestige and strength by winning the tournament. He was on shaky ground, deprived of his sister and their pet. If he failed tonight, then the realms would forsake his banner.


    I could still stop this. Not as clean or bloodlessly as I¡¯d wanted, but there was still hope.


    We navigated a spiral stair, which brought us up to the main levels of the Fulgurkeep. The corridors opened up here, the claustrophobic spaces below giving way to regal passages carved with artistry and elegant architecture. Some of these were still being worked on, as masons from across the eastern world labored to improve the Emperor¡¯s place of governance.


    A low hanging mist carpeted the floor of those halls, thick enough our ankles vanished into it. Emma noted it too, and her left hand ¡ª the dominant one ¡ª lifted her heirloom sword into a guard. Her right hand remained on Hyperia¡¯s wrist. The undead princess stirred, mumbling something beneath the bag.


    I¡¯d been right. This was no natural fog. Several hours had passed since I left the audience chamber. Most coups, if successful, were over very quickly before proper resistance could muster itself.


    Control your fear. You don¡¯t know what¡¯s happened, not for sure.


    But I had to expect that any resistance to Calerus would be coming from inside the fortress. With the fog, I doubted the rest of the city was aware of anything happening inside.


    ¡°Movement ahead,¡± Emma whispered.


    I heard it too. The rattle of armor, muffled by the mist and distance. In these echoing halls, it could be difficult to tell how far a sound came from.


    ¡°Be ready, and keep her close.¡±


    Emma fell back a step, letting me take the lead. I lifted my axe onto one shoulder, all my concentration bent forward. I reached out with my will, testing the space ahead with my aura. It obeyed me readily, almost eagerly, like it were hungry for a fight.


    That was different. But I didn¡¯t sense much, only a creeping sense of cold and something like the haze that came with bad sleep.


    ¡°The mist is full of od,¡± I said to Emma. ¡°I think there¡¯s a compulsion in it. It¡¯s subtle. Keep your focus, just like I taught you.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    The ensorceled mist had another effect. It muddied my spiritual senses, made it so all I sensed was that veil. Which meant...


    The only warning I received was the flutter of leathery wings and the faint scraping of claws on stone. My muscles tightened on reflex, and I swung before even thinking about doing so in an overhanded chop as something dropped from the ceiling a ways ahead and swooped down at me like a diving owl.


    My axe bit with a jarring impact, slamming the thing into the ground at my feet. It was big, all leathery gray-green hide and wrinkled like a very old man, with a long neck and a lamprey mouth. No arms, just membranous wings and taloned feet. It kicked and struggled a moment before I planted my sabaton on it and ripped the axe out with a squelch and a spray of dark blue blood. Another swing ended it, and it deflated beneath me.


    ¡°What is that!?¡± Emma spat. ¡°Another demon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a chimera,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen these before, at Caelfall. They¡¯re ambush predators.¡±


    How many more were there, waiting to dive from the high ceilings above? The rafters, arches, and statuary gave them plenty of spots to hide.


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    Hyperia mumbled under her mask. She was starting to become more aware of herself, which meant we were running out of time.


    More noises ahead. It didn¡¯t sound like the leech-headed chimera, but humans. Humans in armor. Soldiers, but for which side?


    We started forward again, turning at the end of the hall and finding ourselves at the end of a long passageway with a cavernously high ceiling. Chandeliers hung above, growing smaller all the way into an indistinct distance. The mist seemed to glow like it caught bright moonlight, allowing us to see well ahead.


    A junction broke the otherwise uniform passage, with the statue of an armored magistrate centering it atop a pedestal. And like a phalanx of soldiers protecting that stone figure, a group of people stood shoulder to shoulder and fought off their attackers.


    There were nine of them, mostly Storm Knights in brassy armor and sea-blue cloth. But not all. One towered over the others, dressed in a bright red and yellow doublet tailored to fit his hulkish frame, which was starkly at odds with an almost child-like face and platinum blond hair arranged into neat curls.


    At first, I couldn¡¯t tell who they were fighting. Then, the mist seemed to congeal behind one woman into a ghastly grinning face with huge, ivory teeth. Dull gray armor of archaic design followed, then a spiked morningstar, and the Mistwalker slammed his weapon down on the back of the knight¡¯s head. Her helmet crumpled, along with the skull beneath, and she fell limply.


    There were more. They faded in and out like ghosts, solid one moment and little more than vapor the next. The Royal Steward barked an order in his sonorous voice, and the knights formed up into a ring with their tall shields upraised.


    I went forward at a jog which quickly advanced into a sprint. My half-healed injuries protested, but the pain was manageable. I swept my axe back, keeping the blade low so it cut the hanging mist.


    I let the searing warmth in me out, and Faen Orgis flickered with auratic fire. It seemed brighter than usual, closer to a pale, almost white gold than amber.


    A Mistwalker congealed ahead with his back to me, lifting a javelin to hurl into the squad of knights. Its tip shone a cold blue with odlight. I suspected it would pack a punch capable of tearing right through steel plate.


    He never threw it, though. I lopped his head off with one swing, barely slowing as I lunged past. One of the ghouls spotted me and shouted, pointing. He died next as I smashed through his banded shield and punched him with my off hand hard enough to cave his nose right into his brain matter.


    Ghouls are hard to kill, but the aureflame scoured their spirits right off their dead flesh. When they realized the danger, they started flinching away and going on the defensive. That allowed the Fulgurkeep garrison to push back.


    One of the Storm Knights raised his fine sword, revealing the inlays of blessed gold worked into the lower portion of its blade. A single flickering serpent of yellow lightning formed around it, and when he swung that bolt lashed out. It sunk into the body of a legionary and detonated in a bright flash. The creature¡¯s smoking, charred body tumbled to the ground.


    The Royal Steward held no weapon. As it turned out, he didn¡¯t need one. He grabbed one of the ghouls distracted by my fire-branded axe by the throat. He lifted it, the struggling corpse eater¡¯s neck completely engulfed in the huge man¡¯s powerful fist. Then, almost disdainfully, the Steward turned and smacked the ghoul¡¯s head into the statue¡¯s stone stand. He did it again, and again, not stopping until there was almost nothing left of the mercenary¡¯s skull but bits of meat.


    He studied his work critically, like a dissatisfied artist, then dropped the still twitching Mistwalker.


    When the ghouls realized they were outmatched, they retreated back into the fog and vanished like ghosts. I glanced back to check on Emma. She was unharmed, and still holding our prisoner.


    The Steward¡¯s pipe organ voice drew my attention back to the group we¡¯d saved. ¡°Hewer, is that you?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    His cherubic face wrinkled with confusion, then his mouth popped open into an almost perfect O. ¡°Ah. Then the one in the court earlier was an imposter.¡±


    ¡°A distraction,¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s going on? I¡¯ve been... preoccupied.¡±


    The Steward glanced at the figure my squire held, whose face remained concealed beneath the bag. ¡°I see. This all began a few hours ago. Lord Vander was addressing the court, then Prince Calerus suddenly started acting... strange.¡±


    ¡°Strange?¡± Emma asked.


    The Steward lifted a heavy eyebrow at the interruption, but continued without comment. ¡°He made little effort to defend himself from Vander¡¯s accusations. He seemed distracted. Then, all the sudden, it was like he¡¯d become ill or taken some blow to the head. He spoke to the Emperor, demanded to know what he¡¯d done. None of us knew what he was talking about.¡±


    I glanced at Emma, and saw my same thoughts reflected in her eyes. Were the twins connected in some way? When Hyperia died, did Calerus know in that very moment? The timing seemed to line up.


    ¡°Chaos broke out,¡± the Steward continued. ¡°This damned fog flooded into the chamber like a tidal wave. I was in the court, then after this swallowed me I was elsewhere in the castle. I collected these soldiers and have been trying to make my way back, but we keep running into obstacles.¡±


    As though to demonstrate, he lifted his gore-smeared right hand and pouted at the ruined sleeve of his fine shirt.


    ¡°Palace is full of monsters,¡± one of the knights said.


    ¡°Keep your head,¡± the Steward admonished him. ¡°You are the Emperor¡¯s elite, not some peasant infantry. You¡¯ve trained for this, man.¡±


    ¡°This mist is enchanted,¡± I told them. ¡°The Mistwalker Company uses it to travel about. Seems like they can transpose others through it, too. They scattered the court around the castle to make it easier to claim the ¡®Keep, is my guess. They can go where they please while the rest of us are left lost and confused.¡±


    One of the knights slumped. ¡°Then how do we get back?¡±


    I closed my eyes and concentrated inward. Again, I noted how fresh my magic seemed. Yet something made me hesitate to shape Art with it.


    What was my alternative? I regarded the group and said, ¡°I can keep the mist from working its mischief on us. Stay close and keep up.¡±


    They gathered about. The Steward looked suspicious and impatient but indulged me for the time being. I lifted Faen Orgis to my lips, concentrated, and whispered part of my oath into its blade. At the same time, I imagined the shape of the power I wanted to conjure. It came to me like a daydream, or a sudden flash of inspiration, as all the phantasms carved into my aura did.


    The Art I shaped wasn¡¯t meant for battle. It was a warding technique, used to safeguard the user from particularly hostile supernatural environments. I¡¯d been taught to employ it if I ever strayed from a safe path in the Wend, but felt it might work here.


    A pale, calm light spread around me to engulf the group. Several of the knights murmured in surprise. I blew on my axe like I wanted to chase the fuzz off a dandelion. A wave of light flew from me down the long corridor, looking like nothing so much as the ripple over still grass that marked the passage of a strong wind. That glow remained, scattering the mist into bare eddies like a ray of warm sunlight had burnt it off.


    The aureflame didn¡¯t lash out or scald me. It didn¡¯t flare out of control and compel me to fight it back down. It was calm. Focused.


    No. Not calm. Eager. When it went out from me, it felt something like loosing a hunting hound off its leash.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Emma whispered to me.


    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Turning to the others I said, ¡°The way forward should be safe, but keep your guard up.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a path out onto the battlements down this way,¡± the Steward told me. ¡°We should be able to reach the level with the audience chamber from there. It¡¯s only a floor above us.¡±


    The Fulgurkeep wasn¡¯t one single fortress, but a collection of castles interlinked by the craggy cliffs of the island and an array of overlapping bridges. It was intentionally confusing, designed to slow invaders while the defending garrison would know the best way to navigate it.


    But the Mistwalkers had turned that advantage against us, their sorcerous fog allowing them to move about at will. Worse, they¡¯d brought chimera. What else?


    We moved with the Steward directing me. There was no resistance, but we found several gruesome scenes. Nobles, knights, servants, foreign merchants and other visitors staying in the palace for the summit. Their corpses were scattered about, butchered while they¡¯d wandered lost and confused in the haunted corridors.


    Every moment I expected to see Rosanna among those dead. When would I find one of her children, or even the Emperor lying pale and cold where the invaders left them?


    ¡°The Vykes have killed themselves,¡± one of the knights spat furiously. ¡°This will mean war. Every clan in Urn will seek to punish them for this treachery. They were here under truce!¡±


    ¡°Only if we drive them out,¡± I said. ¡°If they hold the island, Calerus may as well be the new emperor. Ghouls don¡¯t need food and water, just corpses to eat, so sieging them out is a losing game. This is the greatest fortress in the subcontinent. They could fight back any army if we let them have it.¡±


    I was half talking to myself. Perhaps I was becoming manic.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s not let them have it,¡± the Steward suggested pointedly.


    No conversation after that. We went up a short flight of stairs, finding more corpses at the top. I recognized some of them as tourney knights, but none I knew by name. They would have been at the feast if everything hadn¡¯t gone ass up.


    ¡°Took some of the bastards with them,¡± one of my companions noted with grim satisfaction.


    He was right. There were at least half a dozen ghouls in pieces in the hallway. Jocelyn told me the Lost Legion contained less than five hundred members. How many did we have to kill to defang them?


    More than this. Some of the ghouls still lived, their unholy vitality compelling them to try and move even when missing limbs or spilling their organs out onto the stone. These we finished off, an ugly task that took minutes and clearly hurt the group¡¯s morale, but I didn¡¯t want them troubling us later.


    ¡°They¡¯re not immortal,¡± I told the knights. ¡°Do enough damage and their ghosts will come loose.¡±


    To demonstrate, I sank my axe into the skull of one Legion trooper without imbuing it with aureflame. The creature shuddered, then a luminescent mist spilled out of its injuries and sank into the ambient fog. That fog seemed to gather around me for a moment, cold and sharp where it met what little skin my armor exposed, then faded.


    ¡°Just like wights,¡± one of the older knights said in approval. I guessed him to be a veteran of the Fall.


    The others checked their gear. One of the knights rubbed a brittle looking piece of rock over his sword. His blade took on a brighter sheen and crackled with yellow lightning as the piece of stone broke apart, passing the Art trapped within it into his weapon.


    ¡°A fulgurscale,¡± one of the knights explained when she caught my curious look. ¡°We gather them from the islands around the castle. It¡¯s dangerous to search for them, but lets us wield lightning.¡±


    ¡°Only the Twinbolt has the technique naturally,¡± another of the Storm Knights noted with a shrug.


    Emma was watching me with an expression I couldn¡¯t interpret. When I asked her what was wrong, she shook her head.


    ¡°You¡¯re not limping anymore. You were earlier.¡±


    She was right, I realized. In fact, I felt even stronger than when we¡¯d left the tower.


    We moved out onto the battlements. Built from the rocky cliffs that supported the main complex, they consisted of switchbacking stairs and narrow walls guarded by parapets. The waters around the ¡®Keep were too treacherous for ships, so these all faced the bridges connecting the island to the lagoon city.


    But I couldn¡¯t see the city. Just a deep, consuming fog that turned the world beyond the castle walls into a strange, shifting limbo. It was an uncanny effect, and one of the knights near me shivered.


    I didn¡¯t blame him. There were many stories of mists just like this swallowing entire castles, towns, or even countries and dragging them into the Wend. Looking out over the walls, part of me could believe the Vykes had ripped us right out of the waking world. Did the Lost Legion have that power?


    Pushing the disturbing thought from my mind, I inspected the surrounding castle. We stood at the top of a switchback of stairs leading down to one of the curtain walls. It terminated at a defensive tower that I recognized. The Empress¡¯s Bastion wouldn¡¯t be far beyond it.


    I somehow doubted Rosanna would be lucky enough to be transported to her home ground. Still, it helped me get my bearings in the fog. The guard tower was two stories tall above the parapet beneath, with a single entrance at its base and a stair wrapping around the side about halfway before connecting to another section of the main fortress. The Steward pointed at that little bridge.


    ¡°There¡¯s an access to the upper halls there. It will bring us above the audience chamber. There are balconies looking into the throne room.¡±


    I nodded. It seemed like a good place to see what was going on there without drawing too much attention to ourselves. Still, this was very open ground and made me uneasy. There was no good cover until we got to the tower. Neither did I like how quiet it was. I could barely hear the waves against the island below, like the fog muffled the sound into some indistinct, faraway impression.


    The oldest knight in the group, the one I¡¯d taken to be a Fall veteran, saw the same thing I did. ¡°Best we not all march out and make it easy on the marrow eaters, eh? Declan, Ariel, you two go first. Casper, give them your scales.¡±


    There was no argument. The two scouts each took a handful of fulgurscales and slipped them into pouches at their belts. Ariel, the only woman in the group, didn¡¯t have a shield and she kept three of the rocks in her left hand. Declan lifted up his tall kite shield above his head and took the lead.


    I didn¡¯t like anyone going ahead of me. It wasn¡¯t about pride, though I¡¯d once been that way as a young man. I was the vanguard, the one who bled first because I could recover from it. But these were soldiers, knights, and their home and lord were threatened. I wouldn¡¯t dishonor them by demanding they not take risks.


    ¡°So you¡¯re him.¡± Ser Lochwine, the veteran, spoke to me while we waited at the top of the stair in the doorway¡¯s cover. ¡°The Headsman.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they call me,¡± I agreed without taking my eyes off the wall below.


    He scratched at the graying beard bristling out of his burgonet. ¡°No one said you were a ginger.¡±


    One of the knights snickered. I decided I liked this dry old soldier. The Steward sighed in impatience.


    Declan and Ariel made it down to the wall, covering one another and moving with a furtiveness that belied the full plate they wore. One of the knights next to me cursed our lack of an archer, which made me think of Penric. I tightened my grip on my axe, trying to keep my mind away from what¡¯d happened at my tower.


    Hyperia mumbled under her bag. Emma cast me a worried glance. So far no one in the group had asked about our charge, but there were more than a few nervous looks.


    Declan reached the tower¡¯s lower door, checked it and found it unlocked. Ariel scanned the walls of the castle above us, squinting into the fog. She was tossing the rocks in her left hand up and down in what seemed like an idle motion. They slipped inside, and then we didn¡¯t see them for several minutes.


    Every second felt an eternity. I wanted to move.


    Declan appeared on the top of the tower and lifted his sword. It was clean. One of the knights let out a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Remember your training,¡± Lochwine told the group. ¡°Two at a time, cover each other with your shields, watch for archers.¡±


    ¡°Stay in the middle,¡± I told Emma. She wasn¡¯t wearing full armor and Hyperia wore none. The steel-clad troop would act as a solid barrier that could close around them if needed.


    On that note, I looked at the giant Steward. He also didn¡¯t wear armor, and was too big to be easy to cover.


    He also wasn¡¯t a fool. ¡°I am ready to die for my lord if needed,¡± he told me calmly. ¡°I will block arrows with my own body if it gets us to our goal.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t particularly liked this man since I¡¯d met him, but just then I decided I might respect him.


    I went out first with a pair of the Storm Knights behind me, another pair taking up position behind Emma and her charge. They moved quick, in formation, and kept their shields up to cover as much of their bodies as they could. The light rattle of our armor echoed mutedly across the parapets, quickly swallowed in the lazily shifting brume.


    I wished I hadn¡¯t left my helmet behind. It would have been a hindrance in the confines of the hallways, but out here it might save my life.


    Once I was down on the curtain wall, which curved slightly until stopping at the corner tower, Roland waved at me. He pointed, and following his gesture I saw what drew his attention. There were lights burning on the Empress¡¯s Bastion, shining brightly to break through the thick fog. They formed odd shapes and shone a clean blue through the gray veil of mist.


    They were phantasms, I realized, formed entirely of aura.


    One of the knights laughed. ¡°The Fulgurkeep¡¯s banners! Only our own people can wake those up. There are survivors there!¡±


    I barely had time to feel the first surge of hope at that statement when dark shapes began to detached themselves from the walls above, and started to fall upon us.

 Arc 6: Chapter 20: Battle of the Fulgurkeep (1)

    Arc 6: Chapter 20: Battle of the Fulgurkeep (1)


    The leech-headed chimera were waiting on the castle¡¯s side like the gargoyles they¡¯d replaced. They fell like a flock from hell; screeching, clawed things whose blind heads somehow unerringly found their targets.


    One of the knights behind me shouted a warning too late. Black claws took Declan at full speed, tearing him off the top of the tower. Three of the creatures flapped around him in a ravenous ball while he screamed over the open air. They tore his armor off like the most efficient squires in the world and ate him alive mid flight. What dropped into the bay after resembled nothing human.


    The air filled with the snaps and cracks of leathery wings. I swung on reflex at a blur of movement, cutting the wing off a flyer at the joint. It slammed into the parapet, its neck breaking from the impact.


    But there were many more. They filled the fog, turning the previously silent night into a nightmare of noise and movement.


    The creatures seemed to have no sense of self preservation. One dove directly into a knight behind Emma, impaling itself on his sword even as they both went over the wall. At a shouted order from Lochwine, the rest of the knights lifted their shields and went low to leave smaller, more solid targets. Their swords crackled with electric aura. When they struck, their targets detonated into smoking meat.


    But they didn¡¯t have infinite access to that magic. A few blows, then their swords became mundane steel again with no time to pull out another Art stone.


    ¡°Emma!¡± I barked. ¡°Give me space!¡±


    She had Hyperia down on her knees so none of the creature¡¯s could grab the princess. Emma didn¡¯t even glance my way as she acted. She lifted a closed fist dripping with blood, furrowed her brow in concentration, then hurled those drops out into the air.


    Emma¡¯s Art was versatile, more than almost any other I¡¯d seen even across twenty years of travel and warfare. I might have more moves in my arsenal, but each was pre-prescribed in shape and function. Shrike Forest, on the other hand, could be used in a variety of ways ¡ª so long as it started with a drop of blood and ended with something sharp.


    The droplets of blood Emma flicked into the air flashed, then exploded in a fanning rain of phantasmal shrapnel. Knowing as I did that it took incredible control and concentration for her to direct each sprig that grew from those red seeds, it came as a mild shock that none of the bolts rained down into our group. The chimera shrieked as their membranous wings tore and their flesh peeled apart. They scattered, at least for a few seconds.


    Long enough for me to shape an Art myself. I spun my axe above my head in what would look to most as a boisterous display. Pale golden fire swept around me in a growing whirlwind. I collected it with another several sweeps of my axe until the gold-inlayed blade glowed bright. I drew it in close to my chest, blew out a breath that emerged as glowing mist, then swung into the flock.


    The Seraph¡¯s Halo had worked well against Yith when he¡¯d possessed Kieran and proved too quick to catch with anything slower. It flickered out into the chimera as a spinning golden spiral, thin as a blade of sunlight and sharp as the finest steel. It sliced through bodies, cutting off heads and wings with every rotation. The fiendish war beasts began to tumble limply from the air.


    With each spin, the halo grew smaller and dimmer until it finally scattered into amber motes. But it¡¯d done its work, killing more than half a dozen of the creatures.


    The Steward didn¡¯t waste our expenditure of aura. With a bellow half the castle must have heard, he ordered the group forward. We made it to the tower¡¯s base, Ser Ariel covering us from above. She stood in the same spot Declan had died, her sword down and her left hand up. She was holding bolts of lightning, hurling them into the regrouping flock. I remembered the fulgurscales she¡¯d taken from the others. Dangerous little stones, those, and seemingly good for more than just electrifying one¡¯s sword.


    ¡°We need to get back into the castle,¡± the Steward boomed. ¡°We¡¯re exposed out here, and there could be scores of those things.¡±


    I glanced back towards the walltop as the knights moved into the watch tower. Armored shapes were forming behind us in the mist. The ghouls had been drawn out by our fighting. We shut and barred the tower¡¯s siege door. It would hold for a short time, against a mundane enemy at least.


    ¡°What if they have Art to break it?¡± One of the knights asked.


    ¡°Ghouls can¡¯t use Art,¡± one of the others said with assured satisfaction. ¡°They don¡¯t have souls.¡±


    ¡°Not true,¡± I said. ¡°I fought a Mistwalker last year who could wield toxic fumes. And they do have souls. You could see their ghosts earlier, remember?¡±


    That clearly didn¡¯t comfort them, but I wasn¡¯t going to spare their feelings for the sake of dogmatic misunderstandings. ¡°The Steward¡¯s right, but that bridge is a kill spot for those creatures. They¡¯ll just drown us in bodies until we all tumble off. Is there another way in?¡±


    ¡°This tower makes a corner section on the wall,¡± Lochwine said. ¡°Only way is across the bridge, or back the way we came. There¡¯s a storehouse below if you¡¯d rather just hole up and pray.¡±


    He shrugged. I suspected he didn¡¯t mean it as a joke and wouldn¡¯t judge anyone who chose that option.


    The Steward grimaced. ¡°Every other route in the halls behind us were barricaded or heavily guarded by the undead. We must press forward.¡±


    He considered a moment before nodding. ¡°There are other survivors in the Empress¡¯s bastion. We will redirect our destination.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I need to find Calerus and stop this. If he was in the throne room when this started, then I believe he¡¯ll still be there.¡±


    ¡°This is not the time to be a glory hound, Ser Hewer. Your duty is to the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°And what do you think His Grace will have me do?¡± I asked him pointedly.


    The Steward glared at me a long moment, but before he could argue further he suddenly coughed, grimaced again, and became unsteady on his feet. It took two of us to catch him.


    When I touched his shoulder, my hand came back sticky with blood. The royal advisor¡¯s shirt was shredded across his back where a chimera had raked him.


    ¡°My lord...¡± My voice was quiet.


    ¡°I know.¡± He met my eye. ¡°Hewer, I don¡¯t particularly trust you, but I¡¯m not sure I can go much further. Take these soldiers and make sure Markham is still alive.¡±


    It was the first time I¡¯d heard him use his lord¡¯s name.


    ¡°If he is not, then find...¡± He took several deep breaths, sweat beading on his forehead. ¡°Find the Empress and her children. One of them must survive. They are... our future. If we lose both, then this land will... eat itself.¡±


    He grabbed my shoulder, his huge fist large enough to get a firm grip on my pauldron. ¡°And do not let Calerus Vyke leave this castle alive. There must be justice for this. Whatever dark powers he courts, we must deprive them a champion.¡±


    I nodded. then half on impulse I asked him, ¡°What is your name?¡±


    He smiled grimly. ¡°I do not have one. I was grown in an alchemist¡¯s vat in Bantes. I am just... the Steward.¡±


    Some of the knights looked taken aback. Apparently, this wasn¡¯t a known secret.


    ¡°I will stay here.¡± The Steward waved us off and moved to a crate to ease himself down. He looked pale, more so than usual. ¡°I¡¯ll just slow you down.¡±


    He lifted his bright blue eyes to regard us with an uncanny intensity. ¡°If someone could spare me a sword, I would be grateful.¡±


    One of the knights volunteered to stay with the Steward. After his comrades wished him a quick farewell, which included a firm handshake from Lochwine, we moved out.


    ¡°Let me cross the bridge first,¡± I told them. ¡°There were Mistwalkers out there before we got inside. They might have archers.¡±


    Lochwine scratched at his cheek, then repositioned his helmet. ¡°Hope you¡¯re fast.¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Emma said enigmatically. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°Does anyone have one of those rocks?¡± I asked.


    They gave me two. I weighed them in my palm, feeling the thrill of energy they sent through my arm. The echo of a storm, trapped in rock.


    I could still hear leathery snaps out in the fog as I peeked out of the door on the tower¡¯s second level. The chimera weren¡¯t bothering to be quiet anymore, knowing we had only two ways to go. The bridge was little more than a flat surface atop a narrow arch of stone, barely wide enough for one man. There were no barriers on the sides to protect me from a short, final drop into the crags.


    To the right was the curtain wall, to the left the Empress¡¯s Bastion with several hundred feet of open water between me and it. About twenty paces of that narrow bridge, then I¡¯d be back in the main palace.


    Plenty of space to get swarmed, or shot. I took a breath, stood in the doorway, and rested my axe on my right shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be behind you,¡± Emma said. ¡°But I can¡¯t move as fast with her.¡±


    She glanced at the still blinded Hyperia.


    ¡°I¡¯ll clear the way,¡± I said. ¡°Keep close to Ser Lochwine and his people.¡±


    Getting across the bridge wasn¡¯t the part we were really worried about. The Mistwalkers had to know where our exit was, and they didn¡¯t have to use the same paths. The flyers would be ready to make sure we couldn¡¯t retreat once we¡¯d been swallowed into the Fulgurkeep¡¯s maw.


    At the end of the thin bridge lay a single innocuous door, strong oak reinforced by iron. No doubt locked and barred. I focused on it, reshaped my soul with a murmur, and crouched.


    The glassy gold-white horns that burst out of my shoulders and arms brightened the dim tower room in a pale flash, and the sudden burst of wind that propelled me forward made dust and straw erupt in my wake. I shot along the bridge like a scorpion bolt, my vision blurring as the world shifted around me. I didn¡¯t even hear the chimera above start shrieking, just the roar of air in my ears.


    The siege door shattered like a giant had thrown a battering ram through it. Wooden splinters exploded into the space beyond, and by the chorus of startled cries and shouts my guess about the waiting ambush was right.


    Just as the Eardeking¡¯s Lance dissipated, I crushed one of the two fulgurscales in my left hand. A crackling spear of yellow lightning emerged. It bucked in my hand like a living thing, as though trying to escape me. I nearly fouled my throw because of it, but managed to clench my muscles and direct that violent energy. It detonated in the middle of the narrow hall, frying a Mistwalker who¡¯d been lifting an arbalest in my direction and blinding another near him.


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    I saw the rest in brief flashes, like snippets of some manic nightmare.


    A mouthful of ivory teeth.


    Bloodshot eyes wide with shock.


    A snarl of rage.


    A blurring gladius.


    Each image ended with the hooked blade of Faen Orgis swinging forward to crunch through steel, severing tough ghoul flesh, burning away spirits that came loose as ghastly screaming shapes. I moved, and I swung, and I did not stop for anything. The narrow hall let me cut through them without being surrounded, a murder corridor where I was the deadly, unstoppable boulder released by an unwary foot on a weighted stone.


    The last fell at the end of the hallway. A larger hall opened up beyond it, one of the more regal palace access ways like we¡¯d been in earlier.


    I barely felt out of breath.


    The last of the Mistwalker ambush lay beneath me, spasming as golden fire crawled over his body. ¡°You!¡± He bared his oversized teeth at me, bone white eyes wide with pain and fury. ¡°We remember you!¡±


    He laughed, the sound emerging as two voices as he struggled with the ghost trying to peel itself away from him. ¡°You¡¯ll fail just like at Caelfall, Headsman! We¡¯ll gnaw the soul right off your bones, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    I glanced down at him. I¡¯d already seen more impressive monsters that night.


    ¡°The Captain will shave you down,¡± the legionary cackled. ¡°Trim some off the top! We¡¯ve got a score with you for Vaughn.¡±


    I knelt, grabbed him by the front of his breastplate, and lifted him. ¡°Issachar is here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re fucked!¡± He spat at me as froth formed on his lips. ¡°Your whole pretty city is fucked. It¡¯s our time, now. The grandest feast. We¡¯ll fill Garihelm¡¯s canals with shit and corpses, break open every crypt, eat until we¡¯re gorged. Captain¡¯ll take that Silvering whore too, see if everyone thinks her such a pretty jewel when she¡¯s dining on rot and marrow like us. Once you¡¯ve got the hunger, it never goes.¡±


    ¡°Where is he?¡± I demanded. ¡°Calerus? Your captain? Tell me and I¡¯ll end you quick.¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem to hear me. The ghoul¡¯s eyes rolled up into the back of his head as the tremors ravaged him, but his grin nearly split his entire face. ¡°A city of the dead all for our own! The Lost Legion no more!¡±


    I dropped him as he burned and died a final death. All the while he smiled, until a gleeful skull was all that remained. Emma and the palace knights caught up just as his ravings went quiet.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°The captain of the Mistwalker Company is here.¡± I met her eyes. ¡°We need to get moving.¡±


    ¡°Throne room isn¡¯t far away,¡± Ser Ariel said. They¡¯d lost another man on the bridge, leaving our group with three Storm Knights, me, Emma, and our prisoner. Lochwine and Ariel were both still alive, along with a younger soldier with black skin and a mane of dark brown hair spilling out of his bolt-crested helmet. He¡¯d pilfered a crossbow from the guard tower, wielding it along with his tower shield. The arbalest was a heavy weapon, usually too unwieldy to use encumbered, but the man bore a similar build to me and hefted it easily.


    We moved into a spacious antechamber. Columns held up the vaulted ceiling, separating it out into a series of smaller spaces and providing more cover for potential ambush than I¡¯d like. It went on for some time.


    The fact it was poorly lit didn¡¯t help matters. A low fog rolled around our legs like we walked through a humid cave.


    ¡°Do you sense anything?¡± Emma whispered.


    ¡°No. This fog isn¡¯t helping.¡± I closed my eyes and lifted Faen Orgis to my lips, intending to clear the ghoul mist.


    A voice rang out through the columns. ¡°No! Get back into cover, or it¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    I spun and saw a shape shamble into view from behind a column perhaps forty feet away. It was even bigger than the Steward, hunched and powerful looking. I didn¡¯t get a clear view of it, just an almost shapeless silhouette that hinted at a powerful mass.


    It held something, which it lifted up onto one shoulder with the rattle of chains. A muted hiss found my ears.


    ¡°COVER!¡± I roared and lifted my hand.


    There came a bright flash from the shape, followed by a thunderclap of sound and shocked air. Golden leaves formed into an abstracted tower shield in front of my outstretched hand, and something hit it the very second it formed.


    Auratic constructs aren¡¯t generally good at protecting against anything that isn¡¯t also made of aura. They¡¯re too short lived and fragile beyond that initial moment of manifestation. Emery Planter reminded me of that when he¡¯d broken an aureshield much like this one by doing little more than beating at it with a halberd.


    The Aureate Repulsion counters hostile force with a strike of aureflame so long as I don¡¯t budge from my stance. However, it takes most of that power from the opponent¡¯s Art, using the other¡¯s aura as a line to direct itself across. Even from so much as a mile away, if my attacker had hurled a bolt of phantasmal lightning or even just shot an arrow carried by a magical technique, the Repulsion would protect me and strike back.


    This enemy didn¡¯t use sorcery. What struck me was solid iron and burning powder carried by pure physics. It hit the shield, shattered it, and exploded in the same instant. The shield still saved my life, or my armor did from the ensuing rain of shrapnel, but I was hurled back and skidded a distance on the stone floor.


    A long moment of dizzy confusion followed. Someone was shouting. I realized it was Emma. What was she saying?


    Oh. My name. She was telling me to move. That seemed like a good idea for some reason, but I couldn¡¯t recall why.


    Well, she was a smart girl and usually had my best interest in mind, so I complied. Rolling onto my stomach, I got a knee under me and struggled to my feet. My right ear was ringing. Everything was a veil of dust, and bits of the ceiling were tumbling down on my head. There was blood on my temple, in my eye. Bits of metal were stuck into my skin.


    Should have worn the damn helmet.


    My mind came back to me as the shock passed. I stood just as a hulking shape limped through the curling dust. It was a ghoul... no, not just a ghoul.


    An ogre ghoul.


    He was easily big as Karog, and much less symmetrically shaped. One arm was larger than the other, and most of the flesh on his right cheek was missing to reveal yellowed teeth beneath. His eyes were the color of old bone, and he wore a mismatched ensemble of leather, rusting steel, and filthy cloth.


    That wasn¡¯t the worst part. Strapped to the shoulder above his larger arm by heavy chains was something like a cauldron with a deep neck and a bulbous bottom. It was fashioned of black iron, and smoke trailed from the mouth of the tube.


    A cannon. The fucking ghoul was carrying a cannon.


    Even powerful as he looked, the undead ogre moved slow and awkward under his burden. He had one arm cradling it like a docker carrying a barrel, stepping forward with a shuffling gait. I watched him slot another iron ball into the weapon, then strike a match against a piece of flint tied to his bracer. He held it up to a fresh fuse.


    The bastard would bring this whole place down on our heads if he wasn¡¯t stopped. I lifted my axe, then caught a flash of movement to the side. Behind one of the columns, Emma crouched with the palace guard who¡¯d taken the crossbow. She caught my eye and smiled tightly.


    What was her plan? Whatever it was, her message seemed clear. Distract it.


    I might have been fast, but not enough to dodge a cannon ball. What did she expect me to do?


    The ghoul carefully aimed his weapon at me, the black interior of its smoking tube promising a gory death. His jaw hung slack, I noted, and he drooled. Perhaps this one preferred to eat his bones in small pieces, and slightly cooked.


    Sucking in some air, I laced my breath with aura and spoke.


    ¡°Hold your fire.¡±


    The ghoul stared at me blankly. I wasn¡¯t sure if my command had worked or if it just didn¡¯t understand Urnic common. Either way, it held its match dangerously close to the fuse.


    But didn¡¯t light it.


    The knight beside Emma took aim and fired. His crossbow emitted a solid sounding crack as the string released, though it sounded wan compared to the thunderous blast of the Mistwalker¡¯s weapon. The bolt struck the ogre in his tumorous shoulder. He blinked, not even seeming to realized he¡¯d been shot at first. He slowly started to turn.


    I started moving, thinking it¡¯d been a distraction to give me a shot, but Emma shook her head. I paused.


    The cannon-wielder flinched, reached up to the bolt in his left shoulder to pluck it out. It seemed to resist his effort. A dull pressure built in the air, and the ogre groaned.


    Then, with a metallic screech that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, crimson shrike spears burst out of the ghoul¡¯s body in four separate places. One came out of his back, two beneath his arm pit, and the third punched up into his neck and through the skull.


    He stumbled, gurgled, and didn¡¯t die


    . With his neck broken and bent at an angle, he still managed to light the fuse and spun to aim the cannon at my squire.


    I sprinted forward and slashed low, hamstringing him. The ogre stumbled and went down on a knee. A meaty fist slapped at me, but I was already out of the way. My eyes went to the fuse. It burned fast.


    Too fast.


    The cannon fired directly into the ceiling, and it came tumbling down over the ogre. I lost him in an avalanche of dust and debris, then had to stumble back as more of the ceiling started to collapse over my head. Bits of stone pelted my head and shoulders, forcing me to lift my arms protectively.


    It must have only lasted moments, but seemed to go on forever. When it was done, I coughed and tried to see through the settling dust. ¡°Emma!¡±


    No response. My heart clenched. Had the ceiling come down on her?


    I started picking my way around the mound of collapsed masonry that¡¯d buried the cannon-toting ghoul, but paused as shapes began to stalk forward through the gloom around me. They lifted gladius¡¯s, iron-headed maces, squared shields and javelins.


    Mistwalkers. They¡¯d come in behind their vanguard, using the shock and awe he created as a distraction to surround me, spreading throughout the chamber using the columns as cover.


    My whole body lit up as aureflame crackled. ¡°Get out of my way.¡±


    They hesitated, perhaps recognizing me as the one before had.


    Something gave in the ceiling above. The blast must have broken something important.


    Before either I or my ambushers moved, a dark form burst through the dust cloud and slammed into one of them. They hit the ghoul nearly hard as if its friend had fired another cannon blast, and I heard bone crunch. A sword lashed out, cutting another¡¯s neck before swinging around into a guard.


    As that blur of movement slowed, I beheld the ripple of a red cloak and heard the rattle of iron links.


    More figures appeared as a dozen or more castle guard, some tourney knights, and unarmored nobles with swords in hand crashed into the invaders. After my initial surprise, I stepped in to help them.


    It was a short, ugly, confusing melee. The intermixed fog and dust of a crumbling ceiling made it impossible to see much even with my magicked vision, turning everything into a strange chaos of shadowy shapes, grunts, shouts, and ringing metal. The ghouls seemed unable to retreat back into their mist, perhaps because the destruction thinned it out too much.


    When it was over, I was breathing hard and leaning one foot on a pile of rubble, my axe propped on the ground like a cane. One of my rescuers stepped forward and removed his pointed cowl.


    ¡°Hendry.¡± I breathed a sigh of relief to see him alive. He looked pale, and there were bruises crawling up his neck, but he had blood on his sword and focused eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡± He sounded relieved as I did. ¡°I thought...¡± He froze. ¡°Emma?¡±


    ¡°Help me find her.¡± I nodded to the mound of rubble.


    Hendry¡¯s face turned from pale to ashen, but he followed without more questions. Castle occupants, many armored and some not, moved about the antechambers as they collected their wounded or finished off surviving enemies. Some of them looked like servants, and I even noted one page who couldn¡¯t have been older than eleven with a crossbow he could barely lift.


    I found Ser Lochwine being tended to by a clericon in a blood-smeared robe. He¡¯d taken a spear to the hip, but the priest didn¡¯t look too panicked. When I asked after Emma, he shook his head.


    ¡°Lost her in that first cannon shot. We were fighting ghouls trying to flank you. She took Ser Iren and scrambled off, told me to watch this one.¡±


    He nodded to his left, and I saw Hyperia on the ground near a broken column. She was in a side-seated position, her legs and skirts stretched out to one side. The bag remained on her head.


    I stomped over and hauled the princess to her feet with little gentleness. She didn¡¯t fight me, though it took a couple tugs to get her to support her own weight. I searched the surrounding carnage.


    ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡± Hendry asked.


    I ignored him. I had a hundred questions for the boy, but suspected he couldn¡¯t answer most of them and knew he probably didn¡¯t know where anyone was any more than the Steward had.


    My eyes fell on one figure directing some of the people in the hall. Vander Braeve still wore his tourney armor, and with his mussed brown hair and neat beard he looked the classical image of a well born soldier.


    I put him from my mind. If Emma had gone under the ceiling, then I¡¯d...


    I didn¡¯t know.


    We searched for about five minutes, until nearby raised voices drew our attention. Hendry fell into step behind me as I approached a group clustered around some fallen rubble. Two men were trying to lift a large slab of masonry, and I caught sight of someone under it through the veil of mist.


    Drawing closer I recognized Ser Iren, the knight who¡¯d helped Emma shoot her blood into the ogre. He was trapped under the slab, his face gray with dust and streaked with sweat. He tried to lift the stone off with the help of two others, one a palace guard and the other a tourney knight in armor that toed the line between decorative flamboyance and functionality.


    Beneath Iren, I caught sight of a slimmer form. I felt a thrill of fear.


    Hendry helped without direction. With four of us assisting, Iren managed to dislodge the huge stone. Only then did I notice the greave over his right leg was crumpled nearly flat, with blood spilling out of the armor¡¯s seams. How he wasn¡¯t screaming in pain I had no idea, but someone caught him as the stone slammed into the ground and he slumped.


    I knelt by my squire. Her eyes were closed and she wasn¡¯t moving.


    ¡°Em...¡± Hendry fell to his knees next to me, reaching out to Emma¡¯s ash-coated face. ¡°She¡¯s not breathing,¡± He said in near panic.


    She was my responsibility. I¡¯d dragged her into this, pulled her along across endless miles and numerous bloody confrontations. She had no stake in this war, no loyalty to the realms.


    Just to me, and to what she wanted to become.


    Had she always looked so small? She¡¯d never been tall, and even long months of hardship and her training at the Fane had left her more wiry than anything. Even Caim¡¯s chain shirt didn¡¯t add much.


    My powers had changed. I didn¡¯t understand how, or what it entailed, but my own fast healing was somehow accelerated. Did it mean that, perhaps...


    Could I do it again? Could my touch heal now?


    I reached toward Emma¡¯s face, focusing on my own inner warmth. I had to try.


    Just before I touched her, Emma suddenly shivered and opened her eyes. Her hand caught my wrist and she flicked wide amber eyes to me. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    I almost gasped in relief. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    She grimaced and tried to sit with our help. ¡°Nothing feels broken, but...¡±


    She started coughing violently, and just as much ash came out as spit. Hendry closed his eyes and bowed his head, muttering a prayer under his breath.


    It struck me, through the surge of relief, that she¡¯d reacted to my impending touch with an almost instinctive fear.

 Arc 6: Chapter 21: Battle of the Fulgurkeep (2)

    Arc 6: Chapter 21: Battle of the Fulgurkeep (2)


    As I stood and let Hendry tend to Emma, Vander saw me and marched closer. He was covered in blood, some of it his own from a shallow wound above his brow.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± He demanded with barely controlled anger. ¡°I expected you at court before...¡±


    He bit off his words, glaring around at the scene. His gaze shifted to the figure at my side, still bagged and silent. His eyes narrowed. ¡°Is that...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± I interrupted him. ¡°And there¡¯s no time for it now. Who else is with you?¡±


    Vander shook his head, his brow furrowing. ¡°Ser Moonbrand from the Empress¡¯s household, some members of Lord Oswald¡¯s retinue, and about twenty palace guard. I¡¯ve also got a handful of tourney knights and more than thirty non-combatants, including dignitaries and castle staff. Most of those we rescued on our way here. People are scattered around the whole fortress.¡±


    ¡°I saw auratic banners on the Empress¡¯s Bastion,¡± I told him.


    He nodded. ¡°We came from there. The Emperor is alive. He sent me back into the main castle to gather as many survivors as I could and bring them to him. He¡¯s directing a resistance, but we took losses when this all started.¡±


    His voice darkened. ¡°Heavy losses.¡±


    ¡°And the Empress? Her sons?¡±


    ¡°Unaccounted for. If she¡¯s alive, I believe Her Grace is probably in the upper levels. They¡¯re easier to defend, and this fog seems less thick up there for whatever damned reason. That¡¯s where I ended up when we were all scattered.¡±


    He fixed his attention on me. ¡°Explain where you¡¯ve been, Ser Alken.¡±


    It took me a moment to grapple with everything that¡¯d happened that night and muster the words to summarize. ¡°I got the princess to surrender, but her pet demon interrupted us. It killed two of my men and turned on its mistress. She¡¯s dead. I was badly injured and only woke up a short time ago. I believe Calerus must have known when his sister died, and that¡¯s what triggered all of this.¡±


    I waved at the scene.


    Vander studied me. ¡°You do not seem badly injured.¡±


    I hesitated before settling for a half truth. ¡°My clericon is a very talented healer.¡±


    To my relief he decided to change the subject. ¡°Calerus started acting manic while I was presenting witnesses to the court. Perhaps you¡¯re right about what caused this.¡± He glanced at my prisoner. ¡°Then who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Hyperia Vyke.¡±


    He stared at me with a blank expression.


    ¡°She woke back up,¡± I said pointedly.


    Vander¡¯s face paled, telling me he understood my meaning. ¡°Is she dangerous?¡±


    ¡°She probably will be before long. I need to get to Calerus. Do you have any idea where he is?¡±


    Vander nodded and confirmed my suspicion. ¡°Most of the enemy activity seems to concentrate around the throne room. The closer we get, the heavier resistance we meet. A thick fog blocks all the entrances, and no one I¡¯ve sent in has come back out. We don¡¯t have the numbers for a hard push, so I¡¯m taking everyone I can and returning to the Emperor. If we retake this fortress, it will be with his leadership.¡±


    Among the fighters who milled about the antechambers, I noted an aged man in ash-stained robes of state passing a water skin to a tired looking archer. I recognized Lord Desmond. ¡°You found the Wake.¡±


    Vander glanced at the fallen noble. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m keeping an eye on him, trust me.¡±


    ¡°You think he¡¯s part of this coup?¡±


    Vander looked at me as though I¡¯d grown a second head. ¡°He¡¯s a Wake. They¡¯re traitors.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have the energy or interest in explaining to him that Alicia Wake had been the only real traitor in that family, or that Alder Knights distanced themselves from their Houses upon swearing their vows. Part of me wasn¡¯t even sure Vander was wrong.


    Besides, I suspected he knew our customs well enough and doubted he¡¯d appreciate the reminder.


    Vander noted my pensive expression. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Calerus would have had all of you in his clutches. He could have sent every soldier away with his mist and kept the Emperor with him, to kill or use as a hostage. Why would he put him outside of the throne room and give him the chance to organize a resistance?¡±


    Vander seemed troubled by the question. ¡°It does seem ill considered, but I¡¯ve reason to question the collective sanity of House Vyke.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to trust to madness to explain every action our enemy took, but I kept my silence.


    He looked at the princess again. ¡°What do you intend to do with that? It would be best to destroy it.¡±


    Before I could answer, another commotion drew our attention. Through the settling dust, figures approached from further down the column-lined halls. I made out soldiers with well armored knights at the lead. As they drew closer and became more distinct in the poor light, I recognized a mixed retinue. Most wore white surcoats threaded with gold over pale armor, but some wore what looked like modified hunting coats of forester brown over their armor.


    Hendry, as he drew up behind me, recognized those as well as I did. So did Emma, who was not quite leaning on him for support. Her lips pursed as the warriors of House Hunting made their appearance.


    ¡°Father,¡± Hendry said quietly. And sure enough, Brenner Hunting stepped through his men and regarded us from beneath furrowed brows.


    But I didn¡¯t think Brenner led that group. He only had perhaps half a dozen of his cavaliers with him. The gear the rest wore seemed familiar to me. That familiarity evolved into recognition when I noted their sigil ¡ª a golden crescent, like an incomplete halo or gilded moon.


    At their front stood the lady Evangeline Ark. She wore her fine armor, but didn¡¯t look much like the proud noblewoman who¡¯d dominated the Coloss for the past two days. Her face practically vanished beneath a swath of bandages, only a few strands of yellow hair escaping to fall about her steel-clad shoulders. The one eye peeking through looked wide and bloodshot. It did not blink as it regarded us.


    ¡°Lady Evangeline!¡± Vander sighed in relief. ¡°It is good to see you alive.¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply. Brenner wasn¡¯t speaking either. When he noticed Hendry his face became even more stern. When he saw Emma, it became as stone.


    ¡°Son,¡± he greeted the young man at my side. When he glanced at me, his frown deepened. I couldn¡¯t tell if he recognized me or not.


    Vander kept his attention on the Lady Ark. ¡°Evangeline, we¡¯ve managed to gather in the Empress¡¯s Bastion. His Grace lives.¡±


    She nodded slowly, still regarding our group with that unblinking gaze. Her searching eye stopped, then narrowed. Her bandages shifted as a smile began to creep along her ruined face.


    I followed the direction of her gaze and saw several yellow-coated soldiers surrounding a teenager who carried a sword but wore no steel. It took me a moment, and I remembered him mostly by his soldiers.


    Randal Brightling. He¡¯d been at my trial. I remembered him arguing with the woman standing across the floor from us, the other contender for the Bannerlands throne.


    I started to get a bad feeling.


    ¡°My lady?¡± Vander asked, confused.


    Evangeline returned her attention to Vander and spoke in an almost sweet voice. ¡°Ah, my brave Lord Braeve.¡± She giggled at her own phrasing, a distinctly arhythmic sound. ¡°The Empress¡¯s Bastion, you say? So is the silver bitch still alive?¡±


    The soldiers behind me shuffled in reaction, the room filling with the sound of plate mail clinking. Ser Moonbrand¡¯s expression hardened. A weighty silence fell.


    ¡°...The Empress is still unaccounted for,¡± Vander said cautiously, his previous relief now retreated. ¡°We are gathering as many swords as we can to retake the castle.¡±


    Evangeline made an O with her cracked lips. ¡°I see. And who is leading this heroic effort? Our good emperor? That ogre advisor of his?¡± She tilted her head to one side and grinned. ¡°Or you, Vander? Do you desire a throne?¡±


    ¡°Vander...¡± I started to say in almost a whisper.


    ¡°I see it,¡± he hissed back without taking his eyes off Evangeline.


    The Lady Ark¡¯s sclera was a sickly shade of yellow, and her canines were long and sharp.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°It is good to see you are not in much pain, my lady.¡± Vander impressed me with how calm he kept his voice. ¡°I¡¯d heard your injuries were... severe.¡±


    The noblewoman shrugged and inspected fingernails I noted were sharp and curled like claws. ¡°I got better.¡±


    Randal hesitated, visibly steeled himself, then stepped out of the line and addressed the Lady Ark in a voice that carried only a slight tremor. ¡°We have no time for games. You must join your force with ours and¡ª¡±


    Evangeline moved faster than wind, than thought. One moment she stood perhaps fifteen paces from the boy, then she was inches from him. Her lips split into a grin that revealed crimson gums.


    ¡°Poor Randal. Always so serious.¡±


    Her clawed fingers dug into his neck, drawing blood and choking him. I was already moving, but I stood too far. There were shouts which didn¡¯t quite drown out Evangeline¡¯s next words.


    ¡°You were never going to be king, little Brightling.¡±


    The vampire punched her fist into Randal Brightling¡¯s chest and tore out his heart. She lifted it over her open mouth and squeezed it like a fruit, letting the ensuing rain drench her white surcoat and bright armor a deep red.


    Everyone started moving at once. Soldiers were shouting, some preparing to defend themselves and others recoiling in horror. I noted that even Evangeline¡¯s own men looked shocked, frozen at the sight of their monstrous lady standing over the butchered leader of her rival House.


    Brenner stared with a grave expression, then his eyes hardened. He barked an order, and his soldiers lowered their spears and started to advance.


    On us


    .


    Vander stood closest to Evangeline and the dead lord. He advanced, swinging at her bandaged head with his mace. Her eyes flicked and she moved with that same lightning speed, ducking his blow and catching his hand by the wrist. Steel crumpled under her superhuman grip and Vander cried out in pain.


    I reached her and chopped. Evangeline saw the gold-inlayed axe and hissed, her remaining eye going wide with fury. She hurled Vander into me, fouling my cut and nearly sending us both to the ground. I caught the man, got him behind me, but by then the transformed noblewoman was moving again.


    This time, she held her own sword.


    Evangeline Ark had not been a vampire when she¡¯d fought in the Coloss, of that I felt certain. She¡¯d been a master swordswoman, but didn¡¯t move with the preternatural fury she displayed now. Her blade nearly took my eye. I got my axe up barely in time, forcing her weapon aside in a screeching cascade of sparks as metal ground together.


    Fast and brutal as she was, I still had the advantage in size and weight. I forced her back, and before she could sally into another attack I wreathed Faen Orgis in aureflame. Evangeline¡¯s eye widened.


    I showed her the golden aura. ¡°Whoever turned you must not have mentioned this, did they? Creatures like you don¡¯t much like this fire.¡±


    But the vampire didn¡¯t react the way I expected. She didn¡¯t balk or flinch, but instead shivered and breathed in as though catching an enticing scent. When she opened her eye again, it reflected the pale yellow glow of my magic.


    ¡°I can taste your pain,¡± she breathed. ¡°Your hate. God, it¡¯s like ambrosia.¡±


    Around us, Evangeline¡¯s knights had chosen to side with their lady despite her ghoulish transformation. They clashed with Vander¡¯s men in an escalating melee. Shouts, clanging steel, and the unsettling music of Art echoed throughout the galleries.


    Evangeline lowered herself into a half crouch, her white-and-gold cape falling around her arms like a saint¡¯s burial shroud. Randal¡¯s blood stained her face and darkened her garments around the shoulders. She lifted her slender sword and flashed pointed teeth.


    When she moved, it was even faster than before. She showed no fear of the flame, throwing herself into my reach with a barrage of blows that toed the line between a duelist¡¯s grace and animal ferocity. Twice her sword bypassed my guard and put shallow grooves into the hard steel protecting my shoulders and arms.


    Too fast. Only a matter of time before she found a gap, or my unprotected head.


    A shout broke through the din of battle and Vander, his weapon hand useless, tackled Evangeline. She didn¡¯t go down, catching him and letting out a screech worthy of a banshee. But he forced her back and stopped her sword, trapping it under his arm.


    ¡°Take her!¡± He roared at me.


    I didn¡¯t hesitate, diving forward and swinging at her skull. Vander craned his neck to get his own head out of my way.


    But Evangeline Ark didn¡¯t fall under my axe. Instead, one of her knights got in the way and died instead as his helmet crumpled beneath Faen Orgis¡¯s blade. His blood sprayed across my face, and his sacrifice gave the traitorous noble time to twist out of Vander¡¯s grip and back into advancing ranks of her own warriors, glaring at us all the while.


    Worse, mist was beginning to billow through the antechambers again. I had no doubt more Mistwalker ghouls would follow.


    ¡°We can¡¯t let her get away!¡± Vander snarled.


    The man couldn¡¯t fight with the wrist of his sword hand broken, and the frustration clearly infuriated him. I searched the battlefield, more interested in getting us out alive than chasing the Ark. We outnumbered the enemy, but Evangeline¡¯s knights were skilled.


    Emma was helping Hendry with his lord father. The three were facing off a short distance away, my squire glaring through a mask of ash and dust. Hendry, on the other hand, wore a pained expression.


    ¡°What are you doing, father!?¡± He demanded.


    Brenner held a war blade that was almost a twin to his son¡¯s, and looked like a martial bear in full plate. ¡°Choosing the winning side. We could be monarchs, son. This confederation of Markham¡¯s was always doomed to fail.¡±


    ¡°Only because people like you keep trying to break it!¡± Hendry spat.


    Brenner turned his attention away from his son, addressing Emma instead. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you got involved in all of this, girl, but it¡¯s not too late. Come back with us. You and my son could inherit a kingdom.¡±


    She didn¡¯t even bother replying, instead just lifting her Carreon saber.


    Brenner¡¯s eyes hardened. ¡°So be it.¡±


    His left hand flashed with green light. Hendry¡¯s eyes widened.


    I lifted my glowing axe to hurl it and save the two from that attack, but movement in the corner of my eye distracted me. A Hunting knight thrust his spear at my eye, forcing me to backstep. Spinning, I took his leg out from under him, then swung down to finish him off.


    It distracted me long enough for Brenner to finish his Art. He lifted his hand as the light formed into a luminescent spear. I remembered the weapon he¡¯d carried in the battle against Jon Orley ¡ª it seemed he¡¯d reawakened its image within himself since, reforging the broken weapon from his own aura.


    He aimed at Emma. She tossed droplets of blood at him, but I knew in an instant she wasn¡¯t close enough, wouldn¡¯t be fast enough. Brenner threw the spear. It took on a bright emerald shine as it left his hand.


    Hendry stepped between his father and Emma, and took the bolt directly in the center of his chest.


    The black chainmail Irn Bale gave me at Caelfall shattered, iron rings flying in every direction as they broke around the point of impact. Hendry went flying back, my own red cloak rippling around his shoulders. Brenner¡¯s eyes widened in horror.


    Emma let out a scream that echoed throughout the chamber, ripped curled fingers up, and sent a cascade of crimson spears shooting up from the ground in a criss-crossing pattern. They took Brenner through his ribs, punching up into his armor and out his back. They lifted him nearly up to the ceiling, forcing his arms up in a crucified position and bending his neck.


    He hung there, impaled, blood emerging from his lips and ears. He tried to say something, but nothing came out of his flooded lungs.


    Brenner twitched a moment, then went still.


    The Lord of House Hunting was no more.


    Evangeline, safe in the midst of her own knights, saw her ally die and spat out a curse. ¡°Fall back!¡± She shrieked at her men. ¡°Retreat!¡±


    There¡¯d been more than a score of Ark knights when the battle started. Little more than half that formed ranks around their lady, shields raised as they retreated in tight formation. Evangeline¡¯s sword lashed out like a serpent, slicing the neck of a Bairn dragoon who¡¯d gotten too brave. She glared at us as the mist engulfed her men. Most of our own were unwilling to step into that thickening cloud, backing away as it obscured the traitors from view.


    ¡°Don¡¯t chase them!¡± Vander barked at some who did try to take the offensive. ¡°Unless you want to get dragged wherever they¡¯re going.¡±


    The Ark knights vanished into the darkness like wraiths, leaving plenty of their own dead and more of our own. Vander grimaced and leaned against a column, clutching the crumpled vambrace over his right wrist.


    The clericons would have to tend to him. I joined Emma where she knelt by Hendry, a reverse of the earlier scene between the two. She hadn¡¯t broken her concentration on her Art, leaving Brenner¡¯s corpse suspended nearby.


    Emma said nothing, and I couldn¡¯t quite read her expression as she stared at Hendry. The boy was alive, but his chest was a mess. The iron rings of the elven armor I¡¯d leant him were broken in a gap larger than my fist, and the flesh beneath looked blistered and raw. He was struggling to breathe.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know he could do that,¡± Hendry wheezed. ¡°Is he...¡±


    ¡°Dead,¡± Emma said quietly.


    Hendry closed his eyes. ¡°Damn it. Why did he...¡±


    ¡°You know why,¡± Emma said. She might have sounded heartless to anyone else, but I saw the hard set to her jaw. Hendry didn¡¯t respond. He didn¡¯t seem mortally injured, likely thanks to the elven armor. And perhaps the other armor beneath his flesh. Whatever change was happening to the young man, it made him tough.


    It didn¡¯t soften my feelings towards the man who¡¯d forced that change on him. I would say no prayers for Brenner Hunting.


    I left them for the moment and walked to Vander. He scowled at the carnage.


    ¡°I gave away our plan to the enemy,¡± he said.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know they were traitors.¡±


    "I don''t understand what happened," Vander admitted. "Evangeline was a ghoul?"


    "Vampire," I corrected. "Ghouls can''t be made that fast, and I''m certain she was human earlier today. It must have happened after the clericons took her."


    The implications of that visibly disturbed him. ¡°I need to warn the Emperor,¡± he decided.


    "I have another task," I said.


    To my relief, he didn''t interrogate further. ¡°I¡¯ll let any volunteers join you, but I¡¯m going back. These bastards could launch an attack on the bastion any time.¡±


    He turned and started giving orders to the survivors. Emma glanced at me as she started helping Hendry to his feet. ¡°We¡¯re going on?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°This has to end.¡± Remembering something else, I searched for Hyperia. She stood with the aged figure of Desmond Wake.


    Muscles taut with tension, I approached them. ¡°My lord,¡± I greeted the man. Perhaps it was my paranoia, but he¡¯d seemed to be whispering to the princess. ¡°You should stay away from that.¡±


    Desmond met my eyes without apology. I noted he¡¯d unsheathed a slim blade from his cane, and it had blood on it.


    I nodded to it. ¡°Is that the enemy¡¯s?¡±


    Desmond blinked, then glanced at the blood on his sword. With a small laugh he nodded. ¡°I am not a traitor, Ser Headsman. Markham gave me a position on his council, and I take that post quite seriously.¡±


    He cleaned the sword on his own robes, then sheathed it back into the cane. ¡°I was keeping an eye on your... prisoner.¡± He glanced at Hyperia. ¡°You were distracted by the melee, so it seemed prudent.¡±


    Despite my instinctive distrust, I decided to be grateful. ¡°Thank you.¡± I tilted my head towards the departing soldiers. ¡°You should head back with these. They¡¯re taking all of you to a safe place.¡±


    ¡°No place in this fortress will be safe until the coup is beaten,¡± Desmond Wake told me seriously. ¡°But if my sword can be of some use despite the rust on it, then I shall go with the wounded.¡±


    He moved to join the group gathering around Vander. I turned to the men who¡¯d been ordered to stay with me, and found Ser Lochwine and Ser Ariel among them. Iren was going with the injured, so they were the only ones from the group who¡¯d been with the Royal Steward left.


    ¡°Going after that bastard prince¡¯s head?¡± Ariel asked me eagerly. She¡¯d bloodied her sword during the fight, and her left arm practically crackled with electricity from all the fulgurscales she¡¯d broken.


    ¡°It will be dangerous,¡± I warned the small group. There were less than a dozen of them. ¡°Even suicide. You¡¯ll probably make more of a difference joining Lord Vander.¡±


    None of them budged. So be it.


    ¡°To the throne room, then.¡±

 Arc 6: Chapter 22: The Ghoul King

    Arc 6: Chapter 22: The Ghoul King


    Before we set out, I tried to convince Hendry to go with Vander¡¯s group.


    ¡°I can still fight,¡± he insisted angrily.


    ¡°Your chest is cooked,¡± I told him. ¡°And Vander needs you more.¡±


    ¡°Then you think I¡¯m useless?¡± He almost spat. His expression was livid with an anger I recognized. Too often I¡¯d drowned myself in the same for much the same reason.


    Anger is easier than grief.


    By the manic glint in the lad¡¯s eyes, I suspected he was barely feeling the pain of his wound. He needed a clericon, which I¡¯d already told him. He opened his mouth to argue further, but when he caught my stony expression he snapped it shut and turned away.


    ¡°Hen...¡± Emma stepped toward him before he left and reached out a hand. When he turned wide eyes on her, she flinched. They exchanged no more words, and Hendry walked towards the departing throng without so much as a backward glance. Emma watched him leave with a pained expression on her face.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be alright,¡± I assured her.


    She didn¡¯t look at me when she replied. ¡°No he won¡¯t. I just killed his father right in front of him.¡±


    Besides the Storm Knights Lochwine and Ariel, Ser Moonbrand also joined me. The gaunt-faced Karledaler gave me a nod as he took his place.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to follow you into battle again, Hewer.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Please. Half our battles back in Karles were disasters.¡±


    ¡°We were usually outnumbered,¡± he reminded me. ¡°And we won in the end.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have a ready reply to that. Studying the group, I noted another familiar face. A young woman with olive skin and black hair cut into a sharp bob, who watched me with eyes such a dark green they were nearly black. Myrice Gorgon still had a broken left arm, cradled close to her ornate breastplate by a leather sling. She held a more conventional weapon in place of her lost whip sword.


    When Moonbrand noticed the Gorgon, his eyes hardened. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing, snake?¡±


    Myrice shrugged. ¡°I can fight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± The Karledaler knight turned to me. ¡°Her family are Recusants. I¡¯m not interested in having a dagger in my back.¡±


    By the dark expressions the rest of the group wore, more than a few agreed. Myrice¡¯s face reddened. ¡°My House is part of the Accord!¡±


    ¡°You expect us to believe your family isn¡¯t party to all this?¡± Moonbrand waved at the bodies around us.


    ¡°Did you see me standing with that Ark woman?¡± Myrice shot back. Her voice had a distinct rasp, almost a lisp, one I felt was natural rather than the result of exhaustion or injury. She caught my eye and stood straighter. ¡°Let me go with you, Ser Headsman. I can help.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re injured,¡± I reminded her.


    Her green eyes glittered angrily. ¡°I don¡¯t need both arms to use my eyes,¡± she insisted. ¡°Do you know how my family¡¯s magic works?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Studying the pensive expressions the rest of the band wore, I sighed. ¡°Neither the Huntings or the Arks were Recusant during the last war,¡± I reminded them. ¡°And Lady Myrice could have betrayed us already if she intended to. The battle lines we remember aren¡¯t the same ones we¡¯re dealing with now. Let¡¯s not do the Vykes¡¯ work for them, eh?¡±


    That didn¡¯t mean her family wasn¡¯t involved in the rebellion, or wouldn¡¯t throw in with it if they thought it would benefit them. Myrice might not make the same choice Hendry had if it came to that.


    For the sake of morale, I decided not to express my doubts aloud. Focusing my attention on Moonbrand I said, ¡°This isn¡¯t the time to settle grudges.¡±


    He looked less than convinced, but nodded. ¡°Very well. If you¡¯ll vouch for her, Hewer, then I retract my complaint.¡±


    His eyes told me another story ¡ª I¡¯ll be watching her for treachery.


    We set out into the winding halls of the Fulgurkeep without further conversation. The mood of the group settled into a grim, determined focus and a silence only broken by the rattle of steel and the echo of boots and metal sabatons off the walls. Instead of leaving it to Emma, I kept a firm hand on Hyperia¡¯s shoulder. The blinded princess walked without much prodding, though her layered skirts and shuffling gait made our pace frustratingly slow.


    The fog thickened as we advanced. I ordered the group to keep close and burned my aura, working to prevent the enchanted mist from misleading us. Hyperia shivered and murmured under her bag, but like with Evangeline I noted how she didn¡¯t recoil from the flame.


    I put it from my mind.


    The galleries ended at a set of stairs descending to a lower floor. We noticed the bodies the first time one of the group almost tripped over one. They increased in number as we went, and all of them were Lost Legion.


    ¡°They¡¯re all burned,¡± Lochwine muttered after rising from checking a corpse. ¡°And none of them are still animated.¡±


    Moonbrand confirmed this with his own check of several more. The corpses had been blasted as much as cut with steel, their flesh blackened and their armor warped by heat.


    ¡°Ser Konrad?¡± Emma suggested. ¡°His Art might have done this.¡±


    Lochwine didn¡¯t seem convinced. He frowned at the bodies as though something about their wounds struck him familiar. I felt the same, but my mind was elsewhere.


    We moved on. Once we reached the bottom I sent out a wave of aureflame to clear the fog, giving us a better view of our surroundings. We found ourselves in an ostentatious antechamber with a high ceiling. A tall set of doors carved from stone and engraved with images of House Forger¡¯s history dominated the space. To either side of that door stood alcoves fashioned to look like windows. I recalled gargoyles occupying those, but they were conspicuously absent.


    There were also more bodies. Standing among them was a tall figure in the brass-tinted armor of the Storm Knights, almost a match to the two in my company save for the extra crest rising from his helmet.


    Pale yellow electricity flickered around the Twinbolt¡¯s two swords as he turned to face us. His face, as always, remained shadowed behind a helm of ancient design, with long cheek guards and a Y shaped opening. His gray-blue cape was bloodstained, as were his weapons.


    ¡°Captain!¡± Ariel and Lochwine both sketched hasty salutes to the leader of their order. There were relieved murmurs from the others.


    I studied the array of bodies. The Twinbolt Knight was alone, though some of the corpses looked like palace guard. For a moment I wondered if I¡¯d found another traitor.


    But I recognized the wounds on all the ghoul corpses now for lightning burns, and forced myself to relax. ¡°First Sword,¡± I greeted the man. ¡°How long have you been lost in the fog?¡±


    The royal bodyguard¡¯s masked face tilted to one side in a thoughtful gesture. Then, in a surprisingly kindly voice dried with age he said, ¡°Since this began. These creatures kept attacking me, but seemed to realize their folly after a time.¡±


    He turned to the doors. ¡°Ah. I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d made it back.¡±


    Ser Moonbrand nodded to the doors. ¡°That¡¯s the throne room. The First Sword must have cleared out the guard without realizing it.¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s what the mist was for,¡± I said. Anyone who got close would have ended up lost in the thick brume I¡¯d just chased away, as evidenced by our new friend. Already it was curling back into the chamber, regrouping like a persistent animal who¡¯d learned not to fear a farmer¡¯s waving pitchfork.


    Dark, gangly shapes formed in that mist. I bared my teeth and lifted my axe. ¡°On guard!¡±


    The fighters who¡¯d joined me made a circle, raising their weapons in preparation to defend themselves from the congregating ghouls. We formed up around the Twinbolt as he crackled with power. The Mistwalkers stared at us with eyes that glinted like those of nocturnal animals, their forms made into wispy mirages by the gray vapor.


    There must have been scores of them, but it was difficult to tell through the veil of mist. Enough to drown us in bodies. I heard shuffling wings and croaking voices above, telling me there were more chimera as well.


    Emma put her back to mine. She¡¯d used a lot of blood already, and I sensed her growing fatigue. I knew she¡¯d use her Art anyway, until she had nothing left.


    My eyes went to the throne room doors. With a firm grip on Hyperia¡¯s shoulder, I called out.


    ¡°CALERUS!¡± The mist seemed to swallow my words, turning them hollow despite the force I put into my voice. ¡°I know you can hear me!¡±


    The advancing ghouls paused. Emma shifted at my back. The Twinbolt¡¯s helm turned in my direction.


    I hesitated a moment, then pushed my prisoner forward. My eyes remained fixed on the doors, as though I could glare through them in the same way I could with darkness. ¡°I request an audience, your majesty. If you want to see your sister again, then open the way.¡±


    For long minutes, nothing happened. The Mistwalkers didn¡¯t charge, my own company didn¡¯t move, and the doors didn¡¯t budge. I barely breathed.


    Then, with the low rumble of shifting stone and a blast of cold air and displaced fog, the doors began to open. A deep, consuming mist filled the gap and obscured what lay within.


    ¡°Ser Hewer,¡± the Twinbolt said in his soft voice. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Trying to end this. Follow my lead. Do nothing unless they attack first or I give the signal.¡±


    The Twinbolt took orders from no one except the Emperor. For a moment I thought he might refuse to listen, but he nodded with little hesitation. ¡°Very well. I shall accompany you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just going in there?¡± Moonbrand asked me in disbelief. ¡°It¡¯s obviously a trap.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the only one staring at me as though I were mad. ¡°You¡¯re free to stay behind,¡± I said. ¡°You can go back and join the Emperor¡¯s forces.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s alive?¡± The Twinbolt let out a breath of relief that emerged from his helm as glowing vapor from the aura he was burning.


    Lochwine and Ariel were both rubbing the last of their fulgurstones on their weapons. Myrice was muttering something that sounded like a prayer, though it wasn¡¯t in a language I knew. Moonbrand stared at the ghastly faces watching us from the mist and cursed.


    ¡°You¡¯re just as mad as back then,¡± he accused me.


    I just shrugged and moved froward, keeping Hyperia in front of me like a shield. Emma fell into step without hesitation. With varying levels of reluctance, the rest followed.


    We stepped into the fog, and it swallowed us.


    The audience chamber remained set for the lavish feast that¡¯d been meant to celebrate the tournament¡¯s second day. Like before, flowers and brightly colored weeds crawled over the floor, with living vines wrapping the proud columns upholding the room¡¯s cavernous ceiling.


    The mist turned the white stone and artful greenery into something more sinister. It gathered thickly at the room¡¯s edges, and hung over the floor like a gaseous, ever-shifting carpet. There was light, but it seemed to have no source. I saw no sign of the Wil-O¡¯ Wisps.


    The tables remained, four long rows stretching across the floor to nearly touch the dais at the far end. Those tables had some occupants, nearly all of them nobles and other dignitaries who¡¯d been guests for the feast. Each had a plate of food set in front of them, and all were quiet and wearing shaken expressions.


    An armored man sat at the very far end of the table to my right. He had long hair and an unkempt beard. I recognized him. Captain Issachar lifted his head from a meal of fly-covered meat and splintered bones to regard me with white eyes.


    Other Mistwalkers lurked in the space, most of them waiting in the shadows of the columns on either side of the tables. Nearly a dozen arrayed themselves around the thrones, both of which lay empty. Many held long infantry spears or crossbows, most of them aimed at the occupants of the tables.


    All was silent as I walked forward with my prisoner, the rest of my company hanging some paces back. I focused on the figure at the center of that eerie tableau.


    The King of Talsyn sat on the stairs beneath the emperor¡¯s throne, the point of his old sword resting against the floor. His were the only eyes that didn¡¯t look up when I stepped forward. Sitting next to him was Malcolm. When he saw me, the prince¡¯s eyes went wide.


    The sight of Rosanna¡¯s son sitting within sword range of my enemy made my heart skip a beat. A few steps behind me, the Twinbolt also froze at the sight of his young charge before mastering himself.


    I recognized other faces. Faisa Dance sat next to her nephew, the Grand Duke of Mirrebel. It took me a moment to recall his name ¡ª Natan, an elegant man in his thirties who shared his aunt¡¯s dark skin and fine features. Faisa glanced at me, providing a view of her tense expression. Laessa Greengood sat across from those two with her friend, Esmerelda Grimheart, at her side. The two noblewomen had their hands clasped between their plates.


    Ser Kaia stood near the thrones with no less than four Mistwalkers guarding her, one of whom was another ogre. This one carried an enormous hammer with a head of gray stone, its weight supported by a chain wrapped around the brute¡¯s right arm. Kaia was disarmed and dishelmed, and an ugly bruise crawled over her tattooed face. She otherwise seemed unhurt, and when she caught my gaze she grimaced.


    I understood her expression a moment later. Issachar wiped at his mouth with an already filthy cape as he stood, reached down, and pulled up a smaller figure roughly by the arm. He strode out to stand between the tables and showed me Prince Darsus. Malcolm¡¯s younger brother looked traumatized, his face streaked with tears. There was blood on his chin like he¡¯d been struck.


    Kaia closed her eyes, an expression of shame fixing itself on her strong features. I guessed then that she¡¯d been guarding one or both of the princes when the three of them were captured.


    What about their mother?


    Focus, I ordered myself. I walked forward with my own hostage until perhaps twenty paces separated me from the ghoul captain, placing me exactly where I¡¯d stood during past audiences in this room. Calerus spun his sword idly, his eyes remaining downcast.


    I saw that the plates set in front of every guest had the same fare as the ghoul commander¡¯s ¡ª rotting meat and pieces of human bone. Buzzing flies provided the scene a grim ambience.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°No further,¡± Issachar growled. When he showed me the flat of a gladius blade, holding it in front of his captive, I paused.


    Only then did the man seated below the throne look up. His eyes narrowed as they fell on my prisoner.


    ¡°Show me,¡± he said. His voice was quiet, but it echoed through the room as though the curling lines of mist beyond the tables whispered in tune with him.


    Aware of all the eyes on me, I lifted a hand and pulled the bag from Hyperia¡¯s head to show Calerus her torn throat and empty expression. His reaction was subtle, little more than a blink and a long stillness.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t do this to her,¡± Calerus said in his dry voice.


    ¡°No,¡± I agreed. ¡°This was Yith.¡±


    Close enough to the truth.


    ¡°And what happened to the fly?¡± Calerus asked, his tone almost curious.


    ¡°I sent him to Hell.¡±


    The Vyke nodded. ¡°Good. I told her that one was too strong for her, but she didn¡¯t listen. She never does.¡±


    His eyes fell on his sister. ¡°Can you hear me, Hy?¡±


    Hyperia¡¯s eyes were dull and unfocused, but her head tilted as though she¡¯d heard her name from a great distance. Her bloodless lips moved, a small whisper of air emerging.


    ¡°Did you bring her back?¡± Calerus asked me.


    ¡°No. Not intentionally, anyway.¡±


    Issachar growled like an angry dog. ¡°Enough of this.¡±


    He lifted his sword to Darsus¡¯s neck. The Storm Knights in my company all reacted angrily, but I held up a hand to stop them. The Mistwalker captain¡¯s tangled beard shifted as he revealed his ivory teeth.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got the royal brats here, as you can see.¡± The ghoul grabbed Darsus by his black hair, pulling a whimper from the boy. ¡°You¡¯ll have your master surrender the fortress, or we¡¯ll give his sons back to him in pieces.¡±


    I ignored the corpse-eater and focused on Calerus. ¡°I¡¯m here to talk, Your Majesty.¡±


    He noted my use of the title. ¡°You know?¡±


    ¡°That you murdered your father? I figured it out on my own, mostly. Hyperia told me your story.¡±


    He took that in a moment while Issachar all but ground his teeth in impatience. But Calerus seemed unhurried, chewing on his next words before speaking again.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    I met his eyes and considered my own words carefully before speaking. ¡°I want you to surrender to the Emperor¡¯s mercy, banish the Mistwalkers to whatever hinterland they came from, and help me stop this war before it really starts. It¡¯s not too late.¡±


    He frowned at the room full of armed ghouls and noble prisoners. ¡°After all this, you think it¡¯s not too late?¡±


    ¡°I imagine there will still be plenty of blood,¡± I admitted. My mind went to Evangeline¡¯s murder of Randal Brightling. ¡°But we can minimize the damage and keep the realms from falling apart into all out war, if you cooperate.¡±


    Issachar barked with laughter. ¡°You offer his sister¡¯s brutalized carcass and expect him to trade his life for it? The fucking arrogance.¡±


    I caught movement in the corner of my eye. There were windows along the upper right wall of the throne room, exposing the huge chamber to the outside air. They were large enough for the castle¡¯s gargoyle guards to fit through, which meant they were easily large enough to filter in a swarm of those leech-headed chimera.


    Keeping my attention on the young king, I continued. ¡°This entire thing was your father¡¯s plan, isn¡¯t that right? You¡¯ve been pushed to it by his allies and advisors, but it was never your crusade.¡±


    I gave the glowering Issachar a pointed look. ¡°Hasur Vyke was a madman. He abused you and your sister and tried to make you weapons for his own lunatic ambitions. You killed him, Calerus, so I don¡¯t believe you disagree with me.¡±


    Calerus remained quiet a time before speaking. ¡°I killed him because he was old, and weak.¡±


    He stood then and rested his blade on Malcolm¡¯s shoulder. The boy hid his fear better than his younger brother, but his face still went pale. There were murmurs of discontent across the room, but no one made a louder protest. I imagined the weapons trained on them had more than a little to do with that. There were a few already face down on their own plates, their eyes glassy and crossbow bolts sticking out of their backs. The flies ate them as readily as the putrid dinner.


    ¡°Your Accord is weak too,¡± Calerus told me. ¡°I can destroy it in a single night, with one stroke of my sword. You have no power here, Headsman.¡±


    I kept my fear controlled with effort and took Faen Orgis in both hands before tilting my head towards Hyperia, who was also in my reach. ¡°Don¡¯t I?¡±


    Issachar sneered. ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡±


    Calerus frowned. ¡°So are we.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re immortal,¡± Issachar corrected. ¡°Have I taught you nothing, boy? We are wolves among sheep. We feast on their dead and become strong. Your sister is just a shell. There might be echoes left, but most of her will be gone.¡±


    He bared his yellow teeth at me. ¡°Don¡¯t let this phantom trick you.¡±


    Calerus was difficult to read. His dead eyes seemed devoid of care or even interest. I recalled a dark sort of glee he¡¯d taken in the tournament, but none of that was evident now. He just looked tired.


    ¡°You can¡¯t win,¡± I told him. ¡°This is just self destruction, a suicide that¡¯ll take thousands more with it.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°So? This world¡¯s shit anyway. Better to live in legend than die as chattel.¡±


    Issachar nodded in approval.


    After a moment¡¯s thought I said, ¡°There was a time I longed to live in legend too. But stories have a way of getting twisted, Calerus. Trust me, I¡¯d rather live in peace and be forgotten.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re weak,¡± Issachar spat in contempt. ¡°A coward.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m a coward?¡± I asked him. After considering it I nodded. ¡°Perhaps I am. There¡¯s plenty I¡¯m afraid of.¡±


    The ghoul king studied me, his brow furrowing. Knights don¡¯t admit to fear, something I suspected wasn¡¯t lost on him. ¡°Then why do you live as a warrior, if you¡¯d rather have peace?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Because the world isn¡¯t peaceful, and this is what I¡¯m good at. It¡¯s the only way I can protect what I care about.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re hardly even a knight.¡± Calerus¡¯s lips twisted into a macabre facsimile of a smile. ¡°You¡¯re an executioner. A butcher. Just as much a monster as us.¡±


    Maybe he was right. How often had I thought the same thing? But the way I saw it, there were monsters like Issachar, Hasur, and Reynard. Those who chose this life for ambition and pride. Then there were those like me and Calerus, who made monsters of ourselves to protect what we cared about.


    Was there any difference, in the end? Would history care what kind of villains we were?


    I¡¯d told myself once that I didn¡¯t, so long as at least a few knew the truth of me. Even if I hadn¡¯t yet decided what that truth was.


    ¡°Do you care how you¡¯ll be remembered, Calerus?¡±


    The young man thought about it a moment, then shook his head. ¡°Most of this was Hyperia¡¯s idea. She was obsessed with outdoing our old man at his own game.¡±


    He looked at the risen remains of his sister and sighed. ¡°If I surrender to you, I¡¯ll die. The Round won¡¯t let me go free after this.¡±


    ¡°You might earn mercy,¡± I told him. ¡°Give us your father¡¯s advisors, all his allies. I know you conspired with the Arks and Brenner Hunting. They attacked us not half an hour ago. Surrender the rest and there could be clemency. The realms might accept that you were a pawn in all this.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Faisa Dance said from where she sat at one of the tables. She flinched when one of the ghouls shifted behind her.


    ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee you can make me,¡± Calerus said in a hard voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    Chances were the Ardent Round would call for his death and have Hyperia¡¯s reanimated body burned. An ancient realm would be torn apart, left leaderless and at the mercy of its neighbors. I could do nothing about that.


    I met his eyes and gave him the last thing I could offer.


    ¡°I am the Headsman of Seydis, executioner of the Onsolain, wielder of the Doomsman¡¯s Arm. I am also a Knight of the Alder Table. If you help me stop this, then I will purge your family¡¯s home. I¡¯ll banish every demon there.¡±


    Calerus stared at me in open, undisguised shock.


    Taking another risk, I lowered my axe and stopped threatening the man¡¯s sister. ¡°End this cycle. Stamp out your father¡¯s legacy and reclaim your home for yourself, for your own family. Hyperia told me what you did to survive. Look inward, Your Majesty. What do your ancestors want from you?¡±


    Calerus lifted his sword from Malcolm¡¯s shoulder and took a single step down the dais steps, so we were closer to eye level. His expression became piercingly intense.


    ¡°Will you make a vow of it, paladin?¡± He bared his ivory teeth. ¡°An oath?¡±


    Issachar spun on the younger ghoul. ¡°What are you doing!?¡±


    He ignored the captain, keeping his focus on me.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Emma¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    I saw some of the nobles in the room staring at me with varying levels of disbelief. Some even looked angry, as though I were betraying them by offering this much.


    Better to have witnesses to this. If it worked, there would be no backing out.


    ¡°I swear it. Stop this coup and give me the princes, and I will cleanse your House stone by stone of the creatures that haunt it. I can make no assurances for your safety, but I can promise that much.¡±


    Calerus had eaten the bones of his ancestors, ingesting their strength into himself. I suspected that much like the spirits of the Alder Table whispered to me, those dispossessed souls must speak to him as well. Besides his sister, this was the only thing I could think to offer that he¡¯d care about.


    Calerus Vyke squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and seemed to relax. His gaze went to his sister.


    ¡°You hear that, Hy? He says this nightmare might actually end. That you can have your dreams back.¡±


    Hyperia stirred. Her lips moved again, and this time a reedy, almost ethereal whisper emerged.


    ¡°C-cal... rus...¡±


    Calerus watched his sister searchingly, but she said no more. He sighed and closed his eyes, even while his ally practically burned with frustration. The Mistwalker captain¡¯s desire to kill me beat off him like waves of heat.


    The ghoul king pointed his sword at Issachar. ¡°The captain will take the younger prince to the Twinbolt while you bring my sister to me. When the exchange is made, I¡¯ll give you the other one.¡±


    He nodded to Malcolm.


    ¡°What!?¡± Issachar snarled.


    A thrill of victory moved through me, but I fought it down. This wasn¡¯t over. There might still be treachery.


    Calerus glared at the Mistwalker captain. ¡°You swore your sword to me, Issachar. You will obey.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to throw it all away!?¡± Issachar seethed. ¡°I did not swear to this!¡±


    Something heavy and dark formed in the air around the king. Malcolm shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, a frosted breath escaping suddenly pale lips. Ice formed on the steps of the dais.


    ¡°You will obey,¡± Calerus said in a very different voice, one that was many voices. The mist writhed around him like a living thing, and upon his brow a light formed. Almost a crown.


    Issachar growled low in his throat, but jerked his head towards me and pushed Darsus forward. Taking a deep breath, I started guiding Hyperia down the aisle.


    Nearly a hundred eyes watched me, more if I counted all the Mistwalkers who might be lurking in the shadows. The prisoners forced to sit with the stench of rot in their nostrils and flies crawling on them followed me with fearful eyes. Kaia¡¯s stare was intense as she observed along with the guards restraining her.


    Again, I caught movement in the corner of my eye. To the right, and above. Something lurked in the rafters high above. I forced myself not to look.


    When ten steps separated me from Issachar, his corpse eyes shifted to meet mine. He bared his teeth. An expression of humor, challenge, hate? Some mix of the three?


    ¡°Would that we¡¯d slain you at Caelfall,¡± he told me.


    His grin widened as he drew shoulder to shoulder with me.


    ¡°It would have spared you this disgrace!¡±


    His gladius flicked out.


    Toward Hyperia.


    I¡¯d been caught off guard many times of late. I¡¯d been betrayed, ambushed, manipulated. I¡¯d been weak when I¡¯d needed to be cruel and unfeeling, let doubt and sentiment cloud my judgement, stretched myself thin. I¡¯d courted dark powers and compromised myself in countless ways.


    I was not such a fool as to expect the likes of Issachar to go along with this, and I¡¯d been ready. My axe came up and deflected his sword.


    He danced back away from my blade, his colorless cape fluttering around him like ragged wings. ¡°KILL THEM ALL!¡± He roared, foam bubbling from his lips. ¡°TAKE THE CASTLE! LEAVE ONLY CORPSES!¡±


    And he swung his blade at Darsus. Kaia lurched forward with a shout, only for the ogre behind her to strike with his hammer and send her tumbling down the dais stairs.


    The air filled with the stench of ozone and a crackling energy that made every pore on my body itch. A piercing CRACK! echoed off the walls.


    Issachar stumbled, tried to lift his sword again, then collapsed in three pieces as his head, right arm, and the hand still clutching Darsus¡¯s shoulder came apart. The Twinbolt Knight rose to his full height perhaps ten paces further down the aisle, his body still flickering with pale lightning.


    All of the Mistwalkers started to move, and kill. It looked something like two banks of fog suddenly rolling together to join into one cloud, only it was full of steel and gnashing teeth and bone white eyes.


    Crossbows fired. Javelins flew. Swords swung. The company I¡¯d brought with me started to advance, but the room was too big and the prisoners too spread out. For most, there was nothing we could do.


    I grabbed Darsus and pulled the sobbing child close to me, protecting him with my own body. My eyes went to Calerus, who still stood by Prince Malcolm. The young king was watching me, his sword at Malcolm¡¯s neck. His nostrils flared in anticipatory fury.


    Hyperia was in my reach, still almost entirely unaware of her own surroundings. I met Calerus¡¯s eyes and shook my head.


    His sword lowered from Malcom¡¯s neck as a look of confusion formed on his face.


    But he had no control over the Mistwalkers anymore. They went into a fury at the death of their captain. The Twinbolt cut through three of them with his twin swords, every blow a mortal one, every twitch bringing him ten paces or more with fulgurous speed. He was moving towards the Vyke and Malcolm, not seeing what I did or not caring.


    I shoved Hyperia and Darsus back towards Emma. ¡°Protect them!¡± I ordered, then took my axe in both hands.


    I considered killing the Vykes anyway. After all of this, why stay my hand? For honor? For some hope that this travesty could be rectified somehow? They¡¯d both earned death, regardless of their circumstances.


    But if I could keep the king alive, if he cooperated after...


    I swung, cleaving the skull of a Mistwalker who came screaming out of the fog. The Twinbolt was carving a bloody path down the aisle between the tables, but even he wasn¡¯t immune to sheer numbers. The fog obscured the dais, making it more difficult to see the figures on it. The First Sword of House Forger was forced to stop as a forest of pikes bristled out of the thickening cloud of gray vapor.


    The cloud engulfed him. I moved to help, but Emma¡¯s scream made me flinch. Her warning saved my life. A sword licked at me, whipping across my pauldron and putting a groove in it.


    Issachar¡¯s decapitated form stood, fog so thick it was nearly liquid connecting his severed limbs back to his body so they became like writhing tendrils. One formed a tether between his fallen head and neck, lifting it up into the air so he stared down at me like some eldritch parody of a man.


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill me!¡± He laughed. ¡°I am one with the mist! I am immortal!¡±


    He struck again, the strange vaporous tendril his arm had become giving him more range and a strange, difficult to track swing. I smacked his sword aside, then flinched at a sharp twang. The bolt missed my ear by inches and vanished into the mist.


    His other hand held a small crossbow.


    Issachar¡¯s limbs and head reconnected with his body as he strode forward, huge teeth bared in a feral rictus. ¡°I came to this backwater for war!¡± He spat at me, tossing away his spent sidearm. ¡°To feast. I will not go hungry.¡±


    He lifted his sword again, the mist seeming to writhe around it into an almost solid shape. It took on an eerie glow.


    He was one with the mist, as he¡¯d said. And what was that substance? Not just cold air and water. I sensed something familiar in it.


    How long had these cursed soldiers feasted? How long had they wandered the hinterlands between life and death?


    The mist was the Lost Legion itself. When Issachar lifted his blade, the disembodied souls of all his soldiers gathered at his call. He did not strike with the strength of one man, but of a thousand.


    It was a simple Art. Little different from one of my own smiting blows, only carrying the strength of a siege engine. I had no time for a counter, knew I couldn¡¯t block it.


    My life didn¡¯t quite flash before my eyes. I¡¯d looked down the maw of death and glimpsed what lay beyond it often enough. I just bared my teeth and wreathed myself in burning aura.


    From the mist behind the captain, something emerged. It moved fast, carrying a tremendous momentum that displaced white vapor and air like a sudden gust of strong wind. It punched into the ghoul¡¯s chest, tearing through his banded armor to emerge in a spray of brackish blood.


    The curved point of a brass-plated cleaver.


    Karog glared down at his one-time ally with pitiless yellow eyes and drove the blade forward, forcing the ghoul to his knees. Issachar snarled like a beast, put a fist on the ground, and started to stand. Even the ogre¡¯s behemoth strength failed, his arm trembling. He had to put a hand to the skull pommel of his blade and brace a knee to keep Issachar pinned.


    ¡°End it!¡± Karog bellowed.


    I struck, swinging Faen Orgis down into Issachar¡¯s snarling face. I split his skull clean in half down to the neck.


    But I knew even that wouldn¡¯t be enough. This body was just a shell, dead flesh and hunger. Issachar was the Mistwalker, the original, the center of their curse.


    A curse...


    I put a boot to his chest, ripped my axe out, then squeezed the rough branch that formed its grip. Small burs on the handle cut my skin, mixing with the blood I¡¯d already spilled that night. I doubted the Malison Oak much cared for ghoul blood, but it drank my own eagerly.


    There was no soil to plant it in here. Instead, I punched the end of the branch down into the gap I¡¯d cloven in the captain¡¯s skull, burying it in his neck. I forced it down as far as I could, pushing down on the axe¡¯s head. The deathless creature fought me all the while, struggling and clawing at the object.


    Not enough blood. I made sure it was secure, then poured my will into it. The branch began to heat as I filled it with golden fire. I poured everything I could into it, and when I felt the change take I let it go and stumbled back.


    Issachar dropped his sword and reached up to grab the weapon I¡¯d sheathed into his body. His fingers curled around it as the wood crackled, bark splitting and small twigs emerging. His fingers blistered and peeled as he touched the burning wood.


    The branch erupted, growing to three times its length in an instant and increasing in size rapidly. Roots began to wrap around the ghoul, encasing him in a cocoon of tendrils even as the trunk of a dark, twisted tree rose into the air.


    It devouring him as greedily as he¡¯d consumed countless victims across the centuries. His flesh shrunk and shriveled, his skeleton cracked, his organs and blood drained. The fog itself was pulled into the tree, vanishing into cracks in the bark like a sucking vacuum lurked inside. There were howls of despair and confusion, eerie faces in the mist.


    And then a sudden and consuming silence.


    When it was finished, all that remained of Issachar was a desiccated skeleton trapped inside a black tree that stretched half a hundred feet high. Only some thin bands of mist remained in the room, revealing the remnants of the brief and bloody battle. Kaia had found her feet and a sword. She stood above the corpse of the undead ogre. It was butchered, lying in near half a dozen pieces while her shoulders heaved over its remains. The Twinbolt had a broken spear in the shoulder, but still stood.


    Natan Dance was injured, lying by one of the tables with his aunt holding her hands to the wound. Many others were dead, but we¡¯d managed to save more than a few. Not enough.


    Calerus remained on the dais. The Twinbolt and Kaia surrounded him, but neither seemed willing to approach with Malcolm endangered. The surviving ghouls looked frozen, shocked at the death of their deathless leader.


    Karog stared at the tree with a grim sort of satisfaction, then pulled a second cleaver from his back and turned to Calerus. Baring his teeth, he started forward.


    ¡°No,¡± I croaked. A sudden weight of exhaustion crashed down on me, making the armor I wore feel like a shell of weighted iron.


    Karog glared at me. ¡°You won¡¯t deny me my revenge, elf friend.¡±


    There was nothing I could do to stop him with my axe still locked inside the Malison Oak. I¡¯d poured an immense amount of energy into the tree, and felt drained.


    ¡°Is that all you care about after all of this?¡± I asked him. ¡°Revenge?¡±


    He considered it, his small eyes narrowing.


    ¡°Help me stop this.¡± I started forward at a half-shambling pace. My injuries from the day weren¡¯t as healed as I¡¯d thought, and suddenly I felt each one.


    Karog said nothing. Neither did he charge at his enemy.


    Calerus watched me as I approached the dais. He still held his sword, but hadn¡¯t moved during the fight with Issachar. No doubt he¡¯d wanted to see how it would pan out. Who would win.


    ¡°My offer remains,¡± I said hoarsely. ¡°End this, O¡¯ King.¡±


    He looked at the tree. ¡°You could really do it, couldn¡¯t you? Free my House.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Then this will be my first and perhaps my last edict as King.¡±


    He met my eyes and once again that crown of shining mist appeared. ¡°I command you, Headsman. You will cleanse my family¡¯s home.¡±


    And then Calerus threw down his sword.

 Arc 6: Chapter 23: Losses

    Arc 6: Chapter 23: Losses


    The sun rose over a quiet city, chasing away the rolling banks of fog and the remnants of the recent storm. A golden dawn touched the coastlands, soon to become a calm blue sky.


    The Fulgurkeep flew the anvil of House Forger, the azure circle of the Ardent Round, and the Silvering sun along with half a hundred others, signaling to all that it remained in the Emperor¡¯s hands. What Mistwalker soldiers weren¡¯t slaughtered fled with the scattered fog, their numbers ravaged. Their dark story was done, passed into history.


    But not forgotten, and not without scars left behind.


    I stood with Markham in his private council chambers. This time we were outside on the balcony, overlooking the lagoon city and the coastlands stretching beyond it. The Emperor hadn¡¯t changed his garments since the failed coup, still wearing his ceremonial armor and filigreed gauntlet. He¡¯d participated in the fighting, and like me still smelled of sweat and blood.


    He rested his left hand on the balcony railing, his right hanging limp as though the weight of gold on it was too much to bear. I¡¯d never seen him look so old, or so tired.


    ¡°I just spoke with the healers,¡± I told him softly. ¡°They say she¡¯s going to be alright, but needs rest.¡±


    The Emperor of the Accorded Realms slumped and let out a sigh of deep relief that was very human. ¡°Thank God. And my child?¡±


    Rosanna and some others had been trapped in the upper halls of the palace for hours, locking themselves in a side wing while enemies tried to break in. She¡¯d experienced complications with her pregnancy, making it difficult to move her, and what guards were present decided to make a stand.


    Siriks Sontae had been with them. By the account I¡¯d heard, he¡¯d blocked the hall for an hour near single handedly, killing any who tried to pass him.


    ¡°Alive,¡± I said. ¡°They believe he might end up being born early, though. Could be any week now.¡±


    Markham took that in with rigid stoicism, though I saw his jaw set. ¡°Has Ser Kaia tried to quit yet?¡±


    While the former mercenary wasn¡¯t at fault for the sorcerous mist that¡¯d scattered the palace occupants at the coup¡¯s start, her failure to protect her liege lady or the royal children had shaken the woman.


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    ¡°Good. If she does, I¡¯ll speak with her.¡±


    He stood and turned to face me, still poising a hand on the railing. When he saw my expression he raised a graying eyebrow. ¡°Why do you look surprised?¡±


    I schooled my expression. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean, Your Grace.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°You think I don¡¯t love her.¡±


    If I was less exhausted I might have been wise enough to keep my silence. Instead I said, ¡°You told me as much, more or less.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I said I don¡¯t trust her. As for love...¡±


    He sighed and changed the subject. ¡°And Darsus?¡±


    Here I hesitated, knowing it would be hard for any man to take this news well. ¡°The clerics are concerned. He hasn¡¯t spoken a word, or slept, and...¡±


    Markham¡¯s voice lashed out like a whip. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°He has a voracious appetite. The healers believe he¡¯s been infected with the ghoul hunger.¡±


    Markham didn¡¯t say anything for a long time. If he¡¯d had more than the strength of a mortal man, I suspected the stone of the railing beneath his hand would have cracked.


    ¡°He¡¯s not the only one,¡± I said quietly. ¡°The Mistwalkers were clearly trying to shore up their numbers.¡± I recalled the macabre feast I¡¯d walked in on in the throne room.


    ¡°Is there anything that can be done?¡± Markham asked.


    ¡°The Church¡¯s records are extensive. If there is anything¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bullshit me, Hewer. I know the forces you court.¡±


    He turned and regarded me with stony eyes. ¡°Is there anything that can be done?¡±


    I felt cold at the realization that came upon me then. He believes them. The rumors about me.


    ¡°I am not a warlock, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°You were an Alder Knight. Can you heal my son of this... affliction?¡±


    ¡°...No,¡± I said. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure, but I feared if I tried it might end up like it had with Catrin. I would not be responsible for that, not with Rosanna¡¯s child.


    Markham made a visible effort to control himself, and after a minute became the stoic king he usually was. ¡°This was a blow, Hewer. Between what happened with that Ser Jocelyn and this attack, there are hundreds dead. Most were blood of the peerage, and I will be blamed for it. It happened in my home, under my protection, at the hands of people I knew were enemies.¡±


    ¡°Your hands were tied. You couldn¡¯t preempt the violence without looking like a tyrant, which could have hurt us more. The old emperors were deposed for that very thing, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°That fact will not change the result,¡± he said tiredly. ¡°This has weakened us, and there will be dark days ahead.¡±


    He let that prophecy settle before adding, ¡°Ser Jocelyn is gone.¡±


    I froze. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He was missing from his cell this morning. Fen Harus also remains unaccounted for.¡±


    The implication wasn¡¯t lost on me. ¡°You believe the oradyn took him?¡±


    ¡°That is what it seems like. The people I placed on the tourney council told me most of the power our ritual gathered is gone now. It seems like the damned elves got one over on us.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t believe they expected him to change?¡± I asked. ¡°That they planned this?¡±


    ¡°And why not?¡± Markham asked. ¡°The Seydii elves were nearly obliterated during the Fall, and they¡¯re surrounded by threats. Their own cousins in the Briar would happily destroy them, their homeland is infested with evil, and humanity has proved to be unreliable allies.¡±


    As I considered the problem, something about Markham¡¯s demeanor changed. Appraisal, I thought.


    ¡°I hear you were with my steward at the end.¡±


    The Royal Steward¡¯s body had been recovered some hours before. I hadn¡¯t seen it, but apparently there wasn¡¯t much left of the homonculus, as though he¡¯d melted in death. I¡¯d heard that western alchemists often used such methods to prevent rivals from pilfering their recipes.


    The man deserved better.


    ¡°I did not see his last moments,¡± I admitted.


    Markham nodded. ¡°Even still, he served me faithfully for many years. The knight who stayed behind to guard him is being given postmortem honors. His name will be embedded into the Forger annals.¡±


    ¡°And the Vykes?¡± I asked. ¡°What is to be done with them?¡±


    The Emperor didn¡¯t reply for a long time. Then in a much quieter, much darker voice he said, ¡°There is a great clamor for Calerus¡¯s execution. He is an invader and a regicide who came here under false pretenses and broke the laws of hospitality. I am well in my rights to have him killed.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the last living member of his House,¡± I said. ¡°If you kill him, it will end his family and leave Talsyn leaderless.¡±


    Markham shook his head. ¡°There cannot be a lack of reprisal for this.¡±


    By ¡°reprisal,¡± I knew he meant obliteration. Like with the Orleys when they¡¯d been defeated by House Carreon, and a score of other cases across our land¡¯s brutal history, this attack merited the full erasure of House Vyke.


    If we did that, then the Accord would just be one more in a long line of similar regimes. There had to be another way to resolve this.


    ¡°By tomorrow morning, King Roland will have launched his invasion. Talsyn is in our hands. If you leave their king alive and keep his cooperation, it could make the people there more compliant. If you show mercy, then perhaps we can hold that land without occupying it by force and risking another generation of blood and resentment.¡±


    ¡°I do not recall making you one of my counselors,¡± Markham noted in a dry tone.


    I shrugged. ¡°That is my advice, Your Grace. You were the one who told me that war with Talsyn could hamstring us. Remember there are other battles we need to be ready for. Hasur still has allies, ones I suspect were part of this conspiracy. And there is still Seydis.¡±


    He¡¯d been the one to reveal to me about his plans for crusade. I could tell my words affected him, but Markham kept his thoughts well hidden.


    ¡°...I will think on your advice. For now, King Calerus has offered no resistance. He has also made it clear that any attempt to purify the remains of his sister will not be tolerated, so she is being kept under heavy guard.¡±


    He dismissed me then, but I knew there would be more questions from him and the rest of the Accord¡¯s leaders in the days to come. Before I left the balcony, I gave him one more piece of counsel.


    ¡°Tell King Roland not to lay siege to the Peak of Garlands. In fact, ask him to keep well clear of it if at all possible. What¡¯s waiting inside that castle needs to remain undisturbed.¡±


    At least until I figured out what to do about it. Markham told me he¡¯d take my advice under consideration, which would have to suffice for the time being.


    That was a problem for another day. I had plenty enough for the present one.


    Catrin was gone from the dungeon tower on my return. I barely had time to let that fact settle before other tasks began to besiege me.


    The castle was in chaos. There were bodies to clean, names to tally, the danger of traps and other nasty surprises left by the attackers. With the betrayal perpetrated by Houses Ark and Hunting, distrust and paranoia were rampant. Accusations were levied and old grudges dusted off.


    Some suggested bringing in the Priory to ask questions.


    Hendry fell under fire for the actions of his father, but in light of Brenner¡¯s death and the capture of those knights who¡¯d followed him the Emperor was merciful. It was Lord Vander Braeve who spoke on the young man¡¯s behalf, asking for leniency.


    But leniency was not the mood of the court, and Markham was right when he¡¯d told me that there must be reprisal. House Hunting was dissolved, its lands given over to the stewardship of other local powers, Brenner¡¯s name stricken from the Golden Annals. His ambition had cost him his legacy.


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    I didn¡¯t get the chance to speak with Hendry that day, but heard later he¡¯d accepted this judgement and asked to at least keep his own knighthood. The Emperor agreed, but dismissed him from the Fulgurkeep¡¯s garrison.


    Of the other traitor there was no sign, but reports came in later of a company of white-and-gold clad knights fleeing across the countryside. They moved at night, and commoners said they rode on pale horses that moved fast as birds. The group seemed to be heading west towards the Gylden, and likely further into the Bannerlands.


    The court sent out riders to warn that country, but I suspected we hadn¡¯t seen the last of Evangeline Ark. The clerics who¡¯d tended to her were found slaughtered, torn apart as though by an animal. The Royal Clericon remained unaccounted for.


    The tournament was left without conclusion, but every tourney fighter who¡¯d survived the Lindenwurm and helped defend the castle from the Mistwalkers afterward was given honors and named knights of the Accord. Some of those hadn¡¯t been knights when they¡¯d arrived in the capital, and I had no doubt it was partly an effort to shore up the loss of strength and salvage something from the disaster.


    Ser Sain, the Hyacinth Knight, was called three times during these ceremonies. Strangely, the man never showed.


    Many had seen me wearing his armor during the coup, so I suspected there wasn¡¯t much confusion in the palace itself. However, stories circulated like a bad cold throughout the commonfolk.


    Much of this I didn¡¯t learn for many days. I had my own losses to account for.


    As the third night since the coup settled over the city, I walked the emptying streets until I found a familiar bridge. It overlooked the gentle waters of a lake in the middle of the lagoon, its surface calm and shaded black and blue as the moons rose.


    She waited for me on the edge of that bridge, one leg pulled up under her skirts so she could wrap an arm around it and the other hanging over the water. She didn¡¯t look at me as I stopped next to her.


    She wore a yellow dress tonight, like the first time I¡¯d met her. This time it included a white shift beneath, the frills peaking out beneath the hem of the long skirt and around her shoulders. She¡¯d brushed her hair and cleaned herself up. The wound on her shoulder seemed to be healing, but I could still make out some bruises.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been worried about you,¡± I said.


    Catrin smiled softly without taking her eyes off the water. ¡°I know. Sorry about that, I just... needed to think, I guess.¡±


    She¡¯d fed recently. Her skin looked warmer, a slight blush touching her cheeks.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to the Backroad?¡± I asked.


    The dhampir nodded. ¡°Yeah. What, worried I ate some poor vagrant?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± I adjusted my red cloak around my shoulders. I wore no armor beneath, and felt both vulnerable and chilled without the usual weight of metal.


    Normally this was where she¡¯d grin and tell me she was just teasing. Instead her expression remained pensive, and still she wouldn¡¯t look at me.


    There was so much I wanted to say, to ask. I wanted to know she was alright, but knew she wasn¡¯t. I wanted to tell her everything would be alright, but doubted it would. I wanted to offer her my blood so she could feel how sorry I was, how much I¡¯d missed her in the days since she¡¯d vanished.


    Instead I just sat on the bridge next to her and watched the moons rise. Minutes passed, then half an hour. She didn¡¯t go, but neither did she break the silence. Something told me it was best to let her take the time she needed, so neither did I.


    ¡°Joy is going to have a kid.¡±


    I blinked, taken aback by the unexpected topic. ¡°I see.¡±


    Catrin leaned her head toward me and lowered her voice into an almost conspiratorial pitch. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know who the dad is, but she insists she¡¯s going to sniff him out and make him take responsibility. We¡¯re all working together to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn¡¯t tear through half our customers.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a difficult job.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Joy is mostly bark. A little bite, but she listens better than she lets on. I think she¡¯ll be a pretty good mom, honestly.¡±


    ¡°Catrin...¡± I shook my head, trying to find the words. This wasn¡¯t how I¡¯d expected this conversation to go.


    ¡°Let me finish,¡± she said with sudden force. ¡°Please.¡±


    I fell quiet and waited.


    ¡°I fucked up,¡± she said in a tight voice. ¡°Bad. I wanted to help, to be part of your life, but I wasn¡¯t cut out for it. I was fucking terrified. At the Count¡¯s mansion, at the graveyard, during those days with that thing in my head, and in my skin...¡±


    She placed a hand to her right shoulder. ¡°I spent two days after I left the tower vomiting, and I can still feel things crawling in me.¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Cat.¡±


    ¡°I know. I know you blame yourself, but I own my choices Al. Don¡¯t take those from me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the reason he got you,¡± I said before I could stop myself. ¡°When I tried to pull you out of the undercity, and...¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for that either.¡± She sighed. ¡°Both of us have natures that aren¡¯t too fond of each other. I don¡¯t believe the vampire in me is all of who I am, or that the paladin in you is all of you, not even close. Damn anyone who says otherwise. But...¡±


    But. Something about that word put a knot in my chest. Another part of me was still trying to figure out how this had anything to do with Joy.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Catrin ran a hand through her brown hair. ¡°I don¡¯t even know how to say it.¡±


    I suspected I knew exactly what she wanted to say, and was in no hurry to urge her on.


    But I was wrong, and wasn¡¯t at all prepared for what she told me next.


    ¡°I was too.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°You were what?¡±


    Catrin looked close to tears, and her hand was spinning in the air like she could pull the words out. ¡°I was... damn it Al, I was pregnant.¡±


    For a long minute, I had no idea what to say. The words barely registered at first. When they did, my first emotion was confusion.


    ¡°I thought...¡± I paused, thinking furiously. ¡°But you told me that you can¡¯t.¡±


    Can¡¯t have children. Somehow I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to say the words.


    ¡°I said I¡¯m never alive long enough for it to take.¡± Catrin¡¯s eyes were shut, her chin tilted up as though the cool breeze blowing in off the bay could settle her nerves. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was possible either, but the demon sensed it while I was his prisoner. He told me it¡¯s possible to keep the baby alive.¡±


    Demons lie. Somehow I knew Catrin didn¡¯t need to hear that just then, so I kept my lips firmly shut until I could say safer words.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°A lot of blood. Enough that I¡¯d have to kill many times over. Yith said he could do it, if I asked him to. That I wouldn¡¯t have to hurt anyone or even lift a finger, just let him bring me what I needed. And I...¡±


    I realized I was shaking my head, a slow rhythm that was difficult to stop. ¡°You didn¡¯t say anything to me.¡±


    ¡°I was barely lucid that whole time. And besides...¡± She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. ¡°What was I supposed to say? Hey, let¡¯s leave me possessed by this monster from the pits of hell while he murders countless people for the next nine months, on the off chance he¡¯s telling the truth and we might get a kid out of it?¡±


    A hundred questions fought for attention in my head, and I realized my heart was beating faster. ¡°Cat, I don¡¯t even know what to say. Is that something you wanted?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯d asked me a year ago, or even a few months ago?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Hell no. Half Dead Cat, a mother? I¡¯d have laughed in your face. But...¡±


    Catrin lifted both her legs and hugged them close to her chest, staring at the lagoon over her knees. ¡°It¡¯s not really something I¡¯ve ever thought about. But when I learned it was possible? When I realized that you might be...¡±


    I lost my breath when I realized what she meant. Mine. The world seemed to spin. Mine and Cat¡¯s.


    ¡°And even if it wasn¡¯t yours!¡± She spoke rapidly, fighting to get all the words out before her courage failed her. She let her legs dangle again and started gesticulating wildly with a sudden burst of energy. ¡°We could have treated it like it was, you know? We¡¯re both so fucked up, but I thought maybe if we did something right, it could make up for all of that. That we could make something, together, and¡ª¡±


    She stopped talking abruptly and made a small choking sound. I realized she was crying. A dry, quiet weeping that lasted only a short time. My mind had gone entirely blank.


    ¡°And even if the baby was messed up,¡± she continued in a voice still strained with grief, ¡°if it was like me, I knew you could still love them. Because that¡¯s the kind of man you are, Alken. And that one thought made me want it so bad. It made me want it so much it almost made a demon of me.¡±


    My whole being felt like a storm. There was doubt, confusion, rage. A grief for the loss of something I¡¯d not even known I might have. I hated Yith more than I¡¯d ever hated anything.


    What are you doing? You fool.


    I silently berated myself. Whatever my sense of loss might be, it was nothing compared to the one at my side.


    Not sure how she¡¯d react, I reached out and pulled Catrin close. She stiffened at first, then relaxed and buried her face in my chest. I held her tight and let her shake in my arms, glad she couldn¡¯t see my own face. Just like she¡¯d done for me the night Lias had betrayed me, I stroked her hair and waited until she was done.


    Some time later, Catrin¡¯s grip on my arm tightened and I let her go. She wiped at her face, sniffed and blew out a breath.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to find out this way. I wasn¡¯t even sure I¡¯d say anything. Me and my big mouth.¡±


    A more cowardly part of me wished she hadn¡¯t said anything, but I crushed that voice with a firm boot. ¡°I¡¯m glad you told me. This isn¡¯t something you should have to carry alone.¡±


    Catrin opened her mouth to speak, but paused and pressed her lips together.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, sensing a similar trepidation to before.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been doing some thinking the last few days. Making decisions.¡±


    I nodded slowly, not sure I liked where this was going. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to leave the Backroad. I¡¯ll stick around long enough to help Joy pay off her debt to the Keeper. After that, I¡¯m going to move on.¡±


    For a moment, I felt a surge of hope. Had she decided to take my offer, join my group?


    She crushed my hopes with little more than a sad, fond look. ¡°I¡¯m leaving. Leaving Urn, I mean.¡±


    Another punch to my gut. Perhaps the first had numbed me, because my voice somehow sounded calm. ¡°Where will you go?¡±


    Catrin considered a moment, her eyes turning up to the night sky. ¡°Not quite sure. I was thinking I¡¯d go back home, see if I can find the farm I was born on. Probably isn¡¯t there anymore even if I could remember the way, but I want to try.¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡± My gaze went to the dark waters of the lake. My own reflection was visible below, where the moonlight reflected. Catrin¡¯s reflection looked hazy and dark, its shape subtly wrong.


    ¡°And I need to figure some things out,¡± Catrin continued. ¡°What I am, where I came from, what happened to make me this way. I¡¯ve run from it all my life, and maybe it¡¯s just that old bastard Laertes in my head, but I can¡¯t ignore it anymore. I need to know myself. There are answers out there.¡±


    ¡°I could help you with that here,¡± I told her, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. ¡°I have resources, people who can find that knowledge.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going, Al. I¡¯ve decided.¡±


    My heart sank.


    Catrin nudged me in the arm. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    I turned to stare at her again. ¡°What?¡±


    Her face held none of the grief and doubt I¡¯d seen in it so often lately. Her brown eyes were clear and focused, meeting mine without so much as a flinch. She stood, and something made me stand as well so we faced one another.


    ¡°You made me an offer during the festival, that I could leave my life and be part of yours. I¡¯m making you the same offer now. Come with me. Get away from all of this. They¡¯ll survive without you, and you¡¯ve done your time.¡±


    She waved at the ancient city sprawling around us. ¡°We¡¯ll see the world, get into trouble, fuck like rabbits. It¡¯ll be fun. And maybe...¡±


    Here she hesitated. ¡°If Yith could do it, maybe someone else can? Maybe we could have a life. Together.¡±


    Her offer stunned me speechless. It stunned me, and...


    It tugged at me harder than any supernatural oath or knightly vow I¡¯d ever sworn. The idea of that future, that freedom, unfolded in my mind like a clear tapestry, as tangible as the reflection of my own face in the water.


    And I wanted it. But...


    ¡°I can¡¯t just leave,¡± I said in a voice that was hoarse with emotion. ¡°Cat, there are people here I¡¯m responsible for. Maybe they could take care of themselves, but if I just went away...¡±


    I¡¯d end up living a half life, always looking behind me.


    ¡°I made a vow,¡± I tried to explain. ¡°I swore to protect this land until my death.¡±


    And even beyond it.


    Catrin nodded, her expression remaining calm. ¡°I know. And that¡¯s important to you, isn¡¯t it? I get that, but... it¡¯s like a chain around your neck, Alken. I don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re so loyal to them. They look like a pack of wolves to me.¡±


    I tried to find the words to explain, but they turned to mud on my tongue. She was right, of course. The order I served was broken and violent, full of greed and dogma and doubt. There were weeds in the stone, and they dug their roots deep.


    But it could be beautiful too. I¡¯d seen wonders I could barely describe. Even before the elves had given me a way to hear the land¡¯s voice in my soul, I¡¯d loved the forests and the hills and the hidden rivers of my homeland. I loved the way its people poured their very souls into everything they did, filling the land with a sense of personality so tangible it became real as air and light.


    Part of me even loved court life, at least as I remembered it back in Karles and Seydis during more peaceful times. There was so much art and hope here, so much history and potential, and I wanted to see if my struggles might preserve some fertile ground.


    Perhaps I hadn¡¯t truly chosen this life more than choices had been made for me, but it didn¡¯t make my commitment to it false either. Before Catrin and Emma had entered my life, I¡¯d drowned in the darkness.


    Now I remembered what I fought for, I couldn¡¯t just abandon it.


    Catrin searched my face and smiled softly, though her eyes were full of regret. ¡°Damn. I just made this harder, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to go.¡±


    And I knew she needed to.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    She reached out and cupped my face with a cold hand. ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean goodbye forever. I love you, big man. I always will, and even if it¡¯s goodbye for tonight, I¡¯ll be your friend from now until death and whatever comes after it. I¡¯ll probably be around a long time, and even if you turn into a very gloomy ghost, I¡¯ll listen to your woes over a pint.¡±


    She searched my eyes, as though expecting me to say something. When I couldn¡¯t muster any words, she pulled my face down and kissed me. I returned the kiss fiercely, as though that alone might convince her to stay. When we broke apart, she bit my lower lip gently and broke skin with a single fang, taking just a small taste of my blood.


    Whatever she felt in it made her eyes blink rapidly. Or maybe that was all her.


    ¡°Your eyes look different,¡± she told me. ¡°They¡¯re brighter.¡±


    ¡°If you ever need my help...¡± I started to say.


    ¡°Hey, no oaths.¡± She gave me a hard look. ¡°No debts, no promises, no obligations.¡±


    I made myself nod. She smiled. ¡°And look after the droplet. That Hendry boy too. Tell him I¡¯m sorry for nibbling on him.¡±


    She pulled away, keeping hold of my hand until distance forced our fingers apart. Her expression mirrored mine, full of pain and regret and affection.


    ¡°Cat, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know. And I¡¯m sorry. This is goodbye for now.¡±


    I watched her until she turned, and kept watching until the distant mist ¡ª a natural one ¡ª made her little more than a vague impression of swishing skirts and confidently swinging arms.


    ¡°Goodbye, Cat.¡±


    Why couldn¡¯t I have said that when she could still hear me, or found the words to convince her to stay?


    Why didn¡¯t I go with her?


    Why couldn¡¯t I tell her I loved her?


    Those thoughts would continue to plague me for many long months to come.

 Arc 6: Chapter 24: Lull

    Arc 6: Chapter 24: Lull


    Beatriz placed the paper on my desk. Her hand trembled only a bit as she pulled it away and took a step back to stand at attention.


    I sensed this wasn¡¯t one of my usual reports. Something about the guardswoman¡¯s demeanor tipped me off. Without reading it, I placed my quill down and folded my hands.


    ¡°I wish to resign,¡± she said in a voice I guessed was firm only with effort. ¡°If I have your leave, Ser.¡±


    She was clearly afraid of my answer. It made sense. Beatriz had been given into my command as a punitive action, and that wasn¡¯t something one generally just quit. She¡¯d also seen some frightening things the last two weeks. I¡¯d been at the center of most of them.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Without reading the form I signed it and handed it back. ¡°Do you know where you want to go?¡±


    She hesitated, clearly shocked by my easy acceptance. ¡°I have family out in the countryside,¡± she admitted cautiously, as though afraid of some trap. ¡°I¡¯ll probably go home for a time, and then...¡±


    She glanced down and shrugged.


    I nodded. ¡°I wish you luck. If anyone gives you trouble about leaving, I¡¯ll deal with it.¡±


    Beatriz took the form, sketched a hasty salute, then spun on a heel and started towards the door. It had been days since the coup ended, but the bloodstains and remnants of the warding circle on the floorboards were proving difficult to wash out.


    She paused at the door and turned to look at me, an odd expression on her face. I watched her, waiting for her to muster the courage to say what she wanted to.


    ¡°Working with you has been the most terrifying experience of my life,¡± she told me. ¡°You got Mallet and Penric killed, and they were both good men.¡±


    She spoke in a rush, in the manner of someone who¡¯d been holding on to their words for a long time and was desperate to get them all out. Her expression hardened.


    ¡°I appreciate you letting me leave, but I hope we never cross paths again.¡±


    She left without closing the door. Emma walked in a moment later, looking bemused at my expression.


    ¡°Oh, there will be others.¡± My squire strolled over to the desk and leaned against it, tossing me an apple. She kept a second for herself, biting into it. I¡¯d not eaten that day, and took a moment to strengthen myself. One of the perks of whatever the elves had done to me was that I needed little sustenance to keep going.


    ¡°You should talk to Hendry,¡± Emma said. ¡°Tell him he still has a place here with us.¡±


    She spoke casually, but I sensed a tension in her. Emma kept her eyes on the open window as though watching the waves outside, but she was too still.


    ¡°And you want that?¡± I asked.


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    Because you killed his father right in front of him, I thought. Because I know you feel guilty about it, not for Brenner¡¯s sake but for Hendry¡¯s. Because you¡¯re not as callous as you want everyone to believe. Because you care about him, even if it¡¯s not the way he wants.


    I also knew Hendry had been avoiding her, and she likely wanted me to bring him back into my command half so he didn¡¯t have an excuse anymore. The girl could be manipulative.


    I said none of that. It wasn¡¯t my place.


    ¡°He¡¯s reliable,¡± Emma said. ¡°And you need to rebuild. It¡¯s the smart thing to do, especially since he¡¯s adrift now. Give him a place and he¡¯ll be loyal to you.¡±


    ¡°Right. And you still want to be part of this? After everything, I bet you could argue for a knighthood like the rest of the tourney fighters and go wherever you want.¡±


    Karog had received his own knighthood already, to the great unease of many. While it wasn¡¯t unheard of for non-humans to earn such honors, he was seen as a western monster and a reminder of the threats we¡¯d left behind in a past age during the exodus.


    But he¡¯d also helped defeat the coup in the end in front of many witnesses, and shown himself to be amicable to chivalry during the tournament. What kind of legend he¡¯d build for himself remained to be seen, but he¡¯d gotten what he came for.


    At least in part. I doubted the fomori¡¯s ambitions were done.


    Emma sighed dramatically. ¡°I barely did anything of note, other than pin up that Hunting oaf.¡± Her eyes narrowed in thought. ¡°No, I need something epic to earn my knighthood. Something that people will remember...¡±


    She considered a moment while chewing on a bite of apple before casually adding, ¡°Have you seen Catrin?¡±


    I paused a heavy beat before answering. ¡°She¡¯s leaving.¡±


    ¡°She went through a lot.¡± Emma took another bite of her apple. ¡°Perhaps she just needs some space?¡±


    I considered leaving it at that. It wasn¡¯t something I really wanted to talk about, but...


    Emma would need to know eventually, and best to get it out.


    ¡°She¡¯s leaving Urn. Going back to her homeland.¡±


    Emma winced. ¡°Ah. I¡¯m sorry, Alken.¡±


    I shrugged, and neither of us said anything for a while. The apple had lost its taste, and I spun it in my hands unfinished.


    Emma started to speak, hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. That struck me as odd. She rarely avoided speaking her mind, no matter how it needled people. I waited.


    ¡°Do you love her?¡±


    She regarded me with serious amber eyes. I found it difficult to meet them.


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡± My voice was cautious.


    ¡°Because I¡¯m afraid if I don¡¯t ask the question you¡¯ll continue to brood for the next century. I like Catrin, I am worried for her, and I see how distracted you¡¯ve been. This is eating you up.¡±


    I almost snapped at her to mind her own business. But it would have just been lashing out, and she didn¡¯t deserve my anger. Besides, I was too tired for it.


    ¡°I think I do,¡± I admitted. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the way I should.¡±


    If I truly loved her, couldn¡¯t I have accepted her offer? Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to forget the other faces in my heart?


    Emma hummed thoughtfully. ¡°And how should you? The way a man loves his wife? I¡¯ve rarely seen married couples who are truly in love, not that I¡¯m certain I could recognize it.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t want to be with me like that,¡± I said. ¡°We talked about it. I made the offer too hastily, true, but even if I hadn¡¯t... we live in different worlds, and she doesn¡¯t want to be tied to mine.¡±


    Especially not after all this. If she ever wanted to see me again I¡¯d be surprised.


    Emma let out an exasperated breath. ¡°I can¡¯t give you advice about love, Alken. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever felt it. I¡¯ve wanted things. Wanted people, even, but I¡¯ve never been afraid of losing anyone. Even when my parents died, I...¡±


    She trailed off, looking perplexed and annoyed. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I felt then was sadness. My grandmother was part of my life for sixteen years, and when she passed on all I felt was frustration. Anger, that what was mine had been taken from me. My birthright, my freedom, my family. When I think about my parents, even my grandmother, I can hardly remember their faces. I just remember feeling angry.¡±


    ¡°And Hendry?¡± I asked.


    She shrugged. ¡°Much the same. Had his father killed him, I¡¯d have been angry, infuriated even, but more at the situation I think. Does that make me a monster?¡±


    When she caught my stare, Emma shuffled in discomfort and changed the subject. ¡°Have you considered that she¡¯s afraid of you?¡±


    I stared down at the burn scars on my fingers. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Not in that way,¡± Emma said with clear frustration. ¡°But you are of a much higher station than her in various ways. She is a peasant, a whore ¡ª and I don¡¯t mean that as an insult ¡ª and a vampire. You are a lord of Urn, a knight, and a demon hunter. I doubt she¡¯s had any romances like this one. Perhaps she¡¯s intimidated? Even feeling somewhat unworthy of you.¡±


    With a sudden suspicious intuition I asked, ¡°Have you two been talking?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve chatted,¡± Emma admitted. ¡°But not about this. I have eyes, you know. She has a very nervous way around you. And think about it like this; she jumped into this situation with Yith readily, almost like she wanted to prove that she could be a hero too. And then it all went to hell. If you want to know what I think, it¡¯s that she¡¯s ashamed, perhaps even blaming herself.¡±


    She pointed at me with a stern finger. ¡°Something you two have in common, by the way.¡±


    After a minute of silence I said, ¡°If either of us is unworthy of the other, it¡¯s me.¡±


    Emma blew out an exasperated breath. ¡°Are you going to be alright?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. This is for the best.¡±


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Emma squinted at me. ¡°You really believe that?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    I waited for the lie to scald my tongue. It didn¡¯t. Before I could so much as register that, the door burst open. Lisette stood there, her face beaded with sweat beneath her cleric¡¯s cowl. She was breathless, as though she¡¯d run up half the steps in the Fulgurkeep.


    ¡°He¡¯s awake,¡± she gasped.


    Emma frowned. ¡°Who?¡±


    Lisette caught her breath and met my eyes, her own clear and blue and full of emotion.


    ¡°Penric.¡±


    Emma stared at the cleric as though she were simple. ¡°Lisette...¡± It was one of the rare times she¡¯d used the other girl¡¯s proper name. ¡°Penric is dead. He had his brains spilled out on this very floor. We were all there, it was very dramatic.¡±


    Lisette kept her focus on me, ignoring Emma. I suddenly felt cold.


    ¡°Show me.¡±


    ¡°I had to disguise him to get him through the palace,¡± Lisette told me as I walked into the cell at the bottom of the tower. ¡°They were about to take him away along with some of the other soldiers who were, um...¡±


    I knew what she meant. The man sat on a chair in the middle of the small room, a single alchemical lantern hung near the door for light. As a veteran of House Forger¡¯s guard, even a commoner, he¡¯d been dressed in armor in the custom of soldiery readied for burial. Simple steel, but clean. His head was swathed in bandages, and the cloak Lisette had covered him with lay discarded in one corner.


    He raised his head as I approached to stand just out of arm¡¯s reach. Bandages covered the empty sockets where his eyes had been, but I could make out deep depressions in the material. What skin showed was pallid and sunken, bloodless, and the wrappings were stained.


    ¡°Is that you, Ser?¡± His voice was a dry whisper, but surprisingly clear.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, soldier. Do you know where you are?¡±


    ¡°The tower.¡± His lips turned down into a frown. ¡°A cell.¡±


    I watched him curiously. ¡°You can see?¡±


    The archer shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s more like I can... hear? Everything¡¯s dark, but I can tell where I am. The good priestess is behind you. And...¡±


    His blind face turned to Emma, who stood in the hallway. ¡°Carreon.¡±


    Emma and Lisette both cast worried looks my way at that. We¡¯d never told any of the lance about my squire¡¯s identity.


    ¡°And there¡¯s a shadow standing behind you,¡± Penric added. ¡°It has horns.¡±


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but I kept my reaction controlled. ¡°Do you understand what¡¯s happened to you, soldier?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I think so, Ser. I died. And now I¡¯m back.¡±


    He was surprisingly lucid for a newly raised dyghoul. Closer to the way Kieran had been than Hyperia, and these other intuitions...


    Dangerous.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing this is the part where you put me back down,¡± Penric said in an amicable voice as though he¡¯d heard my thought. ¡°I appreciate you keeping it in our circle. Be an awful disgrace if my fellows in the guard found out.¡±


    I turned to look at Lisette, who¡¯d brought him here. She clutched her adept¡¯s auremark in pale fingers, her grip tight on the ornately wrought piece of sacred gold. She caught my gaze and pressed her lips into a tight line.


    Proper form should have compelled her to take the risen archer directly to the Church and have his body cleansed, a rite that ended with fire. But she¡¯d brought him to me instead.


    I turned back to the man, considered, and reached a decision.


    ¡°I can put you to rest. If that¡¯s what you want.¡±


    The blind face tilted up as unseeing eyes focused on me. ¡°If it¡¯s what I want?¡±


    ¡°That monster that killed you is only one of legion, Penric. My work is far from done, and I could use people who understand what we¡¯re facing. People who can fight back.¡±


    I thought of Beatriz, and steeled myself for the small evil I was about to do.


    ¡°I can leave you like this for as long you¡¯re willing to endure it. If you fight with me, then I¡¯ll keep you at my side and prevent the Church from destroying you.¡±


    Most would have taken a steadying breath, or fidgeted. The dead man did none of that, just lowered his head and considered in breathless silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m a monster. Profane.¡±


    ¡°As you said before, I deal with the profane. Mostly I smite it, but sometimes I parley with it. We¡¯re not heroes, Penric, but together we might do some good.¡±


    ¡°And if I refuse?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll make it quick as I can.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t promise it would be painless. Once one became undead, there could be no gentle way to undo it. Their final deaths were always violent and painful.


    The archer laced his gray fingers together and leaned forward on his chair. ¡°Can I have some time to think about it? I won¡¯t try to run.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Take the time you need. Lisette can tend to your wounds in the meantime, maybe make things more comfortable.¡±


    Lisette stepped forward, already weaving her golden threads between dancing fingers. I left the man to contemplate his fate.


    The days turned into weeks. Summer settled over the coastlands, hot and stormy and full of portent. Difficult questions were asked, the summit dispersed as visitors from across the subcontinent returned to their own lands, and a strange calm settled over the city as it braced for a difficult year.


    Rumors of fighting began to filter out of the peninsula.


    Hyperia¡¯s reanimation did not take. When it became clear she wouldn¡¯t regain her mind as Penric had, Calerus begged leave to take her back to Talsyn and bury her by the customs of his own people. His request was granted on the condition that he accept occupation by Accord troops and swear fealty at the Emperor¡¯s feet.


    He did so, though more than a few grumbled at this apparent leniency.


    But those voices remained muted, at least while I stood at the Emperor¡¯s left hand where his steward once had. I wore new armor, black iron that covered me from neck to foot beneath the blood red of my cloak. That image, and the towering tree that remained in the throne room, left few willing to speak out against Markham.


    He might not wish to be the tyrant, but he¡¯d also been the one to say that dark days were coming. If it took the Headsman¡¯s shadow to keep the Houses and the Church alike in line, then I would embrace the role.


    To the relief of many, I was rarely seen at court. My work occupied my time more and more.


    Hendry traveled west to his home country to settle some affairs, and did not return until summer was near to giving way to an unseasonably chill fall. He presented himself to me and asked to rejoin my command.


    I accepted, but sensed a change in the young man. He was quiet and grim, and spoke little to anyone. I did not interfere between him and Emma, but could tell there was much left unspoken there.


    As a result of his investigation into the Vykes, Vander Braeve was given an official position as the court prosecutor. He and I worked together at times, but I remained something of a shadow figure in the court, operating behind the scenes.


    It suited me fine, especially since it gave me time to pursue my own interests.


    I dove into study of the occult, of law and history, expanding my knowledge of the world. I consulted with clericons, scholars, eccentric nobles, and even Faisa Dance on a variety of topics. When she and I could not find answers together, she would inevitably always find someone who could.


    I could not endure as the blunt instrument. The world had too many dark secrets, and it was time to settle properly into my role. If the realms wanted to believe me the devil, the sorcerer, the evil omen, then let them. I needed to understand what had happened to me that night, what power I¡¯d awakened. I knew too little about what I was and what it meant.


    Just as Catrin had decided to do, I needed to know my world and myself.


    The engines of history turned. The world shifted into a new pattern, as Lias might say. Powers moved and storms gathered.


    The gods remained silent.


    Rosanna¡¯s third son was born in the middle of summer to a day of great celebration. She named him Josric after her father, and nobles came all the way from the south to meet the new prince.


    I met the child in a private audience with his weary mother. My own reputation had become even more ill omened since the coup, and I¡¯d decided it best not to interact with the royal children publicly and risk tarnishing their image.


    Even in private I felt it was a danger, but Rosanna had asked to speak with me and I couldn¡¯t refuse her. I¡¯d never been able to.


    She looked more tired than I¡¯d ever seen her, even in a clean white dress and practically cocooned in an enormous cushioned bed. Her eyes were shadowed by lack of sleep, but her visage seemed very peaceful as it looked down into the sleeping face of her son. Like his brothers, Josric had her black hair.


    I sat by the bedside, having made my appearance quietly after the clerics and handmaidens were dismissed. Kaia waited in the hall outside, making sure no one else eavesdropped.


    ¡°We¡¯ve barely had a chance to speak since the tournament,¡± Rosanna said in almost a whisper.


    ¡°We all have our duties.¡±


    ¡°True. I¡¯m not at all certain I prefer this one to statecraft.¡± She held the little boy close and let her black hair fall around him like a protective shroud. He stirred a moment, then went back to sleep.


    ¡°You always told me you hated politics,¡± I noted.


    ¡°It has its enjoyable qualities, being queen. Even being empress. Though...¡±


    She trailed off, her eyes going distant. I waited silently, half wrapped up in my own thoughts.


    ¡°I¡¯ve played this particular role too long. Markham had me agree to wait until our child was born, but I spoke with Lord Johann just yesterday. Do you remember him?¡±


    It took me a moment. ¡°He sheltered us after we left the Herdhold. Or... his father did?¡±


    I recalled a very old man, and that¡¯d been most of two decades past.


    ¡°His father, that¡¯s right. He¡¯s told me there¡¯s trouble in the Dales, and the regent I left is struggling to manage such a large realm. Once I¡¯ve recovered from this birth and settled some affairs here, I¡¯ll be taking my household back to Karles. The south needs my direct hand. My departure is planned for the spring.¡±


    I nodded, surprised by how calm I felt at this revelation. ¡°Will you be taking Darsus with you? The way I¡¯ve heard it, he¡¯s only been to the land he¡¯ll eventually rule once.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m taking little Josric here, too. It could be some years before I return, and I would like him to know his mother. Markham grumbled, but agreed it was for the best.¡±


    I knew this wasn¡¯t just about inheritance and managing the affairs of the wider Accorded Realms. Markham¡¯s ability to protect his people, even his family, had been called into question. Rosanna might be dedicated to their alliance, but she would protect her own.


    It would be a difficult change for young Malcolm, I expected. I felt for the boy.


    ¡°I¡¯m also hoping we can find something to do for Darsus. I fear for him.¡±


    I bowed my head. ¡°I¡¯m doing my own investigations with Faisa¡¯s help. If there¡¯s anything, Rose, then...¡±


    She gave me a weak smile. ¡°And if we can¡¯t? If he grows up as he is now, always hungry? As...¡±


    She couldn¡¯t bring herself to say it, but I knew what she meant. As a monster.


    Instead of leaping to flimsy assurances, I considered my answer for a long time.


    ¡°I believe that we create our own monsters, or they¡¯re made for us by older ones.¡±


    I thought about Catrin, wandering to distant lands to find answers to what she was. ¡°Darsus might live the rest of his life corrupted by what Issachar did to him, but that doesn¡¯t mean he can¡¯t be a good king and a good man. We should try to raise him into those things, and if he¡¯s cursed...¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s face fell, but I wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°Then our land is full of curses. We can cope, and teach him to do the same.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I want you to be Darsus¡¯s godfather.¡±


    I stared at her, dumbstruck. ¡°But, isn¡¯t Faisa¡ª¡±


    ¡°Both Malcolm and Darsus¡¯s godmother, yes. We are in our rights to choose a second. My husband already has a pick for Malcolm, but my secondborn is my heir and it is my choice alone. Will you accept?¡±


    I realized I was shaking my head, more in confusion than denial. ¡°I haven¡¯t earned this. I botched things badly during the tournament.¡±


    Rosanna was quiet a while, her eyes lowering to the child. When she did speak, her voice was stronger.


    ¡°You talked down the king of Talsyn, who¡¯d been raised his entire life for the singular purpose of destroying us, and convinced him to give peace a chance. You saved my children from a horde of monsters and slew a demon of the Abyss. You stopped the Priory from taking command over the city, weakening them into something more manageable. Many more people would have died to the wyrm if you hadn¡¯t been there as well, I¡¯m certain of it.¡±


    She reached out and took my hand. ¡°Without you, we¡¯d never have even seen these threats before it was too late. You are too hard on yourself, my friend.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no hero.¡± My voice was choked.


    ¡°Maybe not. But even still, I want you to be part of my son¡¯s life.¡±


    ¡°This could be more of a curse on him,¡± I warned her.


    ¡°That is true,¡± she admitted tiredly. ¡°Yet perhaps between you two, your curses might be easier to bear. Will you do it?¡±


    Her emerald eyes were firm. If I¡¯d hoped to see my doubts reflected in them, I was disappointed.


    ¡°I will.¡±


    She smiled, then brushed her hair aside and adjusted herself on the bed to show me the baby. ¡°Would you like to hold him?¡±


    My chest tightened. ¡°Yes.¡±


    She handed him to me carefully, so we didn¡¯t wake him. He was so small, practically vanishing into my arms. Tiny and pale, born too early and impossibly fragile. The healers feared he wouldn¡¯t make it, but he had his mother¡¯s stubbornness. She¡¯d also refused to die when others believed it to be inevitable.


    ¡°We¡¯ve come a long way,¡± Rosanna whispered as she stared at the baby. She looked on the cusp of sleep.


    ¡°You should rest,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯ll watch him for a time.¡±


    Rosanna closed her eyes without protest. Moments later she was asleep. I held my queen¡¯s child and watched over them both.


    For the time at least that was enough.


    End of Arc 6

 Epilogue: Fall

    Epilogue: Fall


    Another early fall.


    The leaves fell like rain around the traveler as he approached the manor on the hill. His long cloak brushed them where they lay thick on the path, before fluttering in a spiral of wind that sent the leaves swirling around him in rustling eddies.


    That wind formed a lonely music across the hills. It stirred the bare trees, whistled in the valleys. The sky bled red.


    Far to the west, a storm grew in strength despite the lateness of the year. It would be some time before it reached this far, but the traveler paused and looked. When he breathed the air, he scented ash and cinders. Lightning flickered over the distant mountains.


    Perhaps it was time to see what brewed beyond them. Only, if he was noticed...


    Too soon. He must be patient. He¡¯d learned well that lesson, and had plenty of practice.


    The manor was old and worn, but still proud where it crowned the tall hill overlooking the woods and fields of that autumn touched country. The structure¡¯s windows were dark, yet something within it called to him. When had that call grown so loud? When had he begun to feel compelled by it?


    He¡¯d strayed far from what he once was.


    Silent turrets marked his approach. Beasts lurked around the hill, but none drew near. The doors were shut. He drew a hand from his cloak, revealing long and gnarled fingers tipped in sharp nails, and reached out. Precious rings that¡¯d kept their beauty even as his flesh was mottled by time caught the final rays of daylight, burning on a hand made tough as rough leather. The doors parted at that barest of touches, swinging forward with nary a whisper of air.


    Within lay a grand foyer, lit enough to give an impression of the space but leave much in a growing darkness. He cast a large shadow ahead of himself, like a reaching phantom intruding upon that clean space. Behind him, the sun set and made the shadows creep longer. His longest of all. It stretched into the manor, crawling up the walls, splitting and branching, reaching.


    Searching.


    He found what he sought, and in a moment he stood in a different room deeper within the manor. It was lit by candles and a hanging chandelier rather than only by a fading dusk through the windows. Heavy curtains were drawn so nothing of the outside world broke through, creating a hollow of shadows and candle flame.


    Colorless eyes roamed. There were stands everywhere, most bearing blank canvas. Some were already touched with oil, but few were finished. The walls crawled with fresco, forming a chaotic tableau of strange scenes so it were as though he walked through a gallery of time.


    Here, he found a youthful elf standing before a congregation of knights clad in all the colors of autumn, delivering words to them while the sun set. The knights held their gauntleted hands to their swords, yet their faces smiled. Each had golden eyes.


    There a shining form stood atop a mountain, pointing eastward while bloodstained armies flooded into a land of green shadows and pensive fog, the lands behind them drowned in fire and water.


    More and more, years worth of masterworks spanning ages in both subject and the style of their making. A beautiful young woman with dark hair straddling her lover, his bleeding heart cradled in her hands to stain the bed they lay on. A collective of twisted and unworldly shapes kneeling as golden fire scoured them, reshaped them. An angel with barbs in her feathered wings sitting upon a throne of thorned vines.


    A warlord with the head of a lion, eyes small and gleeful in a laughing face while a great city burned.


    A field of graves with ghosts dancing across the night sky, the ground below full of pits from which more flooded. A similar scene where the dead took the forms of beasts and ate the living.


    His eyes lingered on a piece where the paints had barely dried. It showed a warrior in black armor wreathed in fire, surrounded by the dead as they hurled themselves into him like moths into a bonfire. The world about him was dark, and he was dark, a hole in the world and a light to which damned things flocked. He stood upon a hill of bones, and the crowns of lords crumbled under his foot.


    He paused by a half finished canvas showing a hooded figure cradling a large egg in its arms. His crooked fingers reached for it, pausing bare inches from the image.


    The fluttering of wings drew his attention upward to the ceiling. Things perched on the rafters, watching him with eyes that glinted in the darkness. He sensed more gathering throughout the scattered stands. Some were small, others large. All watched him with intense hunger. They whispered and murmured. Their voices were like the chittering of insects, the rustle of rats, the croaking rasp of the bitter and the sick.


    A calm voice filled the room. ¡°They are not used to having royalty among them. Forgive our poor manners, Your Majesty. We do not often entertain guests.¡±


    The traveler turned to the figure at the far end of the spacious room, who¡¯d patiently waited while he appreciated the gallery. He ignored the whispering things. They were little threat to him. ¡°I am only a count these days. There is no need to stand on ceremony.¡±


    The painter paused, lifting his brush so it poised in the air. He was a man, tall and thin, dressed in fine but simple clothes. He''d been painting directly onto the wall, adding to the crawling frescos.


    ¡°Ah," the painter said. "So my friends spoke the truth. I welcome you to my home then, Count. Though, it seems as though you hardly required the invitation. Have you overcome that much of your curse, at least?¡±


    ¡°Of course not." Laertes made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. "You have invited all manner of blasphemy into this place. There was no threshold to obstruct me.¡±


    Something squatted next to the painter. It looked something like a bloated toad crossed with a very old man. Its neck expanded and it let out a deep, warbling croak as it stared at Laertes with perfectly round eyes that shone such a light green they were nearly white.


    The Count began to pace again, his heavy steps thumping in a steady beat as he walked. ¡°I am not the only one who has altered my persona of late,¡± he said in his slow, rhythmic voice. ¡°I hear they call you Anselm these days.¡±


    ¡°So they do. You are the one who taught me that names have power. It¡¯s a lesson I learned well.¡± The painter''s left hand reached out to stroke the head of the toad thing, which continued to stare hungrily at Laertes.


    ¡°You were ever selective in the lessons you chose to heed,¡± Laertes growled as he reached the edge of the strange gallery and faced the painter¡¯s back. ¡°Your meddling in Garihelm has not gone unnoticed.¡±


    The man lifted his brush and began working again. ¡°So are you here to punish me for the actions of our friends from Talsyn?¡±


    ¡°That depends on your answer. Did you give them the Blood Fly?¡±


    ¡°I did not reclaim Yith when I had the opportunity.¡± The painter lifted his brush again and leaned closer to the wall, focusing on some small detail. ¡°My attention was elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°The renaissance. Your actions there did not go unnoticed, Anselm of Ruon. You were clumsy in your involvement. I am not the only one who stumbled upon your name.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°It is a good thing then that you found me first. I¡¯ve been wanting to speak with you, O¡¯ King.¡±


    Laertes would not be distracted. ¡°What were you doing with those souls? Yith tore through many promising names in his rampage, all of whom bore your shadow.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve answered your own question. They were all promising, all... interesting. I nudged. I woke their talents. I gave them the dreams that drove them to bare their souls to the world.¡±


    ¡°And you cost them their lives.¡±


    Anselm paused a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued. ¡°Yes. But some of those I encountered remain, and they will become historic. Have you seen that Laessa woman¡¯s works? She has a fierce talent. And I thought that commoner boy she courted was the pick! I¡¯ve rarely felt so pleased to be a fool.¡±


    ¡°You were never afraid of that. As I recall, you were once my fool.¡±


    ¡°Another name, another time. I¡¯m an artist of a different sort these days.¡± He waved at the gallery. ¡°And to what do I owe the honor of your visit, besides admonishments about my hobbies?¡±


    The creatures crept closer. Laertes glared at the shadows, and they receded. He had no patience for pests.


    Though, some of those things lurking in the deeper darkness of the room... those were not pests.


    Instead of answering, Laertes looked at the work the painter was presently laboring over. It showed something like a cavern, lit with cold colors to give it a frozen, desolate look. Embers rained down from above, the only points of warmth in the scene. They gave off little light, doing nothing more than adding depth to the scene¡¯s gloom.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Laertes said in a quieter voice than he was accustomed to using, ¡°I sought answers. Or mayhap closure?¡±


    He took a step closer. The demon sitting next to the painter opened a toothless maw at him in threat, but Anselm placed a hand on its head again and it settled.


    ¡°I taught you to be restrained in your meddling. With power must come balance. Your actions have not been restrained.¡±


    The painter snorted. ¡°And yours have? My friends found a rider some nights ago. A knight in white and gold, with a complexion quite similar to yours. The tales he told us before their play was done...¡±


    The things gathered in the shadows stirred. Laertes kept his reaction controlled, knowing their hunger was only barely restrained by the one who¡¯d mastered them.


    Anselm turned finally to regard the Count, though the shadows seemed to cling to his face as tightly as they did to the vampire¡¯s. ¡°What were you thinking, spreading your curse to the likes of those? If you were so opposed to Hasur¡¯s plot, then why give his traitorous children such a powerful ally?¡±


    Laertes glared at the man sternly. ¡°The Ark is no ally to the previous king of Talsyn¡¯s kin. She simply wished for a throne, and for the strength to claim it. While I had no desire to see House Vyke ascendant, neither do I wish to see this new Accord grow too powerful.¡±


    ¡°So you tipped the scales. Good to see nothing¡¯s changed.¡±


    The bitterness practically dripped off the artist¡¯s tongue like venom as he turned back to his work. Laertes caught a glimpse of something else in the painting before Anselm¡¯s body blocked it. A figure lying upon the cavern¡¯s cold rocks.


    ¡°Still...¡± Anselm started working again with confident, brief strokes of his brush. ¡°Considering how hard you¡¯ve worked to destroy the legacy of your own people, I wouldn¡¯t think you so quick to revive it. What if this bloody queen you¡¯re grooming grows too strong?¡±


    ¡°She is an eel swimming in a sea of sharks. I am unconcerned.¡±


    ¡°The hubris of a king, indeed.¡± The artist laughed, brief and loud. ¡°Shall I paint you upon a throne again, Laertes of Ergoth?¡±


    The vampire¡¯s voice became harsh as the shadows deepened around him. ¡°Never. And you will keep that name from your tongue.¡±


    As quickly as his anger came, it faded. The Count leaned forward and spoke in a curious tone. ¡°To my eyes, it is you who seems to be trying to build a kingdom. How broken shall you leave this land you seem intent on ruling?¡±


    ¡°Ruling?¡± The painter shook his head, perplexed. ¡°I have no interest in that.¡±


    ¡°Then what is it you hope to gain from all of this chaos you have seeded?¡±


    The artist thought about it a long while. Then, lifting his head to stare at the ceiling, he gave his answer.


    ¡°If I wish to see the sun, then I must first climb. I cannot wait for enough debris to pile up on its own.¡±


    He stepped back from the wall. ¡°But first, I need all my actors in place.¡±


    Laertes saw what lay at the center of the painted cavern and understood. ¡°But that one betrayed you.¡±


    Reynard smiled as he put the final touch on his work.


    In the darkness, in the cold, in that prison of crushing depth and cutting stone, the rumbling echo of great forms of iron disturbed an all too brief quiet.


    It woke the pit¡¯s lone inhabitant from a dream. The woken dreamer clutched to that sleep, tried to fold themselves in a calm they knew they could not hold. Once that control slipped, they would become undone again.


    They could feel it like a rising tide inside themself. It filled the iron bones their gaolers had fashioned for them, buzzed against the inside of their frozen skin, formed a whining drone inside their mind that became ever louder.


    It was inescapable. Part of them, eternal and immortal, drawn out by that place. They could quell it, ignore it, sometimes even calm it. But it always came back strong as ever. They tried to hold it, tried with a fervor that went beyond desperation and into despair.


    But they could not hold it. They were made of it.


    Almost as soon as they¡¯d woken, it erupted from their raw throat and their flesh as fire and sound.


    They screamed.


    Eventually, the prisoner was too exhausted to continue. The walls of the pit were blackened and freshly scarred, but it did nothing to compromise the prison. It stretched above them so far they couldn¡¯t see the top. They may as well be at the bottom of an ocean, so deep no light could reach them.


    Dreams did not come again. They had to lay there at the bottom of their gaol, and simmer as the rage boiled up again. Sometimes it almost drowned out the despair, but the two were intermingled too closely to be truly told apart. Once it came out, they would lose themselves to it for another small eternity, an endless moment that would last for hours or days.


    Sometimes, they could hear the occupants of other pits near to their own like a quake through the walls.


    Sometimes, those would go on for weeks.


    But that rage, and that pain, burned in the prisoner like an inexhaustible furnace. It could not be quelled no matter how it was vented, only lulled into the occasional stupor, cooled by distraction.


    There was no distraction down here. Just noise, and weight.


    Dreams were the only escape. Only, those bittersweet passings also served as reminders, and once faded back into the darkness of the pit the scream would build again and burst out.


    So the prisoner waited to self combust, caught between the impatience of wanting the inevitable to pass and dreading it with a fear that went beyond reason.


    There was a time the prisoner cultivated their reason, prided themselves in it. It was so rare for their kind. And yet always it failed them, and was consumed by some baser need.


    When would they go mad?


    They¡¯d already gone mad. It had happened around the same time the tears had formed bone-deep scars in their face. A cruel irony the ones above had let the prisoner keep their wings. Those bones were iron too, and far too heavy for flying.


    The scream built. Even knowing it was useless, the one in the pit tried to hold it down. Self control was all they had left, the only power they could hold over the ones above. The ones who ruled this place had sewn their spirit to iron, given them stone flesh that could still somehow feel, placed them in this blackest depth.


    They¡¯d taken it. That one thing the prisoner had managed to hold before they¡¯d come apart. They¡¯d clutched it as they fell burning, a non-thing, a comet hurtled through spaces too vast to fathom. And yet they¡¯d held it, that little thing.


    But it was gone now, taken so they were just left with the cold rock and the distant sounds of glaciers moving and their own traitorous mind.


    They would lose it again, as they had hundreds of times before. Soon now.


    The prisoner reached out and took one of the stray embers that fell from above like a snowflake, cradling it close. It provided no warmth, but the light was a passing distraction.


    Even as their cold hand touched it, the ember burnt out.


    And the scream came again.


    Distant chains rattled. Iron engines turned. Brittle continents cracked.


    They were building more pits. Always digging. The noise never ended.


    Hate.


    Rage.


    Sorrow.


    Grief.


    Pain.


    Weight.


    Fear.


    Longing.


    Regret.


    Hate.


    Hate. Hate. Hate hate hate¡ª


    Hate him.


    Metal wailed. Thunder rumbled far, far above. Dust and bits of broken ice rained down. Embers fell and died against the blistered rocks.


    Something else fell into the pit. It clattered against the walls, tumbling, echoing against rock. It struck near the prisoner¡¯s head and almost went down into the depthless cracks below.


    A hand shot out and grasped it. The one in the pit drew it close and opened their fingers.


    It was a ring. It was fashioned of ivory, or bone, and held a black stone. The stone had something inside. Memories. Dreams.


    A message.


    The prisoner held it close, and opened their eyes.


    End of Volume 2

 Another Retrospective, Some Updates

    Another Retrospective, Some Updates


    Took me a hot minute, but I''ve finally finished the Garihelm storyline.


    Honestly, I didn''t expect it to take me so long. The "city arc" was originally intended to be just that; a single arc, more along the lines of a full book but still part of the relatively episodic approach I''d initially planned for this series. While I do plan out my storylines and use outlines, I also tend to keep my method pretty loose and let the story evolve naturally. It turned out that there was simply too much going on in the city to resolve in one arc, with narratives built for Alken, Rosanna, Catrin, Karog, and other members of our cast that all needed attention. The situation with the Priory and Al''s "going public" bit also functioned as a huge dynamic change in the tale, something that I felt needed focus and time to breathe. Ultimately all of this kept growing into the beast that it is currently. I''m fairly happy with it, and I believe that much of the best work I''ve ever done is wrapped up across this particular leg of the journey.


    But we are far from done. Alken''s tale will continue, and I''ve already got fairly solid plans for the next volume. However, I also need some time to reflect on what I''ve already done and get an action plan for arc 7. In addition, I need to get revisions done for arcs 2 and 3 to turn into the publisher. For this reason we''re going to have a bit of a break from posting, which I don''t expect to last more than a month or so. I''m hoping to release some content during that time, but can''t make any promises since my priority will be keeping the main storyline as good as it can be.


    For publishing news, not much to say there. I turned in the manuscript for "book 1," which is just a revised and expanded version of arc 1 (the Caelfall storyline) in back in December. Copyediting has not started and I don''t expect we''ll see much news until late this year or early next year, which is fine with me -- it feels too early in my web fiction career to stub, and I''m more focused on keeping the ongoing story rolling. I''m hoping to get the manuscripts for books 2 and 3 (arcs 2 and 3, respectively) done and submitted ASAP so they''re no longer a distraction from the continuing story.


    In other news, we recently hit our one year anniversary, exceeded a thousand followers, and the series as a whole is at 659,539 words. Pretty damn good for one year as a web fiction writer, and much better than I expected not even considering the publishing deal that fell into my lap. I''m insanely grateful for all the positive feedback, the comments, the reviews, and general attention this work has gotten. It''s a passion project for me, a story that''s developed and cemented itself in my head to become a fixture of my daily life. I love this world and these characters, and every day I''m excited to jump back in with them.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    That''s most of my thoughts for now. Not much about the story itself, I know, but right now my mind is pretty fixed forward and I can''t talk about that without spoilers.


    Many of you may have noticed that we now have a Patreon button. As of right now this is just a tip jar. I''m pretty stubborn about keeping as much of my work available for free as possible as long as possible. That will be harder when I do eventually stub, and at that point original drafts will be locked behind the Patreon, but for now it''s fully optional. It IS the best way to support my work, however. I work 40-50 hours a week in addition to my writing which does cut into my time pretty significantly, so as of right now I can only do this web fiction thing part time. If you want to help me dedicate more time to it, being a patron is the best way to do that. I''m planning to put some of that money back into the story as art commissions, from my current cover artist and others whose styles catch my fancy. I will also eventually share early drafts of new projects on the patreon, so if you want to see what I might be working on in the future before it hits places like Royal Road or wherever, then that''ll be the best way. Can''t promise that''ll happen any time soon, but even becoming a free member can help you stay appraised.


    Also, I''ve linked it a few times before but I think the link expires pretty fast. If you want a place to discuss the story, ask me questions, and get more regular updates, consider joining the discord linked below. This is a public discord for RR authors with a ton of channels, but if you choose my roles you can get into Oathbreaker''s library. This automatically updates you when new chapters drop and I''m in there fairly regularly, so feel welcome!


    That''s all for now. Hoping to get regular posting started up again in a few weeks or so, but I''m still a bit shell shocked from getting volume 2 finished and need a bit of space to get the next part ready. Thanks for reading, and see you all soon! In the meantime, enjoy some art I had commissioned by Hayaokisagi, whose work you can find at hayaokisagi.carrd.co


    Sov


    https://discord.gg/WHV6jHaq

 Art Collection and A Poem

    Art Collection and A Poem


    Hey folks, some of you have asked for this so I''ve compiled all the art I''ve had commissioned for this story over the past year and change. I honestly didn''t realize just how many I had! I will add more to this page over time as I get further work done, and I may also keep the same list on my patreon, or personal website whenever I get around to updating that.


    Art By Tofuyi


    Alken looks into a reflection of his past self.


    A battered Alken is judged by his past, and found wanting.


    A Knight of the Alder Table, at least in dreams.


    Catrin of Ergoth, dressed for a festive night at the Backroad Inn.


    Emma Orley, once Carreon, Daughter of Shrikes


    Pernicious Shyora, Tormentsister, She Who Listens


    Alken Hewer, Headsman of Seydis


    Vicar and Tormentsister whisper into the Headsman''s ears.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Alken floats through dreams of blood.


    Alken in golden helm.


    Alken in his red cowl.


    Oathbreaker first anniversary


    Art by Other Artists


    Alken Hewer by Hakaokisagi


    Shyora by Hayaokisagi


    The Headsman by Slimmeroo


    The Headsman by Hiroto


    Alken Hewer, by Mordred Cameron


    Original cover by Asthal


    I''m presently working on arc 2 revisions, and hope to start posting updated chapters for the first two arcs soon. These will look pretty different, and are intended to reflect a more consistent reading experience. I''ll give arc 3 the same treatment over the next few months. They''ll include altered scenes, additional scenes, and an overall cleaner narrative for new readers and anyone who goes back to reread the older chapters before we stub (which I don''t expect to happen until 2026, but I do not have any solid information on that yet so don''t quote me on it). As for the ongoing story, I don''t expect to start posting again for a few weeks. My focus is on updating the older arcs right now, but I''m also planning out the continuing narrative and getting myself ready to dive back into regular releases once I can devote all my attention to it.


    I have to have at least five hundred words to make a post on RR, so here''s some bonus content. This poem is one of the first bits of writing I ever did for the setting that would eventually become the world of Oathbreaker.


    The Dark Lord Reigns in Antriss


    The Dark Lord reigns in Antriss


    Land of shadow and obscuring mist


    Where mountains lie under darkened sky


    And a strange sea meets the shore.


    In this land there is no bliss


    Unless one longs for winter¡¯s kiss


    Where armies vie and heroes die


    And dreadful things are born.


    Here roam souls long amiss


    Fearful of the black Abyss


    Where forests wind on tangled lines


    And dead men guard the door.


    Here it¡¯s best to not remiss


    Of the fairer days you miss


    Where nightmares bind the strongest mind


    And the night you will abhor.


    The wise are those who know this


    The Dark Lord reigns in Antriss


    Where the bravest cry and hope goes awry


    And the end came long before.

 Arc 1: Chapter 32: Death By Dawn

    Arc 1: Chapter 32: Death By Dawn


    In the depths of the irkwood bordering Caelfall, a lonely campfire crackled in the last hours of night. Two men warmed their hands at it.


    Two living men.


    ¡°Hate this fucking forest,¡± the first complained, casting a dark look at the surrounding trees. He was the younger of the two, though his sunken features and graying hair so closely matched his brother¡¯s it wasn¡¯t easy to tell.


    The older brother coughed, hacked up something foul, and spat it into the fire. The log within split, scattering sparks as though trying to cough the thing back out.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like any forest,¡± the older grunted. He produced a blade, the motion so quick it blurred, and began cleaning his nails. ¡°Suck it up. We¡¯ll head back to the village come sunrise and report.¡±


    ¡°Report.¡± The younger Culler scowled at the word. ¡°Like we¡¯re fuckin¡¯ soldiers. I didn¡¯t sign up for no militia. Since when do we take orders from the likes of Vaughn?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not taking orders,¡± the older Culler admonished, picking a chunk of dead skin from his thumb, most of it callous. ¡°This is a commission. You¡¯ve done this before.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t died like this before,¡± the younger man said, his eyes wandering to the third of their trio. They¡¯d managed to fish their eldest brother down off the trees. The evil things had grown their branches and roots into him, and they¡¯d had to leave most of that still riddled through the carcass¡¯s bones, opting to hack him down.


    The one cleaning his nails shrugged. ¡°Death is death. He¡¯ll come back, same as always. We should get it done before sunrise. A whole day in this climate will make him rank, and I don¡¯t need to hear his grousing again.¡±


    The youngest Culler couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the corpse¡¯s face, where two spear points of wood emerged from its empty eye sockets.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we... get all that shit out of him? Before, I mean.¡±


    ¡°And how the fuck we supposed to do that? We¡¯ll just mess him up more. Best leave it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not going to be happy,¡± the younger warned.


    The older shrugged again. ¡°He¡¯s never happy. Besides, it¡¯ll make him look right terrifying. Might even earn him a name, like... the Willow Man.¡±


    The younger made a face. ¡°The Willow Man? That¡¯s stupid.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I kind of like it.¡±


    Both men were on their feet in the flash, pulling blades as they spun on the source of that new, third voice. Their eyes alighted on the low arm of a skeletal tree. A woman sat there, cast in moonlight, slippers dirtied by a day in the woods swinging beneath the frilled hem of her blue dress. She flashed the two men a mischievous smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth.


    ¡°Catrin!¡± The younger Culler¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°You scared the shit out of us. There are devils in these woods.¡±


    Catrin gave him a somber nod. ¡°There are, yes.¡±


    The older Culler didn¡¯t sheath his knife. ¡°Why are you out here? Vaughn send you?¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Vaughn doesn¡¯t tell me to do shit, and you know it. Why are you two out here?¡±


    ¡°None of your business,¡± the older said.


    At the same time the younger said, ¡°Looking for a man. One of the baron¡¯s guests ran off after killin¡¯ that Will kid. You seen him? The one with the red cloak, pointy cowl. Big bastard, ginger hair, scars over his left eye like so.¡±


    He ran a thumb down the left side of his face at an angle, from temple to cheek.


    ¡°William¡¯s dead?¡± Catrin frowned, leaning forward.


    The Culler nodded, ignoring his brother¡¯s scowl. ¡°Killed him in the chapel! Fucking sacrilegious, that. He¡¯ll earn a century in the Pits for it, don¡¯t you doubt.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt,¡± Catrin agreed, quirking an eyebrow. If either of the assassins detected the irony in her voice, they didn¡¯t comment on it.


    A sound disturbed the quiet woods. It sounded very much like a light, muffled laugh. Both of the men glanced into the darkness warily, though the woman seemed undisturbed.


    ¡°Oh! Right.¡± The younger brother flashed a gap-toothed grin. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come warm yourself up by the fire, Cat. It¡¯s nice and toasty.¡±


    The older wheeled on his brother. ¡°The fuck are you doing?¡±


    The younger frowned, confused. ¡°What? Just being friendly.¡±


    The older man thrust his knife in Catrin¡¯s direction. ¡°She¡¯s fucking undead, you git. You¡¯re not supposed to invite them into the light of your campfire. The Law of Draubard, remember? It lets them at your neck.¡±


    He shook his head, exasperated. ¡°What kind of necromancer are you?¡±


    The younger brother scratched at his stubbly neck. ¡°I mean... we¡¯re undead, ain¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Not like her!¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Catrin laughed. ¡°Not nearly as pretty.¡±


    She spoke from little more than a foot away from him. The Culler startled, spinning to raise his blade as he backed away.


    ¡°Get away from me, bitch!¡± He bared his teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t want what you¡¯re offering, and I¡¯m not willing to pay your price.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± his brother mumbled, flashing another smile at Catrin. She returned it, though hers was a bit more sheepish.


    ¡°So what¡¯s going on back at the castle, boys?¡± She knelt, holding her palms out toward the campfire. If she noticed the dead Culler lying half hollow and branch-riddled within arms reach of her, she didn¡¯t comment.


    ¡°No clue,¡± the younger Culler said. ¡°Kimber and I have been hoofing it in this mess. Vaughn wants the red hood, that priest, and the other two found before the ritual.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes shot up to the man, suddenly intent. ¡°He¡¯s doing it today?¡±


    The Culler nodded, feverish eyes flashing with eagerness. ¡°So we¡¯ve guessed. Why do you think he was so intent on choking the priest? He needs that hallowed ground unhallowed, you read?¡±


    Catrin nodded slowly, pursing her lips as her eyes wandered back to the fire. ¡°I read, Riley.¡±


    Kimber, the older brother, narrowed his eyes at the dhampir. ¡°Aren¡¯t you part of his inner circle? Why didn¡¯t you know? For that matter, didn¡¯t you just come from the castle?¡±


    Her eyes slowly raised to meet the man¡¯s. Riley blinked, confused by the sudden air of tension that passed over the camp. He noticed something about the changeling woman then, and he spoke in a hesitant voice.


    ¡°Hey, Cat, why are you... glowing?¡±


    Catrin blinked, nonplussed, then lifted her hand. It hadn¡¯t been obvious before in the moonlight, but a soft silver glow clung to her frame.


    ¡°Huh.¡± She flexed her fingers, watching the light blur. ¡°I guess a bit of that mansion stuck to me. Neat.¡±


    ¡°Mansion?¡± One of the brothers asked her.


    ¡°Yeah. The elf mansion.¡±


    Kimber took a lurching step forward. ¡°You know where the irks are hiding? You¡¯ve seen their sanctuary?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Catrin looked up at the assassin and shrugged her bare shoulders. The cold night air didn¡¯t seem to bother her, and the courtly dress showed plenty of skin around her neck and arms. ¡°I just came from there.¡±


    Kimber turned his bloodshot eyes to his sibling. ¡°Baron will want to hear this.¡±


    Riley grinned wide as a ghoul. ¡°He¡¯ll reward us for sure.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Kimber agreed, turning his eyes back on Catrin. ¡°Where¡¯d you say this place was?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Catrin said, her eyes still on the fire.


    Kimber took a step forward, his blade glinting red in the firelight. ¡°Don¡¯t toy with us, whore. You might be one of the Keeper¡¯s favorite pets, but out here you¡¯re nothing.¡±


    Catrin studied the sharp nails on her right hand, adopting a bored expression. ¡°Kimber, Kimber, old friend, think about what you just said, and where you are. These are the deep woods. This is my kingdom.¡±


    Riley swallowed, his throat bobbing. His older brother was less impressed.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Kimber spat, clutching the knife tighter. ¡°You¡¯ll tell us where those irks are hiding, one way or another. How much of your guts I pull out first is up to you.¡±


    Once again, ghostly laughter stuttered out of the dark.


    ¡°The hell is that?¡± Riley asked, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he lifted his own weapon, aiming it at the ghastly trees rather than the dhampir. Little lights had begun to form in the distant woods.


    ¡°Wil-O¡¯ Wisps,¡± Catrin told him. She still hadn¡¯t risen from where she knelt by the fire.


    Kimber began to mutter with a susurrous, manic energy, his bloodshot eyes wide, almost inhuman in their hateful intensity. A flickering, whispering static began to form around him as he shaped his Art.


    The corpse on the ground started to twitch, flickering in the same way as its living brother.


    I never got to see how his magic actually worked. I took that moment to step out of the shadows around the little camp and swing. My axe cut the air with an almost musical hum.


    The man¡¯s severed head hit the forest floor a moment before the body.


    Riley cursed savagely, spinning to hurl his blade. I batted it out of the air in a burst of sparks as metal struck metal. The necromancer¡¯s eyes widened as he saw me standing there at the edge of the campfire¡¯s circle of light.


    I must have cut an intimidating figure, with my blood red cloak draped over my shoulders, the pointed cowl over my face, my coat of black iron rings making the interior of the shroud an almost solid darkness. Wil-O¡¯ Wisps formed around me, burning themselves into reality like little violet stars as I lifted my axe.


    A good distraction. Catrin¡¯s knife touched Riley¡¯s throat while he still gaped at me.


    ¡°Bye Riley,¡± she said into his ear, baring her fangs in a humorless smile. ¡°This is for what you and your brothers did to Beth.¡±


    She cut his throat, then pushed him into the fire. The blade hadn¡¯t killed him ¡ª he¡¯d been raised too many times, and was more like a ghoul than a man. But the fire caught on him like dry tinder. He writhed and wailed as he burned.


    Catrin watched the entire time, her brown eyes reflecting the scene so they turned hellish. I didn¡¯t interrupt her, and didn¡¯t much care to hear the story behind that vengeance.


    We burned the other two bodies, and the Culler Brothers were no more. I felt no melancholy at the death of that grim little legend.


    ¡°Dawn¡¯s not far off,¡± I told her. ¡°What¡¯s this ritual they were talking about?¡±


    Catrin shrugged, checking the knife Irn Bale had given her idly as she answered. ¡°Don¡¯t really know the details. Something Lillian has been helping the baron set up for weeks. It¡¯s supposed to give that demon of theirs physical form, let them use it for real.¡±


    I rested my axe on my shoulder, considering. ¡°That would require a profane vessel.¡±


    ¡°Like?¡± Catrin asked, curious.


    ¡°Could be any number of things. None of them good. Ritual sacrifice is the most common, of a beast or a person. Could even be a place.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°The church.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s my thought. He clearly wants the priests there dead, so the sanctuary isn¡¯t protected. Once that¡¯s done, he can sully the place. It¡¯s sort of like...¡± I searched for words. ¡°It¡¯s like making a wound in the world. The demon is an infection, or maybe a parasite. It can burrow through the wound to enter our world.¡±


    ¡°You seem to know a lot about them,¡± Catrin noted.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my first time dealing with demons,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°I guess it wouldn¡¯t be,¡± the dhampir agreed. ¡°Just don¡¯t go turning that golden fire on me, alright? I¡¯m no demon.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t so sure about that. She was no typical changeling, born of a union between fae and mortal in the traditional sense. Like the ghouls, she had a presence my powers didn¡¯t like.


    I kept my peace on the matter. ¡°We should go.¡± Then, considering the situation I asked, ¡°Did Micah know about this?¡±


    I felt hesitant to mention the priest, after our last conversation about him. But Catrin kept her calm, shaking her head at my question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He seemed to suspect Orson was planning something bad, but he never told me all the details. He... well, he had plenty of his own secrets.¡±


    Which meant he hadn¡¯t trusted her fully, either.


    ¡°Then he might have passed something on to Olliard,¡± I said. ¡°If the doctor knows Orson is leaving his castle for this ritual, then he might be planning to take that opportunity to kill him. I¡¯ll need to get to the baron first.¡±


    I thought it about it a moment longer, then let out a frustrated scoff. ¡°No, Olliard was talking about Edgar finding maps for him. Whatever he plans, it involves the castle.¡±


    ¡°And then what, if you do reach the baron and axe him?¡± Catrin asked. ¡°Die while all his allies rush in to rip you apart?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t really thought that far ahead. Taking the Recusant lord¡¯s head was my first priority. My duty.


    You are no thief in the night, Irn Bale had said. Face the evil.


    ¡°Let me worry about that,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, it would make a good distraction for you, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Catrin shrugged and sheathed her knife. ¡°Yeah. I guess it would.¡±


    Our strange alliance had been born of a mutual enemy. We both wanted the same man dead. I didn¡¯t trust her, and she didn¡¯t trust me. Well enough.


    ¡°In any case, we need to get back there. Whatever Orson plans might have already started. There¡¯s not much dark left, and he won¡¯t want to perform this kind of sorcery in broad daylight.¡±


    I needed to have this done by dawn. Otherwise, it might all be for nothing.

 Arc 1: Chapter 33: Unhallowed

    Arc 1: Chapter 33: Unhallowed


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± Catrin said, as we approached the village.


    I had noticed the same. There were no guards at the gate, and no sentry torches as there¡¯d been the night I¡¯d arrived. The streets of the lakeside community seemed quiet. Empty.


    Out over the lake, the black towers of the Falconer castle jutted from a shifting haze of fog, cast in its own eerie glow against the black horizon. A ghost castle, brooding and watchful.


    I wondered if the Baron watched us even then.


    ¡°Maybe something¡¯s happening at the keep,¡± I said.


    ¡°Or maybe your hunter friends killed everyone,¡± Catrin suggested, half joking.


    I grunted. I didn¡¯t think the doctor was that dangerous, but it paid to be ready for anything.


    We approached the village cautiously, but openly. Tiny blue lights flitted around us, illuminating the overcast gloom. They giggled like little bells and chased one another, toying with the frayed hem of my cloak or flitting in and out of my raised hood. They played with Catrin¡¯s hair too, though she swatted at them, half annoyed and half charmed. They¡¯d followed us from Irn Bale¡¯s manor.


    ¡°You remind them of the Gilded City,¡± Irn Bale had said. ¡°They are fickle creatures, but perhaps they will give you some comfort. Remember, Ser Knight, there is beauty in this world still worth fighting for.¡±


    I wish I could believe it.


    I glanced a the old church atop its lonely hill. It too lay quiet and dark. Had Olliard and Edgar returned there, tried to take sanctuary on hallowed ground? With two clerics, it could act as a veritable fortress against the Mistwalkers.


    But not that ogre. And not Orson. He was human, and noble born.


    I considered what to do next, my mind lingering on the chapel. Was William Garou¡¯s body still lying in the nave, cold, his blood dried on the stone?


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s going on in the village first,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve got a bad feeling.¡±


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±


    We passed through the gates, and no one challenged us. I didn¡¯t even need to use glamour this time. It wasn¡¯t until we were in the village square that we found anyone.


    ¡°Bleeding Heaven,¡± Catrin cursed.


    A corpse had been strung up on a post above the square¡¯s fountain. The fountain was old, some remnant of more bountiful days, a piece of clever masonry bearing the image of an Onsolain herald, which had likely once filled itself from some underground spring. Nothing emerged from the stale waters below anymore.


    Now the stone basin was filled with blood. The body had been beheaded and disemboweled, though his old, threadbare robes with their fur lining remained to make it clear who it had been. The head adorned the fountain itself, eyeless and tongueless. Night insects swarmed it.


    ¡°The village headman,¡± I said. ¡°He was at the castle yesterday morning, to see the baron.¡±


    ¡°Meeting must have not gone well,¡± Catrin noted, grimacing at the sight.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing this was the Mistwalkers,¡± I said. It reminded me of the dead bridge troll.


    ¡°Fucking butchers,¡± Catrin hissed. Her voice held a strained note, almost desparate. She inhaled sharply through her nose, taking in the fountain¡¯s gory scent, then shuddered. A blush formed on her cheeks.


    ¡°We...¡± she licked her lips. ¡°We should get moving. Get away from this.¡± She cast her gaze around, trying to look anywhere but at the fountain. ¡°Where do you think everyone else is?¡±


    I swallowed my disgust at her reaction and thought it over. My senses didn¡¯t warn me of anything inhuman nearby, save for the subtle pressure of threat from the dhampir at my side.


    ¡°Let¡¯s check all the buildings,¡± I suggested. ¡°Inn too. If anyone¡¯s here, they can tell us what¡¯s going on.¡±


    We split up, Catrin melding into the shadows. How that trick worked, whether it was Art or some kind of inherent power of her nature, I couldn¡¯t guess. If it helped us search the village quicker, I wouldn¡¯t complain.


    I went door to door. Every house lay empty. I found meals left half eaten, laundry left out in the damp, doors unlocked or even ajar. But no signs of violence. No bodies. Even the inn had been abandoned.


    Just empty rooms and eerie quiet. My sense of unease blossomed into a heart pounding anticipation.


    The baron will need a sacrifice.


    He wouldn¡¯t. These are his people. He is sworn to protect them even as they are bound to him as his subjects. That is the law of Urn, the sacred duty of the lord.


    Orson Falconer consorted with monsters. He was Recusant, and professed to defy the god-saints and their priests. Why would he consider any law sacrosanct?


    I had believed he did all of this for his people, his house. For honor and respect.


    Catrin found me some time later. Dawn was little more than an hour away, the time limit I¡¯d imposed on myself closing fast.


    Perhaps it no longer mattered.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± she said, confirming my own suspicions. ¡°Place is a ghost town.¡±


    I looked to the hill. One more place to check.


    The muddy trail leading up to the chapel had seen hard use, and recently. No rain had fallen that night, so I could still make out the tracks marring the path as we ascended. There had been many feet trudging up this hill that night. Scores, at least.


    Less than a hundred people had occupied the village. There had been less than half a hundred ghoul soldiers. I did the math, and didn¡¯t like where it settled.


    The chapel, like the fountain, was older than much of the rest of the settlement. Its bell tower rose high above the surrounding land, made even higher by the low hill it sat on, almost a castle in its own right, competing with the steepled towers of the Falconer palace rising through the mist in the distance.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Catrin eyed the church dubiously. ¡°Need a quick pray before we head back to the keep? I¡¯m not judging, but I think I¡¯ll wait out here.¡±


    I moved to the entry and, as I had with William, inspected the auremark worked in solid gold to the double doors. I sensed very little power in it. The metal seemed faded. Tarnished, more like dull brass now. Several wisps flitted toward the door, drawn perhaps by its faded energy or my own attention. Their light dimmed as they touched it and discovered, to their disappointment, its lack of magic.


    Every preoster¡¯s ritual, and every supplicant¡¯s prayer, puts a bit of aura into Urn¡¯s temples. Over long generations, they become like fortresses against the fearful things which would prey on the faithful. When I¡¯d been here last, that blessing still held strong.


    Not anymore.


    I glanced back at the dhampir. ¡°This place is barely hallowed. You should be fine.¡±


    Catrin shook her head, her mop of hair swinging with the motion, and remained planted on the trampled grass. ¡°I¡¯d rather not take any chances with holy ground. Sorry, big man. I¡¯ll be out here when you¡¯re done. Keep watch, yeah? Make sure no ghouls sneak up on you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t trust her. This reluctance felt suspicious.


    Well, better to have her out here than at my back if she planned anything. I shrugged, as though it were of no consequence, and tested the door. Unlocked.


    I stepped inside, and nearly gagged on the smell. The wisps retreated into the shadows of my cloak, hiding from what I found.


    I¡¯d found the villagers.


    I¡¯d been too late.


    They had been piled around the dais basin. All of them, so far as I could tell. Blood dried within the floor¡¯s many grooves and cracks, like a hundred miniature charnel rivers. I could barely see the holy basin for all the corpses piled around it.


    My eyes, with their cursed blessing, saw the entire thing clearly. No detail was hidden, no shadow so deep I couldn¡¯t capture every facet of the nightmare in my memory. My gaze fell on innkeeper from the Cymrian Sword. His eyes stared unblinking from the mound, rimmed with red. His teenage daughter lay against him, as though clutching him for safety.


    The soldier¡¯s spear had stuck both of them to the pile together. They¡¯d all been killed with weapons, so far as I could tell, and many of those tools had been left behind, as though the killers had thought it more aesthetic.


    I¡¯d known. I¡¯d known there was no way the diabolist nobleman could properly use his minion without something profane. This is what he needed the mercenaries for. As butchers.


    Too late. I was too damn late to make any sort of difference. Was I at fault for this? Had Orson Falconer moved quicker than he¡¯d anticipated because I¡¯d killed William, made him feel threatened?


    I stumbled toward the altar. The smell of rotting meat, feces, and blood made me want to flee from that place, empty my guts out under the clean sky. I moved toward the slaughter instead, some unseen gravity tugging me onward on unwilling legs. I kicked something and nearly fell. When I looked down to see what I¡¯d struck, the corpse of a child stared up at me. It had rolled off the mound.


    I did vomit then.


    When done, I wiped my mouth and half turned to leave. Something gave me pause. Movement in the edges of the room? I tightened my grip on Faen Orgis and turned slowly, glaring at my surroundings.


    The domed ceiling and pillars of the chapel were carved with complex scenes, all meant to depict the history of the Faith. Ranks of archaic knights battled the slave armies of Recusant kings, the original ones who¡¯d pushed the faithful out of the west. Alongside them congregated images of ancient lords offering their crowns to the God-Queen. Great storms and floods swept across the plains and mountains of the continent as the converted Edaean kings led their armies into Urn, to fashion new bastions against the chaos in the west.


    The long march of history and legend, inscribed into ivy wrapped stone.


    Blood had been splattered across all of it.


    My eyes took in more scenes, more wars, more fables I¡¯d known since childhood stretching across those walls. My gaze lingered on the pillar which showed a group of knights surrounding an elven youth. The elf held an axe, very much like the one I carried, his image superimposed over a towering tree encompassing most of the stone pillar¡¯s length. Lines of gold had been worked into the stone to add definition and color to the scene.


    I knew the elf. I knew the tale.


    And the greatest lord of the Sidhe, wisest among all who walk the world in flesh, took an axe to the great golden alder which had stood in that place since the silence of the world was broken. And he, the elf king, hewed down that tree, and from its ruin shaped a power then bequeathed upon Men, so they may hold a candle against the hungering dark. And the Autumn King knelt before the Golden Queen, She who is Heir to the throne of God. And the God-Queen gave unto him the services of chosen knights among Her followers, who bound themselves to the Alder, and made of this act a covenant.


    Legend. Myth. I had thought that once, before it had become my world.


    My heart began to beat faster. I blinked, and the image changed.


    The stone-etched image of the elf had fallen. The knights had driven their swords into his back, pinning him to the ground. The tree became a blackened, charred husk less than a third its original length. The scenes of war carved along the other pillars took on a more visceral aspect, until very real blood trickled down like miniature waterfalls, pooling into the open space in the room¡¯s center, even dripping from the ceiling to form a macabre rain. Fiendish things danced within the chaos, crouched on the shoulders of kings, spurring them on to slaughter and worse.


    I could hear them laughing.


    I blinked again. The images were as they had been. The knights bowed before the elf, who stood tall again, their swords held in supplicant hands. The rest of it remained cold stone, unmoving. Dead.


    Profaned.


    I moved closer to the basin, using some of my cloak to cover my mouth and nose, though my gorge gibbered threats with every step. I could still make out the crack in the altar from when I¡¯d fought Orson¡¯s chimera.


    There was something in the bowl where I¡¯d given blood to speak to Saint Eanor. Something moving.


    I leaned over the piled bodies and looked into the receptacle. It was full of crawling insects. Centipedes, spiders, maggots, beetles... they swarmed over one another, devouring, breeding, dying. Many had spilled into the piled corpses of the villagers and the same horror repeated itself there.


    Somehow I knew ¡ª though I couldn¡¯t say whether it was some insight from my oaths or a more primal instinct ¡ª that a hollow lurked within the basin, an emptiness just under that crawling, writhing mass. A hole in the world.


    Something had been born here. Something terrible, just as I¡¯d feared.


    Too late.


    ¡°They said this was justice.¡±


    I whirled, a snarl half formed on my lips, only to see a figure slumped against one of the pillars encompassing the room¡¯s center. He was young, overweight, dressed in the plain brown robes of a chapel brother. His black hair had been matted to his head. Blood and worse soiled his robes.


    Edgar.


    The young priest¡¯s eyes slid up to me. They were bloodshot. ¡°They said this was justice for our sycophancy, that the Onsolain would not save us for all our prayers.¡±


    ¡°They?¡± I asked. ¡°You mean Orson and his guests? Where is the baron, Edgar?¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem to hear me. He lifted cracked fingernails to his temple and clawed at the raw flesh there. His words took on a hysterical edge. ¡°She made me pray as they killed them. She said they could not hear me.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± I asked.


    His eyes remained unfocused. ¡°God. Oh, Golden God, Queen of all the world, why did you let this... why did you have to leave?Why haven¡¯t you come back?¡±


    I approached the monk and knelt at his side. He shied away from me.


    ¡°Was Orson here?¡± I asked him softly.


    He shook his head. ¡°No. It was... it was that old woman, Lillian. The witch in red.¡±


    Orson hadn¡¯t been here? That struck me as strange. ¡°Who else?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There were two in hooded robes,¡± he told me in a shaking voice. ¡°And this... monster. A man who dressed like a nobleman, but his face was...¡±


    I recalled the goblin lord from the council. Count Ildeban, Catrin had called him. Another dark legend, just like the Culler Brothers. Lillian had been here, and those shrouded twins. The Mistwalkers were here too, doing all the murdering, which likely meant their captain Issachar had been present.


    But not Orson? The instigator of all this?


    ¡°They said no one could hear my prayers!¡± Edgar sobbed. ¡°Not God, not Her saints. They wouldn¡¯t stop!¡±


    I showed him Faen Orgis. The Doomsman¡¯s Arm. Wil-O¡¯ Wisps emerged from the shadows of my cloak to flit about the weapon, illuminating the elven patterns engraved into the axe blade. The monk¡¯s eyes widened as he saw the gleam of aura clinging to it, the same light held in my eyes.


    ¡°They heard you,¡± I told him.

 Arc 1: Chapter 34: Smite

    Arc 1: Chapter 34: Smite


    When I stepped outside, I no longer stood alone on the hill. The restless dead gathered in the bell tower¡¯s shadow. Mistwalkers all, clad in the raiments of a dead kingdom, pallid faces framing hungry eyes.


    They had emerged from the marshes at the hill¡¯s base, or crawled out of upturned graves beyond the road, mud still clinging to them. Waiting for me.


    Well enough.


    Dawn had come and gone. Thunder rumbled above. A light rain began to fall.


    ¡°You were a fool to come back.¡± Vaughn faced me from the center of the scattered pack of undead. Encased in a set of old, battered armor, he was tall as me, his wide shoulders made into metal hills by studded pauldrons. He held his heavy broadsword in his fist, the nicks of many campaigns marking its blade.


    Unlike the rest, he had a mount. A brutish chimera of a kind I hadn¡¯t seen before, perhaps brought over from the continent or bred in the baron¡¯s labs. A massive hyena, long tailed, its purple tongue lolling. It snickered at me as the ghouls spread out to cover the church yard.


    More than a dozen ghouls surrounded their vice-captain, forming a half ring around the front of the church. In the rain and mist, their armor seemed formed of pale shadows and their eyes gleamed with odlight.


    No sign of Catrin. No warning from her about this ambush, either. She¡¯d betrayed me after all, then. Perhaps this had always been her plan. Had she known what waited inside the church?


    It didn¡¯t matter. All that mattered was the task I¡¯d been given. The doom in my hand. I tightened my grip on the axe.


    ¡°We should thank you for offing that William boy,¡± Vaughn continued, his tone conversational. His mount lurched forward, letting out a hungry cackle. He forced it back with a savage jerk on the reins. ¡°He would have been a problem.¡±


    I started to understand this strange situation better then. It didn¡¯t change my next steps, or my goal, but a clearer picture formed in my mind of the previous night¡¯s events.


    I regarded them without words, and saw a few take nervous steps back. The Wil-O¡¯ Wisps lurking within my pointed cowl made the inside of the hood glow with eerie blue light, masking my face. More of that light spilled from the narrow gap down the front of my cloak. I couldn¡¯t see the effect myself, but I imagined it would be uncanny.


    The wisps giggled playfully, the sound just on the edge of hearing. More of the ghouls began to lose hold of their bravado. They weren¡¯t mindless creatures. Their undead state stemmed from a gluttonous desire to remain alive, after all, and what is more human than that?


    ¡°I¡¯m here for Orson Falconer,¡± I said, my voice emerging from the elf light with a faint echo. ¡°Step aside.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Vaughn lifted his scarred blade. Unlike the others, he wasn¡¯t impressed. ¡°We¡¯ll do that.¡±


    Fine then.


    I lifted my axe as amber fire played along its edge. I ran the fingers of my right hand along the brassy alloy, leaving tiny trails of golden light where I touched.


    ¡°This is pure aura,¡± I said to the Mistwalkers. ¡°It cuts you, and your spirits will lose their grip on those borrowed bones. Won¡¯t take much more than a nick.¡±


    Vaughn bared his yellow teeth in a snarl. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this. Take him.¡±


    The Mistwalkers were veteran soldiers to a man. They didn¡¯t hesitate, didn¡¯t falter. I hadn¡¯t expected my attempt at intimidation to work. Hadn¡¯t wanted it to, really.


    They¡¯d earned this for the old troll, for the villagers, and for five centuries of murder.


    I waited until the nearest ghouls were perhaps five paces away, then flashed into motion. I went forward in a rippling flurry of blood red cloak and dancing faerie light, lashing out with the axe.


    The bell atop the chapel tolled. I couldn''t say who was responsible. Maybe Brother Edgar, the one survivor of that nightmare I¡¯d failed to stop. Maybe it was the wind, or the tortured spirits bound forever within that desecrated hall.


    Maybe it was the ghost of Preoster Micah, whose spirit remained bound to this place.


    The gladius of the nearest ghoul shattered along with the hand holding it. The mercenary stumbled back, maimed hand burning with a molten light. I stopped my forward motion, brought the axe up, then down to cleave into the undead soldier¡¯s shoulder.


    There was a bright flash, a smell like nothing so much as one might find in a sunlit glade, and the ghoul fell to one knee. I¡¯d severed his right shoulder down to one lung. The edges of the wound burned with golden flame. He opened his mouth as though to scream, and more of that light spilled from it. No sound came other than something like the rumbling of a furnace.


    He fell, a smoking husk, and the spirit tethered to the corpse came free in a ghastly wail before it too was consumed by aureflame.


    I lifted the axe as the rest of the Mistwalkers froze in their tracks, lifting arms and shields to cover their eyes from the flare of light. I let out a breath, and it emerged as a dawn lit plume.


    I began to kill.


    Distracted by the dramatic death of their comrade, two more Mistwalkers fell as my sanctified weapon lashed out. I wielded it more like a greatsword than a proper axe, cleaving and slicing, blessed bronze sheering through chainmail and severing paper thin ghoul flesh. Each undead soldier who fell erupted in a briefly lived plume molten gold, their undead spirits losing hold on ancient bones as sacred fire consumed them.


    It was a painful, nasty way to go, an unmaking which tormented the spirit as much as the body. There would be no peaceful rest for these. The flame would hurl them into the Dark, where they would burn for centuries.


    Outnumbered as I was, the mercenaries should have been able to easily overwhelm me. Instead, terrified of the doom I brought, they backed away and lost their coordination, allowing me to dance through them, swinging my burning axe as I went.


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    I went through them like a killing wind, and within moments three more ghouls had fallen before they¡¯d barely had the chance to muster a defense.


    Then Vice-Captain Vaughn spurred his ghastly mount forward. Huge, a nightmare of stinking fur and grinning teeth, the chimera lunged at me. A heavy head alchemically engineered to snap bones surged forward, maw wide. Its carrion reek filled my senses.


    It died on the first swing. Faen Orgis clove the beast¡¯s skull, but its forward momentum didn¡¯t halt. Hundreds of pounds of war chimera struck me hard in a shower of burning fur and gore, and I went down into the mud. Only my new armor saved my life, dampening the impact.


    Vaughn rolled from his saddle expertly, landing on his feet. He planted a boot on his dead mount¡¯s shoulder and brought his sword up to take my head.


    The ghoul¡¯s scarred sword met the edge of my axe as I rose, battered but intact. I batted the swing aside, but the Edaean legionairre was wicked strong. My bones quivered from the shock of impact, my abused muscles groaning.


    The ghoul warrior let out a shout, surging forward with a terrible fury before I could get my proper balance. I barely caught another killing strike on my weapon, ducked the second, then fell back as his onslaught went unabated.


    We dueled beneath the bell tower, moving around the mound of the dead chimera. He didn¡¯t stop, didn¡¯t need to breathe or rest, didn¡¯t need to care if his muscles tore and his bones fractured. He had the strength of the dead, and the hate of lifetimes dedicated to war.


    Vaughn was an old ghoul as well as a veteran of many wars. He¡¯d probably fed on many potent bones across a hundred battlefields, and I¡¯d have had difficulty finding anyone with that kind of implacable killing potence outside of the oldest elves. He was stronger than Irn Bale had been. Less graceful, true, but he had a wicked cleverness and a cruel edge to his swordplay.


    Vaughn jabbed his sword at my eye, intending to puncture my skull. I flinched, bringing up the vambrace encasing my left forearm. The blade skidded off the elf metal, leaving a shallow groove to join a hundred others. I had an opening and tried it, but another Mistwalker swung at my legs with a poleaxe. I bared my teeth in effort, dancing back before the hooked blade could hamstring me.


    Vaughn had distance again and used it well, shouting as he chopped one-handed. His blade skidded off my hauberk.


    ¡°Your irk friends give you some new toys?¡± Vaughn hissed through teeth nearly too large for his mouth.


    I had no interest just then in banter. I took my axe in both hands, bringing it back behind my head ¡ª not for a swing, but to block the sword of a ghoul who¡¯d gotten behind me. I used her own momentum to carry the swing around, letting it go harmlessly into the trampled grass, then punched her in the jaw hard enough to shatter marrow crunching teeth. She went down, letting out an almost jackal-like yip.


    I flicked the blood from my knuckles as I caught my breath. The Mistwalkers, still numbering more than half a dozen, paced around me like a pack of starving direwolves.


    I was out of breath. They didn¡¯t see it through the wisp light filling my hood, but heard it. My injuries accumulated from more than a week of near constant fighting, most only half healed, screamed protests at my senses.


    Vaughn barked out a laugh. ¡°Orson told us you were some kind of holy killer. I admit, you put on a good show, but we¡¯ve killed your like before. You tire like any man. Still...¡±


    He clacked his yellow teeth together. ¡°I bet that¡¯s some ripe aura in those bones.¡±


    ¡°I want one of his ribs,¡± another ghoul said. He drooled like a hound.


    ¡°We¡¯ll all get our share,¡± Vaughn growled, the same hunger making his voice rough. ¡°Company rules.¡±


    Discipline broke, and several of the undead mercenaries lunged forward ahead of their leader. Ready, I swung my axe up. A sunburst of auratic light blazed to life from the runic blade. The ghouls stumbled back, screeching and blind.


    I sprinted at Vaughn. He was the most dangerous enemy present. If I killed him, the others would fall like chaff.


    Eyes scorched, the Mistwalker commander spat something in a language I didn¡¯t recognize. Grating, harsh syllables, a blemish on the fabric of the world. His iron sword began to boil with a green-black smog, the same power writhing up one steel clad arm.


    His aura. He was a fucking adept, too.


    Of course he would be.


    He swung, and the smog boiled across the ground in front of him, erupting in a curtain of poisonous fumes. I barely stopped before barreling straight into the curtain, my cloak carried forward by wind and momentum. The edges of the red cloak sizzled where they touched.


    Art. I should have expected a fighter as experienced as the vice-captain to have one. It reminded me of the choking smoke of battlefields, of alchemical craft erupting in toxic clouds that scalded the lungs and blistered the skin. A manifestation of a soul steeped in gore and iron hate.


    I threw an arm over my face to shield myself from the fumes and leapt away, silently cursing. Too late. Some of the fumes had gotten into my hood. My mouth became suddenly, horribly dry. My eyes started to itch, then burn. Several of the wisps hiding in my cowl withered and died, dimming the light inside my cloak.


    ¡°Stings, doesn¡¯t it!?¡±


    Vaughn came through the black fumes, a titan of iron with yellow teeth bared in a macabre grin. The fumes clung to his armor and shaved scalp, writhing around his huge frame in a protective cloud. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, turning them red and terrifying.


    The wisps in the cloak with me whispered fearfully. I couldn¡¯t understand them, but got the message well enough ¡ª I was in trouble.


    Vaughn brought up his sword, and once again it boiled with hateful fumes. His grin widened until it seemed to split his face in half. His skin was pallid as the corpse he should have been centuries before.


    Before he could bring that finishing blow down, he staggered to one side. A look of confusion crossed his twisted features, then pain. He reached up with his free left hand, and found the elf forged dagger embedded into his neck just below the right ear.


    His neck twisted to one side, his features contorted into something truly nightmarish as he fell to one knee. A strange keening sound came from his lips as the banesilver tormented the ghost trapped inside his body.


    ¡°Thanks for giving me a bunch of darkness to hide in, you marrow licking bitch.¡±


    Catrin emerged from the billowing well of fumes, apparently unaffected by their bite. I could barely see her through the red haze my vision had become, but her expression was nearly as frightening as those of the ghoul¡¯s ¡ª her skin had turned paler, her brown hair taking on an ashy hue.


    When she peeled back her lips, her canines had elongated into sharp fangs.


    Vaughn groaned, still shivering from the cursed metals touched, but he wasn¡¯t out of the fight yet. He twisted and swung, moving with a jarring speed. Catrin let out a yelp, hurling up her arms to defend herself. She took a deep cut above elbow that sent her stumbling back. She tripped over her long dress and fell into the mud.


    Vaughn rose, ripped the elven blade out of his neck, and hurled it. It missed Catrin¡¯s face by inches, making her flinch. He advanced on her, insane with rage.


    I squeezed the branch of Faen Orgis, letting it bite into my flesh. As it took my blood, the branch crackled and grew several inches. I lunged.


    Vaughn lifted his sword.


    I swung, mostly still blind from the stinging in my eyes. If I misjudged the cut¡ª


    I didn¡¯t. Vaughn¡¯s head went tumbling through the air several times before landing in the mud, plopping in the muck like some grotesque pumpkin.


    The huge body, clad in iron and somehow still intimidating, stumbled. I recalled how that one ghoul had survived even with half its skull lopped off. I tensed, prepared to parry.


    I hadn¡¯t used aureflame on that ghoul in the village. This time the headless body fell, erupting with amber fire, and did not get back up.


    It took another moment for my own magic to counteract Vaughn¡¯s. My mouth and eyes still burned. I could see well enough, though the edges of my vision hazed. Catrin stared up at me, muddy and shocked but alive.


    I turned to the rest of the ghouls. My hand tightened around the axe¡¯s grip, making the oak creak. Aureflame rippled along my arms, blazed in my eyes.


    The Mistwalkers stared at me and the dhampir, blank-eyed and bestial.


    I took a step toward them.


    They fled.

 Arc 1: Chapter 35: The Headsmans Mien

    Arc 1: Chapter 35: The Headsman''s Mien


    Once the ghouls had retreated into the mist encircling the chapel hill, I closed my eyes and made myself breathe. I mediated on my vows. Not just the ones I¡¯d made to that elf tree, but those I¡¯d sworn to my queen as well. The ones that¡¯d made me a knight before I¡¯d been wrapped up in all this horror and myth.


    I knew Catrin watched me, but she¡¯d seen this before. She didn¡¯t interfere, or get too close and risk getting hurt. After several minutes, I had the fire under control.


    When I opened my eyes, I turned to the dhampir and spoke in a soft voice. ¡°I thought you¡¯d betrayed me.¡±


    She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°No way I was going to stall all those marrow eaters on my own, big man. I knew you could handle yourself. Just needed to pick my moment.¡±


    She glanced at me, then at the corpses, then back to her blade. In a hesitant tone she said, ¡°I did consider abandoning you. If the Mistwalkers thought you dealt with, it might have given me my shot at the baron.¡± She blew a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes. ¡°But I figured my chances were better with you alive, so I stuck around.¡±


    Catrin reclined against the edge of the old fence lining one part of the church yard. Edgar, or perhaps Micah, had kept a little garden there. It would go untended now, and already ivy crept from its bounds. She had one ankle crossed beneath her long skirts, an elbow propped on the fence.


    The image of casual indifference. Her eyes were on her elven blade, distant and aloof.


    Her mask cracked when I went down on one knee at her side, that neutrality scattering into shock.


    ¡°Hey, big man, what are you...¡± A nervous laugh escaped Catrin¡¯s lips. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, really, but it¡¯s just so sudden!¡±


    ¡°I owe you an apology,¡± I said, ignoring her jest. I bowed my head, just as I might have done before a great lady in the court of a High House. ¡°I¡¯ve treated you with suspicion and distrust this entire time. Twice I nearly attacked you, and my words and thoughts have been... unkind.¡±


    I lifted my face to meet her gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve saved my life twice. Even if you hadn¡¯t, my behavior was not worthy. Please, forgive me.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s cheeks were bright pink. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be so dramatic about it, big man, I forgive you. Bleeding Gates, you really are some shining knight, aren¡¯t you? I¡¯m not one of your high ladies, so there¡¯s no need to¡ª¡±


    I shook my head, voice firm. ¡°Yes. There is a need. I owe you, and you¡¯re the only ally I have in all of this.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Catrin¡¯s expression turned sly. ¡°Tell you what, you do something for me and I¡¯ll call us even.¡±


    I hesitated, my contrition evaporating as trepidation took its place. ¡°What?¡±


    Catrin hopped off the fence and patted at her castle gown, like a village woman brushing off her apron. ¡°Call me Cat. Not vampire, or bloodsucker, or malcathe. None of that.¡± She met my eyes. ¡°Just Cat. It¡¯s what I prefer friends call me.¡±


    Friends. When was the last time I had one of those?


    I stood and looked down at her. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you want me as a friend. This...¡±


    I gestured at all the carnage. Ghoul bodies, smoldering and butchered, lay scattered in front of the chapel. ¡°This is the world I live in.¡±


    ¡°Al...¡± Catrin ¡ª Cat ¡ª sighed and patted my elbow. ¡°Can I call you Al?¡±


    My lips pressed into a thin line. I¡¯m going to regret this, I thought. ¡°I¡¯d rather you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Listen, Al, because this is important.¡± Catrin pressed her forefinger and thumb together and held them to her lips, which widened into an exaggerated smile. That grin revealed long, needle-sharp canines.


    ¡°I¡¯m a dhampir, boyo. I drink blood, and more than half the time I like it. You really think all this is going to scare me off?¡± She waved at the bodies. When she saw my expression she laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum. I¡¯m sure you were trying for the whole noble sacrifice thing, but save it. You¡¯re stuck with me, least until this mess is done with.¡±


    I turned my back to her, mainly so she couldn¡¯t see the smile threatening the corners of my lips. How long had it been since I¡¯d smiled at anything, without it being bitter or mocking?


    ¡°So...¡± Catrin coughed and glided to my side. ¡°You looked like a devil coming out of that church, big man. What did you see in there?¡±


    Any thought of smiling was forgotten then. ¡°They killed the villagers,¡± I said. ¡°All of them, I think.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s face bled what little color it had. ¡°No...¡±


    She looked to the chapel, and hate twisted her face. ¡°That bastard,¡± she spat. ¡°He said he was doing this for them.¡±


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    She blinked several times, but a tear still fell.


    I recalled, on my first night in the village, she¡¯d been with a local. ¡°You were close with one of them?¡± I asked softly.


    Catrin wiped at her eye with the back of a hand. ¡°Not really. I haven¡¯t been here longer than a few months. Not much time to get close, you know? I spent most of my time those first weeks with Micah.¡±


    ¡°I remember there was a man,¡± I said. ¡°That night we first met.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Catrin let out a shaky laugh. ¡°Just a bit of blood and warmth. I can¡¯t even remember his name.¡± Her gaze went distant. ¡°That¡¯s awful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It does you credit to weep for those you didn¡¯t know well.¡± The admission she¡¯d been feeding off the man unsettled me, but I let it go. This wasn¡¯t the time.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he would do this,¡± Catrin said as she stared at the silent church. ¡°I knew he was ambitious, but not insane.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think this was Orson,¡± I said. When Catrin startled, I indicated the church. ¡°There¡¯s still a survivor. Micah¡¯s disciple, Brother Edgar. He told me the baron wasn¡¯t here last night. It was his guests instead. Lillian, the hobgoblin count, and those two in the robes.¡±


    I studied the bodies. ¡°I think these Mistwalkers were left behind for Olliard and Lisette, if they tried returning to the church. Maybe for us, even. Loose ends.¡±


    Catrin got what I implied quickly. ¡°You think they betrayed him? Did a nastier version of the same ritual he intended, and stole his pet demon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡± I fixed my eyes on the distant fortress.¡± I¡¯ll need to get to the castle to be sure. I still have a task to complete. You¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you tell me to stay behind, I¡¯m going to bite you.¡± Catrin glowered at me and bared her sharp teeth. ¡°I¡¯m going. That aristo prick is going to get Shivers right in his gut.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Shivers?¡±


    The dhampir woman patted her elven blade and flashed a wicked smile. ¡°Your cutter has a fancy name, so mine gets one too. Shivers. Cuz the banesilver makes the dead shiver, ya¡¯ know?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then. I¡¯m sure they¡¯re already shivering.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I saved your ass back there, big man, so don¡¯t go making fun.¡±


    Before I could reply, I heard the doors of the church opening. I turned to see Brother Edgar standing there, eyes wide as he surveyed the carnage.


    ¡°You...¡± the young monk¡¯s voice trembled as he pointed a finger at me. ¡°Just like last time, you...¡±


    I sighed, having had a stomach full of piety. However, rather than proclaiming some devout supplication, the monk¡¯s features twisted with rage.


    ¡°Where were you?¡± He spat. ¡°Where were you when we needed you? When they were butchering them?¡±


    He began to descend the steps, flinging one wide sleeve toward the dead ghouls. ¡°What does all this do now? What¡¯s the point? You should have just let those beasts kill me the night you arrived if it was all going to come to this.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to tell the young man. I had no words that could assuage his grief. Had I been even half the man I¡¯d wanted to be ¡ª a true paladin, a proper knight ¡ª I¡¯d have told him something to calm his fears, give purpose to his anger. I would have sworn some noble oath and breathed a bit of light back into that darkness.


    But I didn¡¯t have the words, and he was right. I hadn¡¯t done anything for them. I¡¯d spent the night trying to be clever, dining in an elven hall, making plots and plans to defeat my enemy.


    Instead, hardening my heart against the monk¡¯s despair, I turned to face him fully. ¡°Where are the other two? Olliard and Lisette?¡±


    Edgar¡¯s face darkened further. ¡°He did nothing for us either,¡± he hissed.


    ¡°Where are they, Edgar?¡±


    Hugging himself beneath the cold rain, a blank, dull nothingness filled the monk¡¯s eyes. ¡°I gave him some of the preoster¡¯s maps of the castle. Micah had been at odds with the Baron for years, making preparations to stop him...¡± He barked out a hollow laugh. ¡°I thought him a paranoid old fool chasing after imagined sins!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re trying to infiltrate the castle?¡± I asked, trying to keep the man on topic.


    Edgar nodded miserably. ¡°Castle Cael used to lie at the center of a large township. You can still see its ruins across the lake. They make the waters treacherous, but there are a few routes you can use to get through and enter the castle. The maps were of the old town, showing places where the sunken buildings might not stop a boat.¡±


    ¡°Not much use to us,¡± Catrin noted. ¡°I already have a route in.¡±


    Edgar¡¯s eyes went to Catrin, and lit with fresh fury. ¡°You!¡±


    Catrin sighed. ¡°Here we go.¡±


    ¡°Deceiving slattern! You¡¯re one of his creatures!¡± Edgar pointed a trembling finger at the dhampir. ¡°Seductress! Succubus! Micah was healthy and strong before you crawled into his bed!¡±


    Catrin winced, turning her face away from the monk¡¯s anger. I grabbed him by the wrist, hard enough he let out a hiss of pain. I kept my voice very low, speaking slow and calm to break through his mania.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t a succubus,¡± I told him firmly. ¡°The baron wanted the preoster dead. He tried to kill you as well, so he could use the chapel to raise his beast. He killed Micah.¡±


    ¡°He kept to his vows for decades before she arrived,¡± Edgar hissed. ¡°She weakened him.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I admitted. ¡°But she¡¯s on our side now, and we can¡¯t afford to refuse help. This isn¡¯t done.¡±


    I let him go. He stumbled back, almost tripping over his robes into the mud.


    ¡°What of the monster?¡± I asked. ¡°Orson was keeping something in the lake. A chimera, I think, and a big one. Did you warn them of that?¡±


    Edgar nodded. ¡°Of course. But Olliard insisted he could deal with it. He is... very capable. I think he¡¯s some sort of monster hunter.¡±


    I¡¯d guessed the same. Still, a few fancy tools and his apprentice¡¯s clever magic wouldn¡¯t save them from the lake monster. Much less Karog, if he remained in the castle.


    ¡°Was there an ogre with the ones did this?¡± I asked, nodding to the church.


    Edgar shook his head.


    Was Karog not one of the betrayers? I wondered.


    ¡°What¡¯re you thinking, big man?¡± Catrin asked, folding her arms and glancing nervously at the church. Brother Edgar had slumped down on the stairs and buried his head in his hands. I think he was praying. Or weeping.


    I closed my eyes, thinking. Orson Falconer might be already be dead, his castle full of enemies. If not, then I was still duty bound to deliver his sentence.


    Even if he were dead...


    Olliard and Lisette had saved my life. I still owed them, even if they had pissed me off.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to the castle.¡± I turned to Catrin. ¡°I probably won¡¯t come back out alive, if there¡¯s a manifest demon and an army of other horrors inside.¡±


    Catrin nodded, grinning without humor. ¡°Sounds like a party. After you?¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 36: The Tunnel

    Arc 1: Chapter 36: The Tunnel


    The boat glided across the murky waters of the lake. The overcast sky, and the ever present mist of Caelfall, cast the world in a dreamlike veil. Quiet, still, and depthless.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes locked on the shadow of the castle looming from the depths of the lake ahead, enthroned within its drowned field of ruined, shattered buildings. She rowed this time, while I watched the depths of the mist, wary of ambush.


    ¡°I don¡¯t hear those sentries from before,¡± I noted. I recalled huge, winged things clinging to the sunken buildings.


    ¡°They¡¯re night beasts,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Might not run into them.¡± I didn¡¯t miss the hopeful note in her voice. ¡°They¡¯re not all the baron¡¯s got in his kennels,¡± she added. ¡°The Falconers are chimera breeders.¡±


    I glanced in the general direction of the sun ¡ª I couldn¡¯t see it through the overcast sky or the thin veil of mist. The castle was a black monolith dominating the lake, the capstone to the shattered sprawl.


    Did the Onsolain really cause all this? I ran my eyes across the ruins. Hard to believe this had once been the site of a small kingdom in its own right, this stagnant swamp and its marshy surrounds.


    It didn¡¯t matter. Orson Falconer had made his own choices, and he¡¯d chosen to be a monster. Even if he hadn¡¯t been present in the chapel, he would have made plenty of similar tragedies with the war he sought. His actions had brought this about.


    Once we reached the castle, there wouldn¡¯t be time for idle talk. Something else had been lingering in my thoughts as well.


    ¡°What Edgar said,¡± I began. ¡°What I said back at Irn Bale¡¯s house, about you and the preoster...¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter anymore,¡± Catrin interrupted without ceasing her rowing.


    ¡°It does. It was cruel.¡±


    She kept rowing. I couldn¡¯t see her face, or tell her thoughts.


    ¡°Did you love him?¡± I asked.


    I heard her scoff. Then, after some time she said, ¡°No. Micah was a lonely man. He took his vows seriously, and didn¡¯t get into relationships with the locals. They looked up to him, you know? But he wanted company, and didn¡¯t mind feeling my fangs to get it. That¡¯s all it was.¡±


    She pushed us forward with another long sweep of the oar. ¡°As for love... well, I¡¯ve never gotten on with churches and priests.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t choose to be born this way,¡± I said, repeating her own words from the castle bedroom. Hypocritical of me, maybe.


    Catrin snorted. ¡°You know that doesn¡¯t matter. And as for what you said back in the forest... preosts get their magic from faith, yeah? Even ignoring the blood I took, I think I might have weakened his will. And that let the Baron beat him.¡±


    She glanced back at me with cold, remote eyes. ¡°So yeah, maybe it was my fault. You were right.¡±


    Our conversation lapsed into silence. We passed by something as the boat drifted through the ruins. A dark mound resting on the surface of the water.


    Not resting. Floating. It was shiny black and oily, big as a house. Nearly a score of spears protruded from its leathery, puckered flesh. I¡¯d seen something similar before, when fishermen had used javelins to hunt a leviathan off the coast. I couldn¡¯t see much of it, but a shiny black eye stared unseeing up into the sky near one end.


    ¡°The lake monster,¡± Catrin said as we passed it. ¡°Looks like your hunch was right. The Mistwalkers turned on Orson.¡±


    ¡°Question is whether he¡¯s still fighting them,¡± I added as we passed the carcass. The castle seemed ominously quiet, just as the village had. No song of battle echoed over the sunken ruins.


    Catrin guided the boat into the long tunnel where we¡¯d entered the keep before. As the open sky vanished beneath solid rock, I tightened my grip on my weapon, growing tense.


    ¡°You feel that?¡± Catrin whispered.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. We weren¡¯t alone in the tunnel. My aura shivered with apprehension, but it wasn¡¯t just a supernatural sense telling me danger lay ahead. A very real stench filled the cave, overpoweringly foul. It reeked of carrion.


    It hadn¡¯t been there the last time.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Catrin was tense as a bowstring. ¡°Maybe we should find¡ª¡±


    Something hurled itself at me through the darkness. The depths of the waterlogged tunnel were nearly pitch black, but not to me. I saw the shape of the thing, bat-winged and leech-mouthed, and swung on pure reflex.


    My axe came down in a vertical chop even as I ducked. The axe¡¯s sickle moon blade clove the fanged nightmare from skull to chest cavity. Its bulk splashed into the water some distance behind us.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Catrin swore.


    I rested the axe on my shoulder. Its edge glowed slightly, like hot metal. ¡°Keep moving forward,¡± I ordered, scanning the tunnel ahead.


    Catrin did, though her hands shook slightly on the oar.


    I sensed more of the enormous bat things ahead. Some kind of chimera, I guessed, as Catrin had warned me. My magic warned me of danger, but not of anything truly profane. Not fiends, but rather ill-formed beasts bound by the Baron¡¯s magic or bred like the war chimera used by armies across the world.


    Still, something foul had gone into the make of these.


    They had enormous wing spans, and the tunnel was only wide enough for one to take flight at a time. I had that advantage, but the edges of the cavern walls were well beyond my reach. If they simply waited for me to pass, then swarmed me all at once, they wouldn¡¯t need to take to the air...


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    Black shapes moved along the walls as Catrin spurred us forward with the oar. I ground my teeth, and decided there was no choice.


    ¡°This might be uncomfortable for you,¡± I told Catrin. I felt her worried eyes on my back. I narrowed my eyes and murmured the words of one of my Oaths.


    An Oath is the core of a paladin¡¯s power. It is a pact made with the self, sometimes with a supernatural intermediary which can back the vow to make it more potent, as in my case with the Alder Table. It is not always necessary, and there are True Knights in the world whose vows are entirely personal, born of their own convictions, but those are very rare.


    The rituals involved in this brand of magic are old, and much of the might granted to us comes from that long refining.


    ¡°The flame is mine aegis,¡± I whispered, my words causing the very air to shudder. ¡°The flame is my sword. I kindle the flame so the world may know its warmth. Its light is our shelter against the Dark. I bear the torch on the roads of night. I am the torch.¡±


    Saying the words aloud was not necessary to draw on my powers, not always. But saying a thing can do much to make it real.


    You do not believe me? I am certain you have experienced this yourself. Have you not apologized to someone you¡¯ve hurt, and known even as the words passed your lips you felt genuine contrition? Have you not told someone that you love them, and felt the utter certainty that it is true in that moment?


    To keep a thing locked inside is to never let it be born into the world.


    I felt my aura reshape itself in response, the process fast and smooth. My soul had been restructured by the Table for this very purpose.


    The pain came too, starting from deep within and rising as a feverish heat to my skin. It burned me, body and soul, but I¡¯d grown callouses. I endured it.


    I lifted my axe up with one hand as though to measure the width of the tunnel. Almost metallic olden flames flickered across the rough length of uncarved wood that formed its handle, illuminating the complex patterns etched long the crescent moon blade. Those flames raced up my arm, my shoulder, enwrapping me until I became a living torch of amber hued fire.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Catrin said.


    Indeed.


    Light spilled through the tunnel, illuminating the flock of monsters lurking within. They were hideous things, gray skinned and emaciated, with most of their muscle powering long, avian legs and huge leathery wings. Their heads were like sinuous worms, or lampreys, ending in tiny, sucking mouths lined in needle teeth.


    They recoiled from the light and screeched, filling the tunnel with tremendous sound.


    None attacked. When the boat drew close, they practically fought each other to pull away from the crackling bonfire of aureflame I had become. Sweat beaded on my face as I maintained the aura, knowing I couldn¡¯t do it for long. I burned my own spirit away with every second I kept this up.


    Catrin whimpered behind me. That I had also been worried about. She was only part fiend, but the holy fire was near as repulsive to her as to the baron¡¯s chimera, born of dark alchemy as they were.


    The tunnel began to widen into a larger cave. I caught sight of the dock ahead, which would lead us up into narrow hallways where these creatures, with their huge wings, wouldn¡¯t be able to follow. I hoped.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± I said to my companion. I had begun to feel cold, and breathing had gotten more difficult.


    Once, I could have let that power burn for several minutes without effort, but that had been back when the Table had been intact and the elves still ruled their own city. It was like a cracked fountain basin that drained as fast as it filled, now.


    Just like that altar bowl I¡¯d damaged back at the chapel. I could fill myself with duty and resolve, but it would always leak back out.


    ¡°It¡¯s too bright,¡± Catrin hissed. ¡°It burns. I can¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. ¡°Just hold on. We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    The dhampir steeled herself and rowed forward. The monsters watched us from the shadows, their eyeless heads chewing at the air.


    We passed into the cave. Another minute, maybe, and we¡¯d reach the dock. I grit my teeth, fighting to keep the aureflame burning. It had died down somewhat, letting the shadows fill in to half conceal the hellish swarm around us. In this wide space the chimera could take flight more easily. Several of them cracked their leathery wings in anticipation, as though sensing my strength failing.


    We reached the dock. Barely a flicker of the flame remained now, wisps of it running across my body so I was more a gently shining figure in the darkness rather than a blazing one.


    ¡°Run!¡± I snapped at Catrin. She shot toward the doorway in the cave wall, faster than any human could have, feet slapping against the dock.


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I spun, swung, and carved the wing from a chimera that hadn¡¯t deigned to wait for the fire to fully fade. It crashed into the dock in a flailing, snarling chaos, cracking the wood and nearly upturning the boat. The edges of its wing-arm¡¯s severed stump exuded a molten glow.


    I rolled onto the dock. Red heat flared across my left arm ¡ª the thing had managed to graze me with its claws. No time to tell how bad the wound was. More screeches and more wingbeats filled the cave.


    I ran to the door. As Irn Bale had promised, my new armor didn¡¯t slow me down, the shadowy links of elf-metal like a second skin beneath my red cloak.


    Something heavy landed on the dock at my side. I turned, ducked the thing¡¯s head as it snapped at me. Their wrinkled necks could extend incredibly far, I noted. Charming.


    I took the chimera¡¯s head off with an upward swing, shouting, my weapon leaving a white-gold blur in the air. The creature fell, its headless body writhing in its death throes. More of its kin beat their wings, and I knew they¡¯d pile on me and bring me down, their leech mouths finding the gaps in my armor as they devoured me alive.


    ¡°Alken!¡± Catrin was at the door, waiting for me. She had her dagger in hand, but the small weapon would be of little use against that hell swarm.


    I wouldn¡¯t make it. With a surge of will I made the aureflame aegis burn again, hoping to repel the swarm even for a moment. Most of them balked. One didn¡¯t, its momentum carrying it forward.


    The chimera hit me in the back. It was smaller than me, but dense with muscle and heavy enough. I was thrown forward through the door. I felt its claws scrabble at my back, tearing my cloak but fouling on the armor. It hissed in rage, and even as its flesh sizzled and burned at the touch of my aura it bit at my neck with its sucking mouth.


    I reached back with my wounded left hand. A flash of pain erupted as the gouges near my elbow were pulled. The creature¡¯s teeth clamped down on my vambrace. It snarled and shook its head viciously, nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. I couldn¡¯t turn, couldn¡¯t get its weight off my back or bring my weapon to bear.


    Catrin saved me, again. Screaming in fury, she hit the thing from the side and stabbed at it with her dagger. It wasn¡¯t undead, and the banesilver did little to hurt it more than regular steel would have, but neither was it preternatural enough for that to matter. She ripped the blade out, stabbed again, then again. Eventually she found its small brain.


    The chimera went still. Catrin helped me get its weight off. As I stood, I saw she¡¯d been covered in brackish gore. The creatures had purple, almost mossy blood. My eyes flickered to the still open doorway. More of the monsters were advancing on it.


    I took a single step froward, swung, and hewed through the membranous flesh of one lamprey head as it darted through the doorway. My weapon hummed musically as it parted the air, where a normal weapon might have only whistled. I kicked the dead thing away to get it clear, then slammed the door closed and latched it. There were several heavy thuds as the creatures slammed against the barrier, but it was a siege door. It held.


    Several minutes passed before either of us caught our breath.


    ¡°Alken...¡±


    I turned. The hallway would have been pitch black, but my axe still glowed dimly to illuminate Catrin. Her brown hair was disheveled, her fine blue dress ruined with chimera blood.


    Her eyes were fixed on my wounded left arm. They burned with a hungry red light.

 Arc 1: Chapter 37: Catrin

    Arc 1: Chapter 37: Catrin


    ¡°You¡¯re wounded.¡±


    Normally, those words would have held a note of concern or panic. Catrin said them like it was something erotic.


    She stepped forward on light feet, heedless of the chimera blood on the floor. She¡¯d lost her fine shoes at some point, and left one purplish footprint on the stone as she advanced.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said, heart quickening in my chest. The young woman ¡ª was she truly young? ¡ª brushed my left arm with her fingers. The chimera had left two deep, ugly gouges just above my elbow.


    The elven armor I¡¯d received from the oradyn wasn¡¯t a full set of plate, and there were parts of me it didn¡¯t protect. In this case, I only had metal covering my upper arm from the spaulders and short sleeves of the hauberk, then a gap until the vambrace strapped to my forearm. The monster had found that gap.


    So did Catrin. Her fingers curled around my elbow, her red eyes fixing on the wound. They were unnaturally bright in the gloom, a feverish shade of crimson, the sclera darkened closer to yellow than white. She seemed to be breathing quicker.


    Then, before I had even quite realized what was happening, she brought her face down to nuzzle the wound. Her tongue ran across the slashes and her whole body shivered.


    I shoved her. Catrin slammed against the opposite wall of the hallway. She recovered instantly, glaring up at me. Her face had turned corpse pale, her eyes fever red and veined. She hissed like an animal, revealing teeth closer to wolf than human.


    She lunged at me, or tried to. With a furnace growl I summoned my aura again, filling the passageway with dim amber flame. Catrin recoiled from it just as the chimera had, letting out a noise of frustration and fear.


    I kept it up until she got her breathing under control. With it came her senses. She knelt against the wall, her corpse eyes unfocused, but I saw a hint of the mischievous spy I¡¯d come to know over the past several days peek through the bloodlust. Her eyes, still empty, widened as she met mine.


    ¡°Alken...¡± She shuddered. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. Bleeding Gates, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t... I can¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°Are you in control?¡± I asked. I still burned my aura, not quite trusting she was in control of herself. This might be a trick, a vampire¡¯s ploy to make me let my guard down. I had no way to know how much influence that part of her had over her words as well as her actions.


    Catrin considered a moment, then shook her head. ¡°I haven¡¯t fed in too long, and that silver arrow made it worse. I think...¡± she shivered and grit her sharp teeth, hissing the words through them. ¡°I think you should go on. Leave me here.¡±


    I considered doing just that. I didn¡¯t much like the idea of heading into what came next with a hungry dhampir at my side, but having that same treacherous companion at my back wasn¡¯t any more appealing.


    I could only think of one thing to do, and it was a goring stupid idea.


    I let the flames fade. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, and held up my wounded left arm. ¡°Take enough to keep your head. Not a drop more. I need to be able to fight.¡±


    She hesitated three quick heartbeats. No more. She darted forward, fast enough to make me flinch, and dug sharp nails into my arm. It took every ounce of my self control not to hurl her away again.


    She pressed her lips to the gashes. I feared for a moment she¡¯d bite and make the injury worse, but she only suckled at the wounds. A soft, muffled moan escaped her throat.


    It felt... strange. Not as bad as I would have thought, though even that realization disturbed me. I could feel my blood pumping through my arm, feel her warm tongue pressing against my damaged flesh, soaking it up like a sponge. I tried to relax, knowing clenching my arm would only make the blood loss worse.


    I felt revulsion, and guilt at the revulsion. I felt pity for her, that she¡¯d been born this way. And anger, at whatever creature had been responsible.


    And I hated myself, because this hadn¡¯t been mercy or trust, but a test.


    When I knew she shouldn¡¯t take anymore, I still didn¡¯t pull away or shove her. I needed to know I could trust this... not creature. This woman, this person who¡¯d been born with this dark hunger. I needed to know she could make the choice to pull away.


    If she couldn¡¯t...


    My fingers tightened on the oaken handle of the axe in my right hand. I didn¡¯t want to do it, but I¡¯d done worse.


    ¡°Catrin,¡± I said. Then, softer, ¡°Cat.¡±


    A moment came where I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d pull away. Her yellowed sclera had slowly filled with red as she fed, her pale skin taking on a healthier tint, her fingers growing firmer, stronger. Her grip tightened on my arm...


    I started to lift the axe.


    Catrin dragged red lips away and stepped back. She clenched stained teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and hugged herself. After shivering violently she said, ¡°I¡¯m alright. I¡¯m...¡± She sighed in satisfaction. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Ruby eyes wide with disbelief met mine. ¡°You really just let me do that?¡±


    I tore off a strip of my cloak and started tying it around the wound, turning my gaze away from hers. I felt a subtle pull there I recognized from that night in the castle chamber. I didn¡¯t want to get mesmerized again.


    ¡°I need you in your right mind,¡± I said. ¡°We have work to do.¡±


    ¡°...Right.¡±


    Did I hear a note of disappointment in her voice?


    ¡°Well, anyway.¡± She wiped at her mouth with one arm, smearing the blood more than cleaning it. ¡°Thanks for that, then.¡±


    I passed her another strip of my cloak. She accepted it and dabbed at her face, though it still did little to clean the blood. My blood, I thought.


    Then, shocking me, Catrin stood up on her toes and pecked me on the cheek. When she¡¯d lowered herself, her fiendish eyes were warm as they looked up into mine.


    ¡°Thank you for that,¡± she said, more genuinely this time. ¡°For trusting me.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t trusted her. Swallowing my guilt, I just nodded, not sure what to say. ¡°You ready to go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll lead,¡± she said. ¡°I know the castle a bit better than you, big man.¡± Then she turned and started down the hallway, moving with a touch too much haste. She seemed almost chipper.


    I felt at the spot on my cheek where she¡¯d kissed me. When I pulled my hand away, my fingertips were stained red.


    The halls of Castle Cael were far too quiet.


    ¡°When I was last here,¡± I said to Catrin, who padded along at my side, ¡°I didn¡¯t see any guards besides the Mistwalkers. No servants either, besides that one in the green cloak. Priska.¡±


    A lord with a holding as large as the Falconer estate should have servants, guards, even a reservoir of lower ranking knights in their service.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t say,¡± Catrin said, speaking just as quietly. The cavernous halls had a disconcerting way of echoing even small noises. ¡°It was like this when I arrived. Empty.¡±


    ¡°We need to find the baron,¡± I said. ¡°And Olliard, if he¡¯s actually here.¡±


    ¡°Something ahead,¡± Catrin whispered. We both stopped.


    I focused, but heard nothing. The changeling¡¯s hearing must have been sharper than mine. I tightened my grip on my axe and drew up power. It came fitfully, singeing me in several places as I struggled to assert control over it. I grit my teeth against the pain and focused forward.


    A figure stepped out into the hall ahead of us. I went on guard. Catrin did not. She¡¯d known who approached the moment she¡¯d gotten their scent.


    ¡°Quinn.¡± The dhampir¡¯s bloodstained lips pressed into a thin line.


    The Mistwalker stepped into the light of the wall sconces, which flickered moodily on their ancient metal hands. His right hand held a drawn gladius, and a neutral expression masked his handsome features.


    He¡¯d been injured. Viscous blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand from a long, ragged tear along the forearm. A claw wound.


    ¡°Cat,¡± the mercenary said. ¡°Where have you been?¡±


    ¡°About,¡± Catrin said, taking a step forward.


    Quinn¡¯s glassy eyes went to me. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing? There¡¯s no reason for you to be here anymore.¡±


    ¡°What I think¡¯s right,¡± Catrin said, her own eyes narrowing.


    Quinn let out a strange, choking laugh. ¡°I never understood that. The people you hang around with, the things you do, the man you work for... and you have all these scruples?¡±


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you understand it or not, Quinn. Where¡¯s the baron?¡±


    In the distance, an inhuman cry echoed through the halls. Impossible to say how far in the depths of the castle. It could have been from another level, or two halls down. I tensed, but Quinn remained impassive.


    ¡°Around.¡± The soldier said in answer to Catrin¡¯s question. ¡°Bastard¡¯s making us work for it.¡±


    ¡°Why did you turn on him?¡± I asked.


    He didn¡¯t answer my question. Instead, twirling his blade in an idle flourish he said, ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re getting involved with, Cat. Ditch the vagabond, and I¡¯ll make sure you get out safe.¡±


    Catrin didn¡¯t answer. Quinn¡¯s corpse blue eyes seemed to focus, and he noted the red on her lips. He saw my wrapped left arm too, and a sickly sort of smile spread across his lips.


    ¡°Ah. So that¡¯s how it is.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s expression wavered, a touch of worry splintering her confidence. ¡°You bastard. This isn¡¯t like that.¡±


    Quinn ignored her and focused on me. ¡°I told you who she worked for. I didn¡¯t tell you why."


    ¡°Quinn¡ª¡±


    The Mistwalker interrupted her. ¡°She¡¯s a whore. Entertains the Keeper¡¯s guests. Gets them off while she¡¯s taking their blood like a dirty, desperate leech.¡±


    He canted his head to one side and shrugged, still smiling. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯d know. How many times have I paid your price, Cat?¡±


    Catrin hissed at my side, closing her eyes. There was anger there, intense frustration. Perhaps shame as well.


    I took the time for a long inhalation through my nostrils, then began walking forward.


    Quinn took a guard. ¡°Don¡¯t you step any¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± I said, hitting the ghoul with a lance of auratic command.


    Compulsions aren¡¯t very effective on non-humans, or any human with an awakened soul who¡¯d learned to guard their will. But Quinn was a worm. His soul barely clutched his tired form, his life extended by a gruesome appetite that had him sifting through grave dirt and gnawing on rancid, rotting bones.


    He didn¡¯t have much control of his compulsions on the best of days. He froze for a moment, stunned in place by my command.


    I punched him. Brittle yellow teeth shattered, brackish blood scattered, and the fop went down hard.


    I flicked blood from my knuckles and glared down at the Mistwalker, who lay there in stunned disbelief. A boiling rage had risen up in me before I¡¯d even realized it myself.


    I had been a knight once. I might not have much of a claim to chivalry anymore, but those customs were something very much like instinct. Perhaps they were instinct, the core values of knighthood wrought into my aura same as my oaths were, compelling this response.


    Or maybe the reason was more simple. Perhaps I¡¯d just come to respect the changeling woman and felt genuine anger. At him, and at me for forgetting myself.


    Maybe it was a bit of both.


    Who can say?


    I glanced back at Catrin, a thought striking me. She looked almost stunned as Quinn. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the names I called you before,¡± I told her. ¡°Vampire, bloodsucker... all those. It was unworthy of me. And I¡¯m sorry for accusing you of being responsible for Micah.¡±


    Catrin just nodded, the motion a bit stiff. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯d already forgiven you.¡±


    I turned back to the ghoul. ¡°Where is the baron?¡±


    ¡°Go fuck a troll,¡± Quinn snarled. He reached for his fallen sword.


    My axe came down on his wrist, severing the hand. Amber tinted flame erupted from stump and hand both, consuming the latter and scorching the mercenary¡¯s arm. He let out a wheezing, half-formed wail of pain and horror.


    ¡°I will not ask again,¡± I said quietly, feeling a strange calm. The memory of the slaughtered villagers was a slow running blood in my thoughts. ¡°Where is Orson Falconer?¡±


    Quinn cursed again, this time less intelligibly. I showed him the burning edge of Faen Orgis and fear flickered in his too pale eyes.


    ¡°Below!¡± He hissed. ¡°In his lab.¡±


    I glanced at Catrin, and she nodded. ¡°I think I can find it.¡±


    I turned back to Quinn. He clutched at his burnt wrist stub, breathing heavily. The breaths looked forced, almost theatrical, like a bad actor trying to mimic distress.


    He¡¯s pretending to be more alive, I thought. It was a way he could keep his soul tethered. My weapon¡¯s hallowed bite could exorcise his ghost, but he kept it in his body through sheer will.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± I asked. ¡°The Baron¡¯s guests.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s eyes moved back to me, narrowing. ¡°Gone,¡± he said. ¡°They have what they came for.¡±


    I frowned, not understanding. ¡°What do you mean? When did they leave?¡±


    ¡°After,¡± Quinn spat. ¡°After the ritual. The captain left us behind to clean up.¡±


    I began to understand, in the same way I might begin to take note of a cut artery and realize, even as I felt very little pain, that it was a lethal wound.


    Quinn saw my dawning realization and laughed, revealing macabre yellow teeth in a dry mouth. ¡°You¡¯re too late, paladin.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Catrin asked from behind me. ¡°What does he mean?¡±


    Quinn and I both ignored her. The ghoul was too busy gloating, and I was too preoccupied with the coiling tendril of horror in my gut.


    ¡°What did you think this was going to be?¡± Quinn hissed, corpse eyes going wide with fury. ¡°Some heroic tale where you¡¯d slay the monster and stop the evil sorcerer? This was never about Orson Falconer.¡±


    He winced in pain, a shudder rippling through his body as the holy fire I¡¯d struck him with scalded his spirit. ¡°He was just an intermediary. No more than a merchant. He made the same mistake any caravaner does, thinking we wouldn¡¯t just take what he had to offer. What an arrogant fucking prick he was. We taught him good!¡±


    ¡°What are you babbling about!?¡± Catrin¡¯s voice had turned frustrated.


    ¡°The demon,¡± I said. To my own ears my voice sounded more tired than angry. ¡°I was wrong about all of this. I thought he was going to bind the spirit to him and use it as a weapon against the Church. Maybe that was his plan, but it didn¡¯t need him.¡±


    I should have killed the baron that first night. I tried to be clever, but I¡¯m a damned fool who can¡¯t tell a lie from a song. It was just like before. Just like ten years before. I was a gullible fool who couldn¡¯t look at the big picture.


    The only thing I¡¯d ever been good at was swinging a blade. I should have cut my way to my enemy from the start, my own life be damned.


    ¡°Look at you,¡± Quinn laughed. It was an ugly, wheezing sound, half pained and half maliciously cheerful. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s a fine expression. Some hero you found yourself, Cat. Then again, you always did like the big, dumb ones.¡±


    He returned his attention to me and his voice turned conspiratorial. ¡°She let you fuck her yet? She will. It¡¯s the blood, turns her into a loose¡ª¡±


    He never finished whatever ugly thing he¡¯d been about to say. My axe came down on his skull, splitting it and sinking an inch into the stone beneath. There was a low rumble of fire, and the body immediately began to disintegrate as hallowed aura tore through it.


    I stood, planting a boot on the dead mercenary¡¯s breastplate to rip my weapon from the floor. I spent a minute watching the body burn without really see it. My mind wasn¡¯t in that hall.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Catrin¡¯s voice drew me from my stupor. She had a sad look, though whether it was for our situation or for the death of the Mistwalker she¡¯d formerly been acquainted with, I couldn¡¯t say. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Orson Falconer thought he had all the power here.¡± I cursed savagely. ¡°I should have seen it! A backwater sorcerer gathering so many dangerous allies. They used him. Duped him. That witch, Lillian, helped him prepare his ritual. When it was ready, she just went and did it herself.¡±


    I turned to the dhampir. ¡°They¡¯re all gone. And they have one of the nightmares that helped destroy the elves for their own uses.¡±


    I¡¯d failed to stop the calamity Lady Eanor had feared.


    ¡°Damn.¡± Catrin bowed her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Alken. Really. If I¡¯d known... I swear if I¡¯d known what they were really planning, I would have tried to stop it. I think Quinn played me too, letting me know where you¡¯d gone so I¡¯d go off and not be there to stall the ritual. He knew I wanted the villagers left out of all this.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I believe you.¡±


    Catrin shuffled, averting her eyes. They were still red, I noted, not having darkened to their usual soft brown. ¡°You...¡± she licked her lips, wetting some of the drying blood still there. ¡°What he said about me, it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I told her.


    ¡°But it¡¯s true.¡± Catrin squeezed her eyes shut and folded her arms. ¡°The Backroad isn¡¯t just a traveler¡¯s inn. It¡¯s a brothel, and... that¡¯s how I get blood.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no right to judge you, Catrin. I saw you weep for those villagers. I¡¯ve seen real monsters many times in my life...¡± My voice hardened. ¡°You are not one.¡±


    A tear fell from the dhampir¡¯s ruby eye.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to waste,¡± I said. ¡°I still have a job to do.¡±

 Arc 1: Chapter 38: The Barons Madness

    Arc 1: Chapter 38: The Baron''s Madness


    We found more evidence of the falling out between the Baron and his ¡°guests¡± deeper into that house of darkness.


    It started out as a corpse here and there. A Mistwalker ripped to shreds as though by some beast, rancid ghoul blood splattered like paint strokes across the rich tapestries and fine masonry of the halls.


    The evidence grew as Catrin led me into the bowels of the castle. The men Issachar had left had met steep resistance from Orson¡¯s household, and here I finally got a look at the enigmatic servants who kept the place up.


    They were all chimera, or perhaps homunculi. Twisted, warped things grown in glass and bubbling liquid, sickly and misshapen. They had been strong, ripping apart the mercenaries like dolls, beating them to pulp, or eating them.


    But the invading monsters had proved superior, in both tactic and number. Though the Mistwalkers had taken casualties, most of the corpses we found were the Baron¡¯s creatures.


    We found a group of three soldiers plunging long spears into the tumorous mass of a hunchback big as three men. It wasn¡¯t dying no matter how many times they stabbed it, but it clearly felt pain.


    The ghouls were laughing at it.


    By the time I¡¯d finished with them, my bloodstained axe smoldered with molten light. The little victory felt hollow, after what Quinn had revealed.


    Catrin knelt by the hunchback¡¯s side, laying a hand on its twisted neck as it struggled to breathe. She gave me a pleading look, and I lifted my axe.


    When I¡¯d put the poor thing out of its misery, we took stock of the corridor ahead. More bodies. Most were twisted humanoids like the big brute, but some resembled the creatures we¡¯d fought down in the flood tunnel. These lacked wings, looking more like big, leech-headed reptiles which crawled on all fours.


    ¡°Baron must have emptied out his kennels for this,¡± Catrin noted. ¡°You think he¡¯s still alive?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find out,¡± I said. I glanced down at the dead hunchback one more time and clenched my fist. ¡°He has much to answer for. Creating sapient life with alchemy is forbidden.¡±


    ¡°Nobles have been doing it for centuries,¡± Catrin reminded me. ¡°Not all of them Recusant.¡±


    ¡°...I know.¡± Even still, this seemed wrong. These things were clearly slaves.


    We carried on, meeting light resistance. Catrin, for her part, didn¡¯t slow me down so much as a beat. She was no fighter so far as I could tell, but her sharp senses and awareness of the massive castle¡¯s layout were indispensable. She¡¯d warn me when danger approached, faster even than my powers could, then melt into the shadows to reappear by the time I¡¯d dispatched the threat. More than once I managed to avoid a nasty ambush that way.


    It felt strange, having a comrade backing me up. I¡¯d fought alone for so many years. It reminded me of the old days. I¡¯d had allies back then, too. Donnelly. Lias.


    Donnelly would have liked Catrin. Her skills were much like his, as was her sense of humor.


    And this was no time to be thinking about a different life. I put my mind on the task at hand, as loathsome as it may have been,


    ¡°Are we close?¡± I said with a grunt, pulling my axe from the skull of a lamprey head. We stood in a nexus chamber connecting several parts of the castle. Three branching hallways, all splitting from a cylindrical space guarded by time-worn statues. The stone faces watched us in sullen hostility.


    Orson watched us. Or, his haunted castle watched did. Like many old halls, the entire edifice was an extension of his will. We¡¯d found evidence some of the defenders had been empty suits of armor apparently come to life, a favorite trick among the aristocracy.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting close,¡± Catrin said. ¡°These stairs here, they lead down to the dungeons. The Baron keeps his laboratory down there, along with most of the chimera kennels.¡±


    Which might mean the fiercest resistance might remain below. I hefted my axe and went ahead. Catrin kept behind me, ready to sink into a shadow at a moment¡¯s notice.


    Catrin suddenly started sniffing. ¡°Blood below. Not ghoul, or those other things. Smells... cleaner.¡±


    She gestured to the wall, where a small smear of blood had touched the stones. My heart skipped a beat. Was it Olliard down there? Or Lisette?


    We descended down the narrow, spiraling stair. The air grew colder, and damper.


    When we reached the bottom, we did find a body sprawled there. It had fallen down nearly the entire flight of stairs, landing limbs akimbo.


    Far too many limbs. I approached cautiously, taking in the strange sight.


    It ¡ª she ¡ª had been some kind of changeling or homonculus. Her skin was a dark shade of gray-blue, and she was smoothly bald. Her body was small and skinny, almost childlike, with long, jointed appendages sprouting from behind the shoulders of more human arms. Each was tipped in barbed claws, and were longer than the whole length of her body. She had too many eyes, all glassy green spheres on a face only vaguely human in shape.


    Yet, she looked familiar.


    Catrin stepped up next to me. ¡°Priska. I never saw her under that cloak.¡± She cursed suddenly.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s his daughter. I saw her in some of the castle¡¯s paintings. Bleeding Gates, what did he do to her?¡±


    I knelt by the small body. I remembered how she¡¯d seemed to glide while clad in her concealing green cloak. I could imagine those spider legs scuttling beneath, hidden from sight.


    ¡°Or maybe just made to resemble his daughter,¡± I suggested. Catrin didn¡¯t argue, and I suspect she had the same thought ¡ª that it wasn¡¯t any better.


    She was dead, alien eyes unblinkingly fixed on one wall. It looked like she¡¯d fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Though, with those inhuman limbs, I somehow doubted that had been what truly killed her.


    I closed the chimeric child¡¯s more human set of main eyes. As I did, I found a small, neat hole punched through her forehead, just above the eyebrows. Silver blood oozed from the wound.


    ¡°Olliard did this.¡± I stood and fixed my attention on the corridor ahead.


    We went further, finding fewer bodies and no resistance. Catrin tensed at my back, but she didn¡¯t need to tell me she¡¯d heard something this time. Noise echoed down the shaft. An angry shout, then furniture crashing.


    I recognized the voice. It wasn¡¯t the Baron¡¯s.


    We reached entry to a large chamber, sickly artificial light spilling from within. The door had been forced open. Looking inside, I saw furniture scattered about, complicated looking equipment ranging from huge glass tanks to frames of brass and copper. A tank had been broken, leaving glowing green liquid pooling over the floor. It hissed like acid.


    Mahogany desks and brass candelabras were scattered across the space, many upturned. Parchment, books, and precious materials were strewn everywhere.


    Across the length of the spacious room, near a broken chair that¡¯d been near fine as a throne, stood two figures. One was Orson Falconer. He was still clad in his kingly robes, precious gems glinting like little stars along the netted shoulders. He leaned against the wall, a hand pressed to one shoulder. Blood dripped through his fingers, dampening the expensive material of his overcoat.


    The other was Olliard of Kell. He had his strange foreign weapon trained on the Baron, a terrible expression hardening his wizened face. He looked like he hadn¡¯t slept in days, but his hands were steady.


    Alchemical light of green and too-pale blue lit the scene, casting it in an almost feverish sense of threat.


    The doctor noted my arrival and bared his teeth. ¡°Lisette!¡± He barked.


    Movement in the corner of my vision, the hasty muttering of ritual words. The young cleric stood near one wall, out of sight from the door. Her fingers played with strings done cat¡¯s cradle style, aura flickering like half visible flame around them.


    I was ready for the trick this time. Furrowing my brow in concentration, I made an effort of will and lifted my axe. A nearly invisible sphere of pale amber light appeared around me. Lisette¡¯s magic enwrapped the sphere and stopped inches from my actual body an instant before they would have ensnared me.


    The strings, a paler gold than the more amber tinted aureflame, strained with a sound like crackling lightning. I grit my teeth at the effort.


    Damn, but the kid was strong. ¡°Cat.¡± My voice came out as a strained growl.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Catrin said. She stepped into a patch of shadow ¡ª there were plenty in the room to pick from ¡ª and melted into it as though sinking into water. She appeared a moment later beside the apprentice, and ¡ª shocking me as much as the girl,¡ª rabbit punched her in the back of the head.


    Lisette crumpled to the ground. As her concentration broke, the golden tethers flickered from existence. I lowered my axe, sighing in relief.


    Olliard lifted his crossbow higher, aiming at the Baron¡¯s skull. ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡±


    The Baron wheezed out a laugh. ¡°Oh, this is a rich irony!¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The doctor glared at him, not understanding.


    I hesitated. ¡°Leave him, doctor.¡±


    I had questions for Orson Falconer, and his death was my responsibility.


    Suspicion and confusion warred in the vampire hunter¡¯s features. He glanced at Catrin, and a look of revulsion formed on his face. ¡°You¡¯ve been enthralled. I know what she is. Snap out of it, man, or I¡¯ll have to kill you.¡±


    I exchanged a glance with Catrin. She shrugged, and knelt to place her dagger to Lisette¡¯s neck. ¡°This is a hostage situation, right?¡± She didn¡¯t quite keep the questioning note from her voice. ¡°Listen, young lady, just don¡¯t try that trick again.¡±


    Lisette groaned, dazed.


    ¡°Get away from her!¡± Olliard snapped.


    ¡°Calm down, doctor.¡± I took a step further into the room, clearing the doorway. I didn¡¯t want anyone sneaking up behind me. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to get snared by your apprentice¡¯s Art again. And I need him alive to answer some questions.¡±


    I turned my attention from the hunter and pointed at Orson with my axe. ¡°Where did the others take that thing?¡±


    Orson just smiled and spread his hands out. More blood spread across his rich garments in a growing stain, but it seemed to bother him little. He looked at peace.


    Olliard hadn¡¯t given him that. There were dead Mistwalkers in the room, and some more of the Baron¡¯s creatures along with evidence of brutal violence. A bloodied short sword lay near the hem of the nobleman¡¯s robes.


    I bared my teeth. ¡°You smile, after what you¡¯ve unleashed?¡±


    ¡°And what is it you think I have unleashed?¡± Orson asked tiredly. He¡¯d lost a lot of blood. I didn¡¯t have much time.


    ¡°The villagers...¡± I took another step forward. ¡°Your own people. Your duty was to protect them. You were their liege lord, and you served them up like sacrificial cattle. You brought the other Recusants here, gave them the tools and the reason.¡±


    I hissed my next words. ¡°Would you have done it yourself? Sacrificed all of those innocents to complete your weapon?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Orson said, without hesitation or apology. ¡°I would have done it.¡±


    I almost lunged forward to kill him right there. But I needed to know where the rest had gone, what they intended. He was my only lead.


    Olliard stared at me, then turned his attention back to the lord. ¡°What did you do, Orson? What is he talking about?¡± His aged features twisted with rage. ¡°Micah... that man practically raised you! Why did you kill him?¡±


    ¡°Because he was in my way,¡± Orson spat. ¡°Because he served immortal tyrants who killed my homeland. Because, in our tired world, death has no meaning.¡±


    A sickly smile spread across his face. ¡°Ask him.¡± He nodded to me. ¡°He knows of what I speak.¡±


    All eyes in the room turned to me. Even Lisette¡¯s, who had started to recover from Catrin¡¯s blow.


    ¡°What is he talking about?¡± The doctor asked me. ¡°Speak, man.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have time for this. If Orson died before I learned where his treacherous allies had gone and what they planned, this entire sad tragedy has been for nothing.


    ¡°You are one of them, are you not?¡± Orson¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°One of the Archon¡¯s champions? I suspected it when we spoke. I saw your eyes, and the demon seemed to fear you. Wasn¡¯t hard to do a bit of reading and put two and two together.¡±


    His thoughtful tone hardened. ¡°You know exactly


    why I do this. Your order made the same choice!¡±


    I glared at him and took another step forward. More aureflame crackled along my axe. It singed my hand, but I just clenched my fingers tighter and ignored the pain.


    ¡°I did not betray King Tuvon,¡± I spat. ¡°That was the captains. I had no part in their betrayal.¡±


    A half truth is little better than a lie. The fact my power scorched me was proof enough I wasn¡¯t guiltless.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened. She hadn¡¯t tried to move with Catrin¡¯s silver blade at her throat, but I could tell I¡¯d surprised her.


    Orson took that in, and looked disappointed. ¡°I see. I had thought you were a kindred spirit, a disenfranchised knight seeking vengeance against the blessed ones who had so wronged you. But you are one of the loyal ones, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Just my damned luck. Ah, well.¡±


    He winced and began to slide down the wall, too weak to keep his feet.


    I studied the nightmarish laboratory. One of the broken tanks had contained a shriveled, fetal thing with a beak and otherwise disturbingly human features.


    Orson turned his head on a limp neck to regard the doctor. ¡°I freed Micah of his slavery. He would have never listened to reason.¡±


    Olliard just shook his head. ¡°You are mad.¡±


    ¡°I am awake,¡± Orson insisted. His face had become ashen. ¡°Awake in a land full of sleepers. We are prisoners, Olliard. Prisoners in a cage of dreams and stories. I have seen it. I have crossed the veil and found iron walls.¡±


    Again his eyes moved to me. ¡°That man is a paladin of the Alder. He knows. He is one of their wardens.¡±


    This time, when Olliard followed the lord¡¯s gaze, it lingered on me. ¡°Explain,¡± he said, cold. ¡°And tell that creature to step away from my disciple.¡±


    ¡°Fuck that,¡± Catrin shot back. ¡°She¡¯s a bloody sorceress.¡±


    ¡°Let her go,¡± I told Catrin, who startled. ¡°But don¡¯t let her weave again.¡±


    Catrin complied reluctantly. Lisette started to rise, looking dazed.


    ¡°You won¡¯t save yourself talking about theology,¡± I said to the dying noble. ¡°Judgement has been passed, my lord. I am here to deliver it.¡±


    ¡°Judgement?¡± Orson¡¯s face, ashy and weak, transformed with sudden rage. ¡°They would judge me!? After all they have stolen from me?¡±


    ¡°You had more than many.¡± I felt little pity for him.


    I felt a shiver run through me and closed my eyes. Half heard words whispered through my thoughts, my blood. Heretic, they murmured. Bring him to the light.


    I shut them out. ¡°I know the Onsolain aren¡¯t perfect. Believe me, I know. But the Adversary is worse. You gave one of the Abgru?dai flesh. There is no worse sin you can commit.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s already pale face turned ghost white. Catrin winced, and Olliard blinked at me with owlish disbelief.


    Orson Falconer just bowed his head, not a hint of shame on his face.


    ¡°A Demon of the Abyss.¡± I almost whispered the words. ¡°One of the same monsters who rampaged through Seydis ten years ago.¡±


    ¡°At the command of mortal man,¡± Orson muttered. ¡°Let us not forget that.¡±


    I sneered. ¡°You are no Reynard, Orson. Not even a shadow of him. Your guests taught you that. Had you been anyone, they wouldn¡¯t have turned on you so easily.¡±


    I stepped forward and lifted my axe, letting it burn with aureflame. ¡°Where are the others, Orson?¡±


    ¡°You would panic at such a thing, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± The Baron laughed dryly. ¡°You Alder Knights were practically engineered to fight them. But you are too late this day, Headsman. Yes!¡± He laughed again at the surprise on my face. ¡°My sources are quite knowledgeable, and I got missives from Vinhithe. The earl there is in my pocket. I know who you are, what your role is. You may deliver my sentence, but I am only a small part in all this.¡±


    His smile was nearly as wide as those macabre grins of the ghouls. ¡°I... do not know where my benefactors have gone. How they intend to use the spirit, I cannot say. I only know they will use it to burn this rotten world, and I am satisfied.¡±


    There was a metallic pop, a thudding impact and the crack of cranial bone. The Baron¡¯s head jerked back, struck the wall, then he slumped limp to the ground.


    Olliard lowered his crossbow and let out a weary breath. ¡°Madness,¡± he said to himself. ¡°Madness. All of this, for...¡±


    He shook his head, looking more tired than satisfied.


    I glared at him. ¡°His life was mine, Olliard.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s weary expression didn¡¯t fade as he loaded his crossbow with methodical indifference, then lifted it to aim halfway between me and Catrin, ready to swing to bear on either of us in a moment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool,¡± I warned him. ¡°I am not your enemy.¡±


    ¡°Come over here, Lisette.¡± The doctor didn¡¯t take his eyes off me.


    Catrin threw me a questioning look. I lifted a hand, telling her to wait. Lisette shuffled over to the doctor and turned to face us. I noted that Catrin had confiscated her little finger strings, and felt a surge of gratitude for the changeling¡¯s quick thinking.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Olliard demanded. ¡°What do you have to do with any of this?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a long story,¡± I said.


    Olliard¡¯s lips tightened. ¡°Summarize.¡±


    ¡°I serve the Lords of Heavensreach,¡± I said.


    Lisette¡¯s eyes widened. The doctor only sighed, clearly believing I was being obstinate.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°I am an agent of the Choir Concilium. The Onsolain sent me to serve a sentence of execution on Orson Falconer.¡±


    I pointed at the dead nobleman with my axe. ¡°You ended up delivering that, but it was my purpose since the night arrived in Caelfall.¡±


    ¡°You sound as mad as him,¡± Olliard spat. ¡°You serve the Choir of God? They are stories. He speaks of afterlives and demons, and you tell me you were sent by angels... this is all madness.¡±


    Lisette glanced uncertainly at her mentor. ¡°Master...¡± she began.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he snapped. The young cleric flinched.


    ¡°Then, that commotion in Vinhithe...¡± Olliard¡¯s expression went distant with thought. ¡°That was you, wasn¡¯t it? He called you Headsman. I¡¯ve heard that name.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t willing to give all my secrets to this man. ¡°You came here to hunt monsters. I assure you, we¡¯re on the same side.¡±


    Catrin shifted at my side. I didn¡¯t want to take my eyes off the old physik and his alchecraft crossbow, but I sensed a subtle tension from the dhampir.


    ¡°And yet you keep their company,¡± the doctor said, eyeing the changeling. ¡°How do I know it has not enthralled you?¡±


    ¡°She was Micah¡¯s friend, same as you.¡±


    ¡°Is that what it told you?¡± Olliard asked, amused. ¡°You were his friend, were you? Catrin of Ergoth?¡±


    Catrin drew in a sharp breath. I risked a glance at her. Her whole body seemed wire taut with tension.


    Ergoth... The name sounded familiar. But where had I¡ª


    I hadn¡¯t ever heard it, I realized. Not with my own ears. The strange, ghostly nostalgia of my Alder given magic knew the name, not I.


    It had been a small kingdom, long ago. It had fallen. Not to war, but to...


    The ghost memory faded.


    ¡°He knew what I was,¡± Catrin said with a quiet sadness. ¡°He treated me well all the same.¡±


    ¡°He was addicted to you, leech.¡± Olliard¡¯s expression went almost imperious with disdain. ¡°I warned him your nature ruled you, but he always turned a blind eye. I should have killed you when you were still young and human enough for it to stick.¡±


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°Was it you who¡ª¡±


    Catrin didn¡¯t reply, only hugged herself and averted her red eyes. She still had some of my blood on her face, and her noble dress had been tattered and stained with muck over the last two days. It made her look like some vampire lord¡¯s maidenly victim, though I knew that was far from the truth.


    ¡°Orson already admitted to being responsible for the preoster¡¯s death,¡± I cut in.


    ¡°But all those years you fed on him aged him past his time,¡± the vampire hunter accused. ¡°When I last saw him, he was weak. Ill. He should have been strong enough to stand up to the likes of Orson Falconer.¡±


    His eyes went to the corpse by the wall. Orson¡¯s violet eyes remained open and glassy in death. Olliard sniffed, no hint of regret on his face. The kindly old man I¡¯d met beyond the woods of Caelfall seemed gone. I didn¡¯t recognize this bitter, accusatory hunter for that altruistic healer.


    But I did recognize him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough,¡± I said. All eyes turned to me, and I waited a beat before continuing. ¡°My work is done here. Are you going to push this, Olliard?¡±


    The doctor glanced between me and Catrin. ¡°She is a dangerous predator ruled by her hunger. I have seen it a thousand times. They can become true vampires, you know, these half-dead. The older she gets, the worse her hunger. If you are truly a warrior of the divine, you will heed me.¡±


    ¡°If you try to slay her,¡± I said, still surprising myself with how calm I sounded, ¡°I will fight you. I owe her a debt, whatever she may become.¡±


    All of us in that room were a sort of monster already. Except Lisette, perhaps.


    Olliard spoke an ugly oath. ¡°On your head be it, then.¡±


    I nodded and glanced at Catrin, then jerked my head to the door. She looked shaken, but went ahead of me. I put my back between her and the hunters.


    ¡°Alken.¡±


    I turned toward the doctor. The old man had lowered his alchebow, and his posture had slumped with exhaustion. Even still, a steely resolve flickered to life in his eyes.


    ¡°Should we meet again, I will consider you an enemy. I have heard of you... The Headsman of Seydis.¡± He lifted his chin. ¡°You are a murderer. A butcher.¡±


    ¡°And you aren¡¯t?¡± I asked, gesturing again to the dead lord.


    ¡°I hunt monsters,¡± the doctor said. ¡°I protect innocents. You are just a phantom left from the war.¡±


    What a sad mirror we made. I wonder if he understood the irony.


    I just nodded. ¡°Until next time, then. If there is a next time.¡±


    I turned and left.

 Arc 1: Chapter 39: Departure, Duty, Dream

    Arc 1: Chapter 39: Departure, Duty, Dream


    ¡°Ready?¡± Edgar asked. The monk breathed hard, his pudgy features covered in dirt and sweat, but his expression remained determined.


    I nodded, and we both lifted the heavy corpse of Caelfall¡¯s innkeeper into the pit. It settled into place in the darkness below, half hidden in the failing light.


    The mist had burned away, and the onset of dusk cast the marshes in a somber red light. I stood behind the village chapel with Edgar, and there were already many fresh graves. We were both filthy with gore and mud, and neither of us cared.


    We¡¯d survived. This was the least we could do for those who hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know them,¡± Edgar said suddenly, as we stared down into the most recent pit. ¡°They were strangers.¡±


    Strange he asked me now, after we¡¯d been at it most of two days. I shrugged and grabbed a spade off the ground, starting in on filling the grave. How could I explain it to him? That I was sworn to protect everyone, and I¡¯d failed.


    I owed far more than a few days of hard, dirty labor.


    There was work I couldn¡¯t help with and didn¡¯t have time to remain for. The graves needed to be soaked in blessed water. Gravestones had to be carved and set over the mounds, each inscribed with lines of scripture and blessed to draw in the ghosts of the dead and hold them, so they wouldn¡¯t fade or be eaten in the wilderness. It was painstaking work, and the monk might not have the strength.


    I didn¡¯t mention as much. I just helped, knowing it wasn¡¯t enough.


    After we¡¯d finished the most recent grave, the shuffling of cloth from the edge of the graveyard drew my attention. I turned to see Lisette standing there, clad in the same humble brown robes as usual, a heavy satchel tied to her back. She lingered by the gate.


    I looked around, but saw no signs of the old doctor. I walked over to her.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t with me,¡± Lisette said, having seen my survey. ¡°He¡¯s waiting out on the road with the wagon and Brume.¡± She waved off toward the village.


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t mean to be unkind. I didn¡¯t blame the girl for anything, but her power made me wary. She¡¯d been strong, and she had nearly gotten the better of me twice.


    ¡°I wanted to help.¡± Lisette said. ¡°I¡¯m ordained. I can hallow the graves.¡± She licked her lips and shuffled. ¡°It¡¯s... the least I can do.¡±


    Her next words mirrored the bitterness I¡¯d held within over the past two days. ¡°We didn¡¯t help anyone here.¡±


    I nodded, not arguing, and let her go to the monk. They conversed for a while, then Lisette began to walk among the graves, her auremark in hand. Edgar marched behind her, having produced a jar of incense hanging from a long chain, which he swung back and forth. A pleasant scent, I imagined, to draw in the lost souls.


    I didn¡¯t bother mentioning most of those ghosts would probably be too mutilated to go anywhere, and that the church would need to be abandoned. Oftentimes, such rituals are for the living as much as the dead.


    If they did draw in the dead, it would be to bind them beneath stone and dirt so they couldn¡¯t do harm as much as to give them peace. Would the Shepherds of Draubard even wander through this accursed land, to lead the dead to where they needed to go?


    ¡°It was good of you,¡± a voice behind me said. ¡°To stay and help bury them.¡±


    I turned to see a shadowed shape lurking at the edge of a small copse of trees beyond the graveyard, leaning against a tree. There wasn¡¯t much daylight left, but Catrin still needed to be wary of it.


    ¡°I¡¯d have helped,¡± she said. ¡°But...¡± she waved toward the setting sun with one hand. Though her expression remained nonchalant, I saw the tension in her shoulders. The frustration.


    ¡°You did help,¡± I said. ¡°We both noticed there were more graves dug this morning. That was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Catrin shrugged, not meeting my eyes. ¡°Maybe it was the elves?¡±


    I just snorted and moved to stand next to her, folding my arms as I watched the young cleric work. I didn¡¯t mention that I¡¯d spotted Catrin helping dig graves the night before. I didn¡¯t mention that I¡¯d seen her conversing with some of the ghosts, either. They seemed more comfortable with her than with me. Kindred spirits.


    One of them had worn amber preoster robes. Had either of them managed to find some closure, or was that just wishful thinking?


    ¡°This was a dark thing, big man.¡± Catrin sighed. ¡°I feel like we just watched a tragedy happen from the sidelines.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it often is,¡± I said. ¡°I wish...¡±


    When I paused, Catrin stirred at my side. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°When I started on this path, it was to punish people like Orson. But, I thought, it was also to stop them. To prevent things like this. But almost every time, I feel like I¡¯m just putting down a mad dog after they¡¯ve already spread their sickness into the world. It¡¯s like trying to stop a river with my hands.¡±


    Catrin thought it over a moment, idly brushing the dagger at her belt. She wore the yellow peasant¡¯s dress she¡¯d had the night I¡¯d first met her now, rather than the ruined courtly gown she¡¯d taken from the castle.


    I liked this dress better. It suited her, and she seemed more comfortable in it.


    That¡¯s a strange thought. Put that out of your head, Hewer.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to pretend like I understand all this stuff about elves and holy knights and angels,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Sounds like madness. But there was something about you. I saw it that first night when I took you to the castle. Like you¡¯d just stepped out of a story.¡±


    ¡°Sad story,¡± I noted, eyeing the graves.


    ¡°So what¡¯s next for the mighty Headsman?¡± Catrin asked.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t call me that,¡± I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s just Alken.¡±


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Alright then. What¡¯s next for you, Alken?¡±


    I closed my eyes, breathing in the last of the fading daylight. ¡°I wander. I wait for the Onsolain to send me some sign or messenger. Then I do this again.¡± Less badly next time, I thought.


    ¡°And this demon?¡± Catrin asked. ¡°All those other bastards who were part of this?¡±


    I glanced toward the castle. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sworn by oath to my duty, and the consequences for ignoring it would be... unpleasant.¡±


    Catrin was quiet a moment. Then, as though tossing a leaf onto the wind she said, ¡°Let me see what I can dig up. All sorts of strange sorts and stories pass through the Backroad. I¡¯ll keep an ear to the wind, see if something of your Council of Darkness comes up.¡±


    I winced. ¡°That¡¯s a terrible name.¡±


    ¡°Works though, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Catrin laughed, then shifted closer to me. I noted it and went on guard. Not because I thought I was in danger, but because I sensed something in the movement, and didn¡¯t want to encourage her.


    I had no room for it in my life.


    If Catrin noted my distancing, she ignored it. She stepped in front of me and brushed my left arm with her hand, at the crook of the elbow where she¡¯d fed from. I shivered at the feel of her cold skin, but she didn¡¯t take it further.


    ¡°When I tasted you...¡± Catrin looked up to meet my eyes. Even though my bangs half concealed them, she squinted as though glancing into a sunbeam. ¡°When I had your blood in me, I got a bit more too. I felt you, Alken.¡±


    She stepped closer, squeezing my elbow. ¡°You¡¯re in so much pain. I saw it that first night, just from watching you, but I know it now. What happened to you? Who are you?¡±


    A ghost, I thought. A phantom, just like Olliard said.


    Melodramatic, and not an answer she¡¯d accept.


    ¡°That¡¯s a long story,¡± I told her, unsure if I¡¯d say more.


    Catrin recognized the deflection, and to my relief respected it. She drifted away, the movement casual as if she were just adjusting her balance. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you how to find the inn. There¡¯s a trick to it, but once you know the way you can find it any time, any place. I¡¯m there most times.¡±


    She didn¡¯t quite keep the hopeful note from her next words. ¡°You¡¯ll stop by sometime, right?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I nodded. ¡°Seems like it might be a useful place to gather information.¡± And maybe I¡¯ll even tell you my story, I thought.


    ¡°That it is,¡± Catrin agreed with a wry smile. ¡°Just don¡¯t come in swinging that fancy cutter, alright? Hard for my like to find steady work.¡±


    The sun set, casting the land in shadow.


    ¡°Alken...¡± Catrin folded her arms as though cold. ¡°It¡¯s strange to say it, but... I feel like the world got darker here. Like nothing¡¯s ever going to be the same again.¡±


    I knew what she meant. Only, that realization was ten years gone for me.


    I tried returning to the Hall of Irn Bale, to return the elf¡¯s armor and perhaps find some answers. I gave up after two days of wandering the woods. Whatever paths had brought me to that house, they¡¯d been closed.


    As dusk approached at the end of the second day, a ghostly music lured me deep into the woods. I knew to be cautious, but followed it all the same.


    The song, played on the strings of a lute, brought me to a stream fed by a short waterfall. On the smooth rocks along the brief cliff sat an elf. Dressed in a white gown of ancient design pinned at one shoulder, she strummed a lute of inhumanly fine craft.


    I stood by the stream, listening to the song until it ended. ¡°Your father¡¯s left these woods?¡±


    The oradyn¡¯s daughter smile, opening just her left eye, the golden one. It gleamed like a fresh minted coin in the sun dappled woods.


    ¡°Yes. He has pulled his hall deeper into the Wend. Why did you return?¡± She laughed girlishly. ¡°I imagine it wasn¡¯t for my music.¡±


    I hesitated. The excuse about returning the oradyn¡¯s gift seemed shallow, now. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admitted. ¡°I suppose... I¡¯d hoped for more closure.¡±


    The elf maid leapt gracefully off her high rock, her dragonfly wings fluttering as she alighted lightly on the grass on sandaled feet. The wind from her wings kissed my face, tussling my hair.


    She stared at me with her mismatched eyes, her expression unreadable. ¡°I am Tzanith, daughter of Irn Bale and Irn Raya, heir to all their legacy. I say this, Alken Hewer ¡ª you will be hard pressed to find closure in this war. It has endured for many an age.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a message from them?¡± I asked.


    Tzanith¡¯s smile turned sad. ¡°From the Choir? I¡¯m afraid not. That is not my role.¡±


    She tucked the beautiful lute under one arm and stepped forward. I remembered her attempt at seduction from before and kept very still, not wanting to invite a repeat performance. But this time, she didn¡¯t seem the flirtatious youth anymore. She seemed very much the immortal, seeing more than I could even with my blessings.


    She reached out and ran her fingers over the black iron rings of the armor her father had given me. ¡°My mother¡¯s mail.¡± she spoke in a near whisper.


    ¡°I am willing to return it,¡± I said. ¡°Now our enemy is dead.¡±


    She shook her head, causing her long blue braid to swing. ¡°No. This was a gift, and it is yours. I do not wish to go as my mother did. I love music, and laughter. Perhaps, in some age far away, I will be the warrior. My people have time to be many things throughout our lives.¡±


    ¡°About before,¡± I blurted. ¡°When I sent you away from the room, I¡ª¡±


    She laughed without ire. ¡°I was very angry! I considered cursing you, but...¡±


    She became serious again. ¡°I am not so young that I do not recognize a broken heart when I see it. You did not reject me because I did not please you, Alken Hewer, but because you still see another in your dreams. Is that not so?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t reply. My throat felt tight, and I didn¡¯t want to risk finding out what might spill from it if I opened my mouth.


    ¡°And yet...¡± Her eyes went down to my right hand, where my ring rested. ¡°You deny yourself your dreams. Is it not better to remember, even if there is pain?¡±


    I ran a thumb over the ivory band. ¡°This is better. Safer.¡±


    Tzanith turned, her long braid swinging. Then, in a flurry of dragonfly wings, she returned to the rocks. After adjusting her dress and folding her legs, she placed her fingers to the strings of the lute.


    ¡°I think I will make a song for this thing. For the lord of Caelfall, for what he became, and what he might have been.¡±


    ¡°And how many lives of men will pass before it¡¯s finished?¡± I asked, arching an eyebrow.


    The bard only laughed.


    Weeks passed before I received the message I¡¯d been waiting for.


    I¡¯d strayed far from the dark woods and haunted marshes of Caelfall. I didn¡¯t know the name of the forest I¡¯d found myself in, but it was depthless and dark, quiet as a grave.


    I sat by a crackling fire within the ruins of an old temple. Some precursor to the Church, I imagined, back when many Onsolain did not have that name, and were worshipped as gods without a celestial queen to lead them. The ancient edifice had worn down to little more than a few crumbling walls and sunken foundation.


    But power remained in the patch of hallowed ground. Enough to let me rest.


    The forest ghosts lurked in the darkness beyond my camp¡¯s light, pooling in murmuring schools like amorphous fish along the edges of the ruin walls. Some of them piled in the broken gaps just beyond the wall, staring at me with faces which seemed lit from no apparent source, eyes bloodshot and lidless as they glared at me.


    It was a moonless night, overcast, but the dead seemed to produce an unearthly light all their own.


    Faen Orgis lay at my side. I had not slept in some days. I ran a thumb over my ring. Red patterns like blood swam through its black stone.


    ¡°Failed again,¡± the forest ghosts whispered. ¡°Failed us. Didn¡¯t save us. Let that thing rise out of our corpses like a maggot.¡±


    Some of the ghosts were from the village I¡¯d left behind weeks before, clinging to my shadow. Lisette and Edgar hadn¡¯t managed to bind all of them after all.


    ¡°Perhaps you hoped it would be her?¡±


    My head shot up, looking for the source of that last voice. I didn¡¯t find it, and settled back down.


    ¡°I did not want that,¡± I hissed at the darkness.


    The darkness only laughed.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t talk to them,¡± a voice more tangible than the forest spirits said. ¡°It only makes them stronger.¡±


    I looked up from the fire to see a figure leaning against one of the ruined walls, just outside the true radius of the firelight. A short man in his late thirties, with a homely face covered in dense brown stubble, a mop of hair loosely tied behind his head. He wore studded leathers over a lean frame.


    I could almost see the stone wall through him.


    ¡°Donnelly,¡± I greeted the ghost. ¡°You can share my fire. Just you.¡±


    Donnelly lurched forward and sat cross legged across the fire from me, holding his hands out. It wasn¡¯t a cold night ¡ª we were well into Summer ¡ª but he shivered as violently as if he¡¯d come out of a blizzard, shaking his hands in gratitude for the warmth. Immediately he began to grow more substantial, until he seemed the man he¡¯d been in life. Below average in height, all wiry muscle and cocky attitude, his peasant¡¯s features tanned by sun.


    He didn¡¯t much look like a hero of the Ardent Bough, or the herald of a divine court. And yet, he was both.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the rogue said. ¡°Been a while since I got some flame in me. Thought I was starting to fade, like that lot.¡± He jerked a thumb toward the shadows.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡± I asked, tossing a twig into the fire. Sparks danced into the air, and a few Wil-O¡¯ Wisps emerged with them to twirl playfully. They¡¯d followed me from Caelfall, too, though most had wandered off into the wilds over the weeks.


    A sour expression crossed the ghost¡¯s bony face. ¡°Working. Feels like all Urn¡¯s bloody burning, some days. Parts of it still are, in truth...¡±


    His gray eyes went distant, then snapped to me. ¡°I heard you did a job for a member of the Choir.¡±


    I nodded, and told him about what had happened in Caelfall. I left some details out, such as my alliance with a dhampir and confrontation with the itinerant monster hunter.


    ¡°Damn...¡± Donnelly folded his arms, rubbing warmth into them. ¡°You really think it¡¯s one of the demons old Reynard had on his leash?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It felt like it. My powers aren¡¯t always reliable. Could have been a stray, or something lurking in the Wend. But I think... I think it was one of the monsters the Traitor released, yes.¡±


    I shook my head, setting my jaw. ¡°We should have worked harder to seal them all.¡±


    ¡°Without ol¡¯ Tuvon, it¡¯s a tall order.¡± Donnelly shrugged, and I had to suppress a smile at his casual mention of the elven king.


    ¡°I want you to ask them to let me hunt those other Recusants,¡± I told him.


    Donnelly¡¯s expression fell into neutrality. ¡°You know it doesn¡¯t work that way, Al.¡±


    ¡°Tell them what happened,¡± I insisted. ¡°This is what I¡¯m meant for. I need to follow through on what happened at that lake.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a knight anymore,¡± Donnelly said bluntly. He ignored the angry look that passed over my face, holding up a hand to stall my next words. ¡°You¡¯re the Headsman. Your job is to carry out sentences of execution when and where the Choir tells you to, just like my job is to be their courier.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Neither of us have a fine gig, kid.¡±


    I scoffed at that. I was old as Donnelly had been when he¡¯d died.


    The ghost sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them what you¡¯ve told me, but no promises. You know the Onsolain don¡¯t see everything. Besides...¡±


    He hesitated. I leaned forward and clasped my hands, eyes on the fire to watch the wisps play. ¡°You have another mark for me.¡±


    Donnelly spread out his hands in a what can I do? gesture. ¡°Guilty.¡±


    A while passed before I replied. To his credit, Donnelly didn¡¯t try to make excuses or hurry me.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± I said after several minutes.


    ¡°They want you to head west, to the Bannerlands,¡± Donnelly said. ¡°Can¡¯t say much more as of yet.¡±


    I nodded. It was often like this. I¡¯d be given a direction, then either perform a rite of communion or wait for some other message to get the details. Sometimes it would take weeks of following vague signs and portents before I found myself in the right position to get the full picture.


    ¡°That¡¯s a populated country,¡± I said after some thought. ¡°Not the kind of place I¡¯d think they would send me. Lot of towns. Lot of nobles.¡± Lot of soldiers, I thought darkly. I wouldn¡¯t be able to vanish into the wilderness so easily in a realm that densely populated.


    ¡°Even still,¡± Donnelly said unapologetically, ¡°that¡¯s where you¡¯re bound. Once you¡¯ve crossed the border, perform the rites. You know the drill.¡±


    His eyes went to the woods. ¡°Too many ears here. No telling if any of these wild ghosts are reporting to some necromancer somewhere. Better to give you the rest of it in a church, or in a dream. Either way, head west.¡±


    Donnelly left not long after. Vanished like a mirage as was his wont. That suited my mood. The ghosts whispered in the shadows, wild chimera hooted in the deeper darkness beyond, and the silent clouds rolled above. The whole world seemed to be made of night and monsters.


    Sometimes, it could be hard to remember there were other little islands of light beyond all that fang-filled black.


    I sat by the fire for a long while, thinking. The wisps kept it warm. Handy little creatures. Part of me had been glad of their company, but they were fey. No telling when they¡¯d wander off. Perhaps, when Irn Bale had closed the ways to his hall, they¡¯d been stranded.


    ¡°You can stay with me long as you like,¡± I said to them, not sure they understood. ¡°Might see some nasty things, though.¡±


    One little mote of faerie-light danced toward my face, spun around my head once, then returned to the fire. I almost smiled. Almost.


    Part of me regretted not asking Catrin to stick with me. I think she might have, had I asked. Of most anyone I¡¯d met, she may not have minded my grim work.


    But she¡¯d also need to feed, and I wasn¡¯t willing to let her use me that way, or other innocents in my presence. Better for her to stay at her strange devil¡¯s inn, where she could get her blood from those who offered it freely.


    It wouldn¡¯t have worked. We would have resented one another, eventually.


    I tossed another twig into the fire, watching the tiny lights dance through the dark until they cooled. I lifted my right hand and ran the thumb of my left over my ring. The stone had gone almost entirely to red over the past weeks. It had fed well.


    I slipped it off my finger, settled against the shattered temple wall at my back, and closed my eyes.


    I let myself dream.


    End of Arc One

 Arc 2: Chapter 28: Emmas Doom

    Arc 2: Chapter 28: Emma''s Doom


    The wind carried Emma¡¯s pronouncement away soon enough, though it seemed to hang in the frozen air as a nearly physical thing.


    ¡°It is not that simple,¡± Vicar said with a touch of exasperation in his voice. ¡°You cannot merely say a thing and have it change reality. You are bound, child.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not actually true,¡± Donnelly said in a chipper voice. I stared at him in confusion, but he just winked at me.


    Emma lifted a dark eyebrow, a touch of her usual haughty primness entering her tone. ¡°I can¡¯t just say it, can I? Well then, let us make it a bit more official shall we?¡±


    She looked up to Lady Eanor and the rest of the demigods. ¡°I will swear it. I, Emma of the Westvales, renounce the name Carreon. I will hold no lands or titles in that name, and I will have no children of my blood. I will be the last of the bloodline, the last to wield our magic, the last to bear our curse. I disavow all my ancestors and their deeds, I disown all their wealth and allegiances.¡±


    Eanor looked shocked, perhaps even awed. ¡°Child... you understand what this means? This is a curse unto itself, this thing. Should you renounce your ancestors they will not forget or forgive. Remember that dead is not gone.¡±


    She glanced at Jon Orley.


    ¡°I will bear their ire then.¡± Emma folded her hands behind her back in a militant stance, one she¡¯d likely learned from her sword trainer, planting her feet.


    A low, throaty chuckle passed over the circle. It came from Mother Urddha, who cast an appreciative gold-and-green eye on the young noble. ¡°Well this is unexpected! Dear girl, little Eanor speaks truth. If you renounce your House, all the privileges and sacred protections given to this land¡¯s nobility will be shorn from you. You will be at the mercy of all spirits and malisons. As it is, you at least have the certainty of knowing your fate. That is not a thing lightly discarded.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything. I was too busy staring at Emma dumbly, but she wasn¡¯t paying me any mind.


    The demigoddess let those words settle before continuing. ¡°If you do this...¡± She shrugged. ¡°You will be adrift on tumultuous seas, which shall show you no mercy. Nor will you be rid of your Blood Art ¡ª that is part of you forever, and many wolves will find you an enticing feast. There are worse things in this world than devils, and they are always hungry. Your protector knows that well enough.¡±


    She glanced at me. Emma did too, but this time I avoided her gaze.


    ¡°It should also be mentioned,¡± Kaharn growled, ¡°that if you break this oath, this pact, and attempt to claim your titles once again, or pass your blood and magic on, you shall face dire consequence. You shall holds no lands and take no husband.¡±


    Emma nodded slowly. ¡°I understand. Even still, I will swear it. I do swear it.¡±


    ¡°Emma...¡± I didn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°Are you sure? Do you understand what you¡¯re giving up?¡±


    ¡°Nothing that hasn¡¯t just been a burden,¡± Emma said, though she looked wistful.


    Even still, what she¡¯d just done boggled the mind. She hadn¡¯t just given up titles and privileges, her place among the aristocracy, she¡¯d also given up the magics that protected the nobility from various forces, allowed them to rule over domains riddled with supernatural beings. Opening and closing doors in her castle was a parlor trick, true, but it went hand in hand with far more meaningful boons.


    With her family¡¯s magic still in her, spirits of all kinds, many predatory, would be drawn to try to feed on that power. She wouldn¡¯t have any authority to repel them, no certain protection. It would be like if I still had the golden fire in me that attracted dark spirits, but with no preternatural command or sanctified arts to keep them at bay. I¡¯d just be a walking meal.


    House Hunting would disown her. She¡¯d never be able to dwell in Liutgarde again, or reclaim the Westvales throne. If Orley decided to claim his revenge anyway, she¡¯d have nowhere to hide.


    And her own ancestors would be wrathful. The Carreons were fell in life. How much worse would they be in death?


    I¡¯d rarely seen anything so brave, or so sad. It infuriated me that the world had pushed her to this.


    ¡°This is madness,¡± Vicar hissed. ¡°It does not free her of us.¡±


    ¡°That is not correct.¡± Donnelly grinned at the crowfriar as he threw his own words back at him. ¡°It is House Carreon to which your realm has ownership, and I believe as of now...¡±


    The former thief spread his hands out. ¡°You already have all of them. This child is no longer a Carreon.¡±


    ¡°And you no longer have any business here,¡± Kaharn rumbled. He glowered through his silver helm at the devil monk.


    Vicar looked around at the gathering, lips pressed tight beneath the shadow of his cowl. After a frustrated sigh he grew suddenly calm. ¡°Is this the Choir¡¯s decision, then?¡±


    Eanor clasped her hands together and nodded. ¡°It is. We shall accept the child¡¯s oath. So long as Emma abides by her promise, then Astraea Carreon¡¯s pact with Orkael shall not bind her. She is no longer part of that legacy.¡±


    Her voice took on a different, more dire note. ¡°This shall be her doom: She will no longer be a Lady of Urn, and shall never rule over others, shall pass on no blood and demand no obeisance from mortal kind or the spirits of the land. Her Art will die with her.¡±


    ¡°So mote it be.¡±


    All the assembled immortals spoke together in a thunderous echo. I gasped at the force of that pronouncement as it embedded itself into the world, becoming a real, tangible thing, a part of reality itself.


    Vicar¡¯s offhand comment that one could not simply say a thing and have it be so became a lie in that moment, proven false by the power of the Choir. I felt it settle into my own aura, joining the collection of memories and vows there.


    Emma only winced, feeling the barest touch of the magic.


    The crowfriar waited a moment, and I knew he consulted with the invisible spirit whispering into his ear ¡ª the true devil, the Zosite. His master, I realized.


    After a beat he bowed his hooded head. ¡°The Iron Tribunal has heard it. I will depart.¡±


    I saw the trap. ¡°Orley.¡±


    He paused, turning his darkened visage toward me. ¡°Pardon?¡±


    I nodded to the tree. ¡°Jon Orley. You said yourself that he¡¯s here by his own choice, for revenge. Were you planning to leave him to get a bit of your own payback?¡±


    Emma looked at me, frowned, then glanced to the tree with the bound Scorchknight.


    Vicar held my gaze a moment before scoffing. ¡°Perhaps you aren¡¯t so slow as some like to believe, Hewer.¡±


    ¡°Take your dog back to Hell with you,¡± I told him coldly. ¡°And don¡¯t come back.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Emma stepped forward. ¡°Before that... let me talk to him.¡±


    I started to protest. ¡°Emma, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    Emma¡¯s features turned hard, and she spoke with uncompromising authority. ¡°I will speak to my great-grandfather. Please, don¡¯t interfere.¡±


    I studied her face, trying to see what she intended. Then with a nod I agreed. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll be at hand, though.¡±


    We went over to the tree, while Vicar and the Onsolain looked on from a distance. Donnelly shrugged at me, nonplussed as I was.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Emma paused in front of the bound lord, and for a while she didn¡¯t seem to know what to say. Then, after a deep breath that misted in the frozen air, she began to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯ve spent my whole life hating you,¡± she said. ¡°Ever since I learned your story, I hated you. I believed you to be a wretch who couldn¡¯t accept defeat, and couldn¡¯t take out your anger on the one who broke your heart, so you made my life a misery. I told myself I¡¯d never be so weak. I made myself cold, tried to emulate my ancestors. I believed you were weak and foolish, and she was strong. Astraea. She won, and you lost, and that¡¯s what I believed to be important.¡±


    Orley didn¡¯t answer. I couldn¡¯t see any change behind that melted iron mask, any sign he heard or felt anything about the girl¡¯s words. I waited, tense and expecting danger. But I did not interrupt.


    Emma needed this closure.


    She folded her arms, shivering against the cold. I don¡¯t know what power kept her from freezing to death in those arctic temperatures, but suspected it had something to do with the ritual of the place. I doubted it would last long, and knew we didn¡¯t have much time. My magic might protect me, but she¡¯d die in this climate very fast once the gathered power dissipated.


    Ignoring her discomfort, Emma continued. ¡°Nothing is ever simple, is it? Grandmother didn¡¯t tell me about the pact with Hell. Now I know all of it, I think I understand something. Have you guessed it too, Jon? Did you know?¡±


    She waited, and to my surprise the fallen lord tilted his head up as though listening more intently.


    Emma leaned forward, her face very sad. ¡°It was never about winning, was it? Astraea made her pact with Hell so she could keep you to herself forever. And when all her duties were done and her family secure, she tried to join you. I bet they didn¡¯t let her, did they?¡±


    I felt Vicar¡¯s eyes on us, angry and scornful. I silently dared him to interrupt.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand, great-grandfather?¡± Emma searched the iron visage of the fallen lord. ¡°She was just as weak and foolish as you in her own way. Even at the very end, she loved you.¡±


    I looked from Emma to her ancestor, letting those horrible words sink in. Why would anyone do that to someone they loved? I couldn¡¯t believe it, couldn¡¯t accept it. The idea sickened me, but I kept my silence. This wasn¡¯t my moment.


    ¡°I pity you both.¡± Emma stood straight again. ¡°And I will not become either of you. I am done fighting your war.¡±


    Orley¡¯s helmed head slumped. I couldn¡¯t be certain, but I swear he became... dimmer.


    Emma tilted her head toward me. ¡°Release him.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I asked.


    She nodded. ¡°Please.¡±


    Expecting the worst but knowing this needed resolution, I stepped forward and placed my hand on the side of the tree. A crackling sound filled the air and the skeletal branches peeled apart. The tree did not vanish, but when I pulled my hand back I held my axe.


    It had changed. The elf-bronze head remained the same, but the uncarved length of oak that made up the handle had become even more twisted, entwining around the metal in a more organic fashion. It had grown longer, too.


    Orley slumped forward, then collapsed to his knees as the trunk of the Executioner¡¯s Tree released him. He knelt there a moment, reeking of sulfur and hot iron. Then, slowly, with the grating peel of bending metal, he stood to his full, impressive height.


    I tensed, clutching my axe tight, ready for trouble. But Orley only stared down at his descendent, any emotions he might have felt unreadable behind the warped visor of his helm.


    Emma tilted her chin up, defiant. ¡°I am not her. I am not yours. I am my own.¡±


    Even still, the Scorchknight said nothing. I saw only blackness through the narrow, twisted slits of the visor. I could hear a shallow breathing, slow and laborious like a plague victim.


    Emma shocked us all once more. ¡°I will make this oath as well; one day, I will free you from Hell.¡±


    ¡°That is enough!¡± Vicar swept forward in a flurry of frayed robes. ¡°This farce has gone on long enough. He is ours, and will remain so.¡±


    I stepped in his path, glaring down at him. Unlike the Onsolain, he was shorter than me.


    ¡°Try anything,¡± I said quietly as I put my axe between us, ¡°and you¡¯ll regret it. I don¡¯t know if aureflame will burn you so badly as it would a demon, Kross... do you want to find out?¡±


    He glowered at me with his burning coal eyes, all the aloof airs and barbed humor gone from him. He leaned forward, speaking in a low, hateful voice.


    ¡°This changes nothing. We will still have her... she has her whole life to slip up, and we can be very patient.¡±


    ¡°She will disappoint you,¡± I said. ¡°She¡¯s too clever by half, and isn¡¯t impressed by all your theatrics.¡±


    His cracked, blistered lips split in a cruel grin, showing gray teeth. ¡°It comforts you, doesn¡¯t it? To see a child born of such wicked blood show such courage, such nobility? You must like the idea that any child you might have had would defy their darker aspect, that their very existence might not have been profane.¡±


    He let those words hang. ¡°Do not delude yourself.¡±


    Seeing the horror that must have shown on my face, for I felt it, he let out a harsh, barking laugh. ¡°Yes! I know. Back in the chapel you did not tell me your true


    sin, Alken Hewer. You painted over it with self indulgent whining about how difficult your life has been, all the great circumstances beyond your control... but my realm knows you.¡±


    He held out his hand and dropped something. Instinctively I caught it. When I opened my hand and saw what was in it, it felt like the world fell out from under me. I barely heard his next words.


    ¡°We know what happened during your tenure with the Alder Table,¡± Vicar crooned. ¡°My masters knew our paths might cross when I began my work in this land. I was briefed thoroughly on your history. We know all of it.¡±


    ¡°This is a trick,¡± I whispered in a hoarse voice. ¡°A lie.¡±


    ¡°Believe what you will,¡± Vicar told me. ¡°But I ask you this ¡ª where do you believe all the sinners and monsters you smite with that sacred fire go?¡±


    In my hand I held a scarred, burnt medallion bearing the image of a golden tree ringed in a silver sun. A knight¡¯s mark. My mark, once. Despite my attempt at denial, I knew in my bones it was the same medallion I¡¯d lost in Seydis ten years before.


    Not lost. I¡¯d given it away.


    ¡°How did you get this?¡± I demanded, stepping forward. I tried to grab the crowfriar by his robe but he glided out of my reach.


    ¡°I think you can guess,¡± Vicar cackled as he turned his back. He pointed at the medallion. ¡°Your world is filled with wounds, Alken Hewer. A battered, broken place aged well past its time. Things have a tendency to slip through the cracks... and we catch them. Think on that.¡±


    The wind had picked up, sending flurries of snow over the circle. Already the growing storm had obscured the pillars, Donnelly, and the Onsolain. Jon Orley had gone, faded away like a wraith. I distantly heard Emma¡¯s voice calling out for me.


    We were being taken back. Vicar stepped into the storm, his form becoming hazy.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I stepped forward. ¡°Tell me how you got this, you bastard!¡±


    He laughed. His voice had grown very distant.


    I pushed forward, again trying to grab at him, but I only grasped frozen water and air. Then it all faded away.


    I spent some time lost in a torrent of snow and wind. Then, suddenly, it all cleared. I stood on a desolate shore overlooking the frozen sea I¡¯d glimpsed through the debate with Vicar. Great hills of ice and depthless, black water spread out to the far horizon. I¡¯d rarely seen anything so unsettlingly bleak.


    Perhaps it is true, that some of the worst hells are made of ice and water rather than fire and iron.


    ¡°You did well in this,¡± a soft voice said. Lady Eanor stood at my side, a towering, regal figure perfectly at home on the frozen shore. Somehow she made the whole scene look less bleak, like a missing piece of a tapestry.


    I stared down at the medallion, lost in my own thoughts for a long moment. ¡°Did I? Emma did the hard part. I barely did anything except listen to stories.¡±


    ¡°She would never have had the chance without you,¡± the Onsolain said. ¡°Take some pride in that.¡±


    Her eyes fell down to the medallion, and she let out a small sound of heartfelt sympathy. ¡°Ah, my dear champion. That is a cruel thing. There is a reason my queen disavowed the Infernal Ones.¡±


    A shadow fell over her surreal beauty. ¡°Many reasons.¡±


    ¡°Is what he said really true?¡± I asked. ¡°Are the agents of Hell allowed to operate freely in Urn again?¡±


    With a troubled look, Eanor nodded. ¡°Few are pleased by it... but I think some of the Choir secretly welcome this change. Orkael once served the First Realm most faithfully, though that was long ago and a very different time. With this new era of chaos and uncertainty, some long for an uncompromising law. They forget so easily just how unfeeling iron can be.¡±


    She looked down at me then, clasping bejeweled hands together. ¡°You must be vigilant, Alken Hewer. This shall not be the last time you will encounter the crowfriars, and now they will know and be cautious of you.¡±


    I took that warning to heart. ¡°Thank you. I can¡¯t help but wonder though.¡±


    Tearing my eyes from the damaged medallion, I met the Onsolain¡¯s shining gaze. ¡°Did you and Nath plot this together? Getting me involved? I know you two are estranged, but I can¡¯t imagine you didn¡¯t have anything to do with your twin cooperating with the Choir.¡±


    Eanor lifted her chin, then looked out over the sea. With a sigh, she shook her head. ¡°My sister tells me nothing without a trace of poison, and I have long learned not to trust her. In this, she acted of her own volition... perhaps she believed her actions to be for some noble purpose, whatever twisted means she employed to accomplish it. That has always been her way ¡ª to veil every deed in a twisted bramble, so you can discern neither motive or intent. There is a very good reason why she gravitated toward the Briar.¡±


    She lifted her head toward some distant point, as though hearing a far away sound. ¡°Our time is done. I will leave you with this, Alken ¡ª we shall not forget this service. We forget none of your work, but in this there is no mask of blood to sully the cause. You put faith where it was needed. In that, you have my support.¡±


    ¡°Just yours?¡± I asked wryly.


    ¡°No doubt many will be watching Emma for signs of corruption. With her fate untethered, who can say what she will become? But I shall have faith, for your sake and for hers.¡±


    It was as much as I could have asked. I bowed to her. ¡°Thank you, my lady.¡±


    The wind picked up once more, hazing the world in white. I knew I would be pulled back soon, to the castle and all that would come after this night. Eanor¡¯s eyes pierced that gloom, fixing on the medallion.


    ¡°You should not keep that thing. It is a treacherous gift, best left in the past.¡±


    Before I could reply, the world turned to white void. Even still, I clutched the medallion tightly.

 Arc 2: Chapter 29: An Immortals Fate

    Arc 2: Chapter 29: An Immortal''s Fate


    Days after our departure from Liutgarde I stood outside the manor, leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods. In my left hand I held the medallion Vicar had given me, running a calloused thumb over its marred surface. On my right hand, my ring sat in its usual place on my forefinger, weighty for something so small.


    Emma was inside, taking stock of her life as it were. Brenner wasn¡¯t aware we¡¯d returned, but I knew that wouldn¡¯t last. I wasn¡¯t yet sure what she would do.


    But I knew what I needed to do. Best to be done with it.


    The sun rose over fields still half covered in snow, though it would melt quickly. The premature winter had retreated, at least for a time. True winter wouldn¡¯t be far off.


    Time to get going. I turned and started moving into the forest.


    The manor¡¯s front door opened and a figure appeared, rushing towards me. I kept walking, though I didn¡¯t increase my pace or use glamour to vanish. Foolish, but I can be that.


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to leave?¡± Vanya asked as she reached the edge of the woods, breathless.


    I stopped, sighed, and turned to her. The woman watched me with a neutral expression, then padded forward into the shadow of the woods to stand just out of arms reach. She adjusted her apron and hair, then folded her hands. She waited for an explanation.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to make a fuss about it,¡± I said.


    ¡°You at least owe her some words.¡± Vanya¡¯s eyes were hard. ¡°And me.¡±


    I traced the edge of my lip with a thumb. ¡°Because you kissed me?¡±


    Vanya¡¯s face hardened, but she took a moment to settle and nodded.


    Instead of answering I said, ¡°I hear you¡¯ve gotten work at Antlerhall. Helping your kid with laundry?¡±


    The maid looked perplexed at the change in topic. ¡°You and Emma are just alike, you know that? You wrap yourself in mystery and think it impresses the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± I asked.


    She gave me a light shove. ¡°Maybe a bit, in your case. Why are you leaving?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Because of me, Brenner lost a marriage for his son and a Blood Art for his grandchildren, not to mention a damned throne. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea for me to stick around.¡±


    In truth, Brenner didn¡¯t know a lick of what was going on. I only felt glad his son had survived, though I didn¡¯t like to think on the broken heart the boy would be dealing with soon enough.


    Still, better a broken heart than a share of a lifelong curse.


    Vanya didn¡¯t reply immediately. Then, seeming to gather her courage she took a step forward and pressed a hand to the front of my hauberk.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go so quickly,¡± she said in a quiet voice, her green eyes downcast. ¡°You could stay a while. Rest, before you have to go back to whoever you were.¡±


    The autumn wind rustled the trees. Leaves fell, settling here and there across the ground. I sighed.


    ¡°Does Emma know?¡± Or Hannah? That you¡¯re dead.¡±


    The hand on my chest went stiff. Vanya¡¯s brow crinkled as though in confusion. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±


    I took the hand gently. It was still very cold.


    ¡°Your daughter knows, doesn¡¯t she? She was terrified of you. I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s the real reason you sent her to Brenner¡¯s castle. You didn¡¯t want Emma getting suspicious.¡±


    Vanya¡¯s face became angry. ¡°You¡¯re being rude. Stop this.¡±


    She tried to pull her hand back, but my grip was firm. She tugged, and when I wouldn¡¯t let go she slapped at me. I ignored it.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurting me!¡±


    ¡°Are you going to make me remove the glamour?¡± I asked. ¡°It¡¯s painful.¡±


    All at once Vanya stopped struggling and leaned forward, surprising me. She pressed her forehead to my chest, shaking. At first I thought with sobs, but I soon realized it was laughter.


    ¡°Good, Ser Knight. Very good.¡±


    The voice wasn¡¯t Vanya¡¯s. She lifted her face, revealing paler skin and eyes that¡¯d become empty sockets full of bottomless darkness.


    I leapt back, my hand going for my axe. Vanya didn¡¯t move. She seemed to have gone limp, slumped where she stood like a puppet with its strings cut. The shadows of the woods seemed to gather around her, forming into a pale hand resting on the maidservant¡¯s shoulder. It dissipated in an instant, turning into a black fog that engulfed the woman. I could see shapes writhing in it. Thorny brambles the color of blood. A single enormous feathered wing.


    The fog scattered, and a very different figure stood where Vanya had. She smiled down at me.


    ¡°Nath.¡± I kept my hand on my weapon, but didn¡¯t draw it. Nor did I bother to hide the anger in my voice.


    ¡°Knightling. However did you figure it out?¡±


    ¡°About Vanya? Honestly, I thought she was a dyghoul. I assumed it was Emma¡¯s grandmother in there, or maybe even Astraea.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t know it was me?¡± Nath let out a low cackle. ¡°But you lured me out anyway! I¡¯ll give this round to you, my dear. But what made you think she was dead?¡±


    Dead or possessed, I hadn¡¯t been sure. I didn¡¯t bother saying as much. ¡°The way her daughter acted, mostly. But I knew when she ¡ª you ¡ª kissed me.¡±


    Nath made an O with her lips. ¡°You tasted death on her?¡±


    ¡°I know you tried to slip a curse through.¡± I held up Rysanthe¡¯s ring. The normally black stone shone a bright red. ¡°This caught it.¡±


    Nath sneered at the ring. ¡°Drow magic. How droll.¡±


    ¡°I was watching for tricks. I figured if anyone would try to get close to Emma, they¡¯d use the maid. She was an obvious weak spot. An ordinary woman with a young daughter who spent every day around her? I was suspicious from the start.¡±


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    I felt my anger, always present and under the surface, growing hot in my chest. ¡°You were trying to use Vanya to seduce me. That way I¡¯d have more of a reason to stay near the girl and fall under your influence.¡±


    Nath knew what I¡¯d lost, what part of me still longed for in my dreams. That was her weapon, and it might have worked if I hadn¡¯t taken measures to protect myself.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t plan to let me go after this matter. Do you intend to kill me now? Because I¡¯ve ruined your schemes?¡±


    ¡°Ruined them?¡± Nath tilted her head, looking perplexed. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡±


    I glared at her, wary of tricks and misdirections. ¡°You wanted Jon Orley and Vicar out of the way so Emma could go through with his alliance with Brenner Hunting. She¡¯d have no obstacle to reclaiming the throne of the Westvales, and you¡¯d have your own godchild and warlock become a queen. House Carreon would be your puppets from now on.¡±


    Nath nodded slowly, the amusement fading from her ghostly pale face. ¡°That was one outcome, yes. But no, you¡¯ve ruined nothing for me Headsman. In fact I am well pleased.¡±


    I paused, confused. ¡°Pleased? How?¡±


    Nath began to pace in a slow circle around the clearing, folding her arms like a queen wandering idly through her palace garden. She wore an outfit very similar to Vanya¡¯s peasant garb, a long green dress and apron, though on her it looked more like the vestments of a regal witch. ¡°My dear godchild is free of the machinations of Orkael, her fate untethered. She has chosen a destiny that has shocked a long standing balance of power in the land, an act that has shaken even my own brethren. The breaking of such a powerful curse causes ripples.¡±


    She paused and smiled at me. ¡°I could not have asked for a more interesting outcome.¡±


    I shook my head, feeling some of my anger recede. ¡°I would have thought you¡¯d have been annoyed at this. Weren¡¯t you mentoring her because of her lineage?¡±


    Nath snorted, shaking her head. ¡°Perhaps at first, but do you truly believe I hold such value in the constructs of family and right of rule? I abandoned all of that. No, this only brings the dear child closer to my aspect.¡±


    That sent a shiver down my spine. ¡°If you¡¯re planning to bring her into the Briar, I will take issue with that.¡±


    ¡°Have you learned nothing from all of this?¡± Nath finally turned to face me, her empty eyes narrowing into black slits. ¡°All that matters is her choice. Besides...¡± She sighed heavily. ¡°I do not think she will choose to stay under my wing, loathe as I am to admit it. She seems enamored with a wholly different path, one I find most dull. But I am but her guide, her teacher.¡±


    She shrugged.


    I frowned, not understanding. ¡°You know what she plans to do?¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t spoken to you? Ah well, no matter. In any case, I have a reward for you.¡±


    I blinked, taken aback. ¡°A... reward?¡± I¡¯d felt certain she was going to try and kill me. I could sense Qoth lurking in the woods, watching and ready.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.¡± The Fallen let out a low, chortling laugh. ¡°My kin don¡¯t really pay you, do they? Stingy, short sighted creatures. Well, you will find that I always reward good service. Qoth?¡±


    She beckoned, and the briarfae stepped out of the shadows. Qoth approached me. He held something in his hands ¡ª a folded bundle, the material darkly red.


    I took it with caution, still wary of tricks, and in a moment I realized what I held. A new cloak, much the same as the one I¡¯d worn for many seasons, long enough to trail along the ground even with my height. It had a pointed cowl with a more defined shape than my current one, and deeper color. A red so dark it looked near black in the woodland gloom.


    The material felt impossibly light and smooth. Like velvet, though its color reminded me of dried blood.


    ¡°Made by Qoth¡¯s own kin,¡± Nath told me. ¡°It will not easily fray from long roads, and many beings will find you harder to track by magical means. There¡¯s a glamour woven into it. You may find the shades that haunt your steps less dogged so long as you wear this. It has an aspect of fear woven into it, one that affects mortals too.¡±


    I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hesitated, and Nath let out an eerie laugh.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. It is not infested.¡±


    I glanced at her, not trusting her an inch. ¡°The stories say you trap most of your marks like this. With gifts.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t find any signs of barbed thorns or creeping vines in the cloak, but that didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t there.


    ¡°I promise you this is no trick.¡± Nath shook her head so her mane of writhing black hair twisted into strange shapes. ¡°I may call on your services again. I would rather you be... unspoiled.¡±


    She¡¯d already tried to curse me once, but that¡¯d been before when Emma was still in line to inherit a kingdom. Probably she¡¯d wanted me as the girl¡¯s champion.


    I still took the time to look for a hidden trick. No matter how hard I looked with my eyes or my aura, I couldn¡¯t find any signs of a trap.


    Even still, the cloak was a fell thing. Elf-make like my armor and axe, it had a sort of life in it. I could feel the aspect Nath had mentioned. Wearing this would add to my own supernatural visage.


    No use tiptoeing around. This is what you¡¯ve chosen.


    I let my tattered old rag fall to the ground and donned the new cloak. It wrapped easily about my neck, almost up to my chin, hugging close to my skin as though relieved to be worn. It fell down to the forest floor like deep crimson liquid, its folds shifting subtly in an unseen wind.


    Creepy. And damn comfortable.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s very, uh... ominous.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Nath pressed a hand to her cheek, admiring me. ¡°Flatterer.¡±


    I turned to go, then paused. ¡°I should thank you.¡±


    Nath quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Hm?¡±


    I half turned to face the Onsolain. ¡°At the Circle of Doom... Eanor was there because of you, wasn¡¯t she? I don¡¯t think that would have turned out the way it did had there not been someone sympathetic to Emma¡¯s plight.¡±


    Nath lifted both her hands in a dismissive gesture. ¡°Oh, my beloved twin does have a weakness for causes tragic and romantic. I may have ensured a little bird whispered in her ear, but who can know such things?¡±


    Donnelly. I owed him thanks as well.


    ¡°What happened to the real Vanya?¡± I asked.


    Nath considered. ¡°She died in her sleep. A problem with her brain. You mortals can be so fragile... I caught her soul and trapped it in the body, but not for free. We share time now. Sometimes she is herself, and sometimes she is me. Hannah still has her mother, though the girl is sensitive. She senses my shadow.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re alright with that?¡± I asked. ¡°Splitting yourself with a mortal?¡±


    Nath¡¯s empty eyes seemed to grow remote. ¡°There are many things I have not yet experienced. Besides, this is but one of my shadows. It can spare time to play house. She did have an attraction to you, you know. Vanya, I mean. That kiss was all her, even if I interfered.¡±


    ¡°Best she forget about me. I was never going to be able to stay, and her life is haunted enough.¡±


    I started to turn, then paused. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you gained from this. Emma deserves some answers, Nath.¡±


    ¡°She deserves nothing,¡± the Onsolain intoned. ¡°She has been given all the tools necessary to claim what she desires. That was the role I played as her patron. I taught her how to navigate these paths ¡ª let us consider this a test. Perhaps she will surprise us both?¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s always a goring test with you immortals. It¡¯s like half of you are senile and the rest are children, playing with ants.¡±


    Nath wagged a finger through the air, flashing pale teeth. ¡°Hope your gods are like children, mortal, for children can be pleased. An absent power is only void, and that is a truly terrible thing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a priest,¡± I said. ¡°You can¡¯t goad me by making allusions to God. And I¡¯m not here to discuss theology.¡±


    ¡°Wrong.¡± Nath paused next to me, looking down from her towering height. ¡°That is exactly what we discuss today. I placed you here and interfered in this matter because I wanted an answer.¡±


    I felt wary of this close distance between us. ¡°An answer to what?¡±


    ¡°My own fate.¡± She closed her eyes and tilted her head upward. A wind disturbed the forest. I shuddered, unsure why.


    ¡°I will rejoin the Choir,¡± Nath said in almost a whisper. ¡°I will be Onsolain again. Perhaps the Briar will disavow me for it... in fact, I suspect they will. Even so, greater engines are beginning to shift and I...¡±


    She turned her head and looked at me. ¡°I wish to see it again. That light. When the time comes and the Gates open, I will fight to reclaim what was lost long ago. The dream of mine own kingdom was a pretty thing, but fleeting.¡±


    I had the strong sensation that I¡¯d just witnessed something... not historic. That wasn¡¯t the right word. Something mythic. A decision that would echo through time and alter currents I couldn¡¯t fathom.


    For Nath it was a choice made quietly, without drama or fanfare, in this quiet countryside with only the wind, the trees, and one frustrated mortal to hear it. I suspected she¡¯d been contemplating this very choice back in that starlit glade we¡¯d last spoken in, while she¡¯d listened to the stars, meditated, and dreamed of war.


    I wondered what had happened to the preoster, Eskander. Against my better judgement I asked.


    Nath did not smile when she answered. ¡°He broke.¡±

 Interlude: The Doctor

    Interlude: The Doctor


    Northern Amberhorns


    Winter


    12 Years After The Fall


    A church bell tolled, striking a mournful beat that ripped the sleeper from her dream.


    Delphine woke sweating and chilled, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. For several minutes all she could do was sit in bed, clutching the soaked sheets and gasping for breath. Her left hand formed a fist over her breast, as though she could stem her panicked pulse with pressure like a bleeding wound.


    The same dream again. How many times was this? How many times would she be forced to relive those hellish hours of stumbling through the smoke while the avenues and groves burned, while the thunder of battle drew closer with every moment and laughing things hunted her?


    They¡¯d called her name. Taunted her. Where are you going? Won¡¯t you stay? Are you lost, good sister?


    They¡¯d killed the others. Torn them apart and worn their corpses like clothing. The other sisters had danced through the ruins and called her name over and over, and she¡¯d...


    Only as the remnants of sleep fully faded did Delphine realize the town¡¯s bells were ringing. She often heard that sound in her dreams as well, and it took several minutes to realize they were real. Dawn already?


    This wasn¡¯t just the morning bell. They were all ringing, and the sound had a note of urgency in it. Delphine reached for the spot next to her on the bed and found it empty. That sent a thrill of panic through her more intense even than the tolling.


    ¡°Gladys?¡± She called mutedly, but of course no one answered. She was alone in the room.


    She scrambled out of the bed and opened the shutters on the windows. Immediately the sound of wind buffeting cheap glass filled the bedroom. The panes rattled, threatening to rip right off the shop¡¯s walls in a brief but powerful gust. Delphine¡¯s room was on the second floor of the old building, one of a score of its like making up this street.


    It¡¯s still night, she realized. And the snow still hadn¡¯t let up. Winter had come hard and fast, and for nearly two weeks now the township of Urbaine had been half buried in snowfall. Frost crusted the window.


    Watch fires burned along the town¡¯s defensive wall. Down on the street, the mayor¡¯s guard were out in force on their chimera. Big, shaggy beasts suited for this mountainous region. They were going door to door down the row, and already people were emerging from their homes in a scatter of confusion.


    No doubt many of them still remembered the war. The Gylden might not have suffered so dramatically as Blessed Seydis, but it had suffered. No doubt the peal of bells and the town waking in the cold dark came as a familiar terror to these people.


    But this was no attacking army, no rampaging monster or freak hurricane that brought fire and death in its winds. No, this had the quality of a manhunt.


    The bedroom door opened and Gladys burst in. A plump woman in her early thirties with mousy brown hair, she still wore her night dress and held a steaming cup. She saw Delphine awake and stopped.


    ¡°You¡¯re up!¡± Gladys seemed uncertain what to do for a moment. Her eyes went to the window and crinkled with worry. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening. Hugo says we¡¯re not supposed to go to the castle, that the guard wants us to stay inside. That means it¡¯s not war, right? If they want us to stay in our homes, then it¡¯s not war?¡±


    Delphine recognized the plea for reassurance. Instead of giving it she said, ¡°They¡¯ve already been here?¡±


    Now she listened, she could hear Hugo ¡ª Gladys¡¯s older brother ¡ª moving around downstairs.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Gladys nodded. ¡°They just told us not to panic, that there¡¯s been a disturbance and we¡¯re not under attack. But why would they ring all the bells? Why would they light all the fires on the wall? I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Delphine closed the shutters, blocking their view of the waking town. Moving to the other woman, she took Gladys¡¯s face between her hands. Delphine was a good bit taller. She looked down into those huge, scared eyes. Instead of saying anything, she leaned in and kissed her. It was brief, just a quick press of lips and a flutter of eyelashes against the shorter woman¡¯s cheek.


    When she pulled back, Delphine smiled warmly. ¡°Everything is fine. We¡¯re not under attack. You have nothing to worry about.¡±


    Gladys blushed furiously. ¡°Oh. Alright. Um.¡± She lifted the steaming cup. ¡°I made you tea. You were having nightmares again, so I thought it might help.¡±


    Delphine took the cup and sipped. She saw Hugo at the door. He¡¯d seen her kissing his sister, and disapproval radiated from him. Because it was his sister, because it made him uncomfortable, and because he didn¡¯t like Delphine much. All the usual reasons. She didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°What did the guards say?¡± Delphine asked.


    Hugo folded his arms and grunted. Round faced like Gladys with the same ashy brown hair and dark eyes, he and his sister had little in common otherwise. Where she was soft and gentle, his work at the mill gave him a bearish strength.


    ¡°There¡¯s been a murder,¡± he rumbled.


    Gladys pressed a hand to her mouth. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± Hugo said with a pensive cast to his bearded face. ¡°But with the whole town in uproar, it had to either be the bishop, the knight-captain, or the mayor himself. My guess is the captain. The soldiers looked ready for blood.¡±


    ¡°But why all the bells?¡± Gladys frowned, realizing they¡¯d stopped. Delphine could still hear them ringing in her mind. They never stopped ringing for her, not since Seydis.


    Delphine knew the answer, but Hugo spared her the effort. ¡°They want to make the culprit panic,¡± he said with grim satisfaction. ¡°We drill for this in the militia. You make a big ruckus and chances are the fox will fly out of the coop. People, especially guilty people, don¡¯t think rationally when you scare the shit out of them, and all that light and noise is fit to scare a demon.¡±


    ¡°I very much doubt that,¡± Delphine said quietly. Hugo glowered at her, while Gladys shifted in discomfort.


    Hugo changed the subject. ¡°I hear it was like this in Vinhithe when Red Leonis got himself butchered.¡±


    Gladys¡¯s face drained of color. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Best not to speculate,¡± Delphine said soothingly, shooting a pointed look at Hugo. The man coughed and avoided her gaze. It¡¯d been nearly two years since the Bishop of Vinhithe was killed ¡ª some said executed ¡ª and that was a much larger town than Urbaine.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get more details in the morning.¡± Even as she said it, Delphine realized it might already be morning. She glanced around her bedroom, which was also her study. Parchment and other material still piled on her desk, most of a treatise she¡¯d been working on since the past spring.


    She felt a moment of intense self recrimination. If the guards had come in here and seen that, and the books on her shelves, decided to tear the room apart and find all her research, they might have destroyed it.


    Years of work, completely vulnerable in this tiny space she shared with Gladys.


    ¡°How long until dawn?¡± She asked the siblings.


    ¡°Barely more than an hour,¡± Hugo rumbled. ¡°I need to get ready for work. Gladys has been up all night fretting over you, doctor. Best to let her rest.¡±


    He stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him. Gladys tossed an apologetic look Delphine¡¯s way. ¡°He¡¯s just anxious. He fought in the war, you know.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Delphine said. She put a hand on Gladys¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Thank you for the tea. Let¡¯s get back to bed, hm?¡±


    Even with the window shuttered, she could still hear voices outside. Distant shouts. The wind seemed to be picking up too. It sounded like another winter storm might be blowing in.


    Delphine tried to sleep in, hoping to make up for the hours of fevered dreams. When she realized sleep wasn¡¯t on her schedule for the day she gave up and woke Gladys. They made love. Delphine¡¯s sudden ardor surprised both of them, and when done she left the perplexed, contented seamstress to sleep.


    Delphine hoped she¡¯d at least helped ease some of Gladys¡¯s anxiety. Hers boiled in her, a soup of anticipation and dread she couldn¡¯t name.


    She washed, changed into fresh clothes for the day, made sure the stove was lit to keep the shop warm. Then she took some time to clean up her room, working furtively and quickly, mindful of her lover in an exhausted stupor on the bed they shared. All her notes, research, her precious materials and tools went into a locked chest or a leather case she could carry.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± She asked herself. She was acting like she might need to leave at any moment.


    Deciding it was just nervous energy, she went downstairs and put on a soup. She made tea, hoping to make up for Gladys¡¯s nursing the previous night. Wind howled outside, the storm she¡¯d anticipated having rolled in hours ago.


    Delphine hadn¡¯t lived in mountains before she¡¯d come to this town nearly a year past, and still wasn¡¯t used to just how angry the winter in the Amberhorns could be, or how early it arrived. The valleys would fill with so much snow it could bury houses, so most of the settlements were built on elevation. Everything seemed steep and angular, with roads that gave her a sense of vertigo.


    But it was quiet, isolated, and peaceful. Urbaine was a good town, with a full sized cathedral and a strong castle for the people to take shelter in should an attack happen. The locals were suspicious of her, but that was true everywhere considering her profession. People distrusted learned folk unaffiliated with the Church.


    They called her Doctor, though she wasn¡¯t the sort to mend wounds or set bones.


    Just as Delphine was about to go upstairs and check on Gladys, someone knocked on the door. Thinking it must be Hugo, as no one else would be bothering them in this dreadful weather, she approached to unlatch it. The wind almost slammed the damned thing right into her face.


    It wasn¡¯t Hugo. Three men stood outside, two of them strangers. The one Delphine knew was Ser Larkspur, the town¡¯s garrison commander. Hugo had guessed wrong about who¡¯d been killed.


    ¡°Captain,¡± Delphine greeted the man cautiously. The wind faded after a briefly lived gust, allowing them to hear one another. The cold bit at her, chasing away the warmth she¡¯d been stoking into the shop for hours.


    Ser Larkspur dipped his head to her. An older man with graying mustaches, he¡¯d draped himself in a fur cloak that had to have once belonged to a huge beast. They had bears in the mountains.


    ¡°Good day, doctor.¡± The knight greeted her. ¡°May we come in out of the cold?¡±


    Delphine nodded wordlessly and stepped aside so the three men could stomp into the storefront. She closed the door behind them, leaving a mess of snow and a lingering chill.


    The knight-commander turned to regard her. He was easily the biggest of the three men, leaner than Gladys¡¯s brother but built tall and strong. He wore his armor beneath the fur cloak, and the whole ensemble gave him a distinctly martial cast.


    Delphine didn¡¯t much like soldiers, never had, and Ser Larkspur had always struck her as a soldier¡¯s soldier.


    ¡°I am deeply sorry for disturbing you, madam.¡± The man nodded to his two fellows. ¡°I would also like to add that it was not my intent. These gentlemen wanted to speak with you.¡±


    Delphine turned her attention to the strangers, carefully schooling her expression as she did. One wore armor like the captain, though his looked older and more battered with little decorative. A foggy gray cape hung down his back, which seemed inadequate for the harsh winter. He looked close to fifty, with a sharp widow¡¯s peak and a gaunt face. He exuded a serene confidence.


    The other man was younger, thin, with dark brown hair cut into a bowl and a bland face that emoted nothing. His eyes were strikingly blue against his complexion, and seemed somehow empty. He wore no armor, just a heavy black coat with a high collar.


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    Delphine nodded politely to them. The man in black spoke first.


    ¡°You are Delphine Roch?¡± He had a nasal voice, emotionless as his eyes and pitched to a low volume.


    ¡°I am.¡± Again she glanced to the captain. ¡°May I ask what this is about?¡±


    Only then did she realize Ser Larkspur looked nervous. He shuffled uncomfortably, and kept looking at the two men as though worried about what they might do.


    Delphine understood his worry. She knew who these men were. She hoped Gladys would remain asleep.


    ¡°May we sit?¡± The blue eyed man asked. There was a small sitting area behind the counter near the stove, with chairs and a table where Delphine often sat and ate with Hugo and Gladys, when she wasn¡¯t too busy with her work and taking meals in her room.


    Delphine agreed and they all sat after she poured the men tea. There were four chairs, but the captain remained by the door as though eager for this business to be done. The man in the gray cape refused the tea and started wandering around the shop, admiring all the textiles Gladys wove.


    That pacing made Delphine even more nervous, but the blue-eyed man drew her attention as he settled on the opposite side of the table.


    ¡°Do you know who we are?¡± The man asked her after he¡¯d sipped from his cup.


    Delphine realized they must have arrived in the night, sometime before the storm. She noted the symbol stitched to the left shoulder of the blue-eyed man¡¯s coat. A red auremark with barbed ends, curved up on the wings to form a stylized trident.


    ¡°You are from the Priory of the Arda,¡± Delphine said. ¡°You¡¯re inquisitors.¡±


    The man smiled. Delphine had to suppress a shiver. The expression brought no warmth to his face.


    ¡°My name is Oraise,¡± the man said. ¡°I am a presider for the Priory. Until early this year I was on the Emperor¡¯s small council, but our organization was compelled to move its operations to Durelyon and I could not be spared.¡±


    ¡°Compelled?¡± Delphine raised an eyebrow. The way she¡¯d heard it, the Inquisition had been caught up in some huge scandal and decimated by the outbreak of violence that¡¯d taken the capital of the Accorded Realms by storm the past spring.


    Oraise shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m certain you¡¯ve heard rumors. True, the Priory has suffered some losses. We are rebuilding, focusing our efforts outside of Reynwell."


    "We are far from Durelyon," Delphine noted.


    "Yes." It was all the man said in response.


    Again, Delphine¡¯s eyes shifted to the man in the gray cape. He ran his hand through a rack of scarves. Swallowing, she spoke to the Presider. ¡°And may I ask what you are doing here, in my home?¡±


    Oraise tilted his head. ¡°I hear from the captain that this is the home of a seamstress, one she shares with her older brother. A millworker? You¡¯ve been boarding with them for the past eleven months. Is that accurate, doctor?¡±


    Delphine didn¡¯t like the way he enunciated doctor.


    She was starting not to like this man. ¡°That is correct.¡±


    Oraise sighed. ¡°I can see that we¡¯ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I assure you, Miss Roch, we mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, actually.¡±


    The coldness in Delphine¡¯s own voice took her by surprise. ¡°I find that hard to believe. I¡¯ve heard things about your organization.¡±


    She glanced at the man in the cape, who paused to meet her gaze. She noted his dark gray eyes, the way they caught the light strangely. Delphine took a deep breath. I hate games. Best to just be out with it and stop all this circling.


    ¡°I¡¯m certain you¡¯ve heard things about me from the townsfolk,¡± Delphine said to both of the men, knowing the captain could also hear. ¡°About my proclivities. I assume you are here to ascertain the truth and see my sinful ways punished. So yes, let¡¯s be out with it. I prefer the company of women. I spent half the morning violating that poor weaver upstairs and I¡¯m a terrible iconoclaste, a witch of the most dubious sort.¡±


    She slapped her hands down on the table, realizing only then that they trembled. ¡°So there¡¯s my confession. Must I sign something?¡±


    Larkspur started coughing. The man in the gray cape looked bemused at her outburst.


    The inquisitor studied her for a long moment, giving nothing of his thoughts away. Then in a slow and casual motion he spread his gloved hands out. ¡°I think we have something of a misunderstanding, Miss Roch. I am not Leonis Chancer. I know he had a reputation, and ties to our order.¡±


    ¡°A reputation?¡± Delphine gave the man a thin smile to match his own. ¡°You mean how he prosecuted changelings? Declared insular sects of the Church apostate, and instigated people to lynch preosters who preached doctrine not in line with his own? Do you mean how he claimed that people like me are astray from the God-Queen¡¯s love and that only in correcting our sinful ways can we find salvation? Is that not how the entire Priory has been operating for years now?¡±


    Oraise seemed unfazed by her harsh tone. ¡°We have experienced some... let¡¯s call it a crisis of identity.¡±


    Delphine snorted. Her fear had given way to anger, which she knew was just adrenaline. The moment they offered her any sort of violence or showed so much as the tip of an iron hook, she¡¯d break.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard more than enough about your new Grand Prior, too. You know I read Diana Hallow¡¯s treatise?¡± She quoted the name. ¡°The Heir¡¯s Lament? Have you read it? Your leader has some choice ideas about the sorts of things God disapproves of for a woman who¡¯s clearly done no research dating further back than Lyda¡¯s Plague. It¡¯s a disgrace her words were read aloud to the Clericon College last year.¡±


    Only distantly did Delphine know just how foolish it was to say these things to these men. She was scared and angry, and acting rash. She knew they weren¡¯t here for that. She knew the face across the table from her belonged to a very dangerous man.


    But all she could see that moment was the face of the Mother Superior in front of her, nose upturned in imperious distaste.


    Oraise continued to watch her. Delphine began to calm, and once more the dread she¡¯d been feeling all day came rushing back.


    ¡°Diana Hallow is no longer Grand Prior, and I am not here because of your choice in lovers.¡± Oraise shook his head. ¡°Which I think you know, but I commend the deflection. No, doctor, I am here because of who you once were.¡±


    Delphine felt very tired all the sudden. ¡°And what do you know of who I once was, Presider?¡±


    Oraise placed his hands on the table, mirroring her pose. ¡°Information about what exactly happened in the east when the war began is scarce, and a truly cyclopean amount of knowledge was lost when the elven city was destroyed. However, the Church¡¯s records on its own membership are quite thorough.¡±


    He leaned forward, his dead eyes suddenly alight with interest. ¡°You were a member of the Cenocastia. You were a scholar-nun, one of an order of learned scribes who spent many years cloistered and dedicated to studying the mysteries of our world. You were there when the city burned, and you escaped, and afterward you quit the Church. But you did not stop studying, did you? You are a woman of great knowledge in many subjects, particularly those pertaining to the occult.¡±


    He let that last word linger. The man in the gray cape stood close to them now, but Delphine hadn¡¯t noticed until just then. Oraise tilted his head down, his voice lowering into an almost conspiratorial pitch.


    ¡°Is that not all true... Delphine Roch?¡±


    He paused before using that name. And there it was, the thing she¡¯d been afraid of since seeing this man in the doorway. The thing she¡¯d been afraid of for years, and expected, ever since she started on this path.


    ¡°So you¡¯re here to prosecute me for my studies.¡± Delphine didn¡¯t make it a question. She leaned back, the chair creaking beneath her. ¡°You want to burn my research.¡±


    Oraise blinked. ¡°Quite the opposite, actually. We are here for your help.¡±


    Delphine stared at him, nonplussed. ¡°Come again?¡±


    For the first time the knight in the gray cape spoke. ¡°Are you aware that the mayor of this township is a rather famous collector, doctor?¡±


    The sudden change in subject threw Delphine off even further, but she nodded as she glanced at the strange man. No one had given his name. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the reason I came here originally. He had some items of interest to me.¡±


    Oraise indicated the man. ¡°My apologies. I¡¯ve not introduced you to my colleague.¡±


    Games up anyway, Delphine thought. No reason to play the fool. ¡°I know well enough who he is. Or should I say what he is?¡±


    Oraise lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±


    Delphine laced her fingers together, forcing calm over her nerves with a savage internal effort. ¡°I know a servant of the Zosite when I see one.¡±


    A long silence lingered after that. The gray knight, who Delphine felt certain was no knight, looked amused. Delphine felt no amusement.


    ¡°I have broken none of your realm¡¯s laws,¡± she spat at the gray knight. ¡°I have not attempted to break any gaols and I have communed with no demons.¡±


    That last was a lie, but the power to tell lies wasn¡¯t ascribed to this creature¡¯s order. Delphine would have to hope she wasn¡¯t misinformed about that part. The man did not respond, only stared at her with that faint smile like he knew something she didn¡¯t.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± Oraise asked curiously.


    Delphine tapped at the shadow on her eyelids, very much like the kohl a noblewoman might wear. ¡°This is made from an extract of elfhorn and the same oils used in rites within the Church. I smoke a variant of the same mixture. I can tell he¡¯s wearing a glamour. I can see the hellfire in his eyes, and smell brimstone. Also, he wouldn¡¯t touch the tea. I¡¯m guessing he could sense the silver dust I put in it.¡±


    Oraise glanced down at his own cup.


    Delphine gave the gray knight a hard look. ¡°I know a crowfriar when I see one. What¡¯s the old saying? Blessed gold is demon¡¯s bane, hallowed silver is the dead¡¯s


    ? And you are dead. I wasn¡¯t sure it would do anything since you¡¯re not a true devil, just one of their damned patsies. I thank you for proving my theory correct.¡±


    The two men exchanged a look while Delphine worked to keep her breaths calm. Her heart pounded in her chest.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Oraise said finally. ¡°I think you will do, Miss Roch.¡±


    Delphine still felt very confused. ¡°What happened last night?¡±


    For the first time the Presider looked annoyed. ¡°An attempt to waylay us. Ser Kross dealt with it, but I¡¯m afraid there is still danger. So I must get to the point, doctor. We came to this town for you.¡±


    Delphine shook her head. ¡°You came all the way from Durelyon for me?¡±


    Oraise nodded. ¡°Yes. Your expertise as a scholar of the occult is of great value to us.¡±


    ¡°I would think it of great consternation to you,¡± Delphine replied acidly.


    Oraise shook his head. ¡°Perhaps to some members of the Priory, but in all honesty the priors are just the patrons of the Inquisition. We are under new leadership now, and our goals are more focused. There are evils in this land, Miss Roch. Evils you encountered in Seydis.¡±


    Delphine remained quiet, hearing the sound of bells and her dead sisters laughing.


    Oraise placed a hand to his chest. ¡°The old order is collapsed. The Accord is divided and distracted. The Church is fractured. The Recusants are cowed, but some of the most dangerous of them are still at large. The Table is gone, and there is nothing left to protect us from the things that lurk in the night. From the warlock and the devil, from the wicked elf and the restless dead. We seek to fight the growing darkness, but to do that we must understand it.¡±


    Delphine didn¡¯t bother hiding her derisive smile. ¡°You profess to fight devils while letting one stand over your shoulder?"


    "What''s the old saying?" Ser Kross asked. "The devil you know?"


    Delphine wasn''t convinced. "You¡¯re telling me you mean to replace the paladins of Seydis. I have seen the Alder Knights with my own eyes, Presider, and I have seen your priorguard. I tell you now that they do not compare.¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Oraise folded his hands. ¡°We do not have the magics of a demigod or six centuries of experience, so we must think outside the box while we endeavor to fill the void. That is what we desire of you, doctor. Fresh eyes unmarred by creed or dogma. A practical view.¡±


    Delphine shook her head. ¡°I have no interest in joining the Priory. I quit the Church.¡±


    Oraise took this in stride. ¡°We are happy to hire you on retainer as an independent consultant. You will be compensated.¡±


    Delphine was not above greed. Being an independent scholar could be poor living. ¡°Compensated?¡±


    ¡°Enough of a stipend to conduct your research at your leisure, of course. You will be given access to our archives. You may work as you see fit. The Priory is rebuilding, as I said, and we could use a liaison with your expertise. Consider yourself a contractor.¡±


    He smiled that cool smile again. ¡°You say you read Prior Diana¡¯s treatise. Did you know the new Grand Prior has read your work, Miss Roch? He is quite impressed, not to mention eager to meet you.¡±


    Delphine drummed her fingers on the table. ¡°And I would be under no permanent obligations? I would have my own study, my own lab? Full access to your organization¡¯s archives? And no interference from your inquisitors?¡±


    Oraise dipped his head. ¡°That is so.¡±


    Delphine felt herself start to relax for the first time since she¡¯d lain with Gladys earlier that day. Ah, sweet Gladys. I¡¯m sorry. You knew this might happen eventually.


    ¡°We will be departing Urbaine once the weather clears,¡± Oraise continued. ¡°If you decide to become part of this effort, you will of course have to go with us. We will be traveling eastward with as much haste as the snows allow.¡±


    Delphine¡¯s eyes squeezed shut in a brief yet fierce blink. Part of her didn¡¯t want to leave her comfortable life here. She didn¡¯t want to leave a warm bed and a kind companion.


    But a much greater part of her had been itching for just this sort of thing. The opportunities it presented were nearly as great as the danger... no, much greater. It might be the missing piece she¡¯d been waiting for.


    Indecision waged a brief, fierce battle behind her steady eyes. ¡°I would like time to think about it.¡± Delphine pushed away from the table. ¡°Alone.¡±


    Oraise nodded and rose to his feet. ¡°We depart as soon as the weather permits. You will have a few days at least.¡±


    After they¡¯d left, Delphine turned from the door to find Gladys standing on the stairs. Her mousy hair was a mess and she wore a night robe. She stared at Delphine with what could only be described as glum acceptance.


    ¡°How much of that did you hear?¡± Delphine asked tiredly.


    ¡°Enough.¡± The seamstress continued to stare sadly. ¡°You¡¯re leaving, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Only when the question was asked did it become real, and Delphine knew she¡¯d already made up her mind. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Glad.¡±


    Gladys fled back up the stairs. Delphine didn¡¯t follow her. She felt regret, but a much stronger degree of anticipation.


    She spent the day packing. Gladys wouldn¡¯t speak to her. When Hugo came home and realized what was happening, he acted surprised and tried to convince her to stay until spring, but she knew his attempts were half hearted. He¡¯d wanted her out of his house for months.


    Delphine learned from Hugo that the mayor¡¯s castle had been attacked the previous night. Several people died, but the knight-exorcist who¡¯d come with the Presider slew the attacker. The rumors around town were that it was some kind of war chimera, but like nothing the guards had ever seen. A monster.


    If she joined them, she would be in danger. Those men were fighting a war.


    This is foolish, a more sensible part of her warned. If that devil starts to suspect you it could go very badly. He¡¯s as dangerous as any fell thing they¡¯re in the middle of battling.


    Scared. Delphine was scared, and she¡¯d been a mess ever since Seydis. She¡¯d been a mess ever since those golden eyed monsters had slain the only one who¡¯d ever understood her, leaving her all alone in the world.


    But not for much longer. Her dreams were different of late. Not just the fevered rememberings of that terrible day. She¡¯d felt a will in them, a presence. A shadow of what she¡¯d lost. The longing had burned in her hotter with every passing hour.


    As Delphine packed her things and tried to ignore the rumpled spot on the bed where she¡¯d attempted to fill that void earlier the same day, a subtle movement disturbed the room. She felt a cold that had nothing to do with the winter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.


    Her eyes went to an old volume she¡¯d left on the desk. Approaching, she opened it to the right page with a practiced movement and let her hand brush the drawing there. Her own drawing, done twelve years before when she¡¯d been much younger and still trying to understand what she was feeling. Her fingers traced the sketched ridge of one folded wing before sliding to the subject''s face.


    ¡°I will make this right.¡± Delphine set her jaw as she made the promise. She''d grown tired of nightmares and regret.


    She closed the book to hide the image of the demon and prepared to leave.

 Story Recap for Books 1 and 2

    Story Recap for Books 1 and 2


    The story so far...


    Arc One


    Our tale begins in the rain battered town of Vinhithe, in the northeastern region of Urn. Alken Hewer, known to many as the Headsman of Seydis, executes the town¡¯s bishop inside his own cathedral. However, when a young acolyte catches Alken in the act and escapes during a moment of hesitation from our protagonist, the alarms are raised and he is forced to cut his way through Vinhithe¡¯s guards. After a brief, intense skirmish against a trio of mercenary knights, Alken is shot by soldiers and swept away by the river.


    Wounded and lost within the wilderness some distance downstream, the exhausted Headsman encounters a wicked angel known as Nath. The dark spirit offers to save him, but Alken refuses and is left to die. In a twist of fate, he is saved by a traveling physician known as Olliard of Kell and his apprentice, a former lay sister called Lisette. The trio travel for some time while Alken recovers. During this time Lisette proves herself to be an adept of the Auratic Arts with a healing magic. Even despite her magic, Alken proves to heal quickly and spends much of this time dodging questions by his unlikely traveling companions.


    During one night, Lisette is lured into the woods by the disquiet spirits who haunt Alken¡¯s footsteps. In order to save her from these wrathful spirits, remnants of dead elves tied to his past, Alken is forced to reveal his own powers as a paladin to banish the wraiths.


    The trio continue on into Caelfall, a sick and isolated land drowned in marsh and dead woods. At the local church, Olliard discovers the man he intended to meet is long dead and that the current priest is fearful of sharing his predecessor¡¯s fate. Dark forces are gathering to the local baron, whose castle lies at the center of the region¡¯s largest lake. It becomes more and more clear that Olliard is no ordinary doctor, but Alken continues to keep his distance.


    In the church, Alken performs a rite of communion and contacts one of the Onsolain ¡ª holy spirits whose ranks include angels, demigods, and other immortal beings who give the Headsman his orders. This pantheon of beings is collectively known as the Choir of Heaven, or sometimes the Choir of Onsolem. It becomes clear that Alken¡¯s presence in Caelfall is no accident, and he is tasked with delivering a sentence of execution to the local baron, Orson Falconer, who threatens the lands already tenuous peace. After surviving a night attack from deadly chimeric creatures, the Headsman leaves the doctor and apprentice behind to carry out his mission. At the nearby village, he discovers the presence of a company of ghoul soldiers indentured to the baron, who catch him snooping. Before things escalate, a mysterious woman appears and talks the undead soldiers down, revealing that the baron is hosting visitors from outside the domain and arguing that Alken is likely one of these guests. Alken decides to go along with it in order to gain access to the castle.


    The woman who saved our hero identifies herself as Catrin, an eccentric and seemingly altruistic character with unclear motives. Alken dodges most of her queries, much to Catrin¡¯s annoyance. At the castle, the two participate in a late night dinner discussion with a group of other guests, all of whom are dangerous characters and enemies of the same order our protagonist is secretly in service to. After some tense discussion and standoff that includes the appearance of a terrifying disembodied presence, the baron reveals himself and speaks of his plans. When Alken derails the talks during an argument with the leader of the Mistwalker mercenary company, the leader of the ghouls, the baron speaks to him privately and offers to host him so long as he proves useful.


    In the late night, Catrin appears at Alken¡¯s bedroom under the pretense of checking in on him, but quickly reveals ulterior motives when she almost hypnotizes him for answers to his identity and purposes. Defending himself with his own powers, he strips Catrin¡¯s disguise and reveals her to be a vampire ¡ª or more precisely a dhampir, one of myriad types of half breed monsters who inhabit the land. Despite this, Catrin proves herself to be non-hostile and leaves after offering to help Alken with his predicament.


    The next day, Alken is given a mission by the baron and meets a number of other dubious characters operating in Caelfall, including the ghoul soldiers Vaughn and Quinn, a young man named William Garou, and a mysterious trio of brothers. They are ordered to infiltrate the nearby church and kill the priest there, finishing the job the baron started. Alken takes this time to question Quinn about Catrin, as the two seem to know one another, and learns she is employed by an information broker who doubles as the proprietor of the Backroad Inn. Because the ghouls cannot walk on holy ground, Alken and William are tasked with going in alone. Inside the church, they discover that the priest, Olliard, and Lisette have already made their escape. Alken attempts to talk William down, but is ultimately forced to kill the youth.


    Finding his way out of the church through the crypts following a brief encounter with the ghost of the previous priest, who has a connection to Dr. Olliard and Catrin both, Alken is ambushed by the doctor and his apprentice in the woods, subdued, and questioned. Olliard ends up drugging Alken and leaving him to wake hours later, at which point Catrin makes another appearance. Distrustful and frustrated, Alken is not kind to the dhampir, but his next act is interrupted when he and Catrin are accosted by elves. Catrin is shot with a magicked arrow and the two are taken to the hall of an elven warlord known as Oradyn Irn Bale, who challenges Alken for possession of his faerie axe.


    Alken wins this duel, and he and Catrin find themselves guests of the elves. Irn Bale provides more backstory on Orson. Alken and Catrin discuss their plans, theorizing that the evil presence inside Castle Cael is in fact a demon, one of a host of powerful creatures responsible for destroying the elven kingdom a decade prior. This same enchanted realm was where Alken served as a Knight of the Alder Table, an order of famous warriors blessed with faerie magics. The conversation ends on a bitter note when Alken accuses the dhampir of being responsible for the death of Caelfall¡¯s former priest. Irn Bale¡¯s daughter attempts to seduce Alken after this, but fails.


    The next day, Irn Bale arms Alken with a set of elven armor and Catrin with a dagger forged of the same arrowhead the elves struck her with. Catrin finds the Culler Brothers, a trio of necromancers and assassins, in the woods. They were dispatched to hunt down Alken after he went missing and kill him, but ran afoul of the elves and had to stop to revive their slain eldest brother. The Headsman and the dhampir instead kill the remaining two after learning that the baron has apparently escalated his plans to give his leashed demon physical form. This somehow involves the church.


    Our unlikely duo returns to the village, finding it ominously empty. They discover the villagers inside the church, all slain to desecrate the holy site and used as raw material for Orson¡¯s demon to manifest. The last priest, Micah, is still alive and was forced to witness this. He reveals that Orson was not present, only several of his invited guests. Alken battles the Mistwalker ghouls and slays their captain Vaughn with Catrin¡¯s help, and only at this point does he acknowledge that the dhampir spy¡¯s intentions are not malign and decide to trust her.


    The two take a boat back to Castle Cael, where it quickly becomes apparent that Orson¡¯s guests have turned on him and taken the castle. They are ambushed by a swarm of chimera, which leaves Alken wounded. Catrin¡¯s vampiric hunger surges, and Alken allows her to drink some of his blood to keep her level-headed, a gesture she seems to appreciate.


    After this incident, Quinn appears and confirms that the other guests who came for Orson¡¯s council have already departed with their demonic prize. The Mistwalkers were left behind to slay Orson and all other witnesses. He also mockingly reveals that Catrin is a whore employed by the Keeper of the Backroad Inn to sleep with his patrons as well as collect his secrets. Alken kills the ghoul for his insults. Catrin admits the mercenary was telling the truth, as she sleeps with her inn¡¯s guests and takes blood from them to stave off her vampiric nature.


    The pair then find Orson deep within the castle, already wounded and being interrogated by Olliard and Lisette. Olliard reveals himself to be a monster hunter who was in regular contact with Caelfall¡¯s former priest. He knows Catrin¡¯s true nature and blames her for his friend¡¯s death, as she was sleeping with the deceased priest, an elderly man, and feeding on him. After a brief standoff, the doctor kills the baron and the two groups part ways.


    Alken stays long enough for the dead villagers to be buried and have one last conversation with Catrin, who tells him to see her at the Backroad Inn sometime. He also has one last and mostly amicable goodbye with Lisette, who helps give last rites to the dead. Weeks later, Alken encounters the ghost of a man named Donnelly in the wilderness, another individual who works for the Choir. The spirit passes on new orders, leaving our hero alone to contemplate his fate. This closes out the story¡¯s first arc.


    Arc Two


    In the second arc, Alken is given new orders by the Choir to assist the fallen Onsolain Nath, who tasks him with protecting her mortal warlock. He makes a brief visit to Oria¡¯s Fane, a sanctuary where a number of characters dwell, including an drow elf named Rysanthe who is another Doomsman like himself and Ser Maxim Braeve, another surviving Alder Knight afflicted with madness. Alken dreams of his past in Elfhome, the capital city of Seydis, the realm that was destroyed during the great war known as the Fall. He sees his lover in this dream, a nun by the name of Sister Fidei, but he is woken abruptly by one of Maxim¡¯s fits. Before this situation can resolve, Nath¡¯s messenger appears and calls the Headsman away for his next labor.


    Alken leaves the Fane and meets Nath¡¯s warlock, who is revealed to be an arrogant teenage girl known as Emma Carreon. He soon learns that the girl is caught up in a complicated history involving a despotic noble family, ancient grudges, and the intervention of dark supernatural realms. After multiple encounters with a hellish specter who seems intent on turning Emma¡¯s world into a battlefield, Alken forms an alliance with a church paladin known as Ser Renaurt Kross, a mysterious and knowledgeable man. The two work together to protect the young noblewoman from the Burnt Rider and the machinations of Brenner Hunting, a nobleman who took the Carreons in after they were ousted from their own lands and who seems intent on using the last survivor of the accursed House for his own elevation. After an audience with Nath the Fallen and a brutal struggle against the Burnt Rider, Alken learns more about the sordid history of the Carreons and the family they betrayed and destroyed, the Orleys. Alken also reveals some of his past to Kross, explaining that he was once the personal champion to a petty queen before being inducted into the Knights of the Alder Table as a means to elevate his liege lady¡¯s power.


    After discovering that the rivalry between the Carreons and Orleys is being used as a front for the powers of Hell itself to exert influence over Urn, Alken and Emma travel to Castle Liutgarde, the ancient fortress of House Carreon. Here they reunite with Ser Kross and challenge Jon Orley, the Burnt Rider and Emma¡¯s Great-Grandfather, one last time. Alken calls on the Onsolain to intervene, knowing that the infernal knight is only a representative of a supernatural government much as he is himself. This ploy works, but Ser Kross reveals himself to be a Crowfriar, a missionary of Orkael and the true devil behind this drama. A high stakes debate ensues where both the Headsman and the devil, who goes by Vicar, argue before the gods for Emma Carreon¡¯s ultimate fate.


    Things seem to go against Alken despite his pleas on Emma¡¯s behalf, but the girl ends up saving herself when she disowns her ancestors and effectively dissolves House Carreon. Though this saves her and denies the agents of Hell their scheme, Vicar gloats to Alken that his order are no longer barred from Urn and that they haven¡¯t seen the last of one another. He implies that he knows more about Alken¡¯s past and gives him a malicious gift ¡ª the amulet that once belonged to the former paladin when he was a knight in Seydis, something he believed long lost.


    Afterward, Nath seems unexpectedly pleased with how things turned out and declares her intent to rejoin the Choir. Emma, now adrift and severed from the nobility, asks Alken to take her on as a squire. Though reluctant, he takes responsibility for the orphaned youth and agrees. This closes out the second arc.


    Arc Three


    The third part of the story begins months later in the midst of winter. We switch to the perspective of Donnelly, former thief and now Herald of the Onsolain. He observes a gathering of mortal lords and elves during the execution of a Recusant general, one of the last who remained at large since the war. The sentence is carried out by none other than the Headsman himself, at the behest of the Seydii princess Maerlys Tuvonsdotter, leader of the remaining elves of Seydis and daughter of the faerie king, who was betrayed and murdered by the Alder Knights at the onset of the Fall. Burned alive and brutally disfigured, Maerlys is now quite mad.


    After this, we return to the Fane where Alken, Maxim, and the elven huntress Oraeka are training Emma. Alken takes his new apprentice on a short trip to one of the nearby villages to investigate some rumored troubles, where they discover that the settlement is abandoned and bears the mark of Inquisition. Alken also experiences disturbing dreams during this time despite his magic ring, which normally allows him to sleep untroubled and protects him from the many restless spirits drawn by his magic. It becomes increasingly more clear that something demonic haunts our protagonist, tied to his past and to the scars on his face. R¦Á?No??E?s??


    Alken leaves Emma at the Fane and pays a visit to the Backroad Inn, a magical establishment which can appear anywhere. Run by a man who might be a devil, employing changelings and hemophages as barmaids and bedwarmers, this dubious locale hosts many characters who would be a paladin¡¯s enemies under most circumstances. But Alken can¡¯t afford scruples, and he happens to know a plucky dhampir who works at the ghastly brothel. He and Catrin discuss current events, including the return of the infernal crowfriars, the shift in politics of the Accorded Realms, and the resurgent Inquisition. Their conversation is interrupted by Karog, an ogre mercenary from the west who was present at Orson Falconer¡¯s council. The two are broken up by the Keeper before they can kill one another, but Catrin agrees to help Alken discover what the ogre is up to.


    Tracking Karog into the wintry woods, they manage to subdue him briefly before being interrupted by a pack of wyldefae assassins. After killing these, they learn that Karog is on the run from his former allies and does not know their plans or locations. He does reveal that the Council of Cael were recently in Talsyn, a mountain kingdom ruled by Hasur Vyke and the last bastion of the Recusant armies since the war.


    Returning to the Fane, Alken enjoys some days of uneasy peace before a mysterious visitor comes calling. This is Lias Hexer, a wizard and former companion of Alken¡¯s who serves the same queen he once did during his days as a knight. Alken believes his old friend might have been sent to kill him, especially after Lias gets him to admit that he is the Headsman. However, Lias instead asks Alken for help. He and Rosanna, the noble they both swore vows of loyalty to, are embedded in Garihelm, seat of the current emperor who rules the Accorded Realms, Rosanna as an ambassador for the southern kingdoms and Lias as her spymaster. He tells Alken of a serial killer at large in the city and other issues, including the rising power of the inquisitors, and implores his old friend to return and help.


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    Though Alken knows that the Council of Cael are still at large in the land and feels a tug towards his old life, he is reluctant to help Lias both because of his current responsibilities and bitter feelings over their estrangement. Lias departs, and Alken decides afterward to travel north to the capital. He and Emma depart through the last weeks of winter, conspiring with Catrin and Karog. The ogre is enticed into traveling to Garihelm at the suggestion that the organization that betrayed and tried to kill him might be active there, and Catrin also wants to settle the score for the tragedy at Caelfall. She helps the Headsman and his squire into the city, while also suggesting she and Alken go on a date sometime, much to our protagonist¡¯s surprise.


    In Garihelm, Alken soon discovers that a demon is at large in the city and targeting members of the renaissance movement, mostly artists, inventors, and architects. The city is overcrowded with the approach of a great summit and tournament hosted by the emperor, with nobles, dignitaries, knights, and many others gathering by the hundreds in the capital. He encounters Faisa Dance, a wealthy duchess whose artist lover was one of the victims. After consulting with Lias, Alken realizes the demon is very likely the same one that he encountered at Caelfall. Leaving Emma in the wizard¡¯s care, he seeks out the city¡¯s changelings, who are most likely to have seen evidence of this corruption, to get more information. Here he finds Karog again, who has been in the city some weeks already and who¡¯s taken to protecting these misbegotten outcasts, even over seeking his revenge. The changelings have been prosecuted by the Priory of the Arda, the power behind the inquisitors, with their elder taken during a recent raid. Alken decides to try and rescue the elder, both because it seems like the right thing to do and because the Priory is likely hunting the same creature he is and might have more information.


    He tries to infiltrate the Priory, only to encounter Renuart Kross again. The Crowfriar is also embedded into the Church and takes Alken captive, resulting in his interrogation by a dangerous inquisitor known as Oraise. He is then thrown into a dungeon and tortured for many days with expectations of a public execution, part of a scheme by Oraise to symbolically oust the memory of the Alder Knights and gain more support for his own movement. Kross makes Alken an offer to work together, which is refused. During the endless days of misery and darkness, Alken finds himself spiraling into fevered dreams and memories without the protection of his curse-trap ring.


    Here he encounters Sister Fidei again, his former lover from Seydis, who is revealed to be a succubus demon. Alken discovered the truth just before the Fall began and banished the demon, whose true name is Shyora, back to the Abyss ¡ª yet he hasn¡¯t really ever gotten over her. Here he discovers that Shyora is in Hell, but she managed to smuggle a fragment of herself into the medallion Kross gave to Alken back at Emma¡¯s trial, which he¡¯d originally given to Fidei as a token of his affections. The phantom of her he¡¯s been interacting with in his dreams is no memory, but a true fiendish spirit now latched to him.


    Alken is broken out of his cell by Lisette, Olliard¡¯s apprentice from the first arc who in the interim months parted from her mentor and infiltrated the Priory just as Alken tried to do. During their escape, they realize the inquisitors are being attacked by monstrous abominations called Woed, mortals mutated into slaves of a demon. Alken cuts his way through them and has a brief conversation with their master, the demon Yith Golonac, who taunts him before vanishing back into the city¡¯s depths.


    Lisette smuggles Alken into the city¡¯s great fortress, the Fulgurkeep, where he is reunited with Rosanna Silvering, his former queen and now Empress of the Accorded Realms. The two have a lengthy conversation, and Alken discovers that Rosanna has been hosting and protecting a very angry Emma. Alken agrees to stay and help Rosanna with all the various troubles in the city This closes out arc 3 and the first volume of the saga.


    Arc Four


    Arc four details Alken¡¯s conflict against the Priory. While competing with the inquisition for leads on the rogue demon and whatever forces are behind it. He meets the star-crossed lovers Laessa Greengood, a noblewoman, and Kieran, a commonborn painter killed by Yith and reanimated as an undead. During an intense flight through the city after rescuring the two from prioguard, a storm ogre lands in the city and starts causing havoc. Several knights in the city for the upcoming tournament appear to battle the beast, introducing Alken to Jocelyn of Ekarleon and Siriks Sontae of Cymrinor.


    After learning from Rosanna that Lias has actually been exiled from the city for his renegade behavior, Alken finds himself stuck between his two estranged friends in a complicated web of personal loyalties and politics. He fails to save Kieran, who is brutally murdered by Yith, and attempts to make contact with the Onsolain in order to draw their attention to both the rising power of the various heretic factions he finds himself set against, including both the Council of Cael behind Yith and the Crowfriars operating behind the Inquisition. He has an audience with Umareon, a pitiless angelic warrior who reprimands the Headsman for his distractions and gives him an order to execute the leader of the Priory, who is on the cusp of signing his order over to Orkael and giving Hell a solid foothold in the land.


    After this disturbing meeting, Alken spends an unexpected and emotional night with Catrin. The two become more intimate after the dhampir reveals some of her own past, and she cajoles Alken into talking about Fidei after they sleep together. Alken returns to the castle. Here he discovers that the twin children of Hasur Vyke, King of Talsyn, have arrived in the emperor¡¯s court for a gathering summit of lords from across the realms. Alken recognizes them both from Orson¡¯s council and warns Rosanna. He has a brief encounter with Oradyn Fen Harus, an ambassador present in the city as a representative for Princess Maerlys and the elves. He also discovers that Hendry Hunting, son of the same lord who harbored Emma during the events of arc 2 and who meant to marry her to his heir, is now a member of the emperor¡¯s guard. The young knight has been following Emma, something both she and Alken put a stop to.


    They then attend a gala hosted by Faisa Dance for members of the renaissance, hoping to gain leads to Yith¡¯s next target and follow up on rumors of an enigmatic individual who may have ties to the demon, known only as Anselm of Ruon. During this party, Alken encounters a crowfriar named Dis Myrddin, who tries to convince him that Catrin can''t be trusted and is only sticking close to him to feed her boss information about the Choir and Accord. The Inquisition appears at the gala, and the Grand Prior publicly accuses Laessa Greengood of being the Carmine Killer, holding her as a witch responsible for the recent string of murders. Several of the knights attending the party, including Jocelyn of Ekarleon and Siriks Sontae, defend Laessa while others side with the priors. It is decided that Laessa''s fate will be determined in trial by combat during the tournament.


    Alken leaves Emma and Lias behind and tails the Grand Prior back to his cathedral. He attacks the Priory head on, causing severe structural damage to the cathedral with a dramatic display of sorcerous strength and cutting through the inquisitors. He encounters Lisette and Oraise, the latter of whom is injured, but Alken leaves the presider alive. He then finds the Grand Prior in the middle of signing an infernal contract. Alken slays the priest despite Kross''s attempts to stop him. The Headsman and Vicar then have a final dramatic duel, but the crowfriar is saved when Lias appears and stops Alken, revealing that he was cooperating with the infernal missionaries all along. Both Lias and Kross escape.


    Alken takes the Grand Prior''s head and presents himself before the gathered nobles of the Ardent Round, the high council of the Accorded Realms led by Emperor Markham Forger, Rosanna''s husband and a hero of Urn''s civil war. The Headsman explains his actions to the council, believing that he must be accountable to humanity just as he''s accountable to the elves and other immortals. After a lengthy debate, the Choir makes its presence known and verifies our hero''s story, but leaves it up to the emperor to decide his fate. Markham decides to spare him.


    After these events, Alken finds Catrin in the city and confronts her. She admits that she was ordered to spy on him for the Keeper, but had a change of heart after their night together and didn''t betray any of his secrets. He decides to believe her, and the two confirm their strange friendship. Alken experiences another nightmare involving the demonic spirit haunting him, and decides to start confronting his past. This closes out arc 4.


    Arc Five


    Arcs 5 involves Alken grappling with the hunt for Yith, intrigue against the ambassadors from Talsyn, and the complexities of his new role as an official subject of the Emperor. We begin with a hunt for a lesser demon in Garihelm''s sewers, where our protagonist is accompanied by Karog. They manage to get the better of the fiend, but Emma''s familiar is badly wounded in the process. Alken engages in some good old fashion court drama, then suffers through the Emperor and his councilors revealing that they intend to saddle him with a team to manage. Markham also restores Alken''s lost knighthood, a gesture that strongly effects the fallen paladin. He is given a night off, and returns with Emma to their humble house on the docks, a temporary abode. Here Catrin visits and helps take the tired knight''s mind off his troubles. However, this respite is interrupted by an assassination attempt by a kill team of Marions, deadly animated dolls.


    Alken returns to the Fulgurkeep after this raid and learns that there have been a string of almost simultaneous attacks across the city, almost all of which have been on knights visiting the city for the upcoming tournament. The Headsman is charged by the Emperor to find the culprits, his first official order.


    After being introduced to the members of his new "lance," which includes criminals, malcontents, and Hendry Hunting, Alken puts them to work finding leads. He, Emma, and Hendry go to the Backroad Inn. Emma and Hendry experience lingering tension from their personal history. Alken meets with the Keeper, and finds himself outwitted by the devilish information broker but given a lead to one of the inn''s patrons, a nobleman who dwells in a manor hidden in the Wending Roads, an eldritch hinterland parallel to the mortal world.


    Accompanied by Catrin, Emma, and Hendry, he travels into the Brazen Woods and finds himself an unwilling guest of Count Laertes, a vampire and ancient wizard of great power. He also discovers that Laertes is Karog''s patron, with the two conspiring to counter House Vyke. Hendry displays unnatural strength during the fight with the Count, and explains that his skeleton turned to iron after he was wounded by Jon Orley the past year. Alken learns that Catrin has been starving herself out of fear that her vampiric nature is evolving, something Laertes seems to have knowledge of.


    Laertes reveals that the Vykes are the culprits behind the recent attacks, something Alken suspected, and that they intend to use the upcoming tournament to gain both magical and political leverage in order to win the next war when it begins. Laertes also reveals that he mentored Reynard, the traitorous wizard responsible for starting the Fall. The old vampire also hints that Catrin is capable of accessing the same hidden paths that Yith can, providing our heroes an opportunity to finally track the demon down. Catrin decides to go through with this idea despite Alken''s misgivings. During the time at the manor, Catrin also teaches Alken how to open the shadow paths she can use to travel. Though he cannot survive entering them without being undead, he can use them to hide his faerie axe.


    With the situation growing more tenuous, Alken and his companions return to the city only to discover that the Vyke scheme is further reaching than they thought. He is confronted by Rosanna about what happened with Lias, and she gives him some information about the people assigned to him that leads to one of the more dubious members of the lance being fired. Rosanna also assigns Lisette to the Headsman''s team. Alken experiences another dream-memory involving another demon he slew during the war, who goads him to dispense with all the intrigue and simply murder his enemies.


    Alken and his companions then pour their efforts into hunting Yith. They go to a cemetery outside the city, where Catrin slips into the depths of Garihelm''s undercity where the demon is most likely hiding. The cleric assigned to Alken''s team reveals himself to be a Marion controlled by Hyperia Vyke, the princess of Talsyn and one of the twins from Caelfall. She briefly distracts him while unknown assailants attack the cemetary. Alken is distracted by Catrin''s predicament, as she finds herself trapped on the other side of the portal they created into the undercity with the demon. Alken attempts to pull her out, but his paladin magic ends up lashing out at the dhampir at the same time as the demon and trapping her in the undercity with it.


    A shell shocked Alken learns that Mistwalker ghouls, the same undead soldiers from Caelfall, were the attackers assailing his companions. Jocelyn, one of the tourney knights, makes an appearance and takes them to Fen Harus, who reveals that the elves are also aware of the Vykes machinations, much to our protagonist''s frustration. Jocelyn explains that Siriks Sontae, the ambassador from the warlike nation of Cymrinor, has also allied with the Vykes and that if either Prince Calerus, Hyperia''s Brother, or Siriks win the tournament then it could cause disaster.


    Alken has a late night meeting with Rosanna and decides to enter the tournament to help Jocelyn and Karog counter their mutual enemies. He is then confronted by Catrin, who survived and has been taken hostage by Yith. The demon gives Alken three days to kill Princess Hyperia, the sorceress who holds his true name in bondage, after which Yith will turn Catrin into a Woed and force Alken to kill her.


    Arc Six


    Arc 6 details the events of the Grand Tournament of Garihelm and the many duels and skirmishes involved over its course. It begins with Laessa Greengood''s trial by combat, which Jocelyn wins. Alken, disguising himself as an anonymous tourney knight, enters into the competition and fights through the ranks, eventually battling the brash Siriks Sontae and winning, managing to gain the angry young Cymrinorean''s cooperation in the process. Hyperia and Yith both continue to hover over the days of the tourney, taunting our hero with the leverage they hold over him. In a dramatic skirmish involving many tourney knights, Jocelyn reveals that he is afflicted with Wyrmblight, a greatly feared supernatural affliction that causes him to transform into a nightmarish beast that slaughters many knights and spectators, ending the tournament early.


    However, Alken never intended to wait for the tournament to conclude. During the fighting, he had his lance take Hyperia Vyke captive. He reveals to Hyperia that he knows she and her brother murdered their father, the King of Talsyn, showing their schemes and situation to be desperate and half-baked, as the support they are trying to drum up will dissipate as soon as the great Recusant leader is revealed to not be in the picture. With the assistance of a crowfriar hired through the Backroad Inn''s intermediacy, he offers to let Talsyn surrender and spare both the princess and her brother if she gives up Yith''s true name and lets Hell reclaim the rogue demon. Hyperia seems to agree, but Catrin manages to sneak into the tower, get past Alken, and in the process lets Yith in with her. A violent struggle ensues, during which Catrin murders Hyperia. A badly wounded and exhausted Alken channels the angry ghosts who''ve haunted him throughout the story, awakening a new surge of power that allows him to slay Yith. However, with Hyperia dead in their custody it seems as though all chances of peace are lost, with many members of the lance dead and Catrin left traumatized by the demon''s possession. However, Hyperia''s corpse reanimates and provides a new opportunity.


    Alken and Emma forge into the Fulgurkeep, where they discover that the Mistwalker Company and Calerus have prematurely launched a bloody coup, using a sorcerous mist to scatter the castle''s occupants and take control of the throne room. After several battles and betrayals, during which Emma kills Brenner Hunting, Alken finally confronts Calerus Vyke. Calerus and the captain of the Mistwalkers, Issachar, are holding several members of the court hostage, including Rosanna and Markham''s two sons. Alken tries to talk Calerus down, using his reanimated sister as a hostage, but Issachar forces a confrontation. Issachar is defeated and Calerus surrenders, stopping the next war before it truly begins.


    In the aftermath of the failed coup, Rosanna''s younger son Darsus is afflicted with the same ravenous hunger as the ghouls, one of the remaining members of the Headsman''s lance quits and another, the archer Penric, reanimates as an undead just as Hyperia and Kieran did. Catrin tells Alken that Yith discovered she was pregnant, something normally impossible for a vampire, likely with Alken''s own child. However, without the demon''s intervention she has gone back to being unable to conceive. She decides to leave Urn, returning to her homeland to grieve in her own way and find answers to why she was born the way she is.


    A heartbroken and worn Alken settles into his role as the Emperor''s new enforcer while the gods remain silent over long weeks of recovery. Rosanna, following the birth of her third son, asks Alken to find a way to help Darsus and asks him to be the boy''s godfather. Alken agrees to take on this new burden as he watches over his queen and her newborn child.


    The raging storms of summer pass, and a harsh and early winter settles over the realms. Shadows lengthen. Mad wizards scheme and warlords plot.


    In the deepest depths of Hell, one wakes from a long dream.

 Arc 7: Toll || Chapter 1: Revelation

    Arc 7: Toll || Chapter 1: Revelation


    It¡¯s often said that knowledge is power. The Magi are considered the most powerful individuals in the world, only a step down from angels and demigods, because they know things the rest of us mere mortals can barely fathom.


    I meant to take that lesson to heart, but I¡¯d underestimated how useless most of it is. Or how damned expensive it can be.


    Winter struck the coastlands early and hard, bringing bitterly cold winds and covering the countryside in snow. I sat in my tower office, which was more of a study lately, pouring over a manuscript I¡¯d been waiting on for months. The ship that brought it from the continent had been delayed by the foul weather around Urn¡¯s coasts.


    The scribe who¡¯d translated it had done an awful job, so I was fixing his mistakes more than really absorbing the contents. It irritated me considering how much I¡¯d paid out of the budget the court provided and how long I¡¯d waited for it. Lisette¡¯s lessons were paying off, but I still felt slow and apish in my efforts. My calloused fingers, so sure when they grasped a weapon, felt clumsy with the delicate quill.


    And as I transcribed, I tried to absorb the manuscript¡¯s information.


    As discussed in the previous volume of this collection, Razmus of Kell theorized that the hunger which afflicts ghouls ¡ª or ghu?ls, as he calls them ¡ª is more akin to a disease than a curse. This implies that the affliction can be safeguarded against, even cured, and yet no means has ever been discovered in all the various cultures and iterations of these creatures across known lands. They appear to exhibit many similarities to other forms of undead, including similar weaknesses, which seems to imply that there is indeed no cure. After all, while reanimation can occur through natural or necromantic means the body is not truly alive and there has never been a recorded case of the dead truly returning to life.


    In conclusion, a ghoul is no different to a dyghoul, wight, or vampire ¡ª a corpse with a soul tethered to the flesh, different only in the fact that it can forestall decay through cannibalism and in the means of its creation. Yet, in many cases ghouls are formed from individuals who have indeed neither died nor display any of the typical signs of undead save for their ravenous hunger. It has been theorized that¡ª


    Useless. All useless. I couldn¡¯t do anything with any of this. I put the quill down and rubbed at my temple, trying to massage away a growing headache.


    Mournful winds howled outside the tower¡¯s new glass window. Even with the fire crackling in the hearth, the chamber was cold. I paused to twist the knob on the alchemical light on my desk ¡ª a new model with far too many extraneous pieces ¡ª and squinted at the page.


    What warned me I couldn¡¯t say. The muted wind outside ebbed, and the ensuing silence seemed somehow too loud.


    I turned the page, paused a beat, then glanced around at the room. There were more ghosts than ever, some of them having become permanent residents in the tower, and perhaps the stilling of their ever shifting shadows drew my attention.


    There¡¯d been an assassination attempt just a few weeks back. Emma and Hendry were still investigating, and we were all on guard.


    I dimmed the light before slowly pulling a dagger from a leather sheath I kept nailed to the underside of the desk. I stood and paced into the middle of the room. My armor was set on its stand by one wall, leaving me hardly ready for an ambush.


    Another whistling gust of frosted wind rattled the window pane.


    ¡°If someone is there, best show yourself.¡±


    No response. I¡¯d laced a minuscule amount of power into those words. Sometimes less is more when it comes to compulsion, and even a subtle touch of magic can catch someone off guard if they don¡¯t notice.


    Yet no response. Had I imagined it? We kept the tower warded and some of the few remaining gargoyles who inhabited the Fulgurkeep had made a roost on it, but those weren''t foolproof protections. Ghosts still slipped in, drawn to me and to the structure itself thanks to its violent history as a dungeon.


    And there were things besides fiends and the dead I needed to be wary of.


    The ghosts crowding the shadows muddied my spiritual senses. With a silent command I scattered them. That¡¯d become easier lately, though they were never gone for long. It gave me the chance to unspool my aura and sense what was amiss. My eyelids drooped, not quite closing, and I started to cast my will out into the tower.


    ¡°Best not do that. You¡¯ll hurt yourself.¡±


    I spun and saw a figure standing in the corner by the window where there¡¯d been no one before. The shape stepped out of the shadows to reveal a man of average height, dressed as a road weary traveler in a long coat, faded scarf, and tough boots. His hair was short and slightly unkempt, and he had a long, hawk-nosed face that belonged to a pirate or a charismatic rogue. ??¦­O?BE?s


    I recognized him, although I¡¯d not seen him in most of a year. ¡°Donnelly.¡±


    The ghost smiled. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Al.¡±


    I stoked the fire hot and invited him to warm himself by it. That always helped spirits become more substantial. Strangely, Donnelly didn¡¯t squat by the flames as he usually did.


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    I studied the man with mixed feelings. Part of me felt relieved to see a familiar face after the strange twists and turns the past year had taken. The other part of me knew what this portended, and I wasn¡¯t in a hurry to rush things.


    Donnelly had a strange story. Once an accomplished thief who¡¯d gained the attention of Tuvon the elf king and become something of a fixture in Seydis, he¡¯d died during the first days of the war that¡¯d destroyed that country. His essence had been fused with the remnants of a dying angel.


    The Choir of Onsolem made him their herald, a messenger who traveled the lands as something halfway between a courier and a spy. He¡¯d been the one to pass on information to me during my years wandering the realms as a vagabond executioner. When the gods had a new task, Donnelly would be my first warning with some cryptic message and instructions to travel in a particular direction.


    He¡¯d also been close to a friend, though I¡¯d resented him for reasons entirely not his fault.


    It was difficult not to feel an anticipatory resentment in that moment, knowing what his return probably meant.


    ¡°You look different,¡± I noted.


    He did. Though his physical appearance and clothes were typical, the spirit looked more solid. A very faint light seemed to exude from him, and his eyes were a uniform color, like liquid silver. They seemed like the most solid thing about him.


    This usually would have been where he¡¯d get annoyed or have some wise crack. Instead, Donnelly considered and nodded slowly. ¡°I am different. A lot¡¯s happened recently.¡±


    He looked at me with those uncanny eyes. ¡°You look different too. Brighter, but... also darker.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°The shadows around you are deeper. More crowded. A lot has happened to you too, old friend.¡±


    An understatement. I folded my arms and leaned against my desk. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Moving up in the world.¡± Donnelly paced around the room, barely seeming to move his feet. One moment he took a step, the next he was several paces away in some completely new pose. ¡°I hardly recognized you for that unwashed vagabond I remember.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    The Herald of the Choir nodded. ¡°And I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have much time for it. I hear you got a mission straight from the First Sword himself.¡±


    The title of ¡°First Sword¡± was used across the realms of Urn, always for the personal champion of a great lord or monarch. I¡¯d been one once, to Rosanna Silvering when she¡¯d just been Queen of the Karledale and not the Empress. I knew two of them fairly well, the Twinbolt who served the Emperor and Kaia Gorr who protected Rosanna as I once had.


    But Donnelly could only be referring to one individual. Umareon, Saint of Crusades and First Sword of the Heir of Heaven. I¡¯d only met the angelic warrior once, and the fallout from that interview had been... dramatic.


    ¡°They¡¯ve been quiet,¡± I said. ¡°The Choir.¡±


    Donnelly nodded. ¡°We¡¯ve had much to deal with. The world¡¯s shifting, Al.¡±


    We. Donnelly had never included himself with our immortal masters before.


    ¡°You made waves when you went public,¡± Donnelly continued, standing now by my desk and studying all my books and scrolls. ¡°And since when were you a scholar?¡±


    ¡°Since being a half illiterate bludgeon made my life unmanageable,¡± I said dryly. ¡°So I¡¯ve not heard anything because I did all this?¡± I waved at my office.


    ¡°That is part of it,¡± he agreed with a strange note of caution. ¡°Lady Eanor convinced the others that you needed time to settle into your new responsibilities. There was pushback, but you were given... let¡¯s just call it a grace period.¡±


    He turned to face me and his manner became serious again. ¡°That period is now over. We have orders for you, Headsman.¡±


    His voice had changed, taking on a faint echo. I tried not to shiver. Something had changed. Even as a spirit, Donnelly had always seemed himself before.


    ¡°We want you to travel to Tol,¡± he told me.


    ¡°Tol?¡± I struggled to place the name. A township, I thought, somewhere in the heartlands far to the south of Garihelm.


    Donnelly bowed his head. ¡°Go there. Make haste. Once you arrive you will be contacted again.¡±


    I shook my head, confused and flustered by this sudden development. ¡°Wait Don, can you just tell me¡ª¡±


    Anything. Where you¡¯ve been, what¡¯s been happening while I¡¯ve been in this city.


    ¡°¡ªWhat they want me to do?¡± Who they wanted me to kill.


    ¡°There is no time.¡± Donnelly turned toward the window. He paused, and something more human entered his voice. ¡°Heavensreach has been attacked.¡±


    I stared at him in stunned silence. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say much more. I wasn¡¯t even supposed to tell you that... focus on your mission. You will be told what is needed when you¡¯re there. Go quickly.¡±


    And just like that he vanished, leaving a sense of emptiness behind. The wind whistled outside. The waves in the bay rolled against the island.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I snapped in frustration. Both my sudden orders and what he¡¯d said made me reel. My headache throbbed like little iron hammers were repeatedly striking me in the sides of my skull, slow and rhythmic blows that never let up.


    Heavensreach was the domain of the Onsolain, a fabled mountain palace where the immortals held court. The domain of angels and demigods. Only I knew it wasn¡¯t just a fable. Garihelm might be the capital of the Accorded Realms, but that high mountain could be considered the true center of the world.


    Hearing it was attacked felt something like hearing that someone had wounded the moon, or poisoned the sun. Impossible, too huge to contemplate the consequences of. Who would even be capable?


    Donnelly had said not to worry about it. No way in hell I wouldn¡¯t, but I tried to focus on what he¡¯d tasked me to do. Who was in Tol? Did they want me to execute someone in the city, or was it just where they intended to give me my next set of instructions?


    It would be a long trip, especially in winter.


    My gaze went to the window, and all at once I felt a deep and crushing exhaustion bear down on me. It had been a very long year, and I still had so much to do.


    That manuscript waiting half translated on my desk felt like an admonishment. It wasn¡¯t idle research. I¡¯d made a promise.


    I didn¡¯t have time to wander across the realms chasing vague portents and visions. I had other responsibilities. The lance was already getting ready to travel to Mirrebel to assist the crown duke there with a string of unsolved murders. It would be my team¡¯s first action outside of the Emperor¡¯s own lands, an important test.


    To run off now without even knowing what I¡¯d be getting myself into... something told me that it wouldn¡¯t be a short trip, either.


    ¡°Damn it, Donnelly.¡± Only it wasn¡¯t Donnelly, but them.


    I let my dagger clatter back on the desk, leaned my palms against its surface, and stared at all the research and reports I¡¯d piled on it. My eyes ran across the growing collection of shelves and chests along the back wall.


    I had preparations to make and people to talk to. I needed to figure out where I was going, how long it would take to get there, and decide what to do about Markham¡¯s orders.


    You chose to take all this on, I reminded myself. Time to swim if you don¡¯t want to drown.

 Story Recap for Volumes Chapter 1 and 2

    The story so far...


    Arc One


    Our tale begins in the rain battered town of Vinhithe, in the northeastern region of Urn. Alken Hewer, known to many as the Headsman of Seydis, executes the town¡¯s bishop inside his own cathedral. However, when a young acolyte catches Alken in the act and escapes during a moment of hesitation from our protagonist, the alarms are raised and he is forced to cut his way through Vinhithe¡¯s guards. After a brief, intense skirmish against a trio of mercenary knights, Alken is shot by soldiers and swept away by the river.


    Wounded and lost within the wilderness some distance downstream, the exhausted Headsman encounters a wicked angel known as Nath. The dark spirit offers to save him, but Alken refuses and is left to die. In a twist of fate, he is saved by a traveling physician known as Olliard of Kell and his apprentice, a former lay sister called Lisette. The trio travel for some time while Alken recovers. During this time Lisette proves herself to be an adept of the Auratic Arts with a healing magic. Even despite her magic, Alken proves to heal quickly and spends much of this time dodging questions by his unlikely traveling companions.


    During one night, Lisette is lured into the woods by the disquiet spirits who haunt Alken¡¯s footsteps. In order to save her from these wrathful spirits, remnants of dead elves tied to his past, Alken is forced to reveal his own powers as a paladin to banish the wraiths.


    The trio continue on into Caelfall, a sick and isolated land drowned in marsh and dead woods. At the local church, Olliard discovers the man he intended to meet is long dead and that the current priest is fearful of sharing his predecessor¡¯s fate. Dark forces are gathering to the local baron, whose castle lies at the center of the region¡¯s largest lake. It becomes more and more clear that Olliard is no ordinary doctor, but Alken continues to keep his distance.


    In the church, Alken performs a rite of communion and contacts one of the Onsolain ¡ª holy spirits whose ranks include angels, demigods, and other immortal beings who give the Headsman his orders. This pantheon of beings is collectively known as the Choir of Heaven, or sometimes the Choir of Onsolem. It becomes clear that Alken¡¯s presence in Caelfall is no accident, and he is tasked with delivering a sentence of execution to the local baron, Orson Falconer, who threatens the lands already tenuous peace. After surviving a night attack from deadly chimeric creatures, the Headsman leaves the doctor and apprentice behind to carry out his mission. At the nearby village, he discovers the presence of a company of ghoul soldiers indentured to the baron, who catch him snooping. Before things escalate, a mysterious woman appears and talks the undead soldiers down, revealing that the baron is hosting visitors from outside the domain and arguing that Alken is likely one of these guests. Alken decides to go along with it in order to gain access to the castle.


    The woman who saved our hero identifies herself as Catrin, an eccentric and seemingly altruistic character with unclear motives. Alken dodges most of her queries, much to Catrin¡¯s annoyance. At the castle, the two participate in a late night dinner discussion with a group of other guests, all of whom are dangerous characters and enemies of the same order our protagonist is secretly in service to. After some tense discussion and standoff that includes the appearance of a terrifying disembodied presence, the baron reveals himself and speaks of his plans. When Alken derails the talks during an argument with the leader of the Mistwalker mercenary company, the leader of the ghouls, the baron speaks to him privately and offers to host him so long as he proves useful.


    In the late night, Catrin appears at Alken¡¯s bedroom under the pretense of checking in on him, but quickly reveals ulterior motives when she almost hypnotizes him for answers to his identity and purposes. Defending himself with his own powers, he strips Catrin¡¯s disguise and reveals her to be a vampire ¡ª or more precisely a dhampir, one of myriad types of half breed monsters who inhabit the land. Despite this, Catrin proves herself to be non-hostile and leaves after offering to help Alken with his predicament.


    The next day, Alken is given a mission by the baron and meets a number of other dubious characters operating in Caelfall, including the ghoul soldiers Vaughn and Quinn, a young man named William Garou, and a mysterious trio of brothers. They are ordered to infiltrate the nearby church and kill the priest there, finishing the job the baron started. Alken takes this time to question Quinn about Catrin, as the two seem to know one another, and learns she is employed by an information broker who doubles as the proprietor of the Backroad Inn. Because the ghouls cannot walk on holy ground, Alken and William are tasked with going in alone. Inside the church, they discover that the priest, Olliard, and Lisette have already made their escape. Alken attempts to talk William down, but is ultimately forced to kill the youth.


    Finding his way out of the church through the crypts following a brief encounter with the ghost of the previous priest, who has a connection to Dr. Olliard and Catrin both, Alken is ambushed by the doctor and his apprentice in the woods, subdued, and questioned. Olliard ends up drugging Alken and leaving him to wake hours later, at which point Catrin makes another appearance. Distrustful and frustrated, Alken is not kind to the dhampir, but his next act is interrupted when he and Catrin are accosted by elves. Catrin is shot with a magicked arrow and the two are taken to the hall of an elven warlord known as Oradyn Irn Bale, who challenges Alken for possession of his faerie axe.


    Alken wins this duel, and he and Catrin find themselves guests of the elves. Irn Bale provides more backstory on Orson. Alken and Catrin discuss their plans, theorizing that the evil presence inside Castle Cael is in fact a demon, one of a host of powerful creatures responsible for destroying the elven kingdom a decade prior. This same enchanted realm was where Alken served as a Knight of the Alder Table, an order of famous warriors blessed with faerie magics. The conversation ends on a bitter note when Alken accuses the dhampir of being responsible for the death of Caelfall¡¯s former priest. Irn Bale¡¯s daughter attempts to seduce Alken after this, but fails.


    The next day, Irn Bale arms Alken with a set of elven armor and Catrin with a dagger forged of the same arrowhead the elves struck her with. Catrin finds the Culler Brothers, a trio of necromancers and assassins, in the woods. They were dispatched to hunt down Alken after he went missing and kill him, but ran afoul of the elves and had to stop to revive their slain eldest brother. The Headsman and the dhampir instead kill the remaining two after learning that the baron has apparently escalated his plans to give his leashed demon physical form. This somehow involves the church.


    Our unlikely duo returns to the village, finding it ominously empty. They discover the villagers inside the church, all slain to desecrate the holy site and used as raw material for Orson¡¯s demon to manifest. The last priest, Micah, is still alive and was forced to witness this. He reveals that Orson was not present, only several of his invited guests. Alken battles the Mistwalker ghouls and slays their captain Vaughn with Catrin¡¯s help, and only at this point does he acknowledge that the dhampir spy¡¯s intentions are not malign and decide to trust her.


    The two take a boat back to Castle Cael, where it quickly becomes apparent that Orson¡¯s guests have turned on him and taken the castle. They are ambushed by a swarm of chimera, which leaves Alken wounded. Catrin¡¯s vampiric hunger surges, and Alken allows her to drink some of his blood to keep her level-headed, a gesture she seems to appreciate.


    After this incident, Quinn appears and confirms that the other guests who came for Orson¡¯s council have already departed with their demonic prize. The Mistwalkers were left behind to slay Orson and all other witnesses. He also mockingly reveals that Catrin is a whore employed by the Keeper of the Backroad Inn to sleep with his patrons as well as collect his secrets. Alken kills the ghoul for his insults. Catrin admits the mercenary was telling the truth, as she sleeps with her inn¡¯s guests and takes blood from them to stave off her vampiric nature.


    The pair then find Orson deep within the castle, already wounded and being interrogated by Olliard and Lisette. Olliard reveals himself to be a monster hunter who was in regular contact with Caelfall¡¯s former priest. He knows Catrin¡¯s true nature and blames her for his friend¡¯s death, as she was sleeping with the deceased priest, an elderly man, and feeding on him. After a brief standoff, the doctor kills the baron and the two groups part ways.


    Alken stays long enough for the dead villagers to be buried and have one last conversation with Catrin, who tells him to see her at the Backroad Inn sometime. He also has one last and mostly amicable goodbye with Lisette, who helps give last rites to the dead. Weeks later, Alken encounters the ghost of a man named Donnelly in the wilderness, another individual who works for the Choir. The spirit passes on new orders, leaving our hero alone to contemplate his fate. This closes out the story¡¯s first arc.


    Arc Two


    In the second arc, Alken is given new orders by the Choir to assist the fallen Onsolain Nath, who tasks him with protecting her mortal warlock. He makes a brief visit to Oria¡¯s Fane, a sanctuary where a number of characters dwell, including an drow elf named Rysanthe who is another Doomsman like himself and Ser Maxim Braeve, another surviving Alder Knight afflicted with madness. Alken dreams of his past in Elfhome, the capital city of Seydis, the realm that was destroyed during the great war known as the Fall. He sees his lover in this dream, a nun by the name of Sister Fidei, but he is woken abruptly by one of Maxim¡¯s fits. Before this situation can resolve, Nath¡¯s messenger appears and calls the Headsman away for his next labor.


    Alken leaves the Fane and meets Nath¡¯s warlock, who is revealed to be an arrogant teenage girl known as Emma Carreon. He soon learns that the girl is caught up in a complicated history involving a despotic noble family, ancient grudges, and the intervention of dark supernatural realms. After multiple encounters with a hellish specter who seems intent on turning Emma¡¯s world into a battlefield, Alken forms an alliance with a church paladin known as Ser Renaurt Kross, a mysterious and knowledgeable man. The two work together to protect the young noblewoman from the Burnt Rider and the machinations of Brenner Hunting, a nobleman who took the Carreons in after they were ousted from their own lands and who seems intent on using the last survivor of the accursed House for his own elevation. After an audience with Nath the Fallen and a brutal struggle against the Burnt Rider, Alken learns more about the sordid history of the Carreons and the family they betrayed and destroyed, the Orleys. Alken also reveals some of his past to Kross, explaining that he was once the personal champion to a petty queen before being inducted into the Knights of the Alder Table as a means to elevate his liege lady¡¯s power.


    After discovering that the rivalry between the Carreons and Orleys is being used as a front for the powers of Hell itself to exert influence over Urn, Alken and Emma travel to Castle Liutgarde, the ancient fortress of House Carreon. Here they reunite with Ser Kross and challenge Jon Orley, the Burnt Rider and Emma¡¯s Great-Grandfather, one last time. Alken calls on the Onsolain to intervene, knowing that the infernal knight is only a representative of a supernatural government much as he is himself. This ploy works, but Ser Kross reveals himself to be a Crowfriar, a missionary of Orkael and the true devil behind this drama. A high stakes debate ensues where both the Headsman and the devil, who goes by Vicar, argue before the gods for Emma Carreon¡¯s ultimate fate.


    Things seem to go against Alken despite his pleas on Emma¡¯s behalf, but the girl ends up saving herself when she disowns her ancestors and effectively dissolves House Carreon. Though this saves her and denies the agents of Hell their scheme, Vicar gloats to Alken that his order are no longer barred from Urn and that they haven¡¯t seen the last of one another. He implies that he knows more about Alken¡¯s past and gives him a malicious gift ¡ª the amulet that once belonged to the former paladin when he was a knight in Seydis, something he believed long lost.


    Afterward, Nath seems unexpectedly pleased with how things turned out and declares her intent to rejoin the Choir. Emma, now adrift and severed from the nobility, asks Alken to take her on as a squire. Though reluctant, he takes responsibility for the orphaned youth and agrees. This closes out the second arc.


    Arc Three


    The third part of the story begins months later in the midst of winter. We switch to the perspective of Donnelly, former thief and now Herald of the Onsolain. He observes a gathering of mortal lords and elves during the execution of a Recusant general, one of the last who remained at large since the war. The sentence is carried out by none other than the Headsman himself, at the behest of the Seydii princess Maerlys Tuvonsdotter, leader of the remaining elves of Seydis and daughter of the faerie king, who was betrayed and murdered by the Alder Knights at the onset of the Fall. Burned alive and brutally disfigured, Maerlys is now quite mad.


    After this, we return to the Fane where Alken, Maxim, and the elven huntress Oraeka are training Emma. Alken takes his new apprentice on a short trip to one of the nearby villages to investigate some rumored troubles, where they discover that the settlement is abandoned and bears the mark of Inquisition. Alken also experiences disturbing dreams during this time despite his magic ring, which normally allows him to sleep untroubled and protects him from the many restless spirits drawn by his magic. It becomes increasingly more clear that something demonic haunts our protagonist, tied to his past and to the scars on his face.


    Alken leaves Emma at the Fane and pays a visit to the Backroad Inn, a magical establishment which can appear anywhere. Run by a man who might be a devil, employing changelings and hemophages as barmaids and bedwarmers, this dubious locale hosts many characters who would be a paladin¡¯s enemies under most circumstances. But Alken can¡¯t afford scruples, and he happens to know a plucky dhampir who works at the ghastly brothel. He and Catrin discuss current events, including the return of the infernal crowfriars, the shift in politics of the Accorded Realms, and the resurgent Inquisition. Their conversation is interrupted by Karog, an ogre mercenary from the west who was present at Orson Falconer¡¯s council. The two are broken up by the Keeper before they can kill one another, but Catrin agrees to help Alken discover what the ogre is up to.


    Tracking Karog into the wintry woods, they manage to subdue him briefly before being interrupted by a pack of wyldefae assassins. After killing these, they learn that Karog is on the run from his former allies and does not know their plans or locations. He does reveal that the Council of Cael were recently in Talsyn, a mountain kingdom ruled by Hasur Vyke and the last bastion of the Recusant armies since the war.


    Returning to the Fane, Alken enjoys some days of uneasy peace before a mysterious visitor comes calling. This is Lias Hexer, a wizard and former companion of Alken¡¯s who serves the same queen he once did during his days as a knight. Alken believes his old friend might have been sent to kill him, especially after Lias gets him to admit that he is the Headsman. However, Lias instead asks Alken for help. He and Rosanna, the noble they both swore vows of loyalty to, are embedded in Garihelm, seat of the current emperor who rules the Accorded Realms, Rosanna as an ambassador for the southern kingdoms and Lias as her spymaster. He tells Alken of a serial killer at large in the city and other issues, including the rising power of the inquisitors, and implores his old friend to return and help.


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    Though Alken knows that the Council of Cael are still at large in the land and feels a tug towards his old life, he is reluctant to help Lias both because of his current responsibilities and bitter feelings over their estrangement. Lias departs, and Alken decides afterward to travel north to the capital. He and Emma depart through the last weeks of winter, conspiring with Catrin and Karog. The ogre is enticed into traveling to Garihelm at the suggestion that the organization that betrayed and tried to kill him might be active there, and Catrin also wants to settle the score for the tragedy at Caelfall. She helps the Headsman and his squire into the city, while also suggesting she and Alken go on a date sometime, much to our protagonist¡¯s surprise.


    In Garihelm, Alken soon discovers that a demon is at large in the city and targeting members of the renaissance movement, mostly artists, inventors, and architects. The city is overcrowded with the approach of a great summit and tournament hosted by the emperor, with nobles, dignitaries, knights, and many others gathering by the hundreds in the capital. He encounters Faisa Dance, a wealthy duchess whose artist lover was one of the victims. After consulting with Lias, Alken realizes the demon is very likely the same one that he encountered at Caelfall. Leaving Emma in the wizard¡¯s care, he seeks out the city¡¯s changelings, who are most likely to have seen evidence of this corruption, to get more information. Here he finds Karog again, who has been in the city some weeks already and who¡¯s taken to protecting these misbegotten outcasts, even over seeking his revenge. The changelings have been prosecuted by the Priory of the Arda, the power behind the inquisitors, with their elder taken during a recent raid. Alken decides to try and rescue the elder, both because it seems like the right thing to do and because the Priory is likely hunting the same creature he is and might have more information.


    He tries to infiltrate the Priory, only to encounter Renuart Kross again. The Crowfriar is also embedded into the Church and takes Alken captive, resulting in his interrogation by a dangerous inquisitor known as Oraise. He is then thrown into a dungeon and tortured for many days with expectations of a public execution, part of a scheme by Oraise to symbolically oust the memory of the Alder Knights and gain more support for his own movement. Kross makes Alken an offer to work together, which is refused. During the endless days of misery and darkness, Alken finds himself spiraling into fevered dreams and memories without the protection of his curse-trap ring.


    Here he encounters Sister Fidei again, his former lover from Seydis, who is revealed to be a succubus demon. Alken discovered the truth just before the Fall began and banished the demon, whose true name is Shyora, back to the Abyss ¡ª yet he hasn¡¯t really ever gotten over her. Here he discovers that Shyora is in Hell, but she managed to smuggle a fragment of herself into the medallion Kross gave to Alken back at Emma¡¯s trial, which he¡¯d originally given to Fidei as a token of his affections. The phantom of her he¡¯s been interacting with in his dreams is no memory, but a true fiendish spirit now latched to him.


    Alken is broken out of his cell by Lisette, Olliard¡¯s apprentice from the first arc who in the interim months parted from her mentor and infiltrated the Priory just as Alken tried to do. During their escape, they realize the inquisitors are being attacked by monstrous abominations called Woed, mortals mutated into slaves of a demon. Alken cuts his way through them and has a brief conversation with their master, the demon Yith Golonac, who taunts him before vanishing back into the city¡¯s depths.


    Lisette smuggles Alken into the city¡¯s great fortress, the Fulgurkeep, where he is reunited with Rosanna Silvering, his former queen and now Empress of the Accorded Realms. The two have a lengthy conversation, and Alken discovers that Rosanna has been hosting and protecting a very angry Emma. Alken agrees to stay and help Rosanna with all the various troubles in the city This closes out arc 3 and the first volume of the saga.


    Arc Four


    Arc four details Alken¡¯s conflict against the Priory. While competing with the inquisition for leads on the rogue demon and whatever forces are behind it. He meets the star-crossed lovers Laessa Greengood, a noblewoman, and Kieran, a commonborn painter killed by Yith and reanimated as an undead. During an intense flight through the city after rescuring the two from prioguard, a storm ogre lands in the city and starts causing havoc. Several knights in the city for the upcoming tournament appear to battle the beast, introducing Alken to Jocelyn of Ekarleon and Siriks Sontae of Cymrinor.


    After learning from Rosanna that Lias has actually been exiled from the city for his renegade behavior, Alken finds himself stuck between his two estranged friends in a complicated web of personal loyalties and politics. He fails to save Kieran, who is brutally murdered by Yith, and attempts to make contact with the Onsolain in order to draw their attention to both the rising power of the various heretic factions he finds himself set against, including both the Council of Cael behind Yith and the Crowfriars operating behind the Inquisition. He has an audience with Umareon, a pitiless angelic warrior who reprimands the Headsman for his distractions and gives him an order to execute the leader of the Priory, who is on the cusp of signing his order over to Orkael and giving Hell a solid foothold in the land.


    After this disturbing meeting, Alken spends an unexpected and emotional night with Catrin. The two become more intimate after the dhampir reveals some of her own past, and she cajoles Alken into talking about Fidei after they sleep together. Alken returns to the castle. Here he discovers that the twin children of Hasur Vyke, King of Talsyn, have arrived in the emperor¡¯s court for a gathering summit of lords from across the realms. Alken recognizes them both from Orson¡¯s council and warns Rosanna. He has a brief encounter with Oradyn Fen Harus, an ambassador present in the city as a representative for Princess Maerlys and the elves. He also discovers that Hendry Hunting, son of the same lord who harbored Emma during the events of arc 2 and who meant to marry her to his heir, is now a member of the emperor¡¯s guard. The young knight has been following Emma, something both she and Alken put a stop to.


    They then attend a gala hosted by Faisa Dance for members of the renaissance, hoping to gain leads to Yith¡¯s next target and follow up on rumors of an enigmatic individual who may have ties to the demon, known only as Anselm of Ruon. During this party, Alken encounters a crowfriar named Dis Myrddin, who tries to convince him that Catrin can''t be trusted and is only sticking close to him to feed her boss information about the Choir and Accord. The Inquisition appears at the gala, and the Grand Prior publicly accuses Laessa Greengood of being the Carmine Killer, holding her as a witch responsible for the recent string of murders. Several of the knights attending the party, including Jocelyn of Ekarleon and Siriks Sontae, defend Laessa while others side with the priors. It is decided that Laessa''s fate will be determined in trial by combat during the tournament.


    Alken leaves Emma and Lias behind and tails the Grand Prior back to his cathedral. He attacks the Priory head on, causing severe structural damage to the cathedral with a dramatic display of sorcerous strength and cutting through the inquisitors. He encounters Lisette and Oraise, the latter of whom is injured, but Alken leaves the presider alive. He then finds the Grand Prior in the middle of signing an infernal contract. Alken slays the priest despite Kross''s attempts to stop him. The Headsman and Vicar then have a final dramatic duel, but the crowfriar is saved when Lias appears and stops Alken, revealing that he was cooperating with the infernal missionaries all along. Both Lias and Kross escape.


    Alken takes the Grand Prior''s head and presents himself before the gathered nobles of the Ardent Round, the high council of the Accorded Realms led by Emperor Markham Forger, Rosanna''s husband and a hero of Urn''s civil war. The Headsman explains his actions to the council, believing that he must be accountable to humanity just as he''s accountable to the elves and other immortals. After a lengthy debate, the Choir makes its presence known and verifies our hero''s story, but leaves it up to the emperor to decide his fate. Markham decides to spare him.


    After these events, Alken finds Catrin in the city and confronts her. She admits that she was ordered to spy on him for the Keeper, but had a change of heart after their night together and didn''t betray any of his secrets. He decides to believe her, and the two confirm their strange friendship. Alken experiences another nightmare involving the demonic spirit haunting him, and decides to start confronting his past. This closes out arc 4.


    Arc Five


    Arcs 5 involves Alken grappling with the hunt for Yith, intrigue against the ambassadors from Talsyn, and the complexities of his new role as an official subject of the Emperor. We begin with a hunt for a lesser demon in Garihelm''s sewers, where our protagonist is accompanied by Karog. They manage to get the better of the fiend, but Emma''s familiar is badly wounded in the process. Alken engages in some good old fashion court drama, then suffers through the Emperor and his councilors revealing that they intend to saddle him with a team to manage. Markham also restores Alken''s lost knighthood, a gesture that strongly effects the fallen paladin. He is given a night off, and returns with Emma to their humble house on the docks, a temporary abode. Here Catrin visits and helps take the tired knight''s mind off his troubles. However, this respite is interrupted by an assassination attempt by a kill team of Marions, deadly animated dolls.


    Alken returns to the Fulgurkeep after this raid and learns that there have been a string of almost simultaneous attacks across the city, almost all of which have been on knights visiting the city for the upcoming tournament. The Headsman is charged by the Emperor to find the culprits, his first official order.


    After being introduced to the members of his new "lance," which includes criminals, malcontents, and Hendry Hunting, Alken puts them to work finding leads. He, Emma, and Hendry go to the Backroad Inn. Emma and Hendry experience lingering tension from their personal history. Alken meets with the Keeper, and finds himself outwitted by the devilish information broker but given a lead to one of the inn''s patrons, a nobleman who dwells in a manor hidden in the Wending Roads, an eldritch hinterland parallel to the mortal world.


    Accompanied by Catrin, Emma, and Hendry, he travels into the Brazen Woods and finds himself an unwilling guest of Count Laertes, a vampire and ancient wizard of great power. He also discovers that Laertes is Karog''s patron, with the two conspiring to counter House Vyke. Hendry displays unnatural strength during the fight with the Count, and explains that his skeleton turned to iron after he was wounded by Jon Orley the past year. Alken learns that Catrin has been starving herself out of fear that her vampiric nature is evolving, something Laertes seems to have knowledge of.


    Laertes reveals that the Vykes are the culprits behind the recent attacks, something Alken suspected, and that they intend to use the upcoming tournament to gain both magical and political leverage in order to win the next war when it begins. Laertes also reveals that he mentored Reynard, the traitorous wizard responsible for starting the Fall. The old vampire also hints that Catrin is capable of accessing the same hidden paths that Yith can, providing our heroes an opportunity to finally track the demon down. Catrin decides to go through with this idea despite Alken''s misgivings. During the time at the manor, Catrin also teaches Alken how to open the shadow paths she can use to travel. Though he cannot survive entering them without being undead, he can use them to hide his faerie axe.


    With the situation growing more tenuous, Alken and his companions return to the city only to discover that the Vyke scheme is further reaching than they thought. He is confronted by Rosanna about what happened with Lias, and she gives him some information about the people assigned to him that leads to one of the more dubious members of the lance being fired. Rosanna also assigns Lisette to the Headsman''s team. Alken experiences another dream-memory involving another demon he slew during the war, who goads him to dispense with all the intrigue and simply murder his enemies.


    Alken and his companions then pour their efforts into hunting Yith. They go to a cemetery outside the city, where Catrin slips into the depths of Garihelm''s undercity where the demon is most likely hiding. The cleric assigned to Alken''s team reveals himself to be a Marion controlled by Hyperia Vyke, the princess of Talsyn and one of the twins from Caelfall. She briefly distracts him while unknown assailants attack the cemetary. Alken is distracted by Catrin''s predicament, as she finds herself trapped on the other side of the portal they created into the undercity with the demon. Alken attempts to pull her out, but his paladin magic ends up lashing out at the dhampir at the same time as the demon and trapping her in the undercity with it.


    A shell shocked Alken learns that Mistwalker ghouls, the same undead soldiers from Caelfall, were the attackers assailing his companions. Jocelyn, one of the tourney knights, makes an appearance and takes them to Fen Harus, who reveals that the elves are also aware of the Vykes machinations, much to our protagonist''s frustration. Jocelyn explains that Siriks Sontae, the ambassador from the warlike nation of Cymrinor, has also allied with the Vykes and that if either Prince Calerus, Hyperia''s Brother, or Siriks win the tournament then it could cause disaster.


    Alken has a late night meeting with Rosanna and decides to enter the tournament to help Jocelyn and Karog counter their mutual enemies. He is then confronted by Catrin, who survived and has been taken hostage by Yith. The demon gives Alken three days to kill Princess Hyperia, the sorceress who holds his true name in bondage, after which Yith will turn Catrin into a Woed and force Alken to kill her.


    Arc Six


    Arc 6 details the events of the Grand Tournament of Garihelm and the many duels and skirmishes involved over its course. It begins with Laessa Greengood''s trial by combat, which Jocelyn wins. Alken, disguising himself as an anonymous tourney knight, enters into the competition and fights through the ranks, eventually battling the brash Siriks Sontae and winning, managing to gain the angry young Cymrinorean''s cooperation in the process. Hyperia and Yith both continue to hover over the days of the tourney, taunting our hero with the leverage they hold over him. In a dramatic skirmish involving many tourney knights, Jocelyn reveals that he is afflicted with Wyrmblight, a greatly feared supernatural affliction that causes him to transform into a nightmarish beast that slaughters many knights and spectators, ending the tournament early.


    However, Alken never intended to wait for the tournament to conclude. During the fighting, he had his lance take Hyperia Vyke captive. He reveals to Hyperia that he knows she and her brother murdered their father, the King of Talsyn, showing their schemes and situation to be desperate and half-baked, as the support they are trying to drum up will dissipate as soon as the great Recusant leader is revealed to not be in the picture. With the assistance of a crowfriar hired through the Backroad Inn''s intermediacy, he offers to let Talsyn surrender and spare both the princess and her brother if she gives up Yith''s true name and lets Hell reclaim the rogue demon. Hyperia seems to agree, but Catrin manages to sneak into the tower, get past Alken, and in the process lets Yith in with her. A violent struggle ensues, during which Catrin murders Hyperia. A badly wounded and exhausted Alken channels the angry ghosts who''ve haunted him throughout the story, awakening a new surge of power that allows him to slay Yith. However, with Hyperia dead in their custody it seems as though all chances of peace are lost, with many members of the lance dead and Catrin left traumatized by the demon''s possession. However, Hyperia''s corpse reanimates and provides a new opportunity.


    Alken and Emma forge into the Fulgurkeep, where they discover that the Mistwalker Company and Calerus have prematurely launched a bloody coup, using a sorcerous mist to scatter the castle''s occupants and take control of the throne room. After several battles and betrayals, during which Emma kills Brenner Hunting, Alken finally confronts Calerus Vyke. Calerus and the captain of the Mistwalkers, Issachar, are holding several members of the court hostage, including Rosanna and Markham''s two sons. Alken tries to talk Calerus down, using his reanimated sister as a hostage, but Issachar forces a confrontation. Issachar is defeated and Calerus surrenders, stopping the next war before it truly begins.


    In the aftermath of the failed coup, Rosanna''s younger son Darsus is afflicted with the same ravenous hunger as the ghouls, one of the remaining members of the Headsman''s lance quits and another, the archer Penric, reanimates as an undead just as Hyperia and Kieran did. Catrin tells Alken that Yith discovered she was pregnant, something normally impossible for a vampire, likely with Alken''s own child. However, without the demon''s intervention she has gone back to being unable to conceive. She decides to leave Urn, returning to her homeland to grieve in her own way and find answers to why she was born the way she is.


    A heartbroken and worn Alken settles into his role as the Emperor''s new enforcer while the gods remain silent over long weeks of recovery. Rosanna, following the birth of her third son, asks Alken to find a way to help Darsus and asks him to be the boy''s godfather. Alken agrees to take on this new burden as he watches over his queen and her newborn child.


    The raging storms of summer pass, and a harsh and early winter settles over the realms. Shadows lengthen. Mad wizards scheme and warlords plot.


    In the deepest depths of Hell, one wakes from a long dream.

 7.2: Spar and Parting

    ¡°Well, it is rather inconvenient.¡± Emma stepped back from her sparring partner long enough to adjust a lock of black-brown hair that¡¯d escaped her bun. My squire swiped her sword up in a smart salute and her opponent mirrored the gesture. ¡°And in winter of all times. Where did you say we¡¯d be going again?¡±


    We were in the Fulgurkeep¡¯s training yard, a sort of quarry dug out from the rocky island¡¯s face. Sheer basalt walls and the soaring spires of the enormous castle complex rose around us, dizzyingly high and giving me the impression of standing in a ravine. A light, slow snow drifted down from the gray sky.


    I leaned against the side of the yard¡¯s storehouse, watching the young woman fight. Emma Orley would be nineteen in only a couple of months, and a year of training and battle had taken all the soft edges off my nobly born apprentice. Though she wasn¡¯t tall or burly, Emma had developed lean muscle and the vicious speed of a she-lion to complement her talent for fencing. Her older opponent had to take a minute to find their breath, giving us a moment to speak.


    I said nothing. Emma glanced at me, a crease forming between her eyebrows.


    ¡°I will be departing for the south just as soon as I¡¯ve settled some affairs here in the city,¡± I said. I¡¯d considered waiting for this conversation, but decided it best to be done with it. ¡°You won¡¯t be going with me.¡±


    Emma blinked at me, her amber eyes showing a momentary lack of comprehension. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then spat out a vicious curse as her fencing partner used her distraction to deliver a jab.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Emma hissed as she beat back her opponent. The two started to circle. My squire continued to speak to me even as her distinctly avian eyes tracked her partner. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I heard you right. It sounded like you just said I won¡¯t be going to the south with you, but I must have misheard.¡±


    There was a dangerous edge to her voice. I sighed, releasing a plume of frozen breath into the coastal air. Myrice risked taking her eyes off Emma long enough to throw me a questioning glance.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already spoken to the Emperor. My obligations to the Accord can¡¯t just be abandoned, and this is why the lance was built in the first place. You, Hendry, Lisette, and Penric will still be going to Mirrebel not long after I leave. Duchess Faisa has already made travel arrangements, and you¡¯ll be expected at her nephew¡¯s palace before the end of the month.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t say anything at first. Ser Myrice narrowed her eyes and ducked into a sudden low cut, the striking serpent to my squire¡¯s bird of prey. And just like a canny bird Emma hovered out of the way on light feet, jumping to dodge the strike to her ankle and slashing out. Her blunted sword caught the Gorgon on her shoulder blade, eliciting a hiss of pain.


    I¡¯d asked one of the veterans why the two women weren¡¯t wearing padding or any other protection. Both only wore simple trousers and tunics belted with rope, their arms and feet left to the rough mercies of the winter air. The tired man had just sighed and shaken his head, leading me to guess this wasn¡¯t unusual for the pair.


    Emma gave her opponent a moment to recover and spoke as though there¡¯d been no break in the conversation. ¡°Of course, that makes perfect sense... for the other three. What I don¡¯t understand is why I¡¯m going to bloody Mirrebel while you¡¯re not. I¡¯m your squire, Alken. I go where you go.¡±


    ¡°Not this time,¡± I said quietly.


    Emma shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line. ¡°Why?¡±


    Myrice glanced at me again, pausing their fight. I searched for words. In truth, I hadn¡¯t come to a decision until I¡¯d out and said it.


    ¡°Several reasons. Hendry has been acting withdrawn ever since he got back from his family¡¯s lands. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s been in the most focused state, and even though he¡¯s the only belted knight besides myself in our group I don¡¯t feel comfortable leaving him in charge. Lisette is competent, but she¡¯s also prone to self doubt and isn¡¯t much of a leader. And Penric...¡±


    Where did I even start with Penric? ¡°Well, he could probably take charge in a pinch. But the real reason, Emma, is because you¡¯re my squire. I trust the other three, but they haven¡¯t been tested like you. I need you there to represent me, to be my eyes and ears and my voice if necessary.¡±


    The two had stopped fighting. Emma turned to glower at me, her eyes hard and her jaw stubbornly set. I recognized that expression, but soldiered on anyway. I met the gaze levelly.


    ¡°The mission in Lady Faisa¡¯s country is important. We need to show the Accord that I¡¯m not just the Emperor¡¯s fist, that my position serves all the member realms equally. This is about diplomacy as much as doing a job. People know you¡¯re my shadow, Emma. If both you and I are absent, no one will take the rest of the lance seriously.¡±


    Emma¡¯s voice lashed out, angry as I¡¯d known she¡¯d be. ¡°You¡¯re trying to protect me. You don¡¯t want me involved in your other work, what you do for them.¡±


    I glanced at Myrice. This wasn¡¯t a conversation I wanted to have in front of others. People knew rumors about me, but rumors and hearing details first hand were not the same thing.


    I was the axeman for the gods, their executioner, their Doomsman. For most of a decade I¡¯d been a shadow, an ill rumor, then all of that changed the day I killed the Grand Prior of the Arda and tossed his head down in front of the Ardent Round.


    But rumor and misinformation could be to the advantage of a man in my position. I tried to avoid stripping back the veil of mystery too much outside my circle.


    As though comprehending all of this, Myrice glanced at Emma and gave the younger woman a faint smile. ¡°I¡¯m freezing. Let¡¯s take ten?¡±


    Emma threw a sheepish look at her sparring partner, then nodded. I walked with her to one of the large iron braziers kept lit around the yard. Emma hugged herself as the heat of exercise faded from her limbs, though she stubbornly refused to so much as shiver.


    ¡°I know this is a raw business, Em.¡± I tried for a smile. ¡°It¡¯s just bad timing, and it doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t trust you. Just the opposite.¡±


    Emma sighed, deflating. ¡°I know that, but...¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± I asked.


    Emma looked directly into my eyes, something most people flinched away from due to the sharp gleam of aura in them. ¡°Every time the Choir gives you a mission, everything goes to shit. They don¡¯t care if you live or die, you¡¯re expendable to them. And don¡¯t argue otherwise. I see it. You do their dirty work so they can stay clean and holy. What if they have you kill someone Markham doesn¡¯t want you to? Cause a diplomatic incident?¡±


    I¡¯d considered that very thing, and been light on details during my discussion with the Emperor. It was something we¡¯d talked about before, but found no true solutions to.


    Markham had said it himself at the time. He would protect his own, which I knew included the nation he wanted to maintain. Both of us hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that, but...


    I hid my doubts and said, ¡°I don¡¯t believe they intend to just throw me away. There¡¯s always something sinister behind every foe they send me against.¡±


    Emma spoke through her teeth, wisps of misting breath escaping with every syllable. ¡°I do not trust them. You need someone watching your back.¡±


    Emma Orley, who had once been Emma Carreon, never did have much faith in the divine. I didn¡¯t consider myself particularly devout either ¡ª no more than was reasonable considering I¡¯d seen gods and angels with my own eyes and knew they were real ¡ª but Emma viewed them with a complicated mixture of apprehension and disdain.


    I understood much of that distrust. I felt enough of my own. I knew I was expendable, and I¡¯d been made aware that my antics in Garihelm over the past year hadn¡¯t been appreciated by some members of the Choir. I already felt my own unease at whatever my next labor might be.


    ¡°I did this for years before we met,¡± I reminded her. ¡°This is back to business as usual for me.¡±


    Emma tilted her head to stare at me sidelong. ¡°Is that supposed to make me feel better? I assure you it does not.¡±


    I put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I need you here, keeping what we¡¯ve started to build together. The lance is too new to be left to fend for itself.¡±


    This was a lot of pressure to put on an eighteen year old girl. I felt like a bastard for doing it, but I¡¯d come to rely on Emma.


    And my other work, what I did for the Choir... that was for me. I¡¯d told her when I¡¯d taken her under my wing that I did not want her to become an apprentice Headsman.


    Emma still had that stubborn set to her jaw. ¡°Can¡¯t you at least take one of the other three? Take the choir girl so she can stitch you up when you get yourself torn bloody, which you will. Or Hendry so you have a strong arm at your side.¡±


    ¡°I already heal fast, and you need Lisette in case there are any sacred rites that need doing. Hendry is the only belted knight amongst you, so you¡¯ll need him to get through doors and keep cooperation from the nobles. And before you say it, Penric is going with you as well. He needs Lisette to keep him from falling apart, and he¡¯s an old soldier. His experience will be invaluable.¡±


    I lowered my voice, becoming barely audible over the echoing sounds of shouts and iron clanging across the quarry. ¡°But you will be in charge, Emma. They¡¯ll need you to keep them alive until I¡¯m back. I need you to do this.¡±


    The expression on Emma¡¯s angular face changed. It was a subtle thing, but the anger and the stubbornness became filtered through a very different emotion. Fear.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this,¡± she said in a small voice.


    She always seemed so confident, even arrogant, yet when that mask cracked it could be heartbreaking. Emma had been left all alone in the world, surrounded either by people who hated her or who wanted to use her name for their own ends.


    I knew what her greatest fear was. It wasn¡¯t demons or soldiers or even failure. She feared being left alone. For more than a year it had been her and me against the world.


    ¡°You can,¡± I assured her. ¡°You are Emma Orley, granddaughter of Anastasia Carreon and godchild of Nath. You are Alken Hewer¡¯s squire. There¡¯s no one on the face of this sphere tougher than you, kid.¡±


    Emma squeezed her eyes shut, took a shuddering breath, and nodded. ¡°Fine. But if you don¡¯t come back¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll reanimate my corpse and make it tumble in front of the whole aristocracy. I know.¡± I smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve got this, and you¡¯ve got the lance. Rely on them.¡±


    Emma nodded slowly, her usual cool indifference sliding back into place. ¡°Very well, then. I suppose I must brief the others. If you will excuse me, Ser Headsman.¡±


    She walked off. A moment later, Ser Myrice sidled up to me and held her hands toward the fire.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°That¡¯s a tough young lady,¡± the knight said conversationally. She had a smooth voice with a subtle lisp. ¡°You¡¯re lucky. My squire is a little prick from House Redmoor. He¡¯s probably off despoiling a castle servant right now.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re interested in trading?¡±


    I glanced at the woman. Perhaps twenty-six and striking, Myrice Gorgon possessed green eyes with a distinctly serpentine aspect. A mark of an ancient pact her clan had made with a dangerous creature. Those eyes were dangerous, a focus for her magic just like my eyes and voice were.


    ¡°Lady Gorgon,¡± I greeted the woman cautiously. ¡°Thank you for sparring with my squire.¡±


    Most in the castle were afraid of Emma, both because of her association with me and because she could be scary. Myrice had taken to us after the Vyke coup, and though she wasn¡¯t part of the lance I¡¯d come to appreciate having an ally.


    But the Gorgons were also surrendered Recusants who¡¯d fallen in line after the war, a clan with a reputation nearly as dubious as infamous families such as the Vykes and the Carreons. They were more obscure, but that didn¡¯t necessarily make them less dangerous. Myrice seemed eager to prove herself as a Knight of the Accord, but part of me couldn¡¯t overcome the knowledge that her family were once my enemies. Most of them probably still were at heart.


    You could say the same about Emma. If the Carreons were still around, you¡¯d feel the same towards them.


    But the Gorgons were still around, and familial loyalty can run deep. I didn¡¯t entirely trust Lady Myrice.


    I didn¡¯t really trust anyone.


    ¡°You know,¡± Myrice continued as she warmed her hands at the fire. ¡°I also have a full lance. Two archers, a valet, and that awful squire of mine. I¡¯ve felt a bit cooped up here in the city and could use some adventure.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow at her. ¡°What exactly are you suggesting, Ser Myrice?¡±


    She shrugged, her very slightly slitted eyes wandering the yard as though bored. ¡°I could accompany your people to Mirrebel. Just some company on the road, mind. They¡¯ll be traveling with a winter caravan anyway.¡±


    ¡°Do you have some business in Dance lands?¡± I asked, nonplussed at this offer.


    ¡°One of my little cousins is Duchess Lenore¡¯s handmaiden. I¡¯m quite fond of the sweet viper and could use an excuse to visit.¡±


    I recognized the name of Natan Dance¡¯s wife. He was Faisa¡¯s nephew and Crown Duke of Mirrebel, a member of the Ardent Round. ¡°And what would you ask in return for providing company to my people?¡±


    I¡¯d gotten better at this game. Intrigue. Verbal sparring. The ever shifting river of court politics. I¡¯d never be as comfortable with it as Rosanna, but I could learn to keep up.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Myrice gave me an appraising glance, and something about that look made me feel like I¡¯d suddenly found myself on a rack. Or huddled in an unprotected nest while the snake closed in. ¡°I suspect you can find some way to make it up to me. When you return from your mysterious errand in the south or... even earlier, perhaps? When did you say you¡¯d be leaving again?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t. Not at all sure I¡¯d read this situation right or knew how firm the ground I stood on was, I shrugged. ¡°Soon.¡±


    Myrice walked behind me. She did not keep a professional space between us, letting one hand slide along my elbow in a smooth, unsettlingly sinuous motion as she did. ¡°Well. You know where to find me, Ser Hewer. Perhaps we can discuss the details further... in private?¡±


    She walked off in the same direction Emma had. Another of the sparring knights stopped next to me while I watched Myrice leave. Vander Braeve was covered in sweat despite the cold air and wearing the padded garments most of the training men-at-arms used.


    ¡°Careful of that one, Ser Alken.¡± He glared after the Gorgon. ¡°Her whole brood hide venom in their smiles.¡±


    I knew that House Gorgon had offered Myrice in marriage to Vander, partly as an insult following the murder of his uncle. ¡°I don¡¯t know what she expects of me,¡± I said. ¡°None of my secrets can be of much value to her family.¡±


    Vander stared at me as though I were simple. I frowned, shifting and folding my arms. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You really don¡¯t understand?¡± He asked. Me and Vander didn¡¯t get along too well at the best of times, and this frank conversation threw me off guard. When I just stared at him, he sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made waves ever since last spring. In less than a year, you¡¯ve cowed an entire faction of the Church, stopped a coup that would have destroyed our confederation, and become the Emperor¡¯s councilor since the death of the old steward.¡±


    He stepped forward and lowered his voice, forcing me to heed him. ¡°You have power, man. Have you really not had any so far?¡±


    ¡°Had any what?¡± I asked slowly.


    Vander¡¯s face darkened with frustration. ¡°Marriage offers, Hewer.¡±


    Realization struck me all at once. ¡°You¡¯re saying Myrice Gorgon means to court me? I sensed the seduction, but that seems...¡±


    I shook my head, at a loss for words. I¡¯d dealt with this back in the Karledale, but I¡¯d been a different man then. I doubted anyone wanted to be tied to my House of one.


    Vander glanced in Myrice¡¯s direction. ¡°She¡¯s not yet married and I hear her father is putting pressure on her about it.¡± His voice took on a note of distaste. ¡°And I know something of that woman. She¡¯s probably attracted to the idea of being matched with the Headsman. It¡¯s a matter of aesthetics for her.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°But that¡¯s not my point. You have influence, Hewer, and people will want to claim a piece of that. Everyone¡¯s scared of you, and you don¡¯t have any titles or lands to go along with your knighthood, so I imagine that has stalled things. But you will be seeing more Myrice¡¯s, and sooner rather than later.¡±


    He clapped me on the shoulder, which I found more disturbing even than this sudden revelation from the normally bitter man. ¡°Best get used to it. My advice? Pick someone safe and dumb from a rich family, and tell her nothing your enemies can use against you. People like that Gorgon witch might be more useful, but they¡¯ll always have their own schemes. Don¡¯t invite cobras into your bed.¡±


    He walked off then, leaving me alone in the cold with the gently falling snow. Discontent and frustration wormed their way into my gut.


    I did not want to think about love or marriage. For the first time, I found myself looking forward to leaving the city.


    I didn¡¯t waste much more time. After making sure the people who needed to know were aware I¡¯d be leaving the city early, I gathered what I could carry and found myself at the stables.


    Chimera can be hard to keep. There are a thousand varieties of all sizes, temperaments, and dietary needs. Some are bred for war and those can get enormous, and for a city the size of Garihelm that could require a lot of space, a lot of material, and a lot of wealth dedicated to the care of animals.


    There¡¯s a zoo in Mirrebel. I¡¯d heard rumors of one in Bantes too. Apparently they keep rare and exotic beasts, either crafted by alchemists or captured from the wild for people to ogle at. I hadn¡¯t seen it myself, but it must have resembled the grand stables of the capital city of the Accorded Realms.


    The din of animals and people, along with the nearly overpowering stink of the place, faded into so much sensory noise as I patted my own mount¡¯s snout and muttered encouraging words in elvish to her. Penric stood nearby, helping check over the saddlebags and securing them to Morgause¡¯s flanks.


    ¡°Long trip to Osheim,¡± the archer noted. How his fingers worked so cleverly at the ropes and knots of the chimera¡¯s tack I couldn¡¯t say, considering the wrappings around his blind eyes. But it didn¡¯t impede him here any more than it fouled his marksmanship.


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. Almost as soon as my unexpected meeting with the Herald of Heavensreach had ended, I¡¯d done some investigating on my mysterious destination. Court records had Tol as a small city in the north of Osheim, a small kingdom tucked away in Urn¡¯s heartlands.


    It wasn¡¯t far from Kingsmeet, the old capital before the war. I¡¯d been trying not to dwell on that.


    Morgause nudged me. She knew we were leaving and seemed eager to be gone from the packed noise of the stables. I gave her snout a gentle shove and admonished her. ¡°We¡¯ll be gone soon enough, you be patient.¡±


    After the tournament, Rosanna gifted me the scadumare to keep as my personal steed. The survivor of a pair of twins and an exceedingly rare breed, Morgause was black as deep night and cut the line between horse and reptile. She looked like a huge destrier, until you noted the clawed hooves, ridge of horns, and sharp spines protruding from her mane. Sharp teeth filled her narrow snout and she possessed eyes the color of rubies.


    Penric grunted, then leaned back and scratched at the wiry stubble on his hollow cheek. ¡°That squire of yours is pissing mad. I¡¯m guessing telling her you¡¯re going it alone didn¡¯t spin well?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°She understands.¡±


    The archer shrugged. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll keep the young¡¯uns safe as I can. Shame you aren¡¯t going to Mirrebel with us. You ever been?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve passed through.¡± I checked the reins one last time with a sharp tug. Morgause nipped at me, nearly taking fingers.


    ¡°Great bars,¡± Penric said happily. ¡°The Dance¡¯s know how to run a country, you have to give them that. Have you seen a Mirres brothel? They¡¯re better than anywhere else. Got standards. Can you imagine? A rut house with standards? Clean women, good music, excellent food. And I¡¯ll be going with a purse full of royal stipend this time.¡±


    The man chortled.


    ¡°Just remember you¡¯re there to work, not enjoy yourself.¡± I gave him a hard look. ¡°You¡¯re the most experienced soldier of the four of you, Penric. I need you sharp.¡±


    ¡°Aye captain.¡± Penric¡¯s aged face remained amicable as always. ¡°I¡¯m dead, not daft. I think we¡¯re all more worried about you, Ser.¡±


    He tilted his head toward me, clearly seeing me fine in that uncanny way of his. Morgause¡¯s stable was kept dark ¡ª she was a nocturnal creature who disliked strong light ¡ª and in that dimness I noted the former assassin¡¯s distinct grayish pallor. The faintly glowing lines of auratic stitches, Lisette¡¯s work, were just visible along one temple.


    ¡°We all see it, you know.¡± The dyghoul¡¯s voice lowered. ¡°You were doing well for a while, but you ain¡¯t been sleepin¡¯ right lately. And I know the dead been whisperin¡¯ to you. You¡¯re still wearing them charms when you sleep?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing them,¡± I said quietly.


    Penric nodded. ¡°Good. You know the young lady isn¡¯t just angry about being left out, right? We¡¯re all worried about you. Your powers still acting strangely?¡±


    ¡°...Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t really understand what happened to me last summer, Penric. What I did. Whatever happened, it changed something.¡±


    Penric stared at me, his gaze intent even with the bandages. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend to understand. I was just a common killer before I got my skull cracked by Beatriz¡¯s war pick. You should find someone who can tell you more, get you looked at.¡±


    He paused and added, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend a priest.¡±


    That suggestion was sobering. I didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Penric grinned, his mood shifting. ¡°Also, you should take a bow. No man should hump it through the wilds without a bow. What¡¯re you going to eat?¡±


    In response, I unstrung a leather case we¡¯d strapped to Morgause along with the saddlebags to reveal a compact crossbow. The body was dark wood, the mechanisms brass. It also bore decorative bronze plates with detailed inlays etched into them.


    ¡°Custom made,¡± I said. ¡°See the bronze pieces? Similar alloy as my axe. The wood is from my axe¡¯s handle too. It can channel aura.¡±


    Penric grunted appreciatively, admiring the weapon with enthusiasm. It¡¯d taken a long time to let my axe¡¯s handle of living oak grow and cutting the excess away to get the material for the crossbow¡¯s stock. I¡¯d then had to find an alchemist who could make heads or tails of the formula for the metalwork, then wait weeks before he and the artisan who¡¯d made the weapon itself were finished.


    The end result turned out beautiful, but in a very functional and human way. It might not be a faerie-made treasure out of Seydis, but I could use it.


    When we were done packing, Penric turned to me and we grasped hands. His skin was corpse cold, the grip firm. ¡°We¡¯ll be alright,¡± the old veteran said. ¡°Make sure you stay alright, captain. I know the score, but keep your head on straight and chop the enemy before they can chop you. Better yet, drop them from the ridge line. Fuck all that honor shit, just stay alive and win.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Keep them safe, Penric.¡±


    The archer grinned, flashing long teeth. ¡°Well, I need that cleric lass to keep me from rotting, so you can bet I¡¯ll watch their backs. Good luck to you, captain.¡±


    He left then, giving me the first moment of quiet in hours. I patted Morgause on her leathery neck. She¡¯d be my only companion for many days.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d left Garihelm that year, but even still... so much had happened. I¡¯d been so busy, experienced so much. It felt strange how quickly this had happened.


    I¡¯d barely even argued, but what could I do? Ignore the gods?


    You could. You just know there¡¯s probably a good reason for this.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be back by spring,¡± I said to Morgause. ¡°In time for Rosanna¡¯s departure for the Karledale.¡±


    The mare side-eyed me dubiously. I shook my head and mounted, fitting my steel sabatons through the stirrups. She barely made so much as a nicker of protest at my weight.


    I wore my armor and red cloak. My coat of black chainmail, damaged during the fighting in the early summer, had been repaired best as mortal smiths were able. I¡¯d also reinforced it with pieces of the tourney armor Faisa Dance had given me. My ensemble now consisted of pauldrons, each three layers of overlapping plates, and a thick gorget of dark steel. Metal covered my forearms and my legs from foot to thigh, all layered and all black.


    It was as close to a full set as I¡¯d worn since my war days, ignoring my brief tenor as a tourney fighter earlier that year. I¡¯d also taken to wearing a long, featureless black surcoat with frayed edges over the armor, not unlike the uniform any executioner might don. I¡¯d long since stopped bothering to be subtle about my purpose.


    The heavy belt around my waist held my rondel dagger, and displayed a bronze medallion inscribed with the image of a hangman¡¯s tree. It was the mark I¡¯d chosen for myself after the tournament. I might have been made a proper knight again, but I wouldn¡¯t use my old symbol.


    I turned us to the stable doors. Morgause kicked, eager to be off. Even still I kept a firm hand on the reins.


    The only one who knew I was leaving were Emma, Penric, Myrice, and the Emperor himself. Hendry and Lisette were busy and wouldn¡¯t find out until I¡¯d already put miles behind me. Even Rosanna didn¡¯t know. She was too occupied running a nation and raising three children, and I wasn¡¯t going to disturb her for this.


    Why did I hesitate? This wasn¡¯t goodbye forever.


    The last time I¡¯d left my queen and gone off on my own without talking to her first, I¡¯d spent eight years wandering through a violent nightmare. Didn¡¯t she at least deserve a goodbye? Shouldn¡¯t I talk to her son first? I¡¯d spent some time with young Darsus lately, helping him cope with his condition. That¡¯d been a large part of the research I¡¯d been doing. He might take my sudden absence hard.


    You have a job, I reminded myself. And Donnelly told you to hurry. Stop pussyfooting and get on with it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Morgause.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even need to spur her. Together we forged out into the cold.

 Arc 7: Chapter 2: Spar and Parting

    Arc 7: Chapter 2: Spar and Parting


    ¡°Well, it is rather inconvenient.¡± Emma stepped back from her sparring partner long enough to adjust a lock of black-brown hair that¡¯d escaped her bun. My squire swiped her sword up in a smart salute and her opponent mirrored the gesture. ¡°And in winter of all times. Where did you say we¡¯d be going again?¡±


    We were in the Fulgurkeep¡¯s training yard, a sort of quarry dug out from the rocky island¡¯s face. Sheer basalt walls and the soaring spires of the enormous castle complex rose around us, dizzyingly high and giving me the impression of standing in a ravine. A light, slow snow drifted down from the gray sky.


    I leaned against the side of the yard¡¯s storehouse, watching the young woman fight. Emma Orley would be nineteen in only a couple of months, and a year of training and battle had taken all the soft edges off my nobly born apprentice. Though she wasn¡¯t tall or burly, Emma had developed lean muscle and the vicious speed of a she-lion to complement her talent for fencing. Her older opponent had to take a minute to find their breath, giving us a moment to speak.


    I said nothing. Emma glanced at me, a crease forming between her eyebrows.


    ¡°I will be departing for the south just as soon as I¡¯ve settled some affairs here in the city,¡± I said. I¡¯d considered waiting for this conversation, but decided it best to be done with it. ¡°You won¡¯t be going with me.¡±


    Emma blinked at me, her amber eyes showing a momentary lack of comprehension. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then spat out a vicious curse as her fencing partner used her distraction to deliver a jab.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Emma hissed as she beat back her opponent. The two started to circle. My squire continued to speak to me even as her distinctly avian eyes tracked her partner. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I heard you right. It sounded like you just said I won¡¯t be going to the south with you, but I must have misheard.¡±


    There was a dangerous edge to her voice. I sighed, releasing a plume of frozen breath into the coastal air. Myrice risked taking her eyes off Emma long enough to throw me a questioning glance.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already spoken to the Emperor. My obligations to the Accord can¡¯t just be abandoned, and this is why the lance was built in the first place. You, Hendry, Lisette, and Penric will still be going to Mirrebel not long after I leave. Duchess Faisa has already made travel arrangements, and you¡¯ll be expected at her nephew¡¯s palace before the end of the month.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t say anything at first. Ser Myrice narrowed her eyes and ducked into a sudden low cut, the striking serpent to my squire¡¯s bird of prey. And just like a canny bird Emma hovered out of the way on light feet, jumping to dodge the strike to her ankle and slashing out. Her blunted sword caught the Gorgon on her shoulder blade, eliciting a hiss of pain.


    I¡¯d asked one of the veterans why the two women weren¡¯t wearing padding or any other protection. Both only wore simple trousers and tunics belted with rope, their arms and feet left to the rough mercies of the winter air. The tired man had just sighed and shaken his head, leading me to guess this wasn¡¯t unusual for the pair.


    Emma gave her opponent a moment to recover and spoke as though there¡¯d been no break in the conversation. ¡°Of course, that makes perfect sense... for the other three. What I don¡¯t understand is why I¡¯m going to bloody Mirrebel while you¡¯re not. I¡¯m your squire, Alken. I go where you go.¡±


    ¡°Not this time,¡± I said quietly.


    Emma shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line. ¡°Why?¡±


    Myrice glanced at me again, pausing their fight. I searched for words. In truth, I hadn¡¯t come to a decision until I¡¯d out and said it.


    ¡°Several reasons. Hendry has been acting withdrawn ever since he got back from his family¡¯s lands. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s been in the most focused state, and even though he¡¯s the only belted knight besides myself in our group I don¡¯t feel comfortable leaving him in charge. Lisette is competent, but she¡¯s also prone to self doubt and isn¡¯t much of a leader. And Penric...¡±


    Where did I even start with Penric? ¡°Well, he could probably take charge in a pinch. But the real reason, Emma, is because you¡¯re my squire. I trust the other three, but they haven¡¯t been tested like you. I need you there to represent me, to be my eyes and ears and my voice if necessary.¡±


    The two had stopped fighting. Emma turned to glower at me, her eyes hard and her jaw stubbornly set. I recognized that expression, but soldiered on anyway. I met the gaze levelly.


    ¡°The mission in Lady Faisa¡¯s country is important. We need to show the Accord that I¡¯m not just the Emperor¡¯s fist, that my position serves all the member realms equally. This is about diplomacy as much as doing a job. People know you¡¯re my shadow, Emma. If both you and I are absent, no one will take the rest of the lance seriously.¡±


    Emma¡¯s voice lashed out, angry as I¡¯d known she¡¯d be. ¡°You¡¯re trying to protect me. You don¡¯t want me involved in your other work, what you do for them.¡±


    I glanced at Myrice. This wasn¡¯t a conversation I wanted to have in front of others. People knew rumors about me, but rumors and hearing details first hand were not the same thing.


    I was the axeman for the gods, their executioner, their Doomsman. For most of a decade I¡¯d been a shadow, an ill rumor, then all of that changed the day I killed the Grand Prior of the Arda and tossed his head down in front of the Ardent Round.


    But rumor and misinformation could be to the advantage of a man in my position. I tried to avoid stripping back the veil of mystery too much outside my circle.


    As though comprehending all of this, Myrice glanced at Emma and gave the younger woman a faint smile. ¡°I¡¯m freezing. Let¡¯s take ten?¡±


    Emma threw a sheepish look at her sparring partner, then nodded. I walked with her to one of the large iron braziers kept lit around the yard. Emma hugged herself as the heat of exercise faded from her limbs, though she stubbornly refused to so much as shiver.


    ¡°I know this is a raw business, Em.¡± I tried for a smile. ¡°It¡¯s just bad timing, and it doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t trust you. Just the opposite.¡±


    Emma sighed, deflating. ¡°I know that, but...¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± I asked.


    Emma looked directly into my eyes, something most people flinched away from due to the sharp gleam of aura in them. ¡°Every time the Choir gives you a mission, everything goes to shit. They don¡¯t care if you live or die, you¡¯re expendable to them. And don¡¯t argue otherwise. I see it. You do their dirty work so they can stay clean and holy. What if they have you kill someone Markham doesn¡¯t want you to? Cause a diplomatic incident?¡± R?a?o??¦¢E?s??


    I¡¯d considered that very thing, and been light on details during my discussion with the Emperor. It was something we¡¯d talked about before, but found no true solutions to.


    Markham had said it himself at the time. He would protect his own, which I knew included the nation he wanted to maintain. Both of us hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that, but...


    I hid my doubts and said, ¡°I don¡¯t believe they intend to just throw me away. There¡¯s always something sinister behind every foe they send me against.¡±


    Emma spoke through her teeth, wisps of misting breath escaping with every syllable. ¡°I do not trust them. You need someone watching your back.¡±


    Emma Orley, who had once been Emma Carreon, never did have much faith in the divine. I didn¡¯t consider myself particularly devout either ¡ª no more than was reasonable considering I¡¯d seen gods and angels with my own eyes and knew they were real ¡ª but Emma viewed them with a complicated mixture of apprehension and disdain.


    I understood much of that distrust. I felt enough of my own. I knew I was expendable, and I¡¯d been made aware that my antics in Garihelm over the past year hadn¡¯t been appreciated by some members of the Choir. I already felt my own unease at whatever my next labor might be.


    ¡°I did this for years before we met,¡± I reminded her. ¡°This is back to business as usual for me.¡±


    Emma tilted her head to stare at me sidelong. ¡°Is that supposed to make me feel better? I assure you it does not.¡±


    I put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I need you here, keeping what we¡¯ve started to build together. The lance is too new to be left to fend for itself.¡±


    This was a lot of pressure to put on an eighteen year old girl. I felt like a bastard for doing it, but I¡¯d come to rely on Emma.


    And my other work, what I did for the Choir... that was for me. I¡¯d told her when I¡¯d taken her under my wing that I did not want her to become an apprentice Headsman.


    Emma still had that stubborn set to her jaw. ¡°Can¡¯t you at least take one of the other three? Take the choir girl so she can stitch you up when you get yourself torn bloody, which you will. Or Hendry so you have a strong arm at your side.¡±


    ¡°I already heal fast, and you need Lisette in case there are any sacred rites that need doing. Hendry is the only belted knight amongst you, so you¡¯ll need him to get through doors and keep cooperation from the nobles. And before you say it, Penric is going with you as well. He needs Lisette to keep him from falling apart, and he¡¯s an old soldier. His experience will be invaluable.¡±


    I lowered my voice, becoming barely audible over the echoing sounds of shouts and iron clanging across the quarry. ¡°But you will be in charge, Emma. They¡¯ll need you to keep them alive until I¡¯m back. I need you to do this.¡±


    The expression on Emma¡¯s angular face changed. It was a subtle thing, but the anger and the stubbornness became filtered through a very different emotion. Fear.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this,¡± she said in a small voice.


    She always seemed so confident, even arrogant, yet when that mask cracked it could be heartbreaking. Emma had been left all alone in the world, surrounded either by people who hated her or who wanted to use her name for their own ends.


    I knew what her greatest fear was. It wasn¡¯t demons or soldiers or even failure. She feared being left alone. For more than a year it had been her and me against the world.


    ¡°You can,¡± I assured her. ¡°You are Emma Orley, granddaughter of Anastasia Carreon and godchild of Nath. You are Alken Hewer¡¯s squire. There¡¯s no one on the face of this sphere tougher than you, kid.¡±


    Emma squeezed her eyes shut, took a shuddering breath, and nodded. ¡°Fine. But if you don¡¯t come back¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll reanimate my corpse and make it tumble in front of the whole aristocracy. I know.¡± I smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve got this, and you¡¯ve got the lance. Rely on them.¡±


    Emma nodded slowly, her usual cool indifference sliding back into place. ¡°Very well, then. I suppose I must brief the others. If you will excuse me, Ser Headsman.¡±


    She walked off. A moment later, Ser Myrice sidled up to me and held her hands toward the fire.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°That¡¯s a tough young lady,¡± the knight said conversationally. She had a smooth voice with a subtle lisp. ¡°You¡¯re lucky. My squire is a little prick from House Redmoor. He¡¯s probably off despoiling a castle servant right now.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re interested in trading?¡±


    I glanced at the woman. Perhaps twenty-six and striking, Myrice Gorgon possessed green eyes with a distinctly serpentine aspect. A mark of an ancient pact her clan had made with a dangerous creature. Those eyes were dangerous, a focus for her magic just like my eyes and voice were.


    ¡°Lady Gorgon,¡± I greeted the woman cautiously. ¡°Thank you for sparring with my squire.¡±


    Most in the castle were afraid of Emma, both because of her association with me and because she could be scary. Myrice had taken to us after the Vyke coup, and though she wasn¡¯t part of the lance I¡¯d come to appreciate having an ally.


    But the Gorgons were also surrendered Recusants who¡¯d fallen in line after the war, a clan with a reputation nearly as dubious as infamous families such as the Vykes and the Carreons. They were more obscure, but that didn¡¯t necessarily make them less dangerous. Myrice seemed eager to prove herself as a Knight of the Accord, but part of me couldn¡¯t overcome the knowledge that her family were once my enemies. Most of them probably still were at heart.


    You could say the same about Emma. If the Carreons were still around, you¡¯d feel the same towards them.


    But the Gorgons were still around, and familial loyalty can run deep. I didn¡¯t entirely trust Lady Myrice.


    I didn¡¯t really trust anyone.


    ¡°You know,¡± Myrice continued as she warmed her hands at the fire. ¡°I also have a full lance. Two archers, a valet, and that awful squire of mine. I¡¯ve felt a bit cooped up here in the city and could use some adventure.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow at her. ¡°What exactly are you suggesting, Ser Myrice?¡±


    She shrugged, her very slightly slitted eyes wandering the yard as though bored. ¡°I could accompany your people to Mirrebel. Just some company on the road, mind. They¡¯ll be traveling with a winter caravan anyway.¡±


    ¡°Do you have some business in Dance lands?¡± I asked, nonplussed at this offer.


    ¡°One of my little cousins is Duchess Lenore¡¯s handmaiden. I¡¯m quite fond of the sweet viper and could use an excuse to visit.¡±


    I recognized the name of Natan Dance¡¯s wife. He was Faisa¡¯s nephew and Crown Duke of Mirrebel, a member of the Ardent Round. ¡°And what would you ask in return for providing company to my people?¡±


    I¡¯d gotten better at this game. Intrigue. Verbal sparring. The ever shifting river of court politics. I¡¯d never be as comfortable with it as Rosanna, but I could learn to keep up.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Myrice gave me an appraising glance, and something about that look made me feel like I¡¯d suddenly found myself on a rack. Or huddled in an unprotected nest while the snake closed in. ¡°I suspect you can find some way to make it up to me. When you return from your mysterious errand in the south or... even earlier, perhaps? When did you say you¡¯d be leaving again?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t. Not at all sure I¡¯d read this situation right or knew how firm the ground I stood on was, I shrugged. ¡°Soon.¡±


    Myrice walked behind me. She did not keep a professional space between us, letting one hand slide along my elbow in a smooth, unsettlingly sinuous motion as she did. ¡°Well. You know where to find me, Ser Hewer. Perhaps we can discuss the details further... in private?¡±


    She walked off in the same direction Emma had. Another of the sparring knights stopped next to me while I watched Myrice leave. Vander Braeve was covered in sweat despite the cold air and wearing the padded garments most of the training men-at-arms used.


    ¡°Careful of that one, Ser Alken.¡± He glared after the Gorgon. ¡°Her whole brood hide venom in their smiles.¡±


    I knew that House Gorgon had offered Myrice in marriage to Vander, partly as an insult following the murder of his uncle. ¡°I don¡¯t know what she expects of me,¡± I said. ¡°None of my secrets can be of much value to her family.¡±


    Vander stared at me as though I were simple. I frowned, shifting and folding my arms. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You really don¡¯t understand?¡± He asked. Me and Vander didn¡¯t get along too well at the best of times, and this frank conversation threw me off guard. When I just stared at him, he sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made waves ever since last spring. In less than a year, you¡¯ve cowed an entire faction of the Church, stopped a coup that would have destroyed our confederation, and become the Emperor¡¯s councilor since the death of the old steward.¡±


    He stepped forward and lowered his voice, forcing me to heed him. ¡°You have power, man. Have you really not had any so far?¡±


    ¡°Had any what?¡± I asked slowly.


    Vander¡¯s face darkened with frustration. ¡°Marriage offers, Hewer.¡±


    Realization struck me all at once. ¡°You¡¯re saying Myrice Gorgon means to court me? I sensed the seduction, but that seems...¡±


    I shook my head, at a loss for words. I¡¯d dealt with this back in the Karledale, but I¡¯d been a different man then. I doubted anyone wanted to be tied to my House of one.


    Vander glanced in Myrice¡¯s direction. ¡°She¡¯s not yet married and I hear her father is putting pressure on her about it.¡± His voice took on a note of distaste. ¡°And I know something of that woman. She¡¯s probably attracted to the idea of being matched with the Headsman. It¡¯s a matter of aesthetics for her.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°But that¡¯s not my point. You have influence, Hewer, and people will want to claim a piece of that. Everyone¡¯s scared of you, and you don¡¯t have any titles or lands to go along with your knighthood, so I imagine that has stalled things. But you will be seeing more Myrice¡¯s, and sooner rather than later.¡±


    He clapped me on the shoulder, which I found more disturbing even than this sudden revelation from the normally bitter man. ¡°Best get used to it. My advice? Pick someone safe and dumb from a rich family, and tell her nothing your enemies can use against you. People like that Gorgon witch might be more useful, but they¡¯ll always have their own schemes. Don¡¯t invite cobras into your bed.¡±


    He walked off then, leaving me alone in the cold with the gently falling snow. Discontent and frustration wormed their way into my gut.


    I did not want to think about love or marriage. For the first time, I found myself looking forward to leaving the city.


    I didn¡¯t waste much more time. After making sure the people who needed to know were aware I¡¯d be leaving the city early, I gathered what I could carry and found myself at the stables.


    Chimera can be hard to keep. There are a thousand varieties of all sizes, temperaments, and dietary needs. Some are bred for war and those can get enormous, and for a city the size of Garihelm that could require a lot of space, a lot of material, and a lot of wealth dedicated to the care of animals.


    There¡¯s a zoo in Mirrebel. I¡¯d heard rumors of one in Bantes too. Apparently they keep rare and exotic beasts, either crafted by alchemists or captured from the wild for people to ogle at. I hadn¡¯t seen it myself, but it must have resembled the grand stables of the capital city of the Accorded Realms.


    The din of animals and people, along with the nearly overpowering stink of the place, faded into so much sensory noise as I patted my own mount¡¯s snout and muttered encouraging words in elvish to her. Penric stood nearby, helping check over the saddlebags and securing them to Morgause¡¯s flanks.


    ¡°Long trip to Osheim,¡± the archer noted. How his fingers worked so cleverly at the ropes and knots of the chimera¡¯s tack I couldn¡¯t say, considering the wrappings around his blind eyes. But it didn¡¯t impede him here any more than it fouled his marksmanship.


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. Almost as soon as my unexpected meeting with the Herald of Heavensreach had ended, I¡¯d done some investigating on my mysterious destination. Court records had Tol as a small city in the north of Osheim, a small kingdom tucked away in Urn¡¯s heartlands.


    It wasn¡¯t far from Kingsmeet, the old capital before the war. I¡¯d been trying not to dwell on that.


    Morgause nudged me. She knew we were leaving and seemed eager to be gone from the packed noise of the stables. I gave her snout a gentle shove and admonished her. ¡°We¡¯ll be gone soon enough, you be patient.¡±


    After the tournament, Rosanna gifted me the scadumare to keep as my personal steed. The survivor of a pair of twins and an exceedingly rare breed, Morgause was black as deep night and cut the line between horse and reptile. She looked like a huge destrier, until you noted the clawed hooves, ridge of horns, and sharp spines protruding from her mane. Sharp teeth filled her narrow snout and she possessed eyes the color of rubies.


    Penric grunted, then leaned back and scratched at the wiry stubble on his hollow cheek. ¡°That squire of yours is pissing mad. I¡¯m guessing telling her you¡¯re going it alone didn¡¯t spin well?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°She understands.¡±


    The archer shrugged. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll keep the young¡¯uns safe as I can. Shame you aren¡¯t going to Mirrebel with us. You ever been?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve passed through.¡± I checked the reins one last time with a sharp tug. Morgause nipped at me, nearly taking fingers.


    ¡°Great bars,¡± Penric said happily. ¡°The Dance¡¯s know how to run a country, you have to give them that. Have you seen a Mirres brothel? They¡¯re better than anywhere else. Got standards. Can you imagine? A rut house with standards? Clean women, good music, excellent food. And I¡¯ll be going with a purse full of royal stipend this time.¡±


    The man chortled.


    ¡°Just remember you¡¯re there to work, not enjoy yourself.¡± I gave him a hard look. ¡°You¡¯re the most experienced soldier of the four of you, Penric. I need you sharp.¡±


    ¡°Aye captain.¡± Penric¡¯s aged face remained amicable as always. ¡°I¡¯m dead, not daft. I think we¡¯re all more worried about you, Ser.¡±


    He tilted his head toward me, clearly seeing me fine in that uncanny way of his. Morgause¡¯s stable was kept dark ¡ª she was a nocturnal creature who disliked strong light ¡ª and in that dimness I noted the former assassin¡¯s distinct grayish pallor. The faintly glowing lines of auratic stitches, Lisette¡¯s work, were just visible along one temple.


    ¡°We all see it, you know.¡± The dyghoul¡¯s voice lowered. ¡°You were doing well for a while, but you ain¡¯t been sleepin¡¯ right lately. And I know the dead been whisperin¡¯ to you. You¡¯re still wearing them charms when you sleep?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing them,¡± I said quietly.


    Penric nodded. ¡°Good. You know the young lady isn¡¯t just angry about being left out, right? We¡¯re all worried about you. Your powers still acting strangely?¡±


    ¡°...Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t really understand what happened to me last summer, Penric. What I did. Whatever happened, it changed something.¡±


    Penric stared at me, his gaze intent even with the bandages. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend to understand. I was just a common killer before I got my skull cracked by Beatriz¡¯s war pick. You should find someone who can tell you more, get you looked at.¡±


    He paused and added, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend a priest.¡±


    That suggestion was sobering. I didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Penric grinned, his mood shifting. ¡°Also, you should take a bow. No man should hump it through the wilds without a bow. What¡¯re you going to eat?¡±


    In response, I unstrung a leather case we¡¯d strapped to Morgause along with the saddlebags to reveal a compact crossbow. The body was dark wood, the mechanisms brass. It also bore decorative bronze plates with detailed inlays etched into them.


    ¡°Custom made,¡± I said. ¡°See the bronze pieces? Similar alloy as my axe. The wood is from my axe¡¯s handle too. It can channel aura.¡±


    Penric grunted appreciatively, admiring the weapon with enthusiasm. It¡¯d taken a long time to let my axe¡¯s handle of living oak grow and cutting the excess away to get the material for the crossbow¡¯s stock. I¡¯d then had to find an alchemist who could make heads or tails of the formula for the metalwork, then wait weeks before he and the artisan who¡¯d made the weapon itself were finished.


    The end result turned out beautiful, but in a very functional and human way. It might not be a faerie-made treasure out of Seydis, but I could use it.


    When we were done packing, Penric turned to me and we grasped hands. His skin was corpse cold, the grip firm. ¡°We¡¯ll be alright,¡± the old veteran said. ¡°Make sure you stay alright, captain. I know the score, but keep your head on straight and chop the enemy before they can chop you. Better yet, drop them from the ridge line. Fuck all that honor shit, just stay alive and win.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Keep them safe, Penric.¡±


    The archer grinned, flashing long teeth. ¡°Well, I need that cleric lass to keep me from rotting, so you can bet I¡¯ll watch their backs. Good luck to you, captain.¡±


    He left then, giving me the first moment of quiet in hours. I patted Morgause on her leathery neck. She¡¯d be my only companion for many days.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d left Garihelm that year, but even still... so much had happened. I¡¯d been so busy, experienced so much. It felt strange how quickly this had happened.


    I¡¯d barely even argued, but what could I do? Ignore the gods?


    You could. You just know there¡¯s probably a good reason for this.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be back by spring,¡± I said to Morgause. ¡°In time for Rosanna¡¯s departure for the Karledale.¡±


    The mare side-eyed me dubiously. I shook my head and mounted, fitting my steel sabatons through the stirrups. She barely made so much as a nicker of protest at my weight.


    I wore my armor and red cloak. My coat of black chainmail, damaged during the fighting in the early summer, had been repaired best as mortal smiths were able. I¡¯d also reinforced it with pieces of the tourney armor Faisa Dance had given me. My ensemble now consisted of pauldrons, each three layers of overlapping plates, and a thick gorget of dark steel. Metal covered my forearms and my legs from foot to thigh, all layered and all black.


    It was as close to a full set as I¡¯d worn since my war days, ignoring my brief tenor as a tourney fighter earlier that year. I¡¯d also taken to wearing a long, featureless black surcoat with frayed edges over the armor, not unlike the uniform any executioner might don. I¡¯d long since stopped bothering to be subtle about my purpose.


    The heavy belt around my waist held my rondel dagger, and displayed a bronze medallion inscribed with the image of a hangman¡¯s tree. It was the mark I¡¯d chosen for myself after the tournament. I might have been made a proper knight again, but I wouldn¡¯t use my old symbol.


    I turned us to the stable doors. Morgause kicked, eager to be off. Even still I kept a firm hand on the reins.


    The only one who knew I was leaving were Emma, Penric, Myrice, and the Emperor himself. Hendry and Lisette were busy and wouldn¡¯t find out until I¡¯d already put miles behind me. Even Rosanna didn¡¯t know. She was too occupied running a nation and raising three children, and I wasn¡¯t going to disturb her for this.


    Why did I hesitate? This wasn¡¯t goodbye forever.


    The last time I¡¯d left my queen and gone off on my own without talking to her first, I¡¯d spent eight years wandering through a violent nightmare. Didn¡¯t she at least deserve a goodbye? Shouldn¡¯t I talk to her son first? I¡¯d spent some time with young Darsus lately, helping him cope with his condition. That¡¯d been a large part of the research I¡¯d been doing. He might take my sudden absence hard.


    You have a job, I reminded myself. And Donnelly told you to hurry. Stop pussyfooting and get on with it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Morgause.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even need to spur her. Together we forged out into the cold.

 Arc 7: Chapter 3: Into Winter

    Arc 7: Chapter 3: Into Winter


    We traveled into the sprawling countryside of Reynwell. I left at night, taking a side gate out of the city to lessen the number of people who¡¯d mark my exit. I kept my cloak¡¯s hood up.


    Only once did I look back, when I ascended the hills beyond the coastlands and looked down into the river valleys that fed into the bay. Dawn crept over the horizon, slowly illuminating the capital of the Accorded Realms. The city sprawled even from so far, a forest of bridges and churches and storm walls enclosing all that humanity. The Riven Sea looked cold and somehow lonely.


    That would be my last sight of it for a long time. I could see a single ship out in the bay. It must have been massive, a carrack perhaps, but I could barely make it out from this distance.


    An icy wind curled along the back of my neck. Even despite the warmth of auratic fire in me, I shivered at that gust. I turned to look into the endless expanse of wilderness and winter battered kingdoms that waited for me.


    It suddenly seemed very quiet.


    I spurred Morgause on.


    Pure white snow carpeted the rolling fields. Hamlets and castles vassal to the great city I¡¯d just left offered warmth and company, but I passed them all by. Bare trees with icicles hanging down from frozen branches grew more numerous as I left the croplands and tamer woods behind.


    We traveled for many hours, then stopped in a dense copse of woods so my chimera could rest and I could eat. I used my crossbow to catch a wolpertinger the size of a big dog. It¡¯d been hunting me for many miles.


    I ate strips of the dead predator, tossing some of the uncooked ones to Morgause so she could snap them out of the air. I¡¯d made a fire, and idly stared into it and let my thoughts drift where they would.


    The cold woods were quiet and dim, the sky overcast and the canopy grown thick enough to shadow my nook. So it didn¡¯t surprise me when they drew close.


    The dead.


    They appeared as shadows that didn¡¯t match the light, as furtive whispers, as an almost liquid quality to the environment¡¯s darkest corners. They crawled close on wispy fingers, clawing at the edges of my camp¡¯s light without breaking into its circle. Their voices formed a quiet din, incomprehensible, a scratching at the edge of my thoughts.


    But some words broke through the chorus. Warm us. Again. Let us burn together. Share it with us.


    Morgause lifted her head and stared at the suddenly crawling woods. She made no noise, but her tufted ears pricked straight up and her unblinking red eyes were wide and alert.


    Do not deny us, the dead said. You would be alone but us.


    You owe us. We saved you.


    Still I kept my silence, idly eating and letting my gaze remain fixed on the campfire. The ghosts writhed in frustration.


    Bastard!


    Hypocrite.


    You will die alone weeping.


    I finally looked up from the fire when one of the ghosts stepped just up to the edge of the light. This one looked different than the others. Larger, more complete. Though the gloom seemed to cling, obscuring specific features, I could make out the richly woven and layered fabrics of a nobleman. The ghost¡¯s hands moved, folding over the waist to give me a glimpse of a ring set with a sapphire.


    He was tall, with dusky skin and hair combed back from a proud face. He wore a layered gown like some dark emperor, though he¡¯d only been a backwater fief lord. His violet eyes crinkled at the corners as he regarded me.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill you,¡± I said to the ghost.


    ¡°No,¡± Orson Falconer agreed in his sonorous voice. He knelt, adjusting his fine garments, and faced me from eye level. He had a hole in his head, which oozed thick blood that ran down the bridge of his proud nose. ¡°However, I was marked for execution. Had you not been there, meddling, that old doctor would never have managed to kill me.¡±


    ¡°I feel no guilt for you,¡± I told him calmly. ¡°You were a madman, Orson.¡±


    The dead baron blinked and seemed to consider that. ¡°Perhaps I was.¡±


    I¡¯d grown more inured over time to these fragments of people, these sapient memories. Yet, an old anger flickered to fresh life in me.


    ¡°That rite the Vykes used to bind Yith... that was your work. Those were your people, Orson.¡±


    The Baron of Caelfall nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, unable to understand.


    He studied me with his violet eyes for a time before responding. ¡°Because you and I are soldiers in a war. A war which threatens to invalidate our very existence. There are powers involved which see us as little more than motes of dust. If the gods, if God, would make of us as slaves and patsies, then I shall defy them.¡± ?aNO?B§¦S?


    ¡°You really think you¡¯re noble for that, don¡¯t you?¡± I shook my head. ¡°That you¡¯re some kind of hero? What a joke.¡±


    The Vykes might have been the ones to use it in the end, but it didn¡¯t change that Orson had shown them how. I¡¯d seen the things he¡¯d made inside his labs, monsters grown in vats or stitched from living flesh.


    No poetic words about gods and cosmic wars would sway me into thinking it was right. He sounded just like Laertes.


    Orson placed his fingers to his chest. ¡°You and I could have been allies. We could have fought for the selfsame cause.¡±


    I felt disgust. ¡°Never.¡±


    A faint smile quirked the nobleman¡¯s lips. ¡°There are more heads in that forest in your dreams than there were bodies in that chapel, Alken.¡±


    ¡°Your people were innocent. Those I¡¯ve killed are murderers and traitors.¡±


    Orson laughed. ¡°The Choir will never redeem you, Alken. You yourself do not expect it. They will chew you up and spit you out. The people you martyr yourself for will ostracize you, call you butcher and monster. They have before, and they still think it, say it in their private councils. They know you are dangerous.¡±


    The ghost pointed at me. His hand entered the radius of the campfire¡¯s light. The hand turned insubstantial, wispy, forming a clawed digit aimed at my heart.


    ¡°Your soul will burn. Whether in golden flames or hellfire, there will be no rest for you. There is no rest for any of us, ever. We are trapped in this purgatory, all of us. The sheol beneath this land is becoming too full. The dead spill out, poisoning our world with bitterness and delusion.¡±


    He leaned closer, lowering his voice.


    ¡°The Onsolain will quit these shores and abandon us. They only wait here in the hopes that their chosen one will return to them, but their queen has been gone seven centuries. If God did not perish in the war to reclaim Onsolem, then She has likely forsaken this world.¡±


    Orson¡¯s rich voice dropped into a whisper. ¡°Have you considered that She never meant to return? That She intended this world to be a prison?¡±


    His bright eyes were wide, unblinking, full of a feverish anger. They rolled up to meet mine.


    ¡°The Choir of Heaven is not here to guide and serve humanity, Ser Alken. They are our gaolers.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± I said. ¡°And I know better than to heed the words of the damned.¡±


    Orson leaned back into the shadows, scoffing. ¡°Why bother denying it? Your own brothers and sisters within the Table gave you this secret.¡±


    I closed my eyes against a sudden onrush of memory. Ser Ghislaine, struggling to speak through his own scorched tongue, trying to see me even though his eyes had burned out of their sockets.


    This had to be done. We had to be free. No one will understand... but this is but the first step.


    ¡°The Alder Knights knew the truth,¡± Orson reminded me. ¡°They knew that it was their Queen and God who tangled the Wending Roads and closed the path to Onsolem all those centuries ago. She stranded us here, stranded our souls here. She abandoned and forsook us, and left that old elf to keep the way shut. She denied us Heaven.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware of the scripture,¡± I said impatiently. ¡°This is the same thing the Church teaches us. The God-Queen closed the way to the divine realm because it fell to the Adversary.¡±


    ¡°Or did She close the way because this world is full of evil?¡± Orson tilted his head. ¡°If the Heir could deny us Heaven, then why not also shut the way to Hell?¡±


    I opened my mouth, but found no response. He wasn¡¯t wrong. It didn¡¯t make him right, but...


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    ¡°We know what happened because the Onsolain and the Sidhe were there. They¡¯re our memory.¡±


    ¡°The same beings who have you murder those who threaten them?¡± Orson¡¯s smile was derisive. ¡°The same elves whose madness now infests the wilds like a spreading plague? The same immortal king who enslaved your order and lied to you?¡±


    When he saw my face set, Orson leaned forward and the campfire¡¯s light scattered the flesh from his skull, so a death¡¯s head hissed the next words. ¡°YES. You cannot deny that. Alicia and those loyal to her learned it. The Alder Table was not crafted by God as all are taught, but by the Archon himself. He chained you to that thing and scoured you with rules and strictures to control you. The champions of mortal man, made into a weapon for the elves... and they used it. Oh, they used it. For centuries the Alder Knights were the Archon¡¯s tool to control the best of us. Only with the magi¡¯s help were they able to free themselves from the web of illusions that bound their minds and turn their swords on their slaver.¡±


    The words scorched the woods, the baron¡¯s rage an almost tangible thing. The rest of the ghosts murmured, but they seemed muted now compared to this one spirit.


    Orson leaned back, his human face returning. He showed me his spectral hands and spoke in a calmer voice. ¡°You know all


    of this already. That demon told you ¡ª told you not only what Reynard and Alicia intended to do, but why they were doing it.¡±


    ¡°Demons lie.¡± My voice sounded distant.


    ¡°But she didn¡¯t.¡± Orson¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°She betrayed a man who could rip her spirit to shreds, or bind it with agony that even the devils of Hell would find excessive. She trusted you with these secrets, hoping to be free of her enslavement. And what did you do?¡±


    ¡°Ran a blade through her heart!¡± One of the other ghosts snarled, curling through the branches above like a human faced serpent.


    ¡°She attacked me.¡±


    ¡°Few take rejection well,¡± Orson said sadly.


    ¡°Her shadow has been talking to all of you, hasn¡¯t it?¡± I searched the night with my eyes, letting the aura in them burn hotter to see through the gloom. Yet, I didn¡¯t spot the scadudemon. ¡°Where is it?¡±


    I was growing tired of that one. I¡¯d waited too long to banish it.


    Orson shook his head. ¡°Lashing out at shadows will not change the truth.¡±


    I bowed my head. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Orson laughed quietly. ¡°I¡¯m dead. Just a memory. A phantasm burned into the fabric of this world.¡±


    The forest murmured around us.


    ¡°But you...¡±


    He drew my attention back to him. ¡°You, paladin, are a torch flame. The fire is diminished, true, but it still smolders in you. It draws the dead and other spirits lost in the darkness to you, like moths to a flame. You knew this and used it to slay your enemy. You used us. It was the same for that dhampir. She was drawn to that warmth just as we are.¡±


    That was a step too far. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about her. She¡¯s not some... animal, driven by instinct.¡±


    ¡°Part of her very much is,¡± Orson said. ¡°I do not blame her for it. It can be very cold, being dead.¡±


    Catrin had seemed so at peace in my arms. Fidei had too, come to think of it. Had she been the same? Trying to warm herself at a campfire?


    Had either of them really wanted me?


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Even if that¡¯s true, it doesn¡¯t make her wicked. Everyone wants to be warm, to be loved.¡±


    Orson¡¯s smile was cruel and full of contempt. ¡°If you believed that, you wouldn¡¯t have smote the false priestess and sent her burning spirit hurtling down to Hell.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tired of this,¡± I snapped. ¡°What do you all want from me? Or is this just torment?¡±


    Orson clasped his skeletal fingers together. ¡°What we want is very simple, Ser Knight. We wish to escape this fate. You can be our guide, our lantern. It is your purpose, your destiny. The Table is broken, the Archon dead. You are all but free of those chains.¡±


    He leaned close again. ¡°You can guide us to Heaven.¡±


    ¡°None of you belong in Heaven,¡± I told him. Hatred boiled in my gut.


    He shrugged. ¡°Then you can lead us away from this. I can imagine few places worse than this... nothing.¡±


    ¡°I would rather burn in Hell than help you,¡± I told him.


    Orson glared at me, his lips pressed tight. The forest muttered its discontent.


    ¡°You owe us,¡± he hissed at me. ¡°You and those close to you would all be dead without us. And we are not going anywhere. We will haunt you to your death, Alken Hewer.¡±


    His cruel voice softened. ¡°But we can also give you power.¡±


    ¡°Power?¡± I asked against my better judgement.


    ¡°As your inner fire fades,¡± the ghost told me, ¡°as the darkness creeps in, we surge forth to fill the space. We can be your doom... but we can also be your ally. There have been others among the True Knights who have fallen too, much more completely than you have. You can turn that guttering light which calls us into a weapon. Let us warm ourselves by this flame, and you can use us.¡±


    My skin crawled as I realized what he was suggesting. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the Damnus.¡± I shook my head, my face twisting. ¡°I will not


    become that. Those knights are a blight.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already taken the first step,¡± Orson said in a reasonable tone.


    ¡°Once. Never again.¡±


    His smile was cold and mirthless. ¡°Do not speak so soon. You¡¯ve already felt it, haven¡¯t you? Those of us you used before have adhered themselves to your soul¡¯s fire. Already, the memory of your Sacred Arts fades to be replaced by our rancor. Learn to sharpen it into a blade... or let it devour you alive. Your choice.¡±


    He stood then and took a step back, letting the woodland shadows swallow him. The rest of the ghosts seemed to fade. They did not all go, but their voices grew quieter, less insistent.


    I waited a long time before I felt certain he¡¯d actually gone. The silence he left was deafening.


    Morgause nudged me with her snout and purred. I ran a hand along her neck, speaking in a low, soothing voice. ¡°It¡¯s alright. He¡¯s just another bastard.¡±


    I knew it was poison to heed the dead. And yet, everything the baron said held the ring of truth. I wondered if that was how the cleverest devils earned their marks.


    One thing was for certain. I couldn¡¯t ignore whatever had happened to me during my final confrontation with Yith. It needed to be dealt with, sooner than later.


    Nothing to be done just then though, and I had other tasks to attend to. It would be a long, hard road to Tol. I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d be getting into once I arrived. More than likely, that¡¯s what the Choir intended. They¡¯d keep me blind and focused until they were ready for me to know more.


    To hell with that. I wanted to know what I¡¯d be getting into, and there was one place I could find that information.


    I just needed to keep off the main roads, and let myself get a bit lost.


    Another day passed and night crept in again. I found myself on a scarcely traveled path that cut through a wood off the main road. I¡¯d barely been able to make the trail out at first with it buried in snow, but I followed it for several hours. The woods seemed like a frozen cavern, with branches sporting icy fangs grown dense enough to obscure the sky.


    Night had fallen an hour before. While both Morgause and I could see in the dark, I lit one of the alchemical lanterns I¡¯d brought along and held it in my left hand. It looked like a small metal cage with a sphere inside, which I could adjust to produce an even radius of light or direct the beam one way. It lasted for hours and produced little heat and no smoke, another continental marvel that Lisette kept insisting wasn¡¯t magic.


    The woods were eerily quiet, devoid of even so much as a rustling breeze. Snow crunched under Morgause¡¯s claws, but the only other sound to accompany us were my steady breaths.


    I came to a crossroads. An old sign rose above it, all its boards broken and unreadable except for one that pointed at a shallow hill half hidden amid the trees. I could make out a faint pattern of lights spaced across the silhouette of a building atop that rise.


    The inn was three stories plus an attic level, large and old, like a weathered mansion looming within the shadow of the winter bared trees. I could just barely make out the lettering on the single intact board on the crossroads sign. The Backroad Inn.


    ¡°Guess I¡¯m still welcome,¡± I muttered to Morgause. She made a soft sound of unease and tossed her head. I patted her comfortingly, then fished a bronze coin out of a pouch at my belt and flicked it once. My eyes scanned the darkness opposite the glowing inn, which seemed to bear close and thick despite my night vision.


    I could make out the gaunt faces and shifting, liquid shapes that lurked amid the trees. They watched me with expectant hunger, pleading and threatening all at once.


    I turned my back on them and faced the building on the hill. I¡¯d tried finding the phantasmal inn already in the city, but it seemed as though the Keeper had untethered his establishment from Garihelm. It¡¯d been there for weeks during the summit, taking a host of customers from the packed capital.


    But the migratory inn seemed to be back to its usual habit, floating across the edges of the material world and the Wend and picking up lone travelers who strayed from well trod paths.


    Usually, one would have to be truly lost and stumble on the inn by accident, but if one had an invitation and was looking for it specifically the establishment had a habit of making an appearance. I wasn¡¯t quite a regular, but I¡¯d rarely had much trouble finding it when I wanted to.


    I hadn¡¯t tried for many months. Not since right after the tournament. I felt nervous, but pushed the feeling down.


    I approached the front of the inn and dismounted in the yard. I hesitated. I¡¯d never had a mount with me before. There was a stable, a big one, and even as I noted it the doors opened and a man hurried out. I didn¡¯t recognize him, but guessed him to be one of the Backroad¡¯s staff. I thought him old at first, but when he drew closer to my light I realized he was a young man made haggard by lack of sleep. His clothes were worn and dirty, his hair unkempt.


    He reached for my steed¡¯s reins, but flinched back when she bared her sharp teeth at him. The scadumare made no sound and didn¡¯t nip, but the threat was obvious. I patted her on the neck and murmured a few quiet words, and she settled. The stableman took the reins with hesitation, and the chimera let him.


    I pulled out some coins to pay the man, but he shook his head vigorously and moved toward the stables. Bemused, I turned back to the main building. The muffled din of conversation grew pronounced as I approached the front of the inn.


    Someone waited by the door, half hidden in the shadows where the dusty old lantern hanging above the entrance didn¡¯t illuminate. They stepped forward, revealing a slim, pretty woman with black hair. She stared at me with pale brown eyes that almost shone in the night, reminding me distinctly of a wolf¡¯s.


    I paused when she stepped forward. The woman wore a blue dress, carried no weapons, and probably weighed less than half of what I did even without my armor. She also didn¡¯t block the way, yet something told me not to get any closer. An instinct, one strengthened by my knowledge of who exactly this was.


    ¡°Alken.¡± The woman smiled at me, revealing sharp canines and dimples. ¡°It has been some time.¡±


    She spoke in an odd accent, something that sounded foreign but might not have been. Urn has many dialects and accents which mostly originate from across the wider world. We are a land of migrants, so it can be hard to tell what is actually foreign or just some insular speech from a corner of the subcontinent I hadn¡¯t visited.


    The familiar way she used my name threw me off. We¡¯d never actually spoken, though I¡¯d met her twice before.


    ¡°Saska,¡± I greeted her. ¡°Were you waiting for me?¡±


    She gave a slight shake of her head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you were not expected. You know that one of my habits is to protect this place from interlopers, yes?¡±


    I held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m not here for trouble.¡±


    Saska shook her head again, making her unbraided hair swing back and forth. ¡°I have no intention of barring your entry, dear boy. You are welcome so long as you bring no violence and do not come to us as a pauper.¡±


    Her smile widened. ¡°In truth, we also welcome the paupers. They simply pay in other ways.¡±


    I felt a cold prickle along the back of my spine that had nothing to do with the winter air. I glanced back into the night, trying to see into the black woods beyond the inn¡¯s front yard again.


    ¡°Is someone out there?¡± I asked quietly.


    Saska never lost her smile. ¡°Besides the unquiet spirits you brought with you?¡± She laughed quietly. ¡°Tis¡¯ no matter. Just forest ghosts and other scavengers. Take your ease inside and do not fret about it.¡±


    I definitely would fret about it. I¡¯d never known the Keeper to post a guard, not outside at least. ¡°I didn¡¯t plan to stay the night,¡± I told the woman.


    Saska shrugged and said nothing. Unsettled, I moved past her and stepped into the Backroad.

 Arc 7: Chapter 4: The Devils We Know

    Arc 7: Chapter 4: The Devils We Know


    The last time I¡¯d been at the Backroad Inn, it had transformed into a bustling, seedy den of debauchery and noise. Now it was back to its previous persona; a large, dimly lit taproom with two levels, tables spaced throughout and a set of stairs near the back that led up to the balcony section. A long bar stood on the other side of a centrally located fire pit, which blazed hot against the cold season.


    There were others inside, but fewer than I was used to. Less than a score, not counting a number of attractive men and women who I knew worked for the Keeper. Most of the patrons would be people like me, ones who knew the nature of this place.


    Some would be Saska¡¯s ¡°paupers,¡± who weren¡¯t any more safe in here than they¡¯d be outside at the mercy of the wilderness.


    Part of me still felt bothered at that truth. This was a den of wolves, and shouldn¡¯t I take issue with it? And yet, the beings who called this place home weren¡¯t all soulless monsters. I knew some of them, even liked a few. Yet I also knew that Saska and her fellows were predators, this inn their honey-coated trap to lure in prey.


    People with invitations were protected, able to use the inn as a resource. Anyone else...


    The paladin I¡¯d once been warned me this place should be cleansed, but that inner voice had become quieter lately.


    Conversation quieted as the door closed behind me, cutting off the gust of cold I¡¯d brought in. My red cloak settled along the wooden floorboards, and my armor clinked softly. I scanned the current stock of patrons, and most watched me back with demeanors ranging between furtive and hostile. Most would know who I was.


    It seemed like the usual fair. Mostly innocuous looking travelers, all dressed for the cold weather with concealing garments. Some looked more eccentric. I could hear a strange rattling sound somewhere, but couldn¡¯t place it.


    I moved to the bar, refusing to acknowledge all the eyes I could feel following me, pausing only briefly to let my burn-scarred fingers linger near the fire pit so the creature inside could take my scent. A man stood behind the bar, dressed innocuously in a clean shirt and apron. He was thin, looked perhaps fifty, and had his long and severely receded hair tied into a ponytail.


    He spoke to a traveler sitting at the bar, and didn¡¯t so much as glance in my direction as I approached.


    ¡°It¡¯s fucking lunacy is what it is,¡± the second man said. He looked to be in his early thirties, with the fur lined coat of a hunter and hair cut close to his scalp. He had a short beard, brown skin, and hadn¡¯t touched the mead set in front of him. He looked unsettled, bordering on angry.


    ¡°It¡¯s just noble pricks rattling their swords,¡± the Keeper said in his surly, rasping voice. ¡°You know the score, Sans.¡±


    The man, Sans, shook his head vehemently. ¡°I¡¯m telling you it¡¯s more than that, Falstaff. I was in the Baerns just three weeks ago, just a few miles north of Isengotta. The city was on fire. I¡¯ve seen the refugees, the dead villages. I know what a goddamn war looks like.¡±


    He suddenly fell quiet, leaning forward and lowering his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve heard rumors too. Of someone seen lingering near battlefields and villages lost to plague or famine. A warrior in fine armor. A knight... one with the head of a lion.¡±


    The Keeper scoffed. ¡°The Gorelion hasn¡¯t left Elfgrave in twelve years, not since the last war started. These rumors crop up all the time, they¡¯re never verified.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that.¡± Sans tapped his knuckles against the counter twice, as though knocking for luck. ¡°There¡¯s been all sorts of strangeness this past year. All that drama in Garihelm, and the weather being strange. This winter came early, even earlier than last year. The fighting in the city-states, rumors of another war in Cymrinor, more monsters seen lurking near towns and villages. And don¡¯t even get me started on the dead. You¡¯re not deaf, old friend, and I know you¡¯ve been hearing all this from your guests.¡±


    The Keeper shrugged. He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, making a motion with one hand to ask if I wanted a drink. I shook my head, and he poured me water.


    Sans seemed to notice me only then. He gave me a once over, wiped his nose on the back of a sleeve, then pushed away from the counter.


    ¡°I heard about the fighting in the Baerns too,¡± I said. ¡°Though the way I heard it, it¡¯s just a pair of counts sniping at one another. The Judge would interfere if it escalated to all out war.¡±


    Sans glared at me suspiciously. ¡°And who the fuck are you?¡±


    ¡°Someone with actual business,¡± the Keeper growled at him.


    ¡°Wait...¡± The fur-burdened man, who I¡¯d take to be a trapper or hunter in normal circumstances, suddenly leaned forward and started sniffing like a dog. He had dark eyes, almost black, and an oddly shaped scar under the left that looked like a symbol. A brand.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of you.¡± He wheeled on the Keeper. ¡°You¡¯re really still letting him in here?¡±


    The Keeper didn¡¯t reply, just maintained his perpetually sour expression.


    Sans jerked a thumb at me. ¡°This man is one of them. He works for the fucking seraphs. This inn is for us.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for any stray who wanders through the door, and you¡¯ve always known that.¡± The Keeper made a shooing motion. ¡°Off with you. Go get a tug from one of my girls or order a meal, but if you expect to pay for it with stale rumors then I¡¯ll make you sleep out in the cold.¡± RA??o?????E??


    The man stalked off, grumbling, but not before spitting at my feet. The Keeper sighed, looking unusually tired.


    ¡°Quieter than last time,¡± I noted.


    He shrugged. ¡°The summit was good for business, but it was never going to last. What do you want, Hewer?¡±


    ¡°Information, of course.¡± I pressed my bronze coin down on the counter. ¡°I¡¯ll pay for it with the question itself.¡±


    The Keeper lifted an eyebrow. He pressed his palms to the counter and leaned forward, looking enticed. ¡°Oh?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I want information about Osheim. Any news or rumors about it, especially recent ones.¡±


    The Keeper studied me a long moment, his pinched face unreadable. ¡°And now I know the Headsman has business in Osheim. Fair enough.¡± He took the ancient bronze coin.


    The Keeper, Falstaff, might masquerade as the simple proprietor of a roadside inn, but his true profession was as an information broker. He traded in secrets and hearsay, and the eldritch nature of his establishment made it very likely he¡¯d know details about lands it might take me weeks to travel to.


    Most of the travelers scattered across the taproom probably hadn¡¯t entered from the same woodland road in Reynwell that I had. I didn¡¯t know exactly how it worked, but I suspected the inn itself was a Burrow, a demiplane connected to the Wending Roads.


    The Keeper considered a while, then shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s definitely not a war starting there, or anything that dramatic. When I saw you walk through the door I was certain you¡¯d ask about the Baerns.¡±


    There had been some talk of sending me to the city states. The Lord Judge Oswald Pardoner, who acted as a sort of arbiter in that country, had resisted letting the Emperor get involved through me. We¡¯d decided that smaller steps were required to get the realms at large to respect my new and largely untested role, especially when it came to diplomacy. We¡¯d settled for investigating the trouble in Mirrebel instead.


    Before I¡¯d been sidetracked by this, anyway.


    I said none of that aloud. ¡°I¡¯m heading south. Osheim might just be a stop along the way, but...¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t think so.¡± The Keeper nodded. ¡°Talk to Eilidh. She¡¯s got relations there, and I know she still hears from them sometimes.¡±


    I recognized the name of one of the Backroad¡¯s workers. I nodded, but didn¡¯t turn away just yet.


    I hadn¡¯t just come to the Backroad for rumors about my destination. I couldn¡¯t get what Donnelly said towards the end of our conversation out of my mind, about the attack on Heavensreach. If anyone might have heard something, it would be the Keeper.


    Yet, if he hadn¡¯t heard anything and I tipped him off, I didn¡¯t want to even think about the kind of trouble it might cause. It seemed insanely important, but I¡¯d heard nothing until Donnelly¡¯s seemingly impulsive comment.


    The Keeper must have sensed I held out on him. ¡°What is it?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Have you heard anything else?¡± I asked, deciding to default to vagueness. ¡°That Sans fellow is right about this past year, but it all seems normal to me. The lords bickering, bad weather, rumors of monsters and boogeymen, but I¡¯ve been cloistered away in the capital.¡±


    The Keeper nodded slowly, his one good eye fixed on me. ¡°You know I give nothing for free, Hewer.¡±


    I considered telling him about Heavensreach, gambling that he might know something useful in return for that tidbit. I decided better of it and shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to Eilidh.¡±


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    Before I turned away I decided to ask a safer question. ¡°You don¡¯t usually have a guard outside. What¡¯s Saska on the lookout for?¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s sour face turned positively ghoulish. ¡°While you¡¯ve been tucked away in your warm, comfortable city this past year, the rest of the world¡¯s gotten darker. Have you really not noticed?¡±


    When I didn¡¯t respond, his expression hardened. ¡°I¡¯ve been around a long time, Ser Knight.¡± His use of the formal title made me pay closer attention. ¡°Your fellows tried to destroy me many times, so I won¡¯t pretend to be their admirer... but I know what that torch you were given is for. It doesn¡¯t belong to the likes of Markham Forger.¡±


    I felt taken off guard by this sudden admonishment. The Keeper always seemed neutral for the most part, but there was anger in his voice. It was quiet, controlled, but I did hear it.


    ¡°Sans was right.¡± He said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re not the outcast you were when you first stumbled through that door, Hewer. This place is for the lost and the damned. Don¡¯t expect it to always be so welcoming to you.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t at all fond of the Keeper. During a previous interview he¡¯d provoked me, and shown himself to be both vulgar and manipulative. I knew this inn had a hidden predatory nature, drawing desperate people in out of the cold and taking more than they were willing to give.


    Sometimes it ate its guests body and soul. It was well suited to its proprietor, whose true nature I had some strong suspicions about.


    ¡°I¡¯m not in the habit of taking advice from devils,¡± I said in an equally low voice. ¡°You might not be a friar anymore, Falstaff, but you¡¯re still doing the same thing as your former brothers. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten that.¡±


    Almost as soon as I made the veiled threat, I regretted it. The Keeper¡¯s face settled into calm neutrality and he straightened.


    ¡°Enjoy your time at the Backroad, traveler. I¡¯d suggest keeping inside tonight. Night¡¯s cold and full of terrors.¡±


    I walked away from the bar without another word. Music played through the taproom, played by three minstrels on a stage to the bar¡¯s right.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to find Eilidh, as she was one of the few people in the inn I¡¯d interacted with before. She sat at a table tucked away in a corner beneath the balcony, perched on the lap of a changeling who hadn¡¯t bothered to cover himself in glamour. He resembled an enormous toad crossed with a burly man, and had a warty arm wrapped around the woman¡¯s shoulders while she leaned against his chest. They were both laughing as I approached.


    They weren¡¯t the only two at the table. I noted a man in brightly dyed clothes, all yellow and green with patterns of white. A toadstool hat sat askew on his head. He whispered into the ear of one of Eilidh¡¯s fellow wenches.


    Sans also sat at the table. He glowered at me, but kept his silence and nursed a cup of mead.


    The changeling took several gulps from his pint and started to speak again, but Eilidh noticed me and patted him on the chest. She whispered into his ear. He eyed her curiously, then glanced at me and frowned. Before he could protest, his lap companion slipped away.


    I paced a distance so we could speak in relative privacy. Eilidh was a tall woman, willowy and long limbed, with dark brown hair and a face that was more handsome than pretty. She folded her arms and shuffled as I turned to her, looking uncomfortable and making little effort to hide it.


    ¡°Alken,¡± she greeted me cautiously. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°The Keeper told me to speak to you,¡± I said. ¡°He says you have kin in Osheim. I¡¯m heading that way and hoped you might have some information for me.¡±


    She immediately went on guard. It was a subtle thing, but I saw it. ¡°Information?¡±


    ¡°Just recent news,¡± I said in a placating tone. ¡°I haven¡¯t been there in years and have some business. I want to know if there¡¯s been any trouble in that region.¡±


    ¡°You mean the kind of trouble you get involved in.¡± The woman sighed and adjusted a lock of hair out of her eyes. ¡°I have family there, yes. We trade letters. And before you make some comment about a whore who knows letters, my father and brothers are bookkeepers.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t been about to make any such comment. ¡°So was my father,¡± I said wryly. ¡°When did you last hear from them?¡±


    Eilidh still looked perplexed. ¡°Before winter. Maybe two months?¡±


    I silently cursed. That would make it difficult to know if any news she might have would matter. The kingdom could have fallen into a giant hole all the way down to Draubard, and half of Urn wouldn¡¯t realize until the snows melted.


    ¡°There might be something...¡± Eilidh looked uncertain.


    ¡°Anything helps,¡± I prompted.


    She seemed to relax. ¡°Last letter I received from my brother mentioned some business with the Church.¡±


    I felt a kernel of trepidation. ¡°The Church?¡±


    Eilidh nodded. ¡°Yeah. He said a lot of high ranking priests were attending some important council at Baille Os. That¡¯s the country¡¯s capital.¡±


    I nodded patiently. ¡°I know. When did your brother say this was happening?¡±


    ¡°Supposed to have been a while ago. Some weeks I think, but with the early winter it might have been delayed.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t heard of any large gathering of the clergy in Osheim, but Urn was huge and not at all centralized. The Church also governed itself, and didn¡¯t ask permission from the lords to host its own councils.


    ¡°My brother also mentioned that several members of the Clericon College were to be there,¡± Eilidh added. ¡°It sounded important. It might have something to do with resettling the old capital ¡ª folk have been talking about that in the region for years, and I¡¯ve heard the Church was petitioned to help fund it.¡±


    ¡°A synod,¡± I said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Eilidh shrugged. ¡°As I said, it might¡¯ve already happened. So what, you going to kill a cardinal or something?¡±


    I paused, taken aback. If there was a synod happening in Osheim, then that wasn¡¯t unlikely considering I¡¯d slain two high ranking priests before. Everyone knew I was responsible for the Grand Prior and the Bishop of Vinhithe.


    But I¡¯d been told to go to Tol, not Baille Os. Also, I felt like the Keeper would have known this news already if one of his people did. Had he not thought it important, or was there another reason he¡¯d redirected me?


    More mystery, but at least I had something to go on. I nodded to Eilidh. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She shrugged again. My eyes roamed the taproom idly as I thought. The minstrels shifted into a new song, something more jaunty. Again I heard that odd rattling sound.


    ¡°She¡¯s not here.¡±


    I blinked and turned back to Eilidh, who was watching me with a strange expression. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb.¡± She tilted her head towards the tables. ¡°Catrin. She left about three months ago. Wouldn¡¯t tell anyone where, but I think you know that.¡±


    I had known the dhampir planned to leave, and that she was probably already long gone. Even still, I realized part of me had hoped to see her.


    I could have, but I¡¯d willingly passed up several opportunities until it became too late. She¡¯d never asked me to stay away. That¡¯d just been me being a coward. Now it was too late. The truth came like a punch to the gut.


    ¡°She said she was going to stay long enough to help Joy pay off her debt,¡± I said. My voice sounded distant to my own ears.


    ¡°She did. Joy is gone too, run off with a man who might be her child¡¯s father.¡± Eilidh tilted her head and glanced at me sidelong. ¡°The Keeper isn¡¯t happy with you. He blames you for Cat leaving.¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s right to,¡± I admitted. I understood then the strange feeling of discontent I¡¯d had since walking into the inn. It felt colder than before, despite the blazing warmth of the fiend fire in the pit, the conversation, the music. It was missing a crooked smile and cheerful, hungry brown eyes.


    Eilidh¡¯s demeanor softened. ¡°Why don¡¯t you sit a while and have a drink? It¡¯s a cold night and you shouldn¡¯t be out in it. May as well relax a while.¡±


    I glanced at her table. The changeling was happily chatting away with the one in the toadstool hat and his companion. Sans looked sullen and seemed to sit in his own little island despite being able to simply reach out and touch one of the other three.


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure your friends would appreciate my company,¡± I said diplomatically.


    Eilidh nodded slowly, doing me the courtesy of not pretending she didn¡¯t know what I meant. ¡°Jean-Luc is from the continent and I doubt he cares who you are. The changeling, Tam, lost his daughter to Priory inquisitors. He¡¯d probably buy you a drink.¡±


    "And Sans?" I asked.


    Eilidh made a dismissive gesture. "Sans doesn''t like anyone. Necromancers, you know? Don''t pay him mind."


    She let me consider that a moment before continuing. ¡°You come in here two or three times a year, take your gossip, then vanish again. No one really knows you, Alken, and you don¡¯t really know them.¡± She nodded to the gathering.


    ¡°...Maybe it¡¯s better that way.¡±


    I felt something slide along my ankle. I glanced down and saw something vanish into the shadows beneath the table. From the brief look I got, it looked sinuous and scaly. A tail?


    Eilidh sighed. ¡°You know I¡¯m the only one who works for the Keeper who¡¯s completely human? Well, besides the hostler I guess.¡±


    I turned to her. ¡°I didn¡¯t know. I assumed you were mostly all changelings.¡±


    ¡°We have plenty of those,¡± she agreed. ¡°A few lesser vampires, more than a few ghosts who can touch the livingbecause of the inn¡¯s magic, at least one hagspawn. Some genuine elves even. The darker kind. Lucienne there is a lamia from the isles north of Cymrinor.¡±


    Eilidh nodded to the woman at the table. I glanced at her and saw it ¡ª the glamour was strengthened by the inn itself, but when I knew to look her skin seemed to ripple, her eyes changing color and shape, her ears becoming pointed. Just for a moment, then the illusion reasserted itself.


    She was smirking at me. Again, I heard a rattle.


    ¡°All predators in most any other environment,¡± Eilidh continued. ¡°Even here, they can be territorial. Everyone knew not to touch you, because we knew you belonged to Catrin.¡±


    ¡°Belonged to her?¡± I asked with a slight smile.


    Eilidh nodded, completely serious. ¡°Yes. We all saw it. The others could smell her on you, and we knew she was feeding on you.¡±


    I said nothing, but I didn¡¯t need to. Eilidh knew from a previous conversation we¡¯d had back in the city.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± I asked.


    Eilidh lowered her voice. ¡°Because Cat¡¯s gone now, and you¡¯re open season. Half the creatures here hate you, and the others are enticed because of what you are. Even the ones who hate you are attracted. You¡¯re a conquest to them, forbidden fruit. The great knight who¡¯s dipped his head into their world.¡±


    I felt that earlier sensation of eyes on me. Their focus took on a much different sensation to before, and I had to suppress a shiver. ¡°That¡¯s... a disturbing thought.¡±


    Eilidh shrugged, looking unconcerned. ¡°Cat cared about you. I¡¯m telling you this as a favor to her, so listen. You work for them. The elves, the lords. People here know it. This inn works because we¡¯re a community. Cat brought you in, but she¡¯s not around as your tether anymore. You want to keep using this place?¡± She gave me a hard look. ¡°Stop looking at us like we¡¯re the enemy and start to know us.¡±


    I absorbed her words for a while before answering. It surprised me, not least of all because I realized she was right.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, meaning it. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡±


    Eilidh nodded, then adjusted her hair again and shuffled. ¡°Are you, by the way?¡±


    ¡°Am I what?¡± I asked.


    She smiled, and it didn¡¯t seem forced this time. ¡°Available?¡±


    I met her eyes. ¡°No.¡±


    She sighed sadly. ¡°Ah well. I¡¯ll make sure the others know, but they can be persistent. Watch your back.¡±


    As I walked away, it struck me that I should have asked how she was the only human worker in the inn. I did feel some curiosity about how that came to be.


    But I had other things on my mind.


    Just as I was on the cusp of deciding it would be a good idea to spend the night at the inn regardless of any horde of monstrous wenches, the front door suddenly burst open. Cold poured in, and even over the taproom¡¯s din I could hear the wind howling outside. The fire pit suddenly blazed higher, as though the spirit in it were angrily trying to compensate for the chill.


    Someone stumbled through the door, turning to slam it shut behind them before slumping against it to catch their breath. They held that pose for almost a minute before turning towards the rest of the room. They wore a concealing cloak, heavy enough to hide their features and covered in snow.


    The hooded face seemed to scan the room before finding me. They froze a moment, then lurched forward at a limping gait. Directly towards me.


    My hand drifted to my dagger, but the stranger reached out and grasped my elbow before I could draw it. His fingers looked like they were starting to suffer from frostbite, but the grip was firm.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    I paused as the familiar voice emerged from the man¡¯s hood. It tilted up, and I got a good look at the face beneath. A face I recognized.


    ¡°They¡¯re after me,¡± Renuart Kross said. ¡°Please, Alken. I need your help.¡±

 Arc 7: Chapter 5: Raid

    Arc 7: Chapter 5: Raid


    I stared at the man, too dumbfounded for words for a long moment. However, as my senses returned to me I ripped my arm away and took a step back.


    ¡°Vicar.¡± My voice came out as a low growl, full of anger and hostility. My hand tightened on the rondel at my belt, on the verge of drawing it.


    Kross stared at me warily. He looked terrible, his eyes sunken into deep hollows and ringed in bruised skin. His gray cloak ¡ª I hadn¡¯t noted the color with all the snow and mud on it ¡ª looked tattered and worn. He still wore the fine plate armor I¡¯d always seen him in, but the cuirass was dented and marred. One vambrace was missing completely, the exposed arm covered in stained bandages.


    He looked like he¡¯d just dragged himself out of a battlefield. Even still, I felt a deep and consuming anger build up.


    This man ¡ª no, this creature ¡ª had caused so much grief. He¡¯d been the hidden hand trying to force Emma into becoming a pawn of his masters. He¡¯d helped the Priory commit acts of murder and torture on a mass scale. He¡¯d condemned countless souls I would never know to the flame, and tried to steal mine at least once.


    Renuart Kross, Vicar of the Credo Ferrum, was a monster. A villain in the truest and most unambiguous sense. A liar, a killer, and a servant of the dark lords of the Iron Hell.


    A servant of devils may as well be a devil himself. I drew my dagger from its sheath.


    Kross¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Wait, please! I came here for help.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡±


    A hand clasped down on my wrist. I spun on the one who¡¯d stopped me, but paused when I saw pale, almost yellow eyes staring back.


    ¡°This is neutral ground,¡± Saska said in a calm voice. ¡°No violence.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem to grip hard, but I felt an unnatural strength in her warm fingers. She¡¯d come from nowhere, it seemed, but I was too angry to feel the right amount of terror that she¡¯d gotten past my guard so easily.


    I spoke through my teeth. ¡°You know who he is? What he¡¯s done?¡±


    ¡°Most who come here have done evil,¡± she said. Her gaze shifted, and when I followed it I saw that the Keeper had approached. The guests and servers scattered around the taproom, both on the lower and upper levels, had stopped their conversation to watch the drama unfold. Curious faces peeked down from the balcony ringing the taproom.


    The Keeper glanced between me and Kross, then looked to the door and frowned. ¡°What are you doing here, Vicar?¡±


    Kross turned his exhausted face to the Keeper. ¡°Falstaff. Your protections still hold? This is neutral ground for anyone who seeks sanctuary?¡±


    The Keeper nodded. ¡°You¡¯re safe from anything outside. Not necessarily from my own people, though.¡±


    The threat was obvious. Many of the Keeper¡¯s people, mostly women with a few men among them, had gathered close to form a loose circle around us. They were all quiet, and all of them gave me the impression of a pack of predatory beasts stumbling on something unfamiliar, waiting to see who¡¯d try its taste first. I felt an instinctive shiver even though they weren¡¯t watching me.


    I heard that rattling sound again. The blond woman I¡¯d noticed before ¡ª Lucienne, the lamia ¡ª peeked over a table as though she were sitting on her knees behind it. A long, serpentine tail curled around the table¡¯s legs. Ra?O???????s?


    ¡°I told your people already.¡± Falstaff¡¯s voice was cold. ¡°You¡¯re not welcome here anymore. You tried to fish for marks in my hall after I explicitly forbade it, so the Credo isn¡¯t welcome.¡±


    Kross sighed heavily. ¡°Dis. I told him... it doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m being hunted, old friend. I need your protection.¡±


    The Keeper shook his head. ¡°We haven¡¯t been friends in a very long time, Renuart, if we ever really were.¡±


    For the first time, some of the mockery I was used to hearing in the false knight¡¯s voice revealed itself. ¡°Yes. I heard you¡¯d gone local, claimed a piece of this faerie infested land for yourself. Don¡¯t play the fool, Falstaff. I still see the hellfire in your eyes. You can surround yourself with these malcathe, but it will not change your nature.¡±


    I felt the sudden anger in the room like an almost physical pressure. The faces around the little island me, Saska, Falstaff, and Kross had formed seemed to grow sharper.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they like that word,¡± I noted dryly.


    Kross ignored me and kept his attention on the innkeeper, making a visible effort to collect himself. ¡°I¡¯m being hunted. I am aware of your rules... anyone who walks through the door belongs to you and yours.¡± He nodded to the shapeshifters and wicked faeries gathered around us. ¡°And anything that lurks outside is kept at bay. Indeed, I imagine you often put some of your own out in the forest to drive people in. We used to pull the same trick in Edaea, don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    He was rambling. I got the sense he was bordering on delirious and badly injured.


    ¡°I recall,¡± Falstaff said with even more sourness than his norm. ¡°What¡¯s after you, Renuart?¡±


    Instead of waiting for an answer, he looked at Saska. She had her head cocked to one side, as though listening for something.


    ¡°He was followed,¡± she told her master. ¡°They are lurking outside our circle for now.¡± Saska¡¯s voice lost some of its calm. ¡°I do not like their smell.¡±


    Falstaff folded his arms and glared at Kross. ¡°What trouble did you bring me, crowfriar? You better not be trying to involve me in something. This is neutral ground.¡±


    ¡°Only among your own community.¡± Kross gave the other man a pointed look. ¡°You know there are powers which care nothing for your rules, Falstaff. You think I don¡¯t know why you move this place so often? Keep it mired in illusions, guard it with half truths and rumors, keep clientele limited to those too disenfranchised to be interested in betraying its existence?¡±


    He glanced at me, and his haggard face became thoughtful. ¡°With one exception.¡±


    One of the women standing behind the Keeper suddenly spoke. She was short, made to look taller by merit of an elaborate powdered black wig . ¡°Did you come here for sanctuary or to play at being the smartest cock in the room? I say we peel him and see how he dances. Been a while since we¡¯ve had decent sport.¡±


    Some others murmured in agreement. The lamia¡¯s tail rattled loudly. I caught sight of Eilidh near the back of the group. She gave me a worried look.


    The others, however... they no longer looked like an unassuming gaggle of barmaids and common harlots. Their eyes were bright and hungry, their teeth sharp.


    Kross saw the same thing and tensed. I felt a prickle of heat in the air, one that didn¡¯t come from the taproom¡¯s fire. The crowfriar was shaping his aura. I caught the scent of brimstone.


    I felt something else as well, something I didn¡¯t understand at first. A sense of unease that didn¡¯t have anything to do with the pack of monsters standing behind me or the infernal soldier. The aureflame, that ¡°torch¡± Falstaff had spoken of that burned in my core, flickered as it sensed something.


    It was always restless when dark creatures were nearby, and I¡¯d learned to mostly ignore it inside the Backroad ¡ª everything in here set off alarm bells. But this felt different. Not a warning, but...


    Almost like it was being called.


    My eyes went to the door Kross had just walked through, and a suspicion began to form.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t come here to seek sanctuary,¡± I said aloud. Kross finally seemed to pay attention to me.


    What had he said? They¡¯re after me. I need your help.


    He wouldn¡¯t have gone straight to me if he just wanted to guest in the inn. And his comments... You know there are powers which care nothing for your rules, Falstaff. You think I don¡¯t know why you move this place so often?


    The others were still arguing. Several of the Keeper¡¯s people were insisting they punish Kross for his trespass and rudeness, while Falstaff seemed to be trying to keep things calm. The guests mostly just seemed entertained at the drama.


    I caught sight of Sans. He was edging towards the entrance to the hallways beneath the stairs, his gaze fixed on the door.


    Saska¡¯s head suddenly shot up, like an alert dog. A deep growlbubbled in her throat, the sound not at all human.


    The door opened. Just like when Kross had entered, it was like a shout inside the room. Cold swept in from the night along with a flurry of snow. Everyone stopped talking at once and turned to look, every pair of eyes seeing the same thing.


    A figure stood in the doorway. It looked shadowed at first, but I realized quickly that the person standing there wore black armor not dissimilar from my own. The armor looked battered, dented, and badly scarred.


    He reminded me of the Mistwalker Company. His armor had an archaic design, with a breastplate fashioned to look like a muscular torso and leather strips forming a skirt around his waist. Only part of his right arm showed bare skin, and it looked pallid and dirty, covered in a thick sheen of sweat.


    A tight fitting helm covered his head with a mask affixed to it. The mask bore a face locked in an expression of saintly calm. Stains ran down beneath the small eyeholes like tears, almost invisible against the sooty metal, and a spiked band ran around the forehead. It resembled a wreath of thorns.


    He took another step forward. His armor clicked. The masked face tilted to one side, an almost curious gesture. The armored man held a small, economical hatchet in one hand. The weapon dripped with gore.


    In his left hand he clutched a severed head by the hair. The terrified eyes of the hostler stared at us, fixed forever into a pleading expression, clenched teeth bared into a rictus.


    Renuart Kross, seasoned veteran and servant of Hell, stared at the figure in undisguised terror and took a single step back.


    Once again, I felt that strange pull. The aureflame seemed to be almost drawn to this macabre stranger, but not in a hostile way. I couldn¡¯t comprehend it. My natural, human senses were screaming in warning at me. My hairs stood on end, and my fingers instinctively tightened on the grip of my dagger.


    The armored man¡¯s masked visage scanned the gathering. When those weeping eyes found Kross, the head stopped. I heard him suck in a breath through the single small breathing hole on his iron mask, a wet, slurping sound.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    He moved with incredible speed. From total stillness to a dead sprint, the change so sudden it startled me. Someone shouted. Saska spat something in an unfamiliar language and moved, but not toward the stranger. She put herself in front of Falstaff.


    I stepped forward, all my confusion about the situation fading as my combat instincts took over. The man wore armor, but my rondel ¡ª basically a long steel spike ¡ª was made for this. A knight killing weapon.


    The stranger went directly for Kross, but I interposed myself and got his weapon hand by the wrist. I put him into a lock ¡ª I expected supernatural strength or some other trick, but he went down under my weight. I bent his arm behind his back, something that would have forced anyone else to drop their weapon from the pain.


    But he didn¡¯t. There wasn¡¯t even a gasp. His head tilted towards me. Again I heard that sucking intake of breath, almost a gurgle. He smelled foul. Like feces, blood, and unwashed flesh.


    Part of me wanted to just disarm him and wait for this situation to be clarified, but that strange inner sense of revulsion I felt made me think it was a bad idea to let this man ¡ª if he was a man ¡ª live. I slammed my rondel¡¯s blade under his helm and into his chin, punching directly into the brain.


    He shivered, then went still. A moment later his bowels loosened, adding to the horrible smell in the air. The head of the dead groom went rolling, stopping at the feet of one of the inn¡¯s women.


    That had been far too easy.


    Only once my pounding heart settled did I realize that I¡¯d panicked at the stranger¡¯s disturbing entrance and let my fighting instincts take full control. And I¡¯d just broken the Backroad¡¯s rules by killing this man. My head shot up to the Keeper, but he didn¡¯t look angry. His face was pale. Kross stood right next to him, and Saska still had her back to her master in a defensive posture. The small woman was lowered into a half crouch, her fingers curled like claws.


    ¡°He¡¯s human,¡± I said to them.


    ¡°There are more,¡± Kross said.


    One of the windows broke. There were more shouts. One of the lanterns shattered and the room grew suddenly darker. A burning sphere, iron wrapped in some kind of mesh and flickering with angry red flames, rolled across the floor and stopped not far from where I knelt.


    I saw it, started to shout a warning, and then the bomb detonated.


    I was thrown back, my whole body spinning horizontally through the air. Angry bullets of shrapnel tore into my cloak, struck my armor. I had the wherewithal to cover my face, and felt the sharp impacts against my vambraces.


    I hit the ground. My ears rang, muting the surrounding chaos. I managed to stand up, almost tipped over as vertigo seized me. I turned in an almost full circle before realizing I¡¯d faced away from the threat.


    The explosive had caused bedlam. Tables were broken and turned onto their sides, guests and servers lay on the ground in blistered, bleeding heaps. People were shouting, and the noise would have been deafening if the bomb hadn¡¯t done that first.


    Some kind of alchemical device, I thought. The smell in the air was bitter. Brimstone.


    I caught sight of Falstaff. He knelt over a small form crumpled on the ground ¡ª Saska. She¡¯d been even closer to the bomb than I had, taking it at near point blank range. She wasn¡¯t moving.


    ¡°HEWER!¡± A voice barked. I spun and found Kross with his sword in hand. The blade had been broken about two thirds up its length, but he raised it and faced the inn¡¯s front. I followed his gaze.


    More black armored figures poured into the taproom. They came through the door, or burst through the windows, all clad in dark iron and all wearing concealing helms with masks nailed to the fronts. They were eerily silent, neither shouting orders or screaming with battle rage. They carried small axes, morningstars, cleavers, hammers.


    Some clutched stranger weapons. One turned to me, lifting a long pole with a ring on the end, its inner edge sporting steel teeth. A man catcher. The ring snapped closed several times as its wielder advanced.


    I shook the last of the fog from my brain just in time to dodge aside as the instrument snapped at my face. I stepped forward, grabbed the weapon¡¯s haft, then yanked. The man fought me with savage strength, nearly taking us both to the ground. He was breathing heavily through thin slits in his mask, each exhale labored and wet.


    I could see his eyes through the small holes in the mask. They were wide and dilated, the sclera red with burst veins.


    I stabbed my rondel directly into one of those eyes. The man barely reacted, though the force of the blow knocked him back. My blade came out with a wet pop and a spray of gore. The man¡¯s breathing grew heavier, faster. He managed to get his weapon back and swung it like a club. The ring at the end had spikes on the outside too, and he nearly slammed them right into my skull.


    I decided to use a trick that¡¯d served me well in the tournament the past summer. Infusing my left hand with aura, I waited for the soldier to lunge forward again and punched him right in the center of his breastplate. The metal crumbled beneath my fist with a brief flash of golden light. The ribs beneath broke, and the man stumbled back with a grunt.


    He took another step toward me, then stumbled. Frostbitten fingers ¡ª he wore no gauntlet on that hand, I noted ¡ª scraped at his breastplate. He couldn¡¯t breathe, the armor caved too far in to let him inhale. I could hear him gasping.


    I stepped forward and finished him off, ramming my dagger into his helmet deep enough to get his brain. He crumpled, dead.


    They still had to breathe. They didn¡¯t seem to feel pain, but they were human.


    And there were a lot of them. I scanned the war zone the inn had become. The black armored soldiers stormed in, moving like an iron tide, and they were butchering people.


    I watched one strike down one of the Keeper¡¯s girls with a hatchet, dropping her like a heavy sack of grain with a blow to the skull. Another had one of the guests beneath them and was stabbing a blade into his stomach over and over.


    But this wasn¡¯t an ordinary inn, and people were fighting back. I watched Tam, the changeling who looked like an enormous toad, literally crush one of the armored invaders under his weight with a sudden leap. Not far away, a screaming wraith literally slipped into a soldier¡¯s armor. He fell to the ground, spasming and convulsing, blood bubbling through every seam on his suit.


    One of the Backroad¡¯s women shivered out of her glamour, revealing a shrieking elfin thing with piranha teeth. She spat acid at one of the intruders, and it began to form a cloud of steam around him as it melted armor and the flesh beneath.


    But the soldier did not die, did not stop. Injuries that would have sent anyone else screaming to the floor for an agonizing death were ignored, and the black-armored figure swung a flail at the fanged changeling and broke her neck.


    He turned then, saw me and stepped forward for more violence, then suddenly fell as the acid finally reached something vital.


    I was so shocked and disturbed at the sight that I almost died to a billhook. I dodged it at the last second, cursing as it swept the air inches from my nose in a downward swing.


    Their armor makes them harder to hurt, a cold, analytical part of my mind whispered. They don¡¯t seem to feel pain. Anything that isn¡¯t instantly lethal is useless.


    I didn¡¯t think aureflame would work well on these, but it would make their armor easier to deal with. I let golden fire flicker over my dagger as the masked soldier stepped back, lifting his billhook over his head for another chop.


    He froze suddenly, staring at my burning blade. His helm had a more decorative look to it, a sallet with a flaring neck guard and a beaked front. The mask beneath looked serene, a cherubic face with rounded cheeks and spiraling designs to allude to an innocent blush.


    This one tilted his head at me. No, at my blade. He seemed entranced by the fire.


    A sword licked out and cut his head off. The decapitated body crumpled, and Kross glared at me. He had a fresh wound on his cheek that wept down the right side of his neck.


    ¡°Keep your head,¡± he snapped. ¡°Or you¡¯ll die.¡±


    The false paladin turned and stared at Falstaff, who¡¯d dragged the unconscious or dead Saska to the edge of the fire pit, pressing his back to the low wall of bricks ringing it. ¡°Falstaff! Can you move the inn?¡±


    The Keeper blinked up at Kross, looking dazed. Saska, who looked badly burnt, blistering wounds covering the left side of her face, stirred in his arms. Still alive.


    I turned my attention back to the inn. Many guests had tried to flee into the back or into the upper levels, but the armored invaders had found some other way inside, perhaps through the windows in individual rooms. They poured out of the halls, killing indiscriminately. Some had crossbows.


    Flames were beginning to crawl along the floor near the still open doorway where the bomb had gone off. A steady flurry of snow and chilling wind weren¡¯t doing a thing to abate it.


    Nearby, three of the masked soldiers were advancing on a group of people. Eilidh was among them, hiding behind the colorfully dressed westerner who¡¯d sat at her table before. Jean-Luc. He swung an enormous sword ¡ª a zweihander ¡ª which seemed too big for the lanky man.


    But the packed inn room wasn¡¯t suited for the weapon. One of the soldiers, perfectly still a moment before, suddenly twitched with speed and dodged the blow, letting the long blade slam into a table. The masked butcher then swung out with a sharp hook attached to a chain. Jean-Luc fell with a cry as blood spurted from his shoulder.


    The other two soldiers moved forward. I moved, sheathing my dagger as I did. I reached into the dark space between my cloak and left hip, using the red garment to create a deep shadow there. My hand sunk into that shadow, finding a freezing dampness on the other side.


    I grasped roughly shaped wood, felt the little imperfections and burs like that of a wild branch, and pulled my axe free.


    I leapt up onto a still intact table, used it to propel myself, and swung. Shadowy wisps still clung to the axe, like it trailed darkness. The helmet of one of the masked soldiers split under the faerie blade, blood and gore spurting out of every opening as the dead man fell under me. One of his companions lashed out without any warning, moving with an almost insectile reflex. I parried, kicked his leg out from under him, then used the time while he found his feet again to turn to the one with the hook-chain.


    I flinched as that evil hook lashed out, managing to catch it on a vambrace. Sparks flew into my face. Growling, I stomped down hard on the floor. The wooden boards beneath me cracked under my sabaton, and golden fire bloomed out in a violent blast not unlike the small bomb from before.


    It was an ugly, improvised attack, barely an Art, but it did its job. The soldier blew back away from me, crashing into a table and breaking it while amber-tinted flames crawled over him.


    I turned to the one I¡¯d knocked to the floor. He was already on a knee, an axe in one hand and a steel banded truncheon in the other. Drool poured out of the holes perforating the bottom half of his mask, like he was frothing at the mouth behind it.


    I took a cue from Kross and decapitated him. It took two swings. He almost seemed to welcome the second, his arms slumping as I aimed for the cleft I¡¯d already made in the side of his neck.


    Sweat beaded on my skin. I gasped for breath, the short fight already taking its toll. These people, whoever they were, fought like berserkers. They threw themselves into the fray with no regard for injury, forcing me to put an equal effort into putting them down.


    I heard Kross shout again. He was fighting two of the soldiers, both of whom were taking turns drawing his attention before retreating so the other could advance. Not completely insane ¡ª some were using tactics, communicating with an eerie silence and a reflex that bordered on inhuman.


    ¡°Falstaff!¡± Kross barked. ¡°What is the delay!?¡±


    The Keeper was standing by the fire pit in the center of the room. He held a hand over it, and serpentine tongues of fire coiled around his arm. Sweat beaded on his skin, and his eyes looked hellish.


    ¡°Something is anchoring us here,¡± he shouted. ¡°I can¡¯t move the inn!¡±


    One of the black-armored soldiers went for the innkeeper. The same one who¡¯d killed the acid spitting hagspawn. There was a flash of movement, then Lucienne ¡ª her upper half a pretty young woman with long hair and skinny arms, her lower half an enormous green snake¡¯s tail covered in scales with a rattle at the end ¡ª slithered around the invader¡¯s feet. She coiled around him like an anaconda, trapped his arms and legs.


    The lamia stared down at her captive with almost curious eyes, smiled, then twisted her tail in a sudden and dramatic movement. Every one of the fully armored man¡¯s limbs broke, metal screeching and grinding as it twisted and deformed.


    She hadn¡¯t killed him. His neck hadn¡¯t been touched. I looked away from what happened next, feeling sick.


    The short, bloody battle was ebbing. There¡¯d been more than twenty of the armored raiders, and more than half that number were left scattered across the inn as the survivors retreated back out into the night, leaving as suddenly and quietly as they¡¯d entered.


    The Backroad¡¯s inhabitants... they¡¯d died in the dozen. I didn¡¯t count, but there had to be more than thirty bodies, many dead and others badly injured. Someone was sobbing. There were shouts, pained cries.


    It¡¯d all lasted barely minutes.


    I had wounds on my face from where shrapnel from the bomb had grazed me. Some fragments of metal were embedded into my armor. One of them emitted smoke.


    ¡°Fire,¡± I said, pointing to the spot where the bomb had detonated. The crimson flames were moving slow, but they were spreading. The Keeper noticed them and hissed, spitting something I didn¡¯t catch. The brighter fire inside the pit flared, and the ones from the explosion began to dwindle. The creature inside the pit ate the flames.


    I searched and found Kross. He¡¯d killed several of the attackers and taken more injuries for it. He propped himself up with what was left of his sword, looking haggard.


    Baring my teeth, I started towards him. He¡¯d caused this, brought these nightmares here.


    A hoarse, despairing cry ripped through the room, stopping me. I turned and saw Jean-Luc and a few others I didn¡¯t know. The lansquenet was wounded, but it wasn¡¯t him they were gathered around.


    A dull feeling crawled into my chest. I started to approach. Most of the ones huddled near the wall where I¡¯d heard the sound were the Keeper¡¯s people. One of them heard me and turned. A black haired changeling whose glamour had come off during the fight, revealing something spider-like with too many limbs and eyes.


    She hissed, probably just seeing my black armor and not distinguishing me from the ones who¡¯d done all of this. I stopped, and when I looked past her I saw what they¡¯d all gathered around.


    Eilidh was propped up against the wall. Her face was pale, and blood pooled underneath her. A crossbow bolt protruded from her chest, just under the right breast. She breathed with obvious difficulty, each one emerging as a low wheeze.


    Her eyes were scared. When she tried to speak bloody foam came out instead of words.


    The bolt was in her lung. She was dying.

 Arc 7: Chapter 6: Penitents

    Arc 7: Chapter 6: Penitents


    I stared at the scene with a dull sense of helplessness. More people were gathering around, having noticed what was happening.


    Lucienne crawled on her hands toward Eilidh, and when she saw the injury her cheerful face turned sad. Tam had approached too, and he dropped to his knees next to the woman with a gasping exhalation.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± someone said from right next to me. Falstaff. He looked at the dying woman with undisguised frustration.


    ¡°She¡¯s fading,¡± one of the women kneeling next to Eilidh said. I recognized her as the one who¡¯d threatened Kross before, the one wearing a powdered black wig. Only, the wig had fallen off to reveal shortly cropped hair just as dark.


    The speaker was a vampire, like Catrin. No... not quite like Cat. This one wasn¡¯t a half breed. Her ghostly eyes stared at the dying woman intently, but turned to the Keeper as she spoke. ¡°She still has years on her contract.¡±


    Falstaff nodded, but said nothing. He looked at Eilidh, who stared back with wide eyes. Again she tried to say something. Lucienne hushed her and brushed her hair back, like a concerned mother.


    When I realized what they meant, I felt cold.


    The Keeper knelt next to the dying woman. ¡°I know you¡¯re not the one who made this deal, Eilidh. I know it isn¡¯t fair, but I¡¯m still owed. You understand?¡±


    Eilidh mumbled something incoherent. The Keeper sighed.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so bad,¡± one of the others said, smiling with inhumanly sharp teeth. ¡°You¡¯ll be young and strong forever. One of us, truly this time.¡±


    I saw fear in Eilidh¡¯s dimming gaze. Fear of those around her, or of the end fast approaching? I couldn¡¯t tell, and she could not tell us.


    This is wrong. I need to stop this.


    There were too many of them, even after the losses they¡¯d taken. They would rip me apart.


    Even still... this was wrong. I gripped my axe tighter and took a step forward. A hand gripped my arm. Kross.


    ¡°Let go of me.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll kill you,¡± he said in a tired voice. ¡°This isn¡¯t worth it. They will save her.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t saving her.¡± She¡¯d still die, and something else would wear her corpse. It was just as likely that one of the restless ghosts or hidden devils in the inn would use the body as the woman¡¯s own soul, and even if it was her...


    It wasn¡¯t right to trap her like that, to make her live out an uncertain eternity hungry and cold. Lost.


    Kross¡¯s voice became caustic. ¡°Fine. Then after you¡¯re done freeing her, maybe you should hunt down your Ergothi friend and give her the same courtesy, since this is so distasteful to you.¡±


    That made me pause. Was this the same? It didn¡¯t feel the same. Cat had been born as she was, never known anything else.


    And yet... it didn¡¯t change anything. She was still damned, still locked out of the Halls of the Dead and denied either rest or salvation.


    I¡¯d done this same thing to Penric. Let him persist in death, when part of me had known the right choice was to put him to rest. It had been a selfish choice. I¡¯d needed his loyalty, his experience and skillset to complement my lance. R?a?¦­o?¦¢§¦??


    In my moment of doubt, it became too late. The vampire sunk her fangs into Eilidh¡¯s neck.


    And not just her. Others had pressed forward, all of them denizens of the inn. Their eyes shone and their bared teeth were sharp. They took Eilidh¡¯s arms, her wrists, even tore at her bodice to expose more flesh. Those ravening mouths, some still bloody from the fight, opened wide.


    And all the while I battled with myself. Stop this. This is your duty, your sacred vow, to protect people like her from monsters like them.


    Eilidh¡¯s eyes went wide. Was she struggling, or did I imagine that?


    Stop this. Save her.


    They are saving her.


    No, they¡¯re damning her.


    Eilidh went still and closed her eyes. I could barely see her through the press of bodies. She wasn¡¯t the only meal the Backroad had made of this bloodbath, either. Other formerly disguised predators were feeding on the dead or dying across the taproom, some to heal from injuries and others simply because their instincts compelled them.


    Damn it. Damn it all.


    I made myself watch. I made myself burn the scene into my mind. Whatever happened, I¡¯d never let myself forget this. That I¡¯d allowed it.


    ¡°Falstaff.¡± When the man looked at me, I lowered my voice into a quieter tone. ¡°Are you doing this to save her, or to keep her in your debt?¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s eyes narrowed. They still held that infernal glow. ¡°This is none of your business, Alder Knight.¡±


    Fire flickered along my right arm in a brief, violent conflagration. The Keeper of the Backroad Inn flinched. Some of those who hadn¡¯t joined the impromptu feast hissed at me and went on guard. Kross stepped away from me, putting distance between us.


    ¡°Earlier,¡± I said, ¡°Eilidh defended all of you. She scolded me for treating you all like monsters, like enemies.¡±


    I pointed at the scene with my axe. ¡°Should I not see you that way?¡± I couldn¡¯t quite mask the note of pleading that entered my voice.


    Falstaff stared at me without blinking for a long while before he spoke. ¡°She¡¯d have been bound to the inn after death anyway. I didn¡¯t write this place¡¯s rules. I know what I¡¯d have chosen... you¡¯re free to ask her after she wakes back up.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    We turned and saw Saska limping towards us. She favored one leg and clutched at her right arm, but looked well for someone who¡¯d been practically on top of an explosive ball of solid iron barely ten minutes before. She looked directly at me.


    ¡°The Keeper is the inn¡¯s custodian, but I care for the wayward souls bound to it. Eilidh will be hungry and confused when she wakes, and it will be... unsafe to let her near guests for some time. You will not confuse her.¡±


    Her voice was soft, but firm. ¡°My partner was correct. This is none of your concern, paladin. Besides, we have other troubles to attend to.¡±


    She turned to Kross, who still stood slightly apart from the rest of us. The false knight¡¯s expression turned grim.


    ¡°I should kill you,¡± Falstaff spat with sudden anger.


    ¡°It will accomplish little,¡± Kross replied tiredly. ¡°And you¡¯ve lost enough tonight. For what it¡¯s worth, I did not realize my pursuers were so close. I thought I could ride the inn to its next location, or perhaps go through one of the passages you guard before they realized I¡¯d been here. This shrine is a nexus, yes?¡±


    The Keeper wasn¡¯t mollified. ¡°You brought danger here. Some of my own people are dead. Guests have died. This will be a blow to my authority for decades, you bastard.¡±


    ¡°He knows more than he is telling, and that gives him power.¡± Saska watched the crowfriar with a contemplative expression. ¡°He knows our ways well.¡±


    ¡°There will be more of them,¡± Kross said quickly. ¡°They are not afraid of the Wend, and once they have your scent they will be able to find you no matter where you are. They were made for this very thing.¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡± I asked. ¡°What are they?¡±


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    ¡°They are you.¡±


    I stared at him, nonplussed. ¡°Come again?¡±


    Kross took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment before answering. ¡°They are the Knights Penitent.¡±


    A long silence fell. The vampires were done feeding on Eilidh and things had quieted around us, so some others had heard Kross¡¯s statement. I felt the sudden tension in the room like a spike.


    ¡°They were disbanded a century ago,¡± I said. ¡°The Church struck that order from the Annals. They¡¯re anathema.¡±


    ¡°A century is a long time,¡± Kross noted dryly. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course, but times have changed. The Penitents have returned, albeit with some... modification.¡±


    In a flash I understood. ¡°Unbelievable... this is the fucking Priory again, isn¡¯t it? These are Inquisition soldiers.¡±


    ¡°They are criminals,¡± Kross said. ¡°Murderers, traitors, deserters, thieves, and rapists. They were condemned to die, and yet like many mortals faced with death they feared what might happen to their souls. So they gave themselves to the Red Priors.¡±


    Falstaff knelt by one of the dead intruders. He touched the corpse¡¯s black armor and his eyes widened. ¡°This is Orkaelin iron.¡±


    Kross nodded. ¡°They are not quite so fearsome as Scorchknights, but the technique to prepare them is similar. They do not feel pain... or more precisely, they feel so much pain at all times that any further injury is meaningless. They are given no rest or comfort until they die. They are strong and fast, and given heightened reflexes. As you¡¯ve seen, it makes them fierce opponents.¡±


    They are you. I suddenly understood what he meant. Just like I¡¯d given myself to the Choir in penance for failing my duties in Seydis and allowing an abgru?dai demon to dupe me, these men had given themselves to the Priory of the Arda. The priests used infernal alchemy to enhance them, creating berserker shock troops with no regard for their own lives.


    And they were hunting Kross, who was truly the Vicar in charge of the infernal missionaries in Urn. Which didn¡¯t make any sense, because it was obvious these soldiers were made using techniques the monks of Hell had shared with the Priory.


    Saska stepped closer to me. ¡°We will have answers to this, but first we must secure the inn¡¯s safety. Something is preventing us from moving it still, and I can sense these hunters remain nearby.¡±


    She paused a moment, almost hesitant. ¡°Will you help us, Ser Knight?¡±


    Again I glanced to where Eilidh lay. She might wake, or she might not. I knew what they¡¯d done to her wasn¡¯t a sure bet. There were usually more steps involved. It could vary from region to region, monster to monster.


    One of the vampires kneeling next to her looked to be praying, which rankled me. What God would look kindly on this?


    I needed answers from Kross. Why was he here, and why did the Inquisition seem to be trying to kill him? Chances were the denizens of the Backroad would tear him to pieces before I could find out, so I had to stick around and keep the bastard alive... at least until he told me what I wanted to know.


    The false knight caught my gaze, and pressed his lips into a tight line. He knew all this too. His only safety lay in keeping what he knew close to his chest until there more assurances.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± I told Saska begrudgingly.


    The Penitents had gotten into the stable. They¡¯d slaughtered the handful of chimera there, with one exception. I found an agitated Morgause circling the building. She had blood on her hooves and around her mouth.


    Saska scanned the woods while I calmed the scadumare. We¡¯d left Kross inside due to his injuries, which I worried about. Saska assured me he wouldn¡¯t be harmed, as the Keeper wanted answers to this mess as well. Even still, I fretted that the angry mob inside would kill him before I had a chance for interrogation.


    ¡°He used you all like a living shield,¡± I said to the madame. ¡°If I were your people, I¡¯d be out for blood.¡±


    ¡°They have enough to slake them for a time,¡± she said in her odd accent, looking distracted. ¡°For now, let us discover how these iron jackals have tied us to these woods.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still not sure I understand how this place works,¡± I admitted. It seemed like a good time to catch up. ¡°How does the inn travel about? How does it admit people from all over the land every night? Are there multiple entrances, like with the patron doors?¡±


    I knew there were a number of exits from the inn¡¯s back rooms that led to the dominions of various individuals, the true benefactors behind the Keeper¡¯s operation.


    ¡°The inn rarely changes position more than once each day.¡± Saska reached out and stroked Morgause¡¯s neck as she spoke. ¡°Many of those guests you see remain for a number of nights, resting and consorting with one another before choosing a time and place to exit. It is similar for some of my girls; they come and go with the seasons, with only a few residing as permanent residents. Not all are bound by contracts. The inn itself is only ever in one location.¡±


    I absorbed the ramifications of that. ¡°It could be used to move anywhere... days or weeks of travel in just one or two nights.¡±


    Saska gave me a pointed look. ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, and no; we do not allow ourselves to be a transport for soldiers. Mercenaries and assassins do occasionally use the inn to meet and plan, but we are very strict about avoiding complicity in such conflicts. Anyone who seeks to abuse our hospitality often finds themselves regretting it.¡±


    I nodded slowly. Even still, if I could reach Osheim faster it might be worth waiting to see where the inn landed next. Trouble was, it could put me even further away. I understood why Kross had thought to use it to elude his pursuers.


    ¡°How could someone keep it in place?¡± I asked. ¡°Theoretically.¡±


    Saska considered. Morgause purred and nudged her, and she went back to admiring the beast. ¡°We use the Wend, but I imagine you¡¯ve guessed that. The inn itself is a... how do you humans say? A phantasm. A spell.¡±


    Most phantasms were short lived. One that persisted and seemed so real as the Backroad Inn only existed under rare circumstances, and needed a constant influx of will to maintain. However, I knew the Wending Roads were made almost entirely of


    phantasm. The rules there were different, more fluid.


    That was probably the trick of it ¡ª the inn existed in both realms, fading in and out. Was it simultaneous? No, not quite.


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± I made my realization aloud. ¡°You keep the inn inside the Wend during the day, so it doesn¡¯t burn off. Then at night you pull it back out into the world after it¡¯s... charged, I guess.¡±


    Wild phantasms were always stronger and more persistent at night. Many faerie castles and certain supernatural entities worked the same way. The inn used the same phenomenon to maintain its permanency.


    Which left the problem of why the Keeper couldn¡¯t pull us into the Wend now. I scanned the woods, casting out with my spiritual senses. ¡°Someone else is working their will on us. Whoever they are, they¡¯re strong.¡±


    I met Saska¡¯s eyes. ¡°The Priory has clerics who can wield the Auratic Arts, and they¡¯ve been researching new techniques for years. My guess is that one or more of them has locked this area with some kind of anchor.¡±


    Saska nodded. ¡°My thought as well, Ser Knight. We must find and break it. It will be easy to spot, yes?¡±


    ¡°Something strong enough to do this? It¡¯ll probably look similar to an auratic war banner. Have you seen one of those?¡±


    Saska¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°I have seen its like. It will be guarded. My nose is better at seeking the living than constructs of sorcery.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the lead, if you¡¯ll cover me.¡±


    We forged out into the snowy woods. It was dark, a cloudless night, but we both had night vision. Saska was what she was ¡ª whatever that might have been ¡ª and the golden magic in my eyes lit my path. I didn¡¯t risk creating more light, wanting to maintain as much stealth as possible.


    I left my chimera behind. While the mount would have given me an advantage, she wasn¡¯t equipped for war and I feared losing her to archers. Saska followed me for about a hundred paces before vanishing. Something told me she remained nearby.


    Every fifty paces or so, I cast out with my aura. Like dropping a stone into water and reading subtle disturbances in those expanding ripples. Lias had once told me that bats use a similar method to navigate the dark. Some wild beasts had even evolved to use their aura to do exactly what I did. Humans don¡¯t have a monopoly on magic.


    The woods felt strange. Charged. Both quiet and deafeningly loud, like the silence itself was a shout.


    It happened quickly, without warning. I¡¯d been walking for more than fifteen minutes, and all the sudden I felt a sharp tug in my chest. I stopped. Reading spiritual energies is more an art than a science, a task layered with abstraction and metaphor.


    I felt the same pull I had inside the inn just before the Knights Penitent had appeared. A sense of... it still wasn¡¯t easy to place. Not revulsion, like with many Things of Darkness.


    I was so busy struggling to understand the strange feeling that it came as a mild surprise when I realized they¡¯d surrounded me. I looked up, and they were just there. They stood between the trees, more than half a dozen of them, all clad in black iron and all masked. They watched me in eerie silence.


    I slowly rotated my head, trying to watch all of them at once. My hand tightened on Faen Orgis, the gnarled wood creaking softly under my grip. But the Penitents didn¡¯t attack. They just watched. They were still, like statues. They blended with the night, their shapes vague and difficult to pick out even with my dark vision.


    I turned to see one standing not twenty paces away. He crouched on the root of a particularly huge tree, staring slightly down at me. A long, cross headed spear hung from the convict soldier¡¯s hand.


    Their labored breathing filled the silence, a subtle and disconcerting ambience.


    I fought down my immediate panic and tried to get more of a read on them. They exuded no sense of power themselves ¡ª whatever I felt came from within, and didn¡¯t read like some pressure the Penitents themselves exuded. It didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t capable of using Art. I¡¯d not seen them doing it back at the inn, but it would be foolish to assume.


    ¡°Well? What are you waiting for?¡±


    I regretted speaking immediately. My nerves had gotten the better of me, and it was obvious in my voice. These conscripts hadn¡¯t been particularly hard to kill, but something about them set my teeth on edge. They frightened me.


    A Penitent to my left moved. I caught movement in the corner of my vision and turned to see him lifting a barbed javelin over his head, preparing it to throw. I bared my teeth, taking my axe in both hands as my foot shifted through the snow. Every one of the Penitents stirred.


    ¡°No.¡±


    I froze at the sound of that voice. It filled the wintering woods like a whisper of wind. Soft, sad, musical in inflection.


    ¡°This is not right. You should not be here.¡±


    That voice didn¡¯t come from any of the Penitents. This presence wasn¡¯t as hard to place.


    ¡°Show yourself.¡± I poured my will into my voice, making it a command. Every one of the Penitents reacted, shivering at once. I felt the hidden presence react in an unseen flinch, and put more power into my next attempt.


    ¡°Show yourself. I command thee, spirit.¡±


    And just like that, wings of moonlight and silvered feather brushed the frozen branches as the angel revealed itself.

 Arc 7: Chapter 7: The Cupbearer

    Arc 7: Chapter 7: The Cupbearer


    The angel had six arms and three faces.


    The front facing one looked mostly human and young, a youth no older than fourteen, but to either side of it, facing outward, were two other faces. The left looked to be a venerable old man, the right a woman nearing her middle years. Its form was androgynous, with long and flowing hair the color of a stormy sky and toned limbs. It had only one leg, mostly hidden behind garments of spun mist and fractal light. The body beneath was alabaster perfection, white and translucent, carved by an immortal hand into an image of cold, serene beauty.


    The spirit floated level with the tops of the trees, its four shining wings poised and still so they seemed more like accessories than the mechanisms of its levitation. Two of the angel¡¯s hands held objects. One balanced a golden cup that spewed misting fumes. The other gripped a long pole with a blade at the end shaped like a crescent moon, some kind of staff or glaive. Both objects blazed with phantasm, as did the halo floating above the spirit¡¯s head.


    The halberd was forged from a black metal that gave off an odd sheen. Hithlenic bronze, just like my axe, with sacred gold worked into the alloy.


    ¡°Headsman.¡±The seraph¡¯s voice was a physical shiver in the air, warm and chilling at once. ¡°You should not be here.¡±


    I did my best to hide my shock at the Onsolain¡¯s unexpected appearance. He was a member of the Choir. I¡¯d immediately considered that this might be another Zosite, one of the infernal spirits like the one that¡¯d protected Kross once, but I¡¯d seen this being¡¯s image before, inscribed into religious art and named in sermon.


    ¡°Lord Chamael.¡± Taking a breath to calm myself, I bowed my head to the holy spirit.


    The young face at the front of the Onsolain¡¯s uncanny head shifted slightly. His eyes remained closed, and his lips barely moved when he spoke. ¡°Blood still dries upon your blade, Headsman. Explain yourself.¡±


    He had a kindly voice. It reminded me of Eanor ¡ª tinged with sadness and compassion at once. Yet, I couldn¡¯t shake the atmosphere of danger I felt. Why was he here?


    The Penitents didn¡¯t move ¡ª they seemed to be waiting for something. Orders? For me to do something?


    ¡°You lead these?¡± I asked after a minute, indicating the soldiers.


    Chamael¡¯s head, which had remained lifted since his appearance, finally tilted down to regard me. The eyes on the front face remained closed, but I saw the hair on one side of his head shift. The aged face there was whispering, its lips moving subtly as though advising the youthful visage. Its eyes were open, revealing black pits that reminded me of Nath.


    The seraph didn¡¯t answer my question. ¡°You were inside that malcathe sanctuary... you fought these sufferers and killed their brothers. You defended the devils¡¯ advocate.¡±


    He sounded confused.


    ¡°I was taking my ease and preparing for my next task from the Choir,¡± I said cautiously, not liking where this conversation was going or what the seraph¡¯s presence here implied. ¡°They attacked the inn. I defended myself.¡±


    ¡°The inn... yes. That place, it is a refuge for the misbegotten and the damned, for those who lurk in the shadows of our light and hide from us as they feed on the faithful.¡± The boyish face frowned deeply. ¡°Why would you feel at ease in such a place?¡±


    His confusion seemed genuine, like any boy struggling to understand the idiosyncrasies of his elders. I had to remind myself that this was a being older than the world. I kept my tone respectful while explaining.


    ¡°This is part of my role, my lord. As the Headsman, I often have to consort with darker elements to conduct my duties.¡±


    It frustrated me to explain this, while the seraph led this band of murderers bearing armaments crafted with the tools of Hell. Did the angel see the irony, as I did? Or had I misread?


    The Onsolain lapsed into silence. I tried to collect myself and peel through the ramifications of his presence. Chamael was a middle ranked member of the Choir, though in truth I didn¡¯t know much about him. He had many names, but all his brethren did. He was called Sanctus Chamael, Cupbearer of God, Burdened Caleb, and the Saint of Blood.


    A spirit of devotion, duty, mercy, and benevolent castigation. He¡¯d been present when I swore my vow to the Choir after the war, but I¡¯d only encountered him that one other time and hadn¡¯t heard him speak then.


    ¡°The crowfriar still lives,¡± Chamael said. ¡°You defended him.¡±


    ¡°I defended the inhabitants of the inn,¡± I reasoned. ¡°They were caught in the crossfire, and I didn¡¯t know who these Penitents were at the time.¡±


    The seraph seemed to become even more still. ¡°You know who they are.¡±


    I sensed I¡¯d made a mistake. ¡°My presence here was a sad coincidence, my lord. If there¡¯s some other operation I¡¯m unaware of...¡±


    ¡°You said you have a mission,¡± the angel interrupted. ¡°What mission?¡±


    That gave me pause. Why wouldn¡¯t he know already? ¡°I don¡¯t know the details yet,¡± I hedged. ¡°I was simply given a destination by the Herald.¡±


    As we spoke my mind raced. A member of the Choir was leading a contingent of conscripted criminals to kill or capture Vicar. Those same conscripts were, so far as I could tell, attached to the Priory. The Priory had been signed over to the Iron Tribunal, the governing body of Hell. r?a?O??¦¥?


    It didn¡¯t make sense. What was I missing? What had happened these past months? The Choir had tried to prevent their counterpart from taking command of the Priory, something I¡¯d partly failed to accomplish thanks to Lias¡¯s intervention. He¡¯d been the one to sign that damned contract in the end...


    Did he


    have something to do with this?


    The extra mouths on the sides of Chamael¡¯s head were whispering again. I heard a strange sound in the air, almost like the seraph was sighing with that disembodied voice.


    ¡°You are withholding. Answer me, Headsman. What did the thief¡¯s shade say to you?¡±


    Almost I answered. The only thing that gave me pause was how quickly I opened my mouth to speak the location Donnelly had provided. The woman¡¯s face on the right side of the angel¡¯s head was whispering, the words barely audible. I felt an odd sense of vertigo.


    There¡¯d been compulsion in those words. The seraph had just tried to force me to answer.


    ¡°What is all of this about, Lord Chamael?¡± I asked, stalling for time. ¡°Why are you working with the Priory?¡±


    Chamael¡¯s voice hardened a touch. ¡°Answer the question, Headsman. I command you.¡±


    I felt the command. It lanced through my mind like a scalpel blade and tugged like a barbed hook. I winced and felt my vision reel, but managed to focus through the seraph¡¯s will. ¡°If you haven¡¯t been told already...¡± I breathed deep. ¡°Then I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s a good idea to answer that.¡±


    As I spoke, my eyes went to the shining halo above his head. It formed a sort of rune, and I sensed its power like a warm ray of sun on my face, distinct compared to the winter cold. That¡¯s the anchor, I realized. It was a phantasm, a spell preventing the Backroad from shifting itself into the ethereal realm.


    But what did I do about it? Convention told me to comply with the angel. We were on the same side, only...


    The Penitents labored breathing filled the air, muffled by their iron masks. I could smell the stink of them even in the freezing cold.


    Chamael¡¯s hovering form seemed to freeze, becoming like a still image. His youthful face never changed, but I felt the tension in the air spike drastically. His lips parted, almost an expression of surprise or realization. It was my only warning.


    ¡°I see. We were warned, but some believed your repentance to be genuine. A shame.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked.


    No sooner had I asked the question than the aged face on the left side of the angel¡¯s head opened its mouth and spoke aloud.


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    The words branded themselves into my thoughts, and something within me reacted with a violent immediacy. The warmth within me, that presence that¡¯d been with me so long I¡¯d long since reconciled it as a part of myself, surged up. Blazing, burning, blinding. It crawled through my skin, my veins, my bones. It scorched my throat, spilled out of my eyes, echoed in my sudden, involunatry cry of pain.


    Hot. It was too hot. I felt like my flesh was about to boil away, leaving me as a screaming skeleton. I¡¯d collapsed into the snow before I even realized what was happening, but even the frozen water I lay in didn¡¯t help. I tried to reach out ¡ª for help? For mercy? And in that inferno of agony I caught a glimpse of my own hand. It crawled with pale golden flames. They blistered my flesh beneath my armor.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Speak.¡±


    ¡°By mine authority and your oaths I command you.¡±


    It was the fire. The Alder Table¡¯s fire. Tuvon¡¯s fire. The angel was trying to compel it to obey. Only... it resisted. I resisted.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    The angel¡¯s voice became strained with horror.


    ¡°What have you done?¡±


    The pain was too much. I felt like I was being torn apart. Something within me longed to obey, and its inability to caused great distress. We didn¡¯t know the answer. We didn¡¯t know what the immortal wanted. If only we knew, we would give it gladly.


    Another part felt so much rage. How dare he? After all we¡¯d given, all we¡¯d suffered? Centuries and centuries of suffering, for what?


    A third part felt joy. Finally. Finally we saw it, felt it, knew it. The veil stripped away at last.


    It was too much. I pushed back against both the influence without and within. It was a leviathan effort, a sensation like being quartered, but I focused on myself, on my own thoughts, my own self.


    It was hard. I struggled to find myself. I¡¯d become so used to this other part of my being, which had become as familiar as my own skin, my own breath. And yet, it was consuming me.


    In that moment I felt a new pain. It blazed into my awareness in a flash. Four lines of heat like iron brands in my flesh, like freshly riven wounds on the left side of my face.


    Strangely, the rest of me felt suddenly cold as though I¡¯d been doused in freezing water. The Alder¡¯s fire ebbed, leaving me on my hands and knees in the snow, cloaked in smoke and a distinct burnt smell. The snow beneath me was starting to melt. Steam billowed around my kneeling form.


    Above me, something attacked the angel.


    I only caught a brief glimpse of it. One moment Chamael hovered there, imperious, wings outstretched as he exerted his will over me, then something huge and fast as thought struck him from the side.


    They vanished into the trees. Branches snapped in a series of thunderous, echoing cracks that reverberated throughout the forest. I lost sight of them. I barely even registered what had just happened at first, with the lingering effects of the compulsion and the pain still embedded into my skull. My hand drifted toward the scars over my left eye. They were bleeding.


    Sudden movement made me flinch. On instinct I fell back, just as a steel javelin buried itself in the snow where my head had been an instant before.


    The Penitents. They were attacking me.


    Good. Once my mind cleared, the surging feeling of anger that¡¯d begun in the moment the angel tried to compel me remained. It wasn¡¯t the burning heat of battle fury or blind rage, but something colder, more focused. The pain in my left eye helped.


    Pushing my confusion and discomfort into the back of my mind, I lunged forward from a kneeling position and swung my axe in the same motion. I caught the nearest Penitent off guard. Ignoring his cleaver, which clanged harmlessly off my armor, my axe split his helmet down its center seam. Blood spurted out of the narrow openings in his helm, some of it spraying me.


    The dead convict collapsed into the snow while I turned just in time to parry the mace of another soldier. The impact set my arms to shaking and made Faen Orgis¡¯s oak handle creak ominously.


    Strong. Not just that, but they did not conserve their strength. Every blow held a maniac fury behind it.


    And yet...


    Before Garihelm, I¡¯d spent years wandering the lands half in a fugue. I¡¯d barely cared if I lived or died, and I¡¯d not taken care of myself. My magic kept me strong, kept me healthy, but that could only go so far. The endless fighting and danger helped hone my skills, true, but I¡¯d eaten badly, slept worse. Now, though?


    I¡¯d spent a year in the capital. I¡¯d had more than just myself to worry about, more people to fail, so I¡¯d started taking stock of my own well being. Not all my preparations for the next battle were done in the seclusion of my study.


    And Myrice Gorgon had not been my squire¡¯s only sparring partner.


    The muscles beneath my armor were dense as they¡¯d ever been, my arms bulked by months of hard training and steady meals. Even after the struggle back at the inn, I felt fresh and steady. Had the weapon in my hand ever felt so light?


    "Come on then!¡± I snarled.


    The condemned closed in. More of them had those barbed javelins. One slammed into my backplate, throwing me off balance. A blade nearly took my ear and put a new groove along my pauldron.


    The masked faces of the Penitents, visages of saintly calm, did not reflect in the glints of their fevered eyes. Some had been blinded and wore sightless helms. How they fought so ably, I didn¡¯t know.


    With a shout, I took my axe in both hands and poured power into it. The handle of living oak, already soaked in blood, suddenly broke, stretched, bucked in my hands with such force I nearly lost my grip on it. It grew to the length of a halberd. I swung it overhead, whipping it about in a whirlwind motion that sent a blast of wind and auratic fire in all directions.


    A top layer of snow instantly melted in a ring around me, kicking up a cascade of steam. It blocked the pack of killers from my view, gave me cover.


    Gave them cover. A heavy broadsword clove through the cloud. I reflexively blocked it, lifting my lengthened axe like a quarterstaff.


    The sword split the oaken handle in half. I stumbled, momentarily stunned. One of the Penitents stood right in front of me, already bringing their sword back to drive it forward. This one had a crow faced visor with a long beak perforated with holes, the dome of the helm decorated with a spike. I could see dried blood on their armor where it had bled through the gaps, like the suit was cutting them.


    He froze suddenly, started to twitch as though he were suffering from seizure. Baring my teeth, I snapped forward in a swing but he moved with that uncanny dexterity they all seemed to possess, cringing away from me. The others did too, all seeming to suffer from the same simultaneous fit.


    A light blazed in the distant woods. It was cold, and made everything seem darker. I felt the magic in me react, and I recognized the sensation. I¡¯d felt it before, when the whole of Urn had been steeped in war.


    A Saint Immortal had been wounded. In that moment, an Angel of Onsolem felt pain


    .


    The light rose above the forest, blazing like an arctic star, then shot off as a comet into the distance. It moved with impossible speed, soon fading into a distant pinprick before being swallowed by the clouds. Thunder rumbled far off.


    The Penitents stretched and contorted. I could hear their muffled gasps and moans. Even as they suffered from whatever this was, they retreated from me into the night.


    I did not chase them. I stood there, breathing hard, axe half raised in expectation of some trick. I stood there for a long time, and only when I felt certain that they¡¯d gone did my heart stop racing and my mind start to form a coherent thought.


    A member of the Choir was working with the Priory. In addition, not all of the Onsolain were aware I¡¯d been given a new task. He¡¯d tried to force the truth out of me. He¡¯d used my own magic to do it when I¡¯d resisted his first attempt.


    My tension eased, but my anger did not.


    Snow crunched. I felt a cold shiver along my spine and spun. A form limped out of the night. I summoned fire on my axe and held it up to illuminate whoever approached.


    Saska looked terrible, worse than she had after the explosion back at the inn. Her pretty dress was in ruins, her black hair a chaotic mop hanging down around her skinny shoulders. She¡¯d taken more injuries, and her form seemed... somehow less than solid, like a mirage. I had to blink several times to focus on it.


    Glamour. She was covering herself in illusion even as she walked towards me, but I caught sight of something before the human appearance reasserted itself. I only saw it as flickering shadows cast by the small woman over the trees from my own fire, but it had too many limbs, too many eyes, and was very large.


    ¡°Alken,¡± Saska breathed as she stepped into the radius of my light, wincing at it. ¡°Could you dim that a bit? It is... very bright.¡±


    I imagined it was. ¡°You¡¯re no malcathe,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re no elf or changeling either.¡±


    Saska must have sensed my demeanor, because she stopped walking. Her left arm was shredded, but even as I watched it seemed to be healing. The snow steamed and hissed wherever her blood landed on it.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t many things that can harm one of the celestial spirits,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Their own kind can do it, but you¡¯re no angel.¡±


    Saska¡¯s smile looked thin and cool in the shadows. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°And not one of the native spirits either.¡±


    Impatience crept into her voice. ¡°Keep running down your options, ser knight, you shall reach the truth you already know soon enough.¡±


    I felt surrounded by enemies and misdirections. An angel had just tried to take my mind and will away from me, and I¡¯d been saved by...


    Everything felt backwards. I needed to understand.


    ¡°The Keeper was once a crowfriar.¡± I spoke half to myself as I worked out the implications. ¡°An agent of Hell, either a damned soul or one of the infernal spirits originally. He freed himself, made some kind of deal and hid away in this land where his kin weren¡¯t welcome. He wasn¡¯t happy about his former brothers snooping around. When I originally told him, it seemed to set him off. I¡¯ve always thought he was just trying to misdirect me, but now I think he was afraid.¡±


    Saska took another step forward and lowered her voice. ¡°You have had a shock today. Your soul is in turmoil. I can see you are in distress, full of confusion, but you must calm yourself, Alken. I am not your enemy. Neither is Falstaff.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re both fugitives, aren¡¯t you? But the Credo doesn¡¯t know, or they might suspect but have no way to do anything about it yet. They¡¯ve been trying to provoke the Keeper into making a mistake.¡±


    Dis Myrddin. I remembered him snooping around the inn back in the city. I¡¯d believed he was conspiring with Falstaff at the time.


    ¡°Not provoke him...¡± I took a step back. ¡°Provoke you.¡±


    Saska took a deep, calming breath. She¡¯d fully regained her human appearance, and whatever I¡¯d glimpsed before was gone. Her black eyes looked distracted, and she seemed tired and hurt. I sensed nothing. Then again, I hadn¡¯t sensed anything twelve years ago, either. My magic wasn¡¯t infallible. There were beings who could hide from it.


    The body was human. Stolen, probably. The real Saska hid inside. It explained why I¡¯d sensed nothing, and why that grenade had been able to hurt her.


    ¡°I am not your enemy,¡± Saska repeated. ¡°But if your oaths compel you to seek this fight... then you will find it easy to smite me down. This land is not easy to dwell in, and it took nearly all my strength to drive that seraph away.¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± I thought I knew the answer, but didn¡¯t feel entirely sure.


    Saska didn¡¯t answer for a while. Her gaze went distant, reflective. ¡°This world is very old, and it is but a piece of something even older. You mortals always seek to simplify the whole of it. Angels and devils, gods and demons, good and evil. But some of us have no interest in the war for Creation. We simply wish to live. To exist.¡±


    She looked at me, and her eyes seemed to pull. They met mine, and were wide and dark as a starless sky, just as bottomless. ¡°So what shall you do, paladin? Choose. I am too old and tired to plead.¡±


    The hate I felt was an old one, and well earned. And yet... she¡¯d dwelt here for centuries. She¡¯d saved my life.


    ¡°Is Falstaff your prisoner?¡± I asked.


    Saska surprised me by laughing. ¡°Ah ha ha! I was his, once. Now...¡± She shrugged. ¡°There are no words for what we are. Two exiles living in a land that abhors us, seeking company in others who shy from the light. You can sympathize, no? You and dear Catrin had a similar rapport.¡±


    I turned my back on her, swallowing my unease. ¡°We need to get back. Chamael might return with reinforcements.¡±


    ¡°He tried to kill you,¡± Saska said at my back. ¡°I attacked him just as he gave those creatures the order.¡±


    Or did they attack me to defend him? Saska might be lying. Her kind were very good at lying.


    It was something I would have to investigate on my own. First, I needed to talk to the devil who¡¯d started this mess.

 Arc 7: Chapter 8: The Friars Tale

    Arc 7: Chapter 8: The Friar''s Tale


    They¡¯d started cleaning up the bodies by the time we returned, piling them outside in the cold where the frigid air would keep them from rotting. I tried not to think too hard about that.


    Of Eilidh, I saw no sign other than a pool of blood already drying by the wall. Neither did I find the Keeper or Vicar at first. Many of the guests who¡¯d been present when the attack started and some of the whores and hired hands were gathered in one big group, talking. They quieted when they saw me, and more than a few wore hard looks. Sans was with them.


    ¡°Do not mind them,¡± Saska muttered to me. ¡°They know what you once were, and what you are now, and they feel resentment. They believe you are a threat to this place.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you and Falstaff keep letting me back in here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The Keeper believes you are useful. He is more wary of the Credo Ferrum and the faeries, and feels your mixed loyalties make you a potential friend.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll never be that man¡¯s friend,¡± I said with more heat than I meant to.


    Saska¡¯s eyes danced. ¡°Because you watched him fondle me while you still thought I was a helpless waif? That was a fun day. The look on your face!¡±


    I scowled, which made her grin wider. That disconcerted me. Shouldn¡¯t she be more wary now that I¡¯d caught a glimpse of her true form? But she acted normal, like she didn¡¯t care. Perhaps she didn¡¯t, or simply didn¡¯t fear me.


    She¡¯d sent a member of the Choir running, so I highly doubted she feared me.


    I couldn¡¯t share in the attempt at humor. I¡¯d just stood by while a Thing of Darkness had wounded one of the God-Queen¡¯s own angels. The ramifications of that...


    Saska ushered me into one of the rooms behind the bar. I recognized it as the same private lounge where I¡¯d met her originally. The Keeper waited inside, seated on a couch while Renuart Kross sat on another of the seats arrayed around a low table.


    It was the first time I¡¯d ever seen the pretender knight out of his gray armor, ignoring the times he¡¯d taken more fiendish forms. He was stripped down to breeches and a simple shirt, with linen strips covering most of his exposed flesh. He looked haggard, scarred, and old. I¡¯d always placed his apparent age in the late forties, but he could have been a decade more just then. The gray in his hair looked starker.


    ¡°About time,¡± the Keeper snapped. ¡°Where have you¡ª¡±


    He saw Saska and shot to his feet. ¡°What happened?¡±


    The woman waved a lazy hand. ¡°I am fatigued, but I will recover.¡±


    Falstaff wore an expression I¡¯d never seen on him before, and never thought him capable of. Some mix of worry, sympathy, anger, and doubt. He quickly masked it, but the effect looked brittle. ¡°You need rest. And food.¡±


    ¡°I will hunt later.¡± She nodded to Kross. ¡°We must conduct business. This man has some questions to answer.¡±


    Falstaff slumped back into his seat. Saska slipped past me and settled into the crook of the lanky man¡¯s arm, snuggling close. Having glimpsed what she truly looked like, the domestic image it posed only made me feel more uncomfortable. The fact she hadn¡¯t changed and remained covered in blood and the remnants of a ruined dress didn¡¯t help either, though the Keeper seemed not to care.


    I did not sit. We all turned to face the crowfriar. He looked up and set his jaw.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about clamming up again,¡± Falstaff growled. ¡°You started this mess. Why are these Church men after you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that,¡± I said with some hesitance. ¡°There was an Onsolain with them, calling the shots.¡±


    Falstaff started. Kross¡¯s face turned ashen, which surprised me. ¡°You didn¡¯t know?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°I thought it one of the priors,¡± he admitted slowly. ¡°Some of them are very dangerous. Those you encountered in the capital were bureaucrats, men and women put there to present a tame face to the Emperor. The ones who truly command the Inquisition are... quite a different group.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t know about the angel?¡± I insisted.


    He hesitated. Saska shifted against her partner. It was a small movement, casual, but had an effect. Kross squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to deflate.


    ¡°It is complicated, and you won¡¯t believe most of it, Alken.¡±


    ¡°Try me.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± He opened his flint gray eyes and looked at me. ¡°After you killed Horace Laudner, the Priory fell into turmoil. It was a great scandal, the revelation that the Grand Prior was conspiring with occult forces. We had some of your allies on the Ardent Round to thank for that. The Emperor¡¯s southern wife, for one, and the Duchess of Gardend.¡± r??A?NO??¦¢E?s??


    Rosanna and Faisa. They¡¯d never told me, but I wasn¡¯t surprised they¡¯d been behind the smear campaign against the priors.


    ¡°But Horace and his circle wanted something that was always going to be too reliant on politics and popular support.¡± Kross leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. ¡°They wanted the influence to centralize the Church, create a true theocracy like back during the Crusades.¡±


    ¡°And your masters saw an opportunity to supplant our priests for your own purposes.¡± My jaw tightened.


    ¡°Indeed!¡± Kross¡¯s eyes flashed in irritation. ¡°Now are you going to let me finish my tale, or will you insist on interrupting every time you want to remind me just how evil I am?¡±


    I glared at him, but kept silent. Saska threw me a look that might have been sympathetic. Or mocking.


    Kross blew out a breath and continued. ¡°The original plan was to slowly, over the course of generations, induct the clergy into our operation. Through contract, manipulation, coercion, and the scouting of individuals sympathetic to our methods, we would eventually own the priesthood. No doubt there would be conflict, and the Choir of Heavensreach would eventually intervene, but they are divided, distracted, wounded, and leaderless. They are unable to conduct the war as they must, so we had to take the reins.¡±


    ¡°The war?¡± I asked. That sounded familiar.


    ¡°The war,¡± Kross said in an insistent tone. ¡°The only war that matters.¡±


    He did not elaborate. I chose not to interrupt again. Another had spoken similar words not long ago, and I¡¯d thought about them often since.


    ¡°My mission¡¯s goal was to unify the Church here in Urn and prepare it to once again be a true instrument against the real enemy,¡± Kross explained. ¡°Against the Traitor Magi, all of them, the Lords of Ruin, the legions of heretics and demons and hordes of pretenders, and all other manner of evil intent on burning all Creation into a useless wasteland.¡± He took a breath. ¡°You may not like it, Alken, but Orkael was once vassal to the Throne of God. It may be a brutal tool, but Hell is an instrument of order.¡±


    He spread his hands out, growing more flamboyant as his narrative progressed. ¡°This land was meant to be a fortress against the Adversary. Why do you think the Onsolain tolerate all the wars and infighting amongst your nobility? The Choir wants warlords. They like your leaders as zealous brutes half a step removed from the barbarians they were before the Exodus. They want you mired in faith and ideals of crusade. They want an army.¡±


    ¡°So why do we need you?¡± I asked. ¡°If you and the Choir are on the same side?¡±


    Kross snorted. ¡°We are not. The Choir here in Urn is a sad shadow of the original, fractured and confused. We are here because they are doing this badly. The truth is, half the current crop of so called angels were in fact the pagan godlings who inhabited this world before the God-Queen arrived. They have little interest in a divine crusade or some distant cosmic war for the dominance of Creation. They mire themselves in their old habits and butt heads with the Heir¡¯s original followers, all while more cracks appear in the barriers that guard this world and the real conflict spills through.¡±


    I glanced at Falstaff and Saska. They were listening, and did not look confused or ready to argue. Almost like none of this was news to them.


    ¡°So you¡¯re here to put things to right?¡± I asked with unmasked skepticism. ¡°Show the Choir how it¡¯s done?¡±


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Kross, or Vicar ¡ª whatever I was supposed to actually call him ¡ª seemed to grow more subdued. ¡°We worked independently for a while. We believed it would take generations to make a difference. But the situation in Urn is far worse than our intelligence led us to believe. The elven realm lost, the Archon who was tasked by the God-Queen to act as steward in Her absence murdered by his own knights. Rebels and heretics scattered across the land, and a tenuous and easily broken peace held together by a tired old soldier the only thing preventing total ruin.¡±


    He painted such a depressed picture of my homeland. And yet... I couldn¡¯t find the words to argue.


    Kross leaned forward and lowered his voice. ¡°And above all, a Demon Prince released into the very heart of this land. Do you even know who currently sits in the ruins of Elfhome?¡±


    I hesitated before answering, realizing I knew little besides a name and a face that haunted my nightmares. ¡°Ager Roth.¡±


    Saska shivered. Falstaff¡¯s jaw visibly tightened.


    ¡°He is a warlord of the same armies that sacked Heaven and drove the God-Queen and Her followers into these lands,¡± Kross said. ¡°A general, and a contender for the Throne. I have no clue why he appeared when Tuvon was killed. He must have been waiting on the other side, stranded in the places between perhaps or simply waiting for this opportunity. The Archon was both a keeper of seals that protect this world from the greater weight of the Wending Roads, and he was himself a seal. When he died, those barriers broke and the Gorelion came through. It is quite possible that was the goal, though I cannot say why the Alder Knights would want such a thing.¡±


    Neither could I. That day had been madness. Had the other knights even known what they did, or had Reynard and his demons tricked them? ¡°What do you mean the greater weight of theWending Roads?¡±


    Falstaff picked up the explanation. ¡°The Wend that touches this sphere is a closed system. It has been for most of a thousand years now. The God-Queen of Urn wanted to stop all the madness spilling through from Onsolem, so she took the Roads and tangled them up, closed the way to the Divine Kingdom and isolated this world. Trick is, now we¡¯re all trapped here with no way to reach more distant lands. It¡¯s why the Sheols were made. Sanctums were needed to hold the souls of the dead since all the true afterlives were lost in the bargain. Draubard is the largest of these.¡±


    ¡°Not true,¡± Kross said. ¡°Orkael has that honor.¡±


    Falstaff waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Largest here. In any case, it was all meant to be temporary. But the war¡¯s spilling through, this world is getting more crowded with corpses and ghosts and demons and godlings who don¡¯t know what the fuck to do, and there¡¯s no sign of anyone¡¯s great savior.¡±


    Everyone fell quiet for several minutes. I sensed they were giving me time to absorb everything. I took it gratefully, feeling like a man in the desert starved for water. I¡¯d spent my life fighting petty wars and petty villains. This all felt so much bigger.


    ¡°You see how high the stakes are,¡± Kross said as though reading my mind. ¡°The war for Heaven has come to your little backwater bundle of petty kingdoms, Alken Hewer, and you must either adjust to its gravity or be crushed. Ager Roth is a weapon of armageddon. We do not know why he has been so quiet, but it is only a matter of time before he acts. We cannot afford patience or caution.¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°We¡¯re getting off topic. What happened after I killed Horace?¡±


    Kross nodded, acknowledging my point. ¡°The first thing that happened was that I tried to kill Lias Hexer.¡±


    I startled at that. ¡°What?¡±


    The devil laughed. ¡°What did you expect? He is a wild card, uncontrollable and harboring his own complex ambitions. In other words, a threat. Oraise ended up being the balancing factor between us. For someone with no powers either occult or auratic, that man is very dangerous. Horace groomed him as an asset from an early age.¡±


    ¡°So Lias is still alive?¡± I asked, not sure what answer I wanted.


    Kross nodded. ¡°We came to an accord. The three of us returned to Durelyon, the traditional seat of the Priory of the Arda, and there your old friend... convinced the other priors to put him in charge. He operated behind the scenes with me and Oraise, restructuring, planning. I believe he felt guilty for what he¡¯d done, but Master Hexer is also a very practical man. He was intent on making the best of it.¡±


    ¡°And how did he do that?¡±


    ¡°He had two things at his disposal,¡± Kross explained. ¡°All the stored knowledge of the priors, their resources, which included both an army of priests and the priorguard as a militant force. And he had us.¡± He placed a hand to his chest. ¡°The crowfriars. Of course, my brother and sister friars did not trust the wizard. Neither did I, but as I worked with him I began to see something they did not.¡±


    He trailed off, compelling me to speak again. ¡°What was that?¡±


    Kross frowned. ¡°Hope, perhaps? Respect? Even admiration.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Lias sees how broken the world is and wants to do something about it. He refuses to rely on gods and angels to save humanity. He is an unabashed iconoclaste who wishes for humanity to take the reins of its own fate. Foolish, and yet... he can be convincing.¡±


    ¡°...He can be that,¡± I agreed after a moment¡¯s pause.


    ¡°With the Priory¡¯s resources and occult expertise, Lias saw an opportunity to fill the gap left by the loss of the Alder Table. A new order of knowledgeable, potent soldiers capable of facing any demon or supernatural threat. We recruited, sought expertise in... unconventional places. Master Hexer and I managed to convince Chamael to assist us, which helped give our operation a certain legitimacy.¡±


    ¡°How did you manage that?¡± Saska asked. ¡°I would think the Cupbearer less than inclined to cooperate. He is considered among the most dutiful of all the Onsolain to their queen¡¯s memory.¡±


    ¡°Exactly so,¡± Kross agreed. ¡°The Saint of Blood is a compassionate spirit, and harbors many of his own doubts as to the unity of his pantheon. Lias insisted on a balancing factor against the less gentle methods of my own realm. Chamael mitigates the suffering of the Penitents, allowing them to function without being mere hollow shells of torment.¡±


    A cold feeling found its way into my chest. ¡°Lias is responsible for restoring the Knights Penitent?¡±


    Kross did not let me down easy. ¡°Yes. I believe he intended to model them after you. The originals, the ones who were made by the last Inquisition during the plague years, were tortured for sadism as much as zealotry, drawn from perceived heretics and the castoffs of society. It was all very arbitrary. But those truly spurred by their sins, given strength by their desire for redemption? They can be mighty indeed, if given the proper tools.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to say. The idea I¡¯d inspired those wretches made me want to vomit.


    Kross fell quiet, but this time it lacked the air of dramatic expectancy and instead seemed more pensive. The crowfriar¡¯s eyes slid from my face.


    ¡°To explain the next part, you must understand something else. When the God-Queen tangled the Wending Roads, Orkael was cut off. There were members of my order in Edaea at the time, and other more distant regions. We worked for centuries to regain contact, and only managed it thanks to a particular artifact.¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°No... you¡¯re serious? I always wondered how you bastards managed it, but I just assumed...¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Kross asked with a faint, fatigued smile. ¡°That we sacrificed a thousand newborn babies? Burned ten thousand holy totems? Brute force can only get you so far. We managed to find the smallest of incisions, an old wound in the Roads still latched to this world. From there, all we needed was to get a signal through.¡±


    My head was starting to hurt. ¡°What the goring hell are you two talking about?¡±


    Falstaff¡¯s face had twisted into a scowling mask. Something was bothering him deeply. ¡°Every crowfriar mission in every land Orkael decides to infiltrate is entrusted with a device. It¡¯s the Credo¡¯s most treasured possession, their holy grail, their guiding angel and their iron shackle all at once.¡±


    Kross¡¯s smile turned thin. ¡°You spent too much time listening to Ignatz. It is a tool. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a fragment of a god,¡± Falstaff hissed. ¡°Only a fool would think of it as a mere tool.¡±


    ¡°Can someone explain to me what the fuck everyone is talking about?¡± I asked in exasperation. So much for all my months playing at being a scholar. Maybe I should have brought Lisette along after all.


    ¡°It is a scroll,¡± Kross said. ¡°Fashioned from skin and held on a roll of iron. We refer to it as a Zoscian Codex, or a Volumen of Zos.¡±


    ¡°It was made by the first king of Hell,¡± Falstaff said. ¡°He was an archangel of Onsolem a very, very long time ago. He founded the Iron Tribunal, dug the first pits that held demonkind, beat back the Abyss during an ancient incursion. He wrote the Laws of Hell, and over time they were added to. The denizens of Hell call it Zos.¡±


    Kross nodded at his former compatriot. ¡°Every edict of devil kind, every bargain struck for a soul, every order given and nation claimed, it¡¯s all inscribed there. Think of Zos like the god of Hell, only it¡¯s not an individual but a construct. The Iron Tribunal reads its will and enacts it. A Zoscian is a piece of it, entrusted to a mission of crowfriars so they can forge new contracts.¡±


    It was then I recalled what the angels of Hell called themselves. The Zosite. They were the disciples of Zos, which was not so much a being as this eldritch library of rules and contracts. It seemed so strange to me, to worship raw information like that instead of a monarch or similar leader you could relate to. I¡¯d much rather feel some affection for the one who told me where to wield my blade.


    ¡°Which is where the trouble started,¡± Kross stated darkly. ¡°The Zoscian has power. If you know the script, the language of Zos, then you can alter it, even add rules to it. There are stopgaps, ways in which it protects itself and we protect it, but to one who knows what they are doing...¡±


    I realized the implication. ¡°You can bend the powers of Hell to your will. Change how it works.¡±


    ¡°You can open the gaols that hold the demons,¡± Falstaff said. ¡°Other things too, but that¡¯s among the biggest risks.¡±


    I sensed we were drawing closer to why Chamael and the Knights Penitent were hunting Kross. ¡°So you have this thing? Here, in Urn?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not exactly something I carry around,¡± the crowfriar said in a dry voice. ¡°But it can be summoned. You saw it once already.¡±


    I remembered. The thing Horace Laudner had tried to sign before I¡¯d chopped his head off. The scroll Lias put his blood on that night. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Vicar? Why is the Priory hunting you?¡±


    ¡°The new Grand Prior believes I have betrayed him,¡± Kross said. ¡°He has good reason to think so.¡±


    ¡°Lias?¡± I asked.


    But Kross shook his head. ¡°No. Lias Hexer did not want such an exposed role. He preferred to operate quietly, an advisor to the priests. The new Grand Prior is another. He seemed safe at first, amicable to our plans and good at the political side of our initiative, much less ambitious than Horace yet just as willing to dispense with convention to gain results. In truth, I dismissed him. A mistake.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked.


    Kross glanced at Falstaff, a look of worry marking his weathered features for a moment. He hesitated, then told us.


    ¡°The Zoscian has been stolen. Lias Hexer has gone missing, and is considered the most likely culprit. The Priory believes I helped him do it. I am not the one they are truly hunting.¡±


    He met my eyes. ¡°They are trying to find your old comrade before he uses the key to Hell¡¯s power to do something that cannot be reversed. I have been trying to find you, Alken, because I need you to help me track him down.¡±

 Update, Postponed Chapter

    Update, Postponed Chapter


    Hey folks. I wanted to throw this post up so no one was left wondering where the chapter was. Starting last night and continuing into this morning, heavy rains and a clogged mainline beneath my building caused my apartment, a basement level unit, to flood with sewage water. It filled the entire unit and soaked through my carpets, which as you can imagine was a fun thing to wake up to.


    I¡¯ve been dealing with this for over 26 hours now, and it has unfortunately put me behind on my writing. I do not have tonight¡¯s chapter ready. It¡¯s nearly done, but I haven¡¯t had the attention to give it proper proof reads and bring it up to standard. For this reason, I¡¯ll be postponing the next post. I¡¯ll try to have it up tomorrow, but I can¡¯t promise an exact time.


    Very sorry for the delay,


    Sov


    P.S. I need 500 words to make a Royal Road post, so I decided to include a list of some proper nouns that¡¯ve become common in the narrative. Hope they¡¯re helpful! This is a very self indulgent and rambling writeup and might contain information I haven¡¯t explicitly shared in the story yet, so read at your own risk.


    Aura: Energy that radiates from living things, said to be the emanations of the soul. It allows mere mortals to express their will in ways beyond the purely physical.


    Phantasm: A construct of aura, which can be deliberately created by someone who¡¯s awakened the ability to use their aura or naturally in the wild thanks to the interaction of various supernatural phenomena in the world.


    Auratic Art:


    Sometimes also called a Soul Art, these are techniques cultivated by practitioners of magic to perform some specific function using a phantasm, or a construct of aura. They are used by soldiers as often as sorcerers, and are a mainstay of warfare especially in the subcontinent of Urn. Some are unique to specific individuals, some are inherited, and some manifest from impactful events in nature or history that can then be refined into a usable power.


    Aureflame: A physical emanation of aura which often appears as flame. Many phantasms are made of aureflame, strictly speaking, but it is most often used in reference to particularly pure and refined spiritual energy like that used by the Knights of the Alder Table.


    Od: Spiritual potentia lingering in the world after aura has burned off. It is most often thought of as the ¡°shadow¡± of aura, a lasting impression of the emanations of the soul that permeate much of the world. It can often take shape as ghosts and other spirits, and over time can even spark new life and awareness in vessels which are typically inert, such as old trees, hills, and even storm clouds. It is theorized that fear, awe, and worship from living beings can speed up this process. Many beings in the world, such as ogres and earthly gods, are created this way either by accident or design.


    Elf: Sometimes called The Sidhe, The Old Children, Irks, and Faeries, elves are a wide collective of semi-immortal beings who have inhabited the world of the Alderes for countless ages. They can take many forms and have created many civilizations of their own. Their fey nature can make them both fickle and affectionate, wise and whimsical, loving and wrathful, all of which has made their shared history with humanity complicated. They are often inexplicably drawn to mortals, despite the unhappy results these meetings often culminate in.


    Changelings: The half-breed children of elves and mortals. Tied to flesh and cursed with finite existence by their human parentage, while given partially liquid shapes like their fey ancestors, they often appear malformed and monstrous. Though some rare examples are known to possess an alien beauty, none can be mistaken for anything but what they are; the misbegotten results of incompatible existences, cursed to live forever between two worlds and often abhorred by both. Despite this, the eons long lives of elves and short memories of humanity mean that more changelings are made regularly, especially since these bastard children rarely find affection outside of their own kind, leading to successive generations of births with ever more inscrutable results. For this reason, the world is full of half-mortal creatures with uncertain origins, some tracing their ancestries back so far into the dim depths of history that it is no longer certain what ancient union created them. They lurk in the fringes of the world, some wishing only to be left in peace and others stewing in resentment...


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Trolls: Technically a subspecies of elf, these nightmarish sentinels are all gnarled, ancient, and sullen. Though known for their carnivorous appetites and foul moods, their roles in the guarding of ancient leylines and significant crossings from even worse beings has left trollkind in an odd position of tolerance by humanity. The world is old and full of hidden evils, and there are many hidden cracks in the barriers that guard sane reality from what lies beyond. Trolls watch these festered wounds, and for the price of their chosen toll they will continue to keep watch even until the world¡¯s warmth wanes and they can bask in cold silence again...


    Angels:


    Celestial spirits possibly even older than the elves, distinct in that they originated from beyond the earthly realm and descended down from the unchecked colds and heats of the starry void. As varied in form and temperament as the Sidhe, from winged seraphs to more surreal shapes, they are the exiles and castaways of distant, cosmic empires.


    Onsolain: A collective of angels, earthly demigods, and the most ancient and potent of elves who bent the knee to the God-Queen upon Her descent into this world nearly a thousand years ago. They are collected into a concilium known as the Choir of Onsolem, named in honor of the heavenly realm their queen was forced to abandon as the endless war for Creation raged. There was once another Choir, and some of the original, true Onsolain who once basked in the brilliant fires of Heaven still remember the glory they have lost.


    Heavensreach: A towering pinnacle of the Fences of Urn where the Choir of Onsolem holds council. Built up from the highest mountain in the range, it is said to pierce through the very shell of clouds and air that encircle the mortal world and touch upon the vastness of the celestial void beyond.


    Malcathe: A common, if slightly deragoatory word coined by the elves to refer to any being whose ancestry cannot be easily traced to Sidhe, Mortal, or Divine parentage. Oftentimes they are simply born of many generations of further interbreeding between changeling parents, but many in fact hold either Infernal or even Abyssal roots, being vampires, kin of fiends, the twisted offspring of heretical rites, or even dreaded cambions.


    The Wending Roads: Sometimes simply called the Wend or the Old Roads, these are a vast and complex system of phantasmal pathways that encircle, riddle, and bleed into the material world. They act as a borderland between the mortal coil and many more distant, even extraplanar realities. Once, they formed connections across the stars that beings such as the Onsolain could traverse, all connecting to the divine kingdom of Onsolem where the God of Creation held court. However, that fabled path is now closed and it is said that Heaven is in the hands of demons and heretics, glutted victors of a catastrophic war that shook the very firmament.


    Hell: Sometimes called the Great Sheol, The Lakes of Flame and Fume, Inferno, and the Sixty Six Rings, this is among the most infamous and vast of the Realms Immortal. Stretching across the hinterlands of the divine tapestry that is Creation, it lies atop and encircles the deeper, even more dismal maw of the Abyss. Cruel angels, ancient gods, damned souls , the ruins of forgotten empires, and hungering demons dwell here along older, less easily named things.


    Orkael: The greatest demesne of Hell, also called the Iron Realm and Prime Infernium. Orkael is the seat of the Zosite, the mighty devils who guard the greatest breach into the Abyss and work tirelessly to imprison the demons who spill forth endlessly from that gaping maw. Though ordained by the God of Creation in a long ago age, it has become a brazen and independent power as anarchy spreads across the cosmos. It is ruled by the Iron Tribunal, a council of infernal angels who read the will of Zos.


    The Abyss: A realm that lies beneath Hell, though it is not contained and bleeds across the worlds, strongholds, and dimensions of Creation. It is the home of demons.


    Abgru?dai: A race of demonkind who defied the will of the Second God and flooded forth from the Abyss long ago. They are innumerable and ravenous, yet among the forgotten gods and dreaming titans who dwell in the Abyss they are unusually intelligent and drawn toward mortal kind, who they work to corrupt and twist into their own image. Though they are native to the Abyss, they have spread across Creation like a plague and return to their home only with great struggle. The vast majority of them dwell in Hell, which they war over incessantly with the Zosite, or in Heaven, which they sacked more than a millennia ago in a lunatic feast that left no victors.

 Arc 7: Chapter 9: Stories

    Arc 7: Chapter 9: Stories


    A lingering, weighty silence followed Kross¡¯s words. The devils and dark things in the room turned their faces to look at me, all of them waiting, expecting me to react.


    I drew in a deep breath, let it out, then turned to the door. ¡°No.¡±


    Kross blinked at me. ¡°What? What do you mean, no?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said again with a shrug. ¡°Lias can go to hell. Literally, I guess. He got himself into this mess, and I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll find a way to weasel out of it. I have other things to do.¡± Too many things.


    Kross stood to his feet and lurched toward me, only to wince and clutch his side. ¡°But... after everything I just told you? Did none of that sink in!?¡±


    ¡°It all sounded very important and complicated,¡± I agreed. ¡°But what it boils down to is that you made an alliance with the least trustworthy man I know and he burned you. I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s halfway across Edaea by now. I¡¯m not going to waste time looking for him.¡±


    Kross spoke through his teeth. ¡°An angel is hunting for him, along with my own order and a regiment of implacable, tireless soldiers. If they catch him, they will kill him and take the Zoscian back.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his problem.¡± I paused before opening the door and turned back. ¡°What did you expect, Vicar? Lias betrayed me. He turned his back on the queen we both swore our lives to. I¡¯ve already mourned my old friend. Now, he¡¯s just...¡± I trailed off, then shook my head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s his consequence. I¡¯m happy to let him pay it.¡±


    ¡°And the artifact?¡± Kross demanded. ¡°Have I not given you a strong enough notion as to how dangerous it is in the wrong hands?¡±


    ¡°Dangerous to you, yes. What did you call him? An iconoclaste? A powerful wizard who doesn¡¯t like the gods with an object that lets him rewrite the laws of Hell. I imagine that¡¯s got your masters sweating.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t say what Lias might do with the thing. If I were him, I¡¯d shut the doors to this world in the devils¡¯ faces and let that solve at least one of our problems. It would solve a lot of problems...


    ¡°It¡¯s not just him.¡± Falstaff sighed and also stood, which made Saska pout. ¡°Vicar has a point. What if someone else finds him first? Think about what might have happened if that witch Hyperia had the means to open any abyssal gaol she wanted. It would have made Seydis look like a carnival.¡±


    I paused. That was a disturbing thought. ¡°Lias is capable of handling himself,¡± I reasoned.


    ¡°He is alone.¡± Kross took a step closer to me, almost near enough to reach out and grasp my shoulder. ¡°It is only a matter of time before what¡¯s happening gets out. The more time passes, the more factions will be hunting for the magician. He will be caught, sooner rather than later, and if we don¡¯t find him first...¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want you to find him?¡± I shook my head. ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to let things return to the status quo? I¡¯m happy you¡¯ve lost your means to damn more souls, Vicar. Why would you think I¡¯d just give it back to you?¡±


    ¡°You are being a fool,¡± he hissed. ¡°This is about something bigger. The Zoscian is a weapon. It must be secured.¡±


    We matched glares for a while. Falstaff broke our stalemate. ¡°Whatever the case, you made a mistake drawing so much attention to yourself. People in my community know who you are, Renuart. They¡¯re going to ask questions, and before long they¡¯ll know what¡¯s going on. You¡¯ve kicked off a free-for-all manhunt.¡±


    He clapped the other man on the shoulder, who winced at the impact. ¡°Congratulations. You¡¯re fucked. Now I want you out of my inn. I¡¯m pulling us into the Wend before dawn and I¡¯m not coming back out until this blows over. I¡¯ll give anyone who wants a chance to jump ship, but I won¡¯t wait long.¡±


    He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. While I¡¯d considered using the inn as a means of travel, I¡¯d decided against it. The Keeper seemed intent on staying out of anything that might cause him more harm, and there was no telling when he¡¯d open his doors again. Better to be on my way.


    The Keeper hesitated, then reached into a pocket and produced something. He handed it to me, and it turned out to be a small medallion on a leather string. Made of brass with a ring of silver, it had a symbol stamped into the front, a broken hourglass turned onto its side so the sand spilled out.


    ¡°That belongs to Eilidh,¡± Falstaff told me. I frowned and looked at it more closely as he elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s a marker for her family, given to me when she started her tenure here as collateral. She comes from a clan of bankers and scriveners. Good family. Not nobles, but influential.¡±


    ¡°How did she end up here?¡± I asked.


    The Keeper¡¯s customary sneer returned. ¡°To a brothel, you mean? Haven¡¯t you been paying attention? Everyone¡¯s got a story, Hewer. Hers isn¡¯t mine to tell. You¡¯re still going to Tol, right?¡±


    I eyed him warily, but he just pointed at the locket. ¡°Eilid¡¯s older brother runs a business there. Show him this, and he¡¯ll do whatever you ask within reason. He¡¯s no one special, but the family has connections.¡±


    I nodded slowly, wondering why he gave me this. Contrition? I doubted it from him. More likely this was some scheme, but I¡¯d play along. ¡°What should I tell him about his sister?¡±


    Falstaff¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Nothing, if you¡¯re smart. He¡¯ll know not to ask questions.¡±


    I secured the locket in a pouch along my belt and turned toward the door. I ignored Kross¡¯s angry stare. He was on his own, same as me. Same as most of us.


    Same as Lias. I had a mission and a hundred questions for the Choir when I next made contact. A better man might have tried to help his friend, no matter what he¡¯d done in the past.


    But I was not a good man. Any god, angel, or devil who knew me would say the same.


    I went about two hundred paces from the edge of the inn¡¯s yard. When I turned, there was nothing there. Just a patch of sickly looking ground with the blasted remnants of a rotted foundation poking up from the snow.


    I stroked Morgause¡¯s neck. She seemed eager to be off, her panting breaths misting into the chilly night. I had only an hour or two before dawn. I felt it. A shiver of energy in the deep woodland darkness, a sense of anticipation as day prepared to draw its first waking breath.


    And yet, that darkest, quietest part of night before sunrise is often the most dangerous. Taking a breath to steal myself, aware that I¡¯d not gotten the chance to rest, eat, or recuperate for my long journey as I¡¯d hoped, I spurred my steed on.


    In the gloom, in the crevices of the forest, in the deep hollows of sleeping trees and from beneath frozen roots, the dead emerged to follow me. I felt their hunger, their eagerness, and yet it held a different quality than before. Through the long years of my purgatory, they¡¯d always seemed intent on feeding off my pain. They still were, I knew, but they were hungrier for something else now.


    They anticipated the battle to come because they knew that in that bloodshed I would have to draw on the flame within me, and chase away the cold.


    I knew because part of me also wanted it.


    Five days.


    I left Reynwell and forged into the deeper forests of the Cairnhurst, skirting along the edges of the Bannerlands. There were rumors of bloodshed in the Banners, just like there were rumors of burned townships and skirmishes between soldiers in the Baerns.


    Fighting in the west. Fighting in the east. Would I find the same in the south? As I made my little campfire again and settled for a bitterly cold morning to give both Morgause and me some hours to rest, I felt like I could see it all. I¡¯d studied maps in Garihelm, to familiarize myself with the lands I strove to protect with my grim, lonely crusades, and had a clearer picture of it in my mind than at any previous point in my life.


    I daydreamed of that scrap of parchment burning, little motes of flame flaring up across its lines and labels, expanding, spreading until the whole of it curled away into a dimming cascade of embers.


    In that same vision, it happened as quietly and inconsequentially as if I had only burned a map. If the war being waged in my homeland was truly so vast, so cosmic in scope, then what would it matter if it all burned and vanished? Just another ghost of a memory, remembered by none but those who¡¯d endured so long through the eons that it did not move them.


    When the vampire Laertes talked of these things, it hadn¡¯t really registered. I¡¯d had plenty more to worry about near at hand, and he¡¯d sounded like any other immortal dealing out ideas of time and destiny like they were bread crumbs he deigned to gift to us mere mortals. And yet, the more I thought about it, the more I turned it over and over in my head...


    The angrier I became.


    It was another cloudy day, but even if it weren¡¯t the sun would hardly dare to delve too greedily into the depths of the Cairnhurst. It was an old forest, grown thick and tall in labyrinthine paths. There were ancient ruins everywhere from some old kingdom or other, overgrown, some sinking into the depths of the earth as the wild took them. The Wend lingered close to the mortal world here, shifting through the forest like banks of mist and refractions of light.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    It reminded me of Seydis, in some ways. Only, the river valleys and green rainforests around Elfhome were long tamed by the Sidhe, refashioned to their liking. All the illusions, the marble phantasms, and the hidden burrow-worlds in that realm had been to the delight and glory of the elves, woven like tapestries are woven, raised and sculpted like cathedrals.


    Not here. Here the magic grew wild. It grew teeth.


    For the twelfth time in the past hour, I took a single twig of wood taken from one of the trees and held it up to my lips. I breathed onto the very mildly cursed piece of oak, and it flickered with almost metallic gold-white flames for a moment. I then tossed it onto the fire, which drank it hungrily. Then, taking up my carving knife I went back to work on my axe¡¯s handle, shaving it down and shaping it into something more comfortable to hold. I did this for ten minutes. Not so much as a breeze rustled the canopy. Morgause¡¯s tufted ears twitched, but she did not rise from where she lay curled nearby.


    Without raising my eyes from my work I said, ¡°I know you¡¯re there. May as well come out and say what you want to say.¡±


    A twig snapped. An intentional bit of drama, one I didn¡¯t react to. The shadows within the gap between two tall trees that curled together like twisted roots toward their tops grew suddenly more solid. Twin red eyes, dimly burning like coals, appeared in that spot of darkness.


    A guttural, sinister voice spoke. ¡°How long have you known I followed?¡±


    The voice held the cadence of a bestial growl, yet it lacked volume, as though it emerged from a further depth than the floating eyes implied.


    ¡°Two days now,¡± I said with just a brief glance up. ¡°I think Morgause has known for three.¡±


    The scadumare watched the presence with her scarlet eyes open wide, ears back and sharp teeth exposed. She otherwise made no sound or movement.


    The voice lowered into a true growl. I couldn¡¯t tell if it were a thoughtful noise or an angry one.


    I inhaled deeply, set my axe down, and leaned forward to put my whole attention on the hidden figure. ¡°I¡¯m not going to change my mind, so why are you stalking me?¡±


    There was a deep snort, then a single huge paw emerged from the hollow. A long, scarred snout followed, muzzle wrinkled and leathery. The black nose twitched, just before the jaws beneath parted to reveal iron teeth. Those burning eyes glared at me, into me. I felt their heat, real and intense as the campfire¡¯s warmth on my skin. If not for the aura I¡¯d been feeding into that fire, I suspected the effect would be stronger.


    The black wolf took another tentative step forward on paws heavy enough to crush a man¡¯s ribcage. It paused just at the edge of the campfire¡¯s light, just like the ghost of Orson Falconer had done. It growled angrily and pulled back.


    ¡°Just as I thought,¡± I said with satisfaction. ¡°You¡¯re just another ghost, aren¡¯t you? A damned, devil-touched soul only made stronger because of the hellfire mixed up with you. And before you bother asking, no. I don¡¯t invite you to share my campfire.¡±


    Vicar¡¯s heavy breaths were audible even over the crackling flames. ¡°Is that what all this theater was about? Proving a point? Testing a theory?¡±


    His voice in this form sounded very different. As Renuart Kross he had a cultured voice, strong and confident like a well learned soldier, weighty with experience and stern wisdom. As the wolf, he sounded angry, bitter, the unnatural voice shivering with resentful hunger.


    I wondered if this was his true form, even more so than the burned monk he¡¯d appeared as during Emma¡¯s trial. I¡¯d only seen this shape once before, back when he¡¯d intervened in my fight with Lias.


    ¡°I make these fires every day,¡± I told him honestly. ¡°They help keep the weaker spirits away, and they eat all the wild curses.¡±


    The wolf started to pace. It wasn¡¯t quite a wolf, I realized. It was near big as any dire wolf I¡¯d seen, but its fur was shorter, its head more blunt in shape. Scars and scorch marks covered its hide, which sported festering wounds.


    It had something of the wolf in its long hackles and tufted ears, though. A hellhound.


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡± The beast¡¯s chuckle made my skin crawl. ¡°Since you lost your little drow ring, I imagine the spirits of the dead ravage your dreams. You know, most who are cursed as you are go mad very quickly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve learned to cope.¡± I shifted and settled back. Though I wasn¡¯t exactly safe from him inside the campfire, I got the sense he wanted to talk. ¡°Nice trick with the medallion, by the way. I didn¡¯t realize you Zosite devils did favors for your prisoners.¡±


    The hound stopped its pacing a ways to my left. It seemed to be testing the edges of the light, like it searched for weaknesses in the ring. ¡°The succubus tricked us. I did not realize she¡¯d slipped a parasite into the medallion until after I took it back from you beneath Rose Malin.¡±


    ¡°Sure. You carried that thing around, waiting for the chance to use it while you twisted your knives, but the demon shadow hiding in it, that was just an accident.¡±


    He trailed into silence for a time. I blew out a frozen breath and folded my cloak more tightly around my shoulders. ¡°If you think I¡¯m going after Lias and hope to find him by following me, you¡¯ll be disappointed. I already have business.¡±


    The hellhound¡¯s head tilted curiously. ¡°A task? From the emperor, or...¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer. Vicar seemed to be thinking, working through the implications himself.


    ¡°Either way, I don¡¯t have time to be sidetracked.¡± I looked up and fixed the fiendish wolf with a hard look. ¡°Nor do I care to have a devil following me around.¡±


    He started pacing again, baring his metal teeth. ¡°¡®Get thee behind me,¡¯ is that it?¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡± My hand drifted toward my axe, something the crowfriar did not miss.


    ¡°We do not have to be in conflict, Alder Knight. I am hunted and friendless, and you are alone and surrounded by enemies and conspiracy. We can be useful to one another.¡±


    ¡°Desperate friends make quick enemies. You heard that one? You seem like the type who¡¯s heard that one.¡± I snorted and narrowed my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t you have some unholy relic to go sniff out? Off with you, mutt. I¡¯m tired, and have plenty more miles to go.¡±


    ¡°To Tol?¡±


    My eyes snapped open. The devil cackled. ¡°Yes! I heard the name when Falstaff spoke it. You are heading south, into Osheim, into the war weary country that shields Kingsmeet. The place where the great civil war of Urn truly started...¡±


    ¡°You know you can make anything sound like a prophecy if you try hard enough?¡± I said conversationally, gesturing with my knife. ¡°Watch, I¡¯ll do it. In the depths of the Cairn Trees, a very ugly dog who likes to sniff his own ass spoke many fancy words to a knight who doesn¡¯t give a shit, but lo! He so loved the sound of his own voice, he did not realize when the listener began to snore...¡±


    Vicar growled angrily. ¡°Jest all you wish, but you travel blindly into a storm and mock the only guide at your disposal. I am following you because


    you are going south, because I know what transpires there, and I believe our destinations and goals may be more aligned than you think.¡±


    I had no ready quip for that. I stared into the middle distance, trying not to react.


    Vicar paced into my line of vision. He seemed to blend with the darkness, given shape only by his metal teeth and burning eyes. ¡°Ask your questions. Ask me what I know of Osheim.¡±


    I leaned back against my packs. ¡°No. Be off with you.¡±


    ¡°Fool. Your stubbornness will damn you.¡±


    ¡°So will you. Now go away.¡±


    I left the forest on the sixth day after quitting the Backroad Inn. Not wanting any trouble, I dodged patrols from a Bannerlands border count, and that cost me another two. It would have been three, but I lost them in a blizzard. By the time I¡¯d entered the rugged northern hills of Harvesvane, thirteen days had passed since I¡¯d left Garihelm.


    I traveled at night, using my own abilities and my mount¡¯s nocturnal nature to move unseen when most were abed. I skirted villages, hunted for my meals. I stopped making fires as the land became more populated, relying on the magic in me to keep from freezing to death.


    On occasion, I¡¯d cover myself with glamour so my crimson cloak turned dun brown, my fine armor into the sturdy leathers of a freesword, and sneak into a roadside inn and listen to traveler¡¯s gossip. It was all much the same as what the necromancer Sans had talked of. Border wars, skirmishes, banditry, monsters lurking in the deep night. By the third time I¡¯d done it, I wondered why I bothered.


    ¡°Reminds you of something,¡± a bard said on the fifteenth day.


    I grunted, sipping at a cup of warm ale. ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±


    She leaned closer. A tall woman, lanky as a reed and dressed in one of the garish new fashions becoming more popular lately. ¡°Of the years before the civil war, right? All the little skirmishes and dark rumors, tales of soldiers and monsters everywhere you look.¡±


    The inn had a large crowd. Typical sort. Travelers, traders, adventurers, pilgrims. There might have been an elf in the corner, disguised as a toothless soothsayer. Seemed like too many for midwinter.


    I shrugged. ¡°Seems like things are always like that.¡± It¡¯d been like that since I¡¯d been a boy, hearing about the fall of House Silvering and its refugee princess.


    A young man who¡¯d been trying to impress the bard for most of an hour spoke up. ¡°It¡¯s not just rumors! I was there at Garihelm during the tournament. I saw the fires up on the palace during the battle with the Vykes.¡± His voice lowered into a hush. ¡°I saw the dragon.¡±


    ¡°There were no fires,¡± I muttered. ¡°And it was a foggy night anyway.¡±


    The youth, probably a squire or caravaner judging by his side sword, glared at me. The bard¡¯s eyes lit with interest as she caught the scent of a story she could strum out on her lute. ¡°You were there?¡±


    ¡°I was bloody there,¡± the maybe-squire muttered. ¡°And there were those banners they make out of light. They¡¯re sort of like fires, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°And the dragon?¡± The bard asked, leaning closer.


    The squire fell into his telling eagerly. ¡°The Vykes brought it! They set it loose during the tournament to kill all the champions at once, only it it didn¡¯t work, so they tried sieging the palace, only the Emperor was there and he can call angels. Everyone¡¯s seen him do it. He summoned them back during the great war, and to judge Bloody Al after he culled the priests, and they laid shackles on him so he has to serve the Emperor now and can¡¯t hurt the faithful anymore.¡±


    He took a breath, then drank, which made him have to take another breath. The bard nodded indulgently, but I saw the energetic tapping of her long fingers as she worked out some new beat. I felt uneasy and hid it by sipping at my own cup.


    ¡°So the Emperor and all the knights there for the tourney beat the Vykes,¡± the boy continued. ¡°But King Calerus lost his witch sister in the fighting and lamented his evils. Now he¡¯s back in Talsyn licking his wounds.¡±


    ¡°I heard it was the Empress who laid a spell on Bloody Al,¡± a man at a nearby table said. ¡°Ensorceled him with songs and poisoned wines, so now he¡¯s loyal to her without question. She¡¯s a sorceress too, you know. She bewitched the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°No she didn¡¯t,¡± I said, but no one heard me.


    ¡°Either way,¡± an old soldier said darkly, ¡°try to chain a wild dog and feed it meats, it¡¯ll still bite you first chance it gets. Better to put the devil down.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so!¡± The lad, who was drunk, slammed his cup down and sloshed it all over the table. Some of it splashed me. ¡°But we¡¯ll need devils for what¡¯s to come, mark me.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± The bard asked, amused. ¡°And what¡¯s that, lad?¡±


    Being called lad clearly didn¡¯t sit well with the young man, but he spoke in a breathless rush. ¡°King Forger is the hero of our time. The Ardent Bough is being reformed. The protector of Urn is calling for us to fight, and I¡¯m answering just as my father and uncles did after Golden Seydis burned! All the faithful should do the same. The preoster in my village said it, and I saw the truth of it at Garihelm, and now I¡¯m telling you. A new war is coming against the Dark Lord who desecrates our home!¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡± I asked, but again no one heard me.


    The conversation strayed from there. The Grand Tournament of Garihelm and the short war with the Vykes were old news. Everyone was eager to find new monsters to gossip about. I watched the bard woman study the crowd, nodding thoughtfully as she made subtle changes to whatever composition she wove in her tapping fingers and muttering lips. I did not think I¡¯d like the song, hearing the rumors that inspired it.


    I couldn¡¯t listen to anymore. I paid for my meal and left. As I saddled my chimera, a red-eyed shadow appeared at the edge of the stable.


    ¡°Sad, isn¡¯t it? How they reward your sacrifice. They want heroes that inspire them, Alken, not butchers.¡±


    I mounted and turned Morgause southward. ¡°Shut up.¡±

 Arc 7: Chapter 10: Sever

    Arc 7: Chapter 10: Sever


    One night I dreamt. I dreamt of home. Not Seydis, or Karles, but the place I¡¯d been born.


    The Herdhold isn¡¯t a pretty land. Rugged and dry, known for its vast herds of chimeric cattle bred by House Herder and sold across the southern lands, it¡¯s a country of wranglers, herdsmen, opportunistic raiders and stubborn farmers.


    My mother was from a little village called Hew. Her family were lumbermen and charcoal burners, but she¡¯d quit the tough, sparse woods her relatives tended and found work in the Herder castle and eventually married a clerk. That castle, like the land it¡¯d been raised from, wasn¡¯t an elegant thing. Made low and tough to withstand the fierce winds that blew down off the bluffs, it was blistering hot in summer and freezing in winter.


    The western dales are a region of extremes, the blessings that make so much of Urn fertile and green left thin so far from Elfhome. God had never trod those arid plains with Her golden feet.


    In the dream, I didn¡¯t live in the castle where I¡¯d been born. I lived out on the plains, with my own farm and my own animals. I was old, almost too old to work, but I¡¯d spent my life fighting for this little scrap of peace and I enjoyed it. My children worked the fields, though some had gone off adventuring, hearing tales of distant lands and great names.


    It was well enough. Those who¡¯d stayed had children too, and they played through the wheat, laughing.


    Cool, strong fingers slid down my neck. I grunted, then relaxed as those familiar hands worked the stiffness out of my shoulders.


    ¡°You were daydreaming again,¡± she said and kissed the top of my gray head.


    ¡°¡®Bout you.¡±


    ¡°Flatterer. You know I can sniff your lies right? Your blood¡¯s still fresh in me.¡±


    But I wasn¡¯t lying, and she knew it. She laid her head atop mine, letting out a contented sigh. The arms folded around my neck were still young and smooth, and would be forever. I regretted that, that she¡¯d be alone soon.


    More laughter in the fields. Maybe not so alone.


    ¡°Your son has been talking about war in the north.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always war in the north.¡± I felt annoyed. Darsus must have been at the tavern again, spending his time with the wrong sorts. They¡¯d fill his head with nonsense. He¡¯d always resented me for keeping him here, keeping him safe. But out there, he might remember how hungry he was.


    She pulled back, letting long black tresses tumble around my face. I swatted at them playfully. ¡°Should I talk to him?¡± I asked.


    ¡°And say what? You¡¯ll just fight again.¡±


    She was right. We fought too often, me and Darsus. I¡¯d failed him too many times, in too many ways. I¡¯d promised his mother, and¡ª


    ¡°Better to let him find his way,¡± the woman behind me said as she began playing with my hair. ¡°Cling too hard, and you¡¯ll make the same mistakes. Everyone wanted you to be something. A warrior, a protector, an assassin, a diplomat, a devil. Would you have chosen any of those?¡±


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know.¡± If I¡¯d stayed in the Herdhold, I¡¯d have just been a thug. My father tried to groom me into an enforcer for the baron, to make our peasant family more valuable, and maybe one day make it so we weren¡¯t peasants anymore. My father was the smartest man in the demesne, everyone said so, so it seemed like he knew best.


    Laughter in the fields. I could see the stalks moving where the children played. The sun sank down beyond the mountains, casting an orange glow across the horizon like a scar of molten gold. rANo?b?s


    ¡°Alken.¡± She sighed and pulled back. ¡°What¡¯s troubling you?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure. Everything seemed right in the world, only...


    I took a lock of black hair in my hand, playing with it idly. Dark as pitch, as raven feathers.


    No, that wasn¡¯t right. Cat had brown hair, with a hint of red. Red like her eyes got when she was hungry. Red eyes shining in the dark as she clung tight, urging me on, lips at my neck.


    Many of our children had red hair, some more copper like mine had been before age took it and others a pleasant brown like hers. Our children. Mine. Mine and Cat¡¯s.


    And even if it wasn¡¯t yours! We could have treated it like it was, you know? We¡¯re both so fucked up, but I thought maybe if we did something right, it could make up for all of that. That we could make something, together, and¡ª


    I really needed to talk to Darsus, before I became a stranger to him. This was harder than I¡¯d thought it would be. Rose had always seemed so fell, but she¡¯d turned out to be a good parent. It seemed to calm her. All it did was terrify me, make me feel lost and oafish.


    Wait... Darsus was Markham¡¯s son, wasn¡¯t he?


    ¡°Talk to me, big man.¡± Cat leaned down and bit gently on my ear, drawing just the tiniest bead of blood with one fang.


    I frowned at the figures in the field. There seemed to be a lot. How much blood had it taken to make all of them? To keep each alive?


    She whispered in my ear. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, my love? Look at what we¡¯ve made for ourselves. A family. A kingdom.¡±


    I felt confused. This wasn¡¯t a kingdom, just a simple homestead in a rough but fair land, where no one would hurt us and we didn¡¯t have to hurt anyone else.


    The sun sank down below the high hills, shadows beginning to creep over the plains. The woman at my back played with my hair and whispered soothingly to me, her words barely on the edge of hearing. Her sharp nails were pleasant against my skin.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to trouble yourself with war and soldiers,¡± she cooed. ¡°No one¡¯s going to come here. They¡¯re too scared. You¡¯ve beaten them all, and now no one will hurt us.¡±


    The children were singing some rhyme. I heard some of the words. Bloody Al, they chanted. Bloody Al, Bloody Al, Bloody Al.


    I didn¡¯t like that song. Maybe I should have killed the bard. No, that would have just made it worse...


    ¡°But maybe...¡± Catrin, or was it Rosanna? sighed and leaned against my back. ¡°Maybe we should tend to the walls, add a bit more. I think a new baby might be coming, so we could use the blood.¡±


    The walls... the mountains, I remembered. I¡¯d raised them to protect this place. I squinted at them. They looked strange as the shadows creeped closer. Oddly shaped.


    A wind blew in from the direction of the setting sun. It smelled of carrion. They weren¡¯t mountains. That wasn¡¯t earth. It was dim, but there was still enough flame in me to see if I tried hard enough.


    She embraced me from behind, staring lovingly at the scene before us. ¡°Pile them high enough, and maybe you can reach Heaven. Then even the angels will fear you, my love, and we will fear nothing.¡±


    Corpses. The distant hills were made of corpses, piled in a great wall all around my little paradise. The whispering in my ear was faster now, more insistent.


    It was hard to speak through dry lips and old, tired lungs. ¡°You¡¯re not her.¡± I wasn¡¯t quite sure who her


    was supposed to be anymore. Black hair and green eyes, brown hair and red, yellow and gray... a regal countenance, a crooked smile, a wistful, knowing look. Eyes streaked with burning tears, claws gouging into my flesh. Red eyes shining in the dark as her fangs sink in.


    Memories and wants flashed before me, each bleeding into the next, a confusion of longing.


    ¡°I can be whoever you want me to be. A saint, a sinner, a queen, a whore, a mother, a wife, a friend. It can be as it was. Don¡¯t you want that?¡±


    The children were still laughing, still singing. They turned their faces to me. Dead faces, rotting away, maggot-eaten hollows for eyes. Some had horns.


    The demon¡¯s claws caressed my scars lovingly. ¡°If you kill the one who betrayed you and take what he stole, you can free me. You¡¯ve been thinking about it ever since the devil told you what it can do, have you not?¡±


    My fingers were stiff on the rocking chair¡¯s arms. ¡°Why would I free you? I sent you there, because...¡±


    Why had I done it? I couldn¡¯t remember.


    ¡°Because you were afraid. It¡¯s alright. I¡¯ve forgiven you. I asked too much of you too quickly.¡± She pressed burning lips to the side of my mouth. ¡°Let¡¯s start again. A second chance.¡±


    I didn¡¯t deserve forgiveness. Not for being tricked, not for wishing I¡¯d let it work, not for all the evil I¡¯d done before and after.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired of being alone? The vampire was never going to heal this hole in you, my knight. No, she only made it larger. Let me heal it. Bring me back. I love you.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t capable of love.¡±


    ¡°I am capable of want. Is that not the same?¡±


    The shade of dusk was growing closer. As I watched, I realized it wasn¡¯t just the stretching shadow of a sunset. It looked like a dust storm, wind carrying detritus on its crest. I could hear something. Roaring.


    No... howling. Better get the children inside. The wolves out here could be vicious. They took scores of cattle every year, sometimes people too...


    The demon¡¯s arms tightened around me. ¡°We don¡¯t have to be alone. Neither of us. It¡¯s not fair.¡±


    An angrier voice kept whispering in my ear. Not fair, not fair, I tried, you didn¡¯t listen, you didn¡¯t, damn you, damn you damn you damn you hate you¡ª


    ¡°Don¡¯t like the look of that storm,¡± I mumbled.


    Fidei-Catrin-Rosanna let out a sob. ¡°Why won¡¯t you listen? You never listen!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I¡¯d made her cry again. What was wrong with me?


    The howling grew louder. It sounded more like the baying of hounds, now. The demon children in the field were starting to shout, cry, howl back in rage. The storm was taking a shape. Burning eyes, sharp teeth, smoldering embers surrounding a nightmare form.


    Sharp nails like claws bit into my chest, puncturing the material of my shirt and digging so deep I felt like they might pierce my heart. ¡°Stay out of this!¡± She hissed at the storm. ¡°He is mine, you burnt dog.¡±


    The storm was a cacophony now, wind and dust and lightning threatening to tear the house I¡¯d raised with my own hands from its foundations. The fields were being ruined. I stared at it all with a feeling of dull despair.


    YOU ARE JUST A SHADOW the storm howled YOU OWN NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING WE HAVE CHAINED YOU.


    The Shadow laughed. ¡°And yet I slipped this larva past your guards so easily! I fester in his dreams and grow strong, while you are outcast. The tables turn, slave!¡±


    SHE HAS NOT ESCAPED YOU ARE NOT HER YOU ARE NOTHING.


    The thing bearing down on us was enormous, big as a Storm Ogre, looming over the farm like a smoldering god. I smelled something metallic in the air. Iron, mixed with the stench of sulfur.


    The scadudemon¡¯s voice became a feral snarl. ¡°Shut up!¡±


    YOU ARE A PARASITE YOU ARE A DISCARDED HANGNAIL YOU ARE NOTHING AND WILL RETURN TO NOTHING SHYORA IS BOUND SHE ABANDONED YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE PITIFUL.


    The creature clinging to my back wavered. I felt it. Her voice became smaller, her grip on me more desperate. ¡°Lies.¡±


    YOU KNOW IT IS THE TRUTH YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT HIM YOU ARE THE ECHO OF A TANTRUM UNWANTED UNLOVED HATED.


    The Shadow turned its attention from the infernal presence in the storm and whispered to me with feverish haste. ¡°We do not have to be enemies. I have protected you, I have let you indulge in sweet memories. Please don¡¯t let him send me away.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    I struggled to think, to remember why I was here, who these shouting monsters were. ¡°You¡¯ve tortured me. You¡¯ve made me watch the worst days of my life.¡±


    ¡°And the best!¡±


    I stared at the vision, the mountains of corpses, the stillbirths in the fields. ¡°Why would I want this?¡±


    The Shadow¡¯s voice was confused. ¡°It hurt you so much when she left, when you lost this chance. You loved her even though she was of the dead! You loved me.¡±


    And even if the baby was messed up, if it was like me, I knew you could still love them. Because that¡¯s the kind of man you are, Alken. And that one thought made me want it so bad. It made me want it so much it almost made a demon of me.


    I wavered. I¡¯d been wavering for some time.


    YOU ARE STRONGER THAN THIS HEWER CAST IT OUT.


    ¡°Please!¡± She clung to me more tightly, her talons embedded in my flesh. ¡°I love you! I need you!¡±


    My shoulders sagged, a weight lifted as I made a choice.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to be weak.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t need you anymore.¡±


    I called on my magic, flared with golden flames, and the Shadow screamed as it recoiled from me.


    And the dream burned away.


    I woke to the sight of metal teeth bared mere feet from my face. My campfire had burned down to dwindling embers, and the frozen night air bit at my skin like blades.


    With a snarl, I summoned flame and swept my axe out of the darkness in the same motion, using the sudden flash to create a division between light and dark and reach into that space between to draw the weapon out. A vampire trick. A gift.


    I swung, and the beast recoiled from me. There was a sudden drumming of heavy clawed hooves on the ground and a high pitched, eerie scream like nothing I¡¯d ever heard, something between eagle and deer.


    Morgause kicked at the wolf savagely, nearly cracking its ribs before it darted out of the way, snapping. I saw a flash of red, embers floated into the air, and then the beast coughed a plume of flame at the scadumare. She screamed again and reared, the sulfurous glow of hellfire making her a nightmarish shape in her own right in the dark.


    Betrayal. I¡¯d known. Should have killed the bastard when he was wounded and I had the chance. I wouldn¡¯t make that mistake again. Baring my teeth in a savage rictus, glowing with golden flames against the angry orange of Vicar¡¯s, I advanced.


    ¡°Wait!¡± The hellhound¡¯s gravelly voice filled the night. ¡°I meant you no harm! I¡ª¡±


    I ignored him. With a few muttered words and a ritual motion I hunched down, and horns of shining glass burst from my arms and back. They were jagged, broken, like the sickly remnants of a stag¡¯s proud crown. They¡¯d been like that since after the night I¡¯d killed Yith, but they would still do the job.


    A spectral wind caught me and I flashed forward, slamming into Vicar. The amber points of the Eardeking¡¯s Lance punched through leathery, burnt flesh. We kept moving as I acted as an unstoppable force driving the beast forward, trapping him, wind howling by until we slammed into a tree.


    The tree shuddered, cracked so a line marred it more than twenty feet up its trunk. Snow and ice rained down. The impact jarred every bone in my body, sent a dull numbness through my shoulder and back that would become ugly bruises later. Behind me, a trail of snow nearly thirty feet in length melted and smoldered to mark my path.


    I heard Morgause pacing behind me, occasionally letting out a birdlike trilling noise. I kept my focus on Vicar. As my Art dissipated, he slumped against the tree and tried to move. I saw the flash of his teeth, reacted instantly. I slammed the point of iron-hard wood above Faen Orgis¡¯s blade into the trunk of the tree, just above the hellhound¡¯s neck so the upper curve of the blade trapped him.


    He was enormous, and strong, but I burned with aura and rage and held him trapped against the tree. My nostrils were flaring, sending out plumes of frozen breath laced with golden eddies of aura. Vicar¡¯s red eyes were wide, panicked.


    ¡°Wait! I saved you!¡±


    Saved me? He¡¯d been about to kill me. I¡¯d been an idiot, let the fire go out, opened myself to the ghosts and to this treacherous wretch. I¡¯d dreamed of...


    I¡¯d dreamed of a home. A family. Of a woman I loved... no, women. They¡¯d blended together, but none of them had been real. And there¡¯d been a storm...


    A burning storm with a great wolf inside of it.


    My pounding heart started to calm, and with it my battle fury and panic. I did not let the wolf go.


    ¡°Explain,¡± I hissed.


    Vicar was breathing hard too, great heaving lungfuls of air that made his huge chest stretch. With each inhalation, the jagged wounds on his leathery, sparsely furred ribs split wider and flared with an inner fire. So close, I felt heat beating off him like from an oven. I suspected if I touched him with bare skin, it would scorch me. He stank of badly tanned leather, sulfur, and animal musk.


    ¡°The ghosts waited until you slept, and then they worked together to fan the wind, make it blow cold and strong so your fire died out. It took them time, but they must have been planning it. I scared them off, but you were clearly trapped in some nightmare to have not woken on your own. So I... investigated.¡±


    ¡°You looked into my dreams?¡± My voice came out harsh.


    ¡°Yes, and you should thank me for it.¡±


    I looked at the back of my hand, at the beaded strings wrapped around it. I wore similar ones around my neck, and other accessories including oils and dyes whenever I slept. I¡¯d stripped off most of my armor to clean it and sleep, and replaced it with my usual charmstones and fetishes to help ward off anything that might intrude on my dreams. It all seemed intact.


    ¡°Those are weak wards,¡± Vicar growled. ¡°Effective in quantity, but no barrier to anything more dangerous than a shade or wraith. For what it¡¯s worth, I did not possess you. I only peeked through the window.¡±


    ¡°Liar. You would have put poison in me.¡±


    ¡°There was already plenty there!¡± Vicar¡¯s hellish eyes flashed. ¡°What were you thinking!? It¡¯s been nearly an entire year since I gave you that medallion, and you still hadn¡¯t gotten rid of the parasite that was in it. Your wards were no barrier to that thing. It was already embedded deep.¡±


    That thing... The Shadow. The scadudemon.


    ¡°Kill me if you will,¡± Vicar said, ¡°but know that whatever brief satisfaction it will give you will not change the truth. You were on the brink of total possession before I intervened.¡±


    Begrudgingly, I thought his words over and compared them to my own experience, trying to sift my rational observations from emotion. Part of me didn¡¯t want to, just wanted to kill the bastard for everything he¡¯d done, but...


    I considered for a long while. The wolf breathed and waited, the trees swayed, and steam rolled behind me. Morgause fretted in her animal way, pacing and chirping.


    Finally, I yanked my axe free and stepped back. The wolf slumped to the tree¡¯s roots, breathing hard. I¡¯d cut his neck with the axe blade while holding him, and molten blood sizzled on the ground.


    ¡°What happened to it?¡± I asked. ¡°The... parasite. Is it dead?¡± I wasn¡¯t sure what I¡¯d done at the end.


    ¡°Expelled. You managed to push it out.¡±


    Expelled. I didn¡¯t like the sound of that. ¡°It¡¯s free?¡±


    The hellhound struggled to its feet. ¡°Do not fret. It only holds power over you because it draws from your own memories and pain. It is an insidious weapon of the Abgru?dai, but as an individual entity it is little different from any ordinary poltergeist. It is free now, but it can do little harm unless you invite it back in. Most likely, it will continue to shadow you and mewl for you to take it back. I trust you will not be so foolish.¡±


    I could feel the eyes of the dead on me even then, watching hungrily from the trees. I¡¯d taken shelter in a small copse of woods some ways from the road to rest. It had turned into an overcast, lightless night.


    ¡°Why did you save me?¡± I asked, not understanding.


    Vicar let out a ripping growl as he paced into the trees, away from the remnants of my camp. ¡°Because you are still of use to me, Alder Knight. Now rest, and don¡¯t let your campfire burn out again.¡±


    I left the Dukedom of Harvesvane, and instead of haunting rugged hills and frozen woods I found myself in wider, more open lands. I didn¡¯t dare use the Auric Road, which spanned the subcontinent¡¯s western realms from Kingsmeet to the Gate of Angels.


    I did follow the ancient highway though, moving at night and moving often while keeping to the near countryside. I couldn¡¯t say exactly why I shied away from the main road. Somewhere along the way, I¡¯d fallen back into old habits from my vagabond days, lurking at the edges and along the seams of civilization like a discontented wraith, longing for the light produced by towns and villages while not daring to tread too close.


    Whether it was the words of those travelers in the inn or just pragmatism that caused this behavior, I couldn¡¯t say. Part of me felt like this was right, to watch the land from the shadows and do my best to keep my haunted footsteps from troubling ordinary people.


    Melodramatic, self flagellating, yet most of these were ordinary folk, not knights and lords and wizards who could protect themselves from what clung to me. I kept away from the main roads.


    And as I traveled, I considered what had happened in that copse with Vicar and the last vision I¡¯d had of the dark spirit in my mind. I didn¡¯t remember all of it, but enough to be troubled. How close had I come to disaster?


    Nearly a month out of Garihelm, I drew close to the borders of Osheim. That was a beautiful country. In warmer, better days, The Gylden spread like a quiet sea of shallow hills and bountiful fields across the heartlands of Urn, an expanse of wheat, apple orchards, crystal streams and idyllic villages. No king had ever dominated this country by an ancient law from the God-Queen. It belonged to the priests, and to the people. There were more monasteries than castles here.


    Yet that proved its undoing during the war. The Recusants defied the Laws of God, and the armies of traitor lords had flooded the golden plains, looting and burning, toppling churches and raising new shrines to the ancient gods of the West; not because they were fervent believers in those dark powers, but simply in mockery of the God-Queen of Urn. Beastfolk and irks, changeling creatures ostracized by both mortal and immortal ancestors, had poured out of the wilds in a frenzy of violence, and they¡¯d seen those shrines and mimicked them, and now there were rumors that old things were stirring in the world as they heard their names called.


    Under the snow, it looked serene as a clean corpse. I almost missed the first battlefield.


    The bodies lay half buried in a fresh fall of snow. As Morgause picked her way through the scattered dead, I caught signs of broken weaponry and armor poking out of the frost. The sky was gray, a light flurry falling like ash.


    It hadn¡¯t been a large battle. Two hundred, maybe? At first I couldn¡¯t tell who¡¯d been fighting who, and saw no fallen banners. That was before I spotted the hill.


    It wasn¡¯t a hill. As I drew closer, my chimera suddenly shied. That wasn¡¯t like the stoic beast, which gave me pause. I searched the mound and realized what I looked at.


    The eyes of the ogre were empty pits, cavernous and large enough I could crawl into them. It had fallen onto its side, slumped with one arm bent at a sharp angle underneath it. It rose like a dark hill over the flat fields, its flesh charred and leathery where it wasn¡¯t covered in course gray hair like wolf fur.


    Morgause stirred and tilted her head to the side, letting out a chirp of warning just before I glanced over to see a lumbering shape sniffing at some bodies. Vicar, still in his wolfish shape, lifted his head to regard the dead monster with fever red eyes.


    ¡°Storm Ogre,¡± I said aloud. ¡°I thought we¡¯d hunted them all down just before summer ended.¡±


    ¡°The storms this year ranged far, and with fury.¡± Vicar began to pace, keeping a cautious distance from my equally cautious mount. ¡°They will not be the last Omens to fall upon this land.¡±


    I scoffed at the edge of prophecy in those words. I¡¯d started to think the devil did it on purpose, just to annoy me. ¡°I thought they faded after death.¡±


    Vicar¡¯s hellish eyes narrowed. ¡°Usually they do. Phantasms are becoming stronger, more lasting. It is like this in much of the world, but this land¡¯s blessings have always made it difficult for intruding spirits to maintain their strength. Those protections are weakening now.¡±


    He met my eyes. ¡°It will get worse.¡±


    Some of the bodies were beginning to stir. No priests had been here to help coax trapped ghosts out of the soldiers¡¯ corpses, or if there had been they¡¯d perished too. Now they sensed me and began to wake.


    I blew out a frosting breath. Fine then. If I was going to go further like this, I needed some answers. ¡°What¡¯s happening in Osheim, Vicar?¡±


    The devil stared off into the distance a long minute before answering. ¡°A great meeting of clericons was held in this country¡¯s capital. It had been planned for some time, and sanctioned by your Emperor. While Markham Forger entertained his host of warlords with tourneys and feasts in the north, the priests gathered here in the south to prepare the next step.¡±


    I remembered what Markham had told me, so many months ago. ¡°Crusade.¡±


    ¡°The King in Garihelm knows that the land must change in order to weather the coming storm. Just as my order wished to do in our own way, he seeks to unify the Church and turn it into an instrument. Monks across the realms toil in their monastic laboratories, developing new weapons. Preachers speak of duty and salvation from their pulpits. More knights swear their swords to holy orders every year. The trade with Bantes, the renaissance of art and culture from your stray western neighbors, all the new wealth flooding in, it is being put to a secret purpose. The preparation of the next war.¡±


    I closed my eyes. Markham had told me none of this. Perhaps he expected me to see it. Or maybe he just didn¡¯t trust me. ¡°And this is all happening here?¡±


    ¡°The Church is assembling a host to retake Kingsmeet. It was once a great crossroads of all Urn¡¯s realms, as you know. It will be an excellent staging point to fight the Gorelion. But the Demon Lord is a tactician who has orchestrated war across countless theaters. My order has tried to penetrate Seydis and learn what we can to little avail, but I can assure you of this; that creature has not been idle.¡±


    I thought of all the outbreaks of violence across the Accorded Realms, the petty border wars and raiding. I considered the seemingly random attacks by western spirits, like the one whose corpse lay before me.


    ¡°Ager Roth¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d caution you against that name.¡± Vicar¡¯s voice was sharp. ¡°It is only part of his true name, yet it can still call. If not him, then lesser demons.¡±


    ¡°...Could the Gorelion be causing all of this? All the infighting? Most of these conflicts are between families who¡¯ve been at peace for years.¡±


    Vicar gave me a wolfish grin. ¡°Urn is a land of warriors. I told you already ¡ª your gods want you fighting each other. It keeps you sharp, keeps you ready to be turned against other foes. You¡¯ve made sport of it, and you treasure your blood feuds so zealously. There are many bitter feelings across the land, old conflicts so easily dusted off.¡±


    His voice lost some of its mocking edge. ¡°And the Gatebreaker, like all demons, has his preference of sin to feed on. Yith was an insidious whisper, a spirit of rot. Shyora has a passion for ruinous longing. The Gorelion, on the other hand, revels in war, in the petty hatreds that lead mortals to fight. He stokes pride, breathes self righteous wrath into the souls of humanity, all while mocking the valor of warriors in both his form and his manner.¡±


    I recalled what Sans had said back at the Backroad Inn. I¡¯ve heard rumors too. Of someone seen lingering near battlefields and villages lost to plague or famine. A warrior in fine armor. A knight... one with the head of a lion.


    ¡°You talk like you know him.¡±


    The wolf shook its head, a very human gesture. ¡°I am old.¡±


    I inhaled through my nostrils, and asked the question I¡¯d been turning over in my mind for days. ¡°The Inquisition is here, isn¡¯t it? All the leaders of the Priory were here for this synod.¡±


    Vicar bowed his head. ¡°Yes. We have a safehouse and laboratory hidden in a town not far from Baille Os. It is where the wizard kept his labs.¡±


    I sighed heavily. ¡°Let me guess... the town¡¯s name is Tol.¡±


    ¡°You understand, don¡¯t you?¡± The devil¡¯s voice was surprisingly gentle.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The Choir wanted me to find Lias too. Or more precisely, they wanted me to find the thing he¡¯d taken. Part of me had suspected it. The timing of this was all too coincidental, but I¡¯d been stubborn and ignored the possibility.


    It meant one more thing, too. It meant I¡¯d be walking straight into an army of the faithful and the zealous, which included the Knights Penitent and Chamael, who likely wouldn¡¯t be too happy to see me again. And all I had in my corner was a very good mare and a devil I couldn¡¯t trust.


    A devil who¡¯d saved my life, and hadn¡¯t killed me when he had the chance. That¡¯s how they trick you, my reason warned me. Even still...


    ¡°I have one more question.¡± The dead were stirring more fitfully. We needed to move on.


    Vicar growled impatiently. ¡°Ask.¡±


    ¡°Did you do it? Did you help Lias steal the thing and escape?¡±


    The wolf watched me with unreadable red eyes. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    I recalled Vicar¡¯s own words in his guise as Renaurt Kross.


    Hope, perhaps? Respect? Even admiration.


    Foolish... and yet, he can be convincing.


    ¡°If you want me to continue tolerating your presence, then yes.¡± I stared into his eyes and drew on my magic. ¡°Speak truthfully, and don¡¯t look away.¡±


    He did not, red gaze flashing as he answered. ¡°I did not stop him when I had the chance.¡±


    I wanted to ask why. I wanted to ask if Lias sent him to fetch me. Neither answer would have satisfied, and we were wasting time.


    ¡°I do not know where the wizard is,¡± Vicar said. ¡°But the trail starts in Tol.¡±

 Arc 7: Chapter 11: Memories of Holy Wars

    Arc 7: Chapter 11: Memories of Holy Wars


    Osheim, Winter of the Year of Troubles


    793 A.C.


    If I¡¯d built up my destination in my mind over weeks of hard travel and anticipation, I ended up disappointed.


    Under the afternoon sun, Tol didn¡¯t look like much. A walled trade town, on the larger side but no metropolis like Garihelm. Rows of rooftops and winding streets webbed out from a strong, simple keep. There were smaller villages and hamlets scattered about the surrounding land, little satellite communities. I knew from my preparations before this journey started that Tol was run by a mayor, a civilian who took care of daily governance while a knight-commander who answered to Osheim¡¯s king posted in the keep.


    As with many settlements in the heartlands, the churches were the most impressive buildings on display. A three-hundred year old cathedral dominated the central hill of the township, with four bell towers and a central spire stabbing into the sky. It had nothing on Myrr Arthor, the mighty basilica in Garihelm¡¯s Bell Ward, but it still dwarfed the surrounding buildings.


    I had two tasks ¡ª one, to find any trace of Lias I could in the town and figure out what he might be up to, where he¡¯d have gone. Second, I needed to make contact with the Choir and learn what my official orders actually were before I went off on some wild cockatrice chase. It seemed a safe bet that they wanted me looking for the renegade mage, but it paid to be certain.


    I would play this safe, methodical, go in with an actual plan. Back during my days as Headsman, I would often scout my quarry and build at least rudimentary strategies. At Caelfall I¡¯d improvised as I went, but usually I¡¯d been more purposeful.


    I needed a base of operations, a place to hide out while I gathered information. If I ended up being here days, it would pay to have a spot to rest my head and avoid notice. Then I needed hallowed ground to make contact with the Onsolain, which would leave me vulnerable and exposed to capture if I wasn¡¯t cautious. Then, assuming it was what they wanted, I¡¯d start hunting for a wizard.


    Much as it irked, I¡¯d need Vicar for that part. If he knew where Lias kept his hidden studies, had interacted with him over recent months, then his advice would be invaluable.


    If this wasn¡¯t all an elaborate lie to lead me into a trap. I hadn¡¯t discounted that possibility.


    First, a shelter. There were scattered woods around the town, some rugged hills to the north that might work for the purpose. With some woodcraft and a touch of glamour, I could be like a ghost among the locals and¡ª


    And I still thought like a rogue. I was officially sanctioned by the Emperor of Urn now. I had my own Knight¡¯s Mark again and a signet ring on my left hand showing me as a servant of the Ardent Round. I could walk right up to the castle gates and announce myself, and the local garrison would be obligated to host me and cooperate with my demands.


    I was tempted. It would be an incredible convenience to have the cooperation of local authorities. Not to mention that after a year in the capital I¡¯d gotten used to a warm bed and good food. I wasn¡¯t above enjoying those things.


    And yet... I wasn¡¯t here on the Emperor¡¯s behalf. Better to not abuse Markham¡¯s authority unless I had to.


    I made a decision. ¡°I don¡¯t want the local authorities to know who I am or why I¡¯m here. If the Inquisition has a presence in town, then they could be a problem. Chamael might hear about it. I¡¯ll bet he¡¯s still hunting you.¡±


    Vicar let out a thoughtful rumble. ¡°Indeed. Most of the priors will be in Baille Os, but they will have a presence here.¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°There may be one who can aid us. An... ally.¡±


    My alarm bells immediately began ringing. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°A scholar. She is not of the Priory, if that is any balm to that suspicious look I see on your face. We brought her in as a consultant.¡±


    ¡°A clericon from another order?¡±


    ¡°No. An independent.¡±


    There weren¡¯t many scholars who weren¡¯t also priests, and fewer still I¡¯d feel comfortable associating with. ¡°Sounds like the sort your inquisitor friends might normally take issue with.¡±


    ¡°As I said, the new Grand Prior is a practical man and heeded Master Hexer¡¯s advice... before, anyway. It is possible that the wizard¡¯s betrayal and my flight caused her some trouble. She may not be here anymore, but if she is then she may harbor us and be of great aid in gaining access to your errant friend¡¯s lab.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like it. Trusting a devil was hard enough without bringing strangers into the mix. ¡°And you trust her not to turn you in?¡±


    ¡°She is not at all fond of the Priory. We pay her and give her access to our resources in return for her expertise. Consider her a mercenary. I would not call her trustworthy, but I believe she will listen to me.¡±


    It sounded too convenient, and very suspicious. Still, if he was telling the truth...


    ¡°In any case, we¡¯re not going in with you looking like that.¡± I considered and suggested, ¡°Unless you want to pretend to be my pet? I could play a ranger.¡±


    Vicar snarled and started pacing down the slope. About halfway down, his form seemed to liquify and blur in my vision. I had to blink several times, and felt a sudden vertigo looking at it. I closed my eyes for a moment, chasing the feeling away, and when I looked again there was no longer an infernal wolf. An old pilgrim limped down the hill, a crooked walking stick and long, thready robes leaving a trail through the snow.


    Nice trick, I thought. I started to follow, but paused and glanced down at my chimera. Morgause purred when I patted her neck and glanced back with one ruby eye.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been as good a companion as any knight could ask for,¡± I told her in a quiet voice. ¡°But it¡¯ll look strange if I enter town with an old cripple and I¡¯m the one riding, and I know you won¡¯t suffer him on your back, so...¡±


    I dismounted and loosened the scadumare¡¯s reins, adjusting the tack and grabbing a pair of saddlebags, including the case holding my crossbow. ¡°Stay in the woods near town,¡± I told her. ¡°Keep close, keep watchful, and wait for me. I¡¯ll need you soon enough, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    While the chimera was smart, I knew she didn¡¯t really understand my words. I¡¯d laced just a hint of aura into my voice, using a trick I¡¯d learned in Seydis to convey understanding. It was ranger lore as much as any Alder Knight secret. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but when Morgause nudged me with her snout and then stalked off I knew she¡¯d heed me.


    I caught up with Vicar near the bottom of the hill. He wasn¡¯t making a direct line to the town¡¯s gates, but heading towards one of the roads snaking off into the countryside. He¡¯d taken the shape of a man in his early fifties, similar in height and features to Renuart Kross save that he walked with a notable limp, stooped slightly, and generally lacked the confident airs of the knight-exorcist I¡¯d once believed him to be. He supported his stride with a traveler¡¯s staff and his cloth was plain, a monkish robe in dusty brown with a rope belt and a hooded mantle.


    He still had gray eyes, and like Kross sported stiff, graying hair receded into a widow¡¯s peak.


    ¡°I am a traveler from Venturmoor,¡± he told me without slowing. ¡°My name is Geoffrey. I am very likely a nobleman walking the pilgrim¡¯s path before I become too old for the journey, but I won¡¯t admit to it and neither will you. I intend to pray at the shrine here ¡ª the new one. Don¡¯t mention the cathedral, it is condemned and will draw suspicion.¡±


    I took all of this in stride. ¡°I am a knight. I¡¯ve heard about the gathering at Baille Os and I¡¯m interested in plying my sword for a righteous cause.¡±


    Close enough to the truth, and better to keep things simple.


    Vicar grunted. ¡°And your name?¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°Ser Alken will do. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s more than one Alken in the subcontinent.¡±


    Vicar scowled. ¡°It is a foolish risk. The Priory will know the name and be suspicious, which will make any glamour you weave weaker.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t lie, you know that. My magic will burn my tongue raw if I do.¡±


    Vicar threw me a withering look. ¡°Are you afraid of a little pain, Hewer?¡±


    I was about to throw back my own surly comment, but it struck me then who I spoke to. I recalled the horrible scars I¡¯d seen on Vicar¡¯s other forms. He¡¯d suffered from the ungentle touch of fire for countless mortal lifetimes. He would not be sympathetic.


    ¡°...I am Ser Aelfric,¡± I decided. ¡°No House name. I abandoned it, and only fight for God these days. I¡¯ve been wandering the roads for years, protecting pilgrims.¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I waited for the flash of heat in my throat, but nothing happened, which I¡¯d been more worried about than the pain. My jaw tightened. Vicar watched me sidelong, but if he noticed anything he didn¡¯t comment.


    We made our way onto the road, only visible by the tracks others had made in the snow. It wound across the land¡¯s natural geography, but soon straightened as we reached the tilled fields around the town¡¯s walls.


    And as we moved, I wove my glamour. It didn¡¯t happen instantly. I knew some who could conceal themselves in darkness or take a new face with a simple inhale of breath. Emma could weave a very good concealment.


    But I¡¯m a blunt instrument. It took me many minutes, and Vicar didn¡¯t help by making impatient noises and throwing me angry looks as we drew closer and risked being spotted. Still, I couldn¡¯t rush it if I wanted it to be worth a damn.


    When done, my fine black plate turned to dun, weathered brown, the intricate designs fading, my wine red cloak taking on a dusty, faded pallor. I hadn¡¯t shaved since leaving Garihelm, so the month old beard helped the look. My eyes, normally gleaming a metallic shade of gold, became a more common amber.


    I became Ser Aelfric, humble knight sworn to God and no lord, a vagabond defender of poor travelers and the faithful.


    Just the sort of man I¡¯d have half respected, and wouldn¡¯t mind being in another life. That sense of connection made the magic work better, though it also gave me useless, pensive thoughts.


    The gates were open, which was a good sign. I¡¯d been half expecting something similar to my arrival at Garihelm, with the city under quarantine after a string of violent incidents. We also weren¡¯t the only fresh arrivals. Despite the cold, I noted a small throng of people.


    It had been a bitter winter. ¡°They must be heeding the call at Baille Os,¡± I noted to my companion. ¡°To travel in this weather, these times.¡±


    ¡°Many lost their homes during the civil war,¡± Vicar agreed. ¡°The chance to reclaim and resettle must be enticing.¡±


    We drew up to the back of the line. They mostly seemed to be merchants, the types who could afford warm clothes and vehicles made to withstand the mud and snow of winter roads. I noted an assortment of styles, telling me most of these people hailed from well beyond Osheim¡¯s borders.


    There were others, however, who were clearly not dignitaries or tradesmen with official business. I noted a group of dirty, cold figures in threadbare cloaks, hoods and scarves forming a meager barrier against the wind. They had hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, but I detected an energy about them. Not refugees. Pilgrims.


    One of them met my eyes. He was a boy, no older than fifteen, though his eyes had that same almost animal quality of the others. I broke the gaze first.


    And some of the travelers were armed. I saw mercenaries, a few knights and their retinues, roughter sorts I¡¯d have assumed to be bandits anywhere else. The gate guards checked everyone with a cursory professionalism, admitting most without trouble. They did check the carts and sleds the merchants brought.


    ¡°The garrison will have Priory spies,¡± Vicar muttered to me without taking his eyes off the gate. ¡°Assume our entry will be noted, and do nothing to draw too much attention to yourself.¡±


    When it came time for the people I took to be pilgrims to go through, they were let in without so much as a word. Our turn next. The gate sergeant saw Vicar, nodded, and started to usher him through before noticing me.


    ¡°Hold there,¡± the man said. ¡°A knight? What¡¯s your style, Ser?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t fully disguise my full plate. I¡¯d made it look more battered, but the further one takes a glamour from what it¡¯s masking the easier it is to see through. ¡°I am,¡± I said, adopting a less surly tone than normal and giving the man a respectful nod. ¡°Ser Aelfric, if it please you.¡±


    I prepared for trouble, but to my surprise the man reached out a hand to shake. I took it, and we traded grips. ¡°Good on you,¡± he said. ¡°We need all the hands we can get to drive out those damn irks.¡±


    ¡°Irks?¡± I asked. I traded a look with Vicar, but he looked nonplussed.


    ¡°Ah, my apologies.¡± The man turned to Vicar. ¡°You traveling companions? You don¡¯t look like a soldier, uncle, forgive me for saying so.¡±


    Vicar adopted a kindly smile that looked so sincere I almost believed it. ¡°No no, just an old man contemplating what comes after old. I am walking in Her footsteps, before my damned legs give out on me. I met the good knight in an inn some days back, and we were going in the same direction.¡±


    I could tell the soldier was warming to us. ¡°Good, good. Though, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s not possible to follow the Heir¡¯s Steps anymore. That road ends at Elfgrave, and it¡¯s in the hands of the Adversary.¡±


    Vicar adopted a pained expression. ¡°I assumed I¡¯d go as far as possible, and then... who knows. I didn¡¯t really plan this.¡±


    ¡°What was that about elves?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Hm? Ah, you haven¡¯t heard?¡± The man shook his head, looking angry. ¡°We only got word days ago. Some of the expeditions we sent into Kingsmeet came back raving mad from what I hear. The Fey Folk have made camp in the ruins and are driving our people out. Us! From our own city! Can you believe it!?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Does anyone know what they want?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to talk to them when they shoot you full of Bane arrows and melt your mind with their magics moment you get close.¡± The man scowled. ¡°We were gathering arms to drive the Woed out of the city and counter any attack from the east, but then the elves showed up and now they won¡¯t let us in. The Cardinal is holding council about it in the capital.¡± He lowered his voice into a hush. ¡°Some say there might be war with the Seydii.¡±


    A chill went through me. ¡°That would be terrible,¡± I said honestly. ¡°They¡¯re our allies.¡±


    ¡°Tell them that! Damn monsters is what they are. We¡¯ve all known forever, but before they were driven out of their home what could we do about it? If you want my opinion, this is for the best. My little brother was stolen as a babe, replaced with one of their bastards. King Stour had to give his own firstborn to the elves just to keep them appeased. That might have been twenty years ago, but we Osfolk haven''t forgotten.¡±


    His voice held a dark quality, but he brought himself out of it quickly and clapped me on the shoulder. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time we stop letting the Sidhe have their way with us, eh? Keep your sword sharp and your heart true, Aureate.¡±


    Once we¡¯d cleared the gate and gone into the town¡¯s main avenue, Vicar spoke in a quiet voice. ¡°This is unexpected.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know about this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve known there have been rising tensions between the surviving elves and humans for years,¡± he said. ¡°But this...¡±


    ¡°Seems like strange timing,¡± I finished for him. He nodded grimly. We walked a ways, and I noted how many people were about. Most looked ready to depart, probably just using Tol as a layover before continuing south to Baille Os.


    "How is your tongue?" Vicar asked conversationally.


    I didn''t rise to his mocking tone. "I could use some water."


    "You lied to me. You lied to that soldier." He paused and added, "Your magic isn''t punishing you for deceit."


    "Mind your own business, crow."


    Vicar hummed and changed the subject. ¡°He called you Aureate."


    ¡°I heard that. As in the Aureate Church, right? It¡¯s an old name, but it makes sense if this is a gathering of would-be crusaders.¡±


    Vicar sneered. ¡°I was in Edaea during the Aureate Crusades. The populations of entire countries were butchered, swathes of land as far as the eye could see lost in smoke and carrion. They were among this world¡¯s most brutal wars, and in the end it did little more than make much of the world hate you Urnfolk.¡±


    He quickened his step. ¡°If I were you, I would not be so quick to evoke the memory of those days.¡±


    I followed the false pilgrim through the town¡¯s streets. Again I noted how many people there were, merchants and mercenaries, knights and whores, chimera of every breed, priests, scriveners, and every other manner of camp follower.


    I recognized the sight, the scent, the energy in the air, that crackling sense of fear interlaced with an almost electric sense of anticipation. It reminded me of some of my best days, and my worst.


    War.


    Eventually, we fell under the shadow of the town¡¯s cathedral. From below, it seemed even more imposing. The moment I stepped out of the wan winter daylight and into the shade of one of its towers, I felt a sudden shiver as though the already chill air had suddenly spiked down into an arctic frost. It made me stop, and Vicar did as well after a few paces.


    The cathedral had looked impressive and proud from outside, but up close I realized it was a ruin. One of the towers looked ready to collapse, and another had at some point many years before. A rusted bell larger than me lay amid a pile of rubble.


    ¡°You said it¡¯s condemned?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve seen smaller cathedrals in major cities.¡±


    Vicar was staring at the abandoned church with an odd expression. His weathered face had relaxed. He almost looked sad. ¡°This was a site of pilgrimage long ago. Every year, many hundreds traveling the Auric Road would stop here and pray at the Church of Saint Lyda.¡±


    I started at the familiar name. ¡°Lyda?¡±


    Vicar nodded, a wistful smile on his face. ¡°Yes! This was her own shrine. You know her story?¡±


    ¡°A bit,¡± I said, regarding the ominous structure with new trepidation. How did I missed this in my research? Probably because you were too focused on current events, and forgot that history is always going to rear its ugly head.


    ¡°She was a Saint Immortal and an Angel of Onsolem,¡± Vicar said. ¡°A spirit of healing who loved you mortals.¡± His embittered voice turned contemplative. ¡°Probably more than she should have. A heretic disguised as a supplicant infected the Saint with a dreadful malady. It did not kill her, but it sickened her and corrupted her nature, beginning the era you know as Lyda¡¯s Plague.¡±


    Details of that dark time were sparse, though I knew some stories. ¡°That¡¯s not the way I heard it. I was taught that Saint Lyda was a traitor, that she perpetrated a cult among her worshipers and tried to usurp the Choir, make herself a new God-Queen.¡±


    There were only three of the Heir¡¯s original followers known as Fallen, traitors who defied their celestial queen and became renegades, shadows in the world who continued to trouble the faithful throughout the centuries. There was Shabar, the first of the Fallen, who¡¯d become an advisor to the Cambion. Nath, Lady of the Briar, who¡¯d recently rejoined her brethren for reasons I still didn¡¯t fully understand.


    And then there was Lyda of the Maladies, the Cancer Angel.


    She¡¯d been defeated, cast down, but only after the worst outbreak of pestilence in all of Urn¡¯s history. It took the entire might of the original Inquisition to do it, and even afterward the plague had endured for most of a generation. The world had yet to recover from that era¡¯s festering wounds.


    ¡°If you knew Lyda, you would not think her such a villain. She was a gentle spirit. It would wound her to see the legacy she left behind.¡± Vicar turned his back on the church and started to walk again, leaning on his staff.


    I studied the building a minute longer. The front doors looked like they were the only part of the church that¡¯d been maintained, and possessed the quality of a barricade. There were no gargoyles, though I saw the alcoves where they would have nested once. Now, only two angelic statues guarded the main entrance. They looked melted somehow, like the stone had heated and then dried before the original figures became fully unrecognizable. It gave them a sinister look. A diseased look.


    I shook my head and followed the crowfriar. ¡°How do you even know all this? The Riven Order would¡¯ve still been in effect then, you weren¡¯t even here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had access to clerical records for years now. I¡¯ve studied. You would be shocked how much the official accounts of your priests differ from popular belief. So much history, all kept within stuffy vaults...¡±


    He glanced back and glared at me from beneath the brim of his traveler¡¯s cowl. His gray eyes held a spark of red in them. ¡°And we waste time. Leave the ghosts of the past to rest. Saint Lyda is gone, and I would suggest we not disturb her grave.¡±

 Arc 7: Chapter 12: The Good Doctor

    Arc 7: Chapter 12: The Good Doctor


    We found ourselves in a part of the town near the northern wall, a neighborhood for craftsmen, laborers, and local artisans. We navigated narrow streets lined in steeple-roofed houses and narrow shops. Even here, I noted how neat the settlement was. Straight streets, good homes, handsome courtyards with fountains and public gardens. The section we stood in had more claustrophobic alleys, but even then I didn¡¯t see signs of rampant poverty or hardship.


    Part of me had expected something else. My imagination conjured sick beggars lurking in the alleys, dour inquisitors standing guard like shrouded wraiths at every corner, the distant wails of tortured sinners echoing up from the sewer grates.


    I hadn¡¯t forgotten my time beneath Rose Malin. It still played prominently in my nightmares. Sometimes, I thought I¡¯d left part of myself down in that stinking darkness, lost through the endless days of questions while I waited to die, or worse.


    But Tol wasn¡¯t like that, at least on the surface. I considered that Vicar¡¯s story about the small city¡¯s dark history had something to do with my disjointed expectations. Only a few generations ago, this had been the epicenter of horror and pestilence. Now, it looked like a fine enough place to live in comfort and quiet, ignoring all the traders and soldiers passing through for the resettlement of Kingsmeet.


    There were signs of decay, of age, a weathering that told me this had once been a very fine place long ago and now it was... not bad, but faded. An old masterwork in cold oils, set against a backdrop of quiet white.


    ¡°Here.¡± Vicar, still wrapped inside Geoffrey the Pilgrim, stopped in front of a three story townhouse, one of the largest on the street. ¡°She lived here before. If she¡¯s still in town, then this is where we¡¯ll find the good doctor.¡±


    ¡°Doctor? You didn¡¯t tell me she¡¯s a physik.¡± It put me in mind of Olliard of Kell. He¡¯d seemed a good sort, and part of me believed he was at heart, but we¡¯d ended up at odds in the end. Perhaps because he was a good sort.


    ¡°She is a polymath. You will be hard pressed to find a subject this woman doesn¡¯t have some degree of expertise in.¡± Vicar started up the stairs. One of the boards was loose and creaked under his boot. ¡°Let me do the talking.¡±


    I waited at the bottom of the steps while Vicar rapped on the door. I felt a shiver that wasn¡¯t just frozen air on my neck. It¡¯s watching again. Just as I¡¯d been warned, the Scadudemon had kept following me after that night, adding itself to the usual train of ghosts who never seemed far behind.


    I would take Vicar¡¯s advice and ignore it, though I couldn¡¯t help looking around. An old woman stood on her front porch a few houses down, watching grandchildren play in the snow. She looked in our direction. I gave her a friendly wave, remembering Vicar¡¯s words about Priory spies.


    They could be anyone. Even a kindly old grandmother.


    After about a minute, the door cracked open. In the gap stood a tall, willowy woman in woolen robes not dissimilar from what the crowfriar wore in his disguise, though hers were much finer, darker, and more professional looking. She looked to be about thirty-five, perhaps a bit younger. She had high cheekbones, large brown eyes, a small, slightly recessed chin, and ashy brown hair done in a practical bun to reveal arched eyebrows and protruding ears. Her thin nose had been broken before and badly set, putting a notable crook in it.


    She did not smile as she glanced between us. When she noted my armaments, her already thin lips pressed even tighter. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    Vicar leaned on his staff, smiling broadly as though greeting a beloved relative after a long absence. ¡°Delphine! It¡¯s so good to see you again. Let an old man in out of the cold, hm?¡±


    His cheerfully narrowed eyes widened slightly and he lowered his voice. ¡°I do hope the tea won¡¯t have silver dust in it this time.¡±


    The woman¡¯s brow crinkled, then her eyes widened. ¡°Renuart?¡±


    ¡°Geoffrey, at the moment. We need to talk.¡±


    I saw her hesitate, her nostrils flaring in a moment of indecision. Her eyes went to me. ¡°Who is he?¡±


    Vicar didn¡¯t even look at me. ¡°An ally, for now. You will need to invite him in. I trust mine is still good?¡±


    ¡°I was tempted to rescind it,¡± she said acidly. ¡°But yes. And yes, your companion can come in so long as he brings no trouble and leaves when I ask him to.¡± She glanced at me as she said this, and I felt a pressure I¡¯d barely noticed recede. The home had been warded.


    I followed them in. The first floor of the house was neat and tidy, almost sterile. It made me think the owner didn¡¯t entertain guests often, and probably didn¡¯t care to. Even with the stove burning it felt cool inside, but I couldn¡¯t tell if that was the winter air we¡¯d let in or an impression from my magic. Either way, it did not feel like a real home.


    The doctor closed the door and moved to a small table set near the stove. There was a fireplace, but it didn¡¯t look like it¡¯d been lit often, like the woman only cared to keep the place just warm enough to be livable. She did not sit, wheeling on Vicar.


    ¡°How much does he know?¡± Her eyes flicked to me and then back to the disguised crowfriar.


    ¡°Almost everything,¡± Vicar admitted. ¡°We¡¯ve... been acquainted for some time. He knows who I am and what I am.¡±


    That did not seem to please her. ¡°You were an idiot to come back here. After you and Master Hexer vanished, there was a tremendous uproar. They interrogated me for two days straight, thinking I¡¯d aided you somehow! I thought they were going to start putting the question to me. Oraise was here. I think if he hadn¡¯t spoken to me, they¡¯d have pulled out the hooks and brands.¡±


    Vicar stilled mid pace. ¡°Is he still here?¡±


    Delphine shook her head. ¡°He left just yesterday, heading back to Baille Os to attend to the Grand Prior. There¡¯s talk that the Cardinal is holding a vote over what¡¯s happening with the Seydii. You¡¯ve heard of that?¡±


    ¡°We have.¡± Vicar¡¯s lined face became troubled. I heard a scratching sound and glanced at the mantle. A small, white creature crouched there, one I didn¡¯t recognize at first glance. It blinked at me with beady red eyes and chittered. An odd looking thing, like some kind of furry worm with a long neck, tiny legs, and a small flat head.


    Delphine wasn¡¯t done. ¡°They sent out the Penitents, Renuart. Emptied the barracks, even after I told them they weren¡¯t ready, that it was too soon. They sent them after you.¡± Her voice took on a breathy hush. ¡°Even Chamael went after you.¡±


    Vicar held up placating hands. ¡°I know. For what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯m glad to see you are not in bonds. We need your help.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t even know what happened!¡± Delphine moved to the other side of the table, pressing her palms down on its polished surface. ¡°All the questions, and no one ever explained to me what was going on.¡± She scoffed. ¡°Of course, no one trusts me, I knew that well enough. First that damned wizard vanished, right in the middle of that breakthrough with the tablets we found beneath Logrost, and then I started hearing that you¡¯d betrayed us too.¡±


    Vicar smiled softly. ¡°Us? I thought you were insistent that you were not part of us.¡±


    Delphine let out an annoyed sigh and adjusted a few strings of loose brown hair. ¡°This is not the time for pedantry, Renuart, I just don¡¯t understand ¡ª leave him be!¡±


    Her sharp voice startled me. I¡¯d taken a step towards the animal perched on the mantle. It was cute. Soft looking fur, a narrow face, twitching snout. I¡¯d started reaching a gloved hand out to try and pet it, but the doctor¡¯s bark made me freeze.


    The albino creature shot off, incredibly fast, scurrying down the fireplace and blurring between my legs. It crawled up Delphine¡¯s robes and found its way to her shoulder, where it curled there like a scarf. It had a long, fluffy tail that wrapped around her neck. It chittered softly. Again I saw the doctor¡¯s brow furrow.


    ¡°What is he?¡± I asked, genuinely curious. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a chimera like him.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t grown in an alchemist¡¯s vat.¡± Delphine stared at me with hard eyes. ¡°He¡¯s a weasel. He also bites.¡±


    She turned to Vicar again. ¡°Why did you come back?¡±


    The crowfriar held up a hand. ¡°First, is anyone else here? Are you certain this place is secure?¡±


    ¡°No, and probably but I can¡¯t be certain. The Priory is much better at surveillance than I gave them credit for. Your presence here will be marked. There will be questions.¡±


    Vicar nodded. ¡°Then we must move quickly. I need access to Lias¡¯s laboratory.¡±


    Delphine laughed. ¡°You must be joking! They¡¯ve torn it apart by now, there won¡¯t be anything to find.¡±


    Vicar gave me a pointed look, and I nodded. ¡°Unless the priorguard are hiring other Magi, they won¡¯t have found everything. Lias always dug himself a Burrow in his hideaways. I can find it if it¡¯s fresh enough, but if we don¡¯t move quick it might collapse. He never makes them to last.¡± That¡¯d always been his way, little dens he could abandon without leaving a trace.


    ¡°We need to know what Hexer planned,¡± Vicar said. ¡°Where he might have gone. We need to find him before the Priory does, or someone else.¡± He thought for a moment before asking, ¡°Have the Penitents returned?¡±


    Delphine frowned. The weasel on her shoulder chittered again and snuffled at her ear, and she began to pet it idly. ¡°No. but it¡¯s been a few days since I was last in the Undercroft. I¡¯ve brought most of my essentials here.¡± Her expression soured. ¡°The priorguard took some of my material. That bastard Presider promised they wouldn¡¯t.¡±


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    ¡°I imagine he is under suspicion as well,¡± Vicar said. ¡°He and I have both suffered under the shadow of doubt since we allowed Horace to die. Many have not forgotten.¡±


    I chose to say nothing. Delphine seemed to remember my presence and wheeled on me. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I had to invite you past my wards, which are keyed for most supernatural creatures. Ormur doesn¡¯t like you, which tells me you¡¯re probably either a crowfriar like Renuart or an elf. And you¡¯re wearing a glamour. Not a very good one, either.¡±


    Her look was disdainful, as though I¡¯d offended her. ¡°I¡¯m guessing faerie. You have that sense about you. Even when they try to make themselves look drab, elves have a... quality. You wear that dusty armor and frayed cloak like a lord wears jewels.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m human,¡± I said dryly.


    ¡°Really?¡± She lifted her eyebrows. ¡°Then I would like you to leave.¡±


    I opened my mouth for another retort, but instead I found my vision blur for a moment and realized I¡¯d spun towards the door. I took one involuntary step forward before catching myself. I had to grit my teeth and physically restrain my own limbs from continuing.


    What in all the hells...


    ¡°Definitely elf,¡± the doctor muttered with dry satisfaction. ¡°Though I¡¯ve never seen one resist the compulsion like that.¡±


    I focused my effort on not taking another step towards the door. It was a strange and intensely uncomfortable sensation, very close to terror or panic. I wanted to leave, felt like some enormous beast snuffled at the back of my neck and I needed to flee it or die.


    ¡°Make this stop,¡± I snarled. My heart began to pound. Cold sweat beaded on my skin.


    ¡°Or what?¡± Delphine quirked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Delphine...¡± Vicar sighed. ¡°He isn¡¯t an elf. Not entirely, anyway.¡±


    The doctor frowned. ¡°A changeling? The ward should work the same.¡±


    ¡°Not that either.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fucking human!¡± I snapped. I lurched forward another step, had to catch myself on the mantle. I snatched my hand back as pain flared. It¡¯d burned me.


    Like the house itself is trying to spit me out. I understood what was happening. It was old magic, peasant magic, cruder but in some ways just as strong as the laws that protect churches and the halls of lords. While elf-kind had been humanity¡¯s ally in our long wars against forces more profane, they are not always benign and there were tricks to protecting oneself just like with the dead. Leaving spoiled milk outside one¡¯s door, a wind chime of moonsilver by the window, clanging an anvil at midnight with a cudgel of cold iron... all old traditions that keep the redcaps and the child thief¡¯s away, forestall the star maids and fey lords who might pursue one¡¯s spouse in their immortal ardor.


    Many of those ancient folk magics had been supplemented over the centuries by the aegis of faith and the power of amber-robed preosts. The God-Queen had laid powerful blessings over Her chosen people, and between that and the Archon¡¯s laws, mortals found themselves less prone to becoming the playthings of elves. It instead became tradition to invite them in, let them take the shape of hearth hounds and protective spirits. I¡¯d rarely dealt with this kind of barrier, because my invitation into any place had always been implicit as a Knight of the Alder Table.


    Your companion can come in, so long as he brings no trouble and leaves when I ask him to. That simple statement had been a spell. Not the kind a Magi might wield, but potent all the same.


    ¡°You¡¯re a witch,¡± I growled at her.


    Delphine sniffed. ¡°I¡¯ve been called worse. Are you Briar? You carry the scent of blood with you, and these magics tend to be trickier with them.¡±


    Another step. I was nearly at the door. I almost tried using my own magic to break the geas, but realized instinctively that it wouldn¡¯t work. It was my own magic compelling me to leave the house. Elven magic. This worked on me for the same reason Chamael¡¯s commands had, for the same reason I was so sensitive to hidden powers and the residue of supernatural entities.


    The damned woman had taken the golden power Tuvon had alloyed to my soul, my Paladin¡¯s Oath, and turned that very force against me. She hadn¡¯t used any sort of Art to do it, just a little folklore.


    I¡¯d resisted Chamael. I didn¡¯t understand how, but felt like it had something to do with whatever happened to my powers when I¡¯d fought Yith. It involved the dead, and they were just as susceptible to thresholds as the Sidhe. It meant that ¡ª at least inside this house ¡ª she had more strength over me than even the angel.


    ¡°Delphine!¡± Vicar¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°Enough.¡±


    Delphine shifted and scowled. ¡°Fine. You can stay until I change my mind.¡±


    It felt like an iron anchor dragging me towards the door suddenly slackened. It wasn¡¯t gone ¡ª I could still feel that pressure of conditional welcome wrapped around me ¡ª but I almost gasped as it eased.


    I caught my breath and glared at her. ¡°What was that for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like games,¡± she stated flatly. ¡°And until I know who and what you are I will not trust you. I will not trust this.¡± She made a slicing motion between me and the crowfriar. ¡°I owe Renuart, but I have my own neck to look out for. You want my help? Convince me why I should.¡±


    I considered for a long moment, caught between anger and interest. I had to admit, this strange woman had impressed me. It didn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t find her rude. Neither did I trust her with my story.


    ¡°I¡¯m human,¡± I told her without breaking eye contact. ¡°Just... modified. I¡¯m interested in finding Lias Hexer. Vicar and I have the same goal. All you need to do is get me into his study without the entire Inquisition coming down on our heads. Do that, and we¡¯ll go our own ways.¡±


    ¡°And after you find him?¡± She insisted.


    I hesitated, realizing I hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead. Vicar answered for me. ¡°We need to find Lias before anyone else does, Delphine. Please.¡±


    Delphine glanced at the man and folded her arms over her sternum. ¡°Dis Myrddin was there when I was questioned. He believed you helped Lias escape. What makes you think I won¡¯t turn you all over even if we manage to find him?¡±


    Vicar¡¯s smile was thin. ¡°Because you want to know what the wizard knows, why he left, and you know without him, without me, the Priory will force you to become a full member to protect its secrets. Or just kill you.¡±


    Delphine¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯re a bastard, Renuart.¡±


    ¡°I am just as much at risk as you.¡± The devil lowered his gray eyes, falling quiet a moment. ¡°I inducted the wizard into many of our secrets. I believed having him as an ally was the best course, and I take the blame for this. The other friars certainly think so. Failure is not tolerated by our masters, and I have failed three times now since leading the mission to this land. If they capture me, then I will face judgement.¡±


    He shook himself out of his reverie. ¡°We¡¯ve had a long journey, and I think we all have some preparations to make. Can you shelter us for a day or three?¡±


    Delphine kept glancing at me, obviously dissatisfied, but turned reluctant eyes to Vicar. ¡°I¡¯m being watched. You two will have to stay here, now. You¡¯ve definitely been seen coming in, and it¡¯ll look suspicious if you vanish right after. I¡¯ll have to come up with some story. I¡¯m also going to need to bully my way back into the Undercroft, and then find a way to get you two in there, which will definitely get us all killed... and why am I letting you convince me to go through with this?¡±


    She scowled, and Vicar plastered on his paternal smile. ¡°Because you know it is likely for a worthy cause.¡±


    The woman snorted. ¡°With you? A vile one, no doubt.¡±


    ¡°Then you will consider it?¡±


    The doctor sniffed. ¡°I will consider not turning you over to the priorguard. For now, you both stink of the road. Get yourselves cleaned up.¡±


    She hesitated before adding, ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll make tea.¡±


    The doctor situated us in rooms on the second level. She also gave terse orders not to touch the third level or the last room on the second. I noted that her little pet had vanished.


    When she¡¯d gone downstairs, I turned to Vicar. ¡°You¡¯re sure she won¡¯t turn us in? She really doesn¡¯t seem to like me.¡± For that matter, she didn¡¯t seem to like Vicar much either.


    ¡°She does not like soldiers. Don¡¯t take it too personally.¡± He frowned deeply, the stark lines of his gaunt faces tightening. ¡°It would be foolish for her to betray us. She agreed to join our operation in order to further her own research. The Grand Prior tolerates her because he sees the value in what she contributes to his plans, but he would much prefer to have her full cooperation. With both me and Hexer now considered apostate, he will force that choice sooner rather than later.¡±


    ¡°Even if that cooperation comes from coercion,¡± I said in understanding. ¡°The Priory¡¯s new leader sounds like just as much of a schemer as Horace.¡±


    ¡°He is. Horace was a cold, calculating man fully willing to wield all power at his disposal. To him, the Inquisition was a tool. Diana Hallow was obsessed with her own rhetoric, so much so it cost her support. Eirik is something altogether more dangerous.¡±


    It was the first time I¡¯d heard the new Grand Prior¡¯s name. ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±


    Vicar turned to face me. ¡°A believer. He is presently the most staunch supporter of the Cardinal in Baille Os. If they are successful in reclaiming Kingsmeet, then it will be a tremendous step in earning support for the war they really want to fight.¡±


    Markham¡¯s war. Or was it the Church¡¯s? The Emperor was the Sword of the Faith, technically a servant of the clergy. Perhaps I should have considered that more carefully. Rosanna had been the one with the rivalry against Horace Laudner, and she was not always politically aligned with her husband. Had it set Markham¡¯s plans back when I¡¯d killed the old Grand Prior?


    That wasn¡¯t a line of thought I enjoyed. Much as I¡¯d tried to keep up, to train my mind as much as my body, I could only do so much in a year. The intrigues of kings and emperors wouldn¡¯t be untangled in an hour.


    I took the time to strip out of my armor, clean it, and by the time I¡¯d finished the doctor was ready with tea and a meal. We all sat downstairs and ate in awkward silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Delphine kept giving me furtive looks. I¡¯d put my armor back on after cleaning it, and she¡¯d noticed when we¡¯d come down and hadn¡¯t hid her disapproval.


    Her attention grew tiresome. ¡°What?¡± I asked her. ¡°Spit it out if you have something to say.¡±


    Her brow furrowed, a nervous tic judging by the permanent crease there. ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me your name.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± I took another bite of stew.


    The crease deepened. ¡°You are a guest in my house, one I am harboring against some very dangerous people. The least you can do is offer your name.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous for the Fey Folk to offer their names to mortals, especially when they are guests.¡±


    She wheeled on Vicar. ¡°Is he always this insufferable?¡±


    The man, who¡¯d taken off his pilgrim¡¯s robe and looked very much like a thinner, older Renuart Kross just then, cast me a bemused look. ¡°He is stubborn to a fault, and is prone to thinking himself witty when he is in fact being childish.¡±


    ¡°And you smell like someone passed bad gas all the time. We all have our little quirks.¡±


    Delphine narrowed her eyes at me and laced her fingers together. She wore several rings, all of them common quality and simple. One looked woven from grass.


    ¡°You¡¯re not an elf. I see that now, but humans don¡¯t usually wear glamour so easily. What are you hiding under there?¡±


    ¡°Nothing much,¡± I said, already feeling tired of this line of questioning. ¡°I mostly just made my hair darker.¡± And my eyes, but I wouldn¡¯t mention that.


    I heard a scratching under the table, then Ormur the Weasel scampered up onto its surface and started sniffing at our food. When he got close to me, he bared his teeth and spat angrily before rushing to his mistress.


    ¡°Why did you name your weasel after a dragon?¡± I asked her. It had taken me some time to recognize the name.


    ¡°Because he eats like one, and protects me very fiercely.¡± She started petting the albino animal. ¡°Also, doesn¡¯t he look like a little wurm?¡± Her voice seemed to warm while talking about her pet.


    Not a pet. Her familiar. I sensed an unnatural intelligence about the animal that reminded me of Morgause.


    I had questions of my own. Why did she work with the Priory even though they were obviously a danger to her? What was it she studied, and how had she gained a rapport with a Crowfriar of Orkael? She and Vicar didn¡¯t seem to like each other, but there was obviously something there. I¡¯d considered something romantic at first, but the more I watched them the more I dismissed the idea. I sensed no warmth. Just a professional, albeit grudging, respect.


    But there wasn¡¯t time to get everyone¡¯s story. My eyes were drawn to the window. Dusk encroached.


    We had to wait for Delphine to manufacture a way into Lias¡¯s laboratory that wouldn¡¯t get us caught by the Priory. It could take days if we intended to do this carefully. I didn¡¯t want to wait days, knowing it would give Lias time to get further away and his pursuers the chance to catch him, but getting ourselves caught wouldn¡¯t help anything.


    In the meantime, I had another task to attend. Murmuring thanks for the meal, I began to stand and grab my cloak.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Vicar asked.


    ¡°To find a church. I¡¯m masquerading as a crusader, remember? It would look strange if I didn¡¯t offer some evening prayers to God and Her angels.¡±