《Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial》


 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 right 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 said nothing, and began to walk forward at an unhurried pace. The sound of my boots striking the floor made soft echoes through the chapel, a space built to make sound carry.


    The Bishop rose to his full height. The confusion writ in his regal features was replaced by anger. ¡°The cathedral is closed!¡± He said, his voice lashing across the room like the crack of a giant¡¯s whip. ¡°Remove yourself or¡­¡± he gave up on command then, seeing that my pace wasn¡¯t faltering. ¡°Guards!¡± He called.


    No guard would be coming. I hadn¡¯t killed the men standing watch in the room¡¯s connected passages ¡ª they had done me no wrong, and I wasn¡¯t there for them ¡ª but they would be indisposed for a while. It was just me and the priest.


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    ¡°Who are you?¡± The Bishop was sweating now. He backed away as I approached the short flight of stairs leading up to the dais. ¡°W-what do you want?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not what I want that matters right now,¡± I said. My voice is hoarse and low, but it carried well enough in that room. ¡°You weave a good sermon, preoster.¡± I used the traditional title for a ranking clergyman. ¡°Did you cry at Llynspring, too?¡±


    I saw his face go pale as he recognized the name. ¡°Is this revenge, then?¡± He asked.


    I¡¯d never been at Llynspring, but I¡¯d heard the rumors of the witch trials that had flared like a killing flame across the west, ending in the deaths of more than five hundred ¡ª either through accusations of apostasy or the accident of inhuman birth.


    Accused by this man, before he¡¯d become the archclericon of a little earldom far from those regions. Not the worst of the atrocities committed during the war, not by far, and most had forgotten the blood spilled in the rural west thanks to the seas of red washing the east. The Bishop¡¯s expression confirmed the truth of it.


    ¡°Llynspring, Kilcast, House Wake¡­¡± I muttered, just loud enough for him to hear as I continued to approach, ascending the steps. ¡°How do you say your god¡¯s name without your throat bleeding?¡±


    ¡°Guards!¡± The Bishop cried out for help again, his voice cracking. He¡¯d backed all the way to the towering effigy of the Heir again, and as he felt it at his back he flinched and stopped. I had reached the top of the steps, and I let the cover fall away from the object I held as I loosened the rope binding it. It was an axe. Not so big as the one the executioner out in the square had used, but the design was similar, with a long haft and a broad, hooked blade which glinted a dull, brassy sheen. Hithlenic bronze. Leonis Chancer¡¯s eyes went wide as he saw it. The haft of the weapon was carved from a branch of uncarved oak, gnarled and burnt.


    If the Bishop hadn¡¯t guessed by the ring, he knew well enough who I was now. ¡°The Headsman,¡± he breathed, all the color draining from his face. He began to incite a prayer of banishment. I felt a shiver of aura ripple out from the priest, and had to suppress a laugh. He was trying to cant at me. ¡°Sorry, preoster, but I¡¯m not a revenant. Or a demon, before you try that too. We have the same bosses, you and I.¡±


    ¡°But why you!?¡± The Bishop cried out. He was trying to skirt around me, probably to make for one of the passages behind the altar. I tensed, ready to spring forward if he attempted to escape, but his own desperation for an answer kept him in place. ¡°If they were so displeased, why not smite me down? Why send a¡­ a¡­¡±


    ¡°Ask them yourself,¡± I said. I wanted this over.


    ¡°I deserve more than that!¡± The Bishop snarled, stopping in his tracks and taking a sudden step forward, surprising me. ¡°Have I not served them faithfully?¡± His fingers formed claws as he dragged them down the front of his crimson robes, clutching at the fabric so the smooth material bunched in his hand. ¡°Heresy. Greed. Hate. This land was so full of poison, and anyone is surprised it burst forth like pus from a wound?¡± A cold pride entered his voice. ¡°I drew that poison forth and cleansed it. I have served.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you think?¡± I took another step forward, cautious of him bolting, or trying something else. He¡¯d already demonstrated he could wield aura, and it always paid to be cautious of that. ¡°You think you served Her,¡± I gestured at the statue with my axe, ¡°by slaughtering innocents while the rest of Urn burned?¡±


    ¡°Innocents!?¡± The Bishop laughed, a manic edge in his voice. ¡°Necromancers, pagans, cultists, trollkin, escapees from Draubard¡­ apostates all. Urn burned because we turned our back on the teachings of the Onsolain, on the promise of Heaven!¡±


    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

    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.


    Well, my softness was going to end either in my death or the deaths of more than a few members of the Vinhithe garrison. I glanced up, recognizing the belfry tower of another church, not the main cathedral. I had an escape plan already. All I had to do was reach the river.


    Something tore past my head, missing an ear by a finger¡¯s width, and clattered across a nearby wall. I turned and saw figures at the mouth of the alley. The townsfolk had alerted the guard then, and they had crossbows. I ran.


    If not for the rain and the wind, I doubt they would have missed me. More crossbow bolts whipped past, clattering off stonework and splitting rain. I emerged from the alley into a small square, a fountain in the center fashioned in the likeness of three elf-maids pouring water from ewers into a basin. One of their pointy-eared heads erupted as a bolt went through it. I snarled out a bitter curse.


    Figures moved through the rain as I passed the fountain. There were guards waiting for me, as I¡¯d feared. Or I was just unlucky. I counted six through the haze of rain, not counting the marksmen approaching from behind.


    I didn¡¯t wait for them to encircle me or bring up reinforcements. I went forward like a battering ram, and was on the first soldier within seconds of their entry into the square. He was a big man, his breastplate bearing the horned wolf emblem of the local earl. His gauntlet wrapped around the handle of a flanged mace. His eyes widened beneath the brim of his helm at my speed, but he didn¡¯t hesitate to grip his bludgeon in both hands and bring it up for a swing. Too slow. Still resting on my shoulder, my axe levered back as I took it in both hands and then brought it down in a merciless chop.


    The earl¡¯s executioner had been good. I am better. Raindrops parted as the fine-honed edge of the axe¡¯s bit came down, driving through the big soldier¡¯s peaked helm. Bone split beneath layers of steel and leather. One of the man¡¯s eyes rolled up into his skull, the other popped loose, and he fell without sound.


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    I went over him. The second guard died in two cuts, losing a hand at the wrist before I took his jugular on the backswing. The third took more doing, managing to parry my first swing in a flash of sparks before I slammed the butt of the axe¡¯s haft into his jaw. Their helms were open-faced, made for sentry duty and not war, and his face broke in a splatter of blood and teeth.


    I turned as a fourth soldier jabbed at my neck with the tip of a halberd. He caught the edge of my neck, drawing blood, but I leapt aside before he could use the curved hook beneath the spear¡¯s point to catch me. He tried to turn, to get his weapon between us, but I was faster. Chain mail split as easy as flesh beneath my weapon¡¯s Hithlen-bronze edge. I took the halberdier¡¯s left arm at the shoulder, dropping low to duck under the wild swing of his cumbersome weapon as he turned in a death spiral, blood spraying in an artist¡¯s mark across the rain-slick square to form a near complete circle.


    Eight seconds. I¡¯d made my gap, and turned toward another alley to escape the patrol. But the crossbowmen had arrived now, four of them. They fanned out on the far side of the square to take their aims, killing darts loaded.


    I dove. They fired. I¡¯m not sure which happened first. Two bolts missed, sinking into stone and whitewashed wood of nearby buildings with sharp cracks of impact. One broke off the fountain statues, shattering a slender elfin arm, and the fourth found my shoulder. It punched deep, going through layers of cloth, chain, and leather, then meat.


    I hit the stone rolling. The bolt in my shoulder snapped, leaving half of its length still jammed in. Left shoulder, close to the bicep. I came to my feet, using the fountain as cover, and tried to take my axe in two hands. As muscle and bone brushed against the embedded dart, agony erupted like a detonating cannonball.


    This was bad.


    I glared through a gap in the statues. The crossbowmen were already reloading. I could kill them now, get them off my back, but it would heighten the risk of being penned into this square if more of the garrison was converging. Not to mention I¡¯d be just as likely to get shot down the moment I stepped out of cover.


    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: Duel In The Rain

    They were knights, rather than more of the earl¡¯s regulars. 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. That last 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 the knight wore seemed of a new fashion, more complex in design than anything I¡¯d seen in the war. Possibly even made outside the subcontinent ¡ª it lacked any House emblem I knew, and had no motifs of tree or familiar beast.


    The guilds were bringing all sorts of interesting new toys across the Riven Sea. I suspected it to be 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. Already, the rain had begun to wash the residue of my kills away.


    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± the knight with the hammer said. Their armor made their voice androgynous, caused it to emerge 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.


    I took another step, getting well clear of the alleyway, and waited. I¡¯d played this game before. The game of naming oneself, of delivering fair challenge. I¡¯d once lived for it.


    ¡°The Headsman himself, come out of hiding to plague us. What have you to say for yourself, blackguard?¡±


    Despite the inhuman quality the ensorcelled armor gave the knight¡¯s words, I could hear the anger in them.


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


    The wound in my shoulder thrummed. Hopefully, they wouldn¡¯t see it.


    The other two knights shifted at my words, 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, drift from liege to liege, going wherever hospitality and excitement take them. Adventurers of a fashion, though they tended to form their own fraternities and were disdained 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. And if they stalled me long enough, I¡¯d have those to contend with as well.


    I pointed my axe at the leader, showing them the blood splattered across the bearded blade. 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 knight.¡±


    I admit, 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 gnarled haft, until it hovered near where the blade fused with wood. The weapon began to emit a dour amber light touched with faintest red, like gilt copper.


    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, elfbronze 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¡¯d been 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.


    The Glorysworn didn¡¯t give me the chance to recover. They advanced, relentless, and I dodged their hammer¡¯s downswing rather than try to parry again, fearing a repeat of that tremorous magic. It became something of a dance then, as the knight advanced and I fell back, narrowly avoiding an endless series of blows. The knight¡¯s stamina seemed inexhaustible.


    I, on the other hand, already shaken and wounded, started to labor. My bones seemed to ring continuously, adding disorientation to my woes. The glorysworn¡¯s magic had literally rung me like a thin bar of metal struck hard, causing my entire being to vibrate violently.


    I suspected it hadn¡¯t just hurt my body. I was having difficulty shaping my aura into a coherent form. I had no way of knowing for certain whether what I¡¯d been hit with had been the martial sorcery of the knight¡¯s Soul Art, or some quirk of their weapon.


    I had a suspicion, though, from the unfamiliar sensation of it.


    When two fighters with wakened aura clash, it¡¯s not just their bodies at odds with one another. The wielding of Art is not the whole of sorcerous combat, only a specific application of it. Various phenomena can manifest in such duels, some of which can be unique and unpredictable.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    But a common one is the exchange of emotion, emanations of the mind and spirit bridging between two opponents as they become lost in the fury of combat, meet. It¡¯s not mind reading, not quite. Thoughts are trickier.


    But rage, fear, excitement ¡ª these things you can give away to an enemy.


    It is not too different from playing cards, really. The difference is that the plays happen more instantly, and the results are more lethal. It¡¯s common to train to quell this flow, so you don¡¯t give away your intentions.


    The Glorysworn knight was not nearly as well trained in this aspect of combat as I. That¡¯s why when they stepped in close with hammer lifted for a killing blow, sabaton sliding across the ground so water sprayed around my ankles, I knew they were frustrated with my endless evasion.


    They overcommitted, and I punished them for it. I stopped, legs braced, and spun my axe like a quarterstaff, knocking the hammer off balance without letting my own weapon touch its head. The Glorysworn stumbled and I got the hooked blade of my axe around the haft of their weapon.


    I jerked hard, twisting. The hammer flew free of their grip and the knight stumbled past me several steps. The hammer clattered to the ground, which shuddered slightly around it.


    As I¡¯d thought. Their weapon had been imbued with a sorcerous technique, one that acted automatically when it struck something.


    Without it¡­


    I didn¡¯t smile. No time for gloating. I swung, merciless, and caught the knight with the shining amber bit of my axe between pauldron and neck. Steel crumpled. Bone broke. The Glorysworn went down with a sharp cry.


    They wouldn¡¯t be getting up again soon.


    I faced the other two, who still stood between me and the docks.


    ¡°Move.¡± I infused my words with aura so they rang through the storm. ¡°Aside.¡±


    This time, the command did not prove so effective as it had on the young guardsman earlier. One of the Glorysworn jerked, nearly obeying, but the other simply stepped forward with claymos raised.


    The sight of the war sword, a two hander and beautifully made, made my jaw clench. This time, I didn¡¯t suppress the surge of angry bloodlust. I had lost interest in keeping calm, in staying patient.


    I lifted my axe to meet their challenge. Wisps of amber fire danced around its edge. I squeezed, and the small burs on the branch handle bit into my palm.


    The sound of crackling wood passed through the rain. Above, a tongue of lightning flickered across the sky.


    The two knights, brothers by their leader¡¯s earlier speech, spread out to flank me. They wouldn¡¯t be dueling me one on one like the hammer wielder, then.


    Fine. I kept my eyes on both, backing away from the fallen Glorysworn in case they weren¡¯t so incapacitated as I¡¯d hoped.


    They both held swords. The one on the left a tall claymos, a weighty greatsword, and the one on the right a shorter, but hardly less heavy, broadsword.


    Like the first, their faces were hidden behind ornate helms of strange design, alien visages made eerie by the storm. The one with the smaller blade had a helm crafted in the likeness of a snarling gargoyle, while the larger brother resembled a deep sea fish, the crest of the helm even fashioned into a sort of antenna.


    The weapons of both were etched from pommel to bladetip with complex geometric patterns and emitted a faint light in the rain. Like the first, then, their weapons were ensorceled.


    That didn¡¯t necessarily mean they would do exactly the same thing. I took a defensive stance, cautious of tricks.


    I considered using my own Art. I thought better of it, and settled for maintaining the aegis I¡¯d made before. My left shoulder burned, and I still felt nauseous from that magicked hammer, but I ignored the discomfort.


    The Glorysworn with the broadsword attacked first, bringing his wide-bladed armament up to rest on a vambrace and advancing with heavy, plodding steps. When he drew near he lunged, weapon driving forward in a powerful thrust.


    I parried, axe scraping against sword as I brought my weapon up in an rising motion across my left side. I would have riposted, but the knight ducked and his brother was there at his back, fish helm comically quizzical, greatsword cleaving rain as it sought my head.


    I¡¯d come in stealth, not for war, and wore no helm. I reeled back, letting the tip of the claymos miss me by a hand¡¯s width, but the Glorysworn with the gargoyle helm chopped at my legs even as Fishhead recovered from his mighty swing. I blocked Gargoyle¡¯s sword, causing metal to scream tortuously as our weapons clashed.


    No bone quaking Art this time. But the weapons moved fast, and produced an eerie whine. Whatever strange alchemy had mixed that metal, it made them wasp quick and terribly sharp.


    Worse, the two knights fought as a single body, two swords and four arms moving in concert, so I could barely avoid both and was left no time to retaliate.


    They used no Art, but they were fast for their size and took no risks like the hammer-wielder. I might have taken either alone, but together they matched me step for step. My wound screamed, restricting my full range of movement. Sweat mixed with rain as I avoided death by the space of heartbeats, struggling for every moment of life.


    They were good. But, I thought, also inexperienced. And they¡¯d followed the one with the hammer¡¯s lead. An elder brother, I thought, and had a grim idea.


    They had said it themselves. They had called me a blackguard, and guessed I wasn¡¯t a knight. I saw no reason to disappoint their assumptions.


    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 had less 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 hooked blade of my axe to jerk the hammer wielder in front of me from where he¡¯d been lying 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.¡±


    Somehow, the bastards had kept themselves between me and the water. I could hear it churning, hear the docks creaking and the boats grinding against their tethers.


    Fishhead stood stock still, a titan in steel with a sword near as tall as he was, and remained silent. Gargoyle drew up, and even through all the armor I practically felt his rage.


    ¡°Blackguard!¡± He snarled through his monstrous helm. ¡°She has 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 ¡ª 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 will not pretend like I felt aright with 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. The River Vin flowed fast and deep, and in some places more than half a mile wide. Not so wide here, but enough that I couldn¡¯t make out the far shore through the night and the rain, even with the lightning and the phantasmal banners.


    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 to be 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. With them rode a towering figure in armor of nearly black iron, filigreed with scenes of chivalrous glories and odes of prayer. Another knight, and no glorysworn. Possibly the earl himself.


    The noble warrior rode a chimera, some local breed which looked like some cross between an ancient equine and a wolf, covered in shaggy fur but long limbed and long necked, with predator teeth and glinting white-green eyes.


    The knight lifted his spear, and a silver light bloomed high above it. The emblem of the earl blazed in the sky, wrought from pure aura. It illuminated the whole wharf.


    Then, the rider pointed his weapon at me.


    I cursed. Unhooking my axe from around the glorysworn¡¯s neck, I placed a boot 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 any, 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.


    The crossbowmen fired. Their lord¡¯s sorcery made me very visible. Likely, it also made their movements more keen and their eyes sharper, enhancing their natural abilities as they bathed in that silver light.


    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 jerked my arm up only for another bolt to go right through the muscle, stopping a hair¡¯s width from my eye.


    I fell backward.


    Into the raging river.

 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 worse begin to fall¡ª


    An man in beautiful gilded armor, his eyes burning with golden fire, blood-soaked and suffering, stumbling toward me with uplifted sword¡ª


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


    I can¡¯t stop seeing it. Any of it. It is all burnt into my eyes, just as permanent as the golden fire in them. 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.


    And, as death draws near at hand¡­


    I know this is just the beginning.


    <hr>


    ¡°¡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.¡±


    Murmuring voices echo through these words. Beams of sunlight filter through gray clouds, too cold to wash away the gray pallor of fallen ash across the shattered city. It shines through the collapsed roof of the temple, but it does not fall on me.


    ¡°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 to you, Lord Alken?¡±


    He still called me lord. I might have laughed at that, though it would have been a dry ghost of humor. It would be the last time, in any case. Perhaps he meant it to soften this blow.


    But nothing could do that.


    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 dressed for war still, as did 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 who stood within the remnants of that blasted city. Dale kings, earls from the heartlands and the northern coasts, counts, barons, chieftains ¡ª a hundred or more great nobles formed large portions of the ring in which I knelt.


    But it wasn¡¯t just nobles in that court. I met the eyes of Wildedale rangers, militia captains, clericons, and adventurer fellowships. Towering dwarf giants glowered at me alongside furtive irks, the latter group¡¯s eyes gleaming eerily from their dim nooks.


    Some elves were there too, their beautiful faces made wolfish from years 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. Benefactors. Comrades.


    Now they seemed barely more than strangers.


    I saw Maerlys standing with her people, face hooded to hide her wounds. Lias stood 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. Karledaler knights who¡¯d once been my brothers and sisters watched me with pity, or anger.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    I made myself look at Rosanna. She stood by the king who passed my sentence. She would not meet my eyes.


    Damn her, then. She had put me here, and she would say nothing?


    I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d been looking for in their faces. Hate? Disgust? Pity? Whatever it was, all I saw were dour masks caught fast by years of struggle.


    I turned back to the king acting as the voice of the court. ¡°I understand, lord.¡± Grander titles were inappropriate here. As far as this new Accord was concerned, all here were equal, save for me.


    The iron-crowned king nodded once, slow and thoughtful. ¡°In light of your service in the war, we are prepared to offer you clemency. You will face no incarceration or censure. You may travel to whatever land you will so long as whatever power governs it is willing to accept you, and you may bear arms insofar as it is necessary to protect yourself.¡±


    So they would not leave me a wretch.


    ¡°You may find work as you will, but may not hold any official office with connection to the Accorded Realms or their representatives.¡±


    I would never again be a knight. I¡¯d dedicated my life to it, and now¡­


    All gone. Didn¡¯t matter anyway.


    It went on for some time. I heard it all, though seemingly at a distance. I had withdrawn deep into myself, aware the whole while of the ring of eyes fixed on me, some of whom I¡¯d once called friends, rivals, comrades in arms. They may as well have been a council of statues.


    When movement in the gathering caught my eye, I followed it without lifting my head. I thought I caught sight of a dark shape drifting through the assembly, black and white cloth shifting as though in an unseen wind. I could almost see a hint of gray eyes in the bands of daylight cutting through the chamber¡¯s high windows.


    When I blinked the phantom image had vanished. She wasn¡¯t there. It was just a trick of my mind, not a ghost like poor Donnelly.


    Or perhaps, I thought, it was the beginning of a curse.


    <hr>


    They say fire rained from the sky the day Golden Seydis fell.


    This is true. I can say as much because I had been there, and I could have stopped it.


    I deserved far worse than mere disgrace.


    <hr>


    I woke in the mud.


    There came a terrible moment where I believed I was back in the war, lying in the mud of a trampled battlefield surrounded by terror and death. I could almost hear the roars of chimera, the shouts of combatants, the clash of swords, and the eerie music of sorcery.


    But those sounds faded and it was just birdsong and wind through leaves.


    It took me a while to stir. Even then, rising did not come easy. I was methodical about it, testing fingers and toes before trying to shift my limbs. Nothing seemed paralyzed, at least. I managed to get hands under me, sliding them through damp mud, then one knee. I rose.


    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 reached my knees. I opened my eyes and saw only darkness.


    I began to panic. Had I been blinded? Had I lost my sight?


    Would that be a mercy, or just a new kind of hell?


    I brought my hands up to my face, feeling tentatively, and realized it was just mud. I wiped as much of it as I could away ¡ª my hands were just as filthy ¡ª then blinked at my surroundings.


    I knelt in a forest. An almost profanely cheery bright day claimed the sky above, which I found 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 bishop. 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. The one in my left forearm remained as well, though it seemed to have missed the bone. A small mercy.


    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 near 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 lay on my right 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.


    Only then did I flex 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.


    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 had gotten stuck. I finally had it free with a shout of effort and pain that echoed through the forest.


    When done, I collapsed on the dead tree, gasping for breath. I lifted the axe up to the sunlight.


    As my heart calmed I found myself glowering at the weapon. Beautiful. I hated it much as I¡¯d ever had, then.


    ¡°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 two bolts 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

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

 1.6: Kindness of Strangers

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    <hr>

 1.7: Ill-omened Road

<hr>


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

 1.8: 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.


    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.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Lisette said, a note of scholarly interest trickling into her voice. She noticed her master¡¯s interested gaze and her cheeks turned slightly pink. She adjusted a lock of yellow hair and elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s why you find so many ghosts and fey spirits in dead trees and the like.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Olliard¡¯s eyes glittered, and Lisette gave the old man a shy smile.


    ¡°Much as I love class time,¡± I drawled, ¡°we don¡¯t have much light left. Time to be on.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Lisette¡¯s mood darkened again, and she pointedly turned her back to me. We all piled onto the cart and, with the sun quickly sinking beneath the distant horizon beyond the forest, crossed the bridge.


    ******


    Night fell, drowning the forest in a deep, impenetrable darkness. We didn¡¯t stop. Camping in an irkwood after nightfall is probably one of the stupidest things one can do, and luckily I didn¡¯t need to tell my companions that.


    Olliard lit a lantern and attached it to a long pole, which he hung over the cart to light the forest road ahead. The pole hung out over Brume. The doctor lit two more lanterns and attached them to the sides of the cart, making the vehicle a little island of somber orange light within a sea of shadowy wilderness.


    ¡°No insects singing,¡± Lisette noted. Her eyes blinked sleepily and she suppressed a yawn. ¡°No owls. It¡¯s just¡­ silent.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Olliard hunched over Brume¡¯s reins, his eyes fixed on the depthless black beyond the lantern-light. ¡°Should be out of this before dawn, unless the path has been altered. Be a terrible time for elf mischief.¡±


    I closed my eyes, though I was careful not to let exhaustion whisk me away into dreams. I didn¡¯t sense any tampering with the road. There were no illusions, no phantasms, no subtle enchantments that might cause us to lose days of time or walk off a cliff. Even still, I didn¡¯t dare let myself sleep.


    Though I wanted to, very badly. Despite my bravado earlier, my injuries were not healed and burying the dead troll had been exhausting, painful work. Every bump and jostle of the cart made me feel like my hipbone was about to burst out of my skin, and my ribs ached with a dull, constant agony.


    Part of me wanted to take my leave of the healers and vanish into the night, foolish as the thought was. Lisette was already suspicious of me, and there was every chance we might run into a patrol from Vinhithe. We weren¡¯t so far from the city still, and I would be hunted.


    More than that, I didn¡¯t want to be around them when something dark found me again. In a way, I had been lucky it was Nath who¡¯d found me in the woods days before. It could have just as easily been one of any number of dark and wicked things looking to claim the Headsman¡¯s head. I¡¯d made a lot of enemies in my time. Further, I had a soul thrumming with old magic. I was an enticing meal, for anything brave or smart enough to try me. And in the state I¡¯d been in after my escape from the town, there wasn¡¯t much I could have done about supernatural predators.


    Olliard of Kell and his apprentice had saved my life. I didn¡¯t want to repay that favor by dragging them into my affairs. But Olliard¡¯s wards also helped protect me in my vulnerable state, and his ministrations helped me heal faster.


    There was nothing to do but sit, wait, and hope nothing found me.


    Hope. Right. Because that was something I had in abundance.


    ¡°You should sleep,¡± Lisette said to me. She didn¡¯t meet my eyes. The apprentice healer sat at the edge of the cart with her back against the wooden barrier, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked very tired, and very young. Younger than I¡¯d first thought. She was a tall girl, gangly, with a narrow face splattered in freckles and eyes just a bit too large for it. With her straw-colored hair, she looked more like some scrawny farmer¡¯s daughter than a neophyte of the Church of Urn.


    My mind flashed back to the boy in the Vinhithe cathedral. He¡¯d been even younger.


    ¡°Dangerous to sleep in an Irkwood,¡± I noted mildly. ¡°Don¡¯t want to carry dreams out of these trees.¡±


    ¡°Master Olliard¡¯s wards are good,¡± Lisette assured me. ¡°And I¡¯ve blessed them myself. You should be safe.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply, and the girl shrugged the conversation off, indifferent. Her attention wandered. My gaze fell down to my ring. The black stone swam with eddies of red, and I grimaced at the sight. It had eaten well while I¡¯d been unconscious for most of two days.


    ¡°That¡¯s a beautiful ring,¡± Lisette said.


    I glanced at her, surprised. I frowned and held it up, inspecting it. The ivory band was a very pale yellow, nearly white, and the black stone was held in place by tiny claws evoking nothing so much as a splayed ribcage. I¡¯d always thought it had a rather fell look to it.


    ¡°It is?¡± I asked skeptically.


    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.

 1.9: 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.¡±


    Surprise flickered across Eanor¡¯s face as she returned her attention to me. ¡°Ah. And you still live?¡±


    ¡°Heh.¡± I shrugged with one shoulder. ¡°She tried to give me the old we¡¯re not so different, join the Forces of Darkness speech.¡±


    Eanor half turned from me, looking troubled. ¡°Yes, I can imagine.¡± She turned to face me again and spoke more firmly. ¡°Do not heed Nath¡¯s words. She dreams of a world baptized in red seas.¡± She closed her burning silver eyes and drew in a long breath, her shoulders drooping a finger¡¯s width. ¡°I cannot blame her. She was made to be a warrior, but¡­ I regret that she has gone so far astray.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not too interested in becoming one of her freak shows. Just seemed like I should mention it, her being your twin and all.¡±


    It was uncanny, how alike the two of them looked. The shadowy mane of black hair, the pearl-hued skin, their height and voices. But, where Nath seemed like some avatar of death out of a devil¡¯s nightmare, Eanor was more like the fairy godmother a young princess might like to meet.


    They were both equally dangerous.


    ¡°Why am I here, Lady?¡± I asked. ¡°Usually Donnelly passes along word for the Choir.¡± I hadn¡¯t seen the spirit in many weeks, not since he¡¯d passed along the orders to execute Leonis Chancer.


    ¡°The courier you named is engaged in other duties,¡± Eanor said. ¡°And the forest you travel through is within my own domain.¡± She spread her hands out, and detached sleeves woven about her arms rippled like outstretched wings. ¡°You guard your dreams well, and I would have contacted you another way, but I had need to speak with you in haste, Headsman.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The onsolain¡¯s use of my epithet made me draw in a sharp breath. ¡°Ah. So I¡¯m here for work.¡±


    Eanor nodded, her girlish mirth fading as a more somber, far more ancient mask took its place. ¡°I am afraid so.¡±


    Anger, my old and ill-trusted friend, bubbled up in me. I took a moment to get a grip on my emotions before speaking. ¡°It¡¯s been less than a week since I killed Leonis Chancer for you and your brethren. You couldn¡¯t have given me time to recover from my injuries, at least?¡±


    Eanor folded her arms and their wings of shimmering cloth, clasped her hands together, and bowed her head. This time, it wasn¡¯t a gesture of apology. Her lambent eyes slitted, and her voice once again became that nearly sub-audible murmur. ¡°Time. Time is an illusion as delicate as any elven glamour, Alken Hewer, and it is fast slipping from our grasp.¡±


    I folded my own arms. ¡°Right. So, who do you want me to kill this time? A warlock? Rogue warlord? Maybe another bishop?¡± I snapped my fingers and spoke in a brighter voice. ¡°I know! How about a king this time. I think there are still a few realms I¡¯m not wanted in, may as well get those bounty hunters spread a bit more evenly, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Eanor cocked her head to one side. Her shadowy hair seemed to shift like the deep currents of a lightless sea with the motion. The effect was disorienting. ¡°We never claimed this role would be an easy one.¡±


    I clenched my jaw and said, ¡°why did you need me to kill a bishop? Why did you need me to do it in one of your own cathedrals? He was a servant of your church.¡±


    Not a mote of anger registered on the onsolain¡¯s statue-perfect face. ¡°The Church of Urn is not our instrument, Alken Hewer. It belongs, in all its myriad divisions, to your peoples.¡± She unlaced her fingers in my direction, as though releasing cupped water. ¡°They are channels through which you may commune with us, bridges of thought and faith. They are not courts of judgment through which we may extend a punishing fist.¡±


    ¡°Then what do you call me, if not a punishing fist?¡± I pressed a scarred hand to my chest, feeling the frustration I¡¯d been holding inside for long months surging up and out. ¡°I¡¯ve been killing men and monsters across Urn for nearly five years now at your word, or at least at the word of the High Choir. Most of them I understood the need for it well enough. I get that Leonis Chancer was a bastard, but why did you,¡± I pointed a finger at the inhumanly tall figure, ¡°and the rest of the Choir need the Headsman to send him off to Draubard? I deserve to know.¡±


    It was a while before Eanor replied. When she did, her voice was very calm, very quiet. ¡°Do you?¡±


    I realized then that the birds were no longer singing, and the stream was no longer cheerily flowing, its song becoming a muted, cautious tune. I suppressed a shudder of fear and folded my arms again. ¡°Maybe not,¡± I admitted. ¡°But I¡¯ve been misled by those I thought infallible before. I don¡¯t care that some might call you and yours gods, My Lady. I want to know the score.¡±


    Eanor was quiet a long while, her impossibly beautiful face set with marble calm. Or maybe not. I couldn¡¯t ever really tell with her kind. Too often it seemed like every display of emotion, every gesture, every word was composed like the actions on a stage. Rehearsed, so mere mortals could comprehend them. Some called them lesser gods, some called them angels, others the First Children ¡ª there were many names and many aspects to the Onsolain, kinsfolk of the Heir of Heaven and creations of the Old Divine.


    It all meant the same thing. The being in front of me was more ancient than the world, and powerful enough to unmake me with a word. It was sheer idiocy of me to try to bully her into answers. But, damn it, I was so tired of being in the dark. I¡¯d played the role of good little soldier before, and I¡¯d watched a civilization burn.


    Never again. If I was going to fight, to spill blood, then I¡¯d know why. I was the Headsman of Seydis, one of the last members of the Knights of the Alder Table. I had fought wars and watched a realm I was sworn to protect burn. I was the chosen mortal killer of the gods of Urn. It wasn¡¯t a role I was proud of, but I¡¯d be damned ¡ª more than I was already ¡ª if I fought blind. I¡¯d done that once. I¡¯d been an unquestioning soldier, happy enough so long as those I believed wiser knew what to do.


    I knew better now.


    ¡°Thirty one,¡± I said in a near whisper, glaring into Eanor¡¯s dimly glowing eyes. I didn¡¯t care just then that it could harm me to meet her gaze directly. ¡°Thirty one heads I¡¯ve claimed in the last five years. Where does it end? I thought the point of this was to kill the bastards who caused the war so they couldn¡¯t start a new one. Killing warlocks and leftover demons we didn¡¯t hunt down during the Fall was one thing, but this was a High Preost. Didn¡¯t you think I had enough stacked against me without making an enemy of the Church?¡±


    ¡°Leonis Chancer used the conflict to usurp power in the Church,¡± Eanor said, her serene countenance a stark contrast to my frustration. ¡°Hundreds died at his command. Thousands more died at the hands of those who followed his example. Do you think that ended with the Llynspring Inquisitions?¡± She regarded me somberly. ¡°His influence would have continued to grow, poisoning the faithful until the memory of this last war was washed away in the blood of religious revolution.¡±


    The onsolemite inclined her head, looking into my eyes as though compelling me to understand. ¡°In his death you have forestalled such a calamity. It was necessary. It was just.¡±


    Just. The word rung a discordant note in my thoughts. Despite that, I did consider her words and their ramifications. They were unpleasant, to put it mildly. Still, having a priest murdered to influence events¡­ It seemed so political, for the gods to become involved in. I¡¯d thought they had a different objective in mind for me. Something more ¡ª not noble, but at least something that felt less unclean.


    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.


    <div>

 1.10: 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!¡±


    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.


    Olliard¡¯s face set into a neutral mask. ¡°I¡¯m a surgeon, actually. Was there anything else you needed from us, captain?¡±


    The guard captain shrugged and ushered the cart through. ¡°Not a thing. Welcome to Caelfall, Master Olliard.¡±


    ¡°Bastard,¡± Lisette cursed as we cleared the gate and left the watchmen behind. I lifted an eyebrow at her, but didn¡¯t comment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recognize those men,¡± Olliard said. ¡°Caelfall used to rely on a volunteer watch, supplemented by the baron¡¯s men in harder times. Did you see their uniforms?¡±


    It took a moment before I realized he was speaking to me. I nodded. ¡°No House colors,¡± I noted. The guards had been wearing plain gray arming coats and light arms, with no insignia of any description. ¡°Mercenaries, maybe.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Olliard¡¯s expression was nearly as cold and remote as the dead-eyed guard captain¡¯s had been. ¡°I¡¯m going to head to the church and speak to whoever¡¯s replaced Micah, learn more about this.¡± He nodded to a building ahead, dominating a corner of the settlement¡¯s main street. ¡°That¡¯s the inn. I suppose this is where we part ways for now, Alken.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I nodded and hopped out of the cart. Both of the healers watched me do it, clearly troubled. I saw the looks and shrugged. ¡°As I said, my injuries must have not been as bad as you thought.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Olliard said. His apprentice hid her suspicion less well.


    I started to go, but stopped and turned back to the two of them. ¡°Listen¡­ you saved my life. I¡¯ll probably stay here a few days while I rest. If you need anything while you¡¯re in town¡­¡± what are you doing? I thought. Shut up. Just go. You don¡¯t want any distractions right now. ¡°Come and find me. I¡¯ll do what I can to repay you.¡± Damn it.


    I thought for a moment, then plucked a pouch from my belt and tossed it to the doctor. ¡°That¡¯s just a down payment,¡± I said, pointing at the coin pouch. Olliard¡¯s eyes widened as he felt its weight. ¡°For your services.¡±


    Olliard cleared his throat. ¡°I can¡¯t accept this. It¡¯s not like I gave you a choice in the matter, of my services that is. I know some in my profession tend to that sort of thing, but I won¡¯t accept payment that wasn¡¯t agreed upon beforehand.¡±


    I started walking away, not giving him the chance to give the pouch back. ¡°Keep it,¡± I said. ¡°And stay out of trouble, doctor.¡±


    I didn¡¯t turn back to see the faces of my saviors as I left them on the street. Hopefully, my bribe would help them keep their mouths shut about me. If my luck was particularly good, I¡¯d never see either of them again.


    They deserved better luck than that.


    It was an unseasonably cold late morning, and mist stubbornly clung to the streets of the lakeside settlement. There were people about, but not as many as I would have thought. Tired-eyed men watched me, the armed and cloaked stranger in their home, with wary distance. Women tended to small, sickly looking gardens, doggedly trying to keep those reserves of food alive. The smell of rot and fish was heavy in the air. Crows lingered on rooftops and ivy-choked fountains, or circled overhead as though waiting for the town to finally breathe its last breath.


    I recalled, on our approach to the village, that many of the boats along the docks had still been moored. That seemed odd to me, in a settlement that probably got most of its livelihood off the waters of the lake.


    Something was off about this place. The guards, the wary looks of the locals, and the air of tension pressed on my instincts like a leaden blanket.


    I found the Cymrian Sword inn ¡ª strange name, considering we were most of three hundred miles from Cymrinor ¡ª easily enough. It was a two story building with an attached stable for chimera. The acrid stench of some brand of beast I wasn¡¯t familiar with practically boiled out of the side building. The main structure was old and worn, showing signs of ill care. The damp air of the marshes had not been kind to it. A battered sign on a post out front confirmed it was the inn Olliard had directed me to.


    I entered and found myself in a large common room made cavernous by its near total lack of customers. Long tables dominated much of the space, and an unlit hearth formed the centerpiece to a brickstone chimney on the opposite side of the room from the door. Ordinary enough.


    A distant-eyed girl in her mid teens was listlessly sweeping a broom near one wall. When she saw me, her devotion to the task became more determined and she avoided my eyes. I gave her the same courtesy and ignored her, instead fixing my attention on a man near as old as Olliard behind the bar, heavyset and nearly fully bald, a heavy beard grown to compensate. I¡¯d seen nearly the same man in inns all across Urn, and felt a touch more at ease.


    There were a few customers, most of them gathered around one table near the bar. Locals, I thought, the group consisting of mostly men with a few women. They had the look of fishermen, with light clothing and wide-brimmed sun hats of some regional design. Voices hushed mid-conversation as I entered.


    My dagger and axe were hidden beneath my frayed cloak, a heavy garment of deep red-brown I¡¯d worn for years that wrapped around my neck nearly up to my chin. I adjusted it, just in case, and walked to the bar. I could feel eyes on me as I moved, every click of my boots echoing within the common room with uncomfortable volume.


    I didn¡¯t want to make an impression, but that can be hard when you¡¯re a finger over six-and-a-half feet tall and scarred like a blacksmith¡¯s anvil. I avoided meeting anyone¡¯s eyes, not wanting the people in the inn to see the glint of gold in them. I grew my red hair long and let it fall around my face for just that reason.


    ¡°Help you?¡± The innkeeper asked. He had broad shoulders and arms thick as any soldier¡¯s I¡¯d ever known, nearly every inch of skin covered in thick hair. His black beard and thinning hair were shot with gray. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed and unfocused, and he barely seemed to notice me as I approached the bar. ¡°If you¡¯ve got a beast, you¡¯ll need to tie it up in the yard. No more room in the stables.¡±


    I recalled the overwhelming stench in the inn¡¯s side building. ¡°The gate guards keeping their mounts in there?¡±


    The innkeeper did look at me then. His jaw tightened and he nodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a chimera,¡± I said. I thought of Brume, but guessed Olliard would make his own arrangements for his beast. ¡°I could use a room and food. Might be staying a few days.¡±


    The innkeeper grimaced. ¡°No rooms available.¡±


    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.


    <div>

 1.11: 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.


    The mercenaries had mentioned an island, guests, and patrols. I needed to know more, and I suspected I could get those details by following the commander¡¯s mouthpiece as he went about his duties.


    My earlier impression of Caelfall Village was that it was more town than village, and that impression became more cemented as I tailed the mercenaries through the streets. The settlement had been established in rough marshland, forcing its builders to construct their abodes on what were essentially islands of varying size divided by shallow water, much of it concealed by growths of cattail and reed. Narrow walkways of wood connected sections of the village, some of them rudimentary and others showing the careful labor of generations.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    This was an old settlement, rough as it might look to an outsider, and there were signs of long decades of human attention. Houses made for beauty as much as function, lovingly tended yards with small gardens, and even the occasional hint of statuary were present throughout the village. Olliard had mentioned that this had once been a prosperous community, and I saw signs of it.


    Faded though they were.


    I caught these details only in passing, images and impressions flickering by as I ghosted from wall to wall, letting the darkness and the mist do much of my work for me. The mist grew thicker with startling speed, almost as though it wanted to lead me astray.


    Belatedly, I realized the men I followed weren¡¯t holding torches despite the deepening shadows. What had that light I¡¯d noticed before been? The sky was clear enough to make the darkness less than impenetrable, but it was still dark and cold enough to impair an ordinary man.


    The elven magic in me made that darkness less deep, gave more vibrancy to the starlight falling down from on high. It was easy to forget small details like that, but I took note of it. The cold too was strange, for the season, but I tried not to let it make me paranoid. The weather had been unpredictable everywhere the past ten years.


    The rot smell of fish and stagnant water grew more sharp as I shadowed the sellswords. I realized we were drawing closer to the lake. This suspicion was confirmed when I began to hear the creaking of wood and boat hulls ¡ª the docks. I saw them ahead, as the street dipped down into a semi-open area where the fishing boats were moored.


    I had a sudden and vibrant memory of Vinhithe. The driving rain, the roar of thunder, metal singing its lethal song as I fought with the Glorysworn. I felt the dagger ram into my leg again, the bolt embed itself in my hip.


    I shut my eyes and fought down the sudden wave of fear. You¡¯ve faced worse, Alken. You¡¯ve faced far worse. You¡¯re more honed than this.


    I wiped the cold sweat that¡¯d beaded across my brow and stepped forward. The big mercenary and his two cronies had stopped near one of the docks. Vaughn was talking to another figure, this one lacking the armor and gray uniform of the company guarding the village. They were clad in a dark green cloak of fine quality, a heavy hood shadowing their features. Not so unusual, given the crisp air and the late hour.


    They were speaking in hushed voices, and I couldn¡¯t hear from my distance. I pressed myself to the corner of one of the lakeside homes and knelt, keeping myself as small a target as possible. Still nothing. I ghosted closer, hoping the mist would help cover my approach, and was finally able to catch the voices of the group.


    ¡°Your band¡¯s job is very simple, vice-captain.¡± The voice within the green cloak was cold, aloof, and very slightly nasal. I couldn¡¯t tell gender ¡ª the voice might have been a young man¡¯s or a woman¡¯s. ¡°You guard my lord¡¯s property, and in return he pays and¡­ indulges you.¡±


    Vaughn¡¯s reply came as a lazy drawl. He towered over the hooded figure, and held himself as though looking down his nose at them. ¡°Hard to protect his property when it includes a fucking marsh half as big as most kingdoms. If he wants to properly garrison his keep, we¡¯re going to lose more territory to the biters, and that¡¯s a fact.¡±


    ¡°The Baron¡¯s fief would not be threatened by the Eld if not for your company¡¯s desecration of the forest,¡± Green Hood said coldly. ¡°You should not have killed the sentinel.¡±


    I could hear the rattle of Vaughn¡¯s armored shoulders as he shrugged. ¡°Damn troll was costing us every time we had to use that road. ¡®Sides, his lordship would have had us off the ugly git sooner or later, just like he had us get rid of the old preoster.¡±


    ¡°Silence, fool!¡± The hooded figure stepped forward. All three of the mercenaries stepped back, hands going for weapons. Despite this, Green Cloak didn¡¯t seem intimidated. Their voice came as a raspy, angry hiss through the shadows of the hood, threatening as a serpent. ¡°If the locals overhear you, it could lead to revolt. These people are faithful.¡±


    Vaughn snorted in derision. ¡°Let them revolt. Twenty of my boys could secure this entire village and hold it.¡±


    Venom crept into Green Cloak¡¯s voice. ¡°My lord does not seek the blood of his own subjects. Remember that. They are still needed.¡± They seemed to assert calm over themself before saying, ¡°I hear strangers arrived in the village today. Tell me about them.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t call them strangers,¡± Vaughn said. ¡°One of them was this old thin-neck, some sort of healer I think. Village knows him. Name¡¯s Olliard.¡±


    ¡°Just Olliard?¡±


    ¡°Olliard of Kell,¡± Vaughn added, after one of his men whispered in his ear. ¡°He was apparently an old friend of the preoster. He and his apprentice are staying at the church.¡±


    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.¡±


    <div>

 1.12: 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.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t this a surprise,¡± Vaughn said with an eager laugh. ¡°That¡¯s a queer magic, friend.¡±


    ¡°We have to share him with the others?¡± One of the other ghouls said, a thin line of drool beginning to emerge from his lips as he stared at me.


    ¡°Company rules,¡± Vaughn said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, boys ¡ª we still get first taste.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    They began to advance again, heads bent forward and backs hunched, moving with an eerie, loping grace not at all human, as though they were struggling against the urge to discard their weapons and drop to all fours. When they sprung, it would be with preternatural speed.


    I was in a bad spot. Three against one, in a place that stifled my abilities, against opponents faster, stronger, and far more durable than any human, my skill at arms would only go so far. My opponents weren¡¯t going to be like the guards in Vinhithe, unready for my more supernatural abilities and magicked axe.


    If I stayed on the defensive, I¡¯d die. They¡¯d hurl themselves at me and tear me apart. They might take a wound or two, but fear of injury meant less to ghouls. They could keep fighting even with missing limbs or spilled guts. So long as a meal was in front of them, they wouldn¡¯t stop ¡ª any damage I dealt to them would mean nothing once they¡¯d eaten.


    If I wanted to survive, I¡¯d have to go on the offensive. I brought my axe up above my head, narrowed my eyes to near slits, and cleared my thoughts. I murmured words under my breath, beneath the level of hearing, and adjusted my weapon into a different stance, bringing it over my head and back. I spread my legs further apart and relaxed my muscles.


    The motions were rote, a ritual all their own, and necessary to conjure the phantasmal power of a Soul Art. With every shift of muscle, every murmured syllable, each slight adjustment to my pose, my aura refashioned itself.


    When I breathed out, a plume of amber-tinted mist escaped my lips. This is going to bring every ghoul in this damned village down on my head, I thought. But it was better than dying here, on this street.


    The two nameless ghouls didn¡¯t seem to notice my shaping of power, but their leader paused, eyeing me warily. Too late bastard, I thought.


    ¡°Vaughn! What are you doing, you ugly boar?¡±


    All three of the ghouls flinched as the voice cracked across the buildings, sharp as a well-oiled whip. All four of us ¡ª me and the three ghouls ¡ª turned to see a figure standing at the top of the wooden stairs separating the door of one of the houses from the street.


    She looked to be in her mid twenties, perhaps a bit older, and was of average height and thin, clad only in a white night dress. She was pale, perhaps made more so by the eerie light glimmering in the mist. Her freckled face was framed by an unkempt mop of chestnut brown hair, cut unevenly and barely shoulder length. It looked mussed, and her dress slipped from one shoulder, making me think she¡¯d just been woken.


    ¡°Catrin,¡± Vaughn said, eyeing the newcomer warily. ¡°Leave it. This isn¡¯t your business.¡±


    The woman tossed her mane of frazzled hair as she lifted her chin. Her position at the top of the short flight of stairs allowed her to tower over the four of us, like a queen looking down over a disappointing court. ¡°To the Pit with that,¡± she said. ¡°Baron¡¯s expecting guests, and here he is throwing around sorcery and looking fit to rip an ogre¡¯s head off.¡± She nodded in my direction without actually looking at me. ¡°Call went out, boyo. I heard it. You heard it. So why don¡¯t you lay off the evil minion act for a night before something nastier than you sends you off to the Caves, eh?¡±


    Vaughn¡¯s expression darkened. Something ugly rippled under his skin, an anger unbound by anything like restraint or dignity. It passed quickly, but while it was there it transformed his face, made him look as hideous as any demon I¡¯d ever seen. Then it was gone, and he bared his teeth in a savage grin. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t toy with us, whore. Captain¡¯s already warned you once. I¡¯ve got my orders about him. He tells us who he is, then he dies.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at the ghoul.


    ¡°Looks like you were skipping right to the dying part,¡± Catrin shot back, apparently unintimidated by the rage that¡¯d overtaken the ghoul. ¡°If he¡¯s here to answer Falconer¡¯s call and you off him, others who¡¯ve come will start to think they¡¯re not so safe here. They¡¯ll leave. Don¡¯t know about you, but I imagine his lordship won¡¯t be too pleased about that.¡±


    ¡°He was eavesdropping on me and the baron¡¯s herald,¡± Vaughn growled. ¡°He¡¯s a fucking spy.¡±


    Catrin blinked and turned to me. ¡°That so, big man? You a spy?¡± She folded her arms, her posture challenging.


    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.¡±

 1.13: 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 parted her lips and bit lightly on the tip of her tongue, studying me with a detached sort of focus, like a painter planning a future stroke of his brush. ¡°That¡¯s rather forward of you, big man, seeing as how we just met and all.¡±


    My rowing faltered for a moment. Catrin laughed, a low and throaty sound of genuine mirth. ¡°Ah, you stoic types are always fun. We¡¯re almost there, so we¡¯ll put a rain check on that. Careful here, there are rocks.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have time to reply, or really even process her words, as the waters of the lake began to grow treacherous. I had to put all of my focus on the dark, fog-shrouded abyss beneath the boat, looking for the telltale shadows of sharp rocks jutting up from the depths. Catrin murmured the occasional direction, and soon a larger shadow formed in the thinning mist ahead of us. It clarified itself into tall pillars and spikes of rock emerging like broken teeth from the depths, which soon began to coalesce into cliffs.


    A barren island lay ahead, and on that island rose a castle. I couldn¡¯t make out its true dimensions, but the cliffs, the, darkness, and the fog made its walls seem a monolithic shape. I couldn¡¯t see all of it, but could make out the grim outlines of towers and rampart walls crawling with writhing fog, as though the fortress were some incomplete phantasm.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    More, there were other, smaller structures rising from the water, which I had at first taken to be more rocks. They weren¡¯t. They were pieces of wall or the shattered remnants of drowned towers. Pieces of a larger structure, I thought, or even a town lost to the lake.


    There was the snap of leathery wings above. I tensed, letting the boat float so I could turn my attention to the shroud of fog obscuring the sky above. Again, I heard the sound of huge wings beating, disturbing the pale white haze. The echoing sounds of claws scrabbling across rock filled my ears as something unseen crawled over the lake-drowned stones.


    My instincts screamed that this was the trap. I bared my teeth and turned my attention on Catrin. She saw my expression and held up her hands defensively.


    ¡°They¡¯re not going to hurt you as long as you¡¯re with me!¡± She said. ¡°They¡¯re the baron¡¯s sentries. Just¡­¡± she swallowed. ¡°Just calm down, alright?¡¯


    I realized that amber flames were flickering along the edges of the oar, along with the scent of burning wood. I studied the woman for a long moment, waiting, but neither she nor the creatures lurking in the surrounding rocks made any move to attack me.


    I let the power fade and dipped the oar back into the water. ¡°Are we near?¡±


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Yes. Just a bit further now.¡± She turned her attention ahead, the motion stiff.


    Once the tension of the moment was gone, I felt a stab of guilt. I buried it and focused on the task ahead.


    We¡¯d arrived at the castle of Orson Falconer. My fingers tightened on the oar as I inwardly steeled myself for what came next. I had no specific plan ¡ª couldn¡¯t have one, until I knew what I was dealing with.


    But I was going into the dragon¡¯s den, and no mistake.


    Catrin guided the boat into a narrow ravine which sank into the depths of a cave. There were torches ensconced on the sheer rock of the cave¡¯s entrance, and the water extended through a tunnel within. This eventually brought us to a dock, little more than a wooden platform built along the cave¡¯s wall. A passage had been cut into the cave wall, torches illuminating it, and a set of stairs leading up. We pulled the boat up alongside the dock and clambered up onto the platform.


    Catrin looked far less relaxed after we¡¯d spotted the castle. I think my hostile reaction to the things flying above the lake had much to do with that. But that wasn¡¯t all of it. She looked up at the cavern ceiling above and shivered. ¡°I hate this place,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s get this done quick, alright?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re taking me to the baron?¡± I asked.


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°Just making sure no one throws you off a wall. Once that¡¯s done you¡¯re on your own, big man.¡±


    I still didn¡¯t understand why she had helped me, and I didn¡¯t trust her. Still, I was within the fortress where my quarry made his abode. I followed her out of the cave, keeping my senses alert both to her and to my surroundings.


    We ascended a steep set of stairs carved into the solid stone of the cliffs. This soon transitioned into something more artificial, smooth walls giving way to layered brick. Catrin lit our path with a lantern taken from the fishing boat, but even still the darkness seemed to press in behind us the further we went, as though agitated by the presence of the light.


    Further, there was a very faint scuttling sound. I focused on it, and was certain I¡¯d heard it. Like insects crawling across the walls by the hundreds. The ground seemed to pulse beneath my feet, as though reverberating with the beating of a great underground heart.


    This place was unhallowed.


    Catrin turned to look down at me, lifting the lantern. I had stopped, letting her get a ways ahead. ¡°You alright?¡± She asked.


    I suppressed a shudder and nodded. ¡°Fine.¡± I wasn¡¯t. I felt light headed and had broken out into a sweat. The shadows seemed a beating summer heat pressing down with eager energy.


    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.


    <div>

 1.14: 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?¡±


    I clenched my jaw. My fear of discovery, my readiness to fight my way out of this cold, unwelcoming place, was easy to turn into something that might look like hatred. ¡°Then he and I have a common enemy.¡±


    ¡°And what sins have the Children of Onsolem committed against you?¡± Green Hood asked.


    I blinked, letting the faux anger slip beneath a more neutral mask. ¡°That is between me and your master.¡±


    The lines of the cloak tightened, as though the hands within were pulling the cloth more closely against them. ¡°Very well. Follow me. Return to your duties, Mistwalker.¡± She turned without another word and began to move down the hall in that eerie glide.


    I didn¡¯t glance at the guardsman to see his reaction, having already put him from my mind. I followed after the trailing folds of the messenger¡¯s dark garment as I was brought into the heart of Castle Cael. It was time, it seemed, to meet its lord.


    ***


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    Green Cloak brought me to a tall, ornately crafted door. It opened before she reached it, seemingly of its own accord.


    Old places like Castle Cael can be like that, sometimes. The stone and wood drinks in thought, dream, and intention over generations, until that weight of memory gives the place a life all its own. Doors open out of habit, and halls echo with the voices of lives long past.


    It made my role as a hostile intruder, even an incognito one, particularly dangerous. The castle itself could act as its lord¡¯s eyes and ears. The oldest of Urn¡¯s castles were fortresses in more ways than one.


    Before stepping into the chamber beyond, Green Cloak turned her shadowed gaze on me. ¡°How shall I announce you?¡±


    I hesitated only a moment. ¡°Alken of Losdale.¡±


    Green Cloak glided into the next chamber with me a step or two behind. It was a feast hall of some kind, not a throne room or an audience chamber but spacious and comfortable lavished, with a long table in the center lined with chairs. Some of those chairs were occupied.


    Not everyone in that room was human.


    As I entered, a silence fell over the hall of the sort that occurs in the midst of an interrupted discussion. More than half a dozen figures sat at seats around the long table, their arrangement seemingly random and casual, many of the chairs left unoccupied. A score or more could have been comfortably seated there, and the hall itself was large enough for a more formal gathering, making the room feel cavernous and empty.


    Eyes turned to me as the door shut at my back and Green Cloak introduced me in her vaguely artificial voice. The chamber was dimly lit, casting many of its occupants in varying levels of shadow. No hearth had been lit, and it was cold, the only light coming from the candles of a chandelier hung from the center of the high ceiling. It made those around the table seem a council of shadow.


    I suppose they were.


    A figure at the head of the table stood. He was a tall man in his mid fifties, and still strong for his age. His shoulders were broad, his back straight. He was clad in a princely robe of ancient design, the garment all white and green, with flaring sleeves lined in black netting studded with small gems. They glittered in the candelight as he lifted one arm in a welcoming gesture.


    ¡°I bid you welcome, Alken of Losdale.¡± Orson Falconer bore himself with the grace evident in many of those born of the oldest of the noble houses of Urn. Moderately dark skinned and heavy-boned, with shortly cropped hair gone mostly to gray and very dark eyes, he seemed himself a living portrait taken from some bygone age.


    Not all seemed to agree with the Baron¡¯s welcome. One of those who sat at the table on the lord¡¯s left hand leaned toward me, eyes narrowing. She was evidently older than Orson Falconer, clad in a similarly archaic outfit dyed all in deep bloody reds and blacks. A high collar supported by metal spikes enclosed her long neck, and she reminded me of nothing so much as a glowering vulture ¡ª heavily wrinkled, with thinning silver hair secured in an elaborate headress crafted from gnarled wood and ivory.


    ¡°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.¡±

 1.15: 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?¡±


    ¡°I agree.¡± This came from one who had not yet spoken. One of the two black-robed and hooded figures, the ones whose garments made them seem twins, stood. They poised hands wrapped in dark cloth on the table. ¡°Heavensreach has eyes and ears across all of Urn. Their puppet priests, yes, but others too. Spirits disguised as trees, birds, dreams¡­ even men.¡± The hooded gaze turned to me, the voice within falling silent.


    He is no spirit.


    I went dead still. The voice had not come from anyone sitting at the table, or standing in the shadowy alcoves as Karog was. It came from all around, a shivering, manifold thing as though many quiet, ghostly voices spoke at once, their collective presence becoming something more substantial. It slithered from every shadow. With every syllable it changed, sometimes deep and masculine and sometimes airy and effeminate, a profane chorus forming one voice.


    He smells of fire and blood.


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    Regret.


    He is mortal, touched by an immortal flame.


    He is marked.


    Claimed.


    The sound of many insectile feet scuttling across the walls intensified, as though excited.


    Claimed by mine own kin.


    The scars over my left eye began to itch. I made an effort of will not to lift my hand and feel the old wounds.


    I was not the only one disturbed by this intrusion. Around the table, all had gone very still, some even bearing expressions of clear discomfort. The goblin swallowed, its entire neck bulging. Lillian seemed to sink into her chair.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Lillian said to the Baron. Her face, already pale, had turned ashen. ¡°You assured me that creature would not be present during these discussions.¡±


    The Baron placed the fingertips of one hand to his temple, massaging them. He looked pained.


    Before he had a chance to speak, an armored fist slammed down on the table with thunderous force. All eyes, including my own, turned to the man sitting at the opposite end of the table from the lord. It was the heavily bearded, wild-haired man in the battered armor. He had finally lifted his head from his meal, and had fixed each person in the room with a hollow-eyed glare. There were deep shadows around his pale eyes, and beneath the mane of gray-streaked hair he was painfully gaunt. I noticed he¡¯d eaten the entire leg of meat he¡¯d been working on. Even the bone.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this,¡± the armored man growled. His voice was dry and rasping, as though he badly needed water and had for a very long time. ¡°I came here to discuss war. I don¡¯t care about the rest.¡± He took a scrap of his ruined gray cloak and wiped it across his mouth, doing little to clean his matted beard and further soiling the garment. ¡°If we¡¯re not here for business, then I¡¯ll take my Mistwalkers and go.¡±


    The Baron inclined his head to the ghoul. ¡°I do not want that, my friend. And I concur. Let us return to business.¡± He gestured toward me again. ¡°Will you sit?¡±


    I was still shaken by the thing in the shadows ¡ª or was it the shadows? But I nodded jerkily and moved to a chair. I found one as far from any of the others as I could, which wasn¡¯t an easy feat as unevenly spaced as the others were. I moved around the table and settled for one near the man dressed as a hunter. He hadn¡¯t threatened or questioned me so far, and I didn¡¯t want to have my back to the ogre.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± The Baron curled his fingers against his chest, ran his eyes across the gathering one more time, and then took his own seat. He adjusted his sleeves, then his finely embroidered robes, and then relaxed back into the high-backed chair. ¡°Then let us begin.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we start with why you¡¯ve called us,¡± the same black-robed figure who¡¯d already spoken once said, sitting. Their companion remained silent and still, a vaguely humanoid shadow slumped in their fine chair. ¡°I have my suspicions, but I am curious as to the true purpose of this¡­ council.¡±


    There were murmurs of agreement from the others. I folded my arms, idly running my eyes over the table itself. It was lavishly furnished with a variety of foods, from ripe fruits ¡ª many of which were out of season ¡ª to roasted meats and pastries. An entire kynedeer, a type of wild chimera, was centerpiece in the display. The Captain of the Mistwalkers had already eaten much of it. He started in on another leg with noisy, vaguely sickening sounds.


    Orson Falconer nodded and steepled his fingers. ¡°I have called you all here to discuss, as Captain Issachar so succinctly put it, war.¡±


    The hush in the room deepened, an air of eager anticipation falling over the guests. I admit, I fixed my attention on the Baron more firmly as well. The mercenary leader even stopped his ravenous eating to hear the lord better.


    ¡°Ten years.¡± The Baron paused, letting those words sink in. ¡°Ten years since the forests of Seydis burned, since the towers of Elfhome fell and the High King was slain. Many in this new alliance which professes to govern the land, this Accord¡­¡± His voice turned bitter. ¡°Believe that was the beginning of the land¡¯s woes. But that is not true, is it? For long centuries have the denizens of Heavensreach let their idle whims and favoritism chart the course for the rest of us. For long centuries have they professed to rule on behalf of their Golden Queen, while Her voice remains silent.¡±


    The sanguine calm in the Baron¡¯s eyes faded as he spoke. His voice never changed, never rose, but an edge of cutting anger was there ¡ª in the way his left hand clenched and relaxed in tandem with his jaw, in the deadly quiet of his every word. A quiet which filled the hall. Drowned it.


    ¡°We all know the elves were their puppets,¡± the Baron said, and the goblin let out a low, throaty growl of agreement. ¡°We all know the Church is their tool, for all its infighting and factionalism. Even the Accord and its representatives bend to the whim of the gods.¡±


    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 red. ¡°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.¡±

 1.16: 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.¡±


    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.¡±


    ¡°A resistance against the gods?¡± I asked, not bothering to hide my skepticism. Priska approached me with a wine cup that was the twin to her lord¡¯s. Its scent was heady, alluring. My throat suddenly felt very dry. I waved it away.


    Again, the Baron scoffed. ¡°The Onsolain are not gods. Demigods, perhaps. They are powerful and ageless, yes, but not immortal, not eternal. Not truly. That was proved during the Fall.¡±


    I was glad I didn¡¯t have the wine cup in my hand. I might have broken it then. I hid my clenched fist under my cloak. What he said was blasphemous, heretical¡­If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    And true.


    The Baron continued in a musing tone, unaware of my internal turmoil. ¡°Even the Church only acknowledges one true god, and where is She?¡± A pale smile traced his lips before he returned his focus to me. ¡°The Onsolain act through proxies and intermediaries, rarely displaying their power in truth. I imagine it will take much to draw them out as happened during the last war. I intend something more¡­¡± He held up the fingers of his left hand and pinched them together. ¡°Subtle. A network of allies, working in tandem to discredit the Church, diminish the magics and pacts with which the gods¡­¡± He let irony slip into that last word. ¡°Have riddled the land. I¡¯ve even invited members of the Wild Eld to the table.¡±


    I recalled the goblin and kept my peace.


    ¡°I intended to explain all of this to the rest of my guests,¡± the Baron said. ¡°I will, in time. They will have concerns. Questions. Demands.¡± He chuckled darkly. ¡°I¡¯m not so deluded as to think they¡¯re doing this for the same reasons as I, or want what I want.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked.


    The Baron glanced at me, and then toward the fire. I almost didn¡¯t hear his reply, so quiet was it. ¡°A choice.¡±


    I didn¡¯t understand. In truth, I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to. Orson Falconer was ¡ª in every way I could think of ¡ª the kind of madman my position had been created for. He was consorting with Dark Sidhe and Recusants. He had allowed his allies to butcher and desecrate. I suspected he was responsible for the untimely death of Caelfall Village¡¯s former preoster, and he had openly admitted to planning rebellion against the Divine and all their works.


    I wasn¡¯t here to understand him. Just to kill him. I could do it here, I thought. In this room. He¡¯s unarmed and we¡¯re alone, beside¡¯s Priska. It might be the best chance I get.


    I exhaled, long and slow, easing tension from my limbs. In my thoughts I concentrated on the words of an Oath, and felt the first thrum of power course through me.


    I almost did it. I almost drew my axe and had this entire farce done right there. It would hurt me to do it, perhaps permanently ¡ª false pretenses or no, I was a guest in the lord¡¯s house, protected by the rights attached to that status and bound by his authority as the master of that hall.


    I¡¯d been given great power by the Alder Table. It came with costs and restrictions. Among those were this ¡ª the ancient laws that tied the powers of the land together, its traditions not least among them, were bound into my bones and blood. Shirking those laws came with great risk. I accepted that risk. My role was to protect the sanctity of the land and its peoples, not my own. I wasn¡¯t convinced what was left of mine was even worth protecting.


    In the moment before I convinced myself to go through with it, as my senses sharpened in anticipation of battle, I heard something which gave me pause. The sound of many tiny, scuttling insects in the deeper shadows along the room¡¯s edges.


    I wasn¡¯t alone with just the Baron and his retainer. That thing from the dinner hall was there with us. Watching. Ready.


    A bodyguard.


    Damn it.


    ¡°You have proved yourself wise in the ways of the Eld,¡± the Baron said, drawing me from my thoughts. The moment passed and the power I¡¯d barely started to gather faded away. The lord paced as he talked, violet eyes unfocused. ¡°Further, you have shown restraint. With Karog, and in your council regarding the troll. I need that kind of thought in all of this. I already have muscle. The Mistwalkers are capable in the ways of violence, and Karog¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°Well, suffice to say I have all the potential for bloodshed I need, at least on the scale I¡¯m currently operating.¡±


    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.

 1.17: 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.


    Catrin propped a fist on her hip, exactly as she had when she¡¯d intervened with the Mistwalkers in the streets of Caelfall. ¡°You¡¯re not actually here to throw in with the Baron¡¯s little gambling club, are you?¡±


    I noted the position of my axe, where I¡¯d propped it against the bed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡±


    Catrin rolled her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re a bad liar, you know? I knew you were improvising back in the village when I gave the corpse eaters that spiel about you being a guest, and you¡¯ve looked ready to take that cutter to every shadow since we got on the boat.¡± She nodded to the axe. ¡°I¡¯m not blind, big man, and I didn¡¯t help you get here for Orson Falconer¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°Then why?¡± I asked, heart beginning to thump in my chest.


    ¡°I work for the Keeper of the Backroad Inn,¡± Catrin said. ¡°You know who that is?¡±


    I did not. She took my silence in stride and moved to the room¡¯s small window, pressing her ear against the foggy glass as she continued. ¡°Not everyone who lives outside the Grace of the Heir wants to wage war on the Church. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re fond of them ¡ª they can be right cunts more than half the time. But the land¡¯s still recovering from the Fall ¡ª who knows how many people will die if Orson gets his way? Even in a best case scenario, he brings more attention down on all of us. No one wants another inquisition.¡±


    She turned from the window to face me, her expression losing some of its wry mask. ¡°You work for the Church?¡±


    I canted my head to one side, considering. ¡°Would you believe me if I said no?¡±


    ¡°Depends,¡± Catrin said, serious. ¡°Answer the question.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    I unfolded my arms, hesitated a moment longer, and decided to play along. ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±


    Catrin let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Good. I believe you. Second question.¡± And here she met my eyes again, and there was something harsher in that look, something with teeth. ¡°Did you kill the bishop in Vinhithe?¡±


    I went still.


    Catrin moved away from the window, back toward the turned mirror. She never took her eyes off me, and there was something catlike in her movements. Cautious. Taut. Ready to spring into action. ¡°Part of my job¡¯s to gather information,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m good at it. Heard a rumor that a man with an axe killed the priest who instigated the Lynspring Inquisitions. A man in a red cloak.¡±


    Her eyes drifted to the Hithlen-forged axe propped against the bedpost, and then to the red cloak hung by the door.


    ¡°So it¡¯s blackmail then,¡± I said. ¡°I do what you want, or you go to the Baron.¡±


    Catrin snorted. ¡°You are paranoid, aren¡¯t you? Listen, big man, I¡¯m not here to start trouble with you.¡± She held up a placating hand. ¡°I¡¯m here to help. I brought you to the castle to keep the Mistwalkers from throwing your pieces into the marsh, and I¡¯m telling you this now so you know how deep the shit you¡¯re in is. I¡¯m good at collecting secrets, but this news about the bishop¡¯s death?¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s going to spread here before long. The Baron could learn it from his own sources, or the villagers will hear it next time the clericons come to collect their tithes. Either way, you¡¯re working on dying time, you understand?¡±


    With a sinking feeling, I realized she was right. I¡¯d made a spectacle of myself in Vinhithe, and ¡ª while it was no great city ¡ª it was an important enough hub in the region that word would spread of the red cloaked man who¡¯d murdered a high clericon and cut his way out of the streets.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± Catrin asked, more curious than accusing. ¡°Kill the bishop, I mean. Who are you?¡±


    It was a moment before I drew myself back to the situation at hand. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can believe a lot.¡± The woman ¡ª the spy, or whatever she was ¡ª flashed her teeth in a sharp smile. It faded near as quick as it had appeared and she added, ¡°your secrets are yours, but my point is this ¡ª we can help each other.¡±


    I leaned against the wall by the door, folding my arms. ¡°I still don¡¯t really know who you are, or what you want. How do you know I didn¡¯t kill the priest on Orson Falconer¡¯s behalf?¡±


    Again Catrin shrugged. ¡°Could be you did. Would be a smart play for him, drawing attention away from his own lands to create a crisis in a larger city. But I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the case, otherwise he¡¯d have been expecting you and I wouldn¡¯t have had to pull you out of a pit.¡±


    ¡°Point,¡± I said. Who exactly was this woman, who knew so much and saw to the truth of things so easily? ¡°But that only answers one question. Who are you? Who is this¡­ Keeper?¡± I¡¯d never heard of a place called the Backroad Inn.


    ¡°A man whose business it is to know things,¡± Catrin said. ¡°You could think of him as a sort of¡­ broker of secrets. Dangerous secrets.¡±


    ¡°And you help him collect those,¡± I said, starting to understand.


    Catrin smiled and gave a single quick nod. ¡°Got it in one. There are old powers in the land, boyo. Older than the Accord, older than the Church, and certainly older than the likes of Orson Falconer. Not all of them are happy about the attention this petty lord could bring down on them. Killing that bridge troll was a poor move. That¡¯s another thing that caught my attention ¡ª I eavesdropped on that meeting earlier. Heard what you said.¡±


    Her eyes lit with a flash of fierce approval. ¡°The trolls are old magic. Sacred, and I don¡¯t mean that like a priest would, trying to sell the word holy like it¡¯s an old piece of hacksilver.¡±


    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 her gaze. Catrin had stepped closer. She was much shorter than me, and had to look up to meet my eyes.


    ¡°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.¡±

 1.18: The Dhampir

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 1.19: Barons Order, Headsmans Path

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 1.20: 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.


    ¡°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.


    A rustling in the surrounding trees. Not an animal. No subtle sensation from my magic of something unnatural, either.


    The creaking of a taut string, quiet as a whisper.


    I whirled and swung my axe in the very moment the crossbow fired. Something hurtled from the undergrowth, and the edge of my weapon caught it. The impact jarred my arms, set my teeth on edge ¡ª no mere bolt. Something heavier¡ª


    Hollow. Whatever I¡¯d struck shattered, splattering me with a viscous warm liquid.


    Glass?


    A shape moved in the bushes. I lunged, acting on instinct, leaping in a flurry of red wool at the movement. I struck something ¡ª someone ¡ª and we both went tumbling down a shallow slope. A whirl of confusion as we rolled, branches and thorny bushes catching and scratching, grunts, a half-formed curse.


    The roll ended with me on top. Snarling, I brought up my axe and planted a boot on the crook of an arm as I caught the flash of a blade, pinning it.


    And looked straight into the aged face of Olliard of Kell.


    ¡°Doctor?¡± I asked, confused.


    The old physik had lost his glasses in the tumble. Half-blind eyes blinked up at me, then widened. Olliard¡¯s thinning hair was in disarray, and his brown robes were covered in leaves and mud. He had pulled a knife, a thin, curved blade with the aspect of a scalpel, which I¡¯d trapped under a boot. He¡¯d lost his grip on the weapon he¡¯d tried to shoot me with. It lay several feet away. It was a crossbow, but of a sort I¡¯d never seen before. Too many parts, and as much metal as wood.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Olliard asked, breathless and confused. ¡°What are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Master!¡±


    I turned just in time to see Lisette burst from the woods. Her hands moved in a complex series of patterns, and I saw she had a mesh of string held between her hands cats-cradle style, string wrapped around each finger. She pulled the strings taught between her outstretched fingers, revealing a pattern between.


    A pattern, I realized, which formed a rune.


    There was a flash of white-gold light, and suddenly I no longer crouched atop the old doctor. I was ripped into the air like a doll with barely a chance to shout. My back slammed against the trunk of a large tree hard enough to leave a week¡¯s worth of bruises, and all the wind went out of my lungs in a rush.


    When I was next aware of anything, I was lying on the ground. I blinked, getting my bearings, and found I couldn¡¯t move my arms or legs. They were held by something solid as good rope or iron links. Looking down, I saw thin, nearly invisible lines of pale golden light tying my legs together. I suspected the same bonded my arms behind my back.


    Lisette scurried to her master¡¯s side and helped the old man stand, all without letting the pattern of strings between her hands go slack. Her attention remained fixed on me, a bead of sweat forming on her brow. She murmured what sounded like a litany of prayer under her breath.


    Olliard winced as he stood, favoring one leg. He didn¡¯t glance at me as he limped to his fallen weapon and picked it up, sheathing the blade he¡¯d pulled in some pocket hidden beneath a fold of his robes. He took a moment to check the crossbow, then turned his attention to me with a weary sense of inevitability.


    ¡°So,¡± the doctor said with a sigh. ¡°We meet again, Alken.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply at once, instead taking in a few details. I tested the magical bonds and found they had some slack. Lisette narrowed her eyes in concentration and they tightened, hard enough to make me wince in pain.


    ¡°Doctor,¡± I greeted the old man. ¡°Nun.¡±


    Lisette scowled, but didn¡¯t stop her murmuring incantation.


    I glanced down at myself, and found I was covered in some metallic, pale gray substance. The contents of whatever the doctor had shot at me, I realized. ¡°What is this stuff?¡±


    ¡°Liquid mercury,¡± Olliard said. ¡°Quicksilver.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re not one of the Baron¡¯s creatures, or it would have set you afire. The substance is quite ungentle to the undead.¡±


    ¡°Azsilver?¡± I asked.


    Olliard let a tight smile flicker across his face. ¡°Of course. I¡¯m no amateur.¡±


    ¡°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.

 1.21: 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.¡±


    I considered her a long while, torn by distrust, doubt, and need. I had no allies in this, and the situation kept getting more complicated. Perhaps I couldn¡¯t trust her. Shattered Hells, maybe she¡¯d been about to drain me in my sleep.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But she hadn¡¯t told the Baron about my duplicity, and she¡¯d tried to find me after I¡¯d gone missing. She¡¯d stuck her neck out for me with the ghouls and even offered to help me escape the province, knowing nothing about me at the time.


    She¡¯d taken risks on my account. Whoever she was, whatever she was, everything she¡¯d done told me she wasn¡¯t an enemy.


    Yet my instincts, and the sacred magic in my blood, screamed at me not to trust her.


    Well, my instincts tended to compel me to swing steel first and ask questions never, and I had reason to suspect the golden magic sewn into my aura was a touch biased in this regard.


    ¡°What do you know of a man named Olliard of Kell?¡± I asked.


    Catrin frowned, recognition passing across her features. ¡°Sounds familiar, but I can¡¯t¡­ Why? He the one who made you shit yourself?¡±


    I scowled. ¡°Matter of fact, he is. He¡¯s also a vampire hunter packing alchemical weapons from the Continent. He¡¯s planning to raid the castle and kill all the heretics and monsters inside with a fancy crossbow. Him and his nun apprentice, anyway.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Oh.¡± Her frown turned thoughtful as she propped a fist on one hip. ¡°Seems like he might be an ally, if he¡¯s also after the baron¡¯s head. Not that I¡¯m eager to work alongside a man who¡¯s made it a profession to hunt down my like, but you know what they say about beggars and choosers.¡±


    ¡°He has no clue what¡¯s in that castle.¡± I rested my axe on a shoulder and started walking again. ¡°Some moonsilver and a few prayers aren¡¯t going to make a difference against that ogre. I need to get back there and warn him.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think he won¡¯t just drug you again?¡± Catrin asked, keeping pace with me. Despite the dying light, she glided easily over the tripping roots and tangled vines. The way she moved reminded me of the elves.


    ¡°He¡¯ll listen to me after I¡¯ve knocked his skull a couple times,¡± I growled. I wasn¡¯t in the mood to be patient or gentle with either of the hunters ¡ª they¡¯d get out of my way and let me do my work. Orson Falconer and his coterie of darkness were a problem for the Headsman to deal with, not some vigilante.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a damn shame you and he ended up having this misunderstanding,¡± Catrin stated cheerfully as she danced along at my side, ¡°and I¡¯m sure it¡¯s awful embarrassing he made you go and soil your trousers, but you should really see this as a good thing, big man.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow as I walked. ¡°That so?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Catrin said brightly. ¡°This time yesterday, you were one man against a small army of frightful things. Now you¡¯ve got a pair of professional cutters roaming about on the same job, and a cute dhampir to¡ª¡±


    She never got to finish that sentence. Something small and quick as lightning flashed from the shadowed woods. It punched into her left shoulder. She stumbled back.


    An arrow.


    I moved without thought, on pure impulse. All my suspicion, uncertainty, and revulsion toward the changeling forgotten, at least in the moment. I caught her in one arm and lifted my axe with the other, snarling with rage at the woods as amber flame burst to life across my weapon.


    And they were there, all around us. I knew it before I truly saw them. The sun had finished its descent, and my aura-imbued eyes saw through the darkness ¡ª but not so far as they should have. Another power was there, working against mine. An older magic.


    Fey lights blinked to life through the trees. Bobbing blue Wil-O¡¯ Wisps. They giggled like ghostly children, flitting in and out of sight.


    One light passed in front of a tall shape, wild haired and clutching a warbow near tall as they.


    Elves.


    The denizens of the old woods had come.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want trouble,¡± I said, calming my rage. More of the ghost-lights appeared in the corner of my vision. I tracked them, but saw no more of our ambushers. They lurked in the darkness. How many?


    Too many, I thought. Even one would be dangerous enough.


    ¡°Es tiirien valre, es¡¯curunai.¡± The serpent voice coiled through the darkness, spoken in nearly a murmur yet filling every gnarled edge of the wood. ¡°Yet you bring trouble with you, mortal. That thing in your arm is an abomination.¡±


    I thought at first the elf meant my axe. The elves had made it, long ago, but they did not love it. Then I realized he probably meant Catrin.


    ¡°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.¡±

 1.22: 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.


    I glanced at the elven guards, seeing if they¡¯d stop us from talking. They didn¡¯t meet my eyes, but didn¡¯t make any motion to stop the changeling from speaking either.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get us out of this,¡± I said to her, ignoring the wyldefae warriors. ¡°You should save your strength.¡±


    ¡°Course you will.¡± Catrin¡¯s smile was strained, but there was an edge of iron in her as she fixed me in her gaze. She winced, and a mercurial ripple paced over her features. For a moment she was a vampire, pallid and fanged, eyes red as freshly spilled blood. Then the fit passed and she was a freckled village lass again.


    I tried not to show my discomfort with the change, but some of the same disgust in the faces of the guards must have been on mine as well. Catrin¡¯s smile turned brittle. ¡°Not very pretty, is it? Listen, Alken.¡± The sound of my name caught me off guard, made me pay closer attention to her words. ¡°I know we barely know one another, and your kind and mine don¡¯t tend to get along¡­ I heard what they called you. You¡¯re some holy knight, right? Slayer of monsters and all that. I get it, I really do, but listen¡­¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    We reached the entrance to the manor. There wasn¡¯t much time left for talk, and Catrin¡¯s words came out in a rush of haste, tinged with pain.


    ¡°Reason I helped you back in the village wasn¡¯t because I needed an ally. Not just that, anyway. Hadn¡¯t even sorted out what was going on before I opened my big mouth, and that¡¯s always been the way¡­ and I¡¯m babbling. I just need you to remember this wasn¡¯t all some plot. I wasn¡¯t trying to use you, not at first. Shouldn¡¯t have tried what I did last night.¡±


    She fell quiet a moment, taking several labored breaths before continuing. ¡°I don¡¯t think these Fair Folk will let me go, not knowing what I am, and I need to tell you something because I¡¯ve got a suspicion you¡¯re not as royally fucked as I am.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re both going to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Catrin hissed, cutting me off. She struggled a moment, and her guards tightened their grip with dispassionate strength, causing her to bow lower. She looked at me through a gap in her disheveled hair, revealing sharp teeth. ¡°That thing in the castle¡­ all the other guests think it¡¯s a demon. I don¡¯t know what it is, not for sure, but the Baron¡¯s got it bound to him. I couldn¡¯t figure out how, but it¡¯s the reason they¡¯re all here, the reason they¡¯re all taking him seriously. You want to take him down, you find a way to get rid of his pet.¡± She shuddered, and the motion caused her to go vampire again. ¡°It¡¯s evil, Alken. Truly evil.¡±


    Those words coming from her transformed face made them seem truly dire, somehow.


    There was no time for me to respond. We were brought into the belly of the manor, a great hall as fine as any mortal lord¡¯s I¡¯d ever seen. There were many elves there, and things that weren¡¯t elves. I saw creatures that looked like giant spiders scuttling about along the walls or pillars. I saw goblins, ugly as the elves were beautiful, staring on with shining green eyes. Wisps and wraiths were everywhere, and there might have been a mortal or two. Captives or guests, I couldn¡¯t say.


    There were stranger things, some I had no name for.


    At the end of a hall was a throne woven of living roots, and sitting upon it was an elven lord. Male, with a lean and muscular frame and skin a very faint color of pale silver-green. He nearly seemed to glow in the relative gloom of the hall¡¯s interior, very much as the Lady Eanor had, though to a lesser degree. A pale and distant star to her luminescent moon, as all elves are to the Onsolain. His hair was such a deep blue it was nearly black, grown into a wild mane that hid his pointed ears. He wore a gray toga fastened at one shoulder, a sleeveless tunic of midnight blue beneath.


    He¡¯d been handsome once, even by Sidhe standards. That fair countenance had been marred by brutal scars. Deep gouges had been carved on the right side of his face from temple to neck, narrowing the eye into a permanent squint, turning his mouth down into a macabre scowl. The wounds were angry, badly healed, still faintly red as though suffering infection. The marred eye seemed wet and bloodshot, the flesh around it swollen.


    The scars on my own face, not so severe but unnervingly similar, itched.


    The scarred elf leaned forward on his root throne. ¡°So it is true. A paladin of the Golden Aldertree is among us, come out of the shadows once more to tread these tired lands.¡±


    ¡°My lord,¡± I began, deciding it was worth indulging the wood elf a touch if it got me and Catrin out of this. ¡°I¡¯m here to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know why you are here,¡± the elf lord interrupted. His voice had a mild rasp to it, as though his throat were damaged, but its tenor filled the space with supernatural volume. His left eye was slitted lazily, like a cat¡¯s, but his scarred eye fixed on me with lidless intensity.


    That¡¯s a cheap trick, I thought. Makes it easier for him to talk over you.


    I hardened my own voice. ¡°Then you know I am also carrying out the order of the Choir Concilium. Lady Eanor¡ª¡±


    ¡°Does not speak for us,¡± the elf drawled. ¡°The Onsolain are our elders and teachers, not our gods. It is only you humans who insist on treating them as such.¡± He paused and regarded me a moment. His eyes were very dark, little of the fey light shining through them. It was around him instead, a tangible aura which made the Sidhe lord seem much larger than his mere physical body.


    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.¡±

 1.23: Clash in the Elf Lords 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 ended my brandish in a two handed grip, bringing the crescent-moon blade of the axe above my head. I stood my ground, waiting. Irn Bale was the instigator of this fight, and the lord of this realm of depthless shadows and primeval light. It was his right to make the first move.


    The court watched from the sidelines, their inhuman visages cast in shadow as all the light in the hall seemed to gather around me and the elven warrior. Their eyes shone out of that darkness and their forms seemed distorted. Monstrous. Goblins and Sidhe, cantspiders and wraiths, giggling wisps and stranger things.


    Catrin sat among them. She seemed more one of the fey than human herself, cast in shadow as she was. Worry and anticipation warred in her face. Her red eyes seemed huge in the gloom. Hungry.


    I tore my eyes from her and fixed them on my opponent.


    Irn Bale adjusted his grip by the smallest fraction ¡ª it was my only warning. His form shimmered, like seaborn mirage beneath bright daylight. He lunged forward, aiming his blade in a piercing thrust. He aimed for my gut. My body moved without thought, muscle memory guiding my limbs into a parry.


    My axe didn¡¯t bat the stabbing shard of elf glass aside. Instead, the bronze bit of my weapon passed through the blade, which rippled and was gone.


    An illusion. The real Irn Bale was just behind the mirage, aiming his blade a hand¡¯s width lower. It scored across my hip, carving through cloth and flesh. Pain flared and I grit my teeth. Ignoring the pain, I took a single step forward and punched the elf lord ¡ª or tried to. Again his form rippled like a reflection in a disturbed pond and faded from reality.


    I stumbled, caught myself, and brought my weapon up in a guard. Looking around the center of the hall, I saw how deep in trouble I was. Six Irn Bales stood around me, a pack of direwolves all with gleaming green swords and cruel, laughing eyes.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    More illusions? The glass sword that¡¯d cut me just a moment ago hadn¡¯t been one. I could feel the pain throbbing in my side, the warm blood dampening my trousers. The same hip I¡¯d taken that crossbow bolt in back in Vinhithe.


    Bastard.


    ¡°Clever Art,¡± I said, taking a step back and falling into a stance better suited for multiple opponents.


    ¡°It has been the death of many a foe,¡± Irn Bale said from six mouths, his voice forming a fell chorus.


    Despite my flippancy, a bead of sweat formed on my brow. I was in trouble. Soul Arts were the mainstay of combat between two sorcerously trained opponents, and there were few better at this particular magic than the Sidhe. They had immortal centuries to refine their craft. There were plenty of mortal adepts who could awaken a powerful Art, only to have it fail them in the fury of battle through lack of combat experience.


    Irn Bale would have had lifetimes to refine his own tricks and incorporate them into his swordplay.


    Didn¡¯t mean I had no tricks of my own.


    Six elven warriors flourished their blades, and three pressed in for the attack. The others began to rush about in converging circles, forming a confusing dance my eyes struggled to follow. Worse, the dopplegangers shimmered and rippled like liquid light, creating a disorienting effect that made the whole pack seem a kaleidoscope of color and motion.


    I was pretty sure I¡¯d had a similar experience on bad mushrooms. I didn¡¯t bother trying to match the display of sorcery with muscle ¡ª if all six blades were capable of cutting me, then it was a fool¡¯s game.


    Instead I narrowed my eyes to thin slits, concentrating on the words of a vow etched into the fabric of my soul. My aura reshaped itself in response to my will, from a shadow of my physical body to something more complex, sharper, brighter.


    My aura is more potent than an ordinary human¡¯s ¡ª I heal faster, can see in darkness, feel magical forces if they¡¯re not too subtle. My commands and suggestions can leave powerful impressions on a weak mind, forcing a fearful enemy to freeze or a panicked mind to calm. I can imbue my weapons with auratic fire, a potent weapon against Things of Darkness.


    If this seems powerful, then you haven¡¯t ever encountered adepts of true potency. I once witnessed the previous Archmagus conjure a thunderstorm of epic strength, and a mage-knight sever that same storm in half. I can¡¯t wield blades of lightning or conjure elemental beasts, though I know these things can be done, have seen them done.


    That is not what the Table was made for. It was made to illuminate darkness, banish the creatures of the Adversary, to protect, to ward, and to dispel illusion.


    I am the lantern which reveals the path in the darkness.


    I am the blade which cleaves the shadow.


    The hall darkened briefly, then filled with pale golden light as I thrust out a palm in a shoving motion. An expanding ring of light burst into existence around me, rippling out like a glimmering golden-white wave. Wyldefae flinched back from the burst as one body, some crying out in alarm, others hissing in anger.


    All but one of the elven warriors converging on me were drowned in the blast of light and unmade. The last winced at the light, bright as a sudden dawn, and fumbled his cut.


    I took the Axe of Hithlen in both hands, judging my range on instinct, and swung. I turned the bit at the last moment, and struck Irn Bale¡¯s wrist with the blunt back end of the weapon. His wrist broke with an audible pop and the glass sword clattered to the ground.


    Irn Bale did not fall to his knees or cry out in pain. His brow furrowed, but that was his only reaction. He leapt back, quick as a fly dodging a swatting hand, out of my reach. He lifted his broken wrist and studied it with mild concern.


    I stamped a boot down on his sword, wary of him grabbing it again.


    ¡°How did you know they were illusions?¡± He asked, curious. ¡°I cut you with one.¡±


    ¡°Hunch,¡± I said. ¡°That sword was reflecting light. I guessed the bodies were just mirages, but the sword was real no matter who held it.¡±


    Irn Bale nodded. ¡°Because of the one you destroyed after it cut you.¡± Then his scarred lips widened into a bright grin. ¡°Well done. Well done indeed!¡±


    Then that form rippled and vanished. So did the sword I¡¯d trapped beneath my boot.


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end an instant before I spun. I caught Irn Bale¡¯s sword on my axe¡¯s blade. Sparks danced as both our enchanted weapons slid against one another, filling the air with an almost musical sound. Our weapons slide from one another, and the shower of sparks their passing made writhed and flitted in the air like living fireflies, at war with one another.


    I parried another blow, Irn Bale¡¯s sword quick as a viper, then stamped a boot into his guard and brought the axe up in a savage rising motion. He dodged it, and I brought it down again in a chop.


    The oradyn shimmered an instant before I struck him. My axe cleaved him from head to pelvis, but he only dissipated like mist, my swing meeting no resistance. The real Irn Bale was a few steps behind.


    I¡¯d been ready. I kept the swing going, the savage shout escaping my lips thrumming with aura. The Faen Orgis flickered with golden fire as it struck the moonstone floor of the elven hall.


    A small but very bright detonation of light bloomed to life from the ground at my feet. It grew into a shockwave of golden flames which traveled nearly twenty feet forward in an expanding teardrop shape. Irn Bale¡¯s scarred face loosened into an expression of surprise as the wave enveloped him. The auratic fire kept moving, causing wyldefae to recoil as it drew near the sidelines.


    It nearly touched the root throne, but broke barely feet before it into wisps of amber tinted flame. The elf with the golden eye reclined, unfazed, as the magical fire drifted harmlessly past them. They even strummed their lute once, punctuating the Art¡¯s end.


    Sweat dripped from my face as I knelt there, axe in one hand and sunk several inches into the floor. I fought to catch my breath.


    ¡°That exhausted you,¡± Irn Bale noted from behind me.


    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.

 1.24: 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 fare. 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.


    ¡°She¡¯s not my¡ª¡±


    ¡°He damn well wishes!¡±


    We both fell silent and glared at one another. The elf smiled at our irritation.


    Goring fae.


    When an awkward silence had fallen, Irn Bale laced his fingers together and studied us a long while. ¡°I should apologize for that theater before. You understand, it was necessary to keep you safe from the others.¡±


    Catrin half stood from her seat, her palms striking the bluestone table. ¡°Necessary!? You dragged us here against our will and tried to kill him. Your cronies shot me!¡±


    I winced at the changeling¡¯s outburst. The mutterings of the wraiths grew more agitated.


    ¡°I understand, lord.¡± I inclined my head to the oradyn. ¡°I hold no grievance toward you or yours.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s outrage gave way to disbelief as she turned her glare on me.


    I explained before Irn Bale could. ¡°You wanted them all to see I still had the Archon¡¯s magic in me.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Irn Bale smiled and nodded, the expression pulling at his scars. ¡°In part. You understand, the Eldarine are angry, Alken Hewer. Many hold your order responsible for these dark times, and they will take that anger out on you. And those near you.¡± His ageless eyes flickered toward Catrin, who hadn¡¯t sat back down. ¡°I am not just the ruler of those who¡¯ve taken refuge here, but their voice. If needed, I am their rage. Their hate. Their grief.¡±


    He placed a hand to his chest. ¡°I cannot be seen to disregard their feelings. For that reason, today at least, I was the wrathful chieftain. Now they have seen your oaths have not abandoned you, that you still wield the aures ¡ª the Golden Flame ¡ª they will be less likely to challenge my decision to host you.¡±


    I waved a hand, as though brushing away so much mist. ¡°I get it. I don¡¯t take any offense for myself¡­¡± I let my voice harden. ¡°Your people did hurt my companion.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s anger turned to surprise. Irn Bale unclasped his fingers, letting them spread like slow-unfolding wings. ¡°My warriors were overzealous in this. What weregild would you and the malcathe ask for this injury?¡±


    ¡°What did you just call me?¡± Catrin almost spat the question. I placed a hand on her elbow and she fell silent, sitting down with a sullen huff.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already healed our injuries,¡± I asked. ¡°All I want now is for both of us to be allowed to leave in peace. That, and information about the lord of Castle Cael.¡± I smiled, not bothering to try to make it look friendly. ¡°I know what¡¯s half the reason you had me brought here in the first place.¡±


    Irn Bale didn¡¯t reply at once. Instead he stood and moved to one of the balconies separating the dining terrace from the otherworldly woods beyond. I stood and moved to stand beside him. Catrin followed too, though hesitantly, and she kept some distance back, looking uncomfortable and out of place.


    The Oradyn placed his hands against the railing and contemplated the eternal trees. The wisps were trying to braid his hair, or tangle it, their laughter like tiny bells.


    ¡°I am among the last,¡± he said. ¡°This refuge here¡­ there are very few of us. Save for the little ones and the Faded, there are perhaps half a hundred Sidhe in these woods. All of them follow me. A few hundred might still reside in living body across all the land men call Urn. Perhaps some more if you include the Briar, but even then our numbers are small. A thousand at most?¡± He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°And yet, our bodiless spirits riddle the land. Who knows how long it will be before our stray shades reincarnate, or the lesser spirits choose to manifest in the flesh?¡±


    He held out a hand and one of the wisps alighted in it. Its light grew dim, as though saddened by the elf lord¡¯s mood.


    He turned to me then, still holding the tiny mote of flame in his palm. The symbolism wasn¡¯t lost on me. ¡°We have no where else to depart. No ancient land to sail to. The West is lost to the Adversary¡¯s offspring, the East wrapped in wrathful seas. The Wend has been closed to us, along with the lands beyond it. This is all we have.¡±


    He indicated the twilit forest. ¡°This, and a few other enclaves. We have little left to us, Sir Alken, and must defend it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± I said, too hasty. When Irn Bale raised a blue-black eyebrow, I winced. ¡°Don¡¯t call me Sir. I¡¯m not a knight anymore.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± A sad smile played across the elf¡¯s lips. ¡°The Church?¡±


    I turned away from his shining-star eyes. ¡°I¡¯m an excommunicate. I can¡¯t claim knighthood anymore.¡±


    ¡°Among mortals, maybe. Your priests do not decide such things among my kind. You are a paladin of the aur enhar ¡ª the Golden Bough.¡±


    ¡°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.¡±

 1.25: 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.¡±


    Seeing my expression, the changeling¡¯s humor faded. ¡°Well, in any case, everyone¡¯s wondering how the bastard bound the thing to him. It¡¯s a powerful weapon, and he¡¯s the one keeping it in his armory. I didn¡¯t see the fighting during the Fall, but most everyone knows the stories ¡ª whole countries afire, thousands dead, armies getting lost every month. If Orson Falconer has one of the monsters involved in all that at his beck and call, he could unleash a little bit of that hell anywhere he pleases. It¡¯s his main bargaining chip.¡±


    I leaned against the wall by the window, considering. ¡°You want to break Orson¡¯s hold over the spirit.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°That was my plan,¡± Catrin said. Her tone turned sly. ¡°But you¡¯re some kind of hallowed warrior, aren¡¯t you big man? Can¡¯t you just take that cutter, and¡­¡± she indicated my axe, which hung on my belt, and made a chopping gesture.


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill demons,¡± I said. ¡°They¡¯re like elves and the Onsolain ¡ª eternal. You can wound them, destroy their physical bodies, seal them away or banish them into the Wend, but you can¡¯t truly get rid of them.¡± My voice turned grim. ¡°Believe me, we¡¯ve tried. They¡¯re¡­ difficult to fight. And the one at the castle isn¡¯t manifested in a body, I don¡¯t think. It felt more like it was in the walls, or a shadow. If it¡¯s not flesh, there¡¯s less direct harm it can do, but it makes it harder for me to hurt it in any meaningful way.¡±


    That was another disturbing thought I didn¡¯t voice. If the demon wasn¡¯t manifest yet, but Orson Falconer intended to use it as a weapon, then it stood to reason he was planning to give it form. There were no gentle ways he could accomplish that.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Catrin lifted both hands in a helpless shrug. ¡°Back to Plan A ¡ª we cut off the Baron¡¯s control of the thing. Without it, he¡¯s got no allies and no leverage. He¡¯s just some petty provincial ruler, and all this blows over.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to release a demon on the world,¡± I said.


    ¡°Then what should we do?¡±


    ¡°Kill him,¡± I said. I met her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s what I was here for in the first place. If he¡¯s not a fool, then his death shouldn¡¯t free the thing. It¡¯s probably bound to the castle itself, or some edifice inside it.¡±


    Catrin swallowed. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to get close to him with that nightmare guarding his back, so unless you¡¯ve got a better idea¡­¡±


    She had a point. Free the demon, and I got my shot at the man.


    But I might just end up releasing an even worse evil on the world.


    ¡°Do you know how he¡¯s got the thing bound?¡± I asked the dhampir.


    ¡°I think I might.¡± Catrin leaned forward, one pale foot bobbing in thought. ¡°You remember that creepy cloaked attendant? The one called Priska?¡± At my nod she continued. ¡°I think she¡¯s got something to do with it. The Baron vanishes into the castle¡¯s dungeons every night, and she¡¯s always with him. I¡¯ve tried spying on them down there, but every time I get close I can sense the spirit¡­¡± she shook herself. ¡°It¡¯s like they¡¯re all down there in some secret council. I bet Priska knows, and she¡¯s not nearly so well guarded as Orson is. We grab her, get her to talk.¡±


    I considered in silence a moment. Catrin arched an eyebrow. ¡°Not working for you?¡±


    ¡°It makes sense,¡± I said. ¡°But it¡¯s a bit short on details.¡±


    ¡°Details,¡± Catrin scoffed. ¡°What¡¯s all that muscle for?¡± She appraised me for a moment, then amended. ¡°Well, I can think of a few things.¡±


    I ignored the comment. ¡°So your secret plan is to¡­ use me as a thug.¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± Catrin said brightly, bobbing one foot.


    I scoffed, but inwardly admitted I didn¡¯t have a better idea. It might have taken me days or weeks to learn what Catrin had already provided, and her knowledge of the castle and its inhabitants would prove invaluable on our return.


    ¡°There¡¯s also the trouble of those two hunters,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve got no clue what they¡¯re planning to try, but Olliard told me that either he¡¯d be dead by tomorrow, or Falconer would.¡±


    ¡°My coin¡¯s on the Baron,¡± Catrin said dryly. ¡°Still, I see what you mean. Those two could be trouble¡­ or a nice distraction.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much like the thought, but she was right.


    ¡°Then we¡¯d better get back before whatever the good doctor is planning begins,¡± I decided.


    I¡¯d lingered long enough among the wyldefae. It was time to get back to work.


    ***


    ¡°I can¡¯t accept this,¡± I told the elf lord.


    ¡°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.

 1.26: 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.¡±


    I moved to the door and, like with the gargoyle, inspected the auremark worked in solid gold to the front doors. I sensed very little power in it. The metal seemed faded. Tarnished. 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.


    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 street. ¡°I¡¯d rather not take any chances with holy ground. Sorry big man. I¡¯ll be out here when you¡¯re done.¡±


    I shrugged and tested the door. It was locked. I frowned ¡ª outside of a crisis, it was taboo for any chapel or temple to lock its doors. They were supposed to be open sanctums, places of refuge for the faithful warded against threats by faith and ritual, not by barred doors.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Technically, I was forbidden from going into churches unless ordered. But I¡¯d sinned often enough this seemed a small heresy, and it was for a good cause.


    I placed my fingertips against the auremark ¡ª it was nearly as tall as I was, and almost perfectly matched the little talisman Lisette had carried, the golden plates forming an arch pierced by three converging lines. I murmured a prayer, using the barest touch of aura.


    Excommunicate or no, I was yet sanctified. The holy symbol split in two at my command, the double doors swinging open.


    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.


    The chapel was fashioned in an older style, the dais in the center of the room instead of at the far end from the entry ¡ª a tall basin, usually filled with blessed water, worked into the floor in the center of a circular, dome-ceilinged room. Windows lined the upper walls, allowing either sun or moonlight in at all hours, the outer parts of the room half hidden behind supporting pillars encircling the central space.


    The villagers had been piled around the dais. 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. Young and old.


    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 the old innkeeper who¡¯d properly welcomed me to the community. His eyes stared unblinking from the mound, rimmed with red. His teenage daughter lay against him, as though clutching him for safety.


    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.


    Too late. I was too damn late to make any sort of difference. Orson Falconer hadn¡¯t been fooled by my improvised ploy, he hadn¡¯t sent me out into the marshes as a test.


    He¡¯d wanted me out of the way.


    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 it was, the corpse of a child stared up at me. It had rolled off the mound.


    I did vomit then.


    When I was done, I wiped my mouth and started to turn to leave. Something gave me pause. Movement in the edges of the room? I tightened my grip on the 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. 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.


    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.

 1.27: 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. 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 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.


    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. His right shoulder was severed nearly down to one lung, and 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 the rumbling of a furnace.


    He fell, a smoking husk, and the ghost 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 of dark golden flame, their undead spirits losing hold on ancient bones as auratic 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 ¡ª 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.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    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, grim, the chimera lunged at me, a heavy head alchemically engineered to snap bones surging 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 elf-forged armor saved my life.


    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 muscles groaned. The ghoul warrior let out a shout as he struck, then surged 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.


    He was an old ghoul. 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 veteran¡¯s 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 shadow-metal 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 yellow 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. Vaughn barked out a laugh.


    ¡°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.

 1.28: 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.¡±


    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.


    But I didn¡¯t have the words, and he was right. I hadn¡¯t done anything for them. If I¡¯d taken Falconer¡¯s life that first night, even at the cost of my own, this wouldn¡¯t have happened.


    Instead, hardening my heart against the monk¡¯s despair, I turned to face him fully. ¡°There was an old man who came to the village a few days back,¡± I said. ¡°He had a young woman with him, a cleric. Were they killed with the rest?¡±


    Brother Edgar gaped at me, his features torn between confusion and anger. ¡°I¡­¡± he swallowed, seemed to shake himself, and shook his head. ¡°You speak of Preoster Micah¡¯s friend, the doctor?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°He did nothing for us either,¡± Edgar snarled. He hugged himself and a blank, dull nothingness filled his eyes. ¡°I gave him some of the preoster¡¯s maps of the castle. Micah had been at odds with the Baron for years¡­¡± he barked a hollow laugh. ¡°I thought him a paranoid old fool chasing after imagined sins.¡±


    ¡°When did you last see him?¡± I asked. ¡°Do you know where he went?¡±


    ¡°He left the village yesterday morning to warn the new priest of the danger and gain his help,¡± Edgar said. ¡°Then those soldiers brought the new preacher in and executed him in the square. They must have accosted them outside the village¡­ I never saw Olliard or his apprentice again. They must have died out in the marsh.¡±


    Perhaps he was right. My gut told me the doctor had survived, though, and was lurking about somewhere. What was the old man¡¯s plan?


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Catrin asked.


    I looked toward the lake. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that the Baron desecrated the church in the worst way he could think of in order to give his demon ally a physical form. I¡¯m also thinking he wanted me to prevent the new preoster from reaching the village because a trained priest could have stopped that sort of ritual cold, especially on holy ground.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°He got what he wanted though,¡± Catrin said. ¡°I just don¡¯t understand what the point in killing all the villagers was. What¡¯s he doing all this for?¡±


    ¡°Revenge,¡± I said. ¡°He wants to wage war against the Onsolain. Probably, he thought the sacrifice of one village was worth it.¡±


    ¡°Sick fuck,¡± Catrin spat.


    He played me for a fool, I thought. Made me think he was reasonable. Why would a man who wants to fight the gods be reasonable?


    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± 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 had already gotten what he wanted. He had his infernal weapon, attention from the other Recusant factions, and the Church¡¯s presence in his lands expunged. I hadn¡¯t stopped any of his plots or saved anyone.


    But I could still kill him.


    ***


    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 were fixed on the shadow of the castle which loomed 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.


    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, a shattered, half sunken beast.


    Did the Onsolain really cause all this? I ran my eyes across the ruins. It was 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. Nothing justified what I¡¯d seen in the chapel.


    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 there was danger ahead. A very real stench filled the cave, overpoweringly foul. It reeked of carrion.


    ¡°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 ¡ª 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, after the moment was already done.


    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. 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.


    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¡­


    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 ¡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.

 1.29: 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.


    ¡°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.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°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.¡±


    After what I¡¯d seen at the village chapel, I had a suspicion I knew the fate of the castle¡¯s original inhabitants. Even still I kept myself alert, knowing more mercenary ghouls ¡ª and probably worse ¡ª likely lurked about. More chimera? Or would I face the ogre from the council? I didn¡¯t relish the thought of fighting him.


    ¡°Something ahead,¡± Catrin whispered. We both stopped.


    I focused, but heard nothing. The changelings hearing must have been sharper than mine.


    Considering the chimera had attacked us in the lake caves beneath the fortress, even with Catrin present, I assumed the Baron knew I was his enemy and had prepared for me. I tightened my grip on the Axe of Hithlen and drew up power ¡ª it came tiredly, my aura already winded from my exertions below.


    A figure stepped out into the hall ahead of us. I went on guard. Catrin did not. She¡¯d known who was approaching 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 hand held a drawn gladius, and a neutral expression masked his handsome features.


    ¡°Cat,¡± the mercenary said. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°What I think¡¯s right,¡± Catrin said, eyes narrowing. ¡°Not playing part in mass slaughter.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re getting involved with,¡± Quinn said. He held up his weathered sword so its edge seemed to burn orange in the torchlight. His corpse-blue eyes flickered down, and he noted the red on her lips. He noted 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 ¡ª 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.¡±


    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. But Quinn was a worm ¡ª his soul barely clutching 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 cant.


    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 disbelieving pain. 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 thought, I¡¯d just come to respect the changeling woman and my anger was a more honest one.


    Maybe it was a bit of both.


    Who can say?


    I glanced back at Catrin, a thought striking me. She looked almost as stunned as Quinn was. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the names I called you before,¡± I told her. ¡°Vampire, bloodsucker¡­ all those. It was unworthy of me.¡±


    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 it. Amber-tinted flame erupted from stump and hand both, consuming the latter and scorching the mercenaries 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 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.

 1.30: 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.


    ¡°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?¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Orson Falconer 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.


    I bared my teeth. ¡°You smile, after what you did?¡±


    ¡°And what is it you think I did?¡± 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. Do you have any idea what you brought into the world in that chapel?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Orson said, nodding. His expression had darkened. ¡°Yes, I know very well what it is I¡¯ve done.¡±


    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 was starting to recover from Catrin¡¯s blow, though the dagger at her throat kept her from moving.


    ¡°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 allies had gone and what they planned, this entire sad tragedy has been for nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯m talking about God,¡± Orson said. His words held a poisonous sneer. ¡°Or the one the Church claims is God. The Heir of Onsolem. The God-Queen of Urn.¡±


    Olliard scowled. ¡°What is this madness? You speak of theology now, after all this murder?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Orson shook his head, violet eyes wide. ¡°Not just theology, Doctor. You know what the priests tell us ¡ª that the Heir is departed from this land, waging war to reclaim a Heaven lost to the Adversary. The very same great enemy from whose ranks I selected the spirit now in the hands of my benefactors.¡± He winced and began to slide down the wall, too weak to keep his feet.


    Olliard just shook his head. ¡°You are mad.¡±


    ¡°I am awake,¡± Orson insisted. He was sitting now, his head leaning against the wall. His face had become ashen. ¡°Awake in a land full of sleepers. We are prisoners, Olliard. Prisoners in a cage of dreams and stories. Our dead are corralled into the Underworld, which is no heaven¡­ just desolate caves full of illusion. I have seen it. I have crossed the veil of death 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 but swayed, looking dazed.


    ¡°He¡¯s talking about the Deliverance,¡± I told them. ¡°You all know of it, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Lisette rubbed at the back of her neck, wincing. ¡°The souls of humanity lay in waiting in the Halls of the Dead, until the day the Heir claims Her rightful seat and delivers them to the true After. Until then, they rest in peaceful contemplation in the Halls of the Dead, guarded from the dark spirits which would prey on them.¡±


    I smiled tightly. ¡°Spoken right from scripture. Should have expected that from a lay sister.¡±


    Lisette turned a cold glare on me.


    ¡°It¡¯s all true,¡± the Baron said in a hollow voice. ¡°They keep our dead trapped in stone and darkness, a false afterlife meant at its inception to be temporary, and all the while the Church promises our savior will return¡­ but it has been seven centuries since the Heir departed. And that is only if you believe scripture, which I have come to doubt. These are the facts; we do not own our own souls, and the dead are beginning to outnumber us. The caverns of Draubard are overfull, and it is worse in the West. They have no subterranean sanctums there, precious few priests to give burial rites, and there are always wars¡­ The Mistwalker Legion? Their like are epidemic in the continent.¡±


    ¡°The world is gone to shit,¡± I agreed. ¡°That doesn¡¯t justify all of this.¡±


    ¡°Of course it does!¡± Orson snarled. ¡°We will all die. And we will persist. We have not been permitted true rest, even the peace of oblivion. Either we languish in this world like the elves, or we are devoured by things worse still¡­ This was not meant to be our race¡¯s fate. If the gods are our jailors, then I shall break their chains and topple their mountain. I have sworn it.¡±


    His eyes alighted on me. ¡°You should know. Your order is bound to the Alder Table. Their ghosts are in you, Paladin of Seydis, just as yours will be in your successor.¡±


    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,¡± I said. ¡°Believe me, I know. But the Adversary is worse. You gave an Abgr?dai flesh. There is no worse sin you can commit.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s already pale face turned ghost white. Catrin muttered a foul curse, 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 Elfhome ten years ago.¡±


    ¡°One of the same who sacked Heaven nearly a thousand years ago. We must not forget that.¡± The Baron was almost smug.


    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 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. 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 bone. The Baron¡¯s head jerked back, striking the wall, then he slumped limp to the ground.


    Olliard lowered his crossbow and let out a weary breath. ¡°Madness,¡± he was saying 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 methodic 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 snapped. ¡°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¡¯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.

 1.31: 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 nodded. ¡°Seems like it might be a useful place to gather information.¡±


    ¡°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. 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 bright clothes and strumming a lute of inhumanly fine craft. They had a single golden eye, which glinted like a freshly minted coin beneath the shadow of a three-pointed hat.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I stood by the stream, listening to the song until it ended. ¡°I know you,¡± I said, when the woods grew quiet.


    The elf smiled. ¡°From my cousin¡¯s hall, yes. I watched your duel.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No. You were in Castle Cael. The hunter.¡±


    Their faces were different, their clothes¡­ but I knew it.


    The elf remained quiet a long while. ¡°What gave me away?¡± they asked after some time had passed.


    I tapped my skull. ¡°The hat¡¯s almost the same. And¡­¡± I shrugged. ¡°I have intuitions. My Oath.¡±


    The elf inclined their head, smiling.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you talk to me then?¡± I asked, feeling anger rise in my chest. ¡°We could have worked together to stop all of this.¡±


    ¡°You know our ability to interfere with the human nobility is limited,¡± the elf said. ¡°Our own oaths bind us, Sir Alken.¡±


    I turned my back on him, scoffing. ¡°Right.¡±


    Before I¡¯d gone more than a few paces, they spoke at my back. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    I paused, half turning. 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 nodded. ¡°I am the bard Tzanith. I say this, Alken Hewer ¡ª you will be hard pressed to find closure in this war. It has endured for many an age.¡±


    The name sent a shudder of recognition through my aura. I¡¯d never heard it, not with my mortal ears. ¡°Do you have a message from them?¡± I asked.


    Tzanith¡¯s smile turned sad. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. That is not my role.¡± They leaned back on the rocks, considering, then placed their fingers to the strings of their beautiful instrument. ¡°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 Urnic Church, I thought, back when the Onsolain 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 there was still power in it 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. I could just barely make out their faces in the gloom. 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 normally empty black stone.


    ¡°Failed again,¡± the forest ghosts whispered. ¡°Failed us. Didn¡¯t save us. Let the Dark One rise out of our corpses like a great maggot.¡±


    Some of the ghosts were from the village I¡¯d left behind weeks ago, clinging to my shadow. Lisette and Brother Edgar hadn¡¯t managed to bind all of them.


    ¡°Perhaps you hoped it would be her?¡±


    My head shot up, looking for the source of that last voice. It hadn¡¯t sounded like the others.


    I 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 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

    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!


    I didn¡¯t expect Oathbreaker to become the project that made the cut to web serialdom. The original version is very different from what I¡¯ve shared here ¡ª a very spur of the moment, self indulgent romance based on a pair of DnD characters who didn¡¯t make it into an actual game, but whose narrative I felt endlessly compelled by. That led to another epiphany ¡ª trying to make every chapter perfect, every idea full-proof before I put pen to paper, was driving me nuts.


    The project I started on a whim and expected not to last more than a few chapters, I¡¯m still writing a year and a half later and feel confident enough to share. It¡¯s almost a cliche to say ¡°write for yourself,¡± but in my case it holds true. I started writing the stories I wanted to read rather than the ones I thought other people would be impressed by. Since that choice, I¡¯ve been doing something like 15k words a week on average.


    So that¡¯s sort of a broad look at how I got here, but what we care about is the story itself, right? It consumes enough real estate in my head, at least. So where do I go from here? Well, Oathbreaker is far from done. These first 31 chapters are, if anything, a proof of concept. I wanted to spend time in Alken¡¯s head, create vibe, foreshadow some future plot beats and build atmosphere. I wanted to dive into the cosmic-scale mess that is his life, his quest, and the questions that drive his story. Did I succeed?This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Well, that¡¯s a tough question. On one hand, I¡¯m just happy to have gotten this much done. On the other, I¡¯m never truly satisfied with my own work. My writing workshop can attest to this, probably with a barrage of eye rolls and ¡°it¡¯s fine as it is!¡± But the truth is, I find satisfaction in improving, in doing better with each new iteration. Eventually though, a version does have to stick. Part of the point of posting my story online was to force that.


    With that said, here¡¯s what I think I could have done better. One: pacing. I¡¯m always struggling with pacing. I¡¯ll go on too long with a description or tangent, and the next thing I know I¡¯ve got little room for actual plot. Two: pacing again. For all my rambling, I think this arc could have been longer. I originally wanted Alken to spend more time in the castle with the misfit band of ne¡¯er do-wells and their conflicting motives and goals. I ended up dropping the ball on that. I wanted Catrin¡¯s alliance with Al to be more of a slow burn deal, with his prejudices and distrust as a paladin who¡¯s been bitten before (pun intended) coming between them. Then I needed the baron to give Alken something to do to prove himself, got sidetracked by the elves, and rushed the conclusion¡­


    I¡¯d do it different on a second draft, but I¡¯ve been on this one for months. So, something to consider for the future. Speed up some things, slow down others, and maybe find a better outlining process.


    Olliard and Lisette ended up being another problem. In my original projections, they were allies, with the doctor developing a strong rapport with Alken that eventually culminated in Olliard taking umbrage with Catrin, the one good person in a nest of bad, because of his own Dr. Van Helsing style prejudices. The conclusion there would be much the same. As it is, Olliard had a fairly small part in the plot with a very big part in the end that maybe got a bit too deus-ex machina, and I ended up feeling pretty glum about how I handled that.


    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

    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.


    But the Dark Ones lurked in the shadows, drawn by the light.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    They were weak then, and full of malice.


    They hungered for light, and hated it.


    One day they would grow strong, and assail the very walls of Heaven.


    But in those days, they were less.


    And the iron pits of Orkael had not yet been delved to keep them.


    They stalked the land, and the elves, full of the violent joys of youth, hunted them.


    Even beyond the bounds of the world, and in this bloodshed became fell.


    So the Dark Ones whispered into the ears of the Blessed, and one heeded the deceptive truths they offered.


    He whose name shall not be said here, but you know him.


    He Who Is Crowned in Night.


    Traitor and Warmonger.


    Lord and dupe of the Abgr?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

    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.


    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.


    I didn¡¯t see any reason to tell an enemy that, though. I shifted into a stance, holding the head of my axe back behind my waist in preparation for a swing. I kept the magical barrier up, the aureshield and my stance reminiscent of an ancient hoplite.


    ¡°I never managed to awaken a Soul Art of my own,¡± the earl said musingly, twirling his halberd in thoughtful circles before him, lazily goading me to attack. ¡°I understand it is quite taxing to use them. Let us test it, shall we?¡±


    He advanced with the speed and ferocity of a viper, nearly startling me into retreating. The halberd slashed at my shield again, causing more golden sparks to fly. Again the knight-necromancer attacked, stabbing with his versatile weapon¡¯s spearhead. I didn¡¯t step back or stumble ¡ª my own will formed the barrier, and it would remain fixed in place unless I chose to move it. Unlike a normal shield, the force of those attacks didn¡¯t carry through to me.


    That isn¡¯t to say the aureshield is an infallible defense.


    The earl struck again, and this time the amber barrier cracked. The webbing fractures began to eat across the subtly glowing construct like a cancer, bits flecking away to dissipate like the mirage it resembled. I¡¯d already grown cold with the effort of maintaining it. I suppressed a shiver as the warmth of my spirit, my very life, poured out into the aegis. Against magic and magical creatures the aureshield is nearly impervious. Against more mundane attacks it is little better than glass.


    So, when the earl noted this and lunged forward in a savage attack ¡ª not at me, but in an attempt to shatter my Art and let me suffer the backlash of a broken construct ¡ª I dismissed the shield and sidestepped the thrust. The earl stumbled forward, off balance, and I took my axe in two hands and chopped with a quick, economical movement that nonetheless carried tremendous force behind it. The earl¡¯s right vambrace crumpled beneath the elf-forged iron of the Faen Orgis.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Nobles can afford to have their armor made by the best smiths. For the very best, their craft often also manifests into Art. Such might have protected Lord Emery from the magicked weapon.


    The armor, well made but ordinary, gave, and the bone beneath broke. The necromancer let out a sharp cry and fell to one knee, momentarily stunned by pain.


    Before he could recover, I slammed a boot down on his weapon to pin it to the floor and swung again, catching him in the side of his ridiculous helm with an echoing clang!


    The lord went to the ground hard, losing his hold on the halberd. I kicked it away and glared around at the onlookers, believing that to be the moment they would all attack at once.


    They didn¡¯t. The faces, the dead ones and the few still living, watched in grim silence. The Lady Planter watched through a nearly opaque veil, the ghostly white eyes beneath the only visible aspect of her face. Her son looked ready to weep, or perhaps vomit. Would they use him as a hostage now?


    Would it stop me? My mind flashed back to the novice in Vinhithe. I¡¯d frozen then.


    I turned my attention back to the earl. Emery Planter dazedly got to his knees. The stylized visor of his helm had deformed, the sharp beak beneath the ¡°eyes¡± bent to one side so it almost looked like a childish drawing of what it meant to resemble. Blood had begun to drip out of the holes meant for breathing. I¡¯d broken his nose, I think.


    ¡°Emery Planter,¡± I said, catching my breath. My own wounds painted the floor already, and I knew I needed to wrap this up quickly. ¡°You abused the souls of the dead for your own ends. You spat on the authority of the Lords of Draubard and blasphemed against the Onsolain. Your days of conspiring with Recusants and terrorizing innocents are over. It¡¯s time to¡ª¡±


    My doom, which was not my best and not nearly as good as the one I¡¯d use on Leonis Chancer, ended prematurely when the earl¡¯s tinny voice emerged from the damaged mask of his helm. ¡°What? That¡¯s not at all true!¡±


    I paused, more frustrated at being interrupted than taken aback. Lord Emery started getting to his feet, then collapsed again, letting out a muffled cry and cradled his broken wrist. Footsteps pattered across the mosaic floor of the castle hall. I tensed and turned, expecting one of the wights to rush me.


    It was the earl¡¯s wife. Clad in the same gown she¡¯d probably worn at her funeral, concealed by dark veils and billowing skirts, she moved with quiet speed to the lord¡¯s side and knelt there, clutching at one of his pauldrons. Her son remained with other attendants near the throne, frozen and pale.


    ¡°I¡­¡± the earl might have winced, and then used his one good hand to work at the catch at his helm. He managed to get the visor up, revealing a round, aged face with thick whiskers and bristling eyebrows all gone to gray. ¡°I did all of this to protect my lands. Kill me on behalf of your masters if you will, Headsman, I have earned my tenure in Hell. But do not falsify my charges! I have called up spirits from the Underworld, yes, and bound them into flesh, bone, and stone as the great necromancers of old. But I have not allied myself with Recusants, nor have I oppressed my subjects!¡±


    I glanced around at the pale-eyed guards, trying to make the gesture one of amazement. Emery Planter scowled. ¡°I will not justify myself to you, assassin. Take my head. You have bested me, and I will honor the terms of our engagement. But I will not be slandered.¡±


    Nobles. I wanted to spit. On the brink of death, after months of black magic and horror, he would spend his last moments worried about whether I insulted him.


    I¡¯d had enough of this job. I began to advance, taking my axe in both hands.


    ¡°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 and said, ¡°kill him.¡±

 2.2: 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.


    The wight came out of the water with me. It was one of the castle guards, its breastplate having acted as a dead weight keeping it at the bottom of the river with me. It climbed me even as I¡¯d climbed the fallen tree, a dagger clutched in one dripping hand. Silver fire burned dimly in its eyes, like slivers of trapped starlight.


    I didn¡¯t have my axe. It had been lost in the river, taken by the current. I tried reaching for the dagger at my belt, but the wight pinned my arm and stabbed with its own blade. The spike of steel went into my leg, sinking through muscle. I let out a gasp of pain, muted in my breathless terror. The dead guardsman was expressionless, what remained of its flesh hugging tight to bone, a skull¡¯s grin the mask it wore. Even still, I thought I glimpsed a sense of triumph in the dim glow of its pit eyes. Keeping hold of the tree with one hand, I pulled out my dagger and drove it up beneath the wight¡¯s chin, ramming the curved blade into the hollow of its skull.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The dead don¡¯t need brains. They don¡¯t even need muscle or sinew, their bones knitted together by the will of the spirit, by its want of a body. In truth, only damage backed by sorcery should be able to truly hurt them. But they were once human, and they still remember things like fear and pain. The oldest of the Living Dead forget, become less like people over long ages until they become so used to their immortality they forget how to die.


    The castle guard had not been reanimated long, and the spirit within still believed my dagger should kill it, that it couldn¡¯t survive steel driven into the bottom of its skull. Its jaws widened in a silent gasp, its shining eyes seeming to expand as though in shock. It began to quiver as the spirit animating the corpse struggled to hold onto its form. They are often fragile, the undead, because it takes so much of their strength just to keep hold of a body that shouldn¡¯t move as though alive.


    I need to start carrying Banemetal, I thought. The grinning visage of a chestnut haired woman flashing through my mind. I buried the thought. No room for distractions, not now.


    I pulled my dagger out and kicked at the wight. It fell away, losing its grip on me and tumbling into the water. The current carried the creature off, the weight of its armor dragging it under.


    I breathed hard as I clutched at the fallen, water-rotted tree, my leg burning where the wight had stabbed me. Maybe the thing would survive, even pull itself out of the water and return to the castle. But I doubted it. The flow of the river would quickly drag the spirit out of the corpse, and eventually all the way back to Draubard. Or the sea. I didn¡¯t have it in me to care much for its fate just then.


    I glanced upstream and saw the castle not far off, looming huge and dark under the moons. I needed to be gone. Dark shapes flapped through the air, crying out in eerie voices. Gargoyles.


    Injured, nearly burnt out in body and spirit, I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d manage to escape before they sent riders out. I imagined it then; skeletal horses ridden by pale-eyed knights with long spears and chains, ready to drag me back to that hall with its boy-lord and his undead mother.


    Where was my edge? When had I lost it? This was as bad as Vinhithe.


    The implacable Headsman, terror of Recusants across the face of Urn, last of the Table. Oh, if only they could see me then.


    I hate this job.


    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.

 2.3: 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.


    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.¡±


    ¡°Whatever else,¡± I said, forcing calm despite the approaching sound of hunting horns blown by dead lips. ¡°I won¡¯t kill anyone for you.¡±


    ¡°I do not require you to kill anyone,¡± Nath said, inspecting torn, bloody nails. ¡°And besides, you have no room to refuse. Your services have been leant to me by my brothers and sisters.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°You lie.¡±


    ¡°I never lie,¡± Nath said, her pale face and musical voice hardening, like ice eating across a window pane. She relaxed and settled back on her saddle. ¡°Tell him, spirit.¡±


    Movement in the corner of my vision drew my attention. Another shadow lurked there at the tree line, more substantial than the other ghosts. Not by much, but I recognized the easy slouch, the too-bright glint of gray eyes.


    ¡°Donnelly?¡± I asked, confused.


    The grizzled adventurer turned divine messenger stepped forward so Nath¡¯s unearthly glow illuminated him. Stubble-faced, tall, ashen in death, he dressed more formally than when I¡¯d last seen him ¡ª the herald of the Onsolain, clad in a greatcoat and rich cloak pinned at one shoulder. His unkempt hair and tired eyes undercut much of the sense of command that ensemble might have imparted. ¡°It¡¯s true, Al. The Choir is lending your services to their Fallen sister.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Is this some kind of joke?¡± I snapped, losing hold of my temper. ¡°She¡¯s evil.¡±


    Nath scoffed.


    I jabbed a finger at the Fallen, not caring about courtesy or chivalry or anything of the sort just then. ¡°She¡¯s been trying to subvert and conquer the subcontinent for over five centuries. There have been wars fought to keep her contained. She¡¯s allied with the Briar!¡±


    Donnelly gave me a tired shrug in response. ¡°She¡¯s a black sheep, it¡¯s true, but she¡¯s still part of the family. And, to be honest Al¡­¡± he sighed and took another step forward, ruffling his mop of brown hair. ¡°The Onsolain have other enemies to worry about. The sentries they¡¯ve got posted on the Fences have been bringing reports back for a few years now about stirrings in the continent. There¡¯s more traffic from the west under the Accord, which means more chances for something nasty to slip through the net. And for all that¡­¡±


    Nath finished for him. ¡°For all of that, the whereabouts of the Archmagus are still unknown, and the wounds of his treachery may not heal for many generations of mortal kind.¡± Her lips quirked in amusement. ¡°The power of Heavensreach is threatened, more so than it has been in an age. My kin can ill afford to be selective of their allies.¡± She didn¡¯t quite hide the gloating note in her words.


    More horns sounded, very close this time. I cursed and half turned, expecting my pursuers to burst through the trees even then.


    Donnelly scowled and turned to Nath. ¡°Do you mind?¡±


    The Fallen¡¯s empty-mask eyes fixed on the distant woods. ¡°Ah, yes.¡± She lifted a pale hand, as though to order a cavalry charge, and the shadow beneath her macabre steed erupted. It grew wide, forming a pool of black fully teen feet in radius, then divided into a dozen splinters. Those shadows raced into the surrounding trees, quick as foxes dashing for a kill.


    Nath placed her hands on the nightmare¡¯s reins as the beast stamped its thorny hoof restlessly. ¡°We will not be disturbed.¡±


    Without the immediate threat of capture and painful death, I took the time to think. I dismissed the idea that this might be some kind of trick. Donnelly was truly there, and I sensed no geas on him ¡ª none made by the dark hand of Bloody Nath, in any case. My Table-given powers told me that much, at least.


    The idea that the Onsolain would cooperate with their Fallen sister was harder to swallow. Then again, they are immortal ¡ª perhaps five centuries of conflict with one of their own didn¡¯t seem much more than a brief familial squabble, to their memory. And the world had sprouted more thorns than Nath¡¯s, in recent years.


    As for loaning my services¡­ the idea galled me. I wasn¡¯t some mercenary, to be tossed around masters for whatever bloody work needed doing.


    I wasn¡¯t. I performed the role of Headsman as a penance, but I still fought on the side of the angels, as it were.


    And¡­


    And my position involved doing whatever grim work the gods had need of. The kind they wouldn¡¯t want to give some pious knight or cleric in a divine revelation, not without risking that piety. My faith wasn¡¯t a loss they needed to mind. I was like a king¡¯s executioner, or torturer ¡ª I had an unpleasant role, but one necessary to the stability of the realm.


    Of course they would loan me to a dubious old enemy, if they thought it might aid their own cause. I was probably the only agent they had suited to the task.


    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.¡±

 2.4: Orias 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 should see for yourself.¡± She closed her eyes, seeming to steady herself. More calmly she said, ¡°this isn¡¯t a good place for healing, Hewer. There are too many unquiet spirits.¡±


    ¡°I thought the shrine kept them away?¡± I looked past her to the marble temple.


    Oraeke shrugged. ¡°Physically, sure.¡± She pointed her bronze-headed spear to the woods. ¡°But you can hear their voices every night. He¡¯s sick in here,¡± she tapped a calloused finger against her skull, ¡°and here,¡± she tapped at her breast. She shuffled a moment, frowning deeply. ¡°He needs quiet.¡±


    Nowhere was quiet, not for most of ten years. Leastways, not to those with the senses to hear the land¡¯s disquietude. ¡°Where would you have me take him, then?¡± I asked, not quite managing to keep the frustration from my tone.


    Oraeke just shrugged her broad shoulders. ¡°Dunno.¡± Then, the anger creeping back in she added, ¡°you reek of blood. Best not trouble him long.¡±


    With that, she turned and stalked into the depths of the temple. I stood awhile, feeling foolish with my magicked axe on my shoulder and my pointed red cowl up. What had I expected? That my return would be met with some sense of gravity, that I¡¯d impress the other inhabitants of the Fane?


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind her, lad. Guarding this place can be a taxing duty.¡±


    I reached up with my free hand and pulled my hood back. ¡°I didn¡¯t plan to be away so long,¡± I said, hearing in my own voice how hollow the excuse sounded. I turned to give the same formal nod of greeting to the newcomer. For a giant, Caim could move very stealthily. ¡°Forgemaster.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Caim returned my nod. Standing near three times as tall even as Oraeke and built like a castle turret, the smith seemed made all of sooty clay and pressed ash. His enormous hands were blackened up to the elbow, and mottled scars covered near every inch of his skin I could see. His clothes were not dissimilar from the elf maid¡¯s ¡ª loose cloth in an archaic style, pinned at one shoulder. In his case I couldn¡¯t tell the original color of the dye, so faded and forge-stained was it.


    ¡°That arm has tasted blood,¡± the smith said, kneeling down to squint a granite eye at my weapon. He ran his fingers through his thundercloud of a beard, giving me a glimpse of embers smoldering through it. ¡°You have done fell work these past seasons.¡±


    I rested the Faen Orgis ¡ª the Doomsman¡¯s Arm ¡ª on both my hands. The gently curved haft of the axe had been fashioned from a single uncarved branch of oak, taken from a tree grown in a land lost to a long-ago age. The blade had been reforged and refitted more recently, alloyed from faerie bronze and mortal steel for my own use. Eddies of gold and silver had been worked into the intricate patterns adorning the bit, to better channel aura.


    ¡°It¡¯s served me well,¡± I said to the giant, trying to sound grateful.


    Caim snorted, the sound impossibly deep. ¡°You hate the thing. It leaves a¡­ scent, I suppose. Weapons have aura too, and it¡¯s my Art to read them. To shape them, just as I blend the alloy.¡± He held out a palm big as a soldier¡¯s shield. ¡°I will sharpen its edge. I can do nothing for the scent ¡ª that is part of it.¡± He shrugged.


    I gave him the axe. Caim had been the one to reforge it, so I felt no qualms about handing it over to his care. ¡°Thank you, forgemaster.¡±


    Caim held the weapon, hefty even in my hands, between his forefinger and thumb. He held it up to the moonlight. Reflected and enhanced by the enchanted pools, the night sky made the circle shine near bright as day.


    He¡¯d be lost in his craft from there. I left the old smith to his appraisal and made my way up the path that led through the woods above the temple grounds. As I walked, the glimmering spider webs in the trees grew more abundant, and the origin of the ghostly music nearer at hand.


    For a place known to some as the Doomsman¡¯s Circle, Oria¡¯s Fane can be very peaceful. I knew that peace to be a facade, a veil of quietude pulled around the ancient sanctuary. The inhabitants ¡ª myself and the others who called that secluded place home ¡ª did dark work, and when you cloak yourself in enough blood and shadow, it tends to cling to you, like soot or oil. I can gain some measure of quiet in hallowed ground, but the dead are always hounding my steps. In part because of the fell weapon I carry, and in part because of the oaths I¡¯ve broken. Devoid of their protection, my gold-alloyed soul draws in lost spirits like moths to a candle flame.


    The grounds through which I walked had been the refuge for others given my role, and was home to more still who did similar work for the gods. For generations upon generations this had been the case, and the tread of all those bloody boots had left their stain. Hezrobog¡¯s suggestion that I find another path had been no idle threat ¡ª the forests around the shrine were terribly haunted.


    At the Fane, powerful enchantments had been woven to keep the restless dead and worse things at bay. The troll bridge at the outer boundary acted as only the first ward in that layered aegis. The spider webs were another, and Oraeke¡¯s spear the vicious fang waiting behind the shield wall.


    Even still, I could feel the anger pressing in on those unseen walls. It grew deeper as the night aged, denser, like the growing pressure as one sank underwater. Though I knew I was safe within the Fane¡¯s grounds, safer than near anywhere else in all the world, still I felt it as I made my way toward the orange glow of a hearth flame burning within a humble home above the shrine.


    It is worse for some. Worse for the one who dwelt in the little cottage at the top of the hill.


    The last true Knight of the Alder Table.


    ***


    I approached the cottage on the hill above the shrine. Light burned within, welcoming, but even still I didn¡¯t rush. When I reached the door and held my hand to the latch, I paused nearly half a minute, collecting myself. I could hear a sound within. A blade scraping against wood, quiet and focused.


    I opened the door and stepped inside. A humble, clean room lay within. The hearth crackled warmly, wisps playing in it. A few flitted out to greet me, zipping around my head, their voices like half-remembered dreams. Simple carpets covered the wooden floor, and hunting trophies decorated the walls. Antlers from kynedeer and other woodland chimera, mostly. A beautifully fashioned bow of elfhorn adorned one wall, and a scarred sword more regal still crowned the hearth. In contrast, the bed pressed against one wall was small and humble, little more than a cot like some mendicant might use.


    At a desk, with his back to me, sat an old man. He hunched over a wooden carving, blade working clever-quick. As I shut the door, the old man held the carving up. Half done, I could still make out the ornately carved robes and high crown on a narrow face.


    ¡°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.¡±

 2.5: 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.


    ¡°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.¡±


    She held out a hand as though to grasp one of those faraway lights. The arm blurred with the motion, white skin cascading from itself as though made of mist to reveal strangely colored bone beneath, glowing with silver-green light. The flesh reformed after a moment, becoming whole again.


    ¡°You were in the Underworld recently,¡± I said. ¡°Last time I saw you, standing under the open sky didn¡¯t effect you so badly.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The chthonic elf nodded. ¡°As above, so below. Everywhere is in turmoil, and the scars of the last war run deep. It is of no matter to you, my friend. We both have our duties, and it is best not to let ourselves be too distracted by unpleasant things. Our work is dark, but that does not mean we need wrap ourselves in darkness.¡±


    I took the admonition for what it was. With a shallow smile I said, ¡°is the Grim Reaper really telling me I should be more cheerful?¡±


    Rysanthe scoffed, though her eyes twinkled. ¡°Do you see me carrying a scythe? You mortals have such imaginations. And yes, I am. Dourness ill suits you, Alken Hewer, though the gods know you¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    Growing serious she said, ¡°be cautious with Nath. Her cooperation could be a great boon to the land¡¯s stability in coming days, but she is fickle and treacherous.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m well wary of her.¡±


    ¡°Has aught else besides your role troubled you of late?¡± Rysanthe asked, studying me with narrowed eyes as though trying to see through my skin. Perhaps she did exactly that. ¡°Any¡­ symptoms, like Ser Maxim?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I gather more spirits than I used to. It¡¯s gotten worse the last few years¡­¡± I thought back, remembering. There was a time every Knight Alder attracted spirits of all sorts, from ghosts to Wil-O¡¯ Wisps to odder things. It was part of our lot, as auratic torches tasked to guard against the shadows. Shadows have a tendency to cling.


    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Rysanthe said, missing nothing.


    I rubbed at the spot where my ring normally rested. Her ring, I supposed. As grateful as I was that the elf witch had made the talisman for me, the contents of my dreams were mine alone. Instead I held up my left hand. ¡°My touch doesn¡¯t heal any longer,¡± I said. ¡°I still recover from injury quickly, and I¡¯m always in good health ¡ª better than Captain Maxim, leastways, but I can¡¯t pass that magic on to others anymore.¡± In the past, the healing touch of the Knights Alder had been renowned.


    Rysanthe nodded, her lips thinning with thought. ¡°A symptom of the Table¡¯s breaking, I think. And your other powers? The Arts?¡±


    ¡°I can wield most of the basic ones,¡± I said. ¡°I can still imbue my weapon with the Alder¡¯s fire, still see through darkness, sense dark spirits ¡ª all of that. The Greater Arts are more difficult. I can use a few, with effort, but some¡­¡± I shook my head and smiled sheepishly. ¡°Well, even before the Table was broken, I couldn¡¯t use all the power.¡±


    Rysanthe smiled. ¡°It came with age, as I understand it, the power growing with the inner strength and understanding of the wielder. Though, now, I think that power is fading from the world. I can only hope it serves you so long as you may need it.¡±


    That was not a comforting thought. Wanting to change the subject from my own maimed powers I asked, ¡°and what of you? Have the Silver Lords given you a new task?¡±


    ¡°My brand does not seek a soul presently,¡± she said, placing a hand on the instrument at her belt. ¡°I am helping guard the shepherds. Too many shades are going astray, and those that prey on them are becoming brazen.¡± Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I saw the hint of a silvered skull beneath misty flesh. ¡°How surprised the wolves will be, to find a lion.¡±


    The death¡¯s aspect vanished once again behind the kindly nymph, and she reached out to squeeze my arm. ¡°Take care of yourself, my friend. There were more of us once, but now you and I are the only Dooms in Urn. I do not wish to see an ill fate befall you.¡±


    ¡°What of Oraeke?¡± I asked, thinking of the dour huntress.


    ¡°While I am grateful that she guards this place, and her spear is truly fierce, she is still young. I would not see her give the days of her youth to our work.¡± Rysanthe sighed. ¡°I am certain of her eagerness to prove herself, at least. There are precious few young Sidhe who managed to escape the burning of Seydis, and she will carry that grief, that rage, into the far reaches of forever.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It is a burden all the Endless bear.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll watch Ser Maxim while I¡¯m gone?¡± I asked. ¡°You and the others?¡±


    Rysanthe nodded. ¡°Of course. For now, though, you should rest. Bring your ring to me before you leave, and I will cleanse it. It¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    She lifted my hand then. Twice as large as hers, calloused, tanned, and scarred, it seemed a truly ugly thing grasped in her pale, shining fingers. She kissed my knuckles, inverting the human custom, then spoke with emphasis. ¡°Rest. This shrine is made to ease our burdens, my friend, but you must let it.¡±


    Her words moved into me like spring water. My eyes grew heavy, and I nearly crumbled to the ground right there.


    I hate having my will tampered with. I broke the enchantment with a surge of concentration, turning that silver aura to useless vapor. I pulled my hand back from hers and turned, grabbing the bucket of water. ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± I snapped.


    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 her,¡± 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.¡±

 2.6: 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.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± I arched an eyebrow.


    In reply, a secret smile formed across her small mouth. ¡°Yes. There is a collection I¡¯ve been transcribing of late ¡ª Mysteries of Mediir, originally penned by the historian Lorenz of Dolorna. I¡¯m going to loan you the first volume when I¡¯m done with it.¡±


    Feeling as though my eyes were already glazing, I coughed and said, ¡°that¡¯s¡­ very kind.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. Oh, don¡¯t pout dear. I know you¡¯re no illiterate, but you must exercise things besides those biceps of yours.¡± She traced a finger along my upper arm as she spoke. ¡°A good knight is wise as well as skilled in feats of arms.¡±


    ¡°I would have thought you¡¯d have me reading holy scripture instead of texts about pagan empires.¡±


    ¡°Do you want to read scripture?¡± Dei asked, raising her eyebrows.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I took a deep breath. Playful as she might be, odd as our closeness was ¡ª a clericon of the Faith and a knight of the Alder Table ¡ª she was still a priestess. ¡°I think either of my answers to that question might earn me more penance,¡± I said diplomatically.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Dei asked. ¡°Do explain.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s sinful for a knight to lie,¡± I said gravely. ¡°Especially to a priest. And, if I don¡¯t lie, I¡¯ll be admitting to a servant of the God-Queen¡¯s own church that I don¡¯t want to burn candlelight reading Her holy word. Besides, isn¡¯t it your job to read to us iron-heads?¡±


    ¡°So brazen! Just for that, I will assign you vigil as well. Tomorrow night, I think, you will stand watch at the Pool of Amerys until dawn in meditation.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lonely part of the city,¡± I commented idly, hoping she couldn¡¯t hear my heart quickening through the layers of gilded steel plate and chainmail. ¡°A poorly lit part as well.¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid of the dark, Alder Knight?¡±


    ¡°Only what might be in it,¡± I said.


    Dei pressed closer to me, hiding her smile behind a curtain of pale yellow hair.


    Birds ¡ª true birds, of the kind that couldn¡¯t be found anywhere else outside the Elder Realm ¡ª flitted through trees that shone like marble under the sun. Beyond the grove of aura-rich eardetrees, towers of glass and silver gleamed in the day, crowned by great palaces of gold-touched clouds high above. The music of a flute came from somewhere, beautiful and sad.


    All the wonders of Seydis, realm of elves and elder-things, the City Ever Dreaming, Tiir Ilyasven, Gilded hall of God¡¯s own chosen archon, waited for me. A council of legends ¡ª of heroes and lords and kings ¡ª gathered, and I had a seat at the table. Quite the place to be, for a commoner¡¯s son from a poor domain. How had I risen so far?


    Chance, chance, chance, and a strong sword arm, and the will of those wiser and mightier than me. I¡¯d fought hard to be here, but I didn¡¯t fool myself into believing my own merit had lifted me so high. Rosanna and Lias would be at the council. I needed to go, to stand by my queen, my patron, and make a good showing of myself.


    I lingered in the grove, preferring a few more stolen moments with Dei to all of it. We¡¯d stolen what moments we could, in those last months. She had been a resource, at first, with her order¡¯s occult knowledge and histories. Then she¡¯d been my confessor, then my confidant¡­ then more. It had been hard to put a label on it, our relationship. Not amorous. She had been a Lay Sister of the Cenocaste, a scholar-priestess, and I had been an Alder Knight, a paladin. She¡¯d offered me advice, knowledge, and empathy.


    Slow-witted as I can be ¡ª and I had been much worse back then ¡ª It had taken me a long time to realize I was falling in love with her. When I¡¯d realized it, it had taken me even longer to admit it to her. We¡¯d shared our first kiss the day I had.


    Then...


    It had all gone wrong. Which was why I knew the truth of what I said next.


    ¡°This is a dream,¡± I mumbled against Dei¡¯s hair, breathing in her scent.


    ¡°Flatterer,¡± she said, smiling without opening her eyes. ¡°I thought all that knightly talk embarrassed you. It¡¯s for lords and poets, not me, you said.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an Alder Knight,¡± I said. ¡°They trained me to know the difference, to see through illusion.¡± I paused, feeling as though my next words were not unlike setting a broken limb, or pulling an arrow. Necessary, but painful. ¡°You¡¯re gone. This city burned. We were never together, not like this.¡±


    Dei didn¡¯t reply at once, though she became more still. Then, with a sigh, she pressed closer. burying her face beneath my arm so her next words came muffled. ¡°Dreams don¡¯t have to be a lie.¡±


    ¡°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.

 2.7: 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.


    ¡°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.¡±


    ¡°They were all older,¡± Rysanthe said. ¡°Especially poor Ser Maxim here ¡ª he was among the oldest. The power grows in you with time, just as an elf¡¯s soul does. More than that, he is a believer.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying I¡¯m not?¡± I asked, half in anger and half in jest. ¡°Hard not to be, with the things I¡¯ve seen.¡±


    ¡°Belief is not the same as faith, Alken.¡± She didn¡¯t take her eyes off the sleeping paladin. She looked tired, and¡­ not old, precisely, but worn. Most of her silver light had gone into the pool, and she seemed less a creature out of dream and more a young woman, ignoring the pointed ears and too-pale skin. ¡°Do you have faith? In what you were?¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    I took that in, and remained silent a while.


    ¡°If the Fane is in danger,¡± I said at last, ¡°I should support Oraeka. I¡¯ll go get my armor.¡±


    Rysanthe nodded, then held out her palm. My ring lay in it. ¡°This is yours,¡± she said insistently. ¡°Do not let it stray from you.¡±


    I took the ring. I hesitated a beat, knowing I was looking for an escape from that room and the man I couldn¡¯t help. But I went anyway.


    I returned to the cabin, threw on my maille and boots, and strapped my belt and dagger on. I grabbed my red cloak too ¡ª you never know, and I owned little else.


    I descended the hill again. The looming hulk of Caim waited there, crouched amid the trees like a grim statue.


    ¡°Oraeka is at Hezrobog¡¯s bridge,¡± he told me. ¡°The herald is with them. Someone is approaching the Fane.¡±


    I took that news in for a moment. ¡°Any idea who?¡±


    The smith just shook his head. His asymmetrical features were troubled. ¡°You should go to the bridge. Here ¡ª you may need this.¡±


    He held out a hand. My axe rested on his palm, gleaming more brightly than before I¡¯d given it to him. The subtle shine of power served to make the permanent bloodstains stand out starkly. I took it, nodding my thanks, and went without another word.


    Huge, scuttling shapes with many legs and many glowing eyes moved through the trees as I made my way down the woodland path. The forest, pretty and peaceful on my arrival, had become sinister in its alertness. Voices, high-pitched and tuned to too-perfect rhythm, whispered in the dark.


    A terrible howl ripped through the trees. The shout, brief and furious, echoed long after the breath that¡¯d powered it had been released. I quickened my pace, running the rest of the way to the bridge. There I found the ghostly, subtly shining form of Donnelly standing by Oraeka¡¯s side. The elf held her war spear in hand, and stood tall and grim on the troll bridge¡¯s mossy stone. Hezrobog crouched on the bridge¡¯s first arch, facing the woods. He was sucking in a breath for another scream even as I arrived, his round chest puffing up disturbingly wide as he inhaled. I realized that a fight hadn¡¯t started ¡ª that unholy screech had been the troll¡¯s warning shout.


    A deep, consuming gloom hung over the woods beyond the Fane¡¯s outer bounds. Even my Alder-blessed sight couldn¡¯t penetrate it, which told me some power lurked beyond the boundary, countering my own.


    Moving to stand by Donnelly and Oraeka¡¯s side, I peered into the night. ¡°Can you tell who¡¯s out there?¡±


    ¡°I think what is more accurate,¡± Donnelly muttered, his gray eyes narrowed. ¡°What do your elf eyes see, Oraeka dear?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not your dear,¡± Oraeka growled. ¡°And¡­¡± she shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s someone out there. They¡¯re alone, so far as I can tell. They¡¯re riding a chimera ¡ª big one.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Is it a woman? Long hair, riding a warhorse? The beast would have many blades stuck into it.¡±


    ¡°You think it¡¯s Nath?¡± Donnelly asked. ¡°Coming to collect you for her errand?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not Onsolain,¡± Oraeka said. I could hear her spear¡¯s handle creaking as she gripped it tighter. ¡°I¡¯d have sensed one of the Starborn. No¡­¡± her nostrils flared. ¡°I smell rot, iron¡­ pain.¡±


    ¡°How comforting,¡± Donnelly put in.


    ¡°Whoever they are,¡± Hezrobog growled above our heads, ¡°they will regret it if they attempt to cross my bridge.¡±


    I heard a sound then. Chains. We all went silent, my tenseness matched by my companions. Something moved in the dark ¡ª I could hear heavy limbs padding against the path, guttural breath, and metal clattering against itself. No leaves stirred ¡ª the wind had died. A radius of elf-light emanated from the bridge, fading as it stretched into that hungry night. Something detached itself from the darkness, and I saw what approached.


    It had been a man, once. A knight, perhaps even a paladin sworn to one of the brethren orders. Now¡­ I struggle to put words to what he¡¯d become.


    He wore a full set of armor which I felt certain had once been of beautiful make. I could still make out angelic motifs etched along the blistered steel, where rust hadn¡¯t mottled them away. The right pauldron had been crafted into the shape of an outstretched wing, and the effigy of a beautiful woman had been set over the left, forge-wrought arm slipping under the man¡¯s armpit to rest a hand over his heart. She¡¯d probably been serene once, a maiden-saint. Now her eyes wept black pus, her lips had been melted into a ghastly sob, and the detailed metalwork forming her hair had dented into a tumorous mass around her shoulders.


    The knight¡¯s surcoat was tattered and faded, filthy with dried blood and worse. Splits and loose ends marred the chainmail beneath his plate, all of it colored red, brown, and black.


    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

    </a>


    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.


    Seydis: This was once the greatest of the realms of Urn. It is here the God-Queen Aureia established Her seat of power in the east, when She still walked the fields and forests of the world. In this domain of gilded eardtrees and bountiful river valleys, humanity lived alongside the Eld races in a blessed golden age for many generations. The nominal ruler of Seydis, and of Urn at large, was the elf king Tuvon, also known as the Archon, who was the God-Queen''s steward after Her departure from the Alderes. Seydis has been left a charred wasteland by the ruinations of the Fall ten years before the story begins.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Elfgrave: Once known as Elfhome, or Tiir Ilyasven. This was the God-Queen''s own capital, and later the seat of power for her Archon. Urnic lords from across the land would gather here for great councils, and the city was thick with enchantments and culture. It is particularly famous for being the location of the Alder Table, a magical edifice crafted by the God-Queen Herself, which was used to bestow great power to a collective of picked champions -- the Knights of the Alder Table. It is now a demon infested ruin.


    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.

 2.8: 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 gallant knight ¡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.


    ¡°I am of the blood of a High House,¡± she hissed. ¡°How dare you disregard me!?¡±


    So, not just House Carreon, but High House Carreon. She has a loose grip on her temper, I noted. Proud, too.


    I turned back to her and spoke in a bored drawl. ¡°I¡¯m not familiar with any realm ruled by a House Carreon. I am familiar with Bloody Nath.¡± I brushed my cloak back to jab a finger at her. ¡°You would be ostracized as a witch anywhere in the Accorded Realms. I don¡¯t need to explain to you who your patron is, do I?¡±


    Lady Emma swiped her proffered hand down to let it rest on the basket-hilt of her fine sword. Her reply dripped acid. ¡°Perhaps I need explain it to you? Who do you think you are, to represent her so poorly?¡±


    I kept my face carefully blank, though inwardly I winced. Perhaps I¡¯d gone too strong on the blackguard guise. ¡°Nath employs men like me for one reason,¡± I said. Then, deciding to indulge in a bit of drama, I unclasped Faen Orgis from its iron hook on my back to reveal it. It still glowed softly from Caim¡¯s touchup. Lady Emma¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of it.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You have bloody work that needs doing,¡± I said. It wasn¡¯t a question. ¡°All I need to know is who you want me to kill. Or,¡± I added lightly, ¡°who¡¯s trying to kill you.¡±


    A moment of silence fell, heavy and tense. The Brother of the Briar broke it.


    ¡°My task is done,¡± he said in his death¡¯s rasp. ¡°I shall depart.¡± He mounted his skull-faced steed and turned it from the coach. Before he left, he spoke to me one last time.


    ¡°See to it my ladies charge does not come to harm, Headsman. Should she die, you will be held fully responsible. Remember it.¡±


    We all watched him depart. When he¡¯d gone, Lady Emma turned her eyes back to me, pursing her lips in frustration.


    ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ve gotten off on the wrong foot,¡± she said, making an obvious effort to speak more politely. She even gave me a tight smile, clasping her gloved hands together. ¡°I was not told who to expect, only that they would be capable, and trustworthy.¡± She put special emphasis on the last word. ¡°I have introduced myself. Will you not do the same?¡±


    She studied me, and I realized she was trying to see through the shadow beneath my hood.


    ¡°Names are dangerous,¡± I said. ¡°Especially in the wild, with strangers. Don¡¯t know who might be listening.¡±


    After the Briar knight had departed, the forest ghosts had started to drift closer. The noble¡¯s eyes tracked them, and she swallowed.


    ¡°Very well.¡± She made a visible effort to maintain an uncaring calm. ¡°I see you have no mount, so you will have to ride in my carriage. Though I can tell you are no gentleman, I trust you will not be so much the fool as to try anything?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said, tapping my axe against one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m not into kids. You¡¯re perfectly safe, milady.¡±


    Lady Emma¡¯s jaw went so tight I thought she might crack a tooth. ¡°Then let us depart,¡± she hissed, turning with a dramatic flourish of her dark cloak to stomp to the carriage, where the silent driver waited with the door open. The driver watched me with bright, malevolent eyes.


    Just what had I gotten myself into this time?


    ***


    The Carreon girl¡¯s black coach rolled through the woods. For an hour, the noble said nothing to me. She didn¡¯t so much as meet my eye, instead opting to glare at the shuttered window on one wall, bobbing one heeled boot with impatient energy. It got annoying after the first ten minutes, and my opinion didn¡¯t improve from there.


    The interior of the vehicle turned out to be surprisingly spacious and comfortable, ignoring the constant clattering, bumping, and grinding. I had no idea how aristos could handle riding in these things for days or weeks at a time while traveling from region to region. Then again, I¡¯d never been much for riding chimera the traditional way either.


    Mock me if you will ¡ª the knight who hated riding. To be fair, I hadn¡¯t been born a lord and had a late start on handling beasts.


    I¡¯d grown used to long silence during my wanderings across the subcontinent the past decade. I said nothing, leaving my hood up to keep my face concealed, my axe propped against the cushioned seat at my side. There wasn¡¯t any space to use it, but its presence near at hand gave me some comfort. And it unnerved the girl, as did my shadowed face, which I enjoyed.


    Perhaps I was being cruel. Then again, Lady Emma was an acolyte for a malevolent demigoddess. Best she not come to expect amicability in those she associated with, lest she think her decision a good one. Further, I¡¯d had little rest, and this little errand had pulled me away from a problem and a person I cared about.


    I admit to feeling inclined to rudeness.


    The girl, unsurprisingly, broke first. She huffed out in frustration, gritted her teeth as the carriage jolted, and fixed her eyes on me. I¡¯d taken them for brown before, but on closer inspection they seemed closer to amber, same as mine, only lacking in the gleam of aura. With her dark hair ¡ª a brown close to black ¡ª they made her gaze uncommonly intense, almost avian. She crossed one leg over the other, for the tenth time in the last half hour, propping one elbow on a velvet pillow at her side.


    ¡°So¡­¡± she studied me a moment, seeming to choose her words with care. ¡°You are, what, indebted to Lady Nath? Her bondsman?¡±


    Rather than answer I asked my own question. ¡°Just what do you know about Nath?¡±


    The young lady looked taken aback. ¡°She is a mighty sorceress, knowledgeable and powerful. Lords across Urn fear her.¡±


    Well, that held enough truth in it, though it barely scraped the surface. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I asked.


    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.

 2.9: Condemnation and Dawn

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 2.10: Emmas 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.


    ***


    Hours later, under an overcast late morning, the coach reached Emma¡¯s manor. Forest had given way to rolling prairie set between high, rocky hills. The sky widened, and I could smell the sea born on a northerly wind. We¡¯d reached the coastal plains of Venturmoor.


    The western reaches of Urn had been settled first by mankind, when the God-Queen led her armies across the mountains separating my homeland from the greater continent. Humans have lived in the west longer, cultivated and built, and waged many a war. I saw signs of that scarred agedness more as we advanced. Elderly villages speckled the countryside, many of them watched over by castles in varying states of disrepair. Churches and graveyards, the latter not always sharing space with the former, grew like a cancer across the fields and hills, as though the settlements themselves were an afterthought and places of death and worship had laid the greater claim.


    Even in daytime, I could perceive the faint images of restless shades beyond the carriage¡¯s window. They lurked like playful children in light woods or tall grass, or clung jealously to weather-worn grave markers, watching sullenly from any patch of shadow they could find.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Emma, either not seeing the dead or not caring, seemed lost in thought as we traveled. Occasionally she¡¯d glance at me, some question reaching her lips and dying there before it could be spoken. I didn¡¯t press her. We¡¯d have time to talk soon enough. I sensed the confrontation in the woods had shaken her, more than she let on.


    Her manor wasn¡¯t nearly as ostentatious as I¡¯d expected, from her regal manners and the rarity of her magic carriage. Set on a hill overlooking an old, overgrown stretch of field, placed well away from the few hamlets scattered across the nearer country, the structure looked old and tired. A knight¡¯s manor, of the kind a landed man-at-arms would dwell in when not serving their lord. Three stories, with a pair of stone towers, one higher than the other, I could see untended ivy creeping up the walls and rust on the iron gates. Several windows had wooden shutters rather than glass, and the gardens needed care.


    Rather than looking relieved to be home, Emma stared at the melancholy building with dull, resigned eyes. We stopped on the path in front of the door, and I noted a figure waiting for us atop the front steps. A tall, dark-haired woman in her early thirties, with hands nervously clasped in front of her. She lifted those hands as we climbed down from the coach, as though in prayer. She stepped down to the grass as Emma ran her eyes across the house dispassionately.


    ¡°Welcome home, my lady. I am glad to see you returned safe.¡± The woman curtsied low. She had a narrow face, with a long nose and tired blue eyes, her dark brown hair secure in a braid wrapped about her neck ¡ª a northwesterner fashion. Her eyes flicked to me, briefly, but she otherwise kept them downcast.


    ¡°Ser Red, this is Vanya, my maidservant.¡± Emma gestured to the woman. Despite the fact I¡¯d revealed my name, she seemed to have taken to her own choice of epithet. ¡°Vanya, this man is going to be my guest for some days.¡±


    Vanya¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°He is a knight, my lady?¡± Her eyes went to the hint of black chainmail beneath my cloak.


    Emma shrugged. I, not forgetting my manners and having no reason to treat the maid poorly, inclined my head. ¡°Alken,¡± I introduced myself.


    The woman curtsied. If she noted my lack of title, she didn¡¯t comment on it.


    Emma¡¯s snorted. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll tell her your name right off, will you?¡± She waved a hand. ¡°Vanya, if you could have a room prepared for our guest? I will help Qoth stable the chimera and be in shortly.¡±


    She started to turn, but something in Vanya¡¯s hesitance made the young aristo pause. She raised an eyebrow at the maid.


    ¡°It¡¯s Lord Brenner,¡± Vanya said, her voice hushed and nervous. Again she wrung her hands. ¡°He¡¯s inside¡­ his son is with him, and Ser Kross.¡±


    The way Emma¡¯s face transformed was telling. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, and her posture went stiff. ¡°I see,¡± she said, voice tight. ¡°Then I must not keep his lordship waiting.¡± She turned to me, and I saw her make an effort to master her nerves. ¡°Well, Ser Red, it seems like I must introduce you to my benefactor. If you would follow me?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°There trouble?¡±


    Emma opened her mouth, and I saw the deflection coming. She paused, and her tartness faded. ¡°It¡¯s nothing that need concern you,¡± she said. ¡°He isn¡¯t aware of my relationship with Lady Nath. I will introduce you as a mercenary hired to guard me. You will be from¡­¡± she thought for a moment. ¡°Kingsmeet. You will be Alken the Red. Does that suit you?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It serves.¡±


    I followed the young noblewoman into the manor. Inside, things seemed more put together than the exterior ¡ª still old, but clean and comfortable. We passed into a foyer dominated by old hunting trophies, but no House marks I could see. Emma visibly steeled herself, taking a deep breath, then led me into a spacious sitting room.


    Inside stood three men. They were all tall, powerfully built, martial, though only one wore armor. They turned to us as we entered.


    ¡°Lady Emma!¡± The oldest of the three, a bearish man with a ruddy brown beard and receding hair, spread his arms out in warm greeting, though the flash in his eyes and unmoderated volume in his voice seemed too aggressive for welcome. ¡°It is good to see you safely returned. We had feared the worst.¡±


    The huge man wore a rich doublet done all in deep browns and reds, the upper sleeves padded with gem-studded nets. Rich garb, for the ruler of a rural fief.


    Emma bowed in the knightly fashion, rather than curtsying. I saw the bearish man¡¯s jaw tighten at that. The man in armor ¡ª a tall, militant warrior with hair shorn nearly to his scalp and an angular face ¡ª raised an amused eyebrow. His armor didn¡¯t consist of a full set, but the rounded breastplate was of exquisite craftsmanship, fashioned of dark steel and inscribed with faint lettering along its contours. He wore a dark gray cloak over the ensemble, making him look like a particularly martial crow.


    ¡°There is no need to fear, my lord.¡± Emma¡¯s expression remained pleasant, with eyes demurely downcast. ¡°As you can see, I am returned safely.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the man, who I took to be Lord Brenner, showed his teeth. It wasn¡¯t quite a smile. ¡°And I see you did not return alone. Perhaps introductions are in order?¡±


    Emma glanced at me. ¡°My lords, this is Ser Alken the Red. He is a specialist I hired from Kingsmeet, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°A mercenary?¡± Brenner¡¯s voice filled the room like a thunderclap, his face darkening with the onset of anger. ¡°You brought a vagabond sellsword into my lands without my leave?¡±


    Emma¡¯s own anger showed its teeth in the sudden sharpness in her tone, like clear glass beginning to crack. ¡°My lord, I am the scion of my own house and allowed the privilege of a guard of my own choosing.¡±


    ¡°Indeed?¡± Lord Brenner asked crisply. ¡°And the privilege to steal from me? Is that also owed to you, little shrike?¡±


    Emma seemed taken aback. ¡°Steal from you?¡±


    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t believe we didn¡¯t notice the Night Coach missing from my grounds the very same morning you took it?¡±


    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.

 2.11: Shrike

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    one with her blood.


    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."

 2.12: 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.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯d like to learn what I can on my own for now.¡±


    ¡°And if we are attacked here?¡± Qoth asked, twisting his head to one side.


    ¡°Emma said the revenant hasn¡¯t ever attacked her directly.¡± I folded my arms, thinking. ¡°Course, that doesn¡¯t mean it won¡¯t¡­¡±


    I wish I had a priest. A proper cleric could ward the manor, keep even the most potent of spirits from intruding. Every home in Urn is protected by ancient tradition, and few Things of Darkness, either fey or fell, can overcome the powers worked into the very land itself.


    But those magics had become less reliable since the Fall. For a moment, indecision caught me. My instincts told me to go on the offensive, but my knightly training told me to protect the girl, guard the hearth.


    ¡°She should be safe enough behind a threshold,¡± I said at last, hardening my resolve. Not a knight anymore, I reminded myself. ¡°I¡¯ll return by morning.¡±


    Qoth inclined his elfin head, once again donning his tricorn and mask. ¡°As you wish. Good hunting, O¡¯ Headsman.¡±


    ***


    I walked through a field of graves. Red bled across the sky, revealed by the scattering rainclouds. Far to the south, lightning still flickered across the horizon. The air had turned damp and cool, forming a low-clinging mist I suspected would only thicken as night fell.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Shades curled through that mist, murmuring unintelligibly. I ignored them, scanning the rows for what I sought. I strode through one of the many free-standing graveyards scattered across the countryside. This one had no church, only a small shrine. The shrine¡¯s auremark had been stolen. I almost pitied the thief who¡¯d done that, and wondered just how desperate someone had to be to risk the wrath of the dead for some blessed gold.


    Perhaps I wasn¡¯t one to talk, considering I was willing to risk their wrath for a bit of information.


    I found what I sought soon enough. At the center of the graveyard, as in all such throughout Urn, there stood a single well. Mottled statuary carved into the shape of two saints beckoned me forward with ivy-wrapped fingers. My eyes were drawn also to the images of winged seraphs worked into the outer walls of the well.


    When had it become strange, to see the larger-than-life Onsolain rendered so small in art? I¡¯d thought nothing of it, once.


    I circled the well once, reaching out with my magical senses. I felt no apparent danger or corruption. I felt very little at all, save from the rising fog where ghosts watched with half-formed faces. Peeking down, I sniffed. Dry.


    Well, I¡¯d have to hope it would suit my purpose. I fished around at my belt and produced a single large, gleaming silver coin. I held it up, letting the last rays of the sinking sun glint off its contours. On one face a drowsy skull had been etched into the metal, and on the other a circle of runes. Aloud I began to murmur, my voice becoming a rhythmic, lulling monotone.


    ¡°By pacts of old I ask a boon, so hear me, Ye¡¯ Dead.¡±


    ¡°I ask that ye¡¯ return now, from the umbral lands where ye¡¯ make thy bed.¡±


    ¡°I offer this as payment, a coin of silver from the moon.¡±


    ¡°May it guide you through the shadows, and may the Gates reopen soon.¡±


    Not quite the sacred rite a priest might use, but it felt more true to me. I took a deep breath, then tossed the gleaming coin of azsilver into the well. I spread my hands out, letting my cloak unfold like a pair of ruddy wings. ¡°I seek your council, shades of Draubard. Accept my gift and return to the lands of the living.¡±


    Silver is precious to the Dead. I didn¡¯t hear the coin strike the well¡¯s bottom. I waited a long moment, eyes half closed, then shivered as a chill wind swept through the grave rows, stirring my cloak.


    ¡°I have not heard that rhyme in many years. Not since I was a girl.¡±


    Without opening my eyes I said, ¡°my mother taught it to me when I was a boy. It¡¯s one of the few things I still remember about her.¡±


    ¡°Then you know the pain of losing a mother.¡±


    I lifted my eyes to the figure who now stood on the other side of the well. She seemed half formed of the mist, standing out from it only by her stillness. I couldn¡¯t see much of her ¡ª she wore a funeral gown, all spider-silk white, a nearly transparent shawl hanging down over her face. In death-gray hands she held a farmer¡¯s scythe, its haft dramatically curved, the blade badly rusted.


    ¡°I know you,¡± I said to the ghost. ¡°You¡¯re the Lady of Strekke. Emery Planter¡¯s wife.¡±


    The shrouded head inclined slightly in acknowledgement.


    ¡°You returned to the Underworld?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°After you murdered my husband, the cave elves came to take us back down into the depths.¡± The Lady of Strekke¡¯s dry hands crackled as she tightened her grip on the macabre tool. The mist boiled around her, writhing with strange, disturbing shapes, and her voice emanated from the surrounding mist as a hollow whisper. ¡°You left my son without his mother. Without his father. Now my lord-husband¡¯s spirit wanders adrift through the hinterlands of this world, denied the honored place in the Lands Below owed to him as a lord of Urn.


    ¡°Your husband went Recusant,¡± I said, shifting back a step. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end, and the air felt very cold. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have had sanctuary in Draubard no matter how he died.¡±


    ¡°But we would have had time.¡± The ghost¡¯s voice became a teeth-aching hiss, a dire wind that froze my blood. ¡°We would have been able to prepare my child for the woes of this world, to make him strong. Now he sits alone on a cold throne, devoid of those who love him. You did this to us.¡±


    I¡¯d made a mistake. This was no ordinary shade, no Underworld saint offering wise council in return for my offer of silver. I¡¯d known the restless dead were drawn to me, lured by the consecrated fire in me, but I¡¯d hoped I could perform a simple communion rite without too much risk.


    Nothing could ever be goring simple.


    ¡°You are bound by the laws of the dead,¡± I said, letting my voice grow cold as hers. ¡°You¡¯ve accepted my offer of silver. I have questions, which you will answer. Once we¡¯re done here, you will return to the Underworld.¡±


    A chuckle dry as desert graves escaped the dead noblewoman¡¯s lips. ¡°You need not convince me, Headsman.¡±


    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.¡±

 2.13: 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 do not need you to fear me,¡± the shining figure said, very calm.


    The ghostly noble hesitated, skull-face writhing as though it were made of liquid. Then, snarling, she turned to me and lunged with outstretched claws.


    I saw no reason to leave things to chance, or rely on an angelic savior. I¡¯d already gathered power, and took Faen Orgis in both hands. I sent my own gilded aura into the elven weapon, and it sent its own power back into me. We formed a loop of power, causing my own presence in the world to assert itself.


    It was my turn to loom larger. I couldn¡¯t say exactly how I must have looked, but I could imagine ¡ª wrapped in my red cloak and pointed cowl, axe held in both hands low to my waist, my shoulders mantled in angry amber flame. Aura dramatizes the world, makes what it touches more surreal. The shadows within my cloak deepened, obscuring my features, until I became a vermillion phantom clutching a bloodstained axe.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    An image of death, much as she¡¯d tried to make herself into.


    Lorena balked. Then, with a wail of rage, she vanished into the mist along with her minions.


    Fled. But not gone. I breathed out a sigh, feeling exhausted even from that brief exertion, and let the power I¡¯d summoned dissipate unused. Then I turned to the stranger.


    The dramatic light had faded, and a man clad in dark steel, storm-gray cloak wrapped around his shoulders, stepped toward me. Ser Kross, the knight-exorcist.


    ¡°Strange place for a stroll, Ser Alken of the Fane.¡± The man still had that wry smile plastered to his face. He¡¯d pinned his gray cloak at one shoulder, so it fell heavier on one side than the other. Along with the smirk and one enlarged pauldron left free of the cloak, it gave him a distinctly asymmetrical look. He sheathed his weapon as he approached ¡ª an ordinary bastard sword with a leather wrapped hilt and no adornments now, rather than a beam of white light.


    I glanced behind him, seeing no one else in the scattering mist. Ser Kross saw my look and held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m alone,¡± he said. ¡°His lordship and the younger Hunting have returned to Antlerhall. I¡¯m here for¡­ well.¡± He chuckled, adjusting his heavy cloak. ¡°I imagine we¡¯re both here for the same reason. Hunting ghosts, is it?¡±


    I hesitated to reply. Ordained priests had the right to commune with the dead, but the Church frowned ¡ª and sometimes waved sharpened hooks ¡ª at most anyone else who did it. And, though he clad himself as a warrior, this man was also a priest.


    Back at the manor, I hadn¡¯t taken a hard look at the knight. Now I knew what he was, I studied him more carefully. I guessed him to be older than me, and without the lingering youth granted by elven magic those years showed in the graying of his receding hair, which formed a sharp widow¡¯s peak above his brow. He indulged in heavy sideburns, keeping the rest of his sharp face clean. He stood perhaps six-feet-and-three-inches, and wore his armor easily, denoting a powerful build beneath.


    It was his coloring I found most memorable, or perhaps unmemorable, about him. Not pale, not particularly dark, his hair all dark brown and gray, his eyes gray, his garments gray and black. The auremark etched into his breastplate, done with the Priory¡¯s distinctive split wings, formed the only color on him.


    At my hesitation, Ser Kross¡¯s sardonic smirk faded. His eyes went to the nearby well, and the azsilver coin still gleaming with odlight on the ground. ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°Seeking information from Draubard, were you? Then we had the same idea.¡± He fished at his belt pouches a moment, then produced a small ring of silver etched with spiraling designs. ¡°I take it they were reluctant to share?¡± He lifted a dark eyebrow.


    I didn¡¯t want to tell him I had history with the spirits he¡¯d helped repel. Too many questions I wouldn¡¯t be willing to answer. Instead, nodding I said, ¡°they gave me some information. I know why the revenant is hunting Lady Emma now, at least, and who he is.¡±


    Both the knight-exorcist¡¯s eyebrows lifted then. ¡°Ah! That is excellent. I¡¯ve heard some details from Lord Brenner, but it¡¯s mostly all been vagaries, or his own personal history with the family. In truth, I don¡¯t believe he knows much, or cares to. I don¡¯t often ply my trade for people interested in the past ¡ª only burying it.¡±


    He let out a breathy laugh. When I didn¡¯t join in, he grew serious again. ¡°I should properly introduce myself. I am Ser Renuart Kross. I serve the First Clericon in Durelyon.¡± He dipped into a martial bow.


    It would have been smart to return the courtesy, to keep up this act of being a chivalric mercenary, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it, to lie to the genuine thing. I just inclined my head. Ser Kross lifted his eyebrow again at that, pursing his lips, but whether he suspected something or just thought I was being rude, I couldn¡¯t say.


    ¡°Alken,¡± I said. ¡°I¡­¡± I took a deep breath. I couldn¡¯t. Not after I¡¯d seen him use that sacrosanct magic, not with the echo of the Heir of Heaven¡¯s true name on his lips. ¡°I don¡¯t have the honor of being a Ser. I was employed to protect Lady Emma from this dark spirit, and she told Lord Hunting I was a knight to impress him.¡± I shrugged.


    Ser Kross nodded, his expression unreadable. ¡°Yet, you are a sorcerer. I took you for an adept of some kind, but I¡¯ve rarely felt such a strong aura. Sidhe magic?¡±


    Surprised, I nodded. ¡°Yes. That¡¯s right.¡± It was close enough, anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought alongside faerie knights before,¡± the exorcist said, smiling again. The smile had less condescending amusement in it this time, and I began to consider that I might have judged him too cynically. ¡°Fierce comrades, if a bit fey.¡± He snorted at his own joke, shaking his head. ¡°In any case, it is good to properly meet, Master Alken. I regret that unpleasantness back at the manor.¡±


    I shrugged with one shoulder, propping my axe on the other and walking a short distance to pick up the fallen coin. ¡°I thought the Huntings were organizing to chase this revenant down in force.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± Ser Kross said, his tone becoming almost placating. ¡°But I¡¯ve found that, at times, it is best to let the powerful do as they will, and ensure no one¡¯s forgotten to check the privies for leaks. Quietly.¡±


    I snorted then, tossing the coin a few times and catching it, the motion an aid to my thoughts. ¡°Right. So, you were going to ask the dead for information. Well, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to get much out of the spirits here, now. I know something of the history here, but I still don¡¯t know how to track this revenant down.¡±


    ¡°You are an adept,¡± Ser Kross said, frowning. ¡°You believe you can banish it?¡±


    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.¡±

 2.14: 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.


    ¡°You are very lucky an artery didn¡¯t get cut,¡± the knight murmured.


    ¡°That¡¯s what the physik told me,¡± Emma said. Though she forced a disinterested tone, the slight purse to her lips and furrow between her brow were telling.


    ¡°Be very still,¡± Ser Kross ordered. He closed his eyes, held Emma¡¯s wrist with both hands palm up, then bowed his head. I could see her discomfort, in the way she fidgeted, obviously fighting the effort to pull her hand away.


    She didn¡¯t, and after a minute I felt something change. Vanya stiffened, and Emma¡¯s eyes widened. Then¡­


    I watched a faint light form around the knight-exorcist. It congealed into the barely distinguishable shape of a figure with four feathery wings, an androgynous form, and a serene, subtly sad face. It reminded me of a saintly statue, or the mirage of one.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Vanya whispered. ¡°I feel¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t see it, I realized. Only I, with my aura-laced eyes, could perceive the blessed spirit manifesting in the room. I watched its slender hand reach out, fingers curling around Emma¡¯s elbow. Her eyes remained locked on Ser Kross ¡ª she didn¡¯t see it either. However, as it touched her, she shivered violently, baring clenched teeth.


    Ser Kross frowned. I felt my hackles rise. What had he sensed? Would the seraph feel Nath¡¯s dark presence on the girl? The Blood Arts were ill regarded by some sects of the Faith, but weren¡¯t officially considered blasphemy. Consorting with the Fallen, though ¡ª that was a different matter entirely.


    But the Church paladin said nothing, continuing to concentrate. The spirit¡¯s slender hands went over Emma¡¯s skin, as though working at clay, and where they passed the cuts closed, scabbed, and faded. Within several minutes, only faint scar tissue remained. Emma let out a sigh of relief.


    Last were the cuts around the young noble¡¯s eyes. The spirit brushed its hands over Emma¡¯s temples, as though adjusting her hair, and those cuts faded also. Then, leaning forward, the seraph kissed the girl on her brow. I¡¯m not sure if Emma felt that touch, but she did close her eyes and relax, much of the tension going out of her, making her seem more her age, as she had asleep in the coach that first night we¡¯d met.


    The light faded, and Ser Kross sagged. He sweated, and I thought perhaps I saw a touch more gray in his dark brown hair. ¡°It is done,¡± he said.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Emma lifted her arms, inspecting the faint scars there. She flexed the fingers, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She seemed at a loss.


    Ser Kross stood and turned to me. He had a slight stoop to his posture that hadn¡¯t been there before. ¡°She would have lost much of her ability to wield weapons, had nothing been done. Some of those cuts went deep, and the physik¡¯s tinctures weren¡¯t doing anything for the infection. They often don¡¯t with magical wounds, and these were angry.¡± He drew in a deep breath and wiped at his brow. ¡°It is good you brought me.¡±


    Emma¡¯s face went pale. I winced, and Vanya whispered a prayer to the Heir.


    Fool, I cursed myself.


    ¡°Are you going to be alright?¡± I asked him.


    Ser Kross nodded. ¡°I just need some rest. As, I think, do the two of you. Sorry, three of you.¡± His gaze went to Vanya. Only then did I note the shadows under her eyes. She hadn¡¯t been sleeping, either.


    ¡°Good idea,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll talk in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the knight agreed. ¡°We will, but I¡¯d like a word with you now, Alken.¡±


    I steeled myself, nodded, and followed him down into the parlor. The knight seemed to gather himself before standing straighter and wheeling on me.


    ¡°The girl is touched by darkness. A shadow clings to her.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°The revenant¡ª¡±


    ¡°It is not.¡± The knight held up a hand to stall my words. ¡°I know the presence of the Dead. Or, my companion does. I cannot be certain what it is ¡ª some shadow of her bloodline? If it is a curse, then it is grossly strong. If it¡¯s something else¡­¡±


    His jaw flexed as he considered. ¡°I have seen such things before, especially since the wars. Dark things have a nasty habit of clinging to the angry, the dispossessed¡­¡± he returned his gray eyes to mine, his next words emerging more assured. ¡°I may need to perform an exorcism.¡±


    I tried to hide my wince. ¡°Don¡¯t you think this might be a poor time for that?¡± I asked. ¡°We have another enemy to deal with already.¡±


    ¡°They may be related,¡± Ser Kross said. He held up his hands and laced his fingers together, forming a single large fist. ¡°Perhaps it is some minion of the revenant, or has something to do with why it hasn¡¯t attacked her directly? I cannot be certain, but it is worth dealing with. I will need time to prepare. Ritual material, meditation. The young lady¡¯s cooperation would help.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like the way he said that last ¡ª as though Emma¡¯s consent were a convenience he could make do without. For a moment, I wasn¡¯t sure what to say. How did I lead him away from paying too close attention to my charge? I didn¡¯t imagine it would go over well if he banished Nath¡¯s influence from her¡­


    Another disturbing thought struck me. I should have been fully in agreement with the knight about getting rid of Nath¡¯s hold on Emma. It seemed a good thing, in the long run, to repel the Fallen and put the young Carreon back on the straight and narrow.


    Only, it would put me on the spit. Should I risk it? If it were only me facing the consequences, I would have without hesitation. But Donnelly¡¯s warning, that conflict between the Briar and Heavensreach could bring about new calamity, haunted my thoughts.


    Why was the right path always so damn difficult to find?


    ¡°If whatever you sensed is the reason the Orley ghost hasn¡¯t attacked Lady Emma so far,¡± I began carefully, not wanting to let on that I suspected that was exactly the case, ¡°then banishing it might put her in immediate danger. We should observe longer. Besides, she used magic in anger today, and her power has a dark history behind it. You might have just been feeling her own aura.¡±


    That hardly seemed to comfort the knight. ¡°For someone so young to have an aura so blood-soaked¡­ this does not comfort me, Master Alken. I am tempted to try expelling her Art from her. That, too, can be done with exorcism.¡±


    I felt my blood run cold. ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± I spat.


    ¡°It is not,¡± Ser Kross said, holding my gaze. His gray eyes remained serene and firm as a statues. ¡°Certain sects of the Church have made extensive progress in our understanding of the Auratic Arts in recent decades. It is difficult, and dangerous, but I think letting that power ferment in the girl might be more irresponsible. If I take her to one of the Priory¡¯s sanctums, future tragedy could be averted.¡±


    What he said sounded impossible, and ¡ª I had no other word for it ¡ª evil. It wasn¡¯t like severing a rotten limb. Mutilating someone¡¯s aura, their very soul, in the way he implied would be tantamount to taking core memories, or lobotomy of the kind it¡¯s said some of the continent¡¯s physiks practice.


    I wanted to reject the idea that it could even be done. But Art can be attached to a soul, can¡¯t it? I¡¯d had a whole arsenal of magics alloyed to mine. Surely, that must make the reverse possible too.


    I wouldn¡¯t allow it. Emma might have a dark legacy, and I might have known her less than a handful of days, but I would never condone that sort of fell surgery. I would never forgive myself.


    I held the man¡¯s gaze for a long moment. I was taller, though not by much, and he had to slightly raise his eyes to meet mine. I made sure he heard every word I spoke next. ¡°Whatever its past,¡± I said, ¡°that magic is part of her soul. You rip it out, you¡¯re going to maim her. Possibly forever. You try it, and I will stop you. Do you understand?¡±


    Ser Kross¡¯s expression never changed. He didn¡¯t get angry, or defensive, or try to threaten me back. He studied me a while, and I had the distinct impression he appraised me in that moment, reaching some sort of judgement. He gave a slow nod. ¡°For now, let us focus on the creature hunting her.¡±


    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.

 2.15: 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.


    It was an idyllic community. On the larger side, with enough homes for perhaps fifty or sixty families, all of them finely made for comfort as much as function. No rude hamlet of thatched roofs and mudbrick, this. A cobblestone street ran through the village¡¯s center, and I could see the ancient well the settlement had taken its name from in the central square. Orchards of apple trees had been cultivated on the village¡¯s periphery, more scattered across the surrounding fields. A church rose on a small hill at the edge of the village, the auremark displayed like a warship¡¯s banner in defiance of the threats lurking beyond the shadow of distant mountains in the west.


    It looked empty. Shrouded in the same veil of ashen snow as the rest of the countryside, I felt as though I beheld the petrified carcass of a community, as though the whole village, its home and shops and orchards and fields, had all been entrapped in filmy stone.


    I saw no sign of the oft-mentioned Burnt Rider. We did find Lord Brenner. He¡¯d arrayed his retinue on a hill overlooking the field. He¡¯d brought twenty knights, each with a full lance ¡ª a classic chivalric unit consisting of the knight, a squire, a heavily armed shieldbearer, and one or two archers. They formed a handsome sight, arrayed under the ashen sky, peaked helms and tall spears glinting in the wan daylight.


    A small army, and probably most of his fief¡¯s military strength, discounting the commoner levies Brenner could have mustered. He hadn¡¯t gone that far, yet. Still, he seemed to be taking the threat seriously.


    ¡°Good of you to join us, Lady Carreon!¡± Brenner¡¯s voice covered the hill like thunder as he approached. He made for an impressive sight all on his own, decked in green wyvern-scale armor reinforced with plate, his antlered helm sporting a white plume flicking about in the unseasonable wind. He rested a spiked warhammer on one shoulder, his bristling beard forming a stormy mane over his gorget.


    Emma gave her own muted greeting to the lord, though her attention rarely strayed from the village below us. ¡°I see nothing, my lord. Where is the Rider?¡±


    ¡°That is a very good question,¡± Lord Brenner rumbled. His eyes went to an aged man in homespun garb standing on the hill, looking ill at ease amid all that marshaled chivalry. ¡°If we¡¯ve been brought out on a wild goose chase, goodsir, I will be irate.¡±


    Brenner Hunting said this very calmly, but the prominent lump in the old man¡¯s throat bobbed nervously.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°I swear to you, lord,¡± the villager said, ¡°he was here. He came in the night, shrouded in flame, and made a great clamor. It was him.¡± His voice took on a note of hysteria at the end, his expression pale as the falling snow.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Unimpressed, Brenner looked at the village again.


    Ser Renuart Kross rode at his side on a shaggy creature with a heavy head halfway between feline and bovine. It had huge paws rather than hooves, and had been clad in rich tack of similar shadowy colors to the paladin¡¯s own garb, with the Priory¡¯s distinctive winged auremark worked into a steel cap on its heavy skull. I felt certain it had some lion in whatever alchemical mix had given birth to its forebears, like those pale beasts who dwelt in the northern peninsula and some parts of the east. His, however, had fur such a deep gray it was nearly black, and placid black eyes just like the kynedeer.


    ¡°I dislike this,¡± the knight-exorcist said, calm despite his words. ¡°It feels like a trap.¡±


    Brenner scoffed. ¡°What kind of trap would a lone rider, however preternatural, spring on us? He is hiding, or has already fled.¡±


    I reached out with my auratic senses, not unlike stretching out an invisible arm or tongue to feel the air ahead of us, but we were too far from the village. I felt a tension in the air, but I couldn¡¯t tell if that was nerves ¡ª mine and all the knights ¡ª or anything supernatural. By Ser Kross¡¯s distant expression, I suspected he did the same either with his own magic or with that intangible spirit clinging to him.


    ¡°Even still, it feels foolish to charge in blindly.¡± Ser Kross¡¯s lips pursed and his gaze wandered until it found mine. ¡°Perhaps a few of us should go on ahead, and see what there is to be seen?¡±


    Lord Brenner followed the knight-exorcist¡¯s gaze to me and Emma, a thoughtful look replacing his irritation. ¡°That is sound thinking, father. Yes, yes! Lady Emma, I think it time to put that Glorysworn you dragged into this to use.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t react to his sardonic tone, instead inclining her head graciously. She¡¯d dressed in the garments she¡¯d worn when we¡¯d first met, something halfway between a courtier¡¯s finery and militant uniform, and done her dark hair up in a complex bun, revealing her sharp, aristocratic features. ¡°Very well. I would like to accompany this forward party.¡±


    ¡°Out of the question!¡± Brenner barked. ¡°This devil is after you, girl, and you expect me to toss you in there like fresh meat on a hook?¡±


    Emma gave the huge nobleman a significant look. Ser Kross let out a breathy laugh. ¡°I think that is her idea exactly, my lord.¡± He spurred his horned mount forward. ¡°I will accompany them. I am here for this purpose, after all.¡±


    Brenner scowled, but seemed to submit to the idea. He waved a gauntleted hand in dismissal. ¡°So be it. The three of you will go, and signal the rest of us either the all clear, or the order to charge.¡± He held out a hand, and one of his men placed a tall war lance in it. The arm sported a furled banner depicting the spear and stag of his house. He handed it to Ser Kross, and one of the men-at-arms showed the knight-exorcist how to give the required signals.


    Finally, unable to hold his silence anymore, Hendry spurred his mount forward. Emotion twisted his previously calm features. ¡°Father, let me go with them.¡±


    Brenner didn¡¯t even look at his son. ¡°No. I want you to take Ser Aurand and Ser Lydia and deploy their lances on the east and south hills. If this wretch is hiding in Orcswell and attempts to flee, we will run him down, just like a fox.¡±


    I took note of the hounds Brenner¡¯s people had brought along ¡ª big, fey-eyed beasts with sleek frames and bloodred coats. He really is treating this like a hunt, I thought.


    Hendry gathered his courage and tried again to convince the bearish lord. ¡°Father, after what we discussed, I believe it proper I attend the Lady Emma into this danger. She should not go into that village with only two guards.¡±


    Brenner finally met his son¡¯s eyes. I¡¯m not certain what passed between them in that moment, but Hendry¡¯s gaze remained firm, his jaw set. The older Hunting finally nodded. ¡°Very well. Then I will have Ser Lydia¡¯s lance go with you.¡±


    Emma didn¡¯t so much as give Hendry a nod of thanks, her attention remaining fixed on the village. I thought I saw her jaw tighten, though, as the young nobleman pulled his mount closer to hers and gave her a reassuring smile. I felt a little knot of realization form in my chest.


    No time to grapple with that just then. Too many, I thought with a grimace, seeing the group arrayed to investigate the village. I didn¡¯t bother arguing. Somehow, I doubted the lord would care much for the tagalong mercenaries¡¯ opinion.


    So it was that eight of us went down into Orcswell. Me, Emma, Ser Kross, young lord Hendry, one of the Hunting knights, along with the squire, shieldbearer, and archer of that knight¡¯s own retinue ¡ª almost a classical fellowship.


    An eerie silence pervaded the snowy fields as we approached the village. A stream ran across the land, the same source of water that kept the nearby orchards bountiful and the meadows green in more seasonable times. The villagers had built a handsome bridge large enough for a wagon to cross over it.


    ¡°You should wait here, my lord, my lady.¡± Ser Lydia was a woman nearing her middle years, the face under her peaked helm narrow and grim. ¡°I will take my lance across the bridge first, to make certain there is no threat.¡±


    ¡°I think it best that Master Alken and I go first,¡± Ser Kross said, before an argument could break out. ¡°We can both sense aura, and can see more than what the eyes might tell.¡±


    Emma and Hendry both agreed to this, and the Hunting knight acquiesced with a courtly bow from her saddle. ¡°As you wish, ser priest.¡±


    Ser Kross and I went over the bridge, passing into the village square and stopping our mounts near the orc well. It gave the knight-exorcist and me a private moment to talk. ¡°You sense anything?¡± I asked him.


    Ser Kross frowned, narrowing his flinty eyes to near slits. ¡°My companion is agitated, but the feeling is not very specific. It¡¯s less what I sense in the aura, and more what I smell with this that troubles me.¡± He tapped the side of his long nose.


    I frowned, and took several exploratory sniffs. The cold and snow had muted it, but I realized almost immediately what he meant. A bitter smell lingered in the air. I recognized it, though I hadn¡¯t smelled the like since¡ª


    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.

 2.16: 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.


    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.


    Well, not quite open. I still happened to be between him and the bridge.


    The griffyn beneath me croaked again and tossed its big head, terrified of the approaching threat. I whispered into its ear, lacing my words with aura and speaking in Sidhecant. Beasts aren¡¯t immune to the preternatural charisma the elves gifted me, and the chimera let out another croak with less fear and picked up speed. I brandished Faen Orgis, sending a surge of power into its oaken hilt. The bronze blade began to emit an amber-tinted glow, less dramatic than Orley¡¯s own infernal blaze but no less bright.


    That blaze closed in on me, impossibly huge in my vision. I could see more of the Scorchknight in detail then. His armor had once been very fine, the visor fashioned into seraphim wings, the lines of the cuirass and pauldrons elegant and etched with scripture. Now, heat and flame had warped the armor, stretching it over the body beneath, forming an almost organic mass of charcoal-black metal made all of jagged edges. I couldn¡¯t see eyes through the beaked visor ¡ª perhaps he had none. He seemed a shadow, an iron carcass left behind by an inferno, his limbs too long, his frame too thin, heat fusing metal to flesh just as he¡¯d done to the Hunting cavalry.


    Yet this was no mindless thrall. The Rider couched his barbed lance, his form perfect, his movements decisive. He came at me like the best of tourney champions, that impossibly long weapon intent on skewering me.


    My weapon wasn¡¯t long enough to match it, nor did I have a mount trained for that kind of combat. I also didn¡¯t much like the idea of meeting that explosive charge, capable of turning fully armored men into little more than scattered debris. The Scorchknight was like a living cannonball. More than that, I wasn''t sure I actually had a means of killing him -- after all, he was already dead.Stolen story; please report.


    So I¡¯d have to do something I hated doing, and avoided unless desperate. I¡¯d have to use my weapon¡¯s magic.


    Humans aren¡¯t the only vessel in which Auratic Art can take root. Objects, locations, and even natural forces can become host to Phantasm. Many warriors across the world have their armaments imbued with power by clerics and mages of all sorts, when they lack a magic of their own. Even with a personal magical technique, having additional powers attached to one¡¯s arms and armor, or other accoutrements, can serve to give a fighter more tools in their arsenal.


    The armor I wear, which once belonged to the dark elf Irn Raya, can cloak me in shadow and swallow sound. The ivory ring I wear devours parasitic spirits who¡¯d invade my dreams. And my weapon, the Axe of Hithlen, also known as the Doomsman¡¯s Arm, has a hungry magic all its own.


    I whispered old words, and the axe woke from its fitful slumber. It was a living thing, in a way, and I felt its presence in the world as it stirred, its own aura beginning to flicker forth. I braced myself, clenching my jaw, and almost soon as I had, spurs like new-formed branches erupted from the uncarved oak the axe¡¯s handle had been fashioned from. Two pierced my hand, essentially fusing it to my grip, and the pain sent agonizing lines of fire up through my arm.


    A crackling sound filled the air, and the axe¡¯s handle began to twist in my hand, and grew. As it drank my blood, hungry as any vampire, amber-tinted wood split and stretched, revealing a darker substance beneath. It continued to grow, bending and twisting, grinding and cracking all the while.


    Moments after I¡¯d activated the weapon¡¯s Art, it had grown to the length of a halberd, then more. Branches and spurs formed along all that length, the upper end of the haft twisting around the elf-bronze blade, several long spurs of sharpened wood forming a point like the spear-tip of a true halberd. Molten gold burned in gaps and wounds along the weapon¡¯s mutated body, like sap released from within a rent trunk.


    I veered my mount far to one side, clearing myself of the Scorchknight¡¯s couched lance. As I passed him, ten feet to his left, I took the halberd in both hands and swept it through the air like I might a cavalry glaive, or a mounted reaper bearing his scythe. Even as I swung the gnarled tree the weapon''s handle had become grew, extending to the length I needed. The shining crescent of my weapon¡¯s blade struck Orley, catching him in the shoulder above his left arm ¡ª the one holding the lance.


    Light burst into the world once again. The shock of impact went through the weapon and into my arms with teeth-biting intensity, but I kept my mount and kept hold of my weapon, completing the sweep with a shout. Amber embers burned through the air for several seconds, showing the arc of my swing, and the overlong handle bent dramatically from its own weight, becoming almost a whip.


    The length of my weapon and the shock of impact caused the griffyn to falter. I managed to get it under control and turn. Orley had also slowed to a stop. I hadn¡¯t knocked him from his horse, but I saw a burning golden line crawling over one warped pauldron and along the shrunken metal of his backplate. He stood there for a moment, both he and his horned horse eerily quiet.


    He lifted his left arm. It trembled, and he didn¡¯t seem able to bring it up more than halfway. The winged helm turned, showing me its profile from the side, and I felt the full weight of the Scorchknight¡¯s attention on me for the first time.


    I¡¯d been an obstacle before. Now, I sensed I¡¯d drawn his interest.


    I¡¯d hoped to kill him. I cursed, steeling myself. ¡°You won¡¯t go near the girl,¡± I said. I¡¯d drawn on enough aura that it escaped my lips in little plumes of gold-tinted mist. ¡°She¡¯s under my protection.¡±


    Jon Orley didn¡¯t say a word. He, and his dark steed, only stood there in deathly stillness. Out of the corners of my vision, I saw the rest of the Hunting knights gathering in a wide circle around the Burnt Rider, surrounding him. Brenner had drawn a new weapon, a spiked hammer, which he rested on his shoulder as he glared at the infernal warrior.


    Orley sheathed his black sword and took the great lance in his right hand. He flexed the fingers of his left, the sound of bending metal as he moved those digits gratingly loud and subtly sickening. The gauntlet had fused to the hand beneath, forming steely claws at his fingertips. Then, letting that arm fall limp, he lifted the lance in his right hand in a salute at the Hunting cavalry, raising it defiantly toward the sky.


    ¡°You are not welcome on my lands,¡± Brenner growled. ¡°Back to Hell with you, devil.¡±


    I caught Ser Kross lurking behind the knights, pacing his leonine mount around the standoff¡¯s periphery in search of an opening. He had his old bastard sword in hand, and looked calmly determined.


    I felt a shiver in the air, not of cold. Orley had started shifting his aura into a new configuration. My eyes were drawn up by some instinct, and I noted how the tip of the Scorchknight¡¯s lance almost seemed to form a centerpiece to the burning rune in the sky. Possibly a coincidence from my angle of view, but I doubted it.


    He wasn¡¯t saluting, or challenging. He was channeling.


    The others hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°Brenner!¡± I shouted. ¡°He¡¯s doing something!¡±


    Brenner growled in frustration. ¡°Stop him! Forward!¡± He spurred his own mount on.


    Previously still, the devil horse turned its burning eyes on Brenner. Lord Hunting''s kynedeer bucked beneath him without warning, letting out a cervid scream of terror.


    The other knights hesitated, and then it was too late. With inhuman dexterity, Jon Orley began to sweep his enormous lance around him, spinning and twirling it. I didn¡¯t understand what he did at first, but then I saw the smoldering lines forming across the frozen ground beneath him wherever the barbed tip of the war spear slashed, stretching entirely around his steed and extending for several yards in every direction ¡ª complex patterns and intersecting lines.


    He was drawing a rune.


    ¡°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.¡±

 2.17: 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.


    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.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Orley drew his sword and blocked it. He used his left hand.


    Emma fell back ¡ª the force of Orley¡¯s parry had been inhuman. She lost her balance and landed on her side, crying out with pain. Her sword, red-hot, fell to the ground.


    Orley¡¯s masked gaze tilted toward me, and I sensed ¡ª perhaps just a natural insight or some passing emotion through our mutually boiling aura ¡ª that he gloated beneath the voiceless iron of his face. I understood, then, that I¡¯d never maimed him. He¡¯d lured us into a false sense of advantage. Or had he healed from the injury?


    He kicked me square in the gut with one sabaton. My hauberk took the blow, but plenty of force carried into me. I slid back, keeling over as a lightning bolt of breath-snatching pain shot through me. The shadow-steel links of my maille smoked where I¡¯d been struck. The Scorchknight planted his sword in the ground, gripped the length of blood-red metal in his side, and ripped it out. He squeezed, shattering Emma¡¯s magic like brittle crystal, tiny motes of hazy red swirling into nothingness.


    It was, after all, just a phantasm, no matter how much blood magic had been poured into it.


    Orley didn¡¯t give me time to recover. He took his sword up again, twirled his lance overhead, then stabbed it viper-fast directly at my right eye. I flinched, dodging aside by the width of hairs, feeling the blistering wind of its passing bite my ear. He brought it back, then stabbed again. This time I had to block, letting the spear skid off the elf-bronze blade of my own weapon. The infernal pike¡¯s iron body bent from its own weight as it moved with skull-cracking momentum.


    Four more times he tried to plug my skull with the barbed head of the spear, and each time I only barely avoided death. It took every ounce of concentration and reflex I had, and my skin beaded with sweat from effort and that evil arm¡¯s heat. I didn¡¯t have time to retaliate, or shape an Art.


    I would have liked to call it cheating, using ten feet of solid iron as easily as if it were a rapier, but it¡¯s always like that with monstrous opponents. Bastards.


    On the fifth jab, he got me. I reacted a millisecond too slow, and the sharp tip of the lance sank several inches into my left shoulder ¡ª revenge for earlier, no doubt. Of sorcerous craft my armor might have been, but against the more potent metal it gave way. Iron links broke, and I felt that branding iron of a weapon grind against my shoulder bone. Orley left it there, letting me feel it.


    I am not immune to pain, not by any stretch. I let out a shout, grabbing at the weapon¡¯s handle ¡ª stupid, I only managed to burn my hand too. The smell of my own cooking flesh filled my nostrils.


    In my right hand, the axe grew another inch. I felt dizzy, from blood loss as much as pain. Just a bit longer. Just another minute. Take root, damn you.


    ¡°Orley!¡±


    Through my blurring vision, I saw Emma stand tall. She¡¯d grabbed her sword, though it must have burned her hand. Sweating, obviously in pain, she bared her teeth as she drew the Scorchknight¡¯s attention. Her amber eyes were very wide, almost hellish in their own way as the revenant.


    ¡°I¡¯m the one you want, right?¡± She took a step forward. ¡°For what my family did to you?¡± She pressed a hand to her chest, showing the signet ring on her forefinger, a perfect match to the design on her sword¡¯s guard ¡ª a horned hawk grasping a red stone.


    The hand dripped blood. In the Aura, I felt each droplet striking the ground, as though they sent out little ripples of power. Did Orley sense it? If not, I¡¯d have to act fast before he did, give the girl a chance to do whatever she was preparing.


    Orley only stared, keeping his weapon stuck into me. My eyes went to Kross. He¡¯d found his sword in the snow, but held it in his left. He cradled his right arm. Broken, I realized. He caught my eye and I shook my head, hoping he¡¯d get the message ¡ª stay back.


    ¡°That was a hundred years ago, you bastard.¡± Emma took another step forward, wincing. ¡°Our Houses were at war. Stop being such a sore bloody loser.¡±


    Not helping, I thought. I tried pulling myself off Orley¡¯s spear, but some of its barbs had gotten into me ¡ª caught like a fish on a hook.


    And we will be at war, always.


    Your dynasty made this choice.


    Now abide it.


    The words pressed themselves into the soft matter of my brain, branding themselves there. The voice I heard was surprisingly young, and very, very tired.


    By Emma¡¯s widening eyes, I guessed she¡¯d heard the voice in her own mind. She shook the uncanny feeling off after a moment and took another step forward, raising her sword. ¡°Then kill me, and have done with it.¡±


    No.


    Emma blinked. ¡°But¡­¡±


    We will be at war, always. That is our curse.


    I am not here for you.


    Before any of us could respond to that, or process it, a voice thundered across the battlefield.


    ¡°EMMA!¡±


    Astride his war chimera, an antler-helmed knight barreled through the morass of snapping, barking hellhounds directly toward us. He held a broad-bladed spear in one hand, a round shield in the other. He¡¯d taken wounds, but nothing immediately lethal. Soot blackened his armor, and the plume on his helm had been reduced to smoldering remnants.


    Hendry Hunting came on like a graceful storm, every bit as huge and imposing as his lord father in that moment. He lifted his spear, and I saw ¡ª and felt ¡ª that it had been imbued with magic. Nothing so potent as his father¡¯s arm, but it would fly fast and true as any scorpion bolt, if only once.


    Distracted by that sight, I was taken off guard when Orley ripped his lance from my shoulder. Chunks of flesh and pieces of broken chainmail went with it, and I stumbled to one knee, staying upright only thanks to my weapon¡¯s end pressed to the ground. Twice I¡¯d been forced to lift it ¡ª I couldn¡¯t afford any more.


    The Scorchknight calmly watched the approaching young lord, as though judging range. He lifted his fell armament, and I understood.


    I¡¯m not here for you.


    He was here to wage war. To take from his enemy.


    ¡°Hendry, no!¡± Emma screamed. ¡°Stay back!¡±


    I could have stopped him. Fouled his aim, tackled him, swung my weapon to turn his attention ¡ª every instinct in me, martial and human, screamed at me to do it.


    All gods help me, I did not. I let Orley throw.


    Hendry threw. Orley threw at the same time. The Hunting spear struck the Scorchknight in the breastplate with thunderous force, causing him to stumble back. But he did not fall, and I knew he couldn¡¯t be killed that easily.


    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.

 2.18: 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.


    Emma stared in silence as Brenner¡¯s men worked, securing the body. Others began to find their mounts, or take saddle if they¡¯d lost theirs in the fighting. I moved to stand at her side.


    ¡°Is it done?¡± She asked, voice hoarse. ¡°Is Jon Orley dead?¡±


    ¡°He died a century ago,¡± I said honestly. ¡°As for right now¡­¡± I sighed. ¡°We¡¯re safe, for a while. And we¡¯re all hurt. We should go with them to Brenner¡¯s hall, get ourselves treated by a real healer and get some rest.¡±


    Her eyes went to my mutilated hand, and she winced. ¡°I didn¡¯t want any of this,¡± she said again, almost desperate.


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re alive. Time to take the next step.¡±


    After she¡¯d gone to find her mount, I turned to find Ser Kross staring at the tree.


    ¡°How long will that hold him?¡± He asked.


    I followed his eyes. ¡°Not long,¡± I admitted. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to feed on the blood of its victim to keep the binding powered, but Orley is undead ¡ª no blood, least none it can use. Not to mention that he¡¯s goring strong.¡± I rubbed at the stubble on my jaw with my left hand, wincing again as I pulled at the burns ¡ª my entire palm had blistered raw from grabbing the Scorchknight¡¯s weapon. Did I really have to go and injure both my hands?Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°How long?¡± Kross repeated.


    ¡°Few days at most,¡± I said quietly.


    ¡°Then we will need to find another solution.¡± Kross folded his arms over his breastplate. ¡°This only buys us time.¡±


    I nodded, then frowned as I looked at the knight-exorcist, realizing something.


    ¡°What?¡± Kross asked, noticing my look.


    ¡°Your arm,¡± I said, nodding to his right arm. ¡°It isn¡¯t broken anymore.¡±


    Kross was silent a moment, then shrugged. ¡°My companion healed it during the fight. I only stayed back because I saw your warning, and didn¡¯t want to approach and spoil your spell.¡±


    It made sense. Still, I remembered when he¡¯d healed Emma¡¯s arms ¡ª those injuries had been less immediately grievous than a cracked bone, and it had exhausted him. He seemed hardly winded now.


    ¡°We should get moving,¡± I said, ignoring it. ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave Emma alone too long with his lordship, in case he commits to blaming her for all of this.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Kross dipped into a shallow bow. ¡°I will recommend Lord Brenner leave some guards here to keep an eye on our treebound friend, just in case.¡±


    I nodded, having been about to make the same suggestion. For now, I needed a healer. Useful as my preternatural vitality could be, I literally had holes in me.


    ¡°To Antlerhall, then.¡±


    ***


    The Hunting castle had originally been a mead hall, belonging to one of the clan-fiefdoms who¡¯d populated much of Urn before the great exodus from the West. Over generations it had been steadily converted into a proper castle incorporating both Edaean and native style.


    The original structure remained, an enormous longhouse atop a tall hill, fashioned of wood and stone with a steep, tiered roof and pillared entry heavily decorated in bronze reliefs, every inch of stone carved with scenes of the old inhabitants¡¯ history. However, high bastion towers had been added, and a forecastle at the hill¡¯s base. The end result was something out of time, both ancient and new, both melding in a strange, impossible elegance.


    Much like House Hunting itself, with its fey steeds and spear-and-bow wielding hunter knights.


    I didn¡¯t see much of Brenner after we arrived. A great scurry followed our battered retinue¡¯s arrival at the keep, with servants and soldiers everywhere. I tried to stay out of the way, and to keep Emma in my sights. However, she slipped away from me during the chaos, taken off by some servants to be tended to.


    I gave her privacy. Though, I worried about what Brenner might do in his grief and suspicion.


    Eventually, a physiker looked at my injuries and I was fed. My hand throbbed with pain. It would take days for those wounds to close, weeks for them to fully heal, even with my magic. I wouldn¡¯t be able to fight until I had the hand back, even with a replacement weapon.


    I¡¯d have to hope I wouldn¡¯t need to.


    I was allowed to sleep in the feast hall, and I took that as a good sign. In old traditions, allowing guests to sleep under the lord¡¯s own roof, in his place of merriment, is held as a great honor. It didn¡¯t give me much privacy though, and I doubted that to be an accident. More than a few from the battle at Orcswell saw me summon the Malison Oak, and I received many wary, distrustful glances. Perhaps they might have been grateful I¡¯d ended the fight, but my association with Lady Emma poisoned their trust.


    Servants took my cloak and armor to be cleaned, and I found a shadowed spot along one of the hall¡¯s walls to get some rest. Exhausted, my mind still churned with the days events and sleep didn¡¯t come quickly. They¡¯d lit a fire in the hall, to stave off the premature cold.


    I realized soon enough I couldn¡¯t sleep, and went for a walk. I wandered the winding corridors of the keep. Eventually, perhaps by coincidence, I found a doorway leading into a spacious chamber lit by a constellation of candles, with many alcoves and an open central floor dominated by a basin.


    A chapel.


    Perhaps on a whim, I went inside. The room wasn¡¯t over large, and mostly empty. A private space for prayer, no doubt, used by the lord and his guests. I saw only one figure seated on one of the circle of pews set along the edges of the central dais.


    Emma stared at the basin with unfocused eyes, her hands clasped together more from nerves than for prayer. Her eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep. She wore new clothes ¡ª the servants had taken her martial ensemble same as they had mine. They¡¯d given her a white shift and green dress. It was the first time I¡¯d seen her in traditional woman¡¯s clothes. It made her look less haughty, less severe. She¡¯d done her dark hair into a lazy braid.


    She was too young for all of this. Then again, I¡¯d been too young to go to war. Had I really been her age when I¡¯d started on this path?


    ¡°Stop that.¡±


    I blinked, not realizing she¡¯d been watching me out of the corner of her eye. ¡°Stop what?¡±


    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.¡±

 2.19: 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.


    Kross didn¡¯t answer at once. I got the distinct impression he hadn¡¯t meant to reveal that detail. Then, spreading out his hands he said, ¡°lives can take winding roads. But, no, I wasn¡¯t born in this land.¡±


    I turned my gaze to the window again. After a minute, I felt the man¡¯s eye on me. I shifted, uncomfortable, because he¡¯d been nearby earlier that day ¡ª near enough to hear what I¡¯d said to Jon Orley, and the title I¡¯d revealed to the Scorchknight.


    Maybe he wouldn¡¯t know what it meant. There are many executioners in the land, and my role was an old one, its story mostly only known to the Eld.


    ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°I have often found that speaking of your troubles in places like this can be a sort of¡­ unburdening. It was the same when you listened to the young lady.¡± He nodded to where Emma and I had been sitting. ¡°She had troubles on her soul, and needed someone to hear them¡­ God, the gods, a stranger who¡¯d move on before long, didn¡¯t matter. She only needed to know the words would go somewhere else, away from her. I¡¯ve been used for the same purpose many times.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°Are you asking me to give confession, father?¡±


    ¡°I am offering to hear it, if you wish.¡±


    I closed my eyes, fighting down the bile I felt rising up in my throat. Still, a bit of that poison came out in my next words. ¡°You want to hear my sins? You really want their weight on your mind?¡±


    ¡°I have born many sins,¡± Kross said quietly. ¡°Those of others, and my own.¡±


    He sat leaning forward, hands clasped over his knees, calm and immovable as marble. The very image of the Soldier of Faith, humble and slow to anger, devout and steady. A far cry from the gilded champions I remembered, both from my time in a House guard and with the Table. Still, he had something about him ¡ª a gravitas. Maybe just his invisible seraph, but I didn¡¯t think it was all that.


    I wondered if he¡¯d still be comfortable sitting so near, if he¡¯d still want to play the fatherly confidant, if he knew the full breadth of my sins.


    Well, why not? Why should I care what he thought of me?


    I did care. I¡¯d once wanted to be him, or near enough.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    My eyes went to the stained glass, to the Golden Queen who¡¯d probably happily throw me into the fire with the rest of the wicked. After all, I¡¯d gotten Her favorite killed, and I still dreamed about¡ª


    No. Kross wouldn¡¯t have my dreams from me, those were mine alone. But the rest of it?


    ¡°It is sacrilege for you to share anything I say to you outside of this room,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t make it a question.


    Kross bowed his head. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Well, that angel on his shoulder would probably already know the worst bits. It, too, was Onsolain. Maybe it had already whispered into the holy knight¡¯s ear, telling him who I was, what I¡¯d done.


    Part of me wanted to talk, to unburden myself, as he put it. May as well be honest, and stop making excuses.


    ¡°Fine then,¡± I leant back and threw one arm casually over the back of the bench. ¡°I¡¯m game. You want to know who I am, Ser Kross? You want to know what I¡¯ve done? Then I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    I fell quiet then, gathering my thoughts. Kross remained a silent presence at my side, patient as can be. It took me many minutes to force myself to speak.


    ¡°I was a knight. No, damn, that¡¯s a bad place to start.¡±


    I am not so eloquent a storyteller as Emma Carreon. It took me some time to find the mark of my tale.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t born a lord. My father was a clerk in the employ of a provincial lord, a baron. Still is, maybe, though he¡¯s got to be, oh¡­¡± I rubbed at my chin, working out the math. ¡°An old man, if he¡¯s still alive. I haven¡¯t been home in a lifetime.¡± I shrugged, then leaned forward to clasp my hands over my knees. Kross remained silent, patient as trees, hanging on every word.


    ¡°I never had much of a head for numbers, or letters. Oh, my da¡¯ tried to teach me sure enough, but I was more interested in my mother¡¯s tales. She was a commoner too, worked as a seamstress in the castle same as Da¡¯, and she loved talking about knights and heroes, wizards and elves. My sister and I used to listen to her for hours, sitting nearby while she wove.¡±


    I¡¯d slipped into my homeland¡¯s accent for the first time in nearly fifteen years, without realizing it. Funny, how that sort of thing sticks. Especially since my father had hated it, and tried his best to lecture it out of us ¡ª he¡¯d been from the north, from the cities. But my mother had raised me, and she¡¯d had that Dalesteader lilt. Talking about her, I could almost hear the music of her voice again. I closed my eyes, listening to those memories, smiling softly.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t have a very good impression of lords and knights as a lad. The lord was a greedy man who resented his betters, and his country was poor. His relatives bickered, and his men-at-arms, well¡­¡± I snorted. ¡°They¡¯d have been a real group of bastards if they hadn¡¯t had such a terminal case of the sloth.¡±


    ¡°The baron had bad luck with children. His eldest son was a cowardly, sickly brat. Not a good look for a Dale Fiefdom ¡ª close as we are to Briarland, they value skill at arms highly in that country. As for me, well, I grew fast, and I didn¡¯t have much to say compared to the rest of my family. Always preferred listening to talking, and everyone else always has so much to say anyroad. Most people got to thinking I was simple ¡ª big lad even at thirteen, quiet all the time? You know how children can be, and adults too. To be fair, I could ¡ª can ¡ª be slow of wit.¡±


    ¡°You were bullied?¡± Kross hardly seemed to believe it, looking at me with all my scars and muscle.


    I scoffed. ¡°I was mocked, sure, disregarded, ignored¡­ but I was strong, even then. I ended up training with the baron¡¯s sons at my father¡¯s recommendation, mostly so they had someone big and tough to swing at. I didn¡¯t mind much, though it¡¯s a hard thing for a boy to realize his own father thinks he¡¯s an idiot. Especially when his father¡¯s considered the smartest man in the fiefdom.¡±


    ¡°And yet, from these humble roots, you became a knight?¡± Ser Kross studied me with searching gray eyes, as though trying to see into the fabric of my story, trace its threads. ¡°Not just a knight, but a sorcerer, the bearer of powerful artifacts, even a loremaster.¡±


    ¡°Loremaster!¡± I chortled. ¡°I know enough to understand what sort of nasty bastard wants to crack my skull, and how I can crack theirs harder. But no, I imagine Da¡¯ wouldn¡¯t think much of my learning, even now. He thought little of soldiers. Didn¡¯t stop him from trying to make me one ¡ª he was just as ambitious as the baron, in his own way.¡±


    ¡°So you became one of this feudal lord¡¯s shieldbearers?¡± Kross asked.


    I shook my head. ¡°Nah. Maybe I might¡¯ve been, but fate, or some evil luck, had other plans.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ser Kross asked, when I fell silent. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t so perfectly patient, after all. To be fair, I¡¯d lapsed into a long silence several times already. I hadn¡¯t talked about any of this in¡­


    I hadn¡¯t talked about any of this. Not ever. Not to anyone, except for¡­


    I sighed, refocusing on my thread. ¡°Some people showed up in the fief. Refugees. One of them happened to be a queen.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Her name was Rosanna.¡±


    The lance of nostalgia, pain, resentment, and fondness that went through me then is difficult to describe. Just uttering a name can bring back such a tide of emotions, of recollection, and I¡¯d avoided saying this one a long time, even thinking it, knowing to do so would stab at old wounds. If Kross noticed the tightness in my voice as I continued, he didn¡¯t so much as raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°Her family ruled a small but powerful realm in the heartlands, until her relatives banded together and usurped the House. Her parents were murdered, and she had to flee her home with just a few servants. There were people hunting her, and she was desperate for allies. She ended up finding Lord Gilles Herder and his household. Not quite the court of heroes she¡¯d been searching for, I imagine.¡±


    I smiled at the memory, of that raven-haired girl striding through the dingy halls of the Herdhold like some shadowy empress, face etched with mild concern at what she saw.


    ¡°She¡¯d fled her homeland and needed refuge. More than that, she needed champions to help her fight her uncles. Lord Gilles, of course, saw an opportunity. He wanted influence, prestige, and he had two options ¡ª turn the lost princess over to her enemies and get some meager reward, or gamble on helping her reclaim her realm and earn a spot in history. Honestly, it shocked me when the old codger chose to help her.¡±


    ¡°Course, Rose didn¡¯t have much of a pick of able companions in the Herder fief. Lord Gilles¡¯s son was no warrior, and he had few knights of any worth. So, no Fellowship of heroes for this quest. Gilles Herder knew his opportunity to make something of himself would turn to dust if the princess slipped his grasp and found more competent help. Instead, he and my father cooked up a scheme. Can you guess it?¡±


    I met Ser Kross¡¯s eyes. He thought for a moment, then smiled. ¡°Ah. They offered you.¡±


    ¡°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.¡±

 2.20: 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 Abgr?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. Abgr?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.¡±


    I shrugged. He¡¯d asked.


    Brenner took a moment to calm himself, then turned to his clericon. ¡°Is what they say true?¡±


    ¡°I would need to consult my records,¡± the scholar-priest said, her aged face troubled. ¡°We are discussing very old lore. Whatever the case, the agents of Orkael were banished from this land, its masters disavowed by our God. I see no reason not to treat the Burnt Rider as any other fiend, and see him banished. Our world¡¯s cosmology is complicated and storied, true, but there is only one Queen to whom we pledge our devotion. All else is noise.¡± She brushed her pale fingers through the air, as though sweeping away a moth.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A wan smile touched Kross¡¯s peaceful visage, directed at the priest. I couldn¡¯t be certain, but I felt like it held a touch of mockery.


    Curious. I hadn¡¯t been aware that the Priory diverged from other sects of the Faith in the matter of old cults from the continent.


    ¡°As fascinating as all the cosmology is,¡± Ser Gors drawled, looking bored, ¡°I fail to see how it helps us solve our little problem. You bound the beast, Glorysworn, so you must have some sort of plan?¡± He rolled his reptilian eyes to me. ¡°For that matter, who is this vagabond the Lady Emma has brought into our midst, who knows so much of arcana?¡±


    A roomful of eyes, some distrustful and some curious, turned to me. Without looking at the knight, Emma spoke aloud to the room. ¡°Master Alken is an expert on Sidhe lore and other matters, as I explained to his lordship.¡± She nodded to Brenner. ¡°I brought him into my employ for his knowledge, not just his sword arm.¡±


    Brenner waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Lady Emma has the right of it. He¡¯s a ranger, or some such. I think his actions at Orcswell speak well enough to his presence here.¡±


    That mollified most of them. Gors still eyed me askance, not hiding his suspicion. Then, shrugging he said, ¡°my question stands. How does all this myth aid our cause?¡±


    I took Brenner¡¯s look as a cue to answer. ¡°If Orley is here on behalf of the Iron Tribunal,¡± I said, ¡°then he¡¯s breaking the Riven Order. Normally I¡¯d say it¡¯s impossible, but the old rites have been unreliable ever since the East burned. Could be the Infernal Realm is taking advantage, same way not all the Dead need invitations into homes anymore.¡±


    Brenner rubbed at his eyes. I doubted he¡¯d gotten much sleep, especially with his son still hovering at the edge of death in a sickbed. ¡°And how, pray tell, does that help us?¡±


    ¡°Means we can banish him,¡± I said. Then, with a shrug I added, ¡°or seal him more permanently. Traditionally, any dark spirit in the subcontinent has difficulty keeping a grip on their presence here. The Heir¡¯s blessings weaken them, especially anywhere you have Her priesthood or vassal demigods nurturing those blessings. Orley¡¯s here without an invitation, which means he¡¯s putting a lot of his power into just being able to act at all.¡±


    ¡°Seemed to me he has power enough,¡± Ser Lydia, the knight I¡¯d briefly interacted with at Orcswell, said. She¡¯d lost a brother during the fighting, and she hadn¡¯t gotten any sleep either. She still wore her war gear, and looked fit for some vengeance.


    She had a point. I rubbed at my chin, idly feeling at the stubble I hadn¡¯t tended in some days. Then, in a flash of realization, I understood.


    ¡°Those symbols he carved ¡ª the one in the sky, and on the ground when he summoned the hellhounds.¡± I met Ser Kross¡¯s gaze again. ¡°I¡¯d be willing to bet those were part of some Orkaelin rite, drawing power from his home realm.¡±


    Kross nodded thoughtfully, folding his arms into his heavy gray cloak. ¡°They did have the feel of Art to me. No doubt it is some technique given to him by his Zosite masters.¡±


    Brenner¡¯s patience, already tenuous, came very near breaking. ¡°I do not care what is required,¡± he said in a very quiet, very dangerous voice. ¡°I do not care what he is, or what it takes to be rid of him. Ser Kross, Master Alken, you were both brought here for one purpose. See it done, or so help me I will petition the Church for an inquisition. If it takes the death of every hedge witch and village necromancer for a hundred miles, I will see my home purged of evil. Do you understand?¡±


    The clericon turned a shocked gaze on her master. ¡°My lord¡­¡±


    He held up a hand, stalling the old priest. ¡°No single Thing of Darkness is so powerful that it can survive a hundred Aureate crusaders, and if Orley represents a nation of divine apostates, I will have the precedent to call for Crusade. I do not make this threat lightly. Take care of it, or I will escalate.¡±


    If this threat shocked Ser Kross, it did not show on his marble-calm face. He only bowed his head in understanding. Many of those present at the council looked scandalized by their liege-lord¡¯s pronouncement. Others looked excited. They probably liked the idea of being at the forefront of a new crusade. It had been most of three centuries since the last.


    I wonder if any of them truly considered just who that war would be fought against. Only seven years since the last great Recusant army had been routed, and they still hadn¡¯t had enough.


    Brenner, at least, didn¡¯t look exactly eager to carry out his threat. His eyes remained fixed on the table, brooding and shadowed by exhaustion. I wondered how many men in history had made terrible choices with just that expression.


    ¡°I think there¡¯s one thing we¡¯re all missing here,¡± Ser Gors said, his pale, over-large eyes almost gleeful. He¡¯d been one of those who¡¯d shown interest at the suggestion of crusade. ¡°Or we¡¯re all choosing to overlook.¡±


    Brenner sighed. ¡°And what might that be, Ser Gors?¡±


    The pale knight turned his glittering eyes to Emma, who¡¯d remained silent throughout the conversation. ¡°If these Zosite, these dark angels of Hell, are the jailers of demons and their ilk, and their champion is here to claim the last Carreon¡­ then are we not placing ourselves on the side of darkness by defending her?¡±


    That brought another heavy silence. Emma, who¡¯d been unfazed by all attention directed her way until then, went very still, her face draining of color.


    Brenner, who¡¯d fought this battle on the girl¡¯s behalf, said nothing. It was the old clericon who ended up challenging the serpentine knight.


    ¡°Have you not been listening?¡± The old priest paced around the table, white cloth whispering around her. She stopped behind Emma¡¯s chair and placed a hand on the young woman¡¯s shoulder, defying all the superstition and fear the rest of that room of warriors displayed. ¡°Orkael is no realm of justice ¡ª our God-Queen refused them their tribute of souls, and delved for us the peaceful halls of Draubard in place of their iron pits. Perhaps the Carreons are responsible for many crimes, but Lady Emma is under our protection. You would do well to remember that, Ser Gors.¡±


    Shock, perhaps even some confusion, transformed Emma¡¯s haughty features. I imagine she hadn¡¯t expected the resident clergywoman of all people in that room to defend her.


    Ser Gors glared at the priest, who held his gaze without so much as blinking. Then, shrugging he said in a bored tone, ¡°I was only pointing out that there must be some reason why this fiery realm wants the girl. Is this only Orley¡¯s vengeance, or is his vendetta a convenience for some darker purpose?¡±


    Deflection it might have been, but the snake had a point.


    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.

 2.21: 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.¡±


    Something scuttled out of the underbrush, flitting from one edge of the trees to another before I could get a proper look at it. I had the distinct impression of a very human face, and spidery legs. I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath, then forged forward. In truth, I felt just as nervous as Emma ¡ª the Wend is no place for a casual stroll.


    The Wend ¡ª The Wending Roads ¡ª are many things. They are a system of pathways riddling the lands, like arteries, or roots. They are a border between the world of mortals and sunlight and stranger realms. They are a memory, and a curse.


    They are a graveyard.


    Many beings use the Wend to cross the world at speed, or reach places normally inaccessible even by chimera. Powerful mages are usually the only mortals who do so regularly, because you need to be versed in the ways of aura to protect yourself from the wild, often hostile magic suffusing those paths. The Alder Knights used them regularly, once. One of our duties had been to patrol the Wending Roads, to keep the well-traveled paths clear of danger, and make sure no qliphoths formed.


    Since the Table had been broken and disbanded, the Wend had been neglected. In more recent years, I¡¯d stopped using them unless in great need. They¡¯d grown malignant, an untended garden full of weeds and parasites.


    What we traveled into then is called a Burrow ¡ª a sort of pocket realm within the Wend, closed to most paths. I¡¯d used my experience to find it, along with the guidance of my restructured aura, though such places have a way of finding you ¡ª they¡¯re alive, in a way, and have a tendency to drag you into them, like an undertow at sea.


    After some time, Emma and I passed through the eerie woods into a wide prairie. The snow fell thin here, and violet night flowers bloomed through, heedless of the cold. The stars seemed nearer, somehow, the moons looming larger than they had earlier in the night. I knew I¡¯d found the Burrow¡¯s core.


    Half-sunken ruins lay at the center of the field, where the night flowers clustered most densely. I couldn¡¯t tell what the original purpose of the structure had been, only getting an impression of cracked marble tinted bright silver-white by the light shining down from above. Sitting upon the remnants of a shattered pillar sat a god, or part of one.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Nath still wore her martial accoutrements, though they¡¯d changed somewhat. She never looked quite the same between any two appearances, as though she incessantly tweaked details of her own design. This time she wore a long, glimmering dress of silver mail, reinforced with elegant plates of a darker metal at the shoulders, hips, and ribs. Her black hair formed a braid so long it trailed along the grass below, coiling like a serpent around the base of the pillar. She held a black bow tall as she was, which she propped on her makeshift throne as I approached.


    I inclined my head, respectful without being subservient. Subservience could be taken as an invitation to make me a servant. ¡°Nath.¡±


    ¡°Headsman.¡± Nath inspected me, amused, tilting her head to one side. Sitting, she met me at eye level. Had she stood, she¡¯d have been near eight feet in height. Her empty black eyes crinkled at the corners after a moment. ¡°Ah. You¡¯ve figured it out.¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°I think so.¡±


    Emma had been strangely quiet. I glanced back, and found she wasn¡¯t behind me any longer. I wheeled on the Fallen. ¡°Where is she?¡± I didn¡¯t bother hiding my anger.


    ¡°Peace, O¡¯ Headsman.¡± Nath held up a hand that seemed to catch the moonlight, so it shone. ¡°She is quite safe. I diverted her. She will wander through the forest a while longer, and then you will find her. I wished to speak in private.¡±


    When had I lost Emma? I thought back through my walk through the alien woods, trying to find the moment my attention had lapsed ¡ª or been taken. There hadn¡¯t been a sense of time ¡ª the Wend can often operate on dream logic, which is to say no logic at all.


    Damn it. I¡¯d been trained to not let myself be led astray in these sorts of places.


    Frustrated, I huffed out a sigh. ¡°She 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 had to suppress a sneer. ¡°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 let that small dig pass. ¡°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.¡±


    ¡°Are you not?¡± Nath turned her attention back to her war bow. She ran a hand down the long line of palely shining string, which I knew ¡ª with the same intrusive insights I knew many things, thanks to my Oaths ¡ª had been fashioned from starlight.


    A piece of Light cleaved from a faraway star, taken from it like a finger is cut from a hand. It feels the pain of it still, and is dimmer now forever¡ª


    I shut that part of me out, focusing on the here and now. ¡°Jon Orley,¡± I said. ¡°Did you know about him? Did you know where he came here from, and that I¡¯d be set against him?¡±


    ¡°That is three questions,¡± Nath mused, plucking a testing finger at the bowstring. It produced a musical sound, and not a pleasant one. ¡°Which shall I answer? Shall I make you choose, or shall I?¡±


    I noted, with mild horror, that her braid of black hair writhed around the base of the stone she sat on, like a living serpent. I could even hear it hissing.


    I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm myself and ignore all the supernatural noise distracting me. I knew this would be frustrating ¡ª talking to any immortal is, and Nath was malignant on top of it all. ¡°You could have warned me,¡± I growled.


    ¡°And caused turmoil among my kinfolk,¡± Nath said bluntly. She turned her empty eyes back to me, serious now. ¡°I will admit, knightling, I often play games for my own amusement. In this case, that is not so. Greater interests are at play, and it limits my¡­¡± she held up her forefinger and thumb, pinching them together. ¡°Capacity. The fate of House Carreon is spoken for, and I can only do so much as little Emma¡¯s benefactor. I cannot, for example, directly interfere in the case of the Burning One, for I am but the girl¡¯s mentor, and he is¡­ well. He is you.¡± She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.


    I furrowed my brow, confused. ¡°He¡¯s me? The hell does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Nath smiled broadly, then frowned when she saw my face. ¡°Ah. That is just one of your mortal turns of phrase, isn¡¯t it? You were so close.¡± She pouted, turning her attention back to her bow.


    I closed my eyes, trying to think, to see, through all her little turns of phrase, her playful hints and deflections. I thought I drew close to the truth, but doubt gnawed at me. If I ended up being wrong, or didn¡¯t have the whole picture¡­


    Things could go to shit. Again.


    ¡°He¡¯s me¡­¡± I opened my eyes, catching Nath¡¯s gaze again. ¡°He¡¯s another Doomsman, isn¡¯t he? He¡¯s here to deliver judgment on the last of the Carreons on behalf of Orkael.¡±


    Nath¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You draw very close to the answers you seek, O¡¯ Headsman. I wish I could tell you the whole of it. Perhaps that is difficult to believe, from my lips, but it is true. I am¡­ invested in Emma Carreon¡¯s future. I have bound myself to it. I am, however, also bound to my kin.¡± She closed her eyes, inhaling deep. ¡°I have decided.¡±


    With that, she stood from the shattered section of masonry with a musical clinking of metal rings, standing to her full and inhuman height. She rested her bow on the grass, staring down at me. ¡°I will rejoin the Choir. 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 closed her eyes, tilting her chin up toward the stars. ¡°I wish to see it again. That light. When the time comes, and the Gates open, I will fight to reclaim what was stolen.¡±


    I shivered, and not from the early winter. I felt like I¡¯d just witnessed something¡­ not historic. That wasn¡¯t the right word. Something mythic. A decision that would move unseen currents and affect elements I couldn¡¯t fathom, and change the course of fates beyond my own.


    For Nath, it was a choice made quietly, without drama or fanfare, in this quiet glade where she¡¯d secluded herself to meditate, listen to the stars, and hear the frustrations of one mortal. It made my problems feel smaller, somehow. I didn¡¯t mind too much. Who wants big problems?


    I heard a sound at the edge of the woods. Thinking it might be Emma wandering our way, I turned, but didn¡¯t see the noble youth. Instead, I watched a man past his middle years stumble out of the undergrowth. He wore a preoster¡¯s habit, had thinning hair which had been poorly cut, and a haggard, exhausted appearance. Even so, as his eyes alighted on Nath, his mouth fell agape and he stumbled forward, like a puppet pulled on inescapable strings.


    I recognized him. He¡¯d been with the villagers who¡¯d stopped the Night Coach on our way to Emma¡¯s manor. What had his name been?


    ¡°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.

 2.22: Crow

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 2.23: Debate For a Soul

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 2.24: 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 Lady 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¡±


    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 a moment, trying to see what she intended. Then, nodding, 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. 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 plumed 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.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    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, 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 us 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.


    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 put you somewhere she could control, so she could keep you to herself forever. Don¡¯t you understand, great-grandfather? 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. Impossible, I thought. 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, because 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. More a smudge on the world than a metal shadow.


    Emma turned 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 ¡ª 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 Malison Oak 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.


    Then, 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 stood most of a head shorter than me. ¡°Try anything,¡± I said quietly, clutching Faen Orgis, ¡°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 hot-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, then sneered. ¡°Do not delude yourself. You and I both know that wouldn¡¯t have been the case.¡±


    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, then opened my palm to look.


    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.

 2.25: Roads Untraveled

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    can''t have

 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.


    Maerlys, Princess of the Seydii, flashed silver teeth in a smile which might have once stolen many a mortal heart. Now, it seemed more like the macabre grin of a demon shadow, the pale teeth unnervingly bright within a face mottled into an indistinct ruin.


    Her eyes¡­ Donnelly had to avert his own, couldn¡¯t bring himself to look too long. Her eyes were the worst part. Wide, lidless, and full of madness. The originals had been melted, later replaced by artifice, but they still held an awful awareness.


    ¡°Heaven on Fire,¡± Donnelly said aloud, horrified. ¡°She must be in so much pain.¡±


    ¡°Her hate allows her to endure,¡± Irn Bale remarked, looking at the princess with sad, ancient eyes. ¡°Though, it is a terrible thing, to trap one of our spirits in a vessel so ruined. Of all his crimes, Reynard has earned his place in Damnation for this more than any other.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°King Rhan.¡±


    Donnelly¡¯s incorporeal flesh shivered. The Princess¡¯s tongue had been lost in the fire that¡¯d disfigured her, so her voice rippled out into the world as a psychic whisper. It was not a pleasant feeling.


    The Recusant lifted his head. He had defiance in his aged face, though Donnelly thought he saw a hint of hesitation in the man as that one-eyed gaze alighted on the elf.


    ¡°Do you not recognize me, O¡¯ Great and Terrible King?¡± Princess Maerlys tilted her head to one side, having never lost that eerie grin. The motion looked disturbingly boneless. ¡°Do I not still please your eyes?¡±


    Several of the human lords and knights standing nearby shuffled uncomfortably. All had fallen deathly silent. Even the adventurer fellowship, and its dour leader, looked disturbed.


    Rhan Harrower swallowed. ¡°I know you, Your Majesty.¡± His voice emerged as a gravelly croak, a bare remnant of the growling baritone he¡¯d once use to command armies.


    The Princess¡¯s false eyes ran over the chained lord. ¡°You have grown old, Rhan Harrower. Old, and weak, and tired. You have fought so long. Are you not tired?¡±


    Donnelly felt, even at a far remove, the strength of compulsion in those words. Rhan Harrower, taking the brunt of it, slumped in his chains. If not for the guards holding his arms and the restraints, he would have fallen prone. But the old soldier grit his teeth, shook off the elf¡¯s power, and growled his next words.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t order them to burn you, you golden witch, but I¡¯d have held the torch myself had I been there. Even if it takes stripping the pretty faces off every immortal in Urn, we will all wake from this tired dream.¡±


    Donnelly unfolded his arms and stood straighter. He recognized a fragment of the Recusant rallying cry in those words, something he hadn¡¯t heard in many years. It brought back memories, mostly bad ones, and stirred something in him. Something he¡¯d thought he¡¯d quelled.


    Irn Bale shifted at his side. Donnelly coughed, hoping the elf lord hadn¡¯t noticed his interest. ¡°Brave bastard, ain¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Foolish,¡± Irn Bale murmured. ¡°She will not give him a kind death, if he pushes her too far.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ there you are, general.¡± Princess Maerlys sighed in satisfaction. Donnelly could hear her dry flesh crackling with the movement. He felt suddenly very glad he didn¡¯t have a stomach anymore, because he suspected it would be churning.


    ¡°I have thought of many ways to punish you. I have punished many of your allies, your brothers and sisters in arms¡­ would you like to know how I did it? What each of them experienced at the last?¡±


    The burned elf knelt down and whispered something into the Recusant¡¯s ear with her own voice. Donnelly didn¡¯t know how she managed, how she made herself understood, but whatever she said, Rhan¡¯s face bleached of all color.


    Then, leaning back, Maerlys became aloof. ¡°But this is a public affair, and I must forgo such indulgences. Many representatives of the Ardent Bough, all bound by the Accord of Urn, are here to witness justice done today. I, Maerlys Tuvonsdotter, pass the sentence agreed upon by all these gathered. Rhan Harrower, O¡¯ Pitiful King, you shall die by beheading.¡±


    Then, raising a charcoal arm hung with golden bracelets, the elven princess beckoned. A deeper hush fell over the grove as several figures near the trees across the way from Donnelly parted.


    And he stepped forward. The Headsman.


    He wore a cloak of deepest red, like dried blood. The garment shifted subtly, as though caught in a light breeze no one else felt, its deep scarlet folds seeming a near liquid thing. A pointed cowl obscured his face, casting the features beneath into deep shadow so only the hint of an unshaved chin showed, lips pressed into an uneasy line. He stood taller than Rhan, perhaps two meters and change.


    He carried an axe in his right hand. The long crescent of the blade had been wrought from an alloy of faerie bronze and mortal steel, its scarred surface inlaid with golden motifs. The handle, fashioned from an uncarved branch, twisted around the head and split into small roots at the bottom, as though it had grown even after being grafted to metal.


    All eyes followed the red figure as he marched slowly down the same path Rhan and his guards had taken. The human nobles murmured among themselves, and Donnelly knew what they were saying, even at a distance.


    For years, rumors surrounding the Headsman of Seydis has drifted like an ill wind through the Accorded Realms. No one had been able to pin down the exact identity of the enigmatic executioner. Every sort of possible half-truth had been tossed about, in inns and court rooms alike. Some said the Headsman was the last survivor of a noble house destroyed in the war, seeking just vengeance against all who would threaten the land¡¯s peace. Others believed him, or her, to be a Sidhe, a Seydii elf perhaps, who¡¯d survived the conflagration in the East.


    Tales became wilder from there. A restless creature of Undeath sent up from the Underworld, an assassin employed by the leaders of the Accord to cow and cull a heavily factionalized society. Some even said there were many Headsmen, that it was merely a loose collection of hired killers and murderers using a story as a convenient cover.


    Donnelly knew the truth. He knew the man. And it made him very sad, seeing that ominous figure striding through the grove, looking to everyone else like an image of blood and fear.


    ¡°Three deaths,¡± Irn Bale muttered.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Donnelly asked, not taking his eyes off the scene in the grove.


    ¡°Three legends are dying today,¡± the elf said, his tone and eyes distant. ¡°All these gathered lords and adventurers, they remember a mighty, honorable enemy in Rhan Harrower, a compassionate beauty in Maerlys Tuvonsdotter. Now they see a withered old man and a monster.¡±


    ¡°Hm. And the third?¡± Donnelly felt he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.


    ¡°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

    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?¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°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.


    ¡°And probably got himself absolutely full to bursting with the Blight,¡± my squire said with a scoff. ¡°Besides,¡± she added primly, ¡°I¡¯m much more of an Eudora.¡±


    I frowned at that. ¡°The Silversteel Valkyrie? That¡¯s a bloody name.¡±


    ¡°A bloody legend, you mean. No warrior in all Edaea had quite her body count, except maybe Old Wicked himself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure a propensity for mass slaughter is what you should be modeling yourself after,¡± I noted, letting my tone turn more serious. ¡°I thought you wanted to get away from all that?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference between killing to maintain power and fighting for the sake of a just cause.¡± Emma¡¯s voice had become lecturing, which seemed somewhat ironic to me. ¡°Ser Eudora fought to defend her prince from a horde of enemies, all of whom would gladly murder an innocent child to claim a throne. She made her name on the battlefield, in glory.¡±


    She paused then, and in a quieter voice said, ¡°my family just killed to keep people afraid. It is not the same.¡±


    I let the matter drop, sensing something uncharacteristically vulnerable in the young woman¡¯s voice. Even months gone, her decision to cut ties with the noble houses and her own bloodstained lineage remained a raw wound for Emma Orley, formerly Emma Carreon. She would come to terms with her choice, and herself, one day.


    I only had to hope I could help her find that equilibrium, and not inadvertently lead her back down a darker path. I couldn¡¯t know what strange luck placed me, a fallen paladin and disgraced knight, into the position of being mentor to a neophyte warlock and scion to a clan of draconian tyrants, but there I stood.


    She wanted to be a knight. I might not be that anymore, but maybe I could help pass along the parts I hadn¡¯t fucked up too badly.


    ¡°What was that between you and Ser Maxim earlier?¡± Emma said, taking me off guard. ¡°You looked like you were arguing.¡±


    My step faltered a beat, then I collected myself. ¡°It was nothing. Just the old man poking where he doesn¡¯t need to.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    Damn shrike. She saw too much, and had a nasty habit of letting nothing go.


    ¡°It¡¯s none of your business.¡± I spoke more harshly than I¡¯d meant. ¡°Leave it alone.¡±


    Emma glowered at me a moment. Then, in a very youthful gesture, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, adopting a bored expression. I could tell I¡¯d stung her, though.


    Well, better stung than burned. Neither she nor Maxim needed to worry about my concerns, or my dreams.


    ***


    We had a journey of some days ahead of us, and made camp that night in the woods, using the shelter of a rocky overhang to build our fire. Wil-O¡¯ Wisps from the Fane, drawn by our warmth and eager for heat in the cold months, played in the flickering flames. Emma had watched them until she¡¯d drifted to sleep. She had her sheathed heirloom sword in her lap, the only thing she¡¯d kept from her old life. She held it tightly, even in sleep.


    I stayed awake, leaning against a rock with my packs and cloak for cushioning. I had my axe, its blade wrapped in layers of cloth, propped at my side, my legs stretched out and crossed. I ran a thumb along the contours of my ring, staring into the flames. Forest ghosts murmured in the distance, jealous of our fire but not daring to draw too close. The night¡¯s wind was bitter, but an aura-infused campfire and the knee-length coat I wore over my hauberk, added to my usual red cloak, kept me comfortable enough.


    I couldn¡¯t sleep. No, I didn¡¯t want to sleep. Brooding thoughts swam about like predatory eels in the murk of my skull.


    Why had I snapped at Maxim earlier? I didn¡¯t pride myself on a slow temper or anything, but the old man hadn¡¯t deserved that. Neither had Emma for that matter, when I¡¯d gotten prickly over the same subject.


    My eyes drifted down to the ivory band on my index finger. The black stone set on the ring swirled with eddies of red, like blood caught in amber. No, I knew the answer. Maxim had seen it, and so did the others. I hadn¡¯t been sleeping well, not for many weeks. Not since Venturmoor, really.


    I could blame my last job. The execution had been a sad affair, like putting down a tired old chimera with too many tumors. The Recusant, the king they¡¯d had me chop had once been a great man, enemy though he might have been also. I¡¯d once dreamed of clashing blades with him on the field. Half the young fools in Urn had the same ambition.


    Nothing about that war ended up being honorable.


    It wasn¡¯t just Rhan Harrower¡¯s withered face haunting my thoughts, however. I couldn¡¯t get the image out of my head ¡ª of burnt, blistered flesh darkened like overcooked meat, clinging tight to a slender skull, set with two false eyes which seemed somehow still terribly aware. I kept trying to see Princess Maerlys the way she¡¯d been in my memory, as the golden elf-maid who¡¯d advised the Alder Table with tender wisdom, but her ruined visage in the present kept reasserting itself.


    The image, and her words. I have thought of a thousand ways to punish you for failing to protect my father and my city, Alken Hewer. Yet, I think there is no worse hell I can give you than the one in which you presently wander.


    I¡¯d felt the touch of aura in her words, knew she meant to put that seed in my thoughts and poison me. Even knowing though, and guarding myself against the compulsion, the words lingered. After all, I had failed her. I¡¯d failed them all.


    The Princess had known exactly what would happen, demanding my presence at the execution. Now the grimalkin was out of the bag. The Accord would talk about the Headsman as a proven fact, not just a rumor. More trouble, more problems. But not for tonight, not for a while. I could spend the winter training Emma, teaching her swords, sorcery, and a bit about knighting.


    Then, in the Spring¡­ well, I¡¯d figure things out then.


    I could blame that last job for my foul mood, my bad sleep. But I knew that wasn¡¯t all of it, not even close. Reaching beneath my collar, I pulled it out. My medallion. My knight¡¯s mark.


    The medallion bore the image of a golden tree ringed in a silver sun ¡ª the symbol of the storied order I¡¯d sworn to, bound within the emblem of House Silvering, who had made me a knight in the first place. The mark had been badly damaged. Burned and warped, a black stain ate across the branches of the tree, so they looked twisted from poisonous fumes, the silver sun turned jagged and broken.


    I¡¯d thought I had lost it eleven years ago, when Seydis had burned. Now it had been returned to me by the hand of a Devil of Orkael, the Iron Hell.


    He hadn¡¯t told me how he¡¯d gotten it, not exactly, but he¡¯d implied well enough for me to guess. Even still, I knew the Zosite, the dark angels who ruled over the Infernal Realms, were treacherous. Their servants, the Crowfriars, were treacherous too. I couldn¡¯t trust anything they told me, or gave me.


    Even still, I knew the thing I held had once belonged to me. I knew it in my bones, knew the feel of it, the smell of it. It even still had that nostalgic scent. Many Urnic knights seal herbs or flower petals in their medallions to give them a reminder of whatever homeland they hale from, preserved with a bit of elfcant. Mine smelled of the baernroses that bloomed in the hills west of the Herdhold, where I¡¯d been born.


    It also smelled of blood, and fire.


    ¡°Probably just scavenged it out of the ruins,¡± I muttered. ¡°Damn devils and their tricks.¡± I folded my arms back into my cloak, still clutching the medallion, and half closed my eyes. I¡¯d asked the wisps to keep the fire warm and watch for danger, so I could get some sleep. I needed sleep.


    You know that isn¡¯t how he found it.


    My eyes shot open, searching the surrounding darkness. My gaze went to the campfire last, and I knew the voice I heard all the sudden came from within the flames. I couldn¡¯t see the wisps anymore, and the woods had gone deathly dark, all else fading except for that concentration of heat.


    Admit it.


    You know where this went¡­


    ¡­Who gave it to him.


    I was dreaming. I¡¯d slipped into sleep while watching the fire.


    That does not mean I am not real.


    The fire murmured with a sibilant voice, dreamy and full of malice. I knew the voice, though I had not heard it in more than ten years, had hoped never to hear it again.


    You still lie to yourself most ably.


    I sat up straighter against the rock, on the verge of standing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, my heart raced, and cold sweat beaded across my face. ¡°You¡¯re not here,¡± I hissed at the fire. ¡°You can¡¯t be. I sent you back to Hell.¡±


    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.

 3.2: 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.


    It had many different variations, with many different subtle meanings and uses. The Church had many factions and sects, most of them holdovers from the collective of institutions it had formed from. The number of lines could change, or their exact positioning in the arrangement, or even just the extent of their curve. I inspected the shining beam in the sky above Billensbrooke, making certain I¡¯d guessed correctly before I said anything more.


    The auremark in the sky above the burned village had six core lines, including the central one, the ¡°pillar,¡± and the arc. The zenith of each split into barb-like points. The arrow formed by their convergence jutted out of the arc less dramatically than was typical, the ¡°wing-tips¡± on the sides spreading further and curving up at the ends, almost resembling a trident.


    I knew the symbol, though I hadn¡¯t seen it since¡­


    My mind flashed with a gruesome memory. A red-robed bishop in a storm-sieged city, crawling over the floor to reach an aged hand toward his fallen circlet. My axe coming down. A choir boy staring at the scene in horror. Flight. More death.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Before he¡¯d been the Bishop of Vinhithe, Leonis Chancer had instigated and led a brutal witch hunt in the subcontinent¡¯s western regions. He¡¯d prosecuted untrained adepts, hedge mages, mediums, even more insular sects of his own faith. With the war on at the time, he¡¯d gotten away with it despite not being officially sanctioned by the priesthood at large. I¡¯d always wondered how he¡¯d managed to gain so much support, and risen so high in the theocracy afterward.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Emma drew my attention. I¡¯d been quiet a while, lost in thought.


    I nodded to the rune of light hanging in the sky. ¡°That¡¯s the mark of the Inquisition.¡±


    Emma frowned deeply, her eyes going distant as she absorbed that. ¡°The¡­ but there hasn¡¯t been an Inquisition for more than a century. The Church disavowed them.¡±


    ¡°After Lyda¡¯s Plague, yes.¡± I folded one arm under my cloak, letting the other rest on the head of my axe as I propped it in the snow. ¡°Seems like they might be back.¡±


    Officially restored, or some violent new sect taking matters into its own hands? I¡¯d heard rumors of the Faith ¡ª riled up commonfolk and zealous lords as often as any actual clergy ¡ª getting more draconian in recent years. Having an outbreak of demonic corruption, apostate warlords, and dark magickers will do that. Even then, I didn''t know much about the old Inquisition. Their story got wrapped up in the sea of intrigue and bloodshed that dominated the land when they''d been most active. A black stain on the Church''s reputation, true, but one inky smudge on a tarnished canvas hardly stood out.


    Just going by the actions of Leonis Chancer, I didn''t much like the idea of an entire organization of his ilk. I had believed killing him might put a stop to that potential future. Otherwise, what was the point?


    ¡°This is far too close to the Fane,¡± I muttered, trying to move my mind away from brooding.


    ¡°Are Oraeka and the others in danger?¡± Emma asked, worried. She¡¯d gotten close to the misfit inhabitants of the hidden sanctuary since her arrival. They¡¯d been kind to her, in their way, welcoming her after House Hunting had left her in the wind.


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± I said. ¡°You could lose an army in that forest. Even still¡­¡± I blew out a frosting breath. ¡°I need more information.¡± Nodding toward the village, I pressed forward.


    ¡°Iron Hells,¡± Emma breathed as we passed into the main street. ¡°They even burned the church.¡±


    They had. The stone building, once the tallest structure in Billensbrooke, now lay a soot-blackened ruin. Its proud bell tower had collapsed, smearing the street with rubble. The beam of aura left behind by the inquisitors rose over the wrecked chapel, where its central tower would have once stood.


    I saw no sign of any people. Not even corpses left on display ¡ª just empty ruin, silence, and snow. Whatever had happened, it had been recent. The snow hadn¡¯t yet buried everything in white. As I approached the chapel, I startled a hearthound. It bounded off into the fields, its twin tails brightly red amid all the white. Cairnhawks fluttered about, clacking their serrated beaks in croaking agitation, though only a few. No doubt they felt more than a little disappointed at the lack of a usual feast to go with a blasted settlement.


    Emma watched the big scarlet birds with an uncomfortable expression. Noticing this I said, ¡°there aren¡¯t enough of them to be brave enough to attack us.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not that, it¡¯s¡­¡± she sighed. ¡°They were my house¡¯s symbol.¡±


    I fell silent at that. My apprentice and I were both haunted, in our own ways.


    We passed by the well as we approached the destroyed church. I caught a foul smell from it.


    ¡°Why would¡ª¡± Emma began, placing an arm over her nose.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t want anyone resettling,¡± I said, keeping my eyes forward. ¡°I¡¯ll bet they salted the fields, too.¡±


    She had no more questions after that.


    We reached the church. I climbed the rubble until I reached the incorporeal auremark, waving Emma back. I studied it, running my eyes over the transparent light that made up the banner. It wasn¡¯t anything terribly unusual ¡ª many armies use Art to craft their war banners, raising ghostly signs in the air to lift the spirit of friends and quell the courage of enemies. It¡¯s a status symbol, to have an adept skilled enough to craft such a thing.


    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.

 3.3: 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.


    The Keeper eyed me with his mismatched eyes with the old malevolence of a dragon. Too ancient to fly, while the years only deepened its ire toward the world. ¡°You know it¡¯s dangerous for you to be here at all, Hewer.¡± He leaned over the table and showed his teeth, all humor in the grin edged with malice. ¡°You might not be Table anymore, but that doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯ve forgotten you¡¯re their axeman. I¡¯ll take your coin, but that doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re friends.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    He held up a finger, holding my attention before continuing. ¡°Step lightly, boy. Enemies abound.¡±


    I suppressed the urge to shiver. Instead I held the old Keeper¡¯s glare and let my tone become light. ¡°I¡¯m not here on Their business,¡± I said. ¡°If anything, it¡¯s the opposite.¡±


    I didn¡¯t show any surprise he knew my name, my profession, and who I served ¡ª he¡¯d known before I¡¯d ever stepped through the door on my first visit. The Keeper of the Backroad was the oldest, canniest spymaster in all Urn, tolerated only because he served no one but himself, and had very strict rules.


    I knew I¡¯d drawn his interest as soon as the words left my mouth. The Keeper leaned back and folded his wiry arms. I got the cue and explained.


    ¡°I found a village burned to its foundations a week back,¡± I told him. ¡°With the symbol of the Inquisition floating above it.¡±


    The Keeper¡¯s mismatched eyes narrowed, but he gave nothing else away. ¡°What, you didn¡¯t pass them the torch yourself?¡±


    That stung. ¡°I want to know the word,¡± I said, hardening my voice. ¡°Is the Inquisition really back? Is the Church sanctioning them? How long has this been going on?¡±


    As much time as I spent haunting back countries, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised to learn grand events had passed over my knowledge. Even still, I felt like I would have heard if martial priests were burning villages across the countryside for any length of time.


    Instead of answering right away, the Keeper turned and began preparing another drink. This time he poured rich wine ¡ª my eyes locked on his hands through the process, my nostrils filling with a sweet smell. I swallowed.


    ¡°You know the rules, Hewer.¡± He turned and slid a glass full of deeply red liquid toward me. ¡°Secrets for secrets. Your coin buys you my protection, my food, my drink¡­¡± he let that last word linger. ¡°But not free information.¡±


    The glass drifted very close to the fingers I¡¯d left on the counter. I pulled them back, folding my hands under my cloak. The Keeper¡¯s wide mouth curled into a knowing smile, revealing rotten teeth.


    What could I tell the old snake that he didn¡¯t already know? What was safe to tell him? I thought a while. Then, hiding my own smile, I decided it high time I got to be clever for once. I could give him something he might not already know about, and if he did, I might get more information myself.


    I¡¯d wanted to visit the Backroad for this exact reason, before this new situation with what had happened at Billensbrooke. I¡¯d had questions I didn¡¯t trust any ghost or immortal to answer honestly, and I knew I could find answers in this den of dark things. I¡¯d been too preoccupied with training Emma and doing other work for the Choir, and hadn¡¯t had time.


    Now, I could kill two birds with one stone.


    ¡°During a job back before Winter,¡± I began, ¡°I had a run in with a mendicant in a gray robe.¡± I lifted my eyebrows, letting the words sink in. To my relief, I caught a flicker of reaction in the Keeper¡¯s face. It was subtle, but I thought I saw something ¡ª surprise, perhaps, or even a hint of fear, quickly suppressed.


    Gotcha, I thought.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± he grunted.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± I said, leaning forward as I took a stronger grip on the hooked line I¡¯d just sunk. ¡°See, normally I¡¯d just think it was some diabolist with a poor fashion sense, but I spoke with this one.¡±


    I let that settle. ¡°You know what I am,¡± I added. I let my eyes lock onto his, making sure he could see the eddies of Gold there. ¡°You know I wouldn¡¯t make a mistake like this. He was a Crowfriar.¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡± The Keeper¡¯s voice came out as a near bestial hiss. His pale eyes flickered across the taproom. I glanced around as well. If anyone paid attention to our conversation, I couldn¡¯t tell, but there did seem to be more quiet all the sudden.


    I turned back to the Keeper, who stared murder at me. ¡°They can¡¯t cross the Riven Sea,¡± he said in a low voice. ¡°It¡¯s not permitted. They can do as they please in the continent, but Urn¡¯s seraph territory.¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°Yet I¡¯ve met two of them now,¡± I said. ¡°One in the northeast, advising a petty necromancer, and another in Venturmoor.¡±


    ¡°The Riven Order¡ª¡± The Keeper began to argue.


    ¡°The second one I met told me it¡¯s been broken,¡± I cut him off.


    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 crooked 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.¡±

 3.4: 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.


    ¡°You know the drill,¡± Cat said with an animated glint in her eyes, lacing her long fingers over the table. ¡°Secrets for secrets, Hewer.¡±


    Answers for answers, that was our rapport, and the rule of the Backroad. I knew what she¡¯d ask, or suspected at least. She would ask me about my past. I was¡­ hesitant to share. Cat believed I was some kind of renegade among the league of lords who governed the realms of Urn. She knew fragments of my situation ¡ª that I had fought during the Fall and the three years of war that followed, that I was or had been a knight, that I wasn¡¯t on good terms with the nobility, the clergy, or the surviving Fellowships.


    She knew I served the Choir, the immortal powers of the land. What she didn¡¯t know was why. She didn¡¯t know my sins.


    There were things about myself and my past I wasn¡¯t willing to share, but I needed information.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, pushing my mostly finished plate away. ¡°What is this about the Guilds?¡±


    ¡°Not so fast.¡± She held up a hand. ¡°My turn first. You didn¡¯t answer my earlier question. I want to know how you got involved with the Crowfriars.¡±


    I glowered at her, annoyed. Cat rolled her brown eyes. ¡°If I play fair, you give me nothing.¡± She unlaced her fingers and leaned closer, eyes intent.


    I sighed, exasperated, but decided the whole story wouldn¡¯t be too dangerous. I could leave out some of the stranger and more compromising details, like Nath¡¯s involvement or the dramatic conclusion with a godhand of the Choir. So, in brief, I told her about Venturmoor, about Jon Orley and House Carreon, and about Emma Orley, the girl who had been a Carreon.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes grew wider throughout the telling, rapt with interest. When I finished, explaining that I¡¯d taken the girl on as my unofficial squire, teaching her about sorcery and esoteric lore, her gaze turned thoughtful, then remote.


    I spread my fingers out. ¡°And that¡¯s it.¡±


    Cat nodded, her eyes sliding from mine. ¡°She pretty?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    Catrin rolled her eyes. ¡°Is this Emma girl pretty. Simple question.¡±


    Understanding, or believing I did, I set my mouth into an unamused line. ¡°She¡¯s seventeen.¡±


    Cat snorted. ¡°Didn¡¯t realize you liked them that young, Hewer.¡±


    I felt heat rise to my cheeks. ¡°It is not like that,¡± I snapped.


    Cat searched my face a while, her expression unreadable. I didn''t understand the sudden chill I felt from her. Jealousy? I hadn''t expected it, especially from her.


    Or did I misread her completely?


    Finally, Cat sighed and leaned back in her seat. ¡°I believe you. Sorry, it¡¯s just¡­ well, I guess I jumped to conclusions. You, a former lord, taking a young noblewoman under your wing, saving her from devils and ancient curses? Seems so storybook.¡± She sipped at her tea.


    ¡°I respect her,¡± I said honestly, glad the awkward moment had passed. ¡°She¡¯s had a hard life, and a lot of unfair expectations put on her. I know how some of that feels. If I can help her out of that mire, it would be one good thing I¡¯ve done.¡±


    ¡°Not the only good thing,¡± Cat insisted. ¡°You trusted me. Defended me. I haven¡¯t forgotten that.¡±


    We fell into a companionable silence for a time, listening to the ambience of the inn, sinking into shared memories. Not all of them bad. We¡¯d spoken like this several times in the past year, with no dark plots or life-threatening dangers getting in the way, nothing forcing us to cooperate. Just talking, sharing rumors, enjoying one another¡¯s company.


    I didn¡¯t have that sort of relationship with anyone else. Everyone else in my life was too connected to my work, or my past. It felt very strange sometimes, having a friend. Especially a friend like Catrin.


    ¡°What did you mean about the Guilds?¡± I asked, breaking the lapse of quiet. ¡°What do they have to do with the Crowfriars?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much, honestly.¡± Cat winced at the confession after her game of cat-and-mouse. ¡°What I tell you now, I overheard from some of our more¡­ rich-blooded patrons, lets say.


    Nobles, I guessed, trying not to linger on her choice of words. I knew there were some among the aristocracy of Urn who came to the Backroad, usually to conduct darker sorts of business. I tried not to glance around at the other patrons. I knew that, within spitting distance, this room contained warlocks, assassins, outlaws, mercenaries of a bloodier kind than you¡¯d find in any guild or fellowship, cursespeakers. Worse.


    Inns are where adventures begin and heroes meet. That is a truth in my world. The more superstitious even hold that no quest or venture can begin if it does not have its start in an inn or a hall of similar purpose. The tradition traces its roots to the great halls of the old Edaean lords, who held to strict customs of hospitality. Those traditions hold true even now, from the chieftain-rangers of the Wildedales to the imperious nobles of the High Houses. Some even consider them sacred places and give their keepers honors second only to great lords. There is real power in those traditions, magic as old as civilization itself.


    If this is true, then the Backroad is the shadow of the warm inns of Urn. It is where the traditional villains of the land share mead, trade news, and begin their dark ventures. Nobles who conduct business where I sat did not tend to be the kind I would relish meeting.


    They were also the source of some of the inn¡¯s best rumor, though, so I kept my peace. The Keeper¡¯s words also lingered in my thoughts, his implication that I had become just the sort to frequent his establishment. I¡¯d wanted to deny it. I only came to the Backroad in need.


    My eyes lingered on the woman across the table. Whatever else, whatever her nature, she was no villain. Yet, this place was essentially her home. Few other places welcomed Catrin of Ergoth.


    ¡°They say the Edaean Guilds are practically flooding into Urn these recent years,¡± Cat said, not noticing or choosing not to comment on my lingering eyes. ¡°You know the kind ¡ª merchant lords, arms dealers, alchemists, mercenaries. The Accord decided to open borders, more or less, and ships are flooding the Riven Sea. Caravans choking the mountain passes. We¡¯ve been getting more westerners in here too.¡± She waved at the surrounding inn.


    ¡°This is just conjecture on my part,¡± she leaned forward, the gossip putting wind in her. ¡°But I hear many of the bigger guilds ¡ª the Bronze Ring, the Three Towers, others ¡ª are pretty much controlled by the Crows the same way the Seraphs use the Church over here. They teach the alchemists how to make Devil Iron. So, you want to know why they¡¯re here?¡± She shrugged and smiled grimly. ¡°It¡¯s because their investments are here.¡±


    I chose not to correct her by stating that the Onsolain didn¡¯t control the Church, that they were only servants and messengers of the Divine, not some immortal shadow government. A reflex born of a lifetime of absorbed piety, part of me knew.


    I didn¡¯t even truly believe she was wrong. Not after I¡¯d been ordered to kill a bishop. Instead I said, ¡°commerce between mortal nations wouldn¡¯t move the Onsolain to drop their own edicts.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Cat placed one slender arm on the table, looking at me askance. ¡°Al, trust me on this. I know I might not look it, but I¡¯ve been around longer than you. Politics between mortals and immortals is not so different, and they¡¯re never free of each other.¡±


    I wanted to disagree, to deny it. Would the Choir end the centuries long exile of their dark counterparts because the effort of keeping them out would interfere with simple economics? It seemed ludicrous. And yet¡­


    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.

 3.5: 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.


    The fiend fire retreated back into the pit, and the Keeper turned his malign gaze on me. I held up my off hand defensively, lowering the axe. ¡°He attacked me first.¡±


    The Keeper spat a foul curse, then stalked off toward his bar. Catrin appeared at my shoulder, sighing. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s angry.¡±


    ¡°Trouble, you think?¡± I asked.


    Cat pursed her lips. ¡°Not sure. He won¡¯t forget this, though. He already doesn¡¯t like you much.¡± She put a hand on my arm. ¡°You¡¯re injured.¡± She nodded to my neck. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to a room, and get those cuts taken care of.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine¡ª¡± I began, but Cat cut me off.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°We don¡¯t want anyone here seeing you bleed,¡± she said, her voice low and urgent.


    Once again, I looked at the congregation of hungry eyes. Even the other serving girls, all pretty and dressed similar to Cat, watched me with predatory intensity. While many had returned to their tables and nooks after the show had ended, the less human still lingered.


    I knew what most of them were. Changelings. The accursed. Rogue undead. Wicked faeries of Briar and Bane.


    Enemies.


    ¡°They all know what you are,¡± Catrin said in a low voice only I could hear. ¡°A lot of them still remember when the Table was their enemy. The Keeper¡¯s rules protect you, but it¡¯s best not to push your luck.¡±


    Swallowing, I nodded. ¡°Right then.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be such a baby.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±


    Catrin pulled the alcohol-soaked cloth back from my neck and fixed me with a withering look. ¡°You¡¯re making a face.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± I tilted my head away as she tried to pat me with the disinfectant again. ¡°I don¡¯t get infections easily, and these will heal within the day. There¡¯s no point.¡±


    ¡°Resistant is not the same thing as being immune. Better to be safe.¡± I suppressed my wince as she dabbed at my open cuts.


    We sat in one of the second level rooms, a comfortable, clean space as old and subtly off-putting as the rest of the Backroad, furnished with a bed, wardrobe, and desk, their wooden frames carved in abstract designs. Moonlight set the window¡¯s near opaque glass aglow, mixing with the hearth Cat had lit to keep the winter chill at bay.


    We sat side by side on the bed. My mind still swirled with the confrontation downstairs, and its implications. I ran a thumb along my ring in my usual thoughtful habit. Catrin noticed the motion of my hand. ¡°What¡¯s the story with that ring, anyway?¡± She asked. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    I glanced down at the ivory band. Bone white and set with its eerie stone, beautiful isn¡¯t quite the word I¡¯d have used. ¡°An ally made it for me,¡± I said. ¡°The stone is fomorisite.¡± I hesitated, then on impulse added, ¡°it eats bad dreams.¡±


    Or it had, anyway. I hadn¡¯t had another repeat of the incident at camp, but it still unsettled me. Neither could I ask Rysanthe about it, not until she visited the Fane again.


    ¡°¡­I see.¡± Cat¡¯s eyes lifted to mine, and they were full of sympathy.


    ¡°What do you think Karog is doing here?¡± I asked aloud, breaking the uncomfortable emotion that welled in that silence. ¡°Back in Caelfall, he and his allies vanished after they gave their pet demon a body.¡±


    They gave Yith flesh with maggots and meat, a voice crooned in my mind. I shook the memory of that nightmare off.


    Cat shook her head, blowing a stray lock of chestnut hair out of her face as she leaned back, her work at my injuries finished. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Al. I¡¯ve tried gathering rumors about them, but nothing¡¯s come up. This is the first I¡¯ve seen any of that group since then.¡±


    After Caelfall, she¡¯d promised to keep an ear to the ever-churning mill of rumors and whispered secrets which passed through the Backroad. In my infrequent visits over the past year, she hadn¡¯t learned much. The shadowy allies of Orson Falconer, whatever greater faction they truly aligned with, had been a phantom.


    That is, until Karog had made this surprise reappearance. Why now? What was he here for? And what did I do about it? I couldn¡¯t just attack him, not with the Keeper¡¯s protection in place.


    ¡°I doubt I¡¯ll get anything out of Karog by force,¡± I sighed, rubbing at my aching eyes. ¡°Anything more you can tell me about him?¡±


    Cat pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes in thought. ¡°He¡¯s a mercenary. Of all the participants at Orson¡¯s council, I got the most facts about him. From what I¡¯ve learned, he¡¯s a one-ogre army with a propensity for massacring castle garrisons and dismantling military encampments. He carved a bloody path across half of Edaea before coming here, shortly before that council last year. They say he¡¯s even taken jobs for the Cambion. A nasty one, for certain.¡±


    She bit at the nail of her left thumb, her eyes wandering. ¡°I¡¯d get more out of him, but no way he¡¯s going to drop his guard around me now. I¡¯d ask one of the other girls, but¡­¡± she shrugged and sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to test the Keeper¡¯s protection, not with that monster, but I''ve got some favors owed to me around here. If he meets anyone, I¡¯ll know."


    I tried to move my thoughts away from exactly how the Backroad¡¯s staff would collect those secrets. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said quietly, my eyes on the fire. ¡°I hope it won¡¯t cause you any trouble, helping me down there. Or, you know¡­ all the times I visit.¡±


    I wasn''t well liked by the sorts of people, and beings, who frequented the Backroad Inn. I''d considered how that might fall back on Cat, who''d invited me and who''d stuck up for me publicly on more than one occasion. I''d even considered it might put her in danger, and I did worry on her account.


    Catrin shrugged and in a very casual way said, ¡°they¡¯ll just assume I¡¯m fucking you. Nothing to worry over.¡±


    When I started, she let out her easy laugh. ¡°It¡¯s what they expect, big man, don¡¯t lose your head over it. Even if it did cause trouble¡­¡± Her demeanor turned serious, her eyes flashing with sudden anger. ¡°I won¡¯t forget what happened at Cael. I¡¯ve got a fang sharpened over that, don¡¯t you doubt.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find them,¡± I assured her. ¡°They can¡¯t hide forever.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m definitely not going to let their goons rip you to pieces where I work. It¡¯s just unprofessional.¡± Cat shook her head mournfully.


    I reached a hand up to inspect the cuts on my neck, then suddenly went stiff as a fist of pain seized my left shoulder. Cat¡¯s eyes flickered to me, catching my discomfort even though I tried to hide it.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± she said, frowning. ¡°Did Karog¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I averted my gaze, embarrassed. ¡°It¡¯s another injury. It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°Let me see.¡±


    Her tone didn¡¯t brook disagreement. I hesitated, but nodded when I saw the hard look in her eyes. She pulled the collar of my shirt away from my left shoulder, gasping at what she saw there.


    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.¡±

 3.6: 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.


    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.¡±


    ¡°How about love?¡±


    Karog froze, still propping himself up on his hands. His eyes went down to the shadows pooling beneath him.


    A pale, pretty face emerged from the shadows beneath the ogre. It rose up, like a mermaid out of a darkened lake, set in an expression of drowsy contentment. Two red eyes swirled like bloody abysses, huge and full of sanguine allure.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°How about want?¡± Catrin murmured, her lips peeling back from sharp fangs in a dreaming smile. ¡°Is that old hat to you, kin fomori?¡±


    She still wore the blue dress and red bodice from earlier, but in the moonlight and liquid shadows it seemed the most comely of elfin garb. Pulled low around the shoulders, the dhampir''s pale skin shone from slender neck to the tops of her modest breasts, glinting especially bright down her long arms as they rose as though to cup a lover''s face.


    She''d always been pleasant to look at, pretty in a way that might attract attention in small towns or rural villages. In that moment, she looked like something out of a dream as she brought all her half-dead charisma to bear, using the same arcane glamour wielded by faeries and fiends alike.


    I swallowed, turning my eyes away from the dark pull I felt from her. It felt as though she were the center of a drowning whirlpool. We¡¯d discussed the plan, and I¡¯d agreed to it, but seeing her employ her vampiric powers like this still disconcerted me. And, part of me realized in that moment, it excited me too.


    Dangerous. I buried that thought down deep.


    Karog recoiled as though from a flame, standing to his full height and taking a step back to avoid Cat''s reaching hands. He grunted, letting out a beast¡¯s snort, but didn¡¯t seem able to tear his eyes away from the dhampir as she lifted herself out of the liquid darkness. She stepped forward on a bare foot, her blue skirts swishing to and fro as she advanced with an unhurried inevitability.


    She¡¯d tried to entrance me like this once before, the night we¡¯d first met. I¡¯d been able to break free. I might have a magic particularly apt for just that sort of thing, made for it in fact, but that didn¡¯t mean Karog couldn¡¯t drive out the seductive voice in his head. I watched, fingers tight on my axe, ready for things to go wrong.


    Finally, Catrin stepped very close to the ogre. Karog had a naturally hunched posture, almost simian, and had crouched lower as his eyes had grown lidded with a sudden drowsiness. He watched the scene before him as though in a waking dream, his mouth hanging slack, a bit of drool running down his chin. He swayed very slightly, like a tree in wind.


    Then, casually, Cat reached out with a single finger and touched him on the brow. ¡°Sleep,¡± she murmured.


    And Karog fell, slamming against the road with over a thousand pounds of earth-shaking weight. A moment later, his chest began to heave rhythmically.


    ¡°How long?¡± I asked her, not taking my eyes off the unconscious ogre as she moved to stand next to me.


    Cat pursed her lips. ¡°He¡¯s got an angry mind. Ten minutes?¡±


    ¡°If you ever try that on me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lay down ultimatums,¡± Cat warned me, meeting my eyes. Hers still swirled vermillion, her power churning strong enough to tug at me even with that casual eye contact. ¡°We¡¯re good, big man. Best leave things as they are.¡±


    After the heated place our conversation in the inn had gone, I felt that was fair. I nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s get him bound up then. Once he wakes, we¡¯ll start getting some answers.¡±


    Cat frowned. ¡°I meant to ask ¡ª how are we going to keep him from moving? You¡¯d need a galleon¡¯s worth of rope, or a gaol. He¡¯s a war machine, Al.¡±


    I lifted my axe, studying its gnarled haft. Probably good I didn¡¯t let her drink my blood earlier, I decided. ¡°I have a way to keep him immobile for as long as we need,¡± I said.


    Cat frowned, but didn¡¯t question further as I stepped forward. I lifted the axe and prepared to awaken the Art bound within the weapon. It would transform the axe, or more precisely the cursed branch its handle had been fashioned from, into a Malison Oak in return for my blood. I¡¯d trap Karog in the tree, and then we could ask him as many questions as we wanted, for as long as we wanted.


    Something rustled the undergrowth behind me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my instincts shouting, and spun. I swung my axe an instant before a spike of black metal would have punched into my skull, batting it away in a brief scatter of sparks.


    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.

 3.7: 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.


    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 encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I stood to my full height as well, meeting his challenge. ¡°You¡¯re assassins,¡± I said. ¡°Who sent you?¡±


    ¡°You may inquire among the dead,¡± the irk warrior said. ¡°When I send you to join them.¡±


    Dragonfly wings erupted from the irk¡¯s back, buzzing with thunderous noise. I tensed, expecting him to advance, but he just stood there.


    Then the rest of his kin produced their own wings and began to emit that same thunderous cacophony. The frozen boughs of the trees vibrated with the sound, adding to the chorus. I grit my teeth, took a step forward, then, felt the world spin. I almost fell, barely managing to brace a leg beneath me.


    The sound was tremendous. I couldn¡¯t think, could barely see ¡ª my vision hazed, and I felt a warmth begin to speed down both sides of my neck. My ears were bleeding.


    Magic? Or just sheer sound? I couldn¡¯t focus my senses to locate any trace of hostile will in the thunderous assault. Since these were a kind of elf, though, I felt safe assuming as much. Letting out a growl of anger and defiance, I took a step toward the irk leader. Then another, and a third.


    On the fourth step I faltered. It was too much. The noise, the pressure in the air, the strange liquid feeling in my skull. My legs felt like water.


    Then, abruptly, the sound lessened. I blinked, glancing to one side. One of the irks had collapsed in a heap, its own wings no longer part of the chorus. A moment later, another dropped.


    Cat drifted through the shadows, killing. She had my back.


    I could win this. I focused again on the irk leader and rose as the potency of the droning attack abated, gripping my axe.


    He clacked his mandibles once, glaring at me with glassy green eyes, then launched himself at me without warning. I reacted barely in time to avoid dying in that first exchange. He moved with incredible speed, almost fulgurous, spinning into a barrage of attacks.


    I deflected the first lunge, dodged the second round, then had a third sweep scrape along my chest. My armor saved me from having my ribs flayed open, but the grinding impact knocked me back.


    It had all happened in mere seconds.


    I swung out with my own weapon, but the irk leader jumped back out of range. He used his wings to lifted him up, so he seemed to glide away from me as much as leap. Then, still in midair, a second pair of segmented arms extended out from within his cloak. They held a recurve bow and a fletched arrow, both carved from thorny black wood.


    I hate fighting faeries. They never play fair.


    He shot at me three times in a single flurry of movement. I reacted on pure reflex, sweeping my halberd in a horizontal arc directly in front of me. An amber flame rippled through the night, tracing that cut and sweeping outward in a briefly lived fan.


    I cut all three barbed arrows out of the air. The aureflame I unleashed with my swing ¡ª most of the power I¡¯d been gathering throughout the skirmish ¡ª continued onward, crawling over the ground in a rippling golden wave. I¡¯d used this same technique in my fight against Oradyn Irn Bale, to little effect.


    The irk assassin was not Irn Bale. Too slow to react to my retaliation, he landed on the ground a distance away, then tried to leap again as he saw the advancing wave.


    Too slow. The amber fire engulfed him, igniting him instantly. With a wheezing, croaking scream, he collapsed in a smoldering heap.


    I let out a frosting breath tinted very lightly with aura, then turned to the rest. I was sweating despite the cold, and short on breath, but I still had plenty of strength left. ¡°I didn¡¯t want this fight,¡± I told them.


    I felt their hate beating through the woods like heat off stone, and knew they wouldn¡¯t flee. I prepared to meet them.


    Just before they leapt to swarm me again, a shadow rose in the night. I saw it before they did. Part of me almost irrationally called out a warning.


    A heavy cleaver of a blade drove through one of the irks from behind. The creature struggled with all six limbs, its wings buzzing, its mandibles clicking furiously. A disturbingly human cry emerged from its half-hidden mouth.


    Karog growled, then slammed the faerie back down. He planted a leathery boot on its skull, crushing it flat in a spray of gore, then ripped his blade free. His red-rimmed eyes lifted to the rest.


    A prolonged moment of silence hung in the moonlight. A single pair of mandibles clacked once.


    Then they began to flee.


    Figures. He''d only gotten one of them.


    Still, I didn¡¯t take my eyes off Karog as he rose to his full and ominous height to face me. He waited until the buzzing sound of retreating irks had faded into the night, then his lips peeled back from his predator¡¯s teeth in a ripping snarl.


    ¡°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.¡±

 3.8: 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.¡±


    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.


    ¡°Talsyn,¡± I said. ¡°The Council of Cael were guests of the King of Talsyn, the last Great Recusant.¡± I turned my attention back to Karog. ¡°How long ago was this?¡±


    ¡°Spring,¡± he rumbled.


    ¡°What were they talking about?¡± I asked. ¡°What are their plans?¡±


    He just glared at me in sullen silence.


    ¡°Karog,¡± I said, matching his own gravelly tone. ¡°If you¡¯re still trying to protect them¡ª¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± he said, interrupting me. ¡°I was a mercenary. Hired muscle. They did not bring me into their secret councils, not after Orson Falconer¡¯s death. Without his influence as an intermediary, they grew less trustful of all outsiders. It is why they eventually attempted to bind me with sorcery.¡±


    ¡°So you know nothing,¡± I snapped, frustrated.


    ¡°I offer what I do now freely, paladin.¡± Karog stood then, and the whole world seemed to tilt on his axis a moment. ¡°I tell you all of this because I do not dislike the idea of hurling a stone at those who would betray me. You and I, however, are not allies.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Both of us looked to Cat, who¡¯d broken her own silence. She glanced between us, seeing our confused expressions, then propped a fist on her hip. ¡°Well?¡± She asked, lifting a challenging eyebrow. ¡°This sounds like an enemy of my enemy sort of situation, boys. Apparently, this club of pissants is worried enough about what Tusks here might know to send assassins after him.¡± She jerked a thumb at the ogre.


    I turned a dubious glance on the mercenary, seeing my doubt mirrored in his own face. I didn¡¯t much like the idea of working with anyone who¡¯d been at Cael, especially not this murderous soldier-of-fortune from the shadowed west. Cat did have a point, though ¡ª he was our only link to Orson¡¯s allies.


    I considered a moment, then made a decision. ¡°I have one more question for you, Karog.¡± I lifted my chin at him, letting steel creep into my voice. ¡°When Orson and his allies slaughtered the villagers¡­ did you help them?¡±


    Cat went very still at my side, and I knew she also focused her vampire¡¯s eyes on the ogre then.


    Karog glanced between us, his lips forming a thin line so not even his short tusks showed. His nostrils flared once.


    The fingers of my right hand flexed. I felt the roots of the Malison Oak coiling through the ground like hungry serpents. At a command from me, they¡¯d burst forth to bind him. I¡¯d had plenty of time to let the Art build its strength.


    But would he fight through? Physically, at least, I suspected him to be stronger than Jon Orley. He might reach me before the roots subdued him, tearing me apart with his cleavers.


    A quick draw. I was willing to take that gamble.


    ¡°I once served the Cambion King,¡± Karog finally said, his words deliberate and slow, the rumbling baritone of his voice filling the woods. ¡°He filled his court with demons and damned things, heeded their lies. His is a reign of madness. The far reaches of Edaea are a wasteland, boiling with corruption. Once he was a great warrior, dauntless and mighty, deserving of my people¡¯s respect. Now, he is a senile old wretch surrounded by insanity.¡±


    Karog met my eyes, with no fear of the golden light in them. ¡°I had no part in Orson¡¯s folly. I did not kill the people of that domain, nor did I aid in giving the demon they allied with flesh.¡±


    ¡°But you were there,¡± Cat said softly. ¡°You could have stopped them.¡±


    Karog lowered his chin. Challenge or acknowledgment, I couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°As could have either of you.¡±


    Cat drew in a sharp breath. I winced, feeling the same contrition she likely did. We¡¯d both been there, as Karog said. I¡¯d had Orson Falconer in my reach twice, and I¡¯d let him live because I¡¯d thought I could be clever, draw out more of his plans and allies.


    I hadn¡¯t been sent as a spy. I¡¯d been sent as a punishing blade. Even still, I¡¯d wanted to¡­


    I don¡¯t know. Make a difference, maybe.


    Catrin had been there, and I imagine she felt even worse about the whole thing. The Keeper of the Backroad had sent her as his eyes, ears, and voice in the gathering of shadowy representatives. She¡¯d believed Orson intended to create a refuge for the outcast and the downtrodden, a place where ¡°accursed¡± beings like her might find some happiness. She¡¯d mingled with the villagers, saved me from a pack of ghouls and led me into the castle on an altruistic whim.


    The Baron of Caelfall played both of us. And, when we¡¯d been too distracted by our private schemes, he¡¯d pushed things beyond the brink.


    Karog watched us a while, then nodded. ¡°It is easy to cast blame. Ask yourself ¡ª is taking small vengeance on me worth more than destroying our greater enemy?¡±


    Cat glanced at me, uncertainty in her face.


    I sighed. ¡°If they¡¯re working with the King of Talsyn, then I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s much the three of us can do. There¡¯s still enough strength in Hasur Vike to hurt the Accord bad, if things come to war.¡±


    Karog grunted. ¡°Are you not an assassin for this little land¡¯s pantheon of godlings? Do you not have the ear of great powers, to tell them of these plots?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re seriously overestimating how much voice I have with the Onsolain,¡± I told him. ¡°It¡¯s not like I can talk to them at will. They reach out to me when they have a task.¡±


    Karog peeled his lips back from yellowed fangs. ¡°Then you are powerless. Our enemies shall move freely.¡± Snorting, he turned his back and began to walk away.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± I called out.


    Without slowing he turned his head back. ¡°To hunt. I am tired of wandering this land as an aimless vagabond. I will die in battle, if I am to perish in this¡­ backwater. I will go north and kill as many of them as I can before I am subdued.¡±


    I had a mind to let him. Even after these revelations, I had no doubt Karog and I would gladly kill one another in any other circumstance. We nearly had this very night. Even still, I stopped him. ¡°Wait.¡±


    Karog did, to my surprise. He half turned, glaring at me.


    ¡°I will¡­ do some investigating. See if I can grab anyone¡¯s ear.¡± I sighed. ¡°There¡¯s no use going off and dying for no reason. Besides, you¡¯ll never make it over the passes, not until the snows clear.¡±


    Karog snorted contemptuously. ¡°I have braved harsher climes than any you have in this land, paladin.¡±


    ¡°Even still,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not just cold and ice you¡¯ll be dealing with in our passes. There are phantasms and devas too, and they won¡¯t like a western mercenary trespassing. Do you know the Sidhecants that will let you cross sacred glades? How about the tolls for troll bridges? Every one is unique, and some of their guardians are a lot bigger than you.¡±


    I let that sink in. To his credit, Karog looked more hesitant all the sudden, no longer caught in his self-assured bravado. Despite his brutish appearance, he didn¡¯t strike me as a fool.


    ¡°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.

 3.9: Winter Lingers

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 3.10: 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.¡±


    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.¡±


    I hesitated, something the elf didn¡¯t miss. ¡°Alken,¡± she said, her tone turning serious. ¡°None of your secrets will leave my lips. I cannot help you if I cannot discern what has caused this anomaly.¡±


    Even still, it took me a while to work myself up to it. Finally I said, ¡°I didn¡¯t realize I slept at first. I was staring into a fire in the woods south of here, and then¡­ I heard a voice. A demon¡¯s voice, one I¡­ one I fought when Elfhome fell. One I killed.¡±


    Rysanthe canted her head to one side, her gaze running along my features before lingering on my left eye. ¡°The one who marked you?¡±


    I turned away on reflex, letting my uncombed hair cover the scars over the left side of my face. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± The elf pressed the tips of her fingers together, taking a step closer to me. She was much shorter, her nose barely reaching my lowest rib. ¡°The Abgr?dai are like my kind in many ways, Alken. They cannot truly be killed, only banished back to the Abyss, changed, disassembled, reduced to the dregs of a spirit¡­ but their presence is not easily expunged. You were marked during the Fall, and wounds left by demons do not heal clean, if they heal at all.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying I¡¯ll always be like this?¡± I asked. I studied my own scarred, tired reflection in the water. ¡°Damaged?¡±


    ¡°We are all scarred,¡± Rysanthe said, not unkindly. ¡°It is part of living. But the borders between worlds, even realities, are rarely ironclad. The Wend might be tangled, but it is full of holes. Perhaps some piece of this old enemy has lingered with you, in which case its power is only so great as you allow it¡­ or perhaps it reaches out from Damnation, a distant call faintly heard. Either way, it cannot harm you. It is dead, or as good as.¡±


    She placed a cold hand on my arm. ¡°It is just a ghost. Like any other, you must simply not heed it.¡±


    I turned toward the temple¡¯s exit, pulling away from her touch. She didn¡¯t understand. No one did, or could. ¡°Easier said than done. This one knows me too well.¡± I paused before I left and turned back. ¡°You should make one of these for Ser Maxim.¡± I held up the ring.


    Rysanthe shook her head, frowning. ¡°No, Alken. You remember the last time, when you let him borrow yours? This is no boon, this thing. I gave it to you only because the danger the spirits beyond these woods pose is greater. I told you before ¡ª I craft curses. This dream-eating ring is a curse, however it might shield you from worse things.¡±


    ¡°So there¡¯s nothing that can be done for him?¡±


    ¡°He will heal in time,¡± the elf said, though her features reflected my own troubled thoughts. ¡°The fire in him will fade away, so long as he doesn¡¯t stoke it. He must be the one to make that choice.¡± Her violet eyes, near magenta in the moonlight, returned to me. ¡°I would council you to do the same.¡±


    I turned back to the door. ¡°My war isn¡¯t done, Rysanthe. I can¡¯t afford to throw away weapons.¡±


    ***


    A storm blew in that night. It began subtly, as a creaking in the frozen trees, then escalated to a distant whistling wind.


    By the next afternoon, the forest howled. Cutting wind drove an unceasing torrent of frost over the Fane, veiling everything in angry white. Snow piled high, drowning the creeks and paths, weighing the boughs of the trees down in ice.


    Inside Maxim¡¯s cottage, the crackling fire blazed hot in the hearth. The wisps inside it fought doggedly against the cold, and Emma helped them with fresh logs and the occasional prod of the iron poker. Maxim sat at his desk, carving some new abstraction, while I worked with needle and thread to repair my worn clothes.


    None of us spoke, listening only to the storm and our own inner voices.


    ¡°Are you sure Oraeka and Lady Rysanthe will be alright?¡± Emma asked suddenly, breaking the silence. She knelt by the hearth, one arm propped on a knee. ¡°Might be crowded in here, but surely it¡¯s better than sleeping out in that.¡± She waved a hand to the walls, and the howling wind beyond.


    She¡¯d directed the question at Ser Maxim. She¡¯d barely said two words to me since our argument the day before. The old knight grunted and spoke without turning.


    ¡°Elves.¡± He said the word almost as a curse. ¡°Oraeka has her own shelters, probably warmer than ours. As for the nymph¡­ she¡¯s probably out there in it, dancing naked in the wind.¡±


    Emma blushed. ¡°Ah. Still, this is a bad storm. How long do you think it will last?¡±


    ¡°Who can say?¡± Maxim muttered, lifting his latest work up to the lamp he¡¯d hung on the wall. He¡¯d carved a hooded figure this time, a priest or mage perhaps, its robes twisted at the top and bottom so it seemed almost trapped inside its own garments. It looked disturbingly familiar, but I couldn¡¯t say how.


    ¡°I remember one winter like this,¡± Ser Maxim grumbled, placing his carving back down on the desk and drumming the fingers of his other hand against the wood. ¡°Old Wicked sent it all the way from his fortresses in the west, across the Oroion Sea and the vastness of Edaea. He¡¯s never forgotten his hatred for our God-Queen, the withered imp. He put his minions in it¡­¡±


    Maxim glanced at me. ¡°You hadn¡¯t joined us yet. This was, oh¡­¡± he ran a hand through his mass of beard. ¡°Fifty years back? The blizzard lasted weeks, and it had gorcrows and bone beasts in it.¡±


    I looked up from my sewing. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of that.¡±


    Maxim nodded, smiling grimly. ¡°They called it the Widow¡¯s Winter. We had a few seats unfilled come spring.¡±


    ¡°This storm didn¡¯t come from Antriss,¡± I said. ¡°You taught me what that smells like, Maxim.¡±


    The old knight grunted. ¡°This isn¡¯t a westerly wind, true. It¡¯s more like¡ª¡±


    He froze. I felt it at the same time. Maxim spat out a curse and stood, knocking his chair back as he did.


    Emma shot to her feet, clutching the iron poker like a sword. The wisps, panicked by the change in mood, made the hearth fire swirl briefly. ¡°What is it?¡± She asked, looking between us.


    ¡°There¡¯s something in the storm,¡± I said. ¡°Grab your sword.¡±


    Her face paler than usual, Emma went to the second of the two beds in the cottage ¡ª Maxim had fashioned it for her, half just for a project to do. She pulled a trunk out from beneath it, taking her sword and chainmail shirt from inside. She began to arm herself.


    Maxim pulled his own sword out from beneath his bed, a heavy arm with a cross hilt, still full of artistry even after a lifetime of use.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Emma asked, casting a worried look to the door. I busied myself sliding into my own hauberk, much longer and heavier than her armor. I forwent the vambraces and spaulders I normally wore in addition, settling for lacing on my steel-plated boots.


    I steadied my breathing, giving my heart time to settle as I¡¯d been trained. I couldn¡¯t listen to the world if I was so full of noise inside. I saw Maxim doing the same, his eyes nearly closing as he tried discerning the sense of wrongness we¡¯d both felt.


    ¡°Could be an Onsolain taking shape in the land nearby,¡± Maxim said, his gray eyes still distant. ¡°Or a very old Sidhe.¡±


    I understood why he thought so. The feeling I had from the storm was difficult to describe ¡ª it always is, with our powers. They¡¯re too full of abstraction and poetic aestheticism, which makes it damn difficult to get any practical, clear cut answers.


    It felt like a giant, a true one, striding across the land. I imagined the wind altering its course for that titan disturbance, eddies and swirls created by its every step or idle swing of an arm. I imagined trees whispering in fear of being crushed, animals cowering in their hidden dens. I imagined the hills rippling like disturbed water.


    Didn¡¯t necessarily mean something literally huge was out there ¡ª only something very, very dangerous.


    ¡°If it¡¯s one of the Choir,¡± I said slowly, ¡°it might be here for me.¡±


    ¡°And if it¡¯s something else,¡± Maxim growled, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t face it alone. I can still wield a sword.¡±


    ¡°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 headwrap. He lifted his one visible eye to me. It glinted like polished obsidian, mirror-bright 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.¡±

 3.11: 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.¡±


    Not quite a denial of the possibility. Even still, I found some of the tension in my shoulders easing. I slipped my hand off the axe. ¡°Then what are you here for, O¡¯ Mighty Wizard?¡±


    ¡°In part,¡± Lias admitted, ¡°for curiosity. I wanted to know if it really was you, if you were still¡­ I don¡¯t know. Alive, I suppose. I¡¯ve kept tabs on you, or tried to, but those faerie knights taught you well. You kept losing my familiars, and I had so many distractions. I¡­¡±


    He sighed, and spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. ¡°I gave up. It seemed like you wanted to be left alone, so I left you alone.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°Then what changed?¡±


    ¡°¡­A lot.¡± Lias sighed and propped an arm on his packs. ¡°Things are happening across the land, Alken. The Accord is struggling, and those of us trying to keep it together are starting to feel the strain. Not to put too fine a point on it, but trust is awfully short these days. When King Rhan was caught, we thought that might be a win ¡ª but between the Sidhe Princess playing at being the next Face of Darkness, and then you¡­¡± He trailed off.


    ¡°What about me?¡± I asked, frowning.


    ¡°Well,¡± he continued, clearly hedging, ¡°the Headsman has been a dark rumor for years. Now his ¡ª your existence is confirmed, everyone¡¯s casting around blame. Of course, no one knows your true identity, but that hardly matters. What everyone knows is that there¡¯s some enigmatic executioner running around chopping golden heads, and it has the aristocracy unnerved.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He leaned forward again, narrowing his one visible eye. ¡°Leonis Chancer, the Bishop of Vinhithe¡­ was that you?¡±


    I opened my mouth, formed a lie, but before I even knew what I¡¯d say Lias cursed and rubbed at his temple.


    ¡°Of course that was you. Whole blasted city spread a story about a red-cloaked devil cutting a bloody swathe through the streets¡­ did you really mount the bishop¡¯s head on the statue of the Heir in his own cathedral?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t. And I didn¡¯t cut a bloody swathe, I¡­¡± I did a swift count. ¡°I killed maybe five people.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Lias spat. ¡°Well, here¡¯s my point ¡ª the nobles are already at one another¡¯s throats, and now they all think you¡¯re some secret weapon culling dissenting heads. Leonis Chancer was an advocate for more radical elements of the Faith, and a malefactor who publicly questioned the Emperor¡¯s edicts. His death didn¡¯t go over well, let me tell you.¡±


    I felt a trickle of horror curl through me more cutting than the winter wind by far. ¡°No,¡± I said, half to myself. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ that was supposed to stop things from getting worse. They said¡­¡±


    The Onsolain had told me Leonis Chancer would rile the Church into a bloody new crusade, an era of hate and oppression driven by zealotry.


    Yet, he¡¯d been dead more than a year when I¡¯d laid eyes on the mark of the Inquisiton over a rural village.


    Another thought, almost as terrible, came to me. ¡°They think I¡¯m working for the Emperor,¡± I said, meeting Lias¡¯s eye again. ¡°They think I¡¯m Markham Forger¡¯s assassin.¡±


    ¡°His,¡± Lias confirmed with a nod. ¡°Or someone with near as much authority as him. The College. The Empress.¡± He shrugged. ¡°As I said, fingers are being pointed all around. Even still, it¡¯s a dark time in the cities, especially the capital. Garihelm is astir with conspiracy these days. Though, it¡¯s not all bad. Western trade has brought in some truly wondrous things. There are as many polymaths rubbing elbows with the mighty as priests these days, and I have no qualms with that.¡±


    He grinned suddenly, his eye alighting with the flicker of excitement I¡¯d once been very familiar with. ¡°You should see it all, Alken. Automatons, alchemical craft¡­ they have these constructs that help print books faster. And the art! Hah! There¡¯s a renaissance happening in the north right now.¡±


    It seemed impossible. Then again, I¡¯d been in the hinterlands so long, the Heir of Heaven might have returned and I¡¯d have missed it.


    ¡°Is Rosanna in danger?¡± I asked. The question came out almost reflexively.


    ¡°Always,¡± Lias said. ¡°But that¡¯s being a monarch. Still, things are¡­ difficult, these days. She¡¯s speaking for her own people, as Queen of Karledale, and for the Realms at large as one of the Accords leaders. She has a lot on her plate, our girl. She¡¯s changed too, in a lot of ways.¡±


    He eyed me, as though taking my measure. He¡¯d done much the same, when I¡¯d been a surly teenager and he an ambitious young magician not much older.


    ¡°There¡¯s a darkness in the capital,¡± he said, with all the gravitas of a conspirator, or a wizard. ¡°A string of murders across this past year, all grisly, all inexplicable. I¡¯ve detected traces of something¡­ larger. It¡¯s hard to untangle the web. The Edaean Guilds are embedding themselves in the streets, the nobles are weaving their own intrigues, and the Church ¡ª or more precisely the Priory ¡ª has revived the old Inquisition. Their veiled thugs have been in the streets, even questioning members of the nobility with little fear of reprisal. Some say they¡¯re behind the killings, while others say they¡¯re trying to find who¡¯s responsible their own way.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re really back?¡± I asked, leaning forward and clasping my fingers together. ¡°The heretic hunters?¡±


    Lias nodded. ¡°They¡¯ve made small pushes out into the countryside ¡ª started in rural churches, really, zealous preosters whispering behind their pulpits, but they¡¯ve gotten enough support to get the Clericon College to officially reinstate their office. They have this representative in the Emperor¡¯s court, even, a Presider. Ghastly man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them,¡± I said. ¡°Or, signs of them.¡±


    Lias nodded. ¡°They¡¯re but one of a host of problems swarming us, Al. Rosanna and I are trying to keep things together, but we¡¯re not altogether trusted. Rose earned herself a rather draconian reputation back during the House War in the Dales, and I¡¯m, well¡­¡± he sighed. ¡°Having near half of Urn¡¯s magi, including the most famous of them, throw in the with the Recusants didn¡¯t do much for people¡¯s trust in wizards. Not to mention, I¡¯m Rosanna Silvering¡¯s right hand. Folks don¡¯t like talking to me much.¡±


    He trailed off after that, leaving me to chew on everything he¡¯d told me. It tasted like a particularly dense bit of tack, for certain. I listened to the fire, and tried to quiet my mind without much success.


    ¡°There¡¯s something I¡¯ve found out too,¡± I said. ¡°Not sure it¡¯s connected, but¡­¡± I shrugged.


    Lias leaned closer to the fire. The smoke around him seemed to slow its coiling pattern, as though pausing to listen as well. ¡°Tell me,¡± he said.


    A wild thought struck me ¡ª what if Lias already knows?


    What if he¡¯s part of it?


    The past decade had made me so paranoid. Lias was my friend, my oldest, like a brother to me.


    I¡¯d believed Fidei had been the love of my life. I didn¡¯t believe I could truly trust anyone anymore, and hadn¡¯t for a long time.


    But Lias had the ear of the Accord, and it was the smart play. I told him about Caelfall, about Orson Falconer¡¯s gathering of malefactors, about the fiend they¡¯d bound, and about what I¡¯d learned from Catrin and Karog. By the time I¡¯d finished, the night had aged and I¡¯d replaced the logs on the fire.


    Lias didn¡¯t reply immediately. Shaking his head as I sat back down he said, ¡°Talsyn. I¡¯ve had eyes and ears on Hasur Vyke for years, and I¡¯ve warned the Round he¡¯s still dangerous many times. They really had one of the demons from Elfhome with them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m as certain as I can be,¡± I said. I hadn¡¯t told him about my dream. I wouldn¡¯t tell him. I was still trying to decide how to explain about the Crowfriars and the breaking of the Riven Order.


    It was all too much. Too big.


    Lias¡¯s eye shot to mine. ¡°Come back to the city with me, Alken. Help me get to the truth of these happenings.¡±


    I flinched, having known where this was probably heading. Shaking my head I said, ¡°I¡¯ve never been any good at intrigue, Li, you know that. I¡¯d just¡­¡± Mess things up again. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even know where to start.¡±


    Lias gestured toward himself with the pipe. ¡°That¡¯s why you have me, old boy. I have contacts, a few places we can start.¡± His lips peeled back in a malicious grin. ¡°It will be just like old times.¡±


    Damn him. He knew what those words would do, how¡¯d they would pull at me. He knew how badly I must want things to be like old times.


    ¡°I have responsibilities now,¡± I said. ¡°People I¡¯m looking out for. The Choir might call me any time. Besides¡­¡± I averted my gaze. ¡°I doubt Rose would much like me being underfoot. Or within fifty miles, even.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t blame you for any of it,¡± Lias said softly. ¡°It was a war, Al. Wizard plots and royal conspiracies.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that¡­¡± I sighed. Why did I have to explain to him, of all people? ¡°I betrayed my oath to her, Li. I left after the war, deserted. Now I¡¯m working for someone else. That¡¯s the sort of thing you get your monarch¡¯s leave for, you know?¡±


    ¡°Rosanna never was the forgiving type,¡± Lias agreed, wincing. ¡°It¡¯s true, she refused to talk about you for a long time.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes, hearing something more in those words. ¡°She send you for this? She ask me back?¡±


    If he says yes, that¡¯ll be it. I¡¯ll go with him, and I won¡¯t look back. I clenched my hand into a fist, waiting.


    ¡°You know her,¡± Lias said, the apology in his eyes telling me the truth of it. ¡°She doesn¡¯t ask for help. She has expectations, needs, and people she trusts to fill them.¡± He gestured toward himself. ¡°I need someone who isn¡¯t tied to any existing faction in the city. Someone who can handle himself, and most of all, someone who can be trusted. You fit all the criteria.¡±


    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 confident, 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.

 3.12: 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.


    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.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I¡¯d asked.


    Rysanthe frowned and shook her head. ¡°I do not know. I do not know this magi, or this mortal queen. They are your comrades of old, but even still¡­ trust your own heart, Alken, and make your judgments with your eyes and your ears.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°I haven¡¯t trusted my own heart in a long time. As for my eyes and ears ¡ª you¡¯re an elf. You know the world¡¯s full of phantasm.¡±


    She¡¯d shrugged and flashed me an ivory smile. ¡°Maybe so. Even still, insight is all I have to offer. Ah! And this.¡±


    She¡¯d handed me my ring. As I took it, she closed my fingers around the trinket, holding my fist up between us. ¡°Do not let this stray from you. I do not believe it¡¯s been tampered with, but there are curses stronger than mine.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I slipped the ring on and nodded, flexing my fingers. ¡°Thanks, Rys. It¡¯s¡­ nice, knowing I¡¯m not alone in this work.¡±


    ¡°It comforts you, that Death is on your side?¡± She let out a fey laugh. It lingered in my ears long after she¡¯d vanished into the night.


    ***


    Maxim had been less supportive of the decision to leave. He¡¯d ground his teeth in frustration and tried to convince me to change my mind.


    ¡°This is idiocy, Hewer. You can¡¯t trust that wizard ¡ª any wizard. They¡¯re all insane, it¡¯s part of what they¡¯ve made themselves.¡±


    Emma donned her chainmail shirt and her Carreon saber in the corner of the spacious room. I whittled down the haft of Faen Orgis, smoothing out the burs and adjusting the grip ¡ª something I had to do more often, lately. Settling the whittled axe against one wall, I put on my black armor and strapped on all my daggers and other accoutrements.


    I bit down my reply ¡ª more than half of me wanted to defend Lias ¡ª but Maxim wasn¡¯t done. ¡°There¡¯s too much noise in cities,¡± he insisted. ¡°Your powers won¡¯t be reliable. More than that, if there really is an inquisition in progress¡­¡±


    He took a calming breath. ¡°This is stupid. Even for you.¡±


    ¡°Noted.¡± I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and nodded to Emma. She looked far less skeptical about the whole thing ¡ª she¡¯d practically leapt at the prospect of leaving the Fane.


    ¡°Ser Alken.¡±


    I stopped just before opening the door, glancing back at Maxim. He sniffed at the irritation in my face ¡ª he¡¯d known I¡¯d hate being called Ser.


    The knight stood from his desk, walked to his bed, and pulled a wooden case from beneath it. Unclasping the catches, he pulled out his ancient sword in its bejeweled leather sheath. Approaching me with the blade held in upraised palms, he offered it.


    I might have gaped at him, but I had no attention to spare for my own expression to know for certain. Maxim¡¯s sword was¡­ it was legendary. Every individual ornamentation on the hilt, from the entwined branches of the gilded crossguard to the stern troll at the base of the blade were repositories for aura. The arm nearly hummed with power, spared the same instability its master had been afflicted with.


    Ser Maxim Larker had used this blade when he¡¯d cowed the Parliament of Trolls. He¡¯d held it when he¡¯d hunted the Cambion¡¯s monsters during the Widow¡¯s Winter. He¡¯d used it to slay the Wyrm of Lindenroad, and its sacred inlays had protected him from the creature¡¯s blight. He¡¯d carried it through more than a century of battle and duty.


    ¡°That axe is treacherous,¡± Maxim grumbled. ¡°You should take a proper weapon.¡±


    I felt Emma¡¯s eyes on me from the door, but I only had eyes for the sword. Without thinking about it, I lifted my free hand toward the hilt¡ª


    In a flash, I was elsewhere.


    I had another sword in my hand, my sword, covered in smoking blood. I backed away, shook my head in denial of what I¡¯d done, what stood before me, what it meant.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ damn it, why!? Why¡¯d you have to be¡ª¡±


    I took a steadying breath and shook my head, dropping my hand. ¡°No, Maxim. You might need that. I¡¯ve got enough.¡±


    He searched my face, his aged features pulled into a deep frown. I don¡¯t know what he saw, but he nodded and backed away. ¡°Very well. Try not to get yourself killed, lad. Don¡¯t get Her Ladyship killed either ¡ª we¡¯ve all grown rather fond of her, for all her thorns.¡±


    Emma threw the old knight a smile that was all teeth. ¡°I think I¡¯ll be the one keeping our heads from getting lopped off,¡± she said in her most aristocratic voice. ¡°I¡¯ve attached a little bell to the door and taught the fairies how to ring it, in case you wander off and get lost. Do you need me to get you anything before we go? A towel to suck your soup? An extra chamber pot? I do know how those old bowels trouble you.¡±


    Maxim grunted. ¡°On second thought, maybe it¡¯s all the same if you lose her along the way.¡±


    Nodding to me, clearly still worried, the aged knight put his sword away and sat back down at his desk. I lingered a moment, knowing I should say something to take some of the sting from my mood of late, but not knowing what. Instead, I went out into the cold and closed the door on the hero inside the cottage.


    ***


    We took long and winding roads on that journey. I¡¯d grown used to doing just that ¡ª always better to avoid questions from patrols or encounters with other travelers. Over the years I¡¯d taken to avoiding sleeping at inns and only rarely hitched rides with merchants or farmers. I didn¡¯t want the spirits haunting me troubling anyone else.


    Luckily, I¡¯d learned many secret paths during my tenure with the Table, and expanded that knowledge in the years since. Not all of them were connected to the Wend ¡ª those I avoided like the plague ¡ª but there were others. Elf paths, ranger trails, pilgrim roads, troll crossings. The old blessings hadn¡¯t all faded from the land.


    I¡¯d started teaching Emma how to use these same ways ¡ª the signs to look for, the tolls and cants that¡¯d help her get around without angering the Eld, and other miscellaneous lore. It felt strange, having someone to talk to during the endless days of meandering. I had to admit, it made the voices of the angry dead seem quieter.


    For her part, Emma had figured out I was haunted by restless shades early. She had a wicked angel as a godmother, and the noisome dead hadn¡¯t impressed her. She glared at the eerie faces watching us from the woods beyond the old wagon path we followed, daring them to approach.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been wandering these woods for two days,¡± Emma said. ¡°I feel like we¡¯re going in circles.¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± I said, without stopping. I kept my focus on the darkening forest ¡ª I felt eyes on me, but couldn¡¯t pinpoint the source. Something had been watching us for more than an hour. We were near the coast, I knew, and could smell the sea. A mist had rolled in earlier in the day and lingered, heavy in the lingering cold of a winter that hadn¡¯t expended all of its strength.


    I heard my squire¡¯s steps halt a moment, before she quickly rushed to catch back up. I could practically hear her lips pressing into a thinner line. ¡°You know I absolutely abhor that. Fine, I¡¯ll just ask ¡ª what is the plan, exactly?¡±


    ¡°First,¡± I said, glancing around at the misting woods, ¡°we have a chat with something that goes bump in the night.¡±


    Emma sighed. ¡°I really shouldn¡¯t ask. It just gives you an in to say something vague and ominous, every time.¡±


    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. ¡°City''s 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 camps 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

    </a>


    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.


    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.


    Edaea 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.


    Urn is a subcontinent of Edaea, a sizable land in the east. Aureia brought Her followers here after Her war with the Cambion, and oversaw the forging of many new kingdoms. The godlings, dire elves, and mortals who dwelt here fought the Edaean exodus for many generations, but the Aureate onslaught could not be stopped, and much of Urn''s history prior to the God-Queen''s arrival is now lost.


    The Fane Lands are a vast land to the southeast, covered in cold deserts and haunted wilds. Little is known about it, and it is said many spirits who would not bow before either the Cambion or the Heir of Onsolem migrated to this region. What mortals live here dwell in fear of hungering immortals.


    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.


    Powers of Urn


    These are the factions of note in the land of Urn, where the Heir of Heaven made Her home.


    The Faithful Lords are a loose collection of kings, dukes, counts, earls, and other great nobles descended from the warriors who made exodus from the West. Though many centuries have passed, they still follow many old Edaean customs. A heavily feudal society, the Lords of Urn have often vied against one another, following edicts passed down from old which command them to always be prepared for war. Presently, these are united by the Ardent Accord, an agreement fashioned during the most recent great war which forbids its members from indulging in wars of aggression with one another, and subjects all to the arbitration of the recently revived position of the Urnic Emperor.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The Aureate Church is a theocratic organization charged with maintaining and spreading the teachings of the God-Queen, Her Choir, and other spiritual customs brought over from the west. Originally formed from a collective of theologians and scholar-mages, the Church is as much an institution for higher learning as a vessel for proselytization, with its priesthood being trained to wield and understand arcane powers, collect histories, and act as scribes and teachers. While the original edict of the Castias, the orders from which the Church sprung, was to understand the cosmos and use that knowledge to empower mankind, the insular and often martial culture of Urn has led to the rise of more zealous, xenophobic elements such as the Priory of the Arda and the Inquisition.


    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 were knights 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 actions 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.

 3.13: 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.


    ¡°So,¡± my ward said to me, lowering her voice and stepping into pace at my side. ¡°That¡¯s Catrin.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± Ahead, Catrin was humming to the tune of a very old song, one about a shepherd being lured from his pasture by the flute of a wolfwere.


    Hear the sound, O¡¯ Sheepherd, sweet as summer light.


    Beware, beware, the hunter walks this night.


    Her hair is dark as raven¡¯s feather,This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Her voice, a soft caress.


    Beware, beware, the hunter eats tonight.


    ¡°She¡¯s a vampire,¡± Emma said. ¡°Isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°She is,¡± I said.


    ¡°And you trust her?¡± Emma asked, frowning.


    ¡°It surprises you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Emma glanced at me as we walked. ¡°You were angry about working for Nath. You and Ser Maxim were both demon hunters, right? That was another of the Table¡¯s roles, if the stories have it right.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not a demon,¡± I said, immediately hearing the sharpness in my voice. Taking a breath to calm myself I added, ¡°She was born this way. I¡¯d be a bastard to damn her for that. I was a bastard, when I first met her. She¡¯s trustworthy.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s own words came to me then, in memory. I¡¯ve been a monster. A real one.


    I didn¡¯t really know much about Cat. I didn¡¯t understand myself why I felt so sure about her.


    Maybe I just wanted to be sure of something.


    ¡°Are you two¡­¡± Emma trailed off, her silence full of inquiry.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, and felt no contrition for my annoyed tone then. ¡°We¡¯re not.¡±


    Emma sighed, and fell back a step. ¡°Your life is so sad, sometimes.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have time to reply to that, as Catrin stopped ahead of us. Looking around, I realized she¡¯d brought us into a graveyard. I couldn¡¯t see the whole of it through the thick ripples of mist coiling across the fields, but I saw the assortment of gravestones, the warding statues and sepulchers broken by age or violence.


    Ghosts watched us from the mist, whispering suspiciously and glaring with scratchy eyes. Catrin noticed them too and hissed, making the nearest scatter. Turning to us, the changeling grinned. ¡°Pests. Anyway, here we are!¡± She spread her hands out, presenting the decrepit ruins.


    I glanced around. ¡°Is this where you spring a surprise betrayal? Or is it some allegory for what lies at the end of the road?¡±


    Catrin rolled her eyes. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s my home?¡±


    She glided over to one of the more ornate and intact graves then, a piece near tall as she was. Foolish thieves had stolen the auremark on it and many others ¡ª this place had long ago become unhallowed, and I felt the oppressive gravity of danger all around me. The ghosts murmured angrily nearby.


    ¡°Alder knight.¡±


    ¡°Oathbreaker.¡±


    ¡°Betrayer.¡±


    ¡°Murderer!¡±


    Emma glared at them. ¡°Leave him alone".


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to them,¡± I told her. ¡°It just makes them stronger. Try to ignore it.¡±


    Catrin fiddled with the grave a while, running her hands along lichen-eaten stone, then gestured toward me. ¡°Help me with this.¡±


    I approached, and together we began pushing the grave. I quickly realized it was poorly set into the ground, and there was a hollow beneath. I caught sight of tied rope ¡ª a ladder.


    ¡°Old smuggler tunnel,¡± she said. ¡°I used to use it to sneak in and out of the city.¡±


    I caught my breath and stood straight. The marker had been damned heavy. ¡°You used to live here?¡±


    She shrugged, her expression becoming more remote. While we¡¯d been opening the secret passage, her messy hair had fallen to cover one eye. ¡°In the hills.¡± She gestured the way we¡¯d come. ¡°I snuck into the city sometimes. Stole stuff, enjoyed the festivals. That was decades back. There was a vampire clan in the city those days who didn¡¯t like mongrel outsiders in their territory, but they got on the wrong side of the Keeper and ended up being hounded into the wilderness by the nobles when he put word in certain ears.¡±


    She glanced at me through her messed locks. ¡°That¡¯s how I got involved with him.¡±


    Even though I¡¯d long suspected she was older than me, despite looking in her mid twenties at most, it still took me off guard to hear her casually mention a past event as having happened decades before.


    Catrin nodded to the tunnel. ¡°Down we go. It¡¯s a labyrinth down there, so keep close. I¡¯ll lead you through safe paths.¡±


    I gestured for Emma to go ahead of me, intending to bring up the rear. I lingered above the tunnel, scanning the fog.


    ¡°What is it, big man?¡± Catrin had lingered as well, noticing my distractedness.


    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I fought here, Cat. I remember these fields. I can still hear the war chimera, the shouting. I can still smell the grass burning.¡±


    I looked into the depths of the fog, knowing somewhere beyond it rose high curtain walls. ¡°The Recusants had captured half the city by the time we arrived to relieve the defenders. I saw High Lord Forger ¡ª the previous one ¡ª die not a mile from here.¡±


    Looking around, I realized something. ¡°I remember this graveyard. The Recusants had necromancers with them, and they tried raising the dead to fight us. They messed it up, and the wights started killing everyone.¡±


    Catrin followed my gaze and shuddered. ¡°Sounds terrible.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want another war,¡± I said to her. ¡°All these years I¡¯ve been doing this work, I¡¯ve done it to stop another one from happening. But I had direction then. I had the Choir telling me who needed chopping. Now¡­ I¡¯m going into a mess without Their guidance, and I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the right thing to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Does it feel right?¡± She asked me, interrupting.


    I frowned at her, noticing how intense her dark eyes had become. She reached out and grabbed my elbow, the same one she¡¯d drank from in Castle Cael.


    ¡°Does it feel right, Alken? Going back to help your old comrades? Trying to get to the bottom of things without some god or angel telling you what to do?¡±


    I frowned, trying to find the thread of my own tangled feelings. ¡°That feels like a loaded question.¡±


    She shrugged, still holding my arm. ¡°Personally, I think the gods can be cunts. I used to pray as a girl, but the shrines kept making me feel sick when I got too near. I figured out fast that most holy things don¡¯t like me much. But I¡¯m not telling you, damn it. Alken, this is your quest. You decided to embark on it.¡±


    ¡°Lias asked me to¡ª¡±


    She squeezed, and her sharp nails bit into my flesh. I winced, but she wouldn¡¯t let me pull away. ¡°No one made any choices for you this time, big man. Do you feel like this is right?¡±


    I stared at her, surprised my answer meant so much. Catrin had an expressive face, with a solid jaw, her brown eyes arched by thick eyebrows. I¡¯d never looked at her face too long, some part of me always instinctively afraid she¡¯d try to enthrall me with her preternatural nature, as she¡¯d done on that first night we¡¯d met.


    I looked at her then. I''d been around noblewomen my entire life, witnessed first hand the beauty of the Sidhe. And yet, Catrin was fair to my eyes. There was no artifice to her, no pomp.


    She winced like one might looking directly at the sun, and I knew the sacred aura in my eyes hurt her some, just as the hallowed ground she¡¯d learned to avoid did. It was another reason I rarely met her gaze.


    Yet she didn¡¯t look away. My answer mattered to her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s right,¡± I told her, speaking softly. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can trust Lias. It¡¯s been a lifetime since I knew him, and even back then he was a schemer.¡±


    I thought about it more, and cursed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if I trust them,¡± I said. ¡°I made a vow. If I¡¯m needed, I¡¯ll fight.¡± Even if I do it without Rose knowing about it, I added silently.


    ¡°Even if it means fighting another war?¡± Catrin asked.


    I didn¡¯t hear any judgement in her words, only a desire to understand.


    After some consideration I said, ¡°I don¡¯t feel any loyalty to the Accord. It¡¯s just a name for something that might never actually exist. I don¡¯t care about Forger, or the Church. I made my promises to a person, not a nation or an idea.¡±


    It was only after, that things got complicated and I¡¯d gotten lost.


    I took a deep breath of the cold night air. ¡°I¡¯ll see what¡¯s what, and do what I feel is right after.¡±


    A small smile touched Catrin¡¯s lips, breaking the oddly grim mask she¡¯d assumed. ¡°No proclamations of duty? No grand vow to smite all the evil in the city?¡±


    I laughed. ¡°No. I think I¡¯ve learned that lesson.¡± Then, wincing again I added, ¡°That hurts, Cat.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t let go of my arm, and she¡¯d been squeezing very hard. Realizing this, she pulled her talons out of my flesh. Seeing the blood on her nails, she grimaced. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°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 promise.¡±


    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.¡±

 3.14: 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.


    And there is a near constant 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.


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for a nobleman by the name of Yuri of Ilka,¡± I said, reciting the alias Lias had given me. We passed into a smaller side street. The sound of hammers and the sight of smoking chimneys told me this was a craftsman¡¯s district. I could make out guild marks over many doors ¡ª city ones, not the mysterious Edaean organizations I¡¯d been told of.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°And you know where to look?¡± Emma asked me. Her eyes wandered to a group of young men idling outside one of the shops, chatting beneath the shelter of a roof overhang. Apprentices, I guessed, or young journeymen on a break.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I admitted. I searched the street, and nodded to the far end where a taller building rose over the craftsman¡¯s district. ¡°But I imagine someone around will.¡±


    I approached the inn. I took it to be an upper class establishment ¡ª it looked less weathered than the rest of the city, even welcoming, with four floors below an attic level, all of it done in a tiered design. It stood at the corner of a higher street, running along a narrow trench cut directly into the ground. I could hear water below, and assumed we were above one of the canals.


    Inside the inn, a wave of warmth and conversation struck me. A pleasantly earthy aroma hung in the air, no doubt emanating from the censers hung from the ceiling. The space was well lit, with many nooks and alcoves containing fine oak tables where patrons sat and talked.


    Nothing boisterous or festive here. This was a place of business, where guild masters and rich merchants broke deals and discussed the latest trends. All the customers I saw wore fine clothes, though the fashions tended toward the modest ¡ª this wasn¡¯t a place for nobles, though I took a few in the main room to be from House stock, or at least the servants of here to talk shop.


    An older man with a prominent mustache and receding red hair sidled up to us, folding a cloth over his arm he¡¯d been using to clean one of the tables. ¡°Help you?¡± He asked, his tone remotely polite. I imagined he felt nervous, seeing two obviously armed and armored strangers walk into his establishment.


    Remembering the sign outside, I let a smile cross my lips and nodded. ¡°This is the Hammer¡¯s Rest? My apprentice and I are contractors from Lindenroad.¡± The coastal kingdom tended toward lighter armaments like the kind we wore, and I knew how to adopt the accent ¡ª it was the closest to the Dalelander lilt in all the northlands. ¡°We were hired by a nobleman who goes by Yuri of Ilka. His correspondence told us to meet him here, but I¡¯m afraid we might be a few days early.¡±


    The innkeeper nodded, giving me no indication of recognition or skepticism. ¡°I see. Well, the name isn¡¯t familiar to me, but we have many highborn conduct their business here. Would you like a room?¡± He glanced at Emma. ¡°Or two, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°One will do,¡± I said. We were used to sleeping under the same roof at Maxim¡¯s cottage, and I imagined the rooms here would be expensive. ¡°How much?¡±


    The innkeep narrowed his eyes, and I silently cursed at my careless mistake. I doubted the patrons he normally got bothered asking about prices. He told me, and I had to hide a wince.


    I paid him, then we were led to a table near the back of the establishment, on a raised section without much visibility from the rest of the patrons. Doesn¡¯t want his richer customers seeing a pair of road-dusted vagabonds, I guessed, quietly grateful we hadn¡¯t been shown the door. Neither of us wore good cloth, and I¡¯d expected this.


    ¡°So what now?¡± Emma asked.


    I held up a finger, and she fell quiet as a young barmaid, who I took to be the innkeeper¡¯s daughter by her bright red hair, brought us wine. I caught the scent of it, and knew immediately it had been imported from beyond the subcontinent. It smelled of unfamiliar shores.


    Strange sometimes, what insights my elven magic gave me.


    ¡°You two here for the tourney?¡± The young woman asked, smiling brightly. She glanced at me, and I saw her smile falter, replaced by a hastily hidden unease. I tended to have that effect on people, though I couldn¡¯t be certain whether it was my size and dour features, or something to do with my preternatural nature.


    She turned to Emma instead, who¡¯d adopted her usual casual arrogance, with one raised eyebrow and an elbow propped insolently on the expensive elmwood of our table. My ward¡¯s eyes flashed with interest and she leaned closer to the girl.


    ¡°Tourney?¡± Emma asked.


    The girl nodded. ¡°Yes! It¡¯s still weeks off ¡ª got delayed with the late snows ¡ª but there¡¯s to be a tournament of arms in the city. Lords and freeswords across the Accord are gathering to participate. The Emperor himself is hosting the event.¡±


    ¡°We saw a retinue of glorysworn enter the gates earlier,¡± Emma said.


    The innkeeper¡¯s daughter took a step forward, suddenly more animated. ¡°That was Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf! You saw him?¡±


    ¡°I was barely fifty feet away,¡± Emma confirmed, grinning. ¡°He¡¯s here for this competition, I take it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s supposed to take place after the council,¡± the girl said. ¡°The Azure Round is holding its first moot in five years. It¡¯s going to be a truly great affair. There will be balls, galas, great lords in discussion.¡± Her voice had a dreamy quality to it. ¡°It¡¯s all going to be very grand.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Emma¡¯s eyes sparkled, and I suppressed a sigh. Leaning closer to the girl and lowering her voice so she wouldn¡¯t be heard beneath the low din of the taproom, Emma continued in a more serious tone. ¡°And what of the talk of violence in the city? Do you think that will have any bearing on this gathering?¡±


    Some of the color drained from the red-haired girl¡¯s already pale face. ¡°You¡¯ve heard about the murders?¡±


    Emma nodded, her face suddenly grave. ¡°Somewhat, but we just arrived.¡± She gestured to me.


    ¡°There was another one just a few weeks ago,¡± the girl said, leaning close enough her red hair brushed over the table. She¡¯d completely forgotten about me, her eyes fixed on my apprentice¡¯s. ¡°It¡¯s been happening for more than a year now, and they¡¯re always dreadful. The victims have all been found¡­¡± she drew in a deep breath, and her voice became strained. ¡°Hollowed out.¡±


    Emma¡¯s lips parted slightly. ¡°How ghastly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that,¡± the innkeep¡¯s daughter continued, determined now that her tale had found its momentum. ¡°It¡¯s the strangest thing, but do you know what a scarlbeetle is?¡± She continued without giving Emma time to reply. ¡°It¡¯s a type of insect found in the islands north of Cymrinor. They make carmine out of it, for dye and paint and such. Well¡­¡±


    The girl placed her palms on the table, throwing both of us a conspiratorial look. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it said that each of the victims of this butcher have been found with scarlbeetles crawling around inside them.¡±


    Emma met my eyes, the subtle edge of humor now fully fled from her.


    ¡°The Carmine Killer,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s why they call the murderer that, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    The girl nodded. ¡°Some folk say it¡¯s magicker work. I mean, who puts bugs inside people¡¯s bodies? It¡¯s just horrible.¡±


    Remembering something else I asked the girl, ¡°who was the last victim?¡±


    ¡°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.¡±

 3.15: Yseldas 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 city¡¯s 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 bowls, 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.


    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¡­¡±


    She glanced at the servant and smiled sadly. ¡°Well, it is foolish. I suppose I wanted to walk these halls again. Try to¡­¡± she waved a hand, as though trying to catch words from the air. ¡°Understand. But I have only found disquietude in myself. But I digress.¡±


    She fixed her pale eyes on me, and I made certain this time to not look directly at them ¡ª two awakened souls can tell too much, with direct eye contact, and I didn¡¯t want to risk it until I knew whether she was a sorceress or just a minor adept. ¡°Yselda was a dear friend to me. Be assured that any effort on her behalf will have my full support.¡±


    She glanced at the old man then, and let out a small huff of breath. ¡°Ah, but I have been rude! This is Ingram, steward of this estate.¡±


    The aged servant bowed to me, though refrained from speaking. His eyes seemed distant, as though he only paid half an ear to the conversation.


    ¡°Perhaps we can start with what exactly happened here,¡± I said. It irritated me to ask so bluntly ¡ª if I¡¯d had time to investigate properly, before having an audience with a goring High Lady, I¡¯d have interviewed guards and gotten the full story before opening my mouth.Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°It is a dreadful business,¡± the old man, Ingram, said. He had a quavering voice, half a whisper in the cavernous room. ¡°Perhaps one not appropriate for the ears of¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you say of women, I¡¯m going to cuff you.¡± Lady Faisa lifted a well plucked eyebrow at Ingram, though her lips quirked in amusement. ¡°I have all the details, Master Alken ¡ª I have placed my own household in charge of this investigation.¡±


    Ingram coughed and looked away, looking suitable chagrined. I felt the wind go out of me at the noblewoman¡¯s words. ¡°House Dance is in charge of tracking the Carmine Killer?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no.¡± Lady Faisa chuckled. ¡°I misspoke, Ser. I am not the Lady Dance herself. I only mean that my personal retinue has been making inquiries on the matter, and I take no issue with assisting you.¡±


    I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was a major power in the Accord hovering over my shoulder. ¡°Very well. Then can you tell me about Lady Yselda?¡±


    Faisa Dance nodded, her wry humor fading into something more sanguine. ¡°Yes. Perhaps we can walk as we speak? I will give you a tour of the estate.¡±


    We followed her deeper into the mansion. As we went, I saw more evidence of the late Lady Yselda of Mirrebel¡¯s passion for art ¡ª or, more precisely, her interest in passionate art. Paintings, sculptures, and works made out of all sorts of materials, from metal to glass, filled the manor. Many of them showed beautiful figures, mortal or otherwise, in varying states of undress and intimacy.


    Only when we passed by one marble plinth showing a nude man being embraced from behind by an androgynous irk ¡ª the kind resembling an insect ¡ª did I speak. ¡°The lady had some¡­ worldly tastes.¡±


    Faisa Dance laughed, the sound filling the winding halls with ethereal echoes. ¡°I imagine the word you¡¯re looking for is eclectic. Yes, my dear Yessa was an odd little duckling. You should see her own work ¡ª makes me shiver to see it, every time.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps later,¡± I said politely, impatient to get to the point.


    Faisa pursed her lips. ¡°Yes. Later. Ingram, dear, will you catch our good investigator up to speed?¡±


    Ingram coughed and glanced at me uncertainty, clearly still discouraged by the presence of the highborn lady in earshot. ¡°Yes. Ahem. Well, the Lady Yselda has ¡ª had ¡ª always been a reclusive sort. She enjoyed her privacy, and kept a small household. There were only half a dozen servants and a few guards on the estate, the night she died.¡±


    ¡°You were one of them?¡± I asked, keeping any accusation from my tone.


    The old steward inclined his head. ¡°Indeed. I had already turned in for the night, when one of the guards found me. He said he¡¯d heard strange noises and came to investigate. When they found the lady¡¯s chambers locked, they broke the doors down upon hearing a cry of distress within. I came upon the scene myself after¡­¡±


    He took in a deep breath, his vision sliding backward in time behind those faded eyes. ¡°It was terrible, what I found in that room. Lady Yselda had collapsed near the window, which was, oddly, still closed and locked. She¡­¡±


    He trailed off, glancing at Faisa Dance. The aged highborn clucked her tongue. ¡°It is quite alright, Ingram. Tell the man.¡±


    He glanced back at me, and made a visible effort to steel himself. ¡°Her eyes were missing, along with her tongue. She was naked, and¡­ hollow. We found insects inside of her body, eating what remained of her organs.¡±


    He looked ready to puke. ¡°I fought in many wars, Ser. I fought in the War of Gilt Petals, and was a tactician during the conflict against the Recusants before retiring. I have seen many terrible things. But what I found in that room, it quite unmanned me.¡±


    ¡°This was three weeks ago?¡± I asked.


    Lady Faisa answered. ¡°Yes. Three weeks, two days. We were still caught in the grasp of winter at the time. It was a particularly cold day, and a dark one. I remember, there were no moons that night.¡±


    She frowned, her own gray eyes going distant. ¡°Strange, what details you remember. I arrived in the city two days after poor Yselda¡¯s death. I admit, I did not take the news well.¡±


    ¡°You were close?¡± I asked. We passed into another large hall, this one lined in windows of clear glass to show gardens beneath, the hall itself a sort of bridge connecting one section of the manse to another. Rain drummed against the glass, adding a rhythmic ambience to our conversation.


    ¡°We were lovers,¡± Faisa said.


    Ingram almost choked. I think Emma might have as well, because she made a small, surprised sound from where she brought up the rear of our little company.


    The Dance laughed again, this time with genuine mirth. ¡°Yselda had her start as a courtesan in Mirrei, and an amateur painter. I was one of her patrons, in both respects. We became quite close, though I was somewhat younger and smoother of skin back then.¡±


    I imagined the Lady Faisa having much to do with Yselda¡¯s rise into the nobility as well, in that case. It¡¯s not uncommon, for a highborn to become a person¡¯s benefactor and elevate them into the aristocracy through wealth and connections.


    It had happened with me, thanks to Rosanna. I put that parallel out of my head. It wasn¡¯t of any use.


    ¡°So far, neither the city guard nor those veiled priests have managed to find anything of substance.¡± Faisa sighed, pausing as we reached a nexus chamber. Another tall sculpture, this one of a flat-chested woman with six arms, all of them wrapping around her torso as though in self-embrace. Her half-closed eyes studied the floor, a pensive frown touching her lips.


    I frowned, turning to face Lady Faisa directly. ¡°The Inquisition is involved?¡±


    She blinked, surprised by the question. ¡°Oh, yes, you just arrived. Indeed, the Priorguard have been investigating these murders since last summer. I suppose, when you start finding corpses full of insects, it¡¯s easy to believe in something occult at work. Even so, they¡¯ve uncovered nothing. At least, nothing they¡¯ve shared with my people.¡±


    ¡°All of the victims have been found like Lady Yselda?¡± Emma suddenly piped in. When I glared at her, she drew back and closed her lips with a sheepish expression.


    Faisa quirked an eyebrow at the breech, but nodded. ¡°So far as I know. At first, it was believed some sort of infestation was at work. However, the lack of red beetles appearing anywhere else in the city, and the fact that the murders continued in the dead of winter, put a stop to that notion.¡±


    It definitely screamed of something supernatural. A magus employing some unholy Art? Or the work of an alchemist-assassin?


    I couldn¡¯t be certain, not just off these second hand details. ¡°Can I see the place she died?¡± I asked.


    Faisa Dance closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath, her first real display of emotion. ¡°But of course.¡±


    She led us to a large door, this one fashioned of dark wood in contrast to the white walls. Ingram unlocked it with a key and led us inside.


    The bedroom was large, dimly lit, and full of more strange, subtly disturbing art. This seemed to be where the Lady Yselda kept some of her more risqu¨¦ pieces, the bed she slept in set among figures engaged in acts of lust or violence, and sometimes both at once. Emma, who¡¯d been Emma Carreon, coughed and almost took a step back out the door.


    ¡°Bleeding Gates,¡± Emma muttered, so only I could hear. ¡°I take back what I said about good taste. Was this woman some kind of pervert?¡±


    ¡°Not now,¡± I murmured back, though I could hardly disagree. I took in all the details I could as Ingram went to a window to draw back the curtains, letting gray daylight in to better illuminate the space.


    There were more sculptures here, some of marble and some of wood, many of them half finished. Yselda¡¯s own projects, I guessed.


    My eyes were drawn to one marble figure, a nearly life sized woman with a painfully arched back. A serpent ate its way through her, beginning in one thigh and winding its way up to pass into her sex, eventually emerging from the stomach, where it advanced up and over one shoulder before curling back around to bite at one small breast. I couldn¡¯t quite tell if the expression on the half-finished face had been meant to look euphoric or tortured.


    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.¡±

 3.16: 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.¡±


    ***


    Lias turned out to be easier to track down than I¡¯d expected. The wizard had always been clever, and proud of his cleverness, but he was also a man of stubborn habit.


    Emma and I navigated to a lower portion of the city, where the streets grew more narrow and the runoff of rain poured down into canals and sewers just below. Tenements, shops, and brothels had been built into the sides of high walls or built from wood in packed hives, rickety and water logged. The inhabitants here wore poorer cloth, and ragged shapes flitted between half flooded alleys, watching us with too-bright eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re certain this friend of yours will be here?¡± Emma asked, as we made our way down a nearly abandoned street.


    Some mongrel chimera, resembling something between a rat and a dog with a long hairless tail and evidence of tumors along its patch fur, snarled at us before darting into a drain tunnel. It left a half-finished meal behind ¡ª there was just enough left for me to tell it had once been human.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be here,¡± I said, turning my eyes away from the damp carcass. ¡°Nearby, I think.¡± I placed a hand on my axe where I¡¯d stowed it under my cloak, on its belt-ring. It quivered slightly.


    Emma didn¡¯t speak as we walked, but I could feel her amber eyes boring into the back of my skull. I sighed.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°I hid a shard of my axe¡¯s handle in his carriage,¡± I said. I pulled back my cloak to show her the weapon. ¡°Along with a cant of bonding. I¡¯ve been tracking it.¡±


    Emma¡¯s lips parted slightly, and she made an impressed sound. ¡°Clever. The same technique you taught me?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°The same. Not every use of sorcery needs to be flashy and dramatic, eh?¡±


    We passed through the slum into a wider street, though it still showed signs of wear and poverty. Scum clung to the ancient stone, which hadn¡¯t been tended to by a mason¡¯s hand in generations. A square further down contained an old statue of a regal warrior in scale armor, lifting up a spear shaped like a lightning bolt. Rain had weathered the figure down into a melted uncertainty, and snaprats ¡ª the cities chief pest ¡ª lapped at the scum collecting in the basin below.


    ¡°I¡¯d think one of the magi would dwell somewhere less¡­¡± Emma pursed her lips, searching for the right word. ¡°Aromatic.¡±


    She had a point. The street reeked of sewage and mold, and the drainage system so cleverly wrought into the very architecture of the city had fallen into disuse here, causing rampant flooding.


    ¡°Li always enjoyed his privacy,¡± I said. I nodded down one alley. ¡°Here.¡±


    We found the ostentatious carriage in a narrow backstreet further on. How it had gotten here, I had no idea. It would have needed a crane lift to get it down from the upper districts of the city.


    Not an impossibility. Garihelm is a great fortress of Urn, and the entire city is interwoven with a sprawling complex of curtain walls which link the various castles, forts, and watchtowers scattered across its districts. All of these feed into the mighty citadel in the bay, the famous redoubt of House Forger known as the Fulgurkeep.


    The whole city was functionally a spider¡¯s web, its populace enclosed between the lines, with King Forger and his court the waiting spider at its center.


    All that verticality necessitates the engines needed to transport siege engines about, much as heavy cargo is shifted from dock to ship and back. I¡¯d seen signs of that sort of thing during our long march through the city throughout the day.


    However it had happened, the rich carriage looked grotesquely out of place with the moldering surrounds. I paced by it with barely enough space to walk between one big wheel and the filth-coated wall. I saw no sign of the beasts who¡¯d been pulling it.


    Above, the narrow strip of sky I could make out from those depths had grown darker. Night wasn¡¯t far off.


    Past the carriage, we found a bulwark jutting out from the base of a high wall enclosing the slum. The wall rose up high above us, mountainous, lifting a district enjoying more sunlight up from the forsaken murk below. The bulwark seemed little more than a supporting structure for that great wall, but a small, innocuous door sat at its base.


    I approached the door, then paused. I reached out with my aura, looking for unseen traps. Lias had always been paranoid.


    I sensed nothing but disquiet stone. All the mold and neglect had trapped enough od down here in the roots of the city to altar it in unseen but very real ways. Not unlike the most forbidden depths of a haunted wood, where rot and other forms of putrid life dominate.


    I didn¡¯t wonder why so many of these lower districts seemed abandoned. No doubt people had continued to move upward as the atmosphere in the lower city became more hostile, the bloated spirits more numerous.


    Ghosts haunted the alleys of those moldering streets. They watched me from every shadow, just as they did in the wilds, whispering to one another. Even in the heart of civilization, I couldn¡¯t escape them.


    I saw no sign of any elf wraiths, the ruined seydii who dogged my steps in the wild. I imagined they wouldn¡¯t be far, however.


    Sensing nothing immediately dangerous, I knocked on the door. I waited three heartbeats, then pounded my fist against it, hard. The door jumped in its frame.


    Emma shifted her stance behind me, placed a hand on her sword hilt, and cast a nervous look back down the street. More snaprats, as well as those big naked-tailed dogs, had started to gather along with the scratchy faces of the Dead. I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling they watched us just as intently as the shades did.


    I was halfway to deciding to kick the door down when I heard movement on the other side, then a section of wood slid away to reveal two glaring black eyes. They were set well below my own, and I suspected I knew who they belonged to.


    ¡°The master is not seeing visitors! Begone.¡± Gregori slammed the peephole closed again.


    I glanced at Emma, who shrugged. I nodded, brushed my cloak back off one shoulder, and drew my axe. I tapped it against my shoulder once, judging the door, then took it in both hands and swung.


    My axe sunk into the wood with a solid crack of impact. I¡¯d ripped a good chunk of wood out with that first swing, pulling the axe back for another blow, when the slide opened again to reveal the manservant¡¯s dark eyes.


    ¡°Wait!¡± He said, near panic. ¡°Stop, this is most¡ª¡±


    I swung, and the little man yelped as I nearly slammed the faerie bronze into his face. I¡¯d ripped the axe out again and was adjusting for a third swing when the voice came again.


    ¡°Blast it, you fool, stop that! Fine, fine, you can come in! Your servant waits outside, though.¡±


    ¡°Servant?¡± Emma muttered in a dangerous tone.


    I glanced at her and spoke in a quiet voice, so only she could hear. ¡°Follow me. Keep close, and keep your sword stowed.¡±


    The door swung open, one of its hinges squealing where the metal had deformed from my blows. I considered the opening thoughtfully, then walked through without putting my axe away, instead keeping it rested on one shoulder.


    The door had been unobtrusive, dull even, notable only by its odd position at the base of the enormous bulwark. The interior of the disguised mage tower, however, looked anything but drab.


    A room as lavish as Yselda of Mirrebel¡¯s foyer, though less brightly lit, greeted us. A spiral stair ascended up into the bastion¡¯s depths, and side passages lined the walls. The stone flickered with the light of iron sconces, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling.


    There were few other furnishings, save for a pair of empty suits of armor by the foot of the stair, twin knights with shield and poleaxe guarding hearth and home.


    Gregori waited for us, still in his bell-tailed coat and frilly collar, his powdered black wig looking slightly askew. He glared at me, then quailed as he noted the axe. ¡°This is quite uncouth, sir.¡± His voice sounded higher than before.


    I ignored him, scanning the stairs. I saw a dark figure at the top looking down over a balcony. A hooded shape, anonymous and almost liquid, with loose sleeves and a trailing robe to obscure all features. Even the fingers resting on the railing had been concealed by black gloves.


    I pointed my axe at the shadow. ¡°You and I need to have a chat, Lias.¡±


    Gregori hissed. ¡°How dare you speak the master¡¯s name!¡± He pointed a trembling finger at Emma. ¡°And she was ordered to remain outside!¡±


    ¡°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 short man. ¡°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.¡±

 3.17: An Academic Guide to the Profane

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 3.18: Sooth

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 3.19: 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.¡±


    I stared around at the changelings. I recognized some as regulars at the Backroad.


    ¡°Wondering if Cat betrayed you?¡± Joy asked, a cruel smile peeling her lips back. ¡°Worried all those sweet nothings she whispered into your ear while you were humping her might have been rosy little lies?¡±


    I fixed the full weight of my golden eyes on Joy. She winced, as though a flash of bright light had struck her. ¡°No,¡± I said, standing straight and spreading my legs slightly apart, hiding the motion with the long veil of my red cloak. ¡°Did she even make it back to the inn?¡±


    Joy recovered and adopted her lascivious smile again. ¡°Let¡¯s not talk about her right now. I¡¯d rather focus on you and me, and what we can do for one another.¡±


    I drew in a deep breath, and let a small smile of my own cross my lips. I even let out a little laugh.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Joy¡¯s own smile withered. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°You,¡± I said in a quiet voice, letting the tunnel¡¯s acoustics carry the word. ¡°You know what I am, surely. I¡¯ve had much better seductresses than you try to get into my head.¡±


    I concentrated, and the prickling sense of will scuttling in my ears like tiny insects vanished as I burned my aura. The tunnel brightened as that power flickered in my eyes, and several of the changelings backed away a step at the sight. Joy only glared hatefully at me.


    ¡°Catrin almost succeeded the night we met,¡± I told her. Then, in a harder tone I said, ¡°Where is she?¡±


    One of the changelings started to advance. It had a relatively human body with an enlarged, toad-like head protruding from fine merchant¡¯s clothes. I pointed my axe at it, letting the inlays on the blade burn amber. It froze, letting loose a nervous croak.


    ¡°She really has you whipped, huh?¡± Joy tilted her head to one side, all pretense of emotion fading from her freckled face.


    ¡°If you¡¯ve hurt her¡ª¡± I began.


    ¡°She¡¯s still tucked away nice and safe under that cockwart Keeper¡¯s protection,¡± Joy spat. ¡°She¡¯s the old vulture¡¯s favorite cunt, didn¡¯t you know? But there are new powers in the land, boyo, less decrepit than the master of the Backroad.¡±


    ¡°Throwing in with the new money, is it?¡± I cast my gaze across the assortment of misfits. There were nearly a dozen, all dangerous, all preternaturally swift and strong. Packed into that space, a normal human would be torn apart in moments.


    Karog. Joy had been his point of contact with whoever had invited him to the city. Had he betrayed us? He hadn¡¯t hidden his self-serving motives. Even still, considering how touchy he¡¯d been about betrayal, I had hoped he¡¯d honor our pact.


    Joy might have simply been spying on us, and found out I was in the city on her own. Sort it out later, survive now. I controlled my breathing, having started reshaping my aura into an Alder Art from the moment I¡¯d realized I¡¯d walked into a trap.


    ¡°He¡¯s casting!¡± One of the changelings called out, this one resembling a harpy with patchy brown feathers. She had lambent eyes, ones I suspected saw more than most.


    ¡°Take him!¡± Joy spat, backing away even as her comrades surged forward.


    I¡¯d promised Catrin I wouldn¡¯t bring harm to the changelings of Garihelm. I sent a silent apology her way, then let all other concerns wash away.


    Faen Orgis erupted with amber fire, and I parried the first attack sent my way ¡ª not from claw or fang, but from an ordinary dagger wielded by another of the Backroad¡¯s working girls, this one a brown-haired wench in a tan dress.


    She let out a banshee scream as she struck, only to gasp as I knocked the blade from her hand and sent her stumbling back, her hand scalded by aureflame. Her masque came apart in the same moment, revealing pale scales and hedgehog hair.


    They would have ignored ordinary steel and dogpiled me, but I swept my faerie axe like a brand, causing all the changelings to flinch back. I didn¡¯t stay on the defensive, but lunged forward once the momentum of their charge had died.


    I sunk a fist into Toad Head¡¯s belly. He let out a wheezing gasp before sinking to his knees in the filthy water, ruining his fine clothes. I dodged the slashing talons of the harpy, then slammed the triangle of metal on the axe head¡¯s back end into her short beak, cracking it. She went down with a screech.


    Strong hands grasped my ankles. I glanced down, seeing something small and wrinkled emerging from the dark water. It hissed, revealing sharp teeth, and surged upward.


    There is a visceral, primal terror all men feel when something sharp and angry goes anywhere near their pelvis. So, reacting entirely on reflex, I drove the butt end of my axe¡¯s handle into the creature¡¯s skull, sending it back down into the water.


    I began to realize something, and clenched my jaw.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± The momentary distraction had drawn my attention away from the leader of this ambush. Joy lunged at me, and she didn¡¯t look so fetching any more. She had long yellow teeth too big for her mouth, bloodshot eyes, and wicked claws.


    She slammed into me, nearly knocking me back down into the water. I stumbled back, cursing, and managed to get my off hand up just before those long teeth tore off my nose. She gnawed on my vambrace, unable to dislodge her mutant fangs from the metal without pulling away, which she didn¡¯t seem altogether willing to do. She scrabbled at my eyes with her overgrown nails, trying to claw them out.


    I growled, spun, and slammed her against one of the half-rotten support pillars along the tunnel¡¯s edge. She grunted, but held on, lodging her claws into my chainmail. I slammed her forward again, this time smacking the back of her head against the stone.


    ¡°Let go,¡± I snarled.


    She just growled, unable to form words with those big teeth. Her skin was starting to darken to gray and sprout more hair, the yellow in her hair fade to ashen brown.


    Lycanthrope. Probably some mongrel breed, made when a wolfwere had taken human guise and gone in for a night on a town, or perhaps she¡¯d been an innocent infant caught under the light of a bad moon before her aura had built any immunity.


    Whatever the case, her bite could leave me a raving madman whenever the moons were full or give me a taste for rotten meat. Neither sounded appealing.


    I cursed, and tightened my grip on the axe. One chop to the skull would be all it¡¯d take.


    Silently cursing myself as a fool, I settled for slamming my forehead against hers. One of her fangs broke off my vambrace, and she dropped off my arm with a yelp of pain.


    I turned, letting the amber gleam of my sight fall on the rest of the changelings. Many of them had balked early, rather than taking advantage of my distractions and their greater numbers. Along with Joy and the wyldeman whose leg I¡¯d broken, I¡¯d incapacitated nearly half of them.


    And I felt certain of my hunch, looking at their frightened faces. These weren¡¯t assassins ¡ª they were a mob. These weren¡¯t monsters, but angry commoners. People.


    The harpy woman sobbed quietly, holding her shattered beak. I tore my eyes away from that unsettling sight, keeping the rest in my field of vision.


    ¡°Who put you up to this?¡± I growled, my heart still beating fast from the violence. ¡°Speak.¡±


    The aura in my command made them all flinch. But it wasn¡¯t any of the ambushers who answered my question. Instead an unnaturally deep voice bearing lifetimes of sullen wrath filled the tunnel.


    ¡°No one put them up to it, elf friend. They are only defending their own.¡±


    I suppressed an instinctive shudder of fear and turned to look down the tunnel. A hulking shape with candle-flame eyes hunched there, glowering at me. He had his cleavers drawn, and a deep, nearly sub-audible rumble boiled in his chest.


    ¡°Karog.¡± I jerked my axe to one side, pointing it at the changelings. ¡°Care to explain?¡±


    He stepped closer, passing into a beam of rainy daylight which illuminated his form more clearly. Still huge and terrifying, he¡¯d returned to the garments he¡¯d worn when I¡¯d first met him, clad in the furs and leathers of a barbarian warrior, his belt lined in trophy skulls. His lips peeled back into something halfway between a threatening display and a sneer.


    ¡°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.¡±


    </a>

 3.20: 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.


    ¡°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.


    ¡°I¡¯m Brother Caslin. Think of me as a caretaker for this house. If you¡¯d follow me?¡±


    He led me into the church then, talking freely about how I was the tenth to visit that week, and how each visitor now wore the Trident. He mentioned the names of priests I didn¡¯t know as if they were the titles of great lords, and of bases the organization had claimed across the northern realms.


    ¡°We¡¯ve already managed to gain the support of five cardinals,¡± he said, as we passed through Rose Malin¡¯s entry hall. He nodded to a black-robed priorguard sitting watch near the door, looking half awake. I was mildly surprised to see she didn¡¯t wear her veil. ¡°That¡¯s a fourth of the College behind us, brother. Between that and the fact the Presider is on King Forger¡¯s own council, we¡¯re expecting some of our proposed reforms to go through during the next Synod and¡­ I¡¯m boring you.¡±


    I blinked. We stood before an inner set of doors at the end of the entry corridor. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have much of a head for politics, Brother Caslin. Forgive me.¡±


    Brother Caslin chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s no matter, no matter. I didn¡¯t catch your name?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°¡­Alken.¡± I wasn¡¯t the only one in the subcontinent, no need to complicate things with a pseudonym.


    ¡°Alken of?¡± The monk pressed. When I didn¡¯t answer quickly, his smile turned more knowing. ¡°Well, it¡¯s no matter. Once you take the black, your past is of no interest to us. Some among our ranks are ex soldiers, even convicted criminals.¡±


    He nodded back the way we¡¯d come, to the woman who¡¯d been on watch. ¡°That was Helga. She used to work for a crime ring that bred and sold unsanctioned chimera. She handled the beasts, until one got free in her home town and killed a little girl. She was waiting to be hanged when we found her.¡±


    He watched me a moment as I took that in, then continued. ¡°It¡¯s a common enough sort of story among us, son. We bear torches to Urn¡¯s future, and who better to hold them than those who¡¯ve walked in the shadows? These are dark days, very dark, and people could use more light.¡±


    I hid the frown that shadowed the corner of my lips. His words came very close to the adage of the Alder Table.


    ¡°Point is,¡± Brother Caslin said softly, ¡°whoever you are, whatever you¡¯ve done¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    I¡¯d never heard anything more untrue in my life. Even still I nodded and said, ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°This way,¡± he said, gesturing toward the doors.


    We entered the nave. Walls of red stone rose around me, supported by pillars carved in bass reliefs. Like in many Urnic churches, the carvings worked into the architecture told the story of the Faith, of the great exodus from Edaea and the founding of the realms. The images radiated out from the mosaic floor in a chaotic tableau, a whirlpool of legends and events centuries gone, terminating in a single great scene on the far wall where stone gave way to stained glass.


    There, above the sanctuary, the Throne of Onsolem lay empty. The grasping claws and hungering mouths of demons converged upon it. Above the cracked throne rose the Heir, Her golden hand upraised to clasp a hunting spear, the Hordes of Ruin flinching from Her.


    That single image, unlike all the others, was not history, not legend. The reclamation of Heaven was a prophecy, a terminus not only of the art in that room but of the purpose of the Church ¡ª to await the promised day when God would return to the shores of our world and lead our dead to paradise.


    Seven centuries gone now since She had departed to wage that war. How long would we wait? Another seven centuries? A thousand?


    All my battles were here, anyway.


    ¡°Humbling, isn¡¯t it?¡± I caught Brother Caslin¡¯s smile out of the corner of my eye. ¡°They say our God appeared before the lords of the west on the very day they would have bent the knee to the Cambion. There is always a sunrise after the darkest part of the night, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°¡­I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± I said, tearing my eyes from the image. I heard muted thunder rumble up above ¡ª the storm had softened for a handful of hours, but it seemed to be stoking itself again.


    ¡°I was a scholar before all this, you know.¡± Brother Caslin¡¯s voice turned musing. ¡°The College had me studying holy texts, for restoration at first, but they promoted me later on after I submitted certain theories¡­ ah, listen to me ramble. My age, I suppose. Have you ever studied our Faith, Alken?¡±


    ¡°My father was a clerk,¡± I said. ¡°He taught me to read, and my mother was devout, but¡­ no, I can¡¯t say I¡¯m any sort of scholar.¡±


    ¡°You do seem more the mercenary,¡± the monk said, without judgment. ¡°Even still, the history of our faith is one of conflict. Heaven itself was lost to the Adversary, and our God forced to flee to this land¡­ and yet still, She has soldiers to fight for Her. Even still, there is hope. There is comfort in that, even in dark days.¡±


    He clapped me on the shoulder. ¡°I am glad to have you with us. Garm and the Knight-Confessor will be pleased to have more fighting men they don¡¯t need to train up.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± I asked the monk. ¡°Some ceremony, or test?¡±


    In truth, all I needed was a chance to find out where they might be keeping prisoners. A few cants, an auratically enhanced suggestion in the ear of the right guard, and then I could slip away in the night. This place didn¡¯t seem a fortress, judging by the drowsing guard by the front door.


    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.


    </a>

 3.21: 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.


    ¡°For trespassing on holy ground under false pretenses, and for crimes committed against the Faith, I am placing you under arrest.¡± Kross began to advance, his sabatons clapping the stone with metallic echoes. ¡°Surrender, and I will have mercy.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I scoffed, and began to advance as well. My own leather boots and chainmail were quieter than his full plate. ¡°Because your masters are so well known for their mercy.¡±


    Kross¡¯s lips twitched, a ghost of his familiar mocking smirk returning. He knew I wasn¡¯t referring to the Priory.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Around us, the priorguard murmured behind their anonymous veils.


    ¡°Who is that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see the axe? It¡¯s him.¡±


    ¡°The one who killed Bishop Leonis.¡±


    ¡°The Headsman himself, Bleeding Gates¡­¡±


    ¡°Do they all know who you really are?¡± I asked Kross.


    His smile became almost pitying. ¡°Don¡¯t you see, Alken? You are the villain here.¡± Then in a more conversational tone he asked, ¡°Where is Lady Emma? I¡¯ve been wanting to speak to her again, perhaps put some of the unpleasantness from last fall behind us.¡±


    Instead of answering, I lunged forward. I went low, using a martial technique I¡¯d learned during my tenure as First Sword of Karles, no magic in it. Low Steps the Wolf.


    I swept my axe at Kross¡¯s legs, intending to sweep his steel-clad feet out from under him. He answered with a downward arc of his sword, catching the axe¡¯s bit and carrying it upward into the flourish of his parry. His blade kept going even after it had dislodged mine, spinning into a circular riposte.


    I never stopped moving either, rising up into a block, then a cut, which he also blocked.


    A mistake. I¡¯d put aura into that last swing, and Kross¡¯s granite-colored eyes widened in surprise as the force of my blow nearly took the sword from his hands. Sparks flew, and he went skidding back from me, his steel boots squealing against the smooth floor. He shifted his stance even as he slid. His sword arm formed a bar over his chest, his blade pointing down and his off hand upheld to add its share of steel to his defense.


    I recognized the stance ¡ª All Gates Are Adamant, a knightly technique.


    I¡¯d caught glimpses of it when we¡¯d fought together against Jon Orley before the winter, but I felt certain then. Whatever else he might have been, Renuart Kross was a master swordsman.


    I crouched low again, bringing my axe up onto my shoulder, and used the Eardeking¡¯s Lance again. The prongs of golden-white antlers burst forth from my arms and shoulders, and I shot forward to impale Kross with them. At this close range, I hoped to catch him by surprise.


    I did, but not his guardian. The Zosite seraph, still six-armed and holding its saintly pose, suddenly swept two of its interlocked hands apart. Like the breaking of a seal, it unleashed a wave of stored power.


    A wave of cold. Tundra wind slammed against me, and in the same moment the ghostly angel¡¯s wings beat once. Kross was lifted up and back a fraction of a second before I would have rammed into him, the full momentum of my charge neutered by the blast of wind.


    The cold wasn¡¯t purely natural, and the spiritual fire forming my phantasmal spikes withered and died in it. Ice crawled across the floor, made the wooden pews groan, climbed the great pillars supporting the arched ceiling. It clung to my skin, ate into my blood.


    I began to shiver. The slender arms the seraph had brought apart faded, leaving it with only four.


    And I hadn¡¯t yet managed to get past Kross.


    Perhaps I didn¡¯t need to get past him.


    ¡°What do you hope to accomplish here?¡± Kross asked as he alighted lightly on the ground a distance away between the rows. ¡°Even if you manage to overwhelm me, you cannot escape. The city watch has already been alerted.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling a subtle impression of wrongness. When I burned my magic so brightly, my more intrinsic abilities were keener ¡ª I knew he lied.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t told anyone outside this church,¡± I said aloud, beginning to walk forward again. ¡°You don¡¯t want anyone to know you¡¯ve caught me.¡±


    Why? My powers could be frustratingly nonspecific. I felt the stink of a lie, but couldn¡¯t guess at his motivations. To prevent Lias from attempting a rescue? Did they even know I cooperated with the spymaster?


    ¡°Even still,¡± Kross said, taking another guard. ¡°You were done as soon as you stepped foot on hallowed ground. Now, Sister Lisette.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t forgotten about the adept with the threads either. I spun, flicked a dagger from my belt, and hurled it. I did it without thought, acting purely on training and instinct.


    I missed, and the dagger clanged off the altar. It startled the woman, though, causing her to flinch. Her phantasm faltered half formed, the threads in her fingers breaking apart.


    I whirled again, but not toward Kross ¡ª instead I dashed toward the mass of priorguard to my left.


    Two men shouted warnings, but I was among them in a moment. My axe lashed out, slicing through a black veil and the face beneath, tearing through the joins between lower jaw and skull. He fell back with a wet cough. I caught another¡¯s quarterstaff off the end of that same swing, swept it away, then ripped the axe¡¯s bit across its wielders stomach.


    The second priorguard wore no armor beneath the black cloth, and his guts spilled out as if I¡¯d punctured an overfull sack. The blood pouring down Faen Orgis¡¯s handle awakened it, and I felt the ancient branch shift in my hand, growing longer with a series of cracking pops, the buds of tiny branches forming.


    I drove the elongated weapon into another priorguard¡¯s sternum, using the sharp point of wood that¡¯d suddenly grown above the head like a spear tip. I lifted him, baring my teeth against his struggles, and hurled him into one of his comrades. They both went into a pew, cracking the bench in half.


    My eyes fell on a doorway to the side of the room. Get in narrow corridors, take away their advantage. Get into the city and escape into the alleys. Once I¡¯d gotten out of the Bell Ward, they¡¯d never find me.


    I¡¯d been a fool to come here, even if I hadn¡¯t known I¡¯d run into fucking Renuart Kross.


    I sprinted for the opening I¡¯d made in the ranks of the priorguard, but one more robed figure moved to stand in my path. Tall and powerfully built, his quarterstaff was capped and studded with iron all along its length so it looked closer to a proper weapon of war.


    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.¡±

 3.22: 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.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard the stories,¡± Oraise said, and this time he did smile, though the expression was infinitesimal. ¡°The commonfolk say many things ¡ª that you are a revenant called up from Draubard to punish the wicked among the mighty, or that you are even the elf king himself, miraculously alive.¡±


    He leaned forward, that stillborn smile gone. ¡°I have little patience for stories. I did my research, of course. I began shortly after the murder of Bishop Leonis, when I was selected by the College to investigate that and various other unpleasant things. I admit, I was shocked to find so many rumors of a red-cloaked man wielding golden fire across the realms, magic quite specifically attributed to members of the Alder Table. I found record of your excommunication, and you were the only active member of that order by the end of the war against the Recusants. It wasn¡¯t difficult to put two and two together.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°A good guess isn¡¯t evidence,¡± I said.


    ¡°True,¡± he agreed. ¡°But now I have the real thing. All I require is your confession.¡±


    ¡°And you believe I¡¯ll give it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Oraise said frankly. ¡°We are very good at this, Lord Alken. We have all the records from the Old Inquisition, all their techniques of interrogation, including many of our own. We have adepts with techniques more advanced than during the Plague, and we have new inventions, devices for inflicting pain. I will use them if I must.¡±


    His eyes met mine, and he didn¡¯t flinch at the touch of their golden light, didn¡¯t wince. I looked into him, and I saw¡­


    A still pond, cold as a mountain lake and devoid of¡­ anything. Clear, calm, unmoved by the stink of sweat and filth clinging to the stone of that terrible room. I saw a man who¡¯d cleansed himself of all doubt, all fear.


    He still felt. He was still alive. I noticed the way his lip slightly curled and one nostril flared every so often in distaste. I saw the way he kept his finely sewn cuffs clear of the dirty table. He had vanity, this man, but he knew that and used it just as deliberately as he used his chilling orator¡¯s voice.


    He wasn¡¯t a damned thing, like Vicar. There was no demon or dark spirit behind him. Oraise was human, ordinary, without even an awareness of his own aura. He had no awakened soul, no magic.


    And yet¡­


    I began to feel afraid of him.


    He shuddered suddenly, leaning back. ¡°Ah, so that¡¯s what it feels like. I¡¯ve heard your order could peer into a man¡¯s soul. Tell me, Lord Hewer, what did you see in mine?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I told him honestly.


    His eyes narrowed as he absorbed that, then dismissed it as easily as I imagined he would dismiss me from his thoughts once I was dead. ¡°Over the last six years, your victims have numbered among both the Recusant and sanctioned members of the Accord. What I want to know is what faction you serve, whose interests. Famed though you Seydis knights were, I find it difficult to believe you could have such a prolific body count alone. I will know who else is involved, and where they might be found. Once done, I will bring you before the Accord, where you will be tried and sentenced, along with any co-conspirators you may possess.¡±


    I¡¯d known this to be a possible outcome from the moment I¡¯d taken Leonis Chancer¡¯s head. I didn¡¯t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.


    ¡°That is one future,¡± Oraise said, drawing my eyes back to him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Have you heard of the Knights Penitent?¡± The inquisitor asked, lifting a thick eyebrow.


    I had. The Knights Penitent had a reputation gruesome as the Old Inquisition in the history of the land. ¡°The Church put criminals and madmen to bloody work,¡± I said. ¡°They were a conscript army of butchers. Suicide soldiers. They were disbanded after Lyda¡¯s Plague along with your predecessors.¡±


    ¡°I am attempting to revive the order,¡± Oraise said bluntly, shrugging. ¡°I believe you may be a good fit. The Knight-Confessor agrees.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°You¡¯re insane. Why would I¡ª¡±


    I saw the look in the Presider¡¯s eyes, and fell silent. Why would I, indeed? It was basically my same job.


    ¡°Why me?¡± I croaked, half curious and half horrified at his casual admission. Stories about the Penitent made the disastrous crusades to reclaim the continent look almost tame, by comparison, and entire kingdoms had died during those long-ago wars.


    ¡°Because you are a relic of a past our world would be better rid of,¡± Oraise said, his gaunt features twisting into something contemptuous. ¡°You and your order ¡ª the Knights of the Alder Table ¡ª linger in the minds of the faithful like a thorn, dripping the poison of superstition into the bloodstream of faith. It is the same with the Sidhe, who lack the good grace to fade away like the senile relics they are. Instead, we have the work of convincing the peasants they are dangerous¡­ not that the elves are making it difficult.¡±


    ¡°So you want me as a resource to help build this private army,¡± I said, trying to follow the thread of his monologue. ¡°And you want to kill my legend. Two birds with one stone.¡±


    He waved a hand dismissively. ¡°We do not need legends of faerie-blessed crusaders. We need order. You Alder warlocks had too much autonomy, were too disconnected from the purpose of our society ¡ª to serve Her. ¡°


    He made the sign of the auremark in the air before continuing. ¡°Heresy was allowed to take root in your ranks, even as it was neglected among the elves for so long. There is a reason our God did not trust them, a reason She installed the Archon to keep them in check.¡±


    He gestured toward me. ¡°Even you, raised within the Faith and knighted, became lost among their many blasphemies. Is it true you had an affair with a holy scribe, one of the Cenocaste?¡±


    I remained silent. That I did not want to speak of.


    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.

 3.23: 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.


    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.¡±


    We do not lie


    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 and the Grand Prior. They are 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.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    A worthy purpose. I closed my eyes, breathing in deep. How long had I been looking for that?


    Was this one?


    I did not know. I did know one thing, though.


    ¡°Jon Orley,¡± I said, meeting Kross¡¯s burning coal eyes. ¡°I saw what you did to him. What sins did he commit, besides loving the wrong person?¡±


    Kross¡¯s face set into a stern mask. ¡°Do not be a fool, Alken. Don¡¯t let your shallow discontents get in the way of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get out,¡± I told him. ¡°Show me that scrap again, and I¡¯ll piss on it.¡±


    He glared at me a moment, then stood. ¡°You will regret this. When Oraise begins to drill into your bones, when you shit yourself and beg him to let you give up all your allies to spare you further pain, you will remember what I offered.¡±


    I ignored him, leaning my head back against the wall and closing my eyes. Eventually, I heard him leave. The door slammed shut with a hollow boom.


    I sat again in the dark, listening to water drip and the dregs of the dead squeeze their way through the stones.


    I didn¡¯t know what would happen to me when I died. Because of my failures and their cataclysmic consequences, I felt certain my soul would be consigned to some deep prison of Draubard, exempt from the great exodus the priests said would begin when the God-Queen returned to lead the dead beyond the world. Or I¡¯d wander, lost, like the mad ghosts who dogged my steps.


    I could hear them whispering through the cracks in the stones. Some had found their way down into whatever dungeon I¡¯d been brought, and they mocked me.


    If I took Kross¡¯s offer, I¡¯d go to Hell. I''d fight forever, burned and angry. Maybe that was justice.


    There was a fourth fate I expected might be possible, one I didn¡¯t much like contemplating. Yet, in that empty dark that stank of an unemptied chamberpot, sweat, and my own dry blood, I couldn¡¯t help but consider it, that last potential afterlife.


    This is what you did to me.


    As I sat in the dark, and time passed, I felt the crushing weight of all that stone above, all that darkness. I imagined I could hear grinding stone, as though the entire weight of the cathedral and its dungeons were sinking. Slow, relentless. I would be pressed down flat, squashed into nothing with slow, unceasing pressure.


    They¡¯d taken my ring. Taken my axe. I had no friends coming to help me. No one knew I was here. Not Donnelly. Not Catrin. Not Rosanna or Lias, or Emma, Rysanthe or Oraeka. Not Maxim, come to my rescue in his gilded armor and wielding his mythic sword.


    I was alone.


    Not without company, though. The nightmares indulged me well in that regard. For many days I slept black thanks to the regular beatings and exhaustion, but it wasn¡¯t long before I healed enough to start dreaming.


    They¡¯d taken Rysanthe¡¯s ring. In the dark, with my ring gone and the sun and stars who knew how far above me in that subterranean pit, I was entirely at the mercy of the dark things in my dreams.


    They had none.


    <hr>


    Do you, Alken of the Herdhold, pledge yourself? Do you pledge your body, your sword, your heart, and the blessed spirit gifted to all men? Do you pledge to defend these shores with life and soul from this day and through all days, until death or your liege release you?


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Do you swear to forgo reward, to seek justice for its own sake?


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Do you swear to live with temperance in times of famine and plenty? To keep love in your heart in times of peace or war?


    ¡°I do,¡± I croaked into the darkness.


    Do you swear to act always with wisdom, or to seek council from the wise when the path is unclear?


    ¡°¡­I do.¡± I tried to rise on the filthy cot. Pain flared in my broken wrist and I collapsed, groaning, turning onto my back. A rat scurried along the wall nearby.


    And in my memory, Rosanna¡¯s voice went on inexorably, clear as the day she¡¯d made me a knight.


    Do you swear to act always with fortitude? To never allow cowardice to stay your hand, and to never turn your back on an enemy?


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡± My voice was barely a whisper. The darkness drank it.


    Do you swear to protect those weaker than you? The innocent and the infirm? To allow none to abuse such persons, and to challenge tyrants? Do you swear to treat those less fortunate than you with grace and aid them if their cause is just?


    ¡°I swear,¡± I said into the stinking cot. My wrist throbbed. I needed water. No one had come to my cell in nearly two days. I think it was so long. There was no time in the darkness.


    Do you swear to act always with honor? Do you swear to safeguard the honor of your comrades, to challenge any who would question that honor, be it yours or your fellow knights?


    I opened my dry, cracked lips to say the words, but nothing emerged but air. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    It is done.


    Ser Beck¡¯s voice. I saw him there, as though he stood far away in that empty dark of the prison cell, or somewhere beyond it. He stood alone in an empty void yet was illuminated, sword drawn and bloodied. He looked to me, not a hint of apology in his face for what he and the others had done. No shame or regret. Only weary determination.


    ¡°It is done, as are we. The Table is broken. Go! You will need your sword.¡± He pointed with his own sword toward me. Past me.


    Do you swear to see to the end any course begun?


    I breathed into that darkness lined in stone and filth. I clenched a hand into a fist. Somewhere nearby, rats, or some beast like a rat, scurried and whispered their secrets to one another. Ghosts mocked me in tiny voices from the seams between the stones. Somewhere beyond my cell, a man screamed in pain as the questioners tortured him. He''d been screaming for hours.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Liar.


    <hr>


    Cold. Hunger. Pain. A memory of my childhood in the Herdhold.


    This isn¡¯t one of your mother¡¯s stories. My father¡¯s voice, weary and distracted. You don¡¯t have to respect your betters, only obey them.


    Cold. Hunger. Pain. A bloody axe in my hands, and Lias¡¯s cheerful laugh.


    Well done, well done! Hewed him good, didn¡¯t you? Oh, please tell me you¡¯re not about to throw up.


    Cold. Hunger. Pain. Rosanna as a youth, dirty and half-starved, her black hair tangled with leaves, sitting across the fire from me as I cleaned the sword I¡¯d taken from the first man I¡¯d killed.


    Maybe I could just disappear, even live a happy life. But then they¡¯d have won. I refuse to live in a world where the traitors who butchered my family can grow old while everyone forgets what they¡¯ve done. They won¡¯t forget me, I promise you that.


    Cold. Hunger. Pain. Whispering in the dark.


    You speak often of what your queen and comrades gain from all the war and intrigue, but what is it you want, Alken? Is it for duty? For some dream?


    ¡­I don¡¯t know. I thought it was for this. Look at all of this!


    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.


    <hr>


    ¡°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.


    Sister Fidei paced along the white stone floor. As usual, she wore her Cenocaste garb, a white robe beneath a black cape and mantle. 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 the holy scribe¡¯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, and she¡¯d admitted her own, 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. I¡¯d gone away with the taste of her lips still fresh on my mouth.


    ¡°They¡¯re doing it because¡­¡± Fidei bared her white teeth and let out a hiss of frustration. ¡°It¡¯s complicated, Alken!¡±


    I¡¯d never seen her so emotional. I didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    ¡°They¡¯re working with the wizard Reynard,¡± she said.


    I blinked, and the uncomfortable smile slipped from my face. Reynard. King 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.


    Demons.


    ¡°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 also 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.


    <hr>

 3.24: 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 Seydii 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 elves had 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 Sister Fidei. 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,¡± 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?¡± 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. The nun watched it a while, her own feelings far less readable than mine.


    ¡°Honor?¡± Sister Fidei asked, almost seeming to taste the word. She turned her eyes back to me. ¡°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.¡±


    She shrugged, adjusting the trailing sleeves of her clerical garb and folding her hands together. ¡°Let me ask you this ¡ª did you kill that boy and those men because you hated them, because this queen ordered you to do it, or because you wanted to protect those you cared for? You say there had been poisonings. Your enemy did not fight honorably.¡±


    ¡°If we all sink to the standards of the lowest,¡± I said, ¡°then we¡¯ll all end up in the mud.¡±


    The nun was not impressed. ¡°How quaint. But you did not answer my question.¡±


    I thought a moment. ¡°I wanted to protect Rosanna, and her court. Karles was my home, one I¡¯d helped claim for us. I just¡­ didn¡¯t know how best to do it, and Lias and Rose seemed to have the answer, so I fell in line.¡±


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t like the answer they gave,¡± Dei said knowingly, having made it a quarter of the way around the pond. ¡°How would you have stopped this plot?¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I stared down at my reflection. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about that a lot since then. I¡­¡± I sighed, and admitted the truth. ¡°I haven¡¯t thought of a better way.¡±


    ¡°It is good this boy¡¯s face haunts you,¡± Sister Fidei said, causing my eyes to shoot up to her in shock.


    She met my gaze, her own stern. ¡°It is,¡± she insisted. ¡°That pain is strength. It is a lesson. What matters isn¡¯t whether what you did is wrong, Alken, but that it made you consider right and wrong, however you want to define those words. How do you wage your battles? What do you fight for, and what are you willing to do to protect what is yours?¡±


    She waved a hand, as though tossing me something. ¡°Suffering is the fulcrum upon which we decide these things.¡±


    I watched her walk a moment, then stared down at one vambrace. Between the lines of golden ivy, the metal caught the moonlight. A beautiful thing. Art, made for war.


    ¡°I do not feel I¡¯ve earned this,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t think Rose understood what it means, when she gave it to me.¡± I clenched my fist, listening to the tiny metal plates click together. ¡°I¡¯m not a lord, not really. I¡¯m just a clerk¡¯s son from a backwater who got swept up in all of this.¡±


    Rosanna had put me here for more power. Power to keep her people safe, certainly, but for power all the same.


    ¡°I¡¯m an imposter, Dei. I worry every day everyone will find out, if they don¡¯t already know.¡±


    I¡¯d toyed with the thought a year and more, and saying it made my heart quicken.


    The holy sister¡¯s lips twitched into a mysterious smile.


    ¡°Swept into it?¡± She laughed softly. ¡°Or did you ride the tide to get to farther shores?¡±


    I folded my arms, frowning.


    ¡°There are two types of killers in the world,¡± Fidei said, holding up two fingers without stopping her pacing. ¡°Those who see the faces of the dead in their dreams, and those who sleep soundly. I promise you, every single chair in the elf king¡¯s hall is filled by one or the other ¡ª which would you rather be?¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°I tell you of doubt and butchery, and you make it sound like a small thing.¡±


    Again, Dei shrugged. ¡°It seems a small thing to me. Just a bit of pain. Just a bit of doubt. Would you rather feel nothing? Would any of this have even a scrap of splendor if it was not also full of painful memories? It is, Alken, this place. This immortal kingdom is old, and very, very tired.¡±


    She stopped her circle and smiled up at the gilt towers above us, at the cold moon, breathing deep of the night air. ¡°That is what gives it depth.¡±


    Her smile faded then, and she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Her lip curled up again, very slightly, but no less full of fondness. A firefly made a lazy path between us.


    ¡°Your suffering is why I felt drawn to you, you know. I never told you that.¡±


    Another firefly, burning dim yellow, flitted between us. Another followed, and more.


    My eyes remained fixed on the woman across the water from me.


    She hadn¡¯t said that. The memory was wrong.


    <hr>


    I stood on a battlefield. Corpses lay across a vast plain beneath a smoldering mountain. Mire pools stinking of sulfur belched smoke into the gray air, like the maws of subterranean wurms.


    I wore my armor ¡ª my armor, from my time as a soldier in the Karledale. Good, hard steel and a red cape, the Silvering Sun hewn to the heart-shield fanning from my left pauldron. I had my claymos, my Sword of War, in hand. It dripped blood into the soil. I sucked in ragged breaths, taking in the stink and the glory of that moment.


    Beneath me, Rosanna¡¯s uncle ¡ª the eldest traitor, the leader of the usurpers ¡ª lay dead.


    Victory. After four years of civil war, victory. I was twenty-two that summer, and I¡¯d just slain a famed warrior twice my age, and won my princess a throne.


    Not a princess anymore. Rosanna Silvering was Queen of The Karledale, now. We had won.


    ¡°You can¡¯t hide from this. No matter what memories you escape into.¡±


    I caught my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and opened them again. The scene hadn¡¯t changed. I turned, finding the nun¡¯s pale blue eyes staring at me intently from within the white frame of her wimple.


    ¡°I¡¯m still beneath Rose Malin,¡± I told her. ¡°You¡¯re not really here, Dei. You¡¯ve been gone since¡­¡±


    ¡±Since¡­¡± She tilted her head to one side. ¡°Go on. You know when. Remember it.¡±


    The scene did change then. I stood in the streets of Elfhome, and they were aflame. Recusant soldiers flooded through the streets, clashing with Ardent Bough loyalists and those Sidhe who hadn¡¯t lost their wits when the Archon had died.


    Hideous shapes flitted through the smoldering rooftops, laughing and crying in piercing voices, slaughtering indiscriminately.


    A golden light bloomed, harsh, molten. I winced, and when I turned I saw soldiers parting. A knight in beautiful gilt armor decorated with autumn leaves stumbled drunkenly down the street. His eyes blazed with golden fire. It spilled from between his teeth when he opened his mouth as though to scream.


    Fire cascaded over Recusant and Bough fighters, incinerating them into smoking piles of burning armor. The insane Alder Knight lifted a beautiful sword, stumbling toward me through the men he¡¯d killed, or his broken magic had killed. I lifted my own blade, what was left of it, to defend myself, stumbling back in horror.


    In the gathering smog behind the knight, a mighty voice bellowed with laughter. The voice had a beast¡¯s growl in it, savage bloodlust, whimsical mirth, and hatred all wrapped together into something terrible.


    A maned shadow fell over me and the mad paladin. The Alder Knight raised his sword, his eyes and mouth widening into flaming hollows in his flesh, an expression of silent agony. He swung, and¡ª


    I stood elsewhere again. On the rooftops now, the dying city spread around me like a scene out of Hell itself.


    And Dei still stood there, on the roof with me. She looked weary, even slightly amused.


    ¡°You¡¯re just a ghost,¡± I hissed, pressing my hand to my eyes to get the burning city out of my sight. ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡±


    She lost the smile, her expression becoming serious. ¡°I think you mean banished.¡±


    I blinked, and again I stood on the pond. A firefly drifted past, the scene peaceful again.


    Fidei¡¯s pretty face became thoughtful. She frowned, curling one forefinger in front of her chin. ¡°Or perhaps I should say dissolved? Unmade?¡±


    Another firefly flitted over the pond, this one meandering into my brow. I winced and brushed it away, and only then realized¡ª


    They weren¡¯t fireflies. They were embers. The city still burned around us, but the garden where we¡¯d had so many private conversations remained untouched. Distant from it all.


    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 let out a soft laugh, demurely covering her mouth with one hand. She still paced along the edge of the pond, framed by drifting embers.


    ¡°Have been a while,¡± she said. ¡°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 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 lovers. 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 becoming clouded and white. Her skin had begun to darken, the blue tinged now with stony gray.


    Where the veins had formed, her flesh cracked like dry clay.


    ¡°A lie,¡± I insisted.


    ¡°I did not lie when I came to you that day!¡± Her voice seemed caught between pain and fury. ¡°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. She lifted her other hand and pointed to the burning city.


    ¡°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 foggy eyes narrowed, their color shifting into a clearer silver, almost literally sharpening 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 Abgr?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, 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.¡±

 3.25: 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.


    ¡°Stay back, Eryn.¡± The woman¡¯s voice was hard now.


    ¡°What is this?¡± The older priorguard demanded in a tight voice.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a discussion. You want to live? I¡¯ll let you leave, but you must do it now.¡±


    I heard the silence as the older priorguard considered, and made his choice. A heavy boot came down, air whistled as a weapon swung¡ª


    I heard something break, the sound not unlike a piece of wood snapping. Another long silence followed, punctuated by the occasional distant shout. Those had grown less frequent.


    The latch began to turn again. By now I¡¯d made it to the wall next to the door. My vision swam, but I managed to focus well enough to tense as the door began to open.


    They¡¯d bound my hands together with iron manacles connected by a short chain. I lifted my hands cautiously so the chain wouldn¡¯t rattle, slowing baring my teeth in a silent snarl.


    When the door opened halfway, I rammed against it, using its mass to slam the person beginning to step through. She grunted, slipped on the slick floor.


    I heard the hum of aura again, but it was too late. I grabbed her by the collar of her robe and yanked her into the room, getting her under me. We both toppled onto the ground. A brief struggle, which I ended by grabbing the priorguard by the hair and smacking the back of her skull against the stone floor, once, hard.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The face of a young woman blinked up at me, stunned. She still wore the black priorguard uniform, but without the tight cowl or rectangular veil. She¡¯d dropped her lantern, and its beam fell on her sweat-beaded face.


    She wasn¡¯t much older than Emma ¡ª maybe twenty, and had stern features, pale and lightly freckled. Her hair was wheat blond, her eyes clear and blue.


    ¡°Lisette,¡± I growled, my voice raw from dehydration and worse. I clasped my hands together, not worrying about whether the chain rattled now, and lifted my hands above my head.


    ¡°W-wait!¡± The former novice cried, bringing her hands up to shield her face ¡ª or one, anyway. I¡¯d pinned one of her arms with my knee, so she couldn¡¯t use her Art. ¡°I¡¯m here to get you out!¡±


    I glared down at her. Endless nights of torture and despair had stoked something dark in me, and it urged me to slam my iron-bound fists down and break her skull for helping put me here.


    ¡°Why?¡± My voice emerged as a bare whisper.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she flinched as I let out an almost bestial growl. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for all the details. I don¡¯t work for either the Knight-Confessor or the Presider. I¡¯m a spy, and I¡¯ve been ordered to free you by my superiors.¡±


    Just how many people had the idea to infiltrate the Priory before me? I wondered.


    In the distance, I heard another shout. It cut off very suddenly. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked. My voice, long out of use, came more easily the more I spoke.


    ¡°The Priory is under attack,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know by who. The Presider ordered all the prisoners executed. in case it¡¯s some other faction in the theocracy, or in the Accord. So they couldn¡¯t tell anyone else what¡¯s been going on down here.¡±


    Covering their tracks. If the Inquisition hadn¡¯t gained enough power to kidnap and interrogate people with official sanctions, it made sense.


    ¡°But you¡¯re not here to kill me,¡± I said, narrowing my eyes.


    ¡°No. As I said, it¡¯s complicated. If you want out of here, you¡¯re going to have to trust me.¡± She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and spoke more calmly. ¡°During your last session with the Presider, I understand they cut the tendons in your left leg. I can heal those, so you can walk. Your hand too.¡±


    Outside the cell, everything had gone unsettlingly quiet. I stared into the adept¡¯s blue eyes for a long moment, trying to see the trap. There was always a trap.


    I sensed no deceit in her. That didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t there. Even still, she was right about one thing ¡ª I couldn¡¯t walk out of here under my own power, or fight for shit with a broken hand.


    Even still, it might be safer to kill her. I considered doing it. But I managed to get ahold of my rage, my fear and the sight of the open doorway compelling me to flee and not look back, and let my weight off her.


    ¡°You try anything,¡± I said in a low voice, ¡°and I will kill you.¡±


    Lisette got up, stopping in a half crouch. Her hair was in disarray, and her robe had gotten in the rank water so it almost seemed to fuse with the floor. She nodded, her jaw clenched tight.


    She¡¯d changed in the year since I¡¯d last properly seen her. I remembered a mildly pretty girl, world-weary, prickly and dour. That, at least, hadn¡¯t changed. She looked leaner now, sharper, the nervousness I recalled when she¡¯d been Doctor Olliard¡¯s apprentice replaced by a grim focus. She¡¯d cut her hair short, fashioning it into a conservative bob.


    No telling how she¡¯d gotten here, into this city and tangled up in all of this. I didn¡¯t much care for her story just then, in any case.


    She had me sit on the ground. I let out a hiss when she grabbed my ankle. My skin was raw and covered in damp grime and blood. I¡¯d lost weight, and it shocked me to see how tightly my own skin clung to muscle and bone. I hadn¡¯t paid it much mind, until now.


    I focused my attention on the adept, wary of treachery. It had taken much of my dwindled strength just to get to the door and subdue her, so it wasn¡¯t difficult to keep still.


    Even still, I prepared for the worst.


    Lisette¡¯s eyelids half closed, so her sky-blue irises turned into narrow slivers. I watched the faint telltale of yellow in them, like bands of sunlight on a clear sky, brighten. Her long fingers worked, their tips pressing together and parting several times, almost like some nervous tic.


    Then, before my eyes, yellow light began to form between the young woman¡¯s fingertips. The light condensed, taking shape as nearly solid yellow threads which emitted a faint glow. More appeared as Lisette¡¯s hands moved, wrapping around the topmost joints of each finger, forming a complex net between them cat¡¯s cradle style.


    ¡°You got better,¡± I muttered. ¡°You used to need real strings as a focus.¡±


    Without opening her eyes, she replied. ¡°I''ve had a lot of practice. Now hold still.¡±


    She began to work, weaving golden threads of aura into my flesh, using them like a physik¡¯s sutures. It hurt for a while, but after several minutes the pain began to lessen. She ran her fingers along my maimed leg, binding skin and sinew back together, repairing muscle. The golden threads replaced some of my missing muscle, where the questioners had snipped it out.


    She worked at the fingers of my left hand then. and that was even less pleasant. I grit my teeth, but kept quiet through the process. Lisette rebroke my fingers, as they¡¯d started to heal crooked, acting with quick, brutal gentleness, creating more golden threads to sew through my joints.


    If I thought I¡¯d grown numb to pain, her quick surgery proved me wrong.


    When done, I flexed the fingers of my left hand. It hurt, but they worked.


    ¡°Try not to move them,¡± Lisette said. ¡°They¡¯re not truly healed, only¡­ reinforced, I suppose. The aura should speed the process.¡±


    I stared at the soft glow around my left hand, marveling. I had never seen an Art both so refined and so tangible. I¡¯d watched adepts create blades capable of cleaving through solid stone, or imbue arrows with enough force to pummel through rows of soldiers, but powerful phantasms usually only lasted moments before losing their strength.


    I¡¯d been impressed by Lisette¡¯s magic the first time I¡¯d met her. Now, I felt more than a little afraid of it.


    She helped me stand then, which took some doing. I found my balance soon enough, and felt clearer. Her magic thrummed through me, finding an accord with my own inner fire, the two strengthening one another. Soon enough, I could stand on my own, and felt a bit more clear headed.


    I wasn¡¯t even close to properly healed ¡ª I knew, deep down, I was in a very bad way.


    ¡°How long have I been down here?¡± I asked. I still struggled to lift my voice above a hoarse whisper.


    ¡°Three weeks,¡± Lisette said.


    I swallowed that statement, digested it, and squared my shoulders. ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°Stay close,¡± she said. ¡°As I said, I don¡¯t know who¡¯s attacking us¡­ I¡¯m going to get you out of here, but you need to trust me.¡±


    She produced a key then, and unlocked my manacles. I rubbed at my wrist as they clattered to the floor. I considered that a moment, and started to let my guard slip just a little.


    ¡°Lead on, then.¡± I had no intention of letting her get behind me, and out of my sight.


    She led me out into a dark, water-logged hall smelling of mildew and fear. Two bodies lay on the floor, both with twisted limbs and broken necks. An image flashed through my mind ¡ª of Lisette¡¯s threads entwined around the men¡¯s throats, contorting them until something gave. I averted my eyes.


    ¡°Here,¡± Lisette said. She set the lantern down on a dry spot of floor, then grabbed a bundle wrapped in thick brown cloth from near the bodies. I recalled the sound of something falling before she¡¯d killed the other priorguard.


    ¡°It¡¯s all I could retrieve,¡± she said, handing it to me. ¡°I thought you¡¯d need it.¡±


    I took it, letting the cloth fall away. I narrowed my eyes as I lifted Faen Orgis into the air. An odd mixture of emotions went through me ¡ª relief, chiefly, but apprehension and resentment as well.


    I really couldn¡¯t be free of the thing. If anything, though, it convinced me Lisette wasn¡¯t representative of some hostile ploy.


    I might actually live, I thought. I buried the bittersweet realization and rested my axe on one shoulder, turning to Lisette. ¡°There was a medallion and a ring with my belongings,¡± I said. ¡°Did you¡ª¡±


    The look on her face answered me well enough. I fell quiet, accepting the loss.


    ¡°This way,¡± the adept said, tearing her own gaze from the bodies. She looked more than a little pale. She squinted into the dark, lifting the small lantern she carried to aim its dull beam into the subterranean gloom. She might have a powerful Art, but she was otherwise an ordinary human, and could not see in the dark.


    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.¡±

 3.26: 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 gait 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. Abgr?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.


    Corpses lay scattered across the room. I counted at least a dozen, though some had been dismembered so completely there might have been more. They¡¯d been torn limb from limb, shredded, smashed to pulp, eaten ¡ª any kind of physical violence I could think of seemed to be represented in those bodies.


    The smell was almost worse than the sight. Parn let out a hacking cough, and Lisette paused at the end of the hall, muttering a prayer.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I could hear the sound of many scuttling insects.


    ¡°We need to¡ª¡± Lisette began, only to stop and vomit messily. I didn¡¯t rush her. I¡¯d seen grizzled veterans twice her age lose their stomach at less.


    When she¡¯d finished, she wiped her mouth with a black sleeve and pointed to one of the side passages. ¡°That way,¡± she croaked. ¡°There are stairs, and a slab you can move by putting pressure on two of the stones¡­ it leads out to the street. There will be a carriage waiting.¡±


    A carriage? I thought of Lias. Had the wizard found out where I was being held, and somehow recruited Lisette?


    Time to find out once we¡¯d escaped alive.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± I told my companions. I began to walk out into the room, letting my eyes run over everything. Lisette and Parn waited at the hall¡¯s mouth, silent.


    I¡¯d gone about ten steps when three of the bodies, all of which had fallen together in a heap, shifted and fell apart. Something terrible rose out of the gore and leapt. Parn let out a cry of alarm, and Lisette screamed a warning.


    ¡°Alken, watch¡ª¡±


    My scars had been burning, and the Alder fire in me had been broiling discontentedly, so it didn¡¯t catch me off guard. I spun and ducked into a swing. The Woed¡¯s head split from cranium to collarbone, and it rolled over me to strike one of the ancient pilasters with a meaty crack before collapsing limp to the floor.


    Not without scoring a point of its own in revenge, though. Fire flashed across the back of my left shoulder as its claws raked me in the pass. I grit my teeth at the flash of heat in my nerves. A hazard of fighting without armor.


    I studied the smoking corpse of the Woed who¡¯d tried to tear out my throat. She ¡ª no telling her original age ¡ª had been altered into something like a hairless dog with filthy gray hair, sickly yellow skin clinging to malformed bones, and double jointed hind legs. The change even included extra teats like a canine. Her hungry grin remained in death, bruised gums stretching nearly down to the base of her neck.


    Her glassy eyes stared at me. They were full of pain, and seemed to be asking for help.


    I turned my gaze away and studied the rest of the bodies. How many of them hid more monsters? Any? I lifted my axe, narrowing my eyes to slits and focusing on my more supernatural senses.


    This is what my powers were for, the reason the elves had sewn the Alder Table¡¯s fire into my aura.


    I dislike killing men. When it comes to demons, I have no such hesitation.


    Beetles scuttled beneath the corpses, in them.


    In the shadows between the columns, larger shapes moved. I counted two ¡ª no, three sets of limbs.


    Blood trickled down my back, soaking through my shirt.


    A claw scraped against stone.


    Above.


    I rolled aside just as a Woed dropped down from the ceiling to land on the spot I¡¯d occupied a second before. I came to my feet, seeing something with four two-toed feet and four arms, each tipped in a spike of bone. It had no head ¡ª only a bulbous mass where shoulders met with its torso, shapes bulging out beneath. A soft, muffled moan came from within, an almost erotic sound.


    It shivered and collapsed to balance on all eight limbs, scuttling forward like a spider. I heard the other Woed moving in the darkness, their furtive steps quickening.


    Steeling myself, I squeezed tighter on Faen Orgis¡¯s grip, pouring my will into it. Though my own aura was depleted, the weapon had its own inner life, and it hungered.


    Small branches burst from the gnarled oak, punching through my right hand. Every vein on my arm stood out as I grit through the pain, letting it fuel my hate. The weapon grew with a series of sharp cracks, becoming as tall as me as it drank my blood.


    I used it as a halberd, ramming the point of wood above the handle into the scuttling Woed as it leapt at me. Its muffled moaning turned distressed, its bony limbs scrabbling at me.


    Solid steps clattered rhythmically through the room. I whirled, throwing the spider-thing off my weapon with the motion. It slammed into the Demonscorched who¡¯d tried to take advantage of my distraction.


    This next one looked like some cross between something equine and a raptor ¡ª its wiry legs ended in single-toed hooves, its limbs half fused to its torso. It still had the remnants of fine clothing, a noble or high-class servant, and its head lolled on a broken neck. Its face, beneath a mane of filthy hair, was still almost perfectly human and wild-eyed with terror.


    It ran directly into the one I threw, knocked it aside in a bull rush, and kept going at me without so much as slowing a step. The handsome young face lolling over the twisted body let out a whimper.


    I sidestepped, swung low, and took one of his legs off below the knee. He rolled into a bad fall, getting tangled into a mass of dead priorguard.


    The next two attacked together. I heard them, turning to see a very mismatched pair of nightmares. One was huge, legless, supporting itself instead on caricatures of muscular arms. A shriveled head, blank-eyed and balding, rested between those two bulging appendages. Beneath a bloated stomach, his legs and genitals had been fused into a lashing scorpion''s tail.


    The second rode atop the first, its talons dug into the larger monster¡¯s flesh. It looked something like a bird which might have once been an old woman, small, with a cloak-like mass of lank gray hair. No face within the veil of hair, only a hollow crawling with something foul.


    The spider-thing twitched on the ground nearby. I couldn¡¯t tell if I¡¯d dealt a lethal blow ¡ª sometimes the demon who made Woed liked to rearrange their internal organs. I also heard the mule-raptor behind me, trying to stand with one leg and gibbering incoherently to itself. Both could still be dangerous.


    I focused on the immediate threat.


    The bird-woman with the hollow skull leaned down to the shriveled head of the old man. I heard many small voices whispering. The blank eyes of the old man suddenly widened, veins popping with rage and focusing on me.


    ¡°Shit,¡± I muttered, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.


    One arm with nearly as much mass as I had in my whole body reached out, grabbed a dead priorguard, and hurled it at me. The move took me off guard, and I barely managed to step aside in time to avoid getting plowed to the ground. It grazed me instead, spinning me and making the world go out of focus in a dizzying moment.


    The floor rumbled as the hulk charged.


    ¡°Alken!¡± Lisette screamed. ¡°Watch out!¡±


    She¡¯d followed my orders, keeping out of the way and not trying to use her magic.


    I know, I thought dizzily, managing to keep my feet under me and stop just before I spun right into the floor from the force of impact.


    Too slow. Where were my reflexes? My strength?


    I needed to be faster. Crueler. This enemy had no honor, no grace.


    Shed it all. Push it all away. Your grief, your pain, your weariness. These things make a mockery of everything.


    All I needed here was my hate.


    I whirled and struck with Faen Orgis, still in its ¡°poleaxe¡± length. The crescent blade sliced through the hulk¡¯s wrist in the instant it would have closed on me, half-severing it, just before it would have backhanded me with enough force to pulp my skull. The shriveled head of the old man wailed, barreling past me. It had to keep its momentum, knuckling along like an ape, or risk collapsing under its own mass.


    It skidded to a stop, crushing dead priorguard as it did, and spun to face me. The old man¡¯s teeth bared in a rictus, savage expression. The scorpion tail below his bloated belly lashed once to one side, then directly at me.


    The spur of dripping bone at the end nearly punched through my neck. I dodged it, hissing with adrenaline, before it came again with serpent speed. This time it tore through the tattered material of my shirt at one shoulder, shredding it and barely avoiding grazing skin.


    I did not want whatever dripped from that stinger in my system.


    A sound from behind me. My hackles rose, and I ducked. The hulk¡¯s tail shot out.


    The spider Woed, who¡¯d tried to leap onto my back, went directly into the tail instead. It punched through, releasing a spray of blood and stinking gas. Half the moaning I¡¯d heard inside the sack of flesh abruptly ceased. A second voice within let out a different sound, one of grief.


    The tail coiled back, dragging the spider with it. The shriveled head between the enormous arms bulged with hateful veins.


    The bird woman on his shoulder spread wings of hair and flesh and leapt directly at me from no more than ten paces away, talons stretching out like a hawk taking prey.


    Still crouched, I rose, lifted the axe above my head and then brought it down in a savage chop. I tried to shout, but barely managed a gasp.


    I caught the bird woman with the blade, the alloy of Hithlenic bronze slicing clean as a beam of light. I bisected her from skull to pelvis, and her two halves fell to either side of me. The resulting wash of blood drenched me from head to waist.


    The old man let out a tired sigh, seeming to deflate. He slammed the spider-thing impaled on his tail into the ground, dislodged it by pressing one fist down onto its body and pulling, then began to plod forward in a slow charge, quickly building speed.


    I stood, using the axe to lift myself up.


    He was too close. I wouldn¡¯t be able to dodge again. Even if I cut him, he¡¯d smash me flat with sheer weight and momentum.


    I crouched, stepped forward, and jumped.


    The hulk closed, a battering ram of muscle.


    I slammed the bottom of Faen Orgis¡¯s handle into the Woed, just beneath the shriveled head where bulbous shoulder met chin. The sharpened point of the branch sunk in, lodged on something hard ¡ª bone, perhaps, and jammed.


    As I¡¯d hoped. I used the elongated axe like an athlete, levering myself up. I planted a bare foot against the malformed head, riding the charge.


    We snarled at one another, both lost in the want to kill the other. The hulk swiped out with a hand, trying to grab me, but it had no legs to support itself ¡ª it fell, toppling hard with all its mass.


    And slammed us both directly into a column. The stone cracked from base to ceiling, a lightning bolt splitting up its center. Dust rained down. I struck the column hard, bruising my ribs, and barely managed to keep hold of my weapon.


    I pulled with all my strength. This monster didn¡¯t have paper thin flesh or soft organs ¡ª it was nearly solid, and I used that to my advantage. The haft of the ancient weapon bent, creaked as I pulled on it, and finally snapped, leaving a length of twisted oak long as my arm in the creature.


    It fell, and I rolled aside, spattering myself with more gore as I slid through the mess on the floor.


    It took me a moment to catch my breath. I coughed, tried to wipe filth from my face and only managed to smear it. I staggered to my feet. I still had my weapon. My heart pounded in my ears, a dull rhythm of violence. I turned, eyes wide so the fullness of the golden aura in them fell on the collapsed Woed.


    It was trying to get to its feet, but its body wasn¡¯t made for doing anything but moving forward. It struggled, trying to get a fist under it and slipping in the blood. The wrist I¡¯d wounded suddenly snapped, and the creature let out a pained wail.


    I walked toward it, lifting what was left of the axe. Its length was near to what I normally kept it at now ¡ª good for this sort of work.


    The small head atop the hulk couldn¡¯t move well, between all the muscle and the length of oak jammed into where its neck would be. It caught me advancing out of the corner of its eye though, and let out a keening noise. Again it tried to stand, and again slipped. The scorpion tale lashed, trying to reach everywhere, to keep me away.


    My eyes tracked the tail. I judged my moment, tensed, then swung.


    The stinger fell to the ground, spurting rancid, steaming blood stinking of rot.


    The hulk managed to get its fists beneath it and rise. It turned to me, and the very human face contorted. His milky eyes widened as he saw me, then winced as he caught the light in my gaze.


    ¡°Anya,¡± he breathed, his voice hoarse and otherwise very normal.


    I swung the axe down into his skull, splitting it. The entire mass of warped bone and tumorous muscle fell to the floor, going still.


    I waited a beat, wary of tricks, then planted a foot on the thing¡¯s chest and ripped the axe out. I stumbled back, inspecting my handiwork. I remembered something then, and turned.


    The one whose leg I¡¯d cut off was trying to crawl away, back into the depths of the complex. It caught my gaze and let out a panicked noise.


    I threw the axe. It went through the air with a whistling note, end over end, and sank into the final Woed¡¯s back. It fell prone, shuddered once, then went still.


    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 hatred.


    ¡°Alken?¡±


    I whirled, tensing, and Lisette flinched back. She''d stepped out into the room, regarding me warily. Parn remained in the hall, looking like a frightened animal.


    The fight had covered me in filth from head to foot. My hair clung to my neck and shoulders, and my already filthy shirt had been soaked through with sweat and blood. 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. They 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 Abgr?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, 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.

 3.27: 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¡­


    And what? If Lisette spoke true, whoever sent her had Emma. If I went my own way, I¡¯d be lost in the city with the Inquisition hunting me, especially after one of their safe houses had been attacked.


    I had little choice. I went to the carriage, opened its door, and slipped inside.


    The interior was dim, illuminated only by a pair of small lanterns lit by tiny magenta flames ¡ª alchemical craft. They gave off a pleasant scent. I found the space comfortably furnished with leather seats and velvet cushions, the walls painted with scenes of knights and insectile irks battling on fields lined in gilded leaves. Black, velvet red, and silver were in abundance.


    I expected someone else to be waiting for me inside the carriage. I was wrong. Alone, without answers as to who my mysterious rescuers might be, I sat and rested my axe on my lap. I felt the vehicle begin to move beneath me, wheels clattering on the neatly laid stones beneath.


    Carrying me off into Garihelm.


    ***


    The carriage ride gave me time to think, which I resented. It had been easy to lose myself to pain and despair in the darkness of Oraise''s dungeons, to see and feel everything in a mire of abstraction. To wallow.


    Now, hearing the rain drum down over the city and feeling the coach beneath me, I couldn''t help but look at everything rationally, to face it.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Reynard lived. Perhaps. Demons are malicious, and Yith''s "slip" could have been meant to manipulate me, feed paranoia.


    But if true...


    The Traitor Magi had been the catalyst. He''d been the mastermind behind the plot to destroy Seydis and drag the realms of Urn into chaos. He''d organized the Recusants, broken the ancient seals, subverted the Alder Table, started the war. He''d bound Abyssal Spirits to serve his interests, to infiltrate and spread terror.


    For what? To cause chaos? To upend the world''s order? Tuvon''s death had been devastating, but the Accord had healed much of the damage caused by the Fall.


    So what had it all been for?


    Was Reynard behind all of this? It stank of him.


    I wouldn''t act without more information. I couldn''t trust Yith, and I wouldn''t play his games.


    Reynard had been Fidei''s master. She''d been one of the dark spirits he''d bound to infiltrate the Archon''s city.


    Dei. Even in my thoughts I couldn¡¯t get her name out of my head, though I knew it wasn¡¯t her real one, and had never been.


    I had her real name now. Yith Golonac had gleefully given it to me.


    Shyora. My right hand clenched into a fist.


    I knew that some beings could reach even through the fabric of the Wending Roads, the tangled realm which separated my world from all others, and wield their influence in subtle ways. Though I¡¯d destroyed her corporeal form, and the Devils of Orkael had caught and imprisoned her spirit before it could reform in the Abyss, she was not truly gone. Like elves and Onsolain, the dark spirits of Abgr?dai are immortal.


    I¡¯d never really thought about it before. In my heart, she¡¯d been dead. I¡¯d grieved.


    Now she was in my dreams, and she was angry.


    I felt¡­


    I didn¡¯t know. I hadn''t wanted to grapple with it. That terrible day had already haunted me. Every night for eleven years it had haunted me. Rysanthe had given me her cursed ring for this exact purpose, knowing I was demon-marked.


    Now the ring was gone, along with my other accouterments.


    I¡¯d tried not to think about it.


    I¡¯d loved her.


    No, you fool, you loved the mask she put on.


    She took the mask off. Everything she told you would happen did happen.


    Demons can¡¯t be trusted. She might have rebelled against her master, but it wouldn¡¯t have changed your fate.


    But if I¡¯d listened, even if it had damned me, I might have saved everything else.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    I pressed my elbows to my knees and rested my head on my fists.


    I wasn¡¯t cut out for plots and intrigue. They¡¯d made me a blessed knight, a paladin, and I¡¯d fallen for the tricks of a succubus. I¡¯d told her my every dark secret, my every unworthy thought.


    A joke. I was the joke of the Table.


    Now she was back. And I felt¡­


    What I felt couldn¡¯t be trusted. It might still be her influence in me. I ran my fingers over the scars across my left eye. As always, they prickled hot as though infected.


    Her mark. I was compromised. So I buried the relief and focused on what came next.


    ***


    Despite my condition, I forced myself to stay awake through the ride. I could feel Lisette¡¯s magic in my leg and hand, quickening my healing, warming my raw flesh from within. I listened to the sound of wheels clattering over stone, of the shift and bump of the vehicle as it jostled me.


    Eventually, the sound of the carriage¡¯s movement changed. We went over a bridge, I thought, judging by the change in sound. Not long after, I listened to the grinding gears of a gate opening, and my sense of danger evolved from being merely ready to fight to raising banners and calling the realm to war.


    I took my axe off my lap and gripped it tighter. I went to open the door but paused, listening. I could hear movement outside. The carriage stopped, and there came the sound of men¡¯s voices, of armor rattling and heavy boots on stone. Thunder rumbled high above, and waves crashed against rock. We were near the sea.


    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!¡± A 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.


    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 resisting 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.¡±

 3.28: 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.¡±


    Rosanna sniffed, the highborn lady reasserting herself as she always did when I¡¯d managed to offend her. But it was such a familiar expression. I did smile, then.


    A lot of pain I¡¯d held onto for more than a decade, like some kind of banner I thought needed waving, fled in that moment. Drawn out like the venom it was. But it couldn¡¯t all go, not that easily. Rosanna was still Empress, and I was still the Headsman of Seydis. We¡¯d both hurt one another and been hurt by the world.


    A single conversation wouldn¡¯t fix that, not even if all the magic in Onsolem were in that room.


    ¡°What now?¡± I asked again.


    Rosanna placed her cup of wine down and walked to the window, looking out over the night-dark waters of the bay. She placed her hand on her stomach, an almost defensive gesture.


    ¡°Now? That¡¯s up to you. If you wish to leave¡­¡± I noted a pause there, though it was brief. ¡°I can help secure you a way out of the city. You never have to return if you don¡¯t want to. I swear to you that I did not save you to put you in my debt. You are my friend, Alken, like my own brother. You always will be.¡±


    Funny, how joy or relief can feel so much like pain, especially when it takes you by surprise. Good thing her back was turned just then. I didn¡¯t want her to see my face.


    Unaware of how her words had impacted me, the Empress continued. ¡°Or you could stay and help me.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    She turned and I managed to school my features in time. ¡°I do need help. I know that might sound ridiculous coming from me, but Al¡­¡± she drew in a sharp breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said, seeing her hesitation. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    After she¡¯d saved me from further torment, humiliation, and death, the least I could do was hear her out.


    Rosanna nodded. ¡°The Accord is unstable,¡± she began. ¡°Its edges are being chewed apart by famine and the threat of House war. The Sidhe have been¡­ odd, ever since King Tuvon died, and it¡¯s gotten worse of late. Some have even started to see them as the monsters at the edge of the woods, a threat to be quelled. There are still lords who remain Recusant. We opened trade with Edaea to try to undo some of the damage the war caused, to feed people and rebuild, but it¡¯s just not enough. Now there¡¯s this trouble with the Church.¡±


    ¡°The Church is part of the Accord, isn¡¯t it?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t mention the potential ramifications of her other admission, that she¡¯d been part of the decision to open trade with the continent. Did she know what sort of door she and her fellow monarchs had opened, the dark realms now spreading their influence through the land?


    I didn¡¯t think so. The land hadn¡¯t been united by any power like the Accord since the days the God-Queen had graced Urn with Her own golden feet. The world changed, and no one could predict how drastic those changes might become.


    Rosanna smiled bitterly. ¡°The Church has always been a nation unto itself. Half in the world, half out, it¡¯s said. Perhaps that was the intent. Still, the Priory has gained power and with it they¡¯ve revived the Inquisition. They want us to drive the Eld out of our lands, hunt down the demoniacs and Recusants still at large, stamp out the Briar.¡±


    Rosanna took a sip from her ornate cup. ¡°They want to subdue the use of magic unsanctioned by the clergy. To hear some of the clericons speak, they don¡¯t want anyone practicing Auratic Art who isn¡¯t ordained.¡±


    I nearly laughed aloud. ¡°That¡¯s insane. Every living thing has the potential. You can¡¯t control when or if you awaken your aura.¡±


    ¡°The Priory believes it can,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°People are scared, Al. People are hungry, and this bickering among the lords, the loss of faith in the nobility since the war¡­¡±


    She shook her head, and I noted again the prominent shadows under her eyes that even well-applied kohl couldn¡¯t quite conceal. ¡°People are losing faith in us, so they¡¯re turning instead to the Faith. And that¡¯s allowed men like Presider Oraise to come into power. The Church gave my husband little choice in appointing him to his court.¡±


    Her husband. It took me a moment to register that she was referring to the Emperor, Highlord Markham Forger himself, the most powerful man in the Accorded Realms.


    ¡°They left King Forger little choice?¡± I asked, trying for an amused smile. ¡°You make it sound like he works for the priests.¡±


    Rosanna pursed her lips. ¡°It¡¯s not entirely untrue in a way. The Clericon College holds the power to crown one of the high lords of Urn as emperor, and Markham is the first in nearly two centuries to hold the office. His position is not stable, and some are wondering if there even needs to be an emperor. If the clergy decide to withdraw their support, then I doubt the Accord would keep my husband as their leader for long in its present state.¡±


    A lingering, weighty silence followed that pronouncement. Seeming to realize what she¡¯d just said, the gravity of it, Rosanna blinked and fixed me with a stern glare. ¡°You understand that to repeat any of these words outside of this room is a treason punishable by death?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve kept bigger secrets.¡±


    Rosanna flashed a wistful smile. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true.¡±


    I scratched at my head. I itched terribly and desperately wanted a bath. ¡°Still, you haven¡¯t told me how I can help with any of this. Half the Accord wants my head, Rose. I¡¯m an excommunicate and¡­¡± I hesitated, feeling a surge of trepidation. ¡°I¡¯ve done things. It could bring more trouble on you if I stick around.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s another matter I needed to ask about.¡± She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself, then placed her cup down on the desk by the window. ¡°Alken¡­¡±


    Her green eyes fixed on me. ¡°Are you the Headsman of Seydis?¡±


    Outside, rain drummed and waves broke across the isle.


    Should I bow my head in shame, I wondered? Should I look contrite, or defiant, or proud? Should I try to justify it, defend myself?


    But when I opened my mouth, all I could say was, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Rosanna closed her eyes. ¡°I thought so. Lias was convinced, and angry when I discounted the rumors. I never truly discounted them, only¡­¡±


    ¡°Rose,¡± I said, knowing I was one of only a handful of people in all the world who could call her that and keep my head. ¡°The things I¡¯ve done¡­¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°The position of Doomsman is lawful among the Sidhe, but I know things aren¡¯t the same where the laws of Men are concerned. If I tell you about these past years, it could implicate you. I tell you, and you don¡¯t have me arrested, you become complicit. Even still¡­¡±


    At my pause, she met my eyes and blinked once. I clenched my right hand into a fist.


    ¡°If you order it, I¡¯ll tell you everything and accept your judgment. I swore oaths to you before anyone else. That still matters, to me at least.¡±


    Some time passed before she answered. When she did, her voice was firm.


    ¡°Best to not tell me any of it, then.¡±


    The words stung, but not as badly as I¡¯d expected. I bowed my head, accepting it and keeping the darkness of the past seven years inside. Better to leave it there, rather than let it shadow that reunion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much I can do to help you,¡± I admitted, returning to the previous topic. ¡°Not with the politics, anyway.¡±


    Rosanna stepped close to me, looking intently up into my eyes. ¡°You helped me win back a kingdom Alken, from practically nothing. Don¡¯t discount yourself.¡±


    I shifted, uncomfortable. ¡°This isn¡¯t quite the same as fighting your cousins. What do you want me to do, kill this inquisitor?¡±


    Even as I said it I thought perhaps that was exactly what she wanted from me.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Rosanna said. Something in her expression changed. Softened. ¡°There is something, though. If you¡¯re willing to stay, to hear me out.¡± She placed her hand on my arm again. ¡°Your choice.¡±


    Rosanna was a leader of nations. She¡¯d led councils of war, and survived the death of her house. She could have ordered my death in that room, or commanded me to serve her, and had all the tradition and laws of men to bind me. She had once been my liege, and I¡¯d sworn a vow of lifelong service to her.


    And she asked me. She didn¡¯t command, or beg, or coerce. Just asked.


    ¡°What do you need?¡± I asked, meeting her eyes.


    Rosanna closed her eyes a moment. I think I¡¯d just surprised her as much as she¡¯d surprised me before. I recognized much of what I saw beneath her queenly mask. Loneliness. Exhaustion. Determination. The past eleven years had been hard on her as well.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have time to talk,¡± she said. Then she wrinkled her nose and said, with a strained edge, ¡°But I think it best to let you clean up first. I¡¯ve had about as much as I can take.¡±


    I laughed, more easily than I had in years. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see to it you get a bath, fresh clothes, and food. We will dine together tonight, you and I. It¡¯s been too long since we did that.¡±


    Rosanna moved to the door. She rapped on the door, and I heard movement outside.


    ¡°There¡¯s one more thing,¡± I said. Rose turned to me, arching a well-plucked eyebrow. I met her emerald eyes with my gold ones.


    ¡°Where is my apprentice?¡±


    ***


    Ser Kaia, who I learned was Rosanna¡¯s personal protector, led me deeper into the fortress until we came to a less ostentatious door than the first time. Only a single guard stood outside, this one in palace livery rather than the tabard of Rosanna¡¯s own household. He eyed me warily, but opened the door at the knight¡¯s command.


    I¡¯d realized, at some point, that I recognized Ser Kaia. I hadn¡¯t known from where at first, but it had clicked as I¡¯d followed her through the winding recesses of the Fulgurkeep.


    She¡¯d been at Rhan Harrower¡¯s execution, as the leader of the fellowship who¡¯d captured the Recusant general. I recalled a warrior clad in bronzed steel and hide, the hero of the day.


    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. When she spoke again, she was quiet and very young.


    ¡±I have no one else. Don¡¯t you understand?¡±


    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.¡±

 3.29: 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 hide 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.¡±


    I didn¡¯t speak my own thought ¡ª that I doubted Lias would allow himself to suffer any consequences for his transgressions, no matter how well earned. I would have my own words for him, in any case.


    ¡°What happened between you two?¡± I asked quietly, my eyes shifting down to the table. In all the years I¡¯d been gone, I¡¯d grown used to the idea that any ties with my friends were severed. I¡¯d never even considered the idea that Rosanna and Lias might become estranged.


    I didn¡¯t like it at all.


    Rosanna sighed. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. Lias has always been difficult. Even when we were young, he believed his abilities placed him above the laws of men, or their opinions. You remember.¡±


    I did. ¡°It got worse, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    ¡°I thought giving him real political power would keep him grounded,¡± Rosanna explained. ¡°His efforts during the war against the Recusants definitely helped earn him respect, but it was I who pushed the Azure Round to elevate him to a position of influence.¡±


    Rosanna laced her ringed fingers together and studied me over them. ¡°He started courting factions from across the Riven Sea. He formed personal connections with the Edaean Guilds. He oversaw smuggling operations, even before we lifted the ancient ban on trade.¡±


    I frowned. Lias had gotten involved with the criminal underworld? That didn¡¯t seem like him.


    ¡°He cowed criminal groups and brought agents over the Riven,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°He used his influence and his personal power to silence those who stood in the way of even laxer trade laws ¡ª members of the Church, nobles, even commoners representing our own native guilds who worried their own livelihoods would be threatened.


    ¡°Forsaken Throne,¡± I cursed. Lias, what were you thinking?


    ¡°I think he believed he was helping,¡± Rosanna added, her eyes drifting toward the windows. ¡°The task of rebuilding was monumental, and Lias has never been hesitant to wield any sort of power. But he went too far. He started ignoring the Accord¡¯s rulings, even defying Markham, both in subtle and overt ways.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°What tipped things over the edge?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Last year, an earl who¡¯d been pushing back against our reliance on the west, even threatening to leave the Accord and take many of his allies with him, was found in his gardens, suffocated to death by a statue.¡± Rosanna hesitated, then folded her hands and sat back in her chair. ¡°Lias told me in private it had been his doing. I told Markham, and Lias was barred from the city.¡±


    The room suddenly felt very cold. It took me several minutes to find words. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the King didn¡¯t have him put to death.¡±


    ¡°We had nothing but my word as evidence,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°And you know he wouldn¡¯t have allowed himself to be taken into custody. My husband made the rational choice. A compromise. We hardly need another magi as our enemy.¡±


    Lias had told me none of this. He¡¯d let me believe he and Rose were still in common cause, that he just wanted to help. Hell, he probably did.


    But even still, Rosanna painted a very dark picture of our old friend.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot,¡± I admitted.


    Rosanna nodded, and showed no contrition. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°What will you do?¡± I asked.


    Rosanna thought a moment before answering. ¡°About Lias? Nothing for now. I have enough on my plate. If he forces my hand, he will not find it gentle. For now, though, he brought you to me. I will assume he means well until he proves otherwise.¡±


    I nodded, even though the food I¡¯d just eaten suddenly sat very uneasy in my gut.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the girl I was,¡± Rose said suddenly, her demeanor becoming contemplative. ¡°That spoiled child who bridled at every offense, who demanded the world be as she willed simply because it displeased her.¡±


    She turned her eyes to me, and had something of the dragon in that regal countenance, in those bright green eyes. ¡°But I will not be idle when my family is threatened by zealots and greed bleeds my lands dry.¡±


    I clasped my fingers together. ¡°What do you need from me, Rose?¡±


    Rosanna smiled wanly, then winced. One of her hands moved beneath the table to her stomach again, and I thought perhaps she might have been in pain. She didn¡¯t seem far on in her term. Her third child, I thought with wonder. I still saw the teenage princess in my mind, hair covered in leaves and eyes full of murderous ire toward the world.


    ¡°Need,¡± she repeated my word back at me. ¡°That¡¯s much of my life these days. Need, need, need. There¡¯s so much that¡¯s needed of late.¡±


    ¡°Whatever it is,¡± I noted, ¡°it must be something you can¡¯t rely on your own people for. That Kaia seems big enough to crack skulls for you.¡±


    ¡°I imagine she is more than willing,¡± Rosanna said with a knowing smile. ¡°But I do not need doors broken down and my own people terrified.¡±


    She leaned closer. Though we were separate by more than ten feet down the length of that table, there was a note of furtive conspiracy in the motion.


    ¡°The Inquisition is searching for something in the city,¡± she said. ¡°Or someone. The Presider has been asking questions and making covert threats to many members of the peerage. Everyone is too scared of him and his veiled thugs to do anything about it. The wiser courtiers know that even if something were to be done about him, the clericons would just appoint another like him. The tides of power have shifted.¡±


    She took up her silver glass again and sipped its contents. She placed it down before speaking more. I recognized the old habit. Gathering her thoughts, calculating, saying nothing she didn¡¯t mean for me to hear.


    ¡°The Church is steadily becoming a more powerful entity than the Accord can handle,¡± The Empress said. ¡°Even as this is happening, the Priory and its fist, the Fifth Cantos, is becoming more powerful than any other faction within the Church itself can handle. They¡¯re putting their own preosters in chapels across the countryside, and appointing their own clericons into positions of power. There¡¯s even talk of reviving the Knights Penitent.¡±


    I clenched my right hand into a fist, remembering Oraise¡¯s claim he intended to do just that. The confirmation didn¡¯t comfort me, not at all. ¡°The Presider wants to bring you down,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t fully understand why.¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯ve been openly challenging the Priory,¡± Rosanna said bluntly. At my surprised look, she flashed a thin smile. ¡°The Church has always been meant as an advisor to the Houses. They are our historians, our healers, our scribes and councilers. They began as an order of scholars, not priests.¡±


    She leaned forward. ¡°The Priory represents a change in that, one that¡¯s been pushed before, but is now a very real possibility. They would turn the Church into a true theocracy, one that rules all the realms in God¡¯s name. I am but one of various voices in the nobility and the clergy opposing this.¡±


    She shrugged, and ate a bit off her plate. She even ate gracefully.


    ¡°I am not surprised Oraise wants to find something to use against me,¡± she said, after she¡¯d finished the bite. ¡°But I will not stand idly by while he bullies my courtiers and his wolves run rampant through the streets. However, I cannot simply have him killed.¡±


    She said this with brutal casualness.


    ¡°He is just a tool for the Priory,¡± Rosanna continued, ¡°and they are a stronger force these days than any one kingdom. What I need is information. What, or who, is the Inquisition looking for in Garihelm? Why are they being so brazen in searching for it? If I know, if I can perhaps find their quarry first, then I gain leverage. If I have something incriminating I can bring it before the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°So you want me to figure out what the Presider is looking for and find it first, basically?¡± I looked out at the seascape beneath the citadel, frowning.


    Rosanna nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any other leads?¡± I asked. I picked up a silver fork and gesticulated with it, like I was pointing out spots on a war map. ¡°Is Forger¡ª¡± I caught Rosanna¡¯s flinty expression and sheepishly corrected myself. ¡°Is the Emperor aware of what¡¯s happening?¡±


    ¡°My husband is aware,¡± Rosanna said with a heavy sigh. ¡°But he can do little. Oraise has been given full powers to root out heretical elements in the city. He wouldn¡¯t dare take members of the nobility into custody, not without damning evidence, but he¡¯s come close. And if Markham tries to curb the Presider¡¯s excesses he may face censure from the Church. That could become disastrous.¡±


    I pursed my lips and couldn¡¯t help the sarcastic edge that slipped into my words. ¡°The mighty King Forger, afraid of the Clericon College. Isn¡¯t this the same man who fashioned the Accord and cast the Recusant armies down?¡±


    I didn¡¯t say the rest of what I thought ¡ª that if the priests ruled Markham Forger, then he was little better than a puppet. Maybe the people were right to lose faith in him, my own feelings not withstanding.


    There had been several times in my life I¡¯d seen the look that crossed Rosanna Silvering¡¯s face. Flint waiting for tinder. A wrath that had cast down three ancient Houses and risen her from penniless refugee to sovereign. Rarely had I seen it directed at me, and I felt a very sudden and visceral urge to sink into my cushioned chair.


    ¡°The Emperor,¡± Rosanna said icily, ¡°has all of his attention fixed on the stability of our confederation. He needs to keep his fellow rulers appeased, convince them every day anew that he deserves to be First Among Equals. Make no mistake, Alken ¡ª you may not be fond of him, but Markham is holding our world together right now. If the Priory claims true power, it will make Lyda¡¯s Plague seem a pleasant memory. No one the most dogmatic members of the Church deem anathema will be spared the torch.¡±


    She didn¡¯t need to clarify that I was included in that, as well as many I¡¯d called ally. She let the words sink in before continuing.


    ¡°The Emperor can do nothing openly. Neither can I, for that matter. We start fighting the Church, and people will call us tyrants and rise up. Many nobles, despite the fact that they¡¯d be just as like to burn with us, would happily see us fall and think themselves pious.¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± I said, lifting a hand to stall her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I showed her a weak smile. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m still a bit bitter. Your husband did strip me of my titles, remember?¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to mention what we both knew ¡ª he¡¯d been the mouthpiece for the Clericon College in that, as well.


    The ice left Rosanna¡¯s visage and she seemed mollified. ¡°I remember. And I understand. Only¡­ He isn¡¯t a bad man. He¡¯s a soldier and a statesman. This business with the Faith caught many of us off guard. Things got worse after that bishop was killed in the east.¡±


    I dearly hoped she didn¡¯t see my flinch.


    ¡°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

    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.


    Myrddin leant forward, spittle flying from his scorched lips as he cackled. ¡°You¡¯re serious!?¡± He said, his eyes gleaming with eagerness. ¡°They really want us to go through with it so soon?¡±


    ¡°Heavensreach has been silent too long,¡± Vicar said, meeting the other crowfriar¡¯s excited mirth with glacial calm. ¡°The Choir has rebuffed all our attempts to parlay with them, and the tenuous peace of the Accord is near to fracturing. We must be in a position to assert order. When the Houses of Urn fall, the Church ¡ª or more precisely the Priory of the Arda ¡ª will be in a position to take true power. And we will be behind them.¡±


    He lifted one scabbed hand, the ragged sleeve falling from his thin wrist in an approximation of regal drapery. ¡°Already, great nations in the continent heed our council. If we are to prevent this world from falling to the Adversary, we cannot allow our counterparts to mismanage their charges so grievously here.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Pretty words,¡± Myrddin growled. ¡°This Priory is a double-edged blade, Vicar. You remember the crusades? The Aureates almost drove us out of Edaea all those centuries ago. From what I¡¯ve heard of this Inquisition, it¡¯s infamous for how zealously it roots out heresy, real or otherwise. How do we know it won¡¯t bring the torch to us? Their god gave us the boot.¡±


    ¡°Our God was grieving, and angry at us.¡± Vicar met Myrddin¡¯s eyes. ¡°That was most of a millennium ago, brother, and Her kingdom is crumbling. It is high time we put aside the petty conflicts of the past and face the real threat.¡±


    ¡°Abgr?dai,¡± the crowfriar with the skeletal features hissed, their veined eyes almost bulging with hate.


    Vicar nodded. ¡°The traitor magi caused the Iron Realm near as much harm as this one when he broke Tuvon¡¯s seals. Many of Orkael¡¯s prisoners escaped, and many are still at large here. Our charge is to guard against the Abyss and bind its chaos. It is here, in this land. The Inquisition can be our net and our sword.¡±


    ¡°Mortals are fickle and have short memories,¡± Myrddin said, unconvinced. ¡°And the way I¡¯ve heard, the Priory can whip up the peasants into a rabble whenever they decide. An ally you can¡¯t trust is no ally at all.¡±


    ¡°If this Grand Prior signs his soul to us,¡± the merchant crowfriar put in, ¡°we won¡¯t need to trust him. We¡¯ll own him.¡±


    ¡°That is my task,¡± Vicar agreed. ¡°We must accelerate our plans. Urn is even less stable than we thought. It is time to make contact with the Iron Tribunal directly.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± Myrddin snarled. ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Over the next several weeks,¡± Vicar said, ¡°the Accord is holding summit here in the city. There are to be celebrations, and a grand tournament to test the mettle of the new generation. It is to be among the most lavish gatherings in all of Urn¡¯s history, so it is told. We will use this to our advantage. I will have more details to all of you in the coming days.¡±


    They all vanished then, except for Myrddin. The wild-haired crowfriar scowled at Vicar, who only returned the glower with cold disinterest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let the guise of Renuart Kross get to your head,¡± the fur-mantled man said. ¡°We¡¯re not anyone¡¯s heroes, Vicar. Our job is to put them in our debt. Remember that.¡±


    He vanished then, fading away into the shadows.


    Vicar waited half a minute, then tilted his cowled head to one side. ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± he murmured. ¡°I don¡¯t think any of them noticed you.¡±


    A long pause, and then a segment of darkness disentangled itself. A man of below average height, thinly built and dressed all in black, stepped forward. He glared at Vicar with one onyx-dark eye. The other eye was missing, replaced by a red ruby glinting like fire in the church¡¯s gloom.


    ¡°You did not tell me you would be calling on one of the Tribunal,¡± Lias Hexer accused, his face ¡ª still youthful despite his age ¡ª tight with anger. His eye, the one the Zosite had left him, flicked to look over Vicar¡¯s shoulder. Or, more precisely, the thing the wizard knew clung there. "I thought you already had one?"


    ¡°My counselor is a lesser spirit,¡± Vicar said. ¡°It knows the minds of its brethren, but cannot reach through the fabric of the Wend to make direct contact with the Iron Realm. The situation in Urn is far more unstable than we originally thought. We must have council from a higher authority.¡±


    ¡°Will this council put the city in danger?¡± Lias asked, frowning.


    ¡°No,¡± Vicar lied easily. He¡¯d had plenty of practice lying in six centuries. ¡°Not so long as we are not disturbed during the rite. You will assist us with that.¡±


    ¡°I am not your servant,¡± Lias spat.


    ¡°No?¡± Vicar blinked at him. ¡°Was it not we who gave you an eye which can see through realms? Was it not we who welcomed you, tutored you, taught you our secrets of forging, made you aware of the True Chemistry? We who taught you how to make Devil Iron, how to breathe life into the Marions?¡±


    Vicar¡¯s voice turned harsh. ¡°Was it not we who taught you just how important the war we fight is? Your land is a backwater, Lias, yet it has found itself the stage for a conflict which can shake the very cosmos.¡±


    ¡°We had a deal.¡± Lias snapped.


    ¡°Which one?¡± Vicar asked curiously, his eyes moving up to the ceiling as he mused. ¡°You¡¯ve made many contracts with us these past years, Lias Hexer. For power, for knowledge, for protection¡­¡±


    ¡°To protect the people I care about,¡± Lias insisted, defensive. ¡°To keep the realms stable. I did my part.¡± He stepped forward, placing a gloved hand to his chest. ¡°I convinced the lords to break the trade ban with the continent. I gave you the lists of disenfranchised nobles who¡¯d be most susceptible to your offers. I turned the Emperor¡¯s attention away from you.¡±


    The wizard¡¯s expression turned dark, even wrathful. ¡°You swore to me Alken wouldn¡¯t be hurt. He spent three weeks in the Presider¡¯s dungeons.¡±


    ¡°And he is alive,¡± Vicar said, turning to face the thin man. ¡°I promised you I would not kill him, or allow the Presider to do so. I upheld my end.¡± He shrugged. ¡°You should have discouraged him from acting so recklessly. He practically begged to be captured.¡±


    ¡°That safe house was attacked by Woed!¡± Lias snarled. Then, forcing calm he said, ¡°What are you doing about Yith? I thought your kind had the power to bind demons.¡±


    ¡°I am not Zosite,¡± Vicar admitted. He did not add we were all mortals once, like you, and if you have not yet realized that, then you aren¡¯t nearly so intelligent as you¡¯ve led me to believe.


    Aloud he said, ¡°As for your old friend¡­ He is a brute. It is unfortunate he made such a mess, but the broken remnants of one paladin cannot stop the tide. If he stays out of my way, I will not have reason to harm him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where he is,¡± Lias admitted. ¡°If you¡¯ve done anything¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not know Alken Hewer¡¯s whereabouts,¡± Vicar said, not needing to lie this time. He narrowed his eyes, feeling the sting of charred flesh pulling. ¡°Your Empress was once his liege lady. Have you not considered that she might¡ª¡±


    ¡°She would not be so foolish,¡± Lias cut him off. ¡°She is already besieged with intrigue, and taking Alken back under her wing would be a terrible risk. Her own husband delivered his sentence, and there are still rumors about them in Karles. She can hardly afford scandal in her position, and she must know the Grand Prior would take advantage.¡±


    He paused, and muttered his next words as though to himself. ¡°Rose wouldn¡¯t take that risk.¡±


    Vicar was not so certain. He had done a thorough investigation into the disgraced knight¡¯s past after they¡¯d run afoul of one another in Venturmoor, and one thing had become clear to him ¡ª the ties between Rosanna Silvering, her champion, and her court mage were strong. The three of them had survived usurpation and war together, and such trials forge powerful bonds.


    Was Lias lying to him, to throw him off Hewer¡¯s scent? Did the wizard know where the fallen knight had gone, or suspect?


    Neither one of them trusted one another. It was of no matter to Vicar. All had been set into place, and Lias could do nothing to stop the tide either.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he said aloud. ¡°I am not concerned about the Empress or the Headsman. They are both bit players in this. We are in the game of Realms, my friend.¡±


    Lias sniffed at the word friend. ¡°An Empress is a bit player in matters of nations?¡±


    ¡°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 Arcs 1-3

    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.


    Roland Marcher: King of Venturmoor.


    The Aureate Church


    Once an order of astrologers and polymaths, they have taken up a righteous duty as the teachers of the God-Queen''s holy word. Extremely factionalized and divided.


    Leonis Chancer: A bishop who once led a brutal witch hunt during the war against the Recusants. Killed by Alken Hewer during the stories opening act under the orders of the Choir.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Presider Oraise: A ruthless inquisitor who serves the Priory of the Arda. Leads a private army of kidnappers and torturers called the Priorguard.


    The Grand Prior: Head of the Priory of the Arda and de facto leader of the Inquisition.


    Brother Caslin: A monk who tends to Rose Malin, an old cathedral in Garihelm.


    Preoster Micah: A kindly preacher in Caelfall. Murdered at Orson Falconer''s orders. One of Catrin of Ergoth''s lovers.


    Brother Edgar: A young monk with the unfortunate fate of being Caelfall Village''s only survivor.


    The Eld


    A loose collective of ancient, semi-immortal beings of varying kinds, reminiscent of faeries and other creatures of myth. Often collectively referred to as elves, Sidhe, or fae. They once dwelt side by side with humanity as near equals, but recent events have left them wounded and distrustful.


    Oradyn Irn Bale: An old wyldefae chieftain who aided Alken during his battle against Orson Falconer.


    Maerlys Tuvonsdotter: Eldest child of the Elf King and former high priestess of Seydis. Horrifically burned by Recusants during the Fall, she has become far more hostile to humanity in the years since, leading many other elves to do the same.


    Tuvon of Seydis: King of Seydis, Lord of Elfhome, voice of the Choir of God, and Archon of the God-Queen''s realm on the Alderes. Betrayed and murdered by his own knights during the Fall.


    Qoth: A Briar Elf and Emma''s familiar by way of Nath.


    Tzanith: An elf bard, and Irn Bale''s brother.


    The Choir of Onsolem


    A collective of ancient spirits, demigods, and other powerful beings left behind when the God-Queen departed from these shores. They dwell in a secluded palace-city called Heavensreach, and secretly watch over the realms of Man and Elf from on high.


    Donnelly of Nayse: A former burglar and treasure hunter who gained some renown after the Elf King hired him to steal a great treasure from another immortal. He died during the Fall and had his spirit fused with the vestiges of an Onsolain. He is now the Choir''s herald and a personal acquaintance of Alken''s.


    Eanor: A former handmaiden of the God-Queen and an original Onsolain who once dwelt in the First Realm. The Saint of Love and Nath''s twin. She is the closest thing Alken has to a personal patron among the Choir.


    Nath the Fallen: A rebellious seraph who left the Choir in order to pursue personal power. She allied with the wicked elves of Briarland, earning her the epithet of "Angel of the Briar." She has recently rejoined the Choir and is also Emma''s godmother. Eanor''s twin.


    Grandmother Urddha: An ancient demigoddess and one of the immortals native to the Alderes who became Onsolain after the God-Queen''s arrival. The Saint of Witches and Queen of Hags.


    Kaharn-in-Silver: A bestial demigod who guards the inhospitable borderlands of Urn.


    The Iron Tribunal


    These accursed beings are associated with the Infernal Realm of Orkael, which sits on the edge of the Howling Abyss. Herein dwell spirits of iron, ice, and flame, who have long sulked in their machinations. Not to be trusted.


    Vicar: A Crowfriar dispatched to Urn by his burning masters to lead his realm''s push for influence in the God-Queen''s own land. Often taking the guise of Ser Renuart Kross, he is a cunning agent personally counseled by an Angel of Hell. Has acted as one of the Iron Realm''s missionaries for most of six centuries, and has recently infiltrated the Priory of the Arda.


    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 Abgr?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.


    Emery Planter: A knight and necromancer who attempted to build an undead army. Slain by Alken Hewer in a duel in his own keep.


    Lorena Starling: Emery¡¯s wife, reanimated from a premature death by him. Swore vengeance against Alken for her husband¡¯s murder.


    Nathaniel Planter: Emery Planter and Lorena Starling¡¯s young son. Now the lord of a haunted land left to him by his rebellious parents.


    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.


    Parn: An old changeling who acts as an unofficial leader for the inhabitants of the Garihelm slums. Taken captive by the Inquisition and rescued by Alken.

 Arc 4: Bind || 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 golden 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 drawn, 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, letting the magic I¡¯d started to burn enhance my natural senses.


    The dyghoul ¡ª once a handsome boy of eighteen or so, 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. I judged her a year older 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 in my hand, 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.¡±


    The dead boy 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.


    ¡°Stay behind me,¡± I told them. ¡°If you want to get out of this, do what I tell you and keep up.¡±


    The door jumped again. A bit of burgundy-colored wood split. It was a good door, solid. The girl¡¯s parents had taken her safety seriously.


    ¡°One of your maids sold you out to the Priory,¡± I told the young woman. Lae, the boy had called her. I knew it was short for Lady Laessa of House Greengood, just as the boy¡¯s name was Kieran, an apprentice to one of the city dye makers.


    I made myself think of their names, to see them as people. If I failed to save them, I deserved to feel the guilt.


    ¡°But why would¡­¡± Laessa trailed off, then let out a yelp as the door was struck again.


    ¡°There are Inquisition informants all over the city,¡± I said without looking away from the door. ¡°They were investigating your paramour, and after his corpse got up and walked off they had their suspicions where it would go.¡±


    Same reason I was there.


    I began to reshape my aura ¡ª not just burning it like an inner furnace for enhanced abilities, but focusing on the words of an Oath. The silent invocation rearranged my soul¡¯s shape like the shifting parts of a machine.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    I am the sentry at the threshold of darkness, the manifold spear, the door and the guard.


    The door was struck again. I lowered into a half crouch, tightening my grip on the axe¡¯s gnarled handle.


    Again, the door was struck. This time it broke off its frame, falling forward in a burst of dust and splinters.


    I leapt, and the first priorguard in the doorway died before he could process what was in front of him. I brought the crescent-moon blade down, slicing through the man¡¯s rectangular veil, splitting the iron circlet holding it and the red trident sewn to its face. The axe bit deep, cracking the skull and filling the interior of the man¡¯s tightly fit hood with his own brains.


    He fell. I pulled my weapon free of him, then swung it over my head in a wide circle as I cleared the doorway. I caught the iron head of a quarterstaff, ripped it to one side, then chopped the weapon at its center. The flurry of motion sent that second priorguard back, into a group of his comrades.


    They were to either side of me, filling the narrow hall. Five to my left, three to my right. I¡¯d disarmed one of the three, leaving two immediately dangerous.


    ¡°Stairs!¡± I roared. I could almost imagine the anonymous faces around me blinking in confusion behind their veils.


    Thankfully, Laessa understood. ¡°Left!¡± She cried.


    My eyes, burning bright with aura, shot to the left. I took my left hand off my axe, swung it down at an angle low to the ground with my right, and crouched.


    Most of the priorguard had heavy quarterstaves, good for cracking bones and subduing a victim without outright killing them. These, however, had new equipment. Two of them had long poles with broken rings, their inner edge cruelly spiked ¡ª man-catchers.


    The one in the lead of the group blocking the exit held one. He stepped forward, thrusting it at my face. The two behind me advanced at the same time, attacking my exposed back. I could hear their shuffling steps over the carpeted floor.


    They¡¯d taken the bait. I hurled myself backward, catching the one with the man-catcher off guard and causing him to foul his thrust. The evil teeth of the weapon missed my neck by inches, and its wielder let out a muffled curse.


    I spun, took the legs out of one of the two behind, slammed the butt of the axe up into the chin of the second, then grabbed the weapon near its head to shorten the length. I ripped hard to one side, biting into the second priorguard¡¯s neck. She died choking on her own blood, falling to spasm on the floor and clutching at her gushing jugular.


    I turned, and as the larger group of priorguard began to advance, I used my Art.


    An Auratic Phantasm is like an idea, at first ¡ª when its form is imagined and shaped, it remains intangible, useless. Once born into the world, the essence of the soul bursting into corporeal reality, it will enact its intended purpose with the same cold certainty that a door will swing when a lever is pulled. The wielder can direct that power, but the time between manifestation and dissipation is usually measured in a matter of seconds.


    I only needed seconds. I crouched again, and this time I didn¡¯t bait and switch. I brought my arms up, rested Faen Orgis on one shoulder, and hunched. The priorguard with the man-catcher went high, and one of his companions with a very ordinary spear went low, intending to trap and stick me like a wild boar.


    And, like a wild boar, I hurled myself at them. In a flash of light, branching antlers of solid amber glass, like the crown of an enormous stag, burst from my back and shoulders. An invisible wind propelled me forward, as though I were drawn to my target by a contracting line, or an alchemist¡¯s magnet.


    I slammed into the row of priorguard. The spear cracked, ordinary wood giving way to solid aura, reduced to splinters in a moment. The man catcher went too far up as the man balked at the sight of a small phalanx of glimmering spears hurtling toward him down the narrow hall.


    I impaled two of the priorguard, and kept moving. I¡¯d tethered my Art to the veiled thug at back of the group, and I wouldn¡¯t stop until I struck him. The rest got caught in the middle, gored on the phantasmal antlers or slammed into the walls by the ripple of power and my own mass.


    I grit my teeth through the rush ¡ª this Art always made me feel dizzy ¡ª and then swung the axe just before reaching my intended target. The hooked blade carved across his chest, meeting no resistance ¡ª the priorguard never seemed to wear armor ¡ª and then I shoulder checked him, knocking him down in a spray of blood.


    Two priorguard, one dead and the other most of the way there, remained impaled on the glassy spikes of the phantasm for a moment before it dissipated. They both collapsed to the ground with heavy thuds.


    I straightened, glancing back at the hallway. I¡¯d left a trail of carnage, dead or dying priorguard scattered across the fine carpet of the floor or leaning against the white-washed walls. The skirmish had lasted less than half a minute.


    ¡°Move!¡± I roared.


    The two youths scrambled out of the room, blinking in shock at most of a dozen men lying scattered across the hall. They navigated through the mess, catching up to me. I turned, steadied my breathing, and found the stairs.


    I could hear more movement below. Not done yet.


    Most priorguard weren¡¯t much good as soldiers. The Priory took recruits off the street, or gave conditional pardons to criminals, filling their ranks with the zealous and the desperate. They¡¯d upped recruitment in recent weeks, quickly expanding their ranks into a veritable small army.


    Some of them, however, did have military experience. I started to descend the winder stairs and nearly died to a crossbow bolt. I caught sight of the man out of the corner of my eye, didn¡¯t see the weapon but flinched on instinct. The rod of dark wood cracked into the wall inches from my face.


    The archer cursed, immediately starting to load another bolt. This one didn¡¯t wear a veil, likely to keep his vision clear. His weapon was small, compact, easy to load. I wouldn¡¯t make it down the stairs in time before he had the chance to shoot me point blank.


    I leapt over the railing instead, crossing over the stairway¡¯s central shaft in a soaring jump to slam my boots down onto the man¡¯s chest. He went down beneath me, and I slammed the butt of my axe¡¯s handle down into his open mouth.


    Blood had soaked into the dark oak of the weapon now, and at my silent command it woke, crackling and growing in length. The blunt end of the handle became a sharp point of iron-hard wood in a moment, passing through flesh and punching out the back of the man¡¯s skull.


    I ripped the weapon free with a grisly pop, letting the dead man¡¯s head fall limply to the stair. I heard movement above ¡ª Laessa and Kieran were following as best they could.


    I looked down into a spacious foyer. More priorguard waited there, another half dozen. They saw me, and lifted their weapons. More man-catchers, and two had compact crossbows.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Headsman!¡± One of them shouted. No doubt they recognized my face from Rose Malin, even with my hair short now and my red cloak and black armor gone.


    ¡°Bleeding Gates¡­¡± Another said.


    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 demanded, 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 with 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 and the rain. 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, glancing back and ushering 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 beasts 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.

 4.2: 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.


    The priorguard 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.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± She asked.


    A bolt zipped right over my head. I grimaced. ¡°Do it.¡±


    She nodded and handed me the reins. I swung Faen Orgis down, embedding it into the wood of the bench to keep it secure and free my hands. I took control of the coach just in time to turn the mares and avoid going into the canal. Emma climbed up on top of the coach, clinging to a rail on its side.


    I glanced back, seeing that she¡¯d stretched one arm out, her posture stiff. Another bolt missed her by mere feet, breaking against a fountain statue.


    I felt invisible power shift, like a sudden tension in the world. It¡¯s difficult to describe, magic ¡ª there¡¯s no truly physical sensation, just an impression of something fundamental in the world moving out of place, or perhaps into place.


    Like all the cosmos twists on your axis for a moment, Lias had once said.


    Emma¡¯s inner core of boiling red power pulsed once, like a heartbeat.


    The war carriage gained. I felt it as much as I heard it now, a rumbling pressure on the street. Ahead, the avenue narrowed into a residential. Austere governmental buildings gave way to humbler shops and multi-storied tenements.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Emma had cut her own palm, using one of the sharp decorative barbs of the carriage¡¯s brass-and-silver frame. Her blood dripped down onto the stone. It raced through the seams of the cobblestone below like hungry serpents, a living thing undiluted by rainwater.


    The priorguard drew very close to our coach. Glancing back, I saw several of them preparing to leap and board us.


    One veiled figure crouched atop the carriage lifted one hand high, as though to deliver some melodramatic proclamation. I saw a flash of dull coppery light, and a lambent gold-red auremark with upward bending wings and many curling spikes on each point appeared above their hand.


    They had an adept too. With another flash, the Red Trident of Inquisition grew larger, forming a sort of banner above the iron carriage.


    Emma let out a sudden gasp of breath, and the sound rippled through the city like a disturbance in a pond.


    With a chorus of piercing shrieks, a score or more of scarlet iron pikes burst from the street in a zigzagging line. They emerged in sequence, like a deadly forest growing in mere moments, each as tall as one of the light posts holding the alchemical lamps.


    No less than four speared through one of the tri-horn chimera. Several sliced through iron-plated wheels and into the belly of the carriage. One of the priorguard on the bench suddenly spasmed as one took him in the side at an angle, dragging him from his seat. The heavy back wheel of the vehicle crushed him an instant later. I heard the noise of his bones breaking.


    The mortally wounded chimera let out a low bellow, then slumped into a bad fall at full momentum. The yoke holding it to the carriage and the second beast cracked. The other beast stumbled, the vehicle tilted, and the whole thing crashed in a thunderous cacophony, breaking and splitting, iron screaming as it bent.


    A moment later, the faintly gleaming spikes of the Shrike Forest scattered back into incorporeality.


    ¡°Good job,¡± I said, though my praise was lost in a sudden growl of thunder. I fixed my attention forward, and immediately let out a bitter curse.


    Emma turned belatedly, having been appreciating her handiwork, and cried out in alarm.


    A row of priorguard stood in the street ahead of us, their shadowy visages almost lost in the gloom. They held lanterns burning with angry red light, and man catchers and hooked chains, and those evil little crossbows.


    At their forefront stood a huge man with a mantle over his black robe and a pointed hood very reminiscent of an executioner¡¯s cowl. On his shoulder he held a huge wooden breaking wheel plated with iron.


    The Art the priorguard on the carriage had used wasn¡¯t meant to attack us ¡ª it had been a signal.


    Three priorguard stepped out of the line, and each of them brought a single hand above their heads, fingers curled. Three gleaming copper tridents burst to life above their hands, scarring the night.


    I reached for my axe.


    Too late.


    They swept their hands down in a chopping motion, and the barbed auremarks all split simultaneously.


    I tugged sharply on the reins, trying to get the scadumares to turn. They did, with incredible speed and dexterity, but it was too late.


    Three arcs of gilt copper, like coiling fragments of dusk light, sliced down the street. It was a simple technique ¡ª phantasmal blades, sharp and short-lived. They produced musical wails as they flew.


    We were too close. One blade missed us, cutting a thin, deep line right into the street as it swept past. The second went into the shoulder of the rightmost scadumare. Blood fountained into the air, splattering me and the front of the coach. The third had been expertly aimed, and sliced through both left wheels, cleanly severing them from the coach.


    We tilted. The metal frame sent up a shower of sparks as it slid, emitting an ear-splitting shriek, and then we were rolling in an ironic repeat of what Emma had done to our pursuit.


    Everything became a whirl of sound, a blur of movement and chaos and dizzying confusion. I hit the street hard, rolled, struck something. A post, or maybe the edge of one of the city¡¯s clever system of gutters. All the air went out of me.


    Once I¡¯d stopped, it took me a terrifying long moment to get myself to breathe. I stood, mostly on reflex ¡ª staying down in a battle is a good way to get a pike into your gut.


    When the world righted itself, I gathered three facts immediately. One, I¡¯d torn my flesh raw rolling on the street, and it was a miracle my bones were intact. Two, the coach was ruined ¡ª one mare lay dead, and the other had been pulled down by the falling vehicle, possibly also maimed.


    Three, I didn¡¯t see Emma. A spike of terror went through me. Had she gone under the coach?


    Heavy steps plodded through the rain. I turned, and whipped my head back an instant before an enormous object would have pulped my skull. A truly massive man stood before me, taller than I and bulkier too, his priorguard robes a veritable tent of black fabric.


    It was the one in the heavy mantle. He wielded an enormous iron-plated wheel as a weapon, his hairy fingers clutching handholds built into the outer frame. He let out a guttural breath, brought the wheel up over his head, and then swung it one handed.


    The object could have been used to carry the coach I¡¯d just lost. It parted a curtain of rain as it cut the air, splashing me. I dodged again, stumbling back, and felt a prickling sensation against my skin.


    Wonderful. The wheel had been consecrated, too. A blessing of power, I guessed, so it could strike like a minor thunderclap.


    The huge man hardly seemed to need the help. To make matters worse, I¡¯d lost my axe in the fall.


    Seeing I was unarmed, the priorguard stepped forward into a ruthless assault, bringing his enormous wheel high up over his head and grasping its handholds in both meaty fists. He slammed it down. I jumped back a heartbeat before it would have flattened me against the street. 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. The current caught him, dragging him beneath 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 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.

 4.3: 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.


    Ordinary people armed and brainwashed by a zealot. They had lives, families.


    The inhabitants of Garihelm were Rosanna¡¯s people, adopted when she¡¯d ascended as Empress of the Accord. She¡¯d want me to save them.


    I¡¯d sworn an oath to protect innocents the day I¡¯d become a knight.


    You¡¯re not a knight anymore. You¡¯re a killer. Just slay it.


    If I battled this thing in the streets, many people would die.


    The whining in my ears stopped, and all the sound came crashing back in. More cries of fear and panic around me. Those who hadn¡¯t sheltered in their homes were fleeing. In the distance, someone still screamed in pain. Were they trapped? Maimed?


    I shut the sound out.


    The ogre clasped both of its hands together and slowly brought them high up over its head. The sky above flashed with lightning, and I couldn¡¯t tell whether the rumbling thunder came from the clouds, the beast, or both.


    The branch grew longer, nearly as tall as me now. I lifted it high, preparing to slam it down into the ground and let the roots of the Malison Oak dig deep.


    Just before the ogre slammed its hands down against my barrier of aura again, a sound pierced the night. A shrill, whistling note, growing steadily louder.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    A sharp crack! cut the whistling off. The ogre stumbled back, letting out an almost canine whine, and clamped a hand to its left shoulder.


    I blinked, nearly as surprised as the storm beast must have been. I glanced back and saw a figure standing atop a belfry at the far end of the block, opposite where the ogre had struck the city. Clad in a billowing cape, they held a war bow tall as a man and wore armor.


    A knight. They drew another arrow from a quiver at their hip, fitting it to the tall bow. I felt a shudder in the air around them, even at a great distance, noted the ritual aspect to their motions. They were using Art to enhance their shots.


    The ogre snarled, taking a step forward. The street shuddered. He reached out with one hand, ripped an angel¡¯s statue off a nearby chapel, and brought his tree-sized arm back to hurl it at the archer.


    I heard iron-shod claws on stone, moving at a fast gallop. Another figure burst out of the night, a rider on a leonine chimera with long tufted ears and an elaborate harness of white-and-blue cloth and steel chain.


    This one was a knight too, with a breastplate of white steel filigreed with wave motifs, asymmetrical pauldrons, and flowing white clothes beneath. He held an enormous polearm in one hand, with a shortened cross-hilt handle to make room for an enlarged blade. A swordspear.


    The chimera cleared a rooftop in a single bound, landed gracefully, and came up behind the storm ogre without slowing. The rider grinned beneath an open-faced helm decorated with fangs and a flowing red plume. He brandished his glaive, swung it once in an anticipatory motion, then closed on his target. He took the cumbersome weapon in both hands and swung, and I could hear the air part around the thick blade.


    He clove into the ogre¡¯s meaty calf, his mount not slowing so much as a beat as it continued on past me. The rider let out a triumphant whoop as he passed, his dark eyes meeting mine as he grinned. He was young.


    Another arrow, enhanced with aura, struck the ogre like a shot from a siege scorpion. Again the beast stumbled. This time, unbalanced by the wound in its leg, it collapsed to one knee. The street shuddered again.


    I heard the mounted warrior turn his beast behind me. He called out in a voice husky with youth. ¡°Oh, was this one yours? Sorry, sorry, I got carried away!¡±


    He laughed, and it reminded me of the Sidhe. The boy had a fey spirit.


    I let the growing power in my axe fade, along with the auratic barrier. I let out a breath, which came out as amber-tinted mist.


    The ogre was trying to stand. It pressed both fists to the street, attempting to push itself up. The wound in its leg, however, had gone very deep. It rose several feet, then let out a pitiful, almost dog-like whine and collapsed again.


    ¡°How disappointing!¡± The youth laughed, spinning his huge weapon in the air with one hand. I felt a press of fast-moving air against my skin, emanated from him. He had power, too.


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak too soon,¡± I said. The boy¡¯s laughter stopped.


    The storm ogre threw its head back and roared, and yellow lightning began to crackle around it. It lifted its long arms up, and the angry clouds high above flashed with more lightning.


    ¡°Damn,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s using an Art.¡±


    The young knight blinked. ¡°It can do that?¡± He had to raise his voice over the snarl of thunder.


    ¡°Anything can use Art,¡± I growled, annoyed. I glanced to where Emma still lay on the street. She still lay unmoving, and I felt the fear again. I¡¯d moved to stand between her and the ogre before I¡¯d attempted a binding, but I didn¡¯t know if I could protect her from whatever was about to happen.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s kill the thing then!¡± The young warrior bared his teeth beneath his roaring helm and spurred his leonine steed forward, swiping his swordspear to one side.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I said, but the boy either didn¡¯t hear me or ignored me. He shot toward the ogre, whooping and taking his weapon in both hands.


    Another aura-propelled arrow cut the night, whistling an eerie note. This time, the ogre swiped out with a speed that should have been impossible for its size, catching the arrow. It growled, crackling with more phantasmal thunder.


    Idiot, I thought, watching the knight charge the ogre. You never attacked an enemy using an unfamiliar Soul Art, especially if you didn¡¯t know what it did. There was little chance you¡¯d be faster than phantasm.


    And the ogre wasn¡¯t only using phantasm, though I sensed it in some of the white bolts shrouding its huge form. Still propped on one knee, it lifted one hand into the air as though beseeching aid from on high.


    Still, the distraction was useful. I stepped back and knelt, checking Emma¡¯s pulse. She still lived, though she had a nasty gash on her head. One of her arms looked badly twisted, broken or dislocated. I grimaced, and reached out. I concentrated, and tried to pour aura into her the same way I did to enhance my weapon.


    Nothing. The healing magic wouldn¡¯t come. I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw against the surge of frustration, and turned my attention back to the battle.


    The young warrior¡¯s mount leapt, its steel-tipped claws stretching, and tore into the ogre¡¯s left wrist. The ogre flinched back, then flicked its hand back out. It almost smashed both mount and rider against a nearby house, but the chimera ¡ª a manticore, I realized, seeing its scorpion tail ¡ª nimbly darted back.


    The ogre¡¯s right hand, the one it had lifted to the sky, lowered. He held a crackling sword of lightning in it, tall as a castle tower.


    The young knight¡¯s eyes widened, his bravado leaving him. He brought his huge weapon up defensively.


    Movement in the corner of my vision drew my attention. A third knight appeared on a high bridge overlooking the neighborhood. This one rode a steed tall and elegant as the scadumare, though its flesh was scaled and green, its tail a whip-like cord behind it. It had slit-pupiled eyes, large and intelligent, and a fringe of silver hair from skull to tail-tip.


    Riding it was a knight in a horned helm, clad in a long coat of brass-tinted chain and filigreed steel beneath a surcoat of amber and red. They held a tall winged lance, and the face beneath the helm was calm and noble.


    I recognized him. He was the knight I¡¯d watched enter the city the same day I¡¯d arrived. I struggled to recall his name.


    He lifted the spear, which emitted its own faint light, and hurled it. At the same time, the archer fired another dart. This one took the ogre in one of his pale eyes, blinding it. The beast wailed, flinching away. The blade of lightning seemed to falter, crackling with less intensity.


    The spear struck its chest. In that moment, everything¡­ Stopped. It¡¯s the only way I can describe it. The scattered rainfall died. The thunder quieted. The fulgur energy the ogre had gathered flickered and failed, turning everything suddenly very dark.


    For a long moment, the towering shadow remained upright. Then, tilting sharply, it fell like a collapsing tree. The impact shook the city, or so it seemed where we stood. Buildings trembled, dust showered off towers, and what was left of the belfry the creature had landed on crumbled down to its foundations.


    The ogre¡¯s face remained fixed toward us, hateful and defiant. It began to rise again, still alive.


    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 down 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 with an unblinking intensity which 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.

 4.4: 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.


    ***


    I took the time to wash and put on clean clothes, then went to find my apprentice.


    The Empress¡¯s bastion was enormous, a labyrinth of corridors, chambers, and halls of varying purpose spanning more than a dozen levels. Even as only a single section of the mighty fortress-palace known as the Fulgurkeep, it could be difficult to navigate unless you knew your way around, which I did not.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Emma and I had been given quarters in a less frequented section of the castle, where our activities were less likely to be noticed by the servants and courtiers bustling about the halls. Old and less-often cleaned, the long hallways were often dusty and marked by the occasional cobweb. Despite the monthly efforts by royal clericons to keep the palace sanctified, ghosts flitted from shadow to shadow, disturbed by my passing.


    I stopped at an innocuous door, knocked, waited a beat, then entered. I stepped into a humbly furnished room lit by alchemical lanterns, so popular in the north since the new trade had started to import them. They could burn for days, produced no odor or smoke, and came in a variety of colors. The one in the room was a soft yellow-white.


    Emma lay on the room¡¯s only bed, dressed in a woman¡¯s night shift not unlike what the Lady Laessa had worn the night before, long legs crossed. She had a book propped on her stomach, looking up from its pages as I shut the door.


    Her injuries hadn¡¯t been nearly as bad as I¡¯d feared, though the old cleric Rosanna had loaned to us had told me she might have a concussion, and should stay in bed for at least a week until he was certain. Other than that, she¡¯d been badly scratched and bruised when the coach had fallen. It had been a miracle she hadn¡¯t broken anything other than her pride.


    ¡°So?¡± Emma asked, raising a dark eyebrow. ¡°Was she very wroth?¡±


    ¡°I think she¡¯s just tired,¡± I said, leaning against the wall by the door and folding my arms. ¡°Rose has a lot on her plate, between this feud with the Grand Prior, the summit, and now monsters literally falling out of the sky.¡±


    Not to mention that she was the leader of a small, war-weary realm before she became Empress, that no one in this city trusts or likes her much, and she¡¯s stuck here managing all these squabbling realms rather than the country she risked her life to win back. And she¡¯s the mother of two, soon to be three.


    I had no doubt that Rose was very tired. I felt a pang of sympathy, and worry, for the woman who¡¯d once been my queen.


    Emma studied me quietly for a moment before saying, "You should rest too. When did you last sleep?"


    Too long. "No time, and I can go longer than most without it."


    Absently, I ran a thumb along my right forefinger.


    ¡°Things are getting complicated,¡± I said, before she could press the issue. ¡°More complicated. That boy we saved last night has vanished off somewhere, and his lady love is being tight lipped about where he might have gone. We¡¯re no closer to finding Yith than we were when we came to this city. There¡¯s a summit and tournament starting soon, and now Rose wants me looking into this matter with last night''s monster.¡±


    ¡°Fun, fun.¡± Emma adjusted the curling locks of her shortly clipped hair, blowing out a weary breath.


    I sighed, letting my head fall back against the cold stone of the wall. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    Emma considered the question a moment. ¡°Like I fell off a coach moving at speed during a thunderstorm.¡± Her expression turned doubtful. ¡°You¡¯re going to use last night as an excuse to keep me out of danger, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I studied her for a prolonged moment, saying nothing.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Emma said, suddenly bitter. She shut her book with an audible snap. ¡°I failed last night. I made a fool of myself. Better for me to stay where it¡¯s safe.¡±


    She spat the last word, avoiding my gaze.


    My eyes wandered the room. I saw her shirt of dwarven chainmail laid over the back of a chair. She¡¯d been cleaning it, defying the healer¡¯s order to stay in bed. Her beautiful Carreon saber, the crimson ruby atop its basket hilt glinting like dim fire, had been propped by her bedside.


    ¡°In battle," I said, "you can¡¯t ever predict how things will go. There¡¯s too much happening. Everyone¡¯s trying to survive, to kill the enemy. Everyone is pouring their all into getting out alive, and making certain you don¡¯t. Then there are factors like weather, sorcery, terrain¡­¡±


    I counted off each item on my fingers, never taking my eyes off hers. I saw a frown touch the corners of the young woman¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been fighting almost regularly for more than twenty years now,¡± I told her. ¡°Just a year ago, a novice adept and an old doctor got the jump on me, bound me to a tree, and drugged me. It doesn¡¯t matter how strong you are, how skilled. War isn¡¯t pretty, or fair. Master swordsmen get killed by raw recruits who got lucky all the time.¡±


    I pushed off the wall and moved to Emma¡¯s bedside. I waited, making certain she had time to absorb my words. ¡°No time for sulking,¡± I told her. ¡°I need you, Em.¡±


    Emma tilted her head up to look at me, opened her mouth to speak, then sniffed and averted her gaze. ¡°Very well then,¡± she muttered, hiding her surprise. ¡°Then what¡¯s next?¡±


    A good question. I had so many fires to put out, and leads to track down. Atop it all, I needed to avoid attention. If anyone found out who I was, and that Rosanna had been sheltering me, it would come back on her.


    ¡°We need to find Kieran before the priorguard do,¡± I said. ¡°This business with the storm spirit can wait. Time to go talk to the Lady Laessa.¡±


    ***


    Laessa Greengood had been given a much nicer set of rooms than Emma and I. She had a chamber to herself in the upper parts of the bastion, not far from the Empress¡¯s own private rooms, along with servants to tend to her needs. It had a window and everything.


    Even still, there were guards at the door and was kept locked. Rosanna was taking no chances.


    The guards nodded to me and let me through as I approached. I¡¯d learned over the past several weeks that most of Rosanna¡¯s staff had been brought with her from Karles. I even recognized some of the older guards from my time as First Sword, and they recognized me. I didn¡¯t fear exposure from them ¡ª I¡¯d fought with all of them, and they were loyal to the Empress, not the Emperor or any other interest in the city.


    ¡°Lord Hewer,¡± the older of the two guards muttered to me as he unlocked the door.


    That gave me quiet pause. Was I still a lord? Rosanna had elevated me to the nobility in Karledale when she¡¯d knighted me, granting me a House Name. I¡¯d never held land, or started a family to carry on that moniker, but officially I had been a lord of Urn.


    Did my excommunication change that? When the clerics had stripped me from the land¡¯s canon, had it also killed the name Hewer in all formal sense?


    I couldn¡¯t be sure, and I had more important problems, so I just nodded to the guard and stepped inside the room.


    The Lady Laessa looked very different than she had the previous night. For one thing, she was no longer rain-soaked and no longer dressed only in a night shift. She wore a rich dress of cream yellow and green now, and her hair formed a mane of shiny black curls around her ebony face.


    When she saw me, her dark eyes flashed with anger. The guards closed the door behind me. I¡¯d left Emma to prepare for whatever came next, and get enough rest to be able for it.


    ¡°You,¡± Laessa said flatly.


    ¡°Me,¡± I agreed, stepping out of the way of the door. Though it was locked anyway and blocking it didn¡¯t matter, I wanted to send the right message ¡ª she wasn¡¯t in danger from me.


    ¡°I have some questions,¡± I said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where Kieran is,¡± the noblewoman said, turning back to the window. She¡¯d been standing in front of it before I¡¯d entered, I guessed. It gave us a view over the great bridge connecting the Fulgurkeep to the rest of the coastal islands upon which the city had been built.


    I swallowed my frustration and kept my voice calm. ¡°I don¡¯t mean the boy any harm. I just want to find him before the Priory does.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know who you are,¡± Laessa said, without turning to face me. ¡°You walked into my life in the middle of the night, and now everything is¡­¡±


    She bit off the rest of her words. I saw her shoulders tense, and suspected she¡¯d balled the fists she had folded in front of her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where he is,¡± she repeated, less heat in the words now. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what he is anymore.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in a great deal of danger,¡± I told her. ¡°Kieran has gotten himself caught in a very bad situation, milady. It¡¯s not just about the Inquisition. He¡¯s undead, and a darker force has touched him. He could end up unhallowed. Do you understand what that is?¡±


    ¡°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 Abgr?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.

 4.5: 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¡­¡±


    ¡°Nobles marry for politics,¡± I shot back. ¡°They take lovers all the time. It¡¯s normal. Kaia is only looking out for herself. Besides, it¡¯s not true.¡±


    Emma fell silent a minute at that, and we turned a corner down another avenue.


    ¡°Well, I certainly hope you aren¡¯t expecting me to take your example and wallow in abstinence.¡± Emma¡¯s eyes ran over a group of dancers from Mirrei, who were performing in front of a small crowd, and made an appreciative noise. ¡°This is the greatest city this side of the Alderes, and I intend to enjoy myself when we¡¯re not working, no offense.¡±


    I¡¯d begun to notice, since leaving the Fane, that Emma could be something of a hedonist. I shrugged. ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t become a distraction. Or a problem.¡±


    Emma snorted disdainfully. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t go and get with child or anything. I plan to take a knighthood one day, remember?¡±``


    As had become both our habit of late, Emma had dressed like one of the local citizenry, skewing toward something a moderately wealthy citizen might wear rather than the more drab, inconspicuous garments I¡¯d chosen. She wore a loose shirt in the warmth of the aging spring, pale red with white accents and billowing sleeves, tucked into black leggings of some new fashion cinched almost up to her ribs by far too many belts. She¡¯d changed her style repeatedly since we¡¯d arrived in Garihelm, caught up in the fury of changing fashion.


    I¡¯d warned Rosanna about giving the nobleborn girl too much access to her treasury, but she¡¯d insisted it was necessary for us to be able to blend in any situation we might find ourselves in. Emma had, of course, gone about blending.


    On the other hand, I¡¯d chosen a long leather coat capable of hiding my weaponry much as the cloak I¡¯d gotten used to for so many years of wandering, with sturdy, low-key clothing beneath ¡ª thick leggings tucked into hard boots, a white shirt under a brown tunic, and a tan scarf against the inconsistent bouts of coastal chill.


    Comfortable, but I missed my armor. I¡¯d worn armor constantly through so much of my life, and I felt naked without it. Vulnerable.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    We made an odd pair, mismatched as we were, but blended easily with the crowds brought by the summit and the spring festivals. With the fairs in full swing and the great summit of the Azure Round near at hand, the city had erupted with festivity and wonders. Magicians, both of the magical and mundane kind, troubadours, bards, poets, scholars locked in showy debates, and performers of every variety intermingled with merchants, farmers, and city-dwellers in a chaos of color and sound. The smell of sweat, food, and perfume seemed to fuse with the almost constant fog coiling through the seaside metropolis.


    When I¡¯d been younger, there would have been elves sharing in all that human joy. There would have been knights with their helmets off and their hands loose, relaxed and enjoying themselves. There would have been fewer grim-eyed mercenaries guarding the merchant wagons, fewer preosts spitting hateful invectives from makeshift stages. There wouldn¡¯t be the omnipresent air of tension and uncertainty hanging over everything.


    For all that, the renaissance which had come to the northern coasts of Urn from where it had begun in the west was in sharp evidence. I saw it in the intricate statues being erected in fountain plazas, heard it in the names of up-and-coming artists on the lips of the citizenry. I saw it in the strange inventions, both foreign and domestic, being displayed on the streets ¡ª alchemical powders which could erupt into sound and color, automatons of brass and wood, new medicines and chimera. I saw it in the strange, ever-more complex design of arms and armor worn by sellswords and wealthy retinues.


    And there were knights. House knights, warrior lordlings, mercenaries, adventurers. They wore armor of diverse style and wealth, ranging from dingy iron to filigreed Bantesean whitesteel.


    All of them were here for Forger¡¯s great tournament. The new generation of martial might, eager to gain names for themselves.


    The world had changed so much in recent years. It had been changing for much longer, across the Riven Sea and the Fences of Urn, and we¡¯d only now just begun to let that change in.


    From what I saw, it couldn¡¯t all be bad. We might have let devils in with the polymaths, but we had monsters born and bred right here at home, didn¡¯t we? I couldn¡¯t bring myself to agree with leaders like the Grand Prior, who insisted all beyond our corner of the world was evil, and should be shut out. Every day I saw signs of a higher quality of life, of people given happiness outside of faith and duty thanks to the influx of art and invention.


    Though I couldn¡¯t shake the thought that, outside these walls, much of the land still burned, still starved. How many lords had shut their doors to the scholars and the poets? How many villages had angry, suspicious preosters warning them against the evils of change?


    How many of them were right to be suspicious? How many of the richly dressed merchants whose barges sat fresh docked in the harbor were Fausts, with a crowfriar whispering in their ear? I caught sight of one merchant lord from the west, resplendent in woven layers, with chimeric ogres in his retinue.


    I didn¡¯t miss Emma¡¯s sidelong glance as we walked, or the deliberate length of silence before she said, ¡°Have you seen Catrin at all since we arrived in the city?¡±


    She¡¯d probably noticed my brooding, and wanted to drag me out of it. I decided to indulge her, because I knew stonewalling would just make her more persistent. And I was brooding.


    I shook my head. ¡°No. I doubt she¡¯d want to hang about with an Inquisition in full swing, and she¡¯s always been furtive.¡±


    ¡°She seemed quite fond of the city,¡± Emma noted. ¡°We spoke a bit during that march through the tunnels. She talked about the festivals, the music, how lively the taverns are. She was right.¡±


    Emma smiled at the sprawl of high towers and whitewashed buildings around us. ¡°I could learn to love this place. I thought the countryside would drive me mad, back at the manor. I think I prefer noise to quietude. Going to be hard to find Kieran in all this though, if Laessa is wrong.¡±


    I didn¡¯t miss her carefully neutral expression. Then, half in vengeance for her earlier ribbing I said, ¡°I don¡¯t need to worry about you, do I? I¡¯ve already got one love-blind youth to deal with.¡±


    Perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have been so boorish. Emma and Kieran had spoken more than once, before things had gone bad.


    I needn¡¯t have worried. Emma just snorted. ¡°I liked his paintings well enough, but no. My taste skews elsewhere, sorry as I am for the poor boy.¡±


    Our wanderings eventually brought us to a district of the city not far from the Fountain Ward. Mostly residential, the homes were humble but well kept, with the occasional small garden or park tended to by the community. There were few guards here, and most of the locals were honest workers, craftsmen and laborers and the like.


    Graveyards are not often kept in cities. Especially in Garihelm, with the ancient ruins below its canals and crowded straits. The pull of the Underworld inevitably dragged departed spirits into cellars and sewage systems, where they became trapped. Even when interred in catacombs or mausoleums, protected from the gravity of death, it was very rare for the Shepherds of Draubard to stray into such heavily populated areas.


    But traveling out into the countryside to bury the dead isn¡¯t always practical, especially for poorer folk, so people found ways to make do. The cemetery Emma and I visited had been constructed within the bounds of a small wooded island, one of the dozens upon which the city had been raised. I had no idea how the groves and gardens had been preserved through so many generations of habitation by such a large city, but the locals had kept it. Perhaps it was a place of consequence in the city¡¯s history, or Sidhe blessed.


    We crossed the old stone bridge separating the small island from the rest of the city. It had been a troll bridge, once ¡ª I recognized the abstract stonework, felt the lingering presence of the creature which had once protected it, but they¡¯d long departed. We crossed without being challenged, passing into the shadow of coastal trees. The first grave markers, placed between emerging roots or in small clearings here and there, soon became visible.


    Emma grew very quiet once we¡¯d passed into the cemetery, the atmosphere of the place settling on her. Though she lacked my more supernatural connection to such sacred places, she hadn¡¯t missed the subtle weight in the air.


    ¡°Well?¡± Emma murmured, hiding a sudden nervousness behind her aristocratic nonchalance. ¡°What now?¡±


    Her voice, even hushed, seemed overloud in the sudden quietude of the wooded island, so stark after the bustling streets. I could hear waves gently lapping against rock nearby. A cliff, perhaps. We were at a far edge of the city, where the bay properly began.


    I closed my eyes, and focused on my auratic senses. I¡¯d gotten a sense for Kieran¡¯s presence the night before, that impression of cold where the heat of a mortal soul should have been ¡ª the scent of the undead.


    It can often be abstract, the sensations given to me by my altered aura. I can hear hate, and smell evil. I can feel the brush of attention from an immortal like a feather across my skin, and know their sadness like the stilling of the wind. It¡¯s more like poetry than a tool, and colored by the wills of the knights who came before me, who had their echoes imprinted into the Alder Table.


    I tried to sense the cold of Kieran¡¯s presence. I felt a stillness to the groves, the essence of peaceful death and the echoes of loss.


    But not Kieran. I felt my shoulders tense as I began to doubt. Had Laessa been wrong, or intentionally misled me?


    Was this another cold trail?


    ¡°He¡¯s not here,¡± I said at last, feeling certain of it after about twenty minutes of walking about and getting a feel for the place.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Emma cursed bitterly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk to Laessa again,¡± I said, folding my arms. ¡°Get her to tell us where else he might be.¡±


    ¡°And if that doesn¡¯t work?¡± Emma asked, propping a fist on her hip.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I sighed, rubbing at my eyes. ¡°Hire a Fetch, if all else fails. I¡¯m tired of running in circles.¡±


    Emma considered a moment, then nodded. ¡°Let me try something.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at her, but she was already busy. She walked a circle in the loose grass, studying the ground. She pressed the tip of one thumb to her lips, and I thought at first it was a thoughtful motion ¡ª but then she bit, drawing blood.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked, furrowing my brow.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± she muttered, holding her thumb out and letting droplets of blood fall to the ground.


    ¡°This is a cemetery,¡± I warned her. ¡°You¡¯ll draw ghosts.¡± I recalled the last time I¡¯d tried communing with the dead ¡ª a vengeful spirit had used the opportunity to try to kill me. I hadn¡¯t seen Lorena Starling since, but I hadn¡¯t forgotten her oath to take vengeance on me for the death of her husband.


    ¡°I think they¡¯ll find my blood a bit spicier than they¡¯d like,¡± the young lady said with a wicked grin. ¡°No, there are other beings who prefer this scent. You should stand back a few more feet, by the by.¡±


    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.¡±

 4.6: 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. The creation of 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 memories.¡±


    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.¡±


    Emma¡¯s expression turned doubtful. ¡°I always heard of the Magi as very wise and responsible, the guardians of dangerous secrets and the like.¡±


    ¡°They cultivate that image,¡± I agreed darkly. ¡°But for most of them, it¡¯s just not true. Take the Traitor Magi for example, or the ones who back the Recusants. They¡¯re all playing games, with kings and nations as their chess pieces. Wizards founded the Castias, the organizations that became the modern Church. They¡¯ve always had their hands in everything.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Emma clapped her hands together. ¡°So, you¡¯re avoiding going after your old friend because¡­¡±


    ¡°Because charging into his sanctum and trying to get any sense through that thick skull of his will be a fool¡¯s errand,¡± I confirmed, glowering. ¡°I need to figure out what he wants, and go in there with a plan, or he¡¯ll just talk circles around me. So I¡¯m considering.¡± I lifted my mug to her and waggled it.


    What did Lias want? I¡¯d been chewing on it ever since Qoth had so gleefully revealed who¡¯d spirited Kieran away. I hadn¡¯t seen him in weeks, not since before my foolish foray into an Inquisition sanctum.


    I¡¯d learned some dark things about my old friend¡¯s recent deeds from Rosanna, and I still didn¡¯t know how to feel about them. On one hand, I¡¯d done many unworthy things throughout my life. I¡¯d killed many people, all in service of individuals or edifices I¡¯d been bound to in some way or another. Did I have any right to judge the wizard for assassination and malpractice?


    It seemed like he was doing the same thing we¡¯d always done, only on a larger scale.


    On the other hand, he¡¯d lied to me. What Lias had done had been so beyond the pale that Rosanna had allowed him, who¡¯d known her even longer than I had, to be banished from the Emperor¡¯s court.


    Perhaps he¡¯d only taken Kieran as a pretense to talk to me. If so, it had been an awfully convoluted way to go about it.


    I truly couldn¡¯t know what his angle was. Intrigue had never been my strong suit.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said. The mock duel had ended, and the crowd below had begun to disperse.


    ¡°You have a plan?¡± Emma asked, grabbing her sword.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± I said as I took the lead.


    Emma didn¡¯t press me for details, her curiosity keeping her attention.


    I had no plan. Lias was the one who did plans and plots, and damn anyone who got caught in his web. Damn his guessing games.


    I would just ask him.


    ***


    It was well past noon by the time we found the high storm wall where Lias had kept a hidden laboratory in the lower city. The remnants of the last storm curtained across the sky, bands of golden daylight shining through the clouds like ripples in an ocean wave. Like last time, the alleys were empty save for scavengers, vermin, and ghosts.


    Of course, the base of the high bulwark we¡¯d entered last time had no door. I only found damp brickstone.


    ¡°This is the same place, right?¡± Emma cast a dubious look at the wall, then around at our surroundings, trying to match them to her memory.


    ¡°It is,¡± I said. I studied the wall intently, but if I expected an angry glower to burn a hole in it, I was disappointed. ¡°He removed the door. Or, more likely, the sanctum we were in last time was never in this wall. A lot of the older Sidhe can do something similar.¡±


    ¡°So the real laboratory could be anywhere,¡± Emma said with a huff, adopting her own scowl.


    I recalled Eanor¡¯s moonlit grove. Lias had grown powerful, if he¡¯d advanced to manipulating space.


    ¡°Could be,¡± I agreed. Lias had always been a clever man.


    Sometimes too clever for his own good. ¡°Stand back,¡± I said.


    Emma did as I ordered. I waited until she stood clear, then drew Faen Orgis. The faerie axe glinted in the alleyway¡¯s shadow, the abstract spirals of gold etched into the alloy glinting as though caught in rays of sunlight.


    The paladins of Seydis excelled at two things ¡ª slaying beings of darkness and dispelling phantasm. Really, the two powers went hand in hand. I focused my magical senses on the stone before me, feeling the traces of otherness etched into it.


    A hole had been cut here, a tear through the fabric of reality meant to connect one point with another. Lias had probably manipulated the Wend, redirecting a thread of those tangled paths for his own purposes, or even adding his own. Though the cut had been sealed, it hadn¡¯t been done cleanly. I could still feel the scab.


    I lifted the Axe of Hithlen to my lips, breathed power into it, and murmured ritual words. ¡°I am the shepherd who walks the unlit paths, he who holds the lantern, who wields the crook. Though wolves may stalk the shadows, I fear not their fangs. Show me the path through darkness, and I will walk it.¡±


    The axe began to emit a faint light. I took its handle in both hands, my callouses squeezing tight around the uncarved branch. I let out a breath, and it misted amber.


    I swung, and a sound very much like the peel of a smith¡¯s hammer against an anvil echoed through the alley. Ugly carrion birds hidden in the densely packed buildings took flight at the sound, cawing angrily as they climbed toward the higher districts far above.


    The stone of the great bastion wall cracked, and a white-gold light emanated from that crack. It split and splintered.


    I swung again, and the second smite tore a wound through the stone. More light spilled out, like water released from a cavern spring, quickly fading to reveal a long, dank hallway fashioned from half-melted stonework.


    I stepped back and rested the axe on my shoulder, its glow already fading. I inspected my handiwork a moment, then nodded toward the opening. ¡°There we go.¡±


    Emma whistled appreciatively. ¡°When am I going to learn that trick?¡±


    ¡°Not certain it¡¯s one I can teach you,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯ll give it some thought. For now, we have a house call to make.¡±


    ¡°Something tells me he¡¯s not going to be too happy about his front door getting kicked in,¡± Emma warned.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± I agreed.


    We entered the long corridor, the wan light of the lower city quickly fading behind us. I heard the sound of grinding stone, and that light suddenly cut off entirely. At my side, Emma startled.


    ¡°We¡¯re locked in,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°Just the world mending itself,¡± I muttered back. ¡°I can cut our way back out, if needed. Keep your head, squire.¡±


    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 steeled myself, and put more power into my words, making the walls quaver with them. "Lias Hexer!" I roared. "I demand an answer, wizard."


    ¡°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 both knew 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.¡±

 4.7: 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 and 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¡¯ve never had a good head for politics,¡± I continued. ¡°Probably, you knew things I didn¡¯t, had your reasons¡­ But whatever the case, you left Rose without her left hand.¡±


    I stared down at my own hand, empty still from my willing disarmament. ¡°Just like I left her without her right. I was counting on you to look out for her, not chase your own ambitions.¡±


    Lias began to protest. ¡°I wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Riven Order,¡± I said, interrupting him. I met his eye, making sure the piercing aura in mine found him directly. Even one of the Magi would struggle to lie under an Alder Knight¡¯s gaze. ¡°You knew about it, didn¡¯t you? What it meant, and what breaking it would do. I know you encouraged Markham to lift the trade ban with Edaea, and a wizard wouldn¡¯t be ignorant about the consequences.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I watched the color drain from my old friend¡¯s face. He averted his gaze, hunching. ¡°I had my reasons,¡± he said, his voice almost a whisper.


    I nodded. ¡°I would hear them.¡±


    Heat returned to Lias¡¯s voice, and he stood in a flash, pressing a hand to his thin chest. ¡°I need not explain it!¡± He snapped. ¡°You¡¯ve seen it!¡±


    I frowned at him, and in a flurry of frustrated motion the wizard made a quick series of gestures. Once again the world twisted in on itself, space warping, and I felt a gust of cool wind on my face. We stood on a tower near the edge of the city, overlooking its sprawl. We stood above a great harbor. Ships of myriad design and origins filled it, hundreds of them.


    The scene changed again, this time to a grand hall filled with seats. A large crowd listened to a man give a lecture, the topic so abstract I couldn¡¯t discern what he spoke of exactly. It looked like any preoster giving a sermon, but the man didn¡¯t speak of faith or God.


    The scene changed again, to a group of nobles watching a sculptor tease a shape out of a slab of marble large as a building. Then again, to a physiker healing refugees on the streets with medicine rather than sorcery or prayer. Then again, to a workshop of sorts where books were being printed with the aid of huge devices rather than being painstakingly copied by the hands of scribes.


    Lias¡¯s spell brought us to an orchestra, where music of a complexity I¡¯d never hard before played from myriad instruments, all given cohesion by the swipes of a wand held in the hand of a man who very much looked like a magus, though I sensed no Art in his motions, only exactness.


    Then, with teeth-jarring abruptness, we were back in the study.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see?¡± Lias said, after giving me a moment to absorb what I¡¯d witnessed. ¡°You¡¯ve been seeing it. Renaissance.¡± He said the word like a prayer. ¡°Our world is changing, Alken. It has been changing for a very long time. Certain powers in this land ¡ª the Church, the elves, and others ¡ª have been keeping us locked in a dark age for centuries. We had grown stagnant!¡±


    The wizard started pacing, a manic edge taking over his furtive motions and heated words.


    ¡°We¡¯ve convinced ourselves for so long of the superiority of our society, looking at the outside world as a place of madness and barbarism. But it simply isn¡¯t true! We are the barbarians. The printing press was invented in Bantes nearly half a century ago. Do you have any idea how significant that one thing is? And the rest of it, ah!¡±


    He whirled on me, making clawing gestures with his hands. ¡°Art, music, medicine, advances in science and philosphy¡­ Urn used to be the center of the cultured world, but we let dogma and paranoia drive us into seclusion. I changed that.¡±


    He bared his teeth, jabbing the fingers of his left hand into his chest. ¡°So yes, I knew very well what I was doing!¡±


    I had to look away from the gleam of mania in the man¡¯s remaining eye. I concentrated on what I¡¯d just witnessed, and what I¡¯d been seeing ever since I¡¯d made my return to civilization. Hadn¡¯t I thought the same thing only earlier that day? Not all the changes brought by the new trade were bad.


    I took a steadying breath. ¡°And what about the lord you murdered in his own garden? The one they found strangled by statues?¡±


    Silence. I glanced at Lias, seeing the hard set to his jaw.


    ¡°Change requires sacrifice,¡± he said coldly. ¡°Are you really going to lecture me after what you¡¯ve done, Headsman?¡±


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. I¡¯ve done some ugly things.¡± I flexed the fingers of my right hand.


    ¡°Then you understand,¡± Lias said, sighing.


    ¡°Was the earl you killed a murderer?¡± I asked quietly. ¡°A tyrant? A diabolist? Did you find out he¡¯d been abusing serving girls, or plotting to assassinate other leaders?¡±


    I turned to face him. ¡°Or was he just in your way? There is a difference, Lias. The Headsman carries out sentences. I won¡¯t pretend like I think it¡¯s a just role, but I¡¯ve never taken a life for my own power.¡±


    The wizard¡¯s glare returned, but he couldn¡¯t meet my eyes. ¡°Always the good soldier, is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a terrible soldier,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m always questioning everything.¡±


    Lias scoffed. ¡°I will not apologize to you.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I put myself in the Priory¡¯s custody from my own recklessness. It wasn¡¯t your responsibility to bail me out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡± Lias started, blanching. I¡¯d struck a nerve. He grit his teeth and clutched his staff tighter, almost as a crutch. ¡°I was going to break you free,¡± he muttered, without looking at me. ¡°Rosanna just moved quicker.¡±


    I took that in, and felt calmer. ¡°I believe you,¡± I said.


    ¡°I will not go crawling back to her,¡± Lias said bitterly. ¡°She humiliated me. She let that bull-headed husband of hers banish me from his court.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not here on Rose¡¯s orders. Not directly, anyway. I just want the boy.¡±


    He studied me a moment, then his shoulders slumped. ¡°You¡¯re telling the truth.¡±


    I laughed softly. ¡°You really believed I was here to drag you back?¡±


    ¡°For interfering with your hunt?¡± Lias asked, lifting an eyebrow. ¡°For taking the boy, and for leaving you to rot for weeks in the priorguard dungeons? Yes, I imagined you would be wroth.¡±


    There was more to it, I could tell. Lias looked nearly as bad as I felt. I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d slept in some time, or bathed. He had a harrowed look in his one visible eye, almost haunted.


    ¡°I want my apprentice back,¡± I told him firmly. ¡°And then I want to talk to Kieran. After that¡­ You and I will have a longer conversation.¡±


    Lias remained quiet a moment, his expression thoughtful. He nodded, and waved a hand distractedly. A door creaked open along one wall, and he pointed a gloved finger toward it.


    ¡°You will find the girl through there. As for the boy, I have him in a safe place. I will let you speak with him. I¡¯ve not managed to get much of use, but I know you golden-eyed paladins have your ways.¡±


    I nodded, turning, then paused as a dark thought came to me. ¡°You didn¡¯t try to compel him, did you? If you used any necromancy on him¡­¡±


    ¡°I came close,¡± Lias said, sounding very tired. ¡°But no, I didn¡¯t harm him.¡±


    I closed my eyes, relieved. ¡°Good.¡±


    <hr>


    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.

 4.8: Auspice

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.


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 4.9: 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?


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    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.


    Faen Orgis¡¯s burning edge ground against solid resistance in a teeth-grinding clash. I staggered to one side, knocked down a chair, and turned. Yith glared at me from the center of the study, his crystal eye bright within Kieran¡¯s broken skull. From the gaping opening which had once connected the upper left third of the body to the rest, long, many-jointed legs covered in dark brown hair and tipped in serrated claws had emerged.


    The neck twisted, broke, and the tattered remains of Kieran¡¯s shirt shredded away. More legs began to emerge from within what remained of the body as the enormous thing which had condensed itself to fit inside began to unfold. The legs grew longer with the sound of tortured cartilage, bladed claws sinking into the wooden floor with rhythmic cracks.


    How had I not sensed the demon hiding inside the boy?


    I answered the question almost as soon as I asked it. The cold aura of the undead had concealed the creature. I¡¯d sensed the chill of Kieran¡¯s presence, and hadn¡¯t bothered looking further. It wasn¡¯t until I¡¯d attempted to break through the block I¡¯d sensed in his memory that Yith had been forced to reveal himself.


    The demon had probably intended to wait until Lias had let his guard down, and then kill him. Which told me something very important about the dark spirit, something which made sense of previous encounters.


    Yith was not very strong. Definitely not as strong as Raath El Kur, who I¡¯d beaten in a fair fight.


    The nightmare unfolding from the remnants of Kieran¡¯s body shivered. The eerie voice emerged from within, no longer gravid with preternatural might but very real. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky, broken thing. You have still failed. Failed this child, and failed to save your comrade.¡±


    ¡°You think Lias is dead?¡± I asked the demon, tilting my head to one side.


    The many-limbed thing paused, twitching. I couldn¡¯t see the whole of its shape, though I came closer than in previous encounters ¡ª most of it remained wrapped inside its host, folded in like a squashed spider. What I could see of it resembled a fly, and a spider, and something entirely alien to the world. Its eyes were green crystal, the thick hair on its limbs sharp as needles.


    ¡°If he were dead,¡± I told it, ¡°this sanctum would have collapsed.¡±


    Yith let out a furious chitter and turned toward where Lias had fallen.


    The wizard¡¯s body had vanished.


    ¡°Where is he!?¡± Yith screamed.


    I am everywhere.


    I shivered. I recognized it as Lias¡¯s voice, but it rang with a hollow, otherworldly potency.


    This seclusium is mine own flesh.


    In a scattered series of explosive bursts, gaping holes appeared in the wooden ceiling. Long-limbed, blank-faced Marions dropped from them, landing in inhumanly elegant stances on the ground. They clattered and rattled, and all faced the demon.


    Yith brought his many limbs inward, aiming serrated claws in a threatening, defensive gesture in all directions. It lashed out, tearing into the dolls, ripping them to pieces in a series of furious, mantis-quick blows as they lunged forward with their own sharp appendages.


    Yith began to melt. Hairy limbs and crystal eyes collapsed into a viscous, sickly dark liquid, quickly beginning to sink into the floorboards. Trying to flee.


    ¡°Emma!¡± I shouted.


    And, from her own position in the wings, Emma struck. She dashed forward, summoning a single pike of blood iron into her off hand. She tucked it under one arm, couching it like a jouster, and slammed it into Yith¡¯s center mass, right where the insectoid body emerged from Kieran¡¯s remains. The transformation stopped, the potent blood forming the core of the phantasmal spear anchoring the demon¡¯s spirit in place.


    I hadn¡¯t taught her that, but she¡¯d intuited my intent. Or perhaps she already knew how versatile blood could be when dealing with spirits, as a novice warlock. Either way, I felt a surge of gratitude for my very competent disciple.


    Yith screeched and swiped out with a claw. It caught Emma in the shoulder, tearing through her fine shirt, and she fell back with a shout of pain. The pike, however, remained lodged in place.


    And then, like a moon breaking through clouds, Lias was there in the room again. He stood tall, clad all in black yet seeming to blaze with cold light. He lifted up his staff, then slammed it against the ground once.


    All the Marions shone in that instant with the same cold power. The steel blades they had for hands shone bright, forming a phalanx of spear tips like shards of a pale moon. They closed in with a blur of movement, locking into a single body, interlinking arms and legs, twisting their forms together to form a cage of wood and brass around the demon.


    Yith¡¯s crystal eye found me.


    ¡°You are all doomed. All damned. Especially you, Alken Hewer.¡±


    It was the first time the demon had used my name. It felt it like a lance of ice into my soul.


    Yith erupted with a flash of abyssal power, rancid green flame burst out to catch the Art-strengthened Marions and scatter them. The form within the flames rose.


    The demon resembled a great, bloated fly. It had bulging multi-faceted eyes and many limbs, and loomed more than ten feet in height even hunched beneath the ceiling.


    Lias wouldn¡¯t be able to form another Art immediately, not with two broken in such a short period. Even using two in a row as he had was an incredible feat. His aura would need time to stabilize itself, time we didn¡¯t have.


    I picked my moment. I hurled myself into the demon fire, my own sacred magic blazing. I didn¡¯t know if it would be enough to protect me, and I didn¡¯t care.


    Yith turned. The empty sack of Kieran¡¯s flesh still clung to the huge fly¡¯s head. A long proboscis uncurled, aiming directly toward me.


    I swung. Yith¡¯s proboscis shot out.


    My axe cleaved through the evil beak, and the ensuing guillotine of light carried forward in a brief, bright wave. It struck the demon dead center, lashing like a burning whip over his skull, his hunched back.


    Yith recoiled from the golden fire, his legs curling in defensively. I landed on him, planting one boot on his chest, another on his head, and he collapsed under me. His many serrated legs shot out, driving into my shoulders, my chest, my ribs.


    I¡¯d used an Art to reinforce my body in lieu of armor. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but the metallic tinge my skin had taken on also made it tough as iron, and less prone to bleeding. The claws still broke through my skin, scraping bone, rending flesh, but they didn¡¯t punch through my body and end the fight there.


    I grit my teeth through the pain. With a roar echoing with auratic power, I swung the axe down directly into his skull. Gold and green fire intermingled, warring around us.


    The green died, Yith went still. The smoking form went limp beneath me, blackening, shriveling in on itself, deflating like a popped sack. It emitted a foul smelling vapor.


    ¡°You are¡­ Ours. You belong to us. You are marked.¡±


    The scars on my face felt like fire in my flesh. Growling, I brought the axe up to swing again and finish it. Before I could, Yith erupted into a choking black smog. There were buzzing, biting insects in it. I stumbled back, swinging wildly, trying to keep them at bay.


    The dark presence in the room grew fainter.


    No.


    ¡°Lias, he¡¯s trying to escape!¡± My voice sounded hollow in the smog.


    I heard movement, but the smoke blinded me. My blessed eyes did nothing for it. I backed away, cautious of attack, listening. My heart pounded in my chest.


    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, reaching 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. A brief flicker of golden flame sparked, and Kieran scattered away.


    ¡°Hurts¡­ Hurts, hurts, hurts, it hurts¡­¡±


    ¡°Lae.¡±


    Then he was gone.


    I hadn¡¯t saved him.

 4.10: 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.


    <hr>


    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.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    She waved, and a maid hurried over from the corner of the room to usher the boy out. His green eyes kept drifting to me as he went.


    ¡°I wish I had more time for them,¡± Rosanna said wistfully after the door had closed. ¡°My parents left servants to raise me ¡ª It¡¯s the norm. But I want them to remember their mother¡¯s voice, and not just in lessons of state.¡±


    ¡°Stories?¡± I asked.


    She nodded. ¡°When I have time. Malcolm is getting old enough to act as my lord husband¡¯s page, and I see him less often these days.¡±


    Much more of her time had been taken up by the approaching summit, I knew. More guests arrived every day. Outside her section of the palace, the halls teemed with lords, merchants, servants, and dignitaries of all sorts.


    ¡°You¡¯re injured again,¡± the Empress said, the calm fading behind her royal masque.


    I grunted. ¡°I found Yith.¡±


    She stood, placing a hand to the rounded belly not quite hidden behind a layered dress of pale blue and white, and walked around the tall chair. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    I¡¯d been considering what exactly to tell her during the entire trip back to the palace. I hadn¡¯t reached a decision until that very moment. I told her all of it, including how Lias had been involved. I watched my queen''s expression grow colder throughout my account.


    ¡°The Emperor will have him in chains for this,¡± she said in a low, hard voice I''d heard before and learned to be wary of. ¡°Interfering with agents in the very city from which he¡¯d been banished, attacking them, keeping a private sanctum within sight of the palace.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your agent, am I?¡± I asked. Perhaps my caution had frayed from so many years alone.


    She turned her anger on me. ¡°Yes. Do you deny it?¡±


    I tread on dangerous ground. I¡¯d seen this sort of mood before. It rarely went anywhere good. More, I¡¯d set a precedent by essentially telling her I still felt more loyalty to her than anyone else, during our first meeting that night I¡¯d been rescued from the Inquisition.


    I felt I should deal with this now, but I didn¡¯t trust myself to stay calm and reasonable just then.


    Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts¡ª


    I took a deep breath and said, ¡°I am on your side, Your Grace.¡±


    Rosanna glared at me, then made her own visible effort to calm herself. She turned her back on me and walked toward the window, perhaps using the colder air in that section of the room to chill her anger.


    ¡°Why should I not have you drag him back here to face judgment?¡± She asked bitterly.


    For one thing, I thought, because I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d obey. And if I did, I¡¯m not sure any of us would ever recover from it, or forgive one another.


    Aloud I said, ¡°because he¡¯s still on our side. If he hadn¡¯t interfered, Yith might have revealed himself in a situation where I couldn¡¯t trap or fight him as easily. As it is, he might have saved my life, or yours. Or your family¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hold my family¡¯s safety over my head like it makes what Lias has done right,¡± Rosanna shot back. ¡°I am growing very tired of his scheming. He is my vassal, my liegeman. I cannot have my hands acting independently!¡±


    I shrugged and said, ¡°Wizards.¡±


    Rosanna scoffed. ¡°So I should do nothing?¡±


    I moved to stand in the center of the room. ¡°I think you should wait. He¡¯s agreed to speak to you when this is done.¡±


    ¡°He is banished!¡± Rosanna hissed. ¡°He should not be speaking to me, or even within fifty miles of this city. If I leave him be, I am complicit. That is how the lords will see it. That is how the emperor will see it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything. I¡¯d extended the offer. It was up to them to work it out, or not.


    Rosanna muttered something I didn¡¯t catch, then turned to look at me. ¡°So, this demon¡­ You wounded it?¡±


    ¡°Badly,¡± I confirmed. ¡°It¡¯s not dead, but it won¡¯t be a threat until it recovers. In the meantime, I want to investigate this man Kieran mentioned, Anselm.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard the name,¡± Rosanna mused, tilting her chin up in thought. ¡°It¡¯s been spreading in many circles lately. I admit, I¡¯ve paid little attention to the art movements. I¡¯ve been told it is a good sign to have such an interest in beauty during hard times, but I¡¯ve been distracted by all this bloody politicking.¡±


    She waved a hand to her cluttered desk, then sighed and placed her hands on its surface, her brow furrowed. ¡°Do you think this master artist is some sort of warlock?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d need to meet the man to be sure.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Have it done, however you need. I give you leave to deal with the matter of the Carmine Killer as you see fit.¡±


    I took that as a dismissal, bowed, and turned to leave.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Rosanna asked. Not a challenge ¡ª I only heard curiosity in her voice.


    ¡°I watched an innocent die today,¡± I said. ¡°And broke a promise to the woman he loved. I need to face that.¡±


    Rosanna¡¯s voice was softer when she spoke again. ¡°You should rest, too.¡±


    I ran a thumb over the first joint of my right forefinger in old habit. ¡°Probably.¡±


    But I doubted I would.


    <hr>


    I found Lady Laessa in the same comfortably furnished guest room as before. She sat on a chair by the window, staring out over the city with a remote expression. The last rays of daylight peaking through the clouds lit her face, giving it a serene aspect.


    I moved to the center of the room and stood there for a full minute, trying to find words. Laessa found her own first.


    ¡°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 house, 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 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. I clenched my jaw and started walking again.


    ¡°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.¡±

 4.11: 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.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I asked, changing the subject. ¡°How¡¯d you end up with the Empress, anyway? Or is that confidential?¡±


    Lisette shook her head. ¡°After Master Olliard and I separated, I felt lost. I returned to the order which had raised me ¡ª the Abbey. The convent who took me in after my parents died were members. I went to them, and they helped me complete my training. I did a service for Her Grace, and she took me into her household.¡±


    ¡°And this business with the priorguard?¡± I asked. ¡°You¡¯re young for a spy. How old are you, anyway?¡±


    Lisette blushed. ¡°That is not a gentlemanly question.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been a gentleman,¡± I said. ¡°Even when I was a knight.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I am twenty. And I infiltrated the priorguard because my technique was of great value to them, which made it easy to get in and prove my worth. Her Grace simply didn¡¯t have anyone better for the task, so it was an easy choice.¡±


    Somehow, I doubted it had been as easy as she made it out to be.


    ¡°That is a strong Art,¡± I agreed. ¡°Where¡¯d you learn how to wield those threads, anyway?¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The young woman fell quite a minute or so. Then in a sadder voice she said, ¡°Our abbess. She was like a mother to me. She taught us how to weave the golden threads to heal, but Olliard encouraged me to find other uses for it. Binding, trapping, cutting¡­ He always believed that some sickness needs to be tended, and some cauterized.¡±


    I remembered Olliard telling me that Lisette¡¯s monastery had been destroyed by bandits before he found her. I recognized the loss in her words, and didn¡¯t push her for more information.


    Emma, however, had no such tact. She approached and said, ¡°Are you two done flirting? There¡¯s a man there trying to get your attention.¡±


    Lisette¡¯s blush returned. She seemed to blush very easily, mostly in anger. ¡°We weren¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Preoster,¡± I said, bowing to the old man who approached once Emma had drawn his attention. Lisette fell quiet, shooting a furious glare at my squire, who studiously ignored her.


    The newcomer dressed in the white of the Synod, though his flowing robes were trimmed in gold. He was near dark of skin as the Lady Laessa, bent with age, had rheumy eyes, and no circlet of office or veil on his brow. His wispy hair hung about his head like the dregs of a vanished cloud.


    I also noted a very faint light in his half-blind eyes, like a faint reflection of star or moonlight. An adept, and a strong one. A starcanter.


    I reached up to remove my cowl and bowed my head. Lisette also bowed, much lower than I. Emma just stood back with her typical poised disinterest.


    ¡°Hm¡­¡± the old man peered up at my face. I practically towered over him. I fought the urge to shift uncomfortably, sensing his seemingly blind eyes saw through me somehow, or beyond me. ¡°You are the one Her Grace spoke of, Ser?


    My discomfort took on a different quality. ¡°Not a Ser, father. I don¡¯t have that honor. My name is Alken.¡±


    The old priest hm¡¯d again. ¡°I am told you wish to perform a rite of communion. This is a rare request. You understand, yes?¡±


    The old man had an odd cadence, speaking each word like a step in a stilted dance.


    ¡°I understand,¡± I said. ¡°It won¡¯t be my first time.¡±


    The old cleric blinked. Communion was an ancient rite, and usually reserved for kings and high priests seeking council on matters of great import. Knights who undertook quests of serious consequence were also known to undergo it.


    The synodite stepped closer. His liver-spotted hands emerged from his sleeves and clasped together, though it didn¡¯t stop a slight tremble ¡ª I suspected age rather than emotion. His nose came level with my sternum. He peered up into my face, and it was an effort not to fidget under the pressure of those ethereal eyes.


    He looked into mine, and I knew he could see a similar radiance in them.


    ¡°Ah!¡± The old man stepped back, as though burned. He coughed, and then laughed. ¡°So that¡¯s how it is!¡± He kept laughing, only stopping when another fit of coughing overtook him. ¡°You¡¯ve had a long road, no doubt. Lisette, thank you for bringing this one to me. I see why Her Grace wished for me to facilitate this.¡±


    Lisette murmured to me. ¡°Father Alaric is well trusted by the Empress. He was also a member of the Abbey before joining the Synod. He is rector to this house of God.¡±


    Alaric waved a gnarled hand. ¡°I dislike engaging in factionalism, but I am happy to be of service to Rosanna Silvering. She is a soul of steel. Also, she keeps a very good cupboard.¡±


    He let out his coughing laugh again.


    I inclined my head to the old man, only mildly surprised. ¡°You know who I am?¡±


    Father Alaric shrugged. ¡°I know what you are. The rest does not concern me.¡±


    He turned and gestured for me to follow. ¡°Please, this way. These young ladies will need to wait here. What comes next is for you alone.¡±


    Lisette bowed to the clericon, accepting this easily. Emma cast me a doubtful look.


    ¡°Keep watch,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯ll be back shortly.¡±


    She blew out a breath and adjusted a lock of dark hair. ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve heard that one before.¡±


    <hr>


    I followed the cleric through the cathedral. We ascended many steps. Eventually we entered the uppermost chamber of a lone-standing tower. A domed ceiling rose above the room, set with rows of glass between hard stone. The floor was a clear, circular space set with intricate mosaic, and the walls were carved with shallow reliefs of saintly figures looking inward, their hands clasped in prayer.


    I felt a shiver as I entered the chamber, sensing its ritual purpose. This was another chapel, of sorts, and one of a kind I had seen before.


    I¡¯d given confession before. As a Knight of the Alder I had done it with this very level of ritualistic melodrama. I had also done it in private moments, and with...


    I pushed her name from my thoughts. It would do me no good here.


    I stopped when I stood at the very center of the tower chamber, in a blank circle within the twisting vines of the mosaic set in the floor. With a start I realized I recognized the design around me ¡ª gold and silver branches twisting outward, radiating from a central circle. The circle represented the severed trunk of a tree, seen from above. I knew it. I hadn¡¯t thought to see it here, so far from Seydis. I looked at the old man and couldn¡¯t keep the note of accusation from my voice.


    ¡°This room¡­ This is an Alder Round.¡± I knew I was right as soon as I said it. It wasn¡¯t the great chamber from the old capital, but it did evoke it.


    ¡°This tower was made for your order when it still graced these shores, yes.¡± The old man had lifted a veil over his head, very much like the cowl and rectangular mask of cloth the priorguard wore, with a circlet of rose gold to secure both in place. Only, his was white. ¡°It was made by human hands, not elven, but many of the True Knights have stood here and offered themselves to the eyes of the divine through the centuries.¡±


    ¡°The order¡¯s disbanded,¡± I said, wary. ¡°Excommunicated.¡±


    ¡°And yet you came here,¡± Alaric said, a note of amusement in his scratchy voice. ¡°Knowing the risks, you presented yourself to my eyes.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re alright with me being here?¡± I asked. ¡°Knowing what I am, and that the Church wouldn¡¯t want me walking on holy ground?¡±


    The veiled priest shrugged. ¡°Excommunication is not dissolution, my son. It is meant to place one outside the benediction of the Faith so they may reflect and find their way back into the light, and it is not intended to be permanent. You have come here seeking what should be freely offered to all who live beneath the light of Onsolem. More than that, you still hold his benediction in you. Who am I to refuse your request? Much less the Empress¡¯s?¡±


    I had no reply to that. Me being here was a crime, and yet this old starcanter seemed willing to indulge it. After a moment absorbing his words I said, ¡°I¡¯m not sure everyone deserves to find their way back to the light again.¡±


    ¡°Deserve has nothing to do with it,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Only desire. Only intent. Is your intention wicked? Do you seek to bring us harm? Or do you wish to cleanse yourself of doubts and find your way back to a path from which you¡¯ve long strayed?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I swallowed, my throat feeling very dry all of the sudden.


    I hadn¡¯t come here to make confession. I¡¯d come here to demand answers, to drag the Onsolain down from their starlit thrones and compel them to tell me what they¡¯d hidden from me, what they wanted from me. I wanted to complain, to gain some semblance of agency in my life, to gain direction in this dark and winding forest I¡¯d found myself in.


    Arrogance. And yet, I needed to know what They wanted from me. Yet, despite my better sense, Alaric¡¯s words made me feel¡­ Hopeful.


    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.

 4.12: Fallen Knights Sin

    <hr>


    ¡°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 is not the sin which weighs down your soul, oathbreaker. Your sin is more perverse still, more pitiful to our eyes.¡±


    I grit my teeth, mostly to stop them from chattering. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. If this is about the demon¡ª¡±


    ¡°To be duped by the spawn of Dead Azoth is a failure for which legions can be held to account, both among your kind and my own. This harlot of darkness who turned your eyes¡­ It is shameful that you, who were given the power to see through such deception, did not see the creature for what it was. But that, too, is forgivable.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Why was this Choir champion playing games with me? I didn¡¯t understand. I¡¯d come here for help, and to do my duty in warning the Onsolain of impending danger. I hadn¡¯t expected to be put on trial.


    ¡°My fate doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I spat. ¡°It¡¯s Urn I care about, it¡¯s people.¡±


    ¡°More lies.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a lie!¡± I shouted into the ground, unable to raise my head. ¡°Damn you, just listen to me!"


    So much of what had been happening in Garihelm, and elsewhere across the land since Caelfall ¡ª even earlier, I suspected ¡ª mirrored those unsettled days before Seydis had burned. I felt like I stood in the calm before a brutal storm, and I had a chance to stop it, to keep history from repeating itself.


    "The Accord is in danger, there¡¯s a plot, I don¡¯t know all of it, but if we don¡¯t stop it we could have another Fall on our hands. A fucking godling from the continent just landed in the middle of one of your cities!"


    Umareon was not impressed.


    "It was the negligence of your priesthood and your leaders which broke the Riven Order." I could almost imagine his sneer through the featureless helm. "Your nations were given the duty of upholding that aegis, to keep foulness from this sanctuary. It is a shame that my queen placed so much trust in your kind."


    "So you''d forsake us?" I asked him, disbelieving.


    "We fulfill our role." Umarean''s helm tilted, causing more of the shell around him to break. "We guard what gates are left. We give guidance to those who require it. We watch the Cambion. We do not rule."


    Bullshit, I thought. If you don''t rule us, then why do you need an executioner?


    Aloud I said, "Then at least let me help them."


    ¡°You have a role to fulfill, nothing more. It will never be enough to undo the damage your blasphemous order has done. It may not even be enough to save you¡­ Yet you will do it. You agreed to this. You know the price of failure.¡±


    The sacred fire roiled in me as though in response to his words. The constant warmth surged, until I felt like it was trying to escape from the prison of my own flesh. I clutched at my chest with my left hand, taking shallow breaths, but the pain didn¡¯t abate. It rose to my eyes, blinding me. I gasped, and it escaped from between my teeth as amber plumes of flame.


    I¡¯d felt this before, after the Archon had died. How I¡¯d escaped the destructive madness of the others, I had no idea.


    Would I end up like Maxim, forced to accept the ministrations of the Sidhe while the magic sewn into my aura slowly ate me alive? Or would it come all at once, like it had for most of the others?


    ¡°That is one future¡­¡± Umareon said thoughtfully. ¡°There are others.¡±


    My eyes were drawn down by a sudden, invisible pull. Beneath me, in the ice, I saw my reflection. Not as it was, clad in the brown of a monk, but encased in scarred black armor. I wore a black cloak with a pointed cowl, the face beneath brutally scarred and burned, the raw lips twisted into a permanent scowl of dull pain. The oak handle of the axe in the reflected image¡¯s hands grew long and twisted, grew into my hands. My hair grew long and filthy, my clothes simple and stained.


    And my eyes¡­ They were empty of all pity, all hesitation. Barren.


    ¡°The surface of the Lamp shows the truth of things,¡± Umareon said in a musing voice. ¡°You see it, don¡¯t you? What the Headsman is? Does it look fair to your eyes, Alken Hewer?¡±


    I caught a glimpse of Umareon¡¯s reflection too. I knew, somehow, that I would not keep my sight if I looked at it directly. I avoided doing so.


    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± I gasped. The hand I used to prop myself up had started to burn from the touch of the pillar¡¯s icy surface.


    ¡°Eanor has been too lenient with you. I suppose she would be, given your circumstances. They conform to her sense of aesthetics.¡±


    I shook my head slowly. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    But his voice rolled on inexorably.


    I despise untruth. My eyes have seen Heaven burn. I rode at my queen¡¯s side to these shores all the way from Onsolem, and in that time I have seen rot and ruin unbound. I have seen your kind fail us and yourselves in countless ways, countless times.¡±


    ¡°This is what you want from me?¡± I asked in disbelief, looking at myself arrayed in bloodstained armor, meeting my own empty eyes.


    ¡°What I desire is to prepare this land for the trials to come. I have no interest in indulging your vanity, your petty concerns. You have a role to fulfill, and you will do it. Or you will be forsaken. We have no room for charity in this war. There are other mortals more fit to be saviors, and we are preparing them. You, however, should focus on your Penance of Blood.¡±


    He let those words sink into the void around us before continuing.


    ¡°We have a name for you.¡±


    I closed my eyes. So that was where this had all been leading. Probably, it was the only reason they¡¯d even answered my attempt at communion in the first place. I let out a frosting breath ¡ª the inner fire had abated.


    ¡°Who?¡± I croaked.


    ¡°Horace Laudner,¡± the Onsolain told me.


    The cold feeling which crept through me then had nothing to do with the elevation. ¡°The Grand Prior?¡± I managed to lift my head. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You question?¡± Umareon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice despite his veneer of calm.


    ¡°I do,¡± I said, hardening my voice. ¡°I want to know why.¡±


    ¡°I would have thought this pleasing to you,¡± Umareon noted. ¡°Was it not his inquisitors who captured you? Tormented you? Who would have shamed and killed you?¡±


    I chewed on that, knowing he had a point. And yet¡­


    There was a very good reason Rosanna did not simply have the Grand Prior assassinated, despite his repeated attempts to undermine her, discredit her allies, and the dangerous precedents his priorguard set. Prior Horace¡¯s death would make him a martyr, and give the Inquisition an even more unrestrained momentum.


    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¡¯t God. ¡°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 fair form 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.¡±

 4.13: Burden

    <hr>


    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.¡±


    <hr>


    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?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any 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.


    I decided to try. I had nowhere to be, no leads to follow, no one I wanted to talk to. I¡¯d failed Kieran, I¡¯d failed to destroy Yith, I had no idea where the Council of Cael were or if they were even in this goring city¡­


    And I had to kill the Grand Prior, leader of the Aureate Inquisition. If I didn¡¯t¡­


    I¡¯d never failed a task given to me by the Choir before, much less refused. The terms of what would happen if I abandoned my duty had never been laid out, but I had my suspicions.


    I was excommunicate. No preost would commend my soul to the afterlife when I died. If the Onsolain forsook me as well, I would be cast adrift. I would die ignobly, likely haunted to death by the ghosts who dogged my steps. They hadn¡¯t been much trouble in the city ¡ª the noise of civilization made them more skittish ¡ª but I saw them always.


    I could see one now, lurking in the darkest corner of the taproom. It watched me with large, blank eyes set within a half-visible face.


    I drank cheap beer and tried to chase the noise out of my skull.


    I would die, and after¡­


    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.


    I had my suspicions where I would go.


    Emma huffed and stood, her chair letting out a grating protest as she slid it back. ¡°I need to piss.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°Keep your sword loose. This isn¡¯t a safe area.¡±


    Emma just stalked off without a word, her expression dark. I sighed and drank some more. I waved for another cup.


    Time passed. People left and entered The Dagger and the Dame. Emma did not return. I wondered if she¡¯d gone back to the palace after all. A spike of dull worry went through me ¡ª had she gotten into some trouble?


    I pitied anyone who tried to mug Emma Orley. I¡¯d made her angry, I knew. Even still, I felt I should go look for her. I played with the decision for near twenty minutes before my own need to piss made the choice for me. I navigated around the building to the back alley, relieved myself, then started making my way back. I stopped at the door, glancing at the girl leaning against the wall. Behind the makeup, she looked too young.


    ¡°Did you see where the one who came in here with me went?¡± I asked her.


    She shrugged. I fished out a bronze and passed it to her. She nodded.


    ¡°Went that way,¡± she said, nodding down the street.


    Following her gesture, I could see the Fulgurkeep rising high above the rows, its shadowed face outlined by the lesser moon. So, Emma had gone back to Rosanna¡¯s bastion after all. I suppose I¡¯d deserved that.


    ¡°If you lost your company,¡± the girl suggested, ¡°maybe you and I could¡­¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± I walked back into the taproom, ignoring the harsh invective she spat at my back.


    I sat. I drank more. It got late, and the taproom steadily emptied out. Conversely, the festivities outside grew louder. I heard a series of loud pops and crackles, muffled through the roof ¡ª fireworks.


    I was busying myself staring into a half drained cup when the chair across from me slid back. I thought at first Emma had returned. I lifted my eyes, opening my mouth to speak, then snapped it closed again.


    ¡°Hey, big man.¡± Crooked teeth with prominent canines flashed in a cheeky smile. A warm brown eye twinkled at me, peeking out from within a mop of chestnut hair.


    I blew out a breath and slumped in my seat. ¡°Cat. What are you doing here?¡±


    Catrin of Ergoth adjusted her mussed bangs and propped an elbow on the table, studying me critically. She looked much as she always did ¡ª a peasant woman in her late twenties, with mildly pretty features enhanced by a scattering of freckles, an easy smile, and a subtle impression of barely contained energy. She had thick, frizzy hair grown down to her shoulders, which would have been longer had she combed it any time recently.


    Catrin turned her gaze from me and ran it across the seedy taproom. ¡°Didn¡¯t think to find you in a place like this.¡± Her eyes fell to my cup. ¡°How many of those have you had so far? Any good?¡±


    I ignored the question, narrowing my eyes at the dhampir. It seemed an odd coincidence she¡¯d found me here in a city so large. ¡°Have you been following me?¡±


    Catrin shrugged, then waved for the innkeeper to bring her a drink. ¡°Not exactly. I saw that squire of yours, Emma, I think? She looked fit to kill a man, so I thought something must have happened. She told me you were here, but didn¡¯t say much else.¡±


    ¡°And you just let her go off on her own?¡± I demanded, my temper flaring.


    Catrin regarded me coolly with lidded eyes. ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s a big girl.¡±


    ¡°This city is full of priorguard,¡± I snapped.


    ¡°Then how come you¡¯re not rushing after her?¡± Catrin shot back.


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    I had nothing to say to that. I stared down at my nearly empty cup. How many had I had so far?


    Not enough to drown the angel¡¯s words out of my head.


    ¡°Besides,¡± the dhampir said idly, ¡°she had some elf shadowing her. I think it was a redcap.¡±


    Qoth. So Emma had ignored my warning about the briarfae. It would keep her safer in the meantime, but still¡­


    Just one more problem to add to the pile. I finished off my cup.


    ¡°I thought you were avoiding the city,¡± I said, changing the subject. ¡°Inquisition and all.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°And I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d still be here. It¡¯s been nearly a month since I took you through those tunnels.¡±


    ¡°Point,¡± I muttered. The innkeeper brought fresh beer. Catrin downed hers nearly in one go. I¡¯d had enough. It wasn¡¯t helping, anyway.


    Cat wiped her mouth with her sleeve, studied me a moment longer, then jerked her head to the door. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here. Get some fresh air.¡±


    I shook my head slowly, frowning. ¡°Catrin, I really don¡¯t have the¡ª¡±


    She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ¡°You know this is a priorguard bar, right?¡±


    I stiffened. The changeling¡¯s lips curled into a knowing smile.


    ¡°Most folk don¡¯t realize ¡ª they always wear those veils, you know? But they¡¯re mostly ordinary people when they¡¯re not haunting the city. There are eyes and ears for the Priory all over, in nearly every part of town.¡±


    She leaned closer. ¡°Trust me, alright?¡±


    I sighed, and nodded. ¡°Fine. I already paid the innkeep, though.¡±


    ¡°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.

 4.14: Small Victories

    <hr>


    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 drawn 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.


    ¡°This is what you wanted to show me?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Part of it,¡± Catrin replied. ¡°Lucky things didn¡¯t come to a fight back then when we caught him on the road, eh?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but agree. Karog fought with brutal efficiency. Despite his impressive size, he was incredibly fast. In the way his eyes took in everything, in their eerie calm, I suspected he didn¡¯t just fight with sheer strength and instinct, though he had those in spades. He fought tactically, making assessments amid the blur of violence, acting on immediate decisions with the speed of reflex.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He fought like I did. Seeing him in action, I suspected he fought better.


    The chimera¡¯s eyes swept the crowd, a grim satisfaction evident in them. His gaze found mine. He paused, then dipped his head in a slight acknowledgement. I returned it.


    Catrin tugged at my elbow. ¡°Come on.¡±


    She led me around the middle ring of the improvised arena. I caught more than a few odd looks from the changelings, but when they saw the dhampir they got out of our way. Even still, I couldn¡¯t help but keep my hand close to the axe hidden under my coat.


    We turned into a side passage. The noise of the arena faded behind us, though not entirely. The make of the tunnels changed, and I began to suspect the slum dwellers had dug some of these out themselves, burrowing into the city¡¯s foundations to make more room for themselves.


    ¡°You¡¯re surprised to see so many of them,¡± Catrin said.


    ¡°I am,¡± I admitted.


    She glanced back at me, her expression unusually serious. ¡°Much as humans think of us as the monsters in the woods, it¡¯s hard for us to live outside of big towns or cities. The elves¡­¡± She shrugged. ¡°I guess we disgust them? It¡¯s less that they find us ugly ¡ª plenty of faeries take forms humans would find ghastly ¡ª but the changelings have never gotten on with their elven parents any better than their mortal ones.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°You talk about them like you¡¯re not counting yourself.¡±


    She was quiet a while as we walked. Then, sighing she said, ¡°You know I¡¯m not really a changeling, right? Not like they are.¡±


    I shook my head slowly. ¡°I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°In here,¡± she said as we came to an opening in the wall. I say opening because it could hardly be called a door ¡ª I could make out where stone had been pulled away from the tunnel, forming a ragged gap. On the other side, dug into natural rock as much as the bones of the city, was a room.


    We stepped inside. The room was better lit than the adjacent passage, cast into odd colors by alchemical lanterns I suspected had been pilfered from the streets above. Three changelings sat in a loose circle in the room¡¯s center, hunched over a battered old table. They seemed to be in mid conversation, but paused as we entered.


    One of them was Parn. Though no longer clad in the filthy smock of an Inquisition prisoner, I recognized his too-large head, wispy white hair, and huge, vaguely reptilian eyes. Little more than five feet tall, he looked shrunken in on himself with age and wear.


    He blinked first at Cat, then at me. His wide mouth split into a nearly toothless grin. ¡°Ah! Alken.¡±


    He scurried off his seat and shuffled to me. He dressed in a worn brown robe and apron, like a doctor or perfumer, and walked with the aid of a gnarled cane.


    I dipped my head. This man was an elder in the slums, the closest thing they had to a leader so far as I knew, and I treated him with the same respect I would to a minor lord. ¡°Parn. It¡¯s good to see you well.¡±


    ¡°And I have you to thank for that!¡± He exclaimed brightly. He seemed far less furtive than the last time I¡¯d seen him, though it didn¡¯t surprise me given the circumstances. ¡°And is that little Cat? You look dazzling, dear.¡±


    To my surprise, the dhampir blushed.


    ¡°But what is the occasion?¡± Parn asked, blinking his huge green eyes. ¡°Ah, forgive me, there¡¯s time for that after introductions.¡± He gestured to the other two changelings seated at the table. ¡°Ollietta, Fen, this is the man I told you about.¡±


    Two¡­ I hesitate to use the word creature, as it felt uncouth in these circumstances, but I turned my attention to the other two half-fae in the room. One was as enormous as Parn was small, a hunched form buried in a copious amount of brown cloth like some caricature of a monk. I couldn¡¯t make out much of the features beneath the heavy cowl, but could make out something like a long muzzle or snout.


    The second, I recognized. She was striking in an alien sort of way. She looked like a beautiful young woman with gray-blue hair, dusky skin, and a sharp protrusion like a falcon¡¯s beak where her nose should be, almost meeting a smaller one curving up from her chin, her full human lips nearly hidden between them.


    I could still make out the faint line on her beak where I¡¯d struck her with the back end of Faen Orgis.


    ¡°We¡¯ve met,¡± Ollietta, the harpy, murmured in a soft, musical voice.


    Parn glanced at her and winced. Catrin cast a look between us, confused.


    I took a breath, stepped forward, and bowed my head deeply. ¡°I apologize for when we last met, My Lady. For striking you.¡±


    She regarded me with narrow eyes. Very dark eyes, with even the sclera tinted near black. She said nothing for a drawn out moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, she gave me a nervous smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m no Lady. My friends and I did attempt to kill you. Fair is fair. I hold no grudge.¡±


    I rose, relieved. I hadn¡¯t realized just how much the image of the harpy woman lying on the floor of that tunnel, sobbing and holding her shattered beak, had bothered me these past weeks.


    Parn sighed in relief. ¡°Yes, that unpleasantness is well behind us. But what do we owe the honor, Master Alken?¡±


    ¡°I dragged him along,¡± Catrin piped in. ¡°Thought he should get a chance to see you. You mentioned that you wanted to thank him in person, Parn.¡±


    I blinked, tossing a glance at Catrin. She noticed it and gave me an encouraging smile.


    Parn blinked his green eyes. ¡°Indeed.¡± He dipped into a surprisingly proper bow then, balancing on his cane like a courtier. ¡°For saving me from torment and death, you have my eternal gratitude, Ser Knight.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m not a¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± Catrin said, interrupting me. ¡°No one down here gives a troll¡¯s ass wart what the nobles or priests think.¡±


    I folded my arms, feeling suddenly uncomfortably warm. Coughing I said, ¡°I¡¯m glad I got you out. That was a real mess. Only regret it took so long, and that I stumbled on you half by accident.¡±


    Parn shrugged. ¡°What does it matter it to me? I live because of you.¡±


    Desperate to change the subject, I tilted my head in the direction of the arena. ¡°What¡¯s the deal out there? Karog do something to piss you all off?¡±


    Ollietta let out a tittering laugh, hiding her hooked beak and feminine lips behind an upraised hand, which I noted trailed bright feathers from the wrist. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Quite the opposite, actually. He¡¯s preparing himself.¡±


    I tilted my head again, this time in question. ¡°Preparing for what?¡±


    ¡°The tournament of course!¡± She said brightly, her apprehension seemingly forgotten. ¡°Karog is going to be participating.¡±


    I blinked. Catrin took a moment to enjoy my confusion, then explained.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just lordlings and glorysworn participating in Markham Forger¡¯s big to do,¡± she said. ¡°This is the biggest gathering of the Accorded Realms since the war. The powers-that-be want to test the mettle of the new generation. With no wars going on, this is the Emperor¡¯s chance to see how the current stock holds up, from graybeards to chicks. There are preliminary matches happening all over the city, most of them private events. Anyone can participate in those, from farm boys still stinking of hay to mercenaries. The ones who catch a wealthy patron¡¯s eye might get a chance to swing iron in the real thing.¡±


    I knew some of this already, though I¡¯d paid little attention to the tournament. ¡°What does any of that have to do with Karog?¡± I asked.


    Catrin leaned closer. ¡°Those who make a good show of themselves in Forger¡¯s tournament have a chance of winning knighthoods.¡±


    ¡°Why does Karog want a knighthood?¡± I asked slowly, feeling witless.


    ¡°For us,¡± Ollietta said quietly.


    I looked at the feathered changeling, taking that in. The mood in the room altered distinctly. Fen, looming over the table, had been very quiet through the conversation.


    ¡°We are unwanted by our Sidhe parents,¡± Parn said quietly. ¡°Pushed out of the wilds, we have little choice but to make do on scraps, scraping out a life in the shadow of human cities.¡±


    ¡°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.

 4.15: Catrin of Ergoth

    <hr>


    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 lifted one pale shoulder in a shrug. ¡°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.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°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 off 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 buried me 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 properly dead. 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¡­¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    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 took a few minutes to absorb all that. For a time we only listened to the water.


    ¡°I¡¯ve gone and done it, haven¡¯t I?¡± Catrin rolled her neck loosely to one side, letting her hair fall over one eye. ¡°Disgusted you.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You were a child. You didn¡¯t know any better.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t a child for long,¡± she said, sighing. ¡°I just told you I used to eat kids, Al. You can really let that go?¡±


    I remembered the young page in Karles. His blood on my sword, his confused eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done things too,¡± I said quietly. ¡°You aren¡¯t the same person you were then.¡±


    ¡°Some ways I am,¡± she disagreed. ¡°I still feel the same hungers.¡±


    ¡°So you crossed the mountains?¡± I asked, returning to the story.


    She shook her head, causing her mane to dance back and forth only to settle in an entirely different configuration. ¡°Nah. I couldn¡¯t get close to those shining mountains, not with all the holy spirits guarding them. I stowed away on a ship, ended up near Mirrebel. After that I wandered. Got into trouble, learned things, figured myself out.¡±


    ¡°And this work you do nowadays,¡± I asked, feeling awkward. Only, I¡¯d always been curious. ¡°This, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°You can say it,¡± Catrin said with a raised eyebrow, some of her usual fire returning. ¡°Go on.¡±


    I grimaced and turned my head away, as though to check something in the water.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Catrin sang, teasing.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to call you that,¡± I growled, annoyed.


    ¡°Whore,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Prostitute. Strumpet. Harlot. Trull. Streetwalker. Wench.¡± She counted the words off on her fingers, looking bored. ¡°I¡¯ve always been partial to Lady of the Night, myself. Not that I¡¯m any proper lady.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to look at yourself that way,¡± I told her. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ More than that, Cat.¡±


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°I know what I am. And to answer your question, it¡¯s not something I ever really decided? I just realized over time that there was a way to get what I need, in a way that¡¯s enjoyable for me and my prey. Ugly word, prey, but there it is. It was survival at first. This farm boy caught me hiding in his family¡¯s stable. I was of age, and the way he looked at me¡­¡±


    A sad, wistful smile crossed her lips. ¡°Well. That was my first time. He let me take from him. I came back the next night, and the next¡­ I got to know him. He just did me in the hay at first, but after a while he started talking to me. Told me about his dreams, how he wanted to get work on a ship, see the world. He would bring me flowers.¡±


    The smile faded. ¡°I killed him. He got sick, and he wouldn¡¯t wake up again. Anemia, I think it¡¯s called. When they found the bite marks on him, the whole village grabbed iron and went on the hunt. I fled.¡±


    She took a deep breath, her eyes refocusing on the present. ¡°I learned two things then.¡± She held up two long fingers. ¡°One, there¡¯s a way to get what I need without taking it by force. And two, I can¡¯t ever be with anyone long term, not if I don¡¯t want to be the monster for real.¡±


    I let the oar rest in the water. It was a while longer before Catrin spoke.


    ¡°I matured,¡± she said. ¡°I figured out smarter ways to survive. It wasn¡¯t always easy, and I had to be careful. Was a long time before I found any place like the Backroad.¡±


    She spoke lightly, and looked relaxed, but I couldn¡¯t help but feel very sorry for her in that moment. Perhaps it was just the moonlight and the foggy water, but she seemed sad then, and cold.


    Catrin spread her arms out. ¡°And that¡¯s me. It¡¯s not all of it, and I left out a lot of the uglier bits, but now you know where I came from. Behold, the accursed creature of the night! Muahaha.¡±


    She made the wicked laugh dryly, without inflection, then blew out a breath as though relieved to get it all out. ¡°Have I disappointed you?¡±


    ¡°Disappointed me?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°I guess, maybe¡­¡± She sighed. ¡°I spent a lot of time coming up with stories to tell you about myself. That I¡¯m some cursed princess far from home, or that my da¡¯ was some vampire king, or something pretty and tragic like that. But I¡¯m just some peasant girl who died in her mother¡¯s womb and came back wrong. And you, well¡­ You¡¯re this lordly warrior of a famous order, with the weight of realms on your shoulders.¡±


    She curled against the prow of the boat, hugging her legs to her chest.


    I shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born a noble. I told you that back in Caelfall, remember?¡±


    She studied me a moment. ¡°I guess you did. I never really believed it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°I just got swept up in all of this.¡±


    More silence. I broke it first. ¡°I made you a promise. That I¡¯d tell you why I was in that inn.¡±


    Catrin leaned forward, attentive.


    I thought about it a moment. Was I making the same mistake? Putting my trust where I shouldn¡¯t?


    Catrin wasn¡¯t wearing a mask. I could see the hint of red in her eyes, her too-pale skin, the way she seemed to become sharper under the dead moon, both more real and less. She¡¯d told me her dark origin, being nothing but honest with me.


    I needed to trust someone. I needed to lean on someone. Rosanna had her own weight, Lias had his secrets, and Emma was supposed to be my ward, someone who could lean on me.


    Catrin was just who she was. Someone I could talk to. Yet, even still, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to trust her fully.


    Because of Fidei? Because of me? Was I broken, unable to trust anyone?


    Catrin still fell under the shadow of the Keeper of the Backroad, and I didn¡¯t understand the full breadth of that relationship. I couldn¡¯t help but think of Joy¡¯s spiteful words, about Cat being the Keeper¡¯s favorite. If I gave her my secrets, would she give them to the old spider? Would she have to, if he demanded it?


    I didn¡¯t want to ask her and ruin what trust we had.


    But there were things I could tell her. Haltingly, quietly, I told her about events since I¡¯d come to the city. I told her about my capture by the Inquisition, because I suspected she knew that already from Parn. I told her about after, how I¡¯d reunited with Rosanna and joined forces with her, the weeks of investigation and frustration, about my confrontation with Yith, about Laessa and Kieran.


    Throughout my telling, Catrin¡¯s face softened. When I¡¯d finished, leaving out only the orders Umareon had passed to me, she stood and stepped forward lightly across the boat. She took my right hand off the oar, clasping it in her own cold grip. Her long, strong fingers, smooth save for the hard tips of her nails, rubbed at my calloused mitten.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all of it, is it?¡± She asked.


    I hesitated, then nodded. ¡°No.¡±


    She nodded, her eyes downcast. ¡°And none of that¡¯s what¡¯s really bothering you.¡±


    ¡°¡­No. It¡¯s not. I got new orders.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°From them?¡±


    At my nod, she stepped closer. No invitation in it, no attempt to seduce. Just being there for me, being near. I¡¯d rarely met anyone with so much empathy as Cat.


    And the Church called her evil. The Onsolain had barred her from this land.


    She used to kill people. To eat them.


    Used to. I couldn¡¯t see a monster in front of me, no matter how hard I looked with my golden eyes.


    ¡°You asked me when I last slept earlier,¡± I blurted, my voice rough. Just thinking about it made me feel heavy. ¡°It¡¯s been eight days.¡±


    Catrin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Same reason I heal fast,¡± I answered. ¡°Same reason I age slow. You know I¡¯m nearly forty?¡±


    Where had that come from? I¡¯m drunk.


    Catrin shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t look it.¡±


    ¡°Be that way for decades,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Lasting youth, blessings of the Sidhe and all that. Makes it so I don¡¯t have to sleep or eat as often as most men. Still, it¡¯s been¡­ Hard.¡±


    She was so close. She smelled like wood smoke and some kind of medicinal herb. I remembered the tea she drank sometimes. I¡¯d never asked her about that. I¡¯d never really asked her about herself before tonight. I¡¯d been too caught up in myself.


    She ran her thumb over the pale patch of skin on my right forefinger. ¡°Your ring is gone. I remember you telling me it eats bad dreams. That was true, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    I dipped my head. ¡°Inquisitors took it.¡±


    That dip of my head brought me closer to her. She looked up and caught my eye, then quickly looked back down. Beneath us, the boat floated over the misty water.


    I shouldn¡¯t be here, I thought. I have a task. Best to have it done.


    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.

 4.16: 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.


    <hr>


    ¡°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.


    Cat pressed a palm to the sheets by my neck and rested her forehead against mine, panting against my face so I all but drowned in her storm of tangled brown hair. A low growl bubbled in her throat as she slid her lips down my jaw, down to my neck¡­


    She paused, slowing, restraining. Her brow furrowed as though in concentration. I felt her clenched teeth against my skin, felt her nostrils flare. Her chill breath cascaded over my skin. She let out a soft whine. My blood pulsed through me in rhythm to my pounding heart. A siren¡¯s song to those red eyes and sharp teeth.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Perhaps I could blame the fact that all the blood had rushed out of my head by that point, but I made another foolish choice.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I panted. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Just do it.¡± I curled my fingers through her hair, holding her lips to my neck.


    Her breath against my skin was too cool, and full of indecision. I felt her sharp teeth, poised, pressing.


    ¡°I trust you,¡± I whispered. She needed this.


    I wanted to be needed.


    She hesitated a moment longer, then drifted further down to the place where my shoulder and neck met. Her eyes burned with need, with hunger, with lust.


    Despite all that, despite how long I¡¯d made her wait and how close she was, she took her teeth off my skin to lift her face to mine. She leaned forward and kissed me softly. When she pulled back, her red eyes were warm. She brushed my cheek with her hand, the gesture full of affection, before lowering her lips back to my shoulder.


    Then she sunk her fangs into my flesh.


    <hr>


    Some time later, we lay together in a tangle of bedding. The room was dark, only a sliver of moonlight coloring the mist on the window.


    The faint glint of one red eye watched me from within a mess of brown hair. Cat lay on her side, still and relaxed. One of her sharp nails circled in my palm idly, a pleasant feeling.


    ¡°So¡± she said, watching me.


    ¡°So,¡± I agreed, shifting.


    We lay together in the dark for a long time. A cloud passed over the moon, drowning the sparse light so all I could make out was her bare outline on the bed, and the almost animal glint of her nocturnal eyes.


    ¡°Did I hurt you?¡± I asked her softly.


    Cat shifted, pillowing her head on her arms. ¡°Yeah.¡± She sighed in satisfaction.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while,¡± I repeated, feeling embarrassed. Then, more hesitantly I added, ¡°Are you going to be okay?¡±


    I¡¯d finished in her. She¡¯d seemed to want me to, but even still I inwardly kicked myself for not being more cautious.


    She smiled. ¡°Can¡¯t get pregnant. I¡¯m only really alive sometimes. Never long enough for it to take.¡±


    I chewed on that a moment. Her hand reached out in the dark and felt at my jaw. Her thumb ran over my bottom lip, the sharp nail tracing the upper.


    ¡°Did you¡­¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± She assured me. ¡°The blood helped. Always does.¡± She gave me an odd look and added, ¡°Not used to anyone worrying about me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t much see the point if it¡¯s not good for both of us,¡± I said.


    She blinked once, making her red eye wink out for a brief moment, then shifted to press closer to me, snuggling against my broad chest. She let out a sigh at my warmth. I wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. The cuts on my shoulder throbbed dully. A minor pain, all considered.


    Catrin stared at the wound hungrily. ¡°That¡¯s going to bleed a while. Can I¡­¡±


    I nodded, brushing her hair with my nose. She pressed closer and put her lips to the cuts her fangs had made, almost a kiss. I waited a while as she sipped at the remnants of the wound. Once I¡¯d gotten used to it, it wasn¡¯t a bad feeling.


    ¡°Thought I might never get to feel you like this,¡± she murmured once she pulled away, the bright red of her eyes slitting as she lowered her lashes. ¡°Never met a man who played hard to get so well. Usually I just say hey, shiny coin you got there, want a tumble? By the by, you into bite play?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to,¡± I admitted. ¡°Several times.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say anything to that, only curled against me and closed her eyes. I held her, cold and slender and soft in the darkness.


    I felt¡­ I wasn¡¯t wholly sure. I felt calmer than I had in a long time. Even though the woman in my arms was a hemophage, even though she fed on me, I felt safe with her. Yet, despite the pleasing ache in my muscles, despite my exhaustion and the heaviness overtaking my eyes, I couldn¡¯t fall into sleep.


    My mind churned.


    When Rosanna had introduced me to her children, I¡¯d berated myself for wasting a decade wallowing in self pity. I¡¯d made a commitment to being Headsman, true, but I could have been accomplishing more within that role. I could have used my influence and connections to help people like Emma much earlier than I had.


    And I was tired of being alone. I was tired of silent campfires and cold beds, with nothing but hateful shades to keep me company. No ghosts bothered me even in that dark room ¡ª they were afraid of the dhampir.


    I pulled Cat closer, pressing my lips to her mess of chestnut hair. She murmured something I didn¡¯t quite catch and pressed firmer against me. I¡¯d never known her to be so still, so at ease. She had always seemed furtive and nervous beneath her outer shell of confidence.


    I could start making a change here. I could heal.


    ¡°Cat,¡± I said, feeling breathless again, my heart quickening as the thought boiled up, ready to burst out into action.


    ¡°Hm?¡± She asked, on the verge of sleep. The blood had done something similar to alcohol to her, making her drowsy and content. But she felt my heartbeat, and heard the urgency in my voice. Whipping her hair out of her eyes, she propped herself on one elbow to look at me. ¡°What is it?¡±


    We were both naked in the darkness, vulnerable to one another.


    ¡°Leave the Backroad,¡± I told her. ¡°Leave the Keeper.¡±


    She blinked as my words registered. ¡°What?¡±


    I spoke more quickly as my mind raced with the possibilities. ¡°I¡¯m inside the imperial court, now. I have the ear of powerful people in the Accord. If I play my hand right, I might be able to get my knighthood back, my titles.¡±


    I rested my hand on her shoulder, staring into her eyes. She winced as the light in them caught her unexpectedly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to work in that place anymore,¡± I said, intent. ¡°You could get away from it, have a life¡­ With me. I¡¯m not saying it would be easy, or that you¡¯d be safe all the time, but we can make it work.¡±


    Cat didn¡¯t reply for a long while. She searched my face at first, then dropped her eyes down to the bed. I waited, breathless, feeling more certain about this than I¡¯d felt about anything in forever.


    Finally, Cat turned onto her back and sat up, pulling away from my hand in the same motion. She winced as she bent one slender leg, cupping the knee with her hand. She blew out a breath.


    I felt my heart skip a beat.


    ¡°Al¡­¡± She tilted her head back, rolling her shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to, what? Become your mistress?¡±


    I shook my head in denial. ¡°It¡¯s not like that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it would be,¡± she replied seriously. ¡°Not that I¡¯m picky about that sort of thing, mind, and I¡¯m flattered, but¡­¡±


    My shoulders slumped. But.


    Cat sighed, looking for words as her eyes wandered the moon-touched shadows of the room. ¡°You remember my story about that farm boy?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± I said, not sure where she was going.


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it before, you know?¡± She shrugged with one shoulder, pulling her leg up against her body. ¡°Settling. But it doesn¡¯t work. I don¡¯t even think I want to.¡± She frowned, her brow furrowing. ¡°I¡¯d end up killing you.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have to,¡± I insisted. ¡°We can figure something else out.¡±


    ¡°So I still sleep around even when I¡¯m with you?¡± She asked, serious. I didn¡¯t mean to react, but she must have seen the slight twist in my face. In the dark, I saw her mouth form a sad smile. ¡°That¡¯s what would need to happen, Alken. Maybe I could separate the feeding from the sex, but then I¡¯d be her again. That thing I was when I was young. The monster.¡±


    She turned, crossing her legs and facing me directly. ¡°I chose to live like this. I¡¯m happy enough, and¡­ This is going to sound twisted, but I like it. When I¡¯m taking a bit of someone¡¯s life away, because that is what I do, I can at least make it enjoyable for them. For both of us. It¡¯s my way.¡±


    She shrugged, slender shoulders moving in the darkness. I''d sat up as she talked, so we spoke level with one another.


    ¡°I can accept that,¡± I said, telling myself I could with time. ¡°Whatever you need, we can work it out.¡±


    Cat shook her head. ¡°I won¡¯t do that to you, Al. I care about you too much to do that to you.¡±


    Anger flared up in me, hot and sudden. ¡°Then what was this?¡± I snapped. Did she just want my blood, all this time?


    She didn¡¯t rise to my temper. Placing a hand on my knee, she replied in a quiet, calm voice. ¡°You were hurting. And¡­ I wanted to. Does it need to be more than that?¡±


    Maybe not. But I wanted more. I grit my teeth before I could say anything I might regret.


    ¡°And, don¡¯t take this personally, please¡­¡± She sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t like the nobles. I don¡¯t give a damn about the Accord ¡ª what¡¯s it ever done for me? For anyone like me? I don¡¯t want to become indebted to them, even through you. I won¡¯t kiss some great lord¡¯s pointy shoe every time I walk into a room. I like to be where I can say my mind.¡±


    ¡°You could with me!¡± I insisted, jabbing a finger into my chest. ¡°You could be whoever you wanted.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°No. You feel too much loyalty to them. I¡¯d just end up being your shadow, Alken.¡±


    I tried to find more words, to find a way to convince her. Nothing came.


    She took my hand, rubbing it as though to put warmth into my skin. Only, she was too cold.


    ¡°I love you, Alken. I¡¯m here for you. If you need someone to lean on, talk to, to join you for a scrap, or even for a good lay, I¡¯m your girl.¡± She lifted my hand to her lips, her eyes full of regret. ¡°But I can¡¯t be your lady wife. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    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 Abgr?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.

 4.17: The Forest of Heads

    <hr>


    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.


    ¡°You killed us because you were told it would lead to your redemption,¡± the child said. ¡°You felt no hatred for us, sought no righteous justice. We were simply the enemy your masters pointed at.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I stumbled back from her, baring my teeth. ¡°You were skinning children, Irene. You were binding their souls to your dolls. Someone had to put you down.¡±


    The mad countess smiled serenely at me. ¡°You remember my name? Oh, I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    ¡°Why would he care about dead children?¡± Emery asked the rest of the woods. ¡°He didn¡¯t mind much when that blood drunk whore admitted she used to eat them.¡±


    ¡°Guess all he needs to forgive someone is a pair of breasts and pretty legs,¡± Irene giggled.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I said.


    ¡°Certainly has a type, doesn¡¯t he?¡± A once handsome nobleman said from within a bush with leaves that oozed black pus. It leaked from his eyes too, and dribbled from his mouth when he spoke.


    ¡°Likes them well used,¡± Irene agreed.


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Whores will attract whores,¡± Bishop Leonis said with a scornful sneer. ¡°He even had that hell strumpet in his thoughts while he was pounding the bloodsucker.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know his old flame was absolutely filthy.¡±


    ¡°You think that does it for him? Knowing how unclean they are?¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter to a dog what he¡¯s humping!¡±


    Some of the heads began to bark like hounds. I spun around, trying to find the moving shadow again. Where was it? What was it?


    It had burning eyes, like twin candle flames.


    ¡°Do you think they heard the sounds you made all the way up in heaven, paladin?¡± A half severed skull with a bloodshot eye hissed at me.


    ¡°They were certainly loud enough!¡± A dead knight cackled from where he hung by a twisted branch like a noose. I hadn¡¯t taken his head properly, but severed him from shoulder to rib. I could still make out the mark of aureflame along the cut where I¡¯d hewn right through his armor.


    The head of a Recusant magus impaled on a tall root like a pike let out a lewd moan, her brow furrowing as her cracked lips pursed in mimed pleasure.


    ¡°Oh, Alken! Oh, Alken! Don¡¯t stop, don¡¯t stop!¡±


    Others began to make similar noises, until the woods filled with grunts and cries, the dead shouting like rutting beasts. The sound mingled with the laughter and the barking, the shouting and the weeping, echoing until it became a near physical pressure in the air.


    ¡°THIS IS THE MAN WHO KILLED US!¡± Rhan bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.


    ¡°SHUT UP!¡±


    I poured my aura into that desperate scream. Golden flames spilled from my lips, the flash brief and bright in the darkness.


    And the dead went silent. I stood there, enshrouded in my blood-drenched cloak. Sweat dripped from my face, ragged breaths from my lungs. The world suddenly reeled and I fell, barely managed to catch myself on my hands.


    I knelt there in the dark, surrounded by the accusing eyes of the madmen and warmongers I¡¯d executed.


    ¡°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.

 4.18: 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.


    <hr>


    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.¡±


    ¡°It went well, then?¡± She asked brightly. I noted a slight skip to her step now, rather than her previous skulk.


    I thought about it for a moment, torn between brushing the topic off and admitting the truth. Finally, with a heavy sigh I said, ¡°She just wants to stay friends.¡±


    Emma winced. ¡°Damn. I¡¯m sorry, Alken.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Friends with benefits, I guess. We talked about it, and I think we¡¯re good.¡±


    Emma studied me critically. ¡°What, did you go and try to propose marriage right off the jump or something?¡± Watching me a moment longer, her face fell. ¡°Oh, God. You did, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I shook my head, perplexed. ¡°I¡¯ve never known anyone like her. It¡¯s¡­ strange.¡±


    ¡°But you like her?¡± Emma asked, quirking an eyebrow.


    I nodded. ¡°I do. Even still, she doesn¡¯t want to take things further.¡±


    ¡°And you do?¡±


    I thought about it a while. I¡¯d had time to think, after my hasty proposal the night before. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I glanced up at the distant walls of the mighty fortress rising above us. ¡°Is something going on at the palace?¡±


    Emma accepted the change of subject smoothly. ¡°Some new delegation arrived this morning. Whole city is in a fuss about it. Word on the street is that they¡¯re from Graill.¡±


    I stopped dead in my tracks.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Emma asked, noticing my reaction. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I took a deep, steadying breath and fixed my attention on the Fulgurkeep¡¯s massive bridge gate, still several blocks ahead of us but looming high, guarded by the giant pale statues of ancient Reynish knights. I started walking again. Emma hurried to keep up. Long-limbed though she was, my strides were longer.


    ¡°Graill is the only realm in the eastern heartlands to survive the war,¡± I said without taking my eyes off the Fulgurkeep. ¡°If King Kyne¡¯s people are here, then it¡¯s not to participate in some competition of arms or politic with the lords.¡±


    I did glance at Emma then. ¡°It¡¯s because he has a warning about Seydis.¡±


    <hr>


    Approaching the lesser bridge which connected the city sprawl to one of the satellite castles, and from there to the queen-consort¡¯s bastion, I immediately knew something was wrong.


    While most of the lagoon city was traversable by canal, deadly reefs surrounded the Fulgurkeep¡¯s island of angry rock. Three bridges connected it to the mainland, the largest of which was the Anvil Gate, an edifice of masonry nearly as impressive as the main fortress itself, defended by two smaller castles on either side. Legend had it a mighty troll king had once dwelt on that bridge, long ago. Who could say what toll that old faerie lord had demanded for crossing?


    The smaller, newer bridges ¡ª man made rather than troll work ¡ª could be collapsed with complex mechanisms, and were used to ferry troops more quickly into different sections of the city in times of crisis. They were layered, with interior passages capable of ferrying cargo or persons in more secrecy. I¡¯d been given passcodes and made known to the guards at one of them.


    The captain on duty hadn¡¯t been given my codes. He glared at me suspiciously, making me wait while papers were checked and the guards murmured to one another.


    ¡°I do not know you,¡± the captain said at last, working at one tooth with his tongue. He was in his thirties, well born, and kept his bolt-crested helm tucked under one arm and his hand away from his sword. A good soldier, controlled and relaxed. I sensed no give in him. ¡°I was told to allow no one through these gates without express permission from His Majesty or the lord chamberlain.¡±


    I nodded, keeping my frustration buried. In my shadow, Emma shuffled.


    ¡°Can you get Ser Kaia?¡± I asked. ¡°She knows me.¡±


    The knight¡¯s face, more solid than handsome, twisted. ¡°Kaia Gorr? The Empress¡¯s mercenary bodyguard?¡±


    Inwardly, I winced. Trueborn nobles, especially those who became knights, had a tendency to look down on any who¡¯d been elevated to the Chivalry from lower birth. No matter how prestigious Kaia¡¯s position, she was still only a foreign queen¡¯s personal sword to many eyes.


    ¡°I must report to the Karlesian embassy,¡± I insisted. ¡°I have all the proper codes. I wasn¡¯t told there would be a change in form today.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The knight-captain shrugged, his pauldrons clicking with the motion as they settled down again. ¡°That is nothing to me. I have my orders.¡±


    On the watch towers, more guards moved subtly as they watched our exchange. I felt very conscious of how many eyes were on me. Sometimes, I did miss being a knight. It opened doors.


    ¡°Wait! He¡¯s expected!¡± A man appeared on the parapet. He wore Forger colors, not Silvering. One of the Fulgurkeep¡¯s Storm Knights, just like the gate captain. I didn¡¯t know him.


    The captain glanced up at the young soldier. Through the raised visor of the helm, I took the newcomer to be young. I couldn¡¯t see much of his features with the angle of the sun and the shadows.


    ¡°This is irregular,¡± the captain grumbled. ¡°But then again, everything¡¯s been a mess today. No one expected these fucking Graillmen to show up, and our orders are a mess.¡±


    I nodded in sympathy. ¡°Do you know what¡¯s going on inside? I¡¯ve been on an errand for Her Grace¡¯s embassy.¡±


    Again, the captain shrugged. ¡°All I know is that His Majesty is holding court with the delegates. The Empress and other leaders here for the summit are with him. You¡¯ve picked a bad time to return from your task, friend.¡±


    The captain thought about it a moment, then cursed. ¡°I don¡¯t want the fucking Karlesians breathing down my neck for this. Fine. Open it!¡±


    He signaled, allowing Emma and me through. Before I left, the knight stopped me with a hand on my arm.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t just a party from Graill who arrived today,¡± he told me quietly, speaking so even the other guards nearby couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°They came on the heels of another group from the south. We¡¯ve been ordered not to talk, but if you¡¯re one of Her Grace¡¯s people, you should know. Step light, eh?¡±


    ¡°What colors did they fly?¡± I asked.


    ¡°None,¡± the captain said, shaking his head. ¡°They came cloaked, but they were expected. We let them through only a few hours ago. Whoever they were, whole castle¡¯s in a stir about it.¡±


    He let me go then. We went through a smaller side gate, one meant for servants and messengers.


    ¡°That¡¯s surprising,¡± Emma muttered. ¡°He seemed ready to turn us away.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°The Accord¡¯s young, and these people aren¡¯t used to having a foreign ruler in residence with near as much power as their own. Most are leery of doing anything that might look like a slight to the Empress, especially when they¡¯re part of her husband¡¯s own household, which those knights were.¡±


    We met the knight who¡¯d vouched for us on the other side of the gate, who¡¯d rushed down the stairs to meet us. He was big, near tall as me and thickly built, but his helm masked him. In the tradition of royal guard, the smith who¡¯d fashioned his armor had worked glamour into the steel to obscure identity, shadowing the face beneath. He seemed young.


    ¡°Ser Kaia has asked me to fetch you,¡± he breathed, winded. The same glamour which cast the features beneath the armor in shadow also gave his voice a surreal timbre, enhancing volume rather than muffling it.


    I nodded, and the knight led us into the keep. Immediately, I sensed the strange energy which had pervaded the streets redoubled. Servants and courtiers moved about the halls in a hurry, keeping their eyes firmly on their tasks. Guards were grim-faced and watchful in every hallway.


    What is going on? I wondered.


    The young knight brought us through the sub-castle and into the main citadel. Ahead, a din of voices drifted through the arched corridors. We passed the watchful statues of halberd-wielding warriors, some of which hid real soldiers in their shadow.


    The Storm Knight ushered us into an enormous chamber ¡ª a throne room. The ceiling rose high overhead, vaulted and supported by more of the somber, solid decorative favored by the Reynish lords. Near four hundred people were gathered in the chamber, most of them nobles.


    I found Kaia and Rosanna immediately. The Empress sat at the Emperor¡¯s side, seated on a throne of dark oak caged in silver, the Silvering sun cresting its high back. Her First Sword shadowed that elegant seat, clad in her seashell armor and ash-haired, her expression dour.


    Rosanna was resplendent in pale greens and night-sea blacks, the outfit netted with jewels at the sleeves and collar, her black hair woven into high swirls. She wore a cape of mist ¡ª real mist, which shifted and undulated around the base of her throne like pale tentacles.


    At the back of the crowd, I had little hope of catching her eye. Dressed in simple, sturdy clothes, I felt distinctly out of place even next to Emma, who¡¯d taken to dressing in the casual fashions of young nobles to better blend in the city. I kept to the walls, letting the Forger knight guide us around the courtiers.


    I spotted a few others I recognized. Siriks Sontae, the young buck who¡¯d intervened in my confrontation with the storm ogre, stood with the delegation from Cymrinor. The northerners were a colorful lot, their clothing bright and flamboyant with varying styles. The boy didn¡¯t wear his armor, but his loose robes of white checkered with red had a distinctly martial cut, looser than most courtier garb.


    I saw the glorysworn too, Ser Jocelyn. He did wear armor in the habit of errantry, and stood surprisingly close to the throne with a mixed group of soldiers and dignitaries. He had his horned helm tucked under one arm, his wavy brown hair kept back in a wolf tail.


    I also spotted Faisa Dance, the noblewoman who¡¯d coordinated with me during my initial investigation into the Carmine Killer. She stood with her family, and not far from her was the Lady Laessa Greengood and some of her clan. The girl looked much improved, if only by courtly raiment and makeup.


    And I saw a group of some twenty figures, all clad in drab cloaks stained with travel, all standing tall and proud despite resembling some gathering of incognito elves. The mystery visitors the gate captain had mentioned, I suspected.


    The young Forger knight had us wait off to the side, well away from the proper courtiers where lesser officials kept at the wings. I folded my arms to watch the proceedings while Emma lurked at my side, a sharp eyed crow in my shadow.


    Finally, I let my eyes slide to the seat at the center of the dais, given the spot of highest honor in the chamber. Both the High Seat and the queen-consort¡¯s were set on an eight tiered dais, rising up from the mosaic floor about a third of the way from the entrance, a tall island surrounded by the inner circle of courtiers. The First Sword of Reynwell shadowed that dais, clad in the same raiment as the other Storm Knights save for a helm crested with three conjoined bolts and a cloak of fulgur yellow.


    And upon his throne I saw him. The man who¡¯d built the Accord, who¡¯d forged this era of tenuous peace from the ashes of the Fall with iron will and stern resolve.


    The Realmshield, King of Reynwell and Lord of Garihelm, First Sword of the Aureate Church, High Arbiter of the Azure Round, Grand Marshall of the Ardent Bough, Lord-Protector and Emperor of Urn.


    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 Sno?. We assure you, the Azure Round is not unaware of this threat.¡±


    Sno? 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,¡± Sno? 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 Sno? 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?¡± Sno? 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?¡± Sno? 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?¡± Sno?¡¯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.¡±


    Sno?¡¯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 Sno? 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 Sno?. 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.¡±

 4.19: All The Worlds Troubles

    <hr>


    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.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Emma asked, frowning at the faerie lord¡¯s back.


    I sighed. ¡°Trouble. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I started to turn, but Emma lingered, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on something. I followed her gaze, but only saw nobles and other officials flooding into the corridor, and a few palace guard. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°That knight.¡± She nodded down the hall. ¡°Doesn¡¯t he seem familiar to you?¡±


    I followed her gaze to one of the guards who¡¯d moved into the chamber, and recognized the young soldier who¡¯d guided us into the palace. He was a Storm Knight, one of the elite guard of House Forger, with a bolt-crested helm and a long surcoat and proud cape of livid blue, sewn with gold motifs pinned beneath one pauldron. He chatted with an older man in the uniform of a palace servant, and still wore his helmet.


    I couldn¡¯t be certain, but it seemed like he kept throwing furtive looks our way.


    ¡°Hm.¡± I tried to place him, but nothing came. ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t seem familiar. Why?¡±


    Emma shook her head, her brow furrowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I swear I¡¯ve seen him before. If I could just see under that helm, perhaps¡­¡±


    I snorted, beginning to walk again. ¡°If you want to court him, I won¡¯t stop you. He seems close to your age.¡±


    Emma caught up to me, and didn¡¯t say anything for a long while as we navigated the proud, arched corridors of the main citadel. I stepped out of the path of a stocky man with leonine black hair, a clericon by his monkish garb. He murmured something I didn''t catch before vanishing into the throng, probably an apology.


    Then, in a somewhat tight voice she said, ¡°You do know that I prefer the attentions of my own sex, right?¡±


    I stopped in my tracks, taking that in. Some pieces, clues both subtle and obvious from across the span of months, began to click together.


    ¡°Damn,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I missed it.¡±


    Emma sighed. ¡°It¡¯s no wonder it took so long for Catrin to get into your trousers.¡±


    I began to walk again, annoyed at that comment ¡ª especially after the night I¡¯d had. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear that from a seventeen-year-old.¡±


    Emma matched my pace, moving quickly to keep up with my stride. ¡°I turned eighteen two months ago!¡±


    ¡°You did?¡±


    My squire groaned. ¡°How are you simultaneously so competent in some regards and so oblivious in others? It¡¯s maddening!¡±


    I shrugged, and we walked awhile.


    ¡°Are you¡­¡± Emma¡¯s demeanor shifted. I sensed a more vulnerable quality creep into her speech. ¡°Is this a problem?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Why would it be a problem?¡± I caught her troubled eyes out of the corner of my vision.


    Emma coughed. ¡°Well, you¡¯re a¡­ you know. And a lot of folk see that sort of thing as abnormal, even sinful.¡±


    I thought about it a moment before speaking. ¡°You know they say God used to have relations with Her own attendants? Most preosters won¡¯t teach you that from scripture, but I lived in Seydis. I saw that sort of thing all the time among the elves, and among knights. Hell, Faisa Dance is one of the richest people in Urn, and she¡¯s a famous sapphic.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t disapprove?¡± Emma asked me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t see why I should. Love is love. Who am I to judge?¡± Especially since the only three women I¡¯ve ever been interested in have been a possibly tyrannical queen, a demon, and a hemophage respectively.


    Who was I to judge, indeed.


    Emma hummed thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s not like I have no interest in boys. I just find them¡­¡± She sucked in a breath through her teeth. ¡°Less enticing. To be honest, I didn¡¯t even realize for certain where my desires skewed until after we came to the city. You remember that red haired girl from the first day, the innkeeper¡¯s daughter?¡±


    I did, after a moment. ¡°Sure.¡±


    I caught Emma¡¯s eye out of the corner of my vision, and her self-satisfied smirk. It became my turn to groan. ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I think I left her with quite the infatuation, the poor dear.¡± Emma let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Still, that was the first time I experimented.¡±


    I felt a knot form in my chest at her choice of words. ¡°I know it¡¯s almost tradition for nobles to toy with commonfolk, Emma, but you should be cautious. You have enemies. The crowfriars, yes, but all of mine too. Best not to give them tools.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t toying with¡ª¡±


    Emma¡¯s voice had turned defensive. I cut her off. ¡°Are you still seeing that girl? The innkeeper¡¯s daughter?¡±


    She fell quiet. Her expression turned remote, the lids of her hawkish eyes narrowing slightly. I¡¯d known her long enough by now to recognize the show of cool disinterest as a defense mechanism, a cover for nervousness. ¡°No. It was just that one time, for fun.¡±


    ¡°Then you were toying with her,¡± I said, letting a slight growl slip into my voice. ¡°You said it yourself ¡ª she¡¯ll probably never forget you, the highborn lady who swept into her life. For you, it was a bit of fun. Did you consider how she feels?¡±


    I didn¡¯t realize, until I¡¯d begun to speak, that I felt angry with my squire. Emma must have sensed it in my voice, because some of the color drained from her face.


    ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t think about it.¡±


    ¡°Do next time,¡± I told her, my tone hard. ¡°Think about the consequences, both if someone decides to make your plaything a victim and for the sake of their own heart.¡±


    Emma¡¯s amber eyes flashed. ¡°And what of Catrin, hm? Have you considered your myriad enemies might make her a tool against you?¡±


    I stopped in my tracks, the tails of my coat swinging a moment with the suddenness of my halt. We stood in an empty hallway, the echoing din of the scattering court still half-audible in the near distance. There were few windows, and the alchemical lamps provided a hazy light. Somewhere, waves broke against the island¡¯s high cliffs.


    Emma took a step away from me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said quickly, shifting to put her hands behind her back and stand straighter, a swordsman¡¯s at-ease. ¡°That was uncouth.¡±


    I took a deep breath before turning my face to my squire. ¡°I have considered that. Catrin can take care of herself, and she chose to get involved, but you better believe I¡¯m always considering the possibility she might be hurt on my account.¡±


    I let steel creep into my tone. ¡°Everyone I let get close to me is a wound waiting to open, Emma. I never forget that.¡±


    The young noble considered that, her lips pressed tight with some uncertain emotion. ¡°Then why do you?¡± She asked me. ¡°Let people close? Why put your heart at such risk?¡±


    I softened my voice, sensing her question to be genuine rather than challenging. ¡°Because being alone, even among plentiful company, is a kind of hell. I won¡¯t pretend like it¡¯s not selfish, or weak, but I¡¯ve been alone. It¡¯s much worse. It makes a monster of you.¡±


    Emma¡¯s avian eyes narrowed as she stared at the floor, considering. ¡°I see. However, I didn¡¯t feel anything for that girl in the inn. I just found her pretty.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°And if she¡¯d died? If some creature of Orkael or ally of House Carreon had interrogated and slain her, to get to you?¡±


    Emma lifted her face to meet my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think I would have felt much. I would have been bothered, but not for long, and not severely, and likely only because I would have taken it as a slight.¡± Her shoulders slumped. ¡°Does that make me a monster?¡±


    I knew the girl¡¯s fears at being like her ancestors were raw, as haunting to her as my ghosts. ¡°That¡¯s not something I can tell you,¡± I told her honestly. ¡°Know yourself, and know what you want to be. If that seems monstrous to you, then remember it.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I shall.¡± Then, on a less serious note added, ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean I have to swear some knightly vow of celibacy, does it?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°That¡¯s for you to decide. Every oath is made to the self as much as to any lord or god.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Emma cleared her throat and shuffled again. ¡°Well, that was¡­ educational. And uncomfortable.¡±


    I started walking again, making my way to the Empress¡¯s bastion. ¡°The important lessons often are.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°You¡¯re certain of this?¡± Rosanna demanded, her tone clipped. ¡°You saw both of them at this gathering?¡±


    I nodded. I stood in the Empress¡¯s private study. Kaia Gorr and Emma Orley stood near the door, one on guard and the other listening. We had decided it best to have all hands on deck for this. I hadn¡¯t wanted the First Sword present, but Rosanna seemed to trust her.


    ¡°Did you see their faces?¡± Ser Kaia asked. She scratched at her squared jaw, the motion causing strands of her undercut hair to fall over one eye.


    I shook my head. ¡°No.¡± I folded my arms and blew out a breath. ¡°I understand nothing official can be done without evidence, especially not on my word, but I wanted you to know. I believe they¡¯re a danger.¡±


    Rosanna laced her ringed fingers together over her desk, narrowing her eyes in thought. ¡°I hardly need anyone to remind me that House Vyke is dangerous. Even still, this is disturbing news. How do you know it¡¯s them?¡±


    I hedged. ¡°A very strong intuition.¡±


    Rosanna looked at me. She had an awakened soul as well, and didn¡¯t flinch or wince at the visible aura in my eyes. ¡°Your powers?¡± She asked. She knew that Alder Knights gained preternatural intuitions.


    I shrugged. ¡°Maybe. All I can say is I¡¯m certain. They move the same, talk the same. Hell, they showed up in court with essentially the same disguises.¡±


    ¡°And if you¡¯re wrong?¡± The Empress¡¯s bodyguard asked.


    Emma glared at the knight. ¡°Are you just here to play devil¡¯s advocate? I¡¯ve met a devil, and I find them quite banal.¡±


    Ser Kaia shrugged, her scarred face bored.


    ¡°Peace,¡± the Empress murmured, and both of the other women fell silent. My queen¡¯s emerald eyes remained fixed on me. ¡°You are certain?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I am.¡±


    Rosanna pursed her lips. ¡°That is enough for me. Even still, I¡¯m not certain there¡¯s much I can do about it, not officially. As you say, we have no evidence.¡±


    ¡°Assassinate them?¡± Ser Kaia suggested.


    Emma blinked, looking at the royal champion with sudden appraisal.


    Rosanna shook her head. ¡°If the prince and princess of Talsyn die in this city, or if any harm befalls them, Hasur Vyke and all remaining Recusants will declare war. There are traitor Houses scattered across the land still, many of them posing as members of the Accord, biding their time. My spies are certain of this.¡± She paused a moment and added, ¡°Lias was as well.¡±


    I nodded. I¡¯d hunted down more than a few of them, delivering the Choir¡¯s doom, ¡°Strange he sent both his children,¡± I said. ¡°Or has he had more?¡±


    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.

 4.20: 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 as she 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 nodded slowly, catching her thread. ¡°I¡¯m not much for parties,¡± I admitted. ¡°But it does seem like it could turn up something useful.¡±


    ¡°Kieran mentioned that artist,¡± Emma noted. ¡°Anselm of Ruon?¡± She turned to Laessa. ¡°Do you think he will be at this event?¡±


    Laessa shook her head, though more in uncertainty than denial. ¡°He is a very reclusive man from what I¡¯ve heard, and most aren¡¯t even certain he¡¯s been in the city lately. He travels about a lot. I hear he is very wealthy, on top of being talented, but few know much about him.¡±


    Her tone turned conspiratorial. ¡°Some even think his name is an alias, that he is perhaps a noble of some obscure House.¡±


    Anselm of Ruon was the most solid lead I had, besides the Vyke twins. I had no safe way to approach the Talsyn royals as of yet, which meant¡­


    I saw no reason to turn the opportunity down. At the very least, I could troll for information.


    ¡°You say this is tonight?¡± I asked.


    Laessa nodded. ¡°Yes. It begins just after sundown. I have been invited as a representative of my House ¡ª some of my cousins will be there, I suspect.¡± She pursed her lips. ¡°Do you have anything nicer to wear?¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I sighed. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to scrounge something up.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°That was odd,¡± Emma noted as we made our way down to our chambers in the lower halls of the keep. ¡°She seemed¡­ somewhat manic.¡±


    I grunted. ¡°She¡¯s just lost someone important to her. Everyone deals with grief in their own way.¡±


    Emma let out a quiet scoff. ¡°Was Kieran important to her? Or does she just find the grief aesthetically pleasing?¡±


    I was quiet a while as we descended a steep, spiraling stair narrow enough we couldn¡¯t stand side by side. When we¡¯d reached the bottom, I paused and glanced at my squire.


    ¡°That image she was painting... did you get a good look at it?¡±


    Emma frowned. ¡°Looked a mess. Didn¡¯t resemble the Ironleaf at all.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I agreed. ¡°That¡¯s because it wasn¡¯t him. She was painting Kieran in Ser Jocelyn¡¯s armor.¡±


    Emma blinked, then folded her arms and turned her eyes down. ¡°Oh.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°It was him after he died.¡± She¡¯d even painted the maggots in his empty eye socket, the hole in his cheek. ¡°Not only that, but it looked far too good for someone who only started painting a few days ago.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Not that I¡¯m any artist. What do you think?¡±


    Emma rubbed at her short chin with a forefinger and thumb. ¡°Hm. Perhaps it¡¯s not the first time she¡¯s dabbled?¡±


    ¡°The face looked uncannily realistic,¡± I noted. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s nothing ¡ª anyone with hyperactive aura can get intuitions, show more skill at something than they should.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t sense that her aura was awakened.¡± Emma frowned, pressing a crooked finger to her chin.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it is,¡± I agreed. ¡°But she¡¯s experienced a lot of stress and grief lately. Could be her soul is on the verge of awakening.¡±


    A lazy smile formed across my apprentice¡¯s face. ¡°You¡¯re not going to take her on as disciple, are you? She¡¯s fair to the eyes, true, but I¡¯m afraid I have little interest in being part of some sort of harem.¡±


    I glared at her, unamused. ¡°If she awakens her aura, it could put her in danger from the same forces that victimized Kieran. I don¡¯t know what Yith is planning, but he¡¯s targeting adepts. It¡¯s something to watch.¡±


    Emma pouted, glancing away. ¡°It was just a joke. Anyway, you think Yith might target poor Laessa?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I started walking again. ¡°If he does, I¡¯ll be near enough this time to do something about it.¡±


    <hr>


    Getting fitted for a formal event, especially among the nobility, isn¡¯t something easily done on short notice. Laessa Greengood must have thought of this, and been planning to ask me for some time, because I found clothes waiting for me in my room along with a letter.


    When I opened it, the message didn¡¯t turn out to be from the Lady Greengood at all.


    Master Fetch,


    A pretty rose told me you might need formal wear for a gathering of peacocks. To express my gratitude for services rendered, I have prepared your plumage. I would only ask you be wary of snakes ¡ª the grass is absolutely riddled with them.


    Dearest Regards,


    F.


    The letter had been left on my bed, along with a set of garments.


    F. I let out a quiet laugh. Faisa Dance. So she still wanted me to track down her paramour¡¯s murderer, too.


    Lot of broken hearts wrapped up in this business, I thought darkly. I could guess who she meant by a ¡°pretty rose.¡± How had she learned I was involved with the Empress? Or had Rosanna reached out to her?


    Whatever the case, House Dance could prove a powerful ally, and a poor enemy if I messed things. They were among the land¡¯s mightiest powers, easily a match for the Forgers or the Vykes. Had they thrown in with the Recusants during the war, I doubted we¡¯d have won. I knew they also had close ties to House Greengood, who were allies to the Silverings.


    You¡¯ve really bound me up in a web, haven¡¯t you Rose? I shook my head at the tangle of it all. As far as spiders went, my queen may as well be a great widow. She wove an artful web, and had very deadly fangs.


    I had a few hours before I was to meet Laessa and head to the gala. I stripped out of my Reynish overcoat and humbler clothes and took some time dressing. The event garments consisted of another long coat, this one amber-brown, with decorative buttons of brass and triple-layered sleeves sewn with silver netting. It went over a tight-fitting doublet and trousers a bit thinner than I usually preferred, though the long tails of the upper garments and high boots made the difference.


    Normally, I¡¯d need servants to help with the doublet and adjust things, perhaps even do some resewing on the spot. The coat seemed a bit too long and the doublet too loose, which led me to believe Lady Faisa had skewed larger to accommodate for my size. The boots, surprisingly, fit me well.


    I preferred more concealing garments in any case, and the coat was longer than the one I¡¯d been wearing. Perhaps Faisa Dance just had good intuition about this sort of thing. I¡¯d also been provided a long strip of red cloth, likely meant to be worn as a sash or belt in more formal events.


    It was almost the exact color of my lost cloak. I wrapped it around my neck ¡ª not exactly fashionable, but I never had been.


    Then I held up my axe, wondering what I should do with it. I didn¡¯t want to leave it behind. I wouldn¡¯t be defenseless without it, but I couldn¡¯t deny the weapon made me far more potent. Not to mention, its binding Art made for an invaluable trump card.


    I doubted I¡¯d be able to sneak it into the gala. Even with the handle shaved down, someone would notice it.


    Maybe it¡¯s time to rely on others, I thought. My mind went to Emma, and what role she¡¯d play in things going forward.


    I hung the axe up on the wall, then paused as I heard something. There were voices out in the hall, raised in agitation. One of them belonged to Emma.


    I made sure my rondel, secure beneath the tail of my coat, was in easy reach before moving to the door. I eased it open, getting a better idea of what went on outside.


    Emma stood a ways down near the door of her own chamber, and she spoke with someone. Argued with them. The other sounded male, and spoke in a hushed, urgent voice. I heard the rattle of armor, a grunt, then the sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath.


    I threw the door open and stepped out into the hall. Emma and a large man in armor stood a ways down. My squire had her long saber in hand, its keen edge held to the man¡¯s throat, forcing him back against the wall.


    It was the knight who¡¯d gotten us through the bridge gate, the one Emma had said looked familiar. Now I saw him without his helmet, I did know him.


    He stood tall, just under two meters, and had a burly build under his House Forger plate mail. A smooth, round-cheeked face juxtaposed that physique, making him look boyish despite his size. The image wasn¡¯t helped by ordinary brown hair and big, uncertain eyes.


    I¡¯ll be damned, I thought. Hendry Hunting. The son and heir of the lord who¡¯d kept Emma as a ward back in Venturmoor. The young man who¡¯d been expected to marry her and join their bloodlines, before I¡¯d tossed a rock into those machinations.


    What was he doing here, in the garb of a Reynish Storm Knight?


    Hendry¡¯s eyes went wide at the blade pressed to his neck. He tried to speak, but only got out a brief gasp before Emma pressed the blade in, letting out an angry hiss as her hawk¡¯s eyes widened in fury.


    ¡°Do not speak!¡± She snarled. She noticed me out of the corner of her vision then, and a cruel little smile touched her full mouth. ¡°Ah, good. Alken, I seem to have caught a little weasel creeping through the keep. What shall we do with him, hm?¡±


    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 tall, 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 voice took on a mocking edge. ¡°Given a grand honor, what a burden it must be.¡± She glanced at me. ¡°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. 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." I paused. "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.

 4.21: The Gala

    <hr>


    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.


    ¡°Lord Siriks,¡± I greeted him quietly.


    The proud young warrior from the night of the storm shuffled, folding his arms and glancing around the gala with an impatient edge. He¡¯d doffed the warrior robes he¡¯d worn at court, opting instead for a not dissimilar outfit done in muted forest browns, the hem of the long coat ¡ª cut more like a robe ¡ª nearly trailing on the grass. He¡¯d wound his long braid of dark red hair around his neck.


    ¡°Alken, was it?¡± He rolled his eyes back to me and smiled. I¡¯d expected more dismissal, but the expression seemed warm. ¡°I¡¯ve been hoping to see you again. I was a bore that night. I got angry at that fop Jocelyn for stealing my kill. After some thought, I realized we all stole your glory.¡±


    Jocelyn coughed.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Siriks held out a calloused hand. I shook it, finding his grip iron strong despite his lean build. I remembered how easily he¡¯d wielded that enormous sword-spear.


    ¡°We should try this again!¡± He flashed his boyish grin. ¡°Siriks of House Sontae, at your service.¡±


    ¡°Alken,¡± I said.


    ¡°So you fought in the war?¡± Siriks Sontae¡¯s grin widened, a light glinting in his eyes. ¡°I was just a boy back then, but we had bloodshed in Cymrinor. I regret I was too young to wield steel, but I hear there were glorious battles.¡±


    Esmerelda, hearing him, rolled her hazel eyes. ¡°Oh, give the brute talk a rest, Siriks. Is it all you think about?¡±


    Siriks blinked as though confused by the question. ¡°Yes?¡±


    The Grimheart girl scoffed, flashing her fan almost as a baton as she pointed at the young warrior while looking at me. ¡°Forgive him. I dragged him along, even though he¡¯s dreadfully disinterested in all of this.¡± She waved at the gaggle of artists and engineers. ¡°I thought perhaps some culture might do him good, but he tuned out as soon as he learned they weren¡¯t displaying any weapons.¡±


    "I like it all well enough!" Siriks protested. "I just... don''t have words for it."


    The banter passed over me like a breeze, while I turned my attention to the third man.


    Siriks noticed where my attention went. ¡°Alken, this is Garrett of¡­ somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Losca,¡± his companion said in a rich basso.


    The man ¡ª I placed him in his mid thirties, which made him the oldest in the group besides me ¡ª had an easy smile, his teeth black against very pale skin. He had frost-white hair I suspected had been powdered by its texture. Tall and lanky, I didn¡¯t take him to be a warrior. He wore a tightly sewn coat and a neck cloth in some unfamiliar style.


    ¡°Losca¡­¡± It took me a moment to place the half familiar name. ¡°That¡¯s in Bantes?¡±


    Garrett of Losca shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s a vassal to the Republic, yes, but we don¡¯t consider ourselves Bantesean. I know people in the subcontinent don¡¯t tend to distinguish, but we can be sticklers about that over there. I hear it¡¯s similar here, even though all your little kingdoms share one king?¡±


    ¡°Emperor,¡± Siriks corrected him. ¡°We have many kings, one emperor.¡±


    The foreigner shook his head, perplexed. ¡°So odd.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here for the summit?¡± I asked, assuming him to be a dignitary of some sort.


    ¡°He¡¯s an alchemist!¡± One of the other young women, whose name I hadn¡¯t caught, said brightly. ¡°Makes Devil Iron and such.¡±


    I went very still, focusing my attention on the thin man.


    He didn¡¯t notice, grimacing in distaste. ¡°Please. Don¡¯t lump me in with those madmen in the Three Towers. Next you¡¯ll be accusing me of occultism, and I¡¯d rather not have a visit from the priorguard.¡±


    ¡°Master Garrett is quite the young prodigy back in his country,¡± Esmerelda told me. ¡°He¡¯s got half the city¡¯s wealthy families clamoring to patron him.¡±


    Briefly, I wondered if the gaunt alchemist was a faust, with a crowfriar whispering in his shadow. Yet, as I studied him, I sensed nothing. He seemed ordinary. Human.


    I¡¯m paranoid, I thought.


    For good reason, I reminded myself.


    ¡°But what happened to that boy you were sweet on, Lae?¡± One of the women asked, looking at Laessa. ¡°The pretty one, the artist.¡±


    Laessa went very still. Esmerelda winced.


    ¡°Oh, he wasn¡¯t an artist.¡± One of the girls let out a titter, leaning in to stage whisper to her friend. ¡°Just a dye maker¡¯s apprentice.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, he was easy enough on the eyes.¡±


    Laessa¡¯s face had turned ashen. The Grimheart girl took her arm, shooting a savage look at the others. Siriks looked confused.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we chat, just the two of us?¡± Esmerelda began to pull her friend away. I caught Laessa¡¯s eye, and at her nod I kept back as the two wandered off. The two women who¡¯d made the comments about Kieran looked perplexed, but shrugged it off as they took the men in arm, happy for different sorts of attention.


    Nobles. I¡¯d half-forgotten about all of this.


    ¡°Do you think the Priory is still after her?¡±


    I turned, and realized the question had come from Ser Jocelyn. The alchemist and Siriks had been led off by the ladies to look at some sculpture display, but the mercenary had managed to disentangle himself from their attentions.


    ¡°What makes you think the Priory is after her?¡± I hedged, trying for nonchalance.


    The glorysworn gave me a cool look, his pale brown eyes narrowing. ¡°I saw that street. I know the storm ogre didn¡¯t kill all of those priorguard. They had blade wounds.¡±


    I said nothing. Better to let him speculate than come up with some kind of half-baked lie.


    He studied me a moment longer before adding, ¡°You killed them. You were protecting her. The whole city¡¯s talking about it, how the Inquisition tried to take her out of the Greengood mansion in the night. The rumors among the common folk are that she¡¯s some kind of witch.¡±


    ¡°How do they figure that?¡± I asked, frowning.


    Jocelyn paced a few steps to a low hanging branch on one of the decorated trees. He lifted his hand, and several wisps danced around it. They liked him as well.


    He watched the wisps a moment, a peaceful look on his angular face, then turned to me. ¡°The word for months now has been that something occult is at work in the city. Artists going mad, nobles covering up the crimes of their family members, inquisitors searching for the one responsible for all the deaths. Monstrous things have been seen here and there. People have gone missing.¡±


    I knew all of this. ¡°What¡¯s your point? Laessa isn¡¯t responsible for any of that.¡±


    ¡°But someone is,¡± Jocelyn said, his voice turning from casual speculation to stern seriousness. ¡°And the people are frightened. With the summit, the Emperor stays in his castle in the bay, with great lords and ladies in attendance. The powerful are silent in their councils, or they indulge in affairs such as this.¡±


    He nodded to the party. ¡°While people on the streets fear to go out of their homes in the depths of night. They throw festivals and fill the air with light so the shadows don¡¯t creep in too deep.¡±


    Almost on cue, a firework went off. People throughout the groves clapped and cheered.


    ¡°The nobility appears to be ignoring it,¡± Jocelyn continued once the colored sparks had faded from the air. ¡°Foreign powers are allowed into the city, with strange new works in tow. The Priory insists that evil is at work in the land, and they seem to be the only ones doing anything about it.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t,¡± I insisted, beginning to feel angry.


    Jocelyn held up a hand. ¡°That is how it appears,¡± he said. ¡°To the common folk. And amid all of this, Laessa Greengood escapes apprehension by the priorguard. She is given refuge in the Fulgurkeep, and that same night a monster falls out of the sky, killing and spreading havoc. Do you see it?¡±


    I cursed, when I realized what he meant. ¡°They think she summoned the storm beast?¡±


    Jocelyn nodded. ¡°That is the rumor. I think there will be consequences for it soon. I do not believe she is a witch¡­¡±


    His eyes wandered after the young Greengood, where she chatted with her orange-haired friend. ¡°However,¡± the knight added with a sigh, ¡°I am not certain a gentleman¡¯s sword can protect her from the dangers to come. I just wanted to warn you, as her protector.¡±


    Jocelyn departed then, returning to his group of companions. I stood there a while, what he¡¯d told me floating around in my skull.


    He was right. Laessa would look very suspicious to anyone who didn¡¯t have all the context. Even worse, Rosanna would end up looking suspicious for harboring her.


    Did you anticipate this Rose? Did you keep the girl close to you so something worse didn¡¯t happen?


    I caught sight of two figures standing atop the steps leading up to the mansion¡¯s back doors. Pushing politics out of my mind for the time being, I navigated through the throng, almost losing my head to some screeching rocket a sweating man had been trying to display for a group of bored looking aristo youths. He apologized profusely as he scurried after his whirling device. Some people clapped, and others shouted encouragement.


    I stepped up the white-washed stairs and paused next to a regal woman in her later years and a heavyset man in a pointy-tailed coat. Faisa Dance had festooned her silver hair with golden pins, and I noted her dress shared a similar color to my coat ¡ª amber, with some yellows mixed in to evoke a vanishing sun shining through the woods.


    ¡°Lady,¡± I greeted the gala¡¯s host. Then, speaking a more neutral voice to the man I said, ¡°Lord Yuri.¡±


    The nobleman was shorter than Faisa, overweight, and wore a puffy coat of maroons and blacks. He had curly blond hair, and one blue eye seemed just a touch darker than the other. He coughed as I greeted him.


    ¡°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 me.


    ¡°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.¡±

 4.22: Myrddin

    <hr>


    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.


    Sulfur.


    ¡°You¡¯re a crowfriar,¡± I snarled. My voice crackled with a sudden surge of aureflame, responding to my anger.


    The man flinched, but didn¡¯t lose his grin. ¡°Aye.¡±


    I glanced around, on guard against ambush.


    ¡°The Vicar ain¡¯t here,¡± the devil monk said, holding up his empty hand. ¡°Don¡¯t gotta worry, crusader, this isn¡¯t some ambush. Even if we all took you on together, we¡¯d take losses. Not something we¡¯re keen on, see?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked again.


    ¡°Honestly?¡± The crowfriar tilted his head to one side, studying me with dark, bloodshot eyes. ¡°I wanted to see the man who got the better of Vicar. He¡¯s an old boy, he is, and has my brothers and sisters well whipped. But you¡­¡±


    He bared his gray teeth and let out a dry, rasping laugh. ¡°You stole the Carreon from him. You nearly beat him in a duel from what I heard, and he¡¯s the sharpest blade you¡¯ll find next to any scorchknight.¡± He shrugged then and spoke in a more neutral voice. ¡°We¡¯ve been curious, me and the other friars.¡±


    I studied him a moment. He wouldn¡¯t meet my eyes directly, flinching occasionally when his own manic gaze caught mine. ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°Believe what you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother with the mind games,¡± I cut him off. ¡°Any Thing of Darkness that meets an Alder Knight¡¯s eyes can¡¯t lie, not without us knowing.¡±


    Not exactly true. It was just painful to lie to us while making direct eye contact, which gave us an easy way to tell. It wasn¡¯t full proof, but I didn¡¯t tell him that.


    ¡°You¡¯re not just here to appraise me.¡± I squeezed harder. Even with his thick, almost leather-tough neck, the man began to choke. I kept his other arm trapped as well, making sure he didn¡¯t try anything.


    ¡°Speak,¡± I ordered, investing aura into the command.


    He gasped. ¡°I¡ª gahk.¡±


    He resisted the command, though not without effort. Sweat beaded across his mottled skin. And again, he began to let out a rasping laugh.


    ¡°Speak,¡± I said again, without magic this time. ¡°Where are the other crowfriars?¡±


    ¡°Near,¡± the man snarled, his eyes opening almost skeletally wide. He wanted me to know he wasn¡¯t lying this time, and he met my gaze directly. ¡°We outnumber you, crusader.¡±


    I bunched the reeking material of his hide cloak in my hands as I lifted him bodily into the air. He stood little more than five and a half feet tall, but I still grunted in effort at his weight. ¡°What do you want with me?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got information,¡± he spat. ¡°Put me down, and we¡¯ll talk. No tricks.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at him, considering. He didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°Try anything,¡± I said quietly, ¡°and I will send you back to Hell.¡±


    His black eyes flicked down to my chest. He said his next words with a shiver. ¡°The Aureflame. Yes, I¡¯ve heard it has a nasty bite. I¡¯m not here to kill you, crusader. Believe it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t flinch when I met his gaze. I considered a moment longer, then dropped him. He landed with a grunt.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I repeated my earlier question, my hand on the grip of my rondel.


    ¡°Hm.¡± The man patted his filthy clothes down, then scratched at a pock-marked cheek with a dirty thumbnail. ¡°Ah, right. Haven¡¯t introduced myself. Name¡¯s Dis Myrddin. Brother Myrddin, if it please you.¡±


    It didn¡¯t. ¡°Why would I trust anything a missionary of Orkael would want me to know?¡± I hardened my voice. ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I kill you here?¡±


    ¡°Not saying you couldn¡¯t,¡± Dis Myrddin said casually, his eyes lidded and unconcerned. ¡°I¡¯m not a keen blade like the Vicar is, nor did they loan me a wicked angel to guard my burnt hide. Just wouldn¡¯t do you much good.¡±


    It might make me feel better. ¡°Where is he?¡± I demanded. ¡°Is Vicar here?¡±


    ¡°No, no. He¡¯s got other pots boiling.¡± The man studied me a moment. The sclera of his bloodshot eyes were closer to yellow than white, giving him a manic, sickly look. His rashy skin and dry, cracked lips didn¡¯t help the image.


    I glared at him. ¡°Let me guess ¡ª there¡¯s a price for what you have to tell me?¡±


    ¡°Only thing I ask is that you act on it,¡± Myrddin insisted, again holding out his empty palms as though to show me he held nothing sharp in them. The tips of his fingers were stained black, like a coal miner¡¯s. He leaned closer, grinning with his blocky gray teeth.


    ¡°I know where Yith is. I know why he attacked that priorguard safe house they kept you locked up in all those weeks ago.¡±


    I tilted my chin up. ¡°And why would you want to help me? I¡¯m your enemy.¡±


    Again, Myrddin let out that hacking laugh. ¡°Enemy!? Ah, you got it all wrong, crusader. We don¡¯t have enemies, just potential assets and obstacles. Besides, is it really so hard to believe I¡¯d want to help you nab the fly?¡±


    I knew enough about infernal lore to be suspicious. ¡°The crowfriars don¡¯t hunt demons,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re soul poachers, expanding Orkael¡¯s influence.¡±


    Myrddin shrugged. ¡°True enough. Even still, the fly is a problem for us as well. We want a stable realm, see? We got little need for chaos. That¡¯s where demons thrive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard the stories.¡± I spoke in a low voice, keeping my sight firmly on him while paying as much attention as I could to our surroundings, wary of tricks. The wisps bobbed and whispered, a potential warning if anything approached. ¡°You¡¯re most active during wars and plagues. I think chaos is exactly the kind of environment your order likes. It makes people desperate.¡±


    ¡°Paranoid fellow, aren¡¯t you?¡± Myrddin hadn¡¯t lost that shit-eating-grin. ¡°I won¡¯t lie, we¡¯ve had a particular method of operation for a long time, true. Riven Order had aught to do with that. But this is the Golden Queen¡¯s own garden, ain¡¯t it? Why would we want to tarnish that?¡±


    He spread his stained fingers out, tilting his head to one side. ¡°I think the Vicar has given you the wrong impression about us. We¡¯re on the same side, you and I, both soldiers for order.¡±


    I sneered at him. ¡°You¡¯re no soldiers. Just poison in the water.¡± I considered a moment, decided I had little reason not to hear him out. ¡°So, you know about Yith?¡±


    ¡°The fly has retreated down into the catacombs beneath the islands,¡± the crowfriar said. ¡°You know them?¡±


    I did. Catrin had brought Emma and me through a series of ancient tunnels in order to bypass the city gates when we¡¯d first arrived in the capital. They¡¯d been built by a people who¡¯d inhabited the coastlands before the exodus which had brought the Houses into Urn. They went deep beneath the drains where the changelings dwelt, beneath the waters of the bay.


    Some said they even went so deep as Draubard, the Underworld of the Dead.


    I took that in, knowing it made sense and also that it was a problem. If Yith had retreated into the ancient ruins beneath Garihelm, finding him down there would be a near impossible challenge. You could lose an army in that labyrinth.


    Yet, it made sense. Parn had warned me that the Hidden Folk had seen more monsters crawling up from the depths recently. Had the demon brought his woed, the twisted mutants made from his human victims, down into that darkness?


    ¡°I see,¡± I said.


    Myrddin¡¯s smile withered a bit, a flash of something more sympathetic lighting in his hot-coal eyes. ¡°Tall order, I know, but my people are certain of it. Since you¡¯re on the hunt, I saw no reason to keep it from you. Does us all good if you smite the fly.¡±


    ¡°Did Kross send you to tell me this?¡± I asked him.


    He said nothing, which gave me answer enough. So, the crowfriars aren¡¯t all acting in accord with one another. This one¡¯s weaving his own schemes.


    Perhaps I could use that.


    ¡°And the reason it attacked the priorguard?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Simple,¡± Myrddin said, lifting his bushy eyebrows. ¡°Fear.¡±


    ¡°Fear?¡± I asked, frowning.


    ¡°Why do you think Yith is going after the artists, the inventors, the builders?¡± Myrddin waved a hand to the party. ¡°Lot of this is coming over from the continent, right?¡±


    ¡°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.

 4.23: Accusation

    <hr>


    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 story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°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.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I replied. ¡°Watch.¡± Besides, I wasn¡¯t about to leap out and cut off the old man¡¯s head in front of half the city¡¯s elite.


    Then, the anger building in the brash, arrogant young man behind Laessa finally broke its dam. Siriks Sontae stepped forward, standing before that host of lords, ladies, inventors, artists, and holy men.


    ¡°I have not known the Lady Laessa long,¡± Siriks said, his voice calm and cold, his boyish features strained with anger. ¡°But she is no witch. It is unworthy for any man to accuse a woman in grief of murder and heresy. Have you no honor, Your Holiness?¡±


    The Grand Prior sighed, looking exasperated. ¡°Son, I know things are different in the peninsula, but this isn¡¯t a matter of honor.¡±


    ¡°Everything is a matter of honor,¡± Siriks growled. ¡°It is all that matters.¡±


    He took another step out, so he stood almost between the gathered party guests and the Inquisition. ¡°I demand trial by combat. I will be the lady¡¯s champion, and prove her innocence on the body of any man you send.¡±


    I grimaced, muttering a quiet curse. Emma noticed my look and lifted an eyebrow in question.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that with the Church,¡± I muttered. ¡°This isn¡¯t some rival lord accusing her of adultery. He¡¯s just going to make things more complicated.¡±


    It had precedent. Even still¡­


    Oraise studied the young warrior, his lip curling with disdain. Horace Laudner, however, cast a more appraising eye on the Cymrinorean. I saw no dullness in the old man¡¯s eyes. He might look like harmless, small and frost-haired as was, but I saw a shrewd light in the Grand Prior¡¯s eyes. It made me uneasy.


    After a long, heavy pause, another figure stepped forward. Though none wore armor, Urnic nobility had always been martial. There were other knights in the crowd. One walked to stand next to Siriks. He was a lean, blond-haired man in his early thirties, his beard neatly trimmed.


    ¡°I will also defend the lady,¡± he said. ¡°I am Tegan of House Barker. You¡¯ve overstepped yourself, Lord Prior.¡±


    More stepped forward, all knights, to stand between the priorguard and Laessa. With each new face, her brittle stolidity cracked. I saw her eyes well.


    When Ser Jocelyn, resplendent in a green coat and amber sash, stepped up to stand by his fellow knights, she began to quietly weep.


    ¡°Do you understand what you¡¯re doing, young man?¡± The clericon asked, when no more volunteers came. All in all, thirteen had chosen to defend the girl.


    Siriks nodded, his expression set.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t get it,¡± I said. Emma glanced at me, worried and confused.


    ¡°Very well.¡± The Grand Prior cast his faded eyes over the crowd. ¡°Lord Siriks of House Sontae has challenged the Priory in our accusation against the lady Laessa Greengood. He would, in the tradition of our realms, prove her innocence through a feat of arms.¡±


    He lifted a withered hand and spoke in a tremulous voice. ¡°Will any stand for the Faith in this matter?¡±


    Clever bastard. He made himself look like the voice of the Church, rather than just one of its factions.


    And it worked. We¡¯d just fought a war against heretics and monsters. Urnic knights are a faithful lot, especially in dark times.


    This had never been about Laessa.


    More than twice as many nobles than had moved to stand by the accused woman walked across the green and turned, standing like autumn colored wings beside the red robed priest, forming a loose wall in front of the priorguard. Siriks¡¯s eyes widened in confusion. Faisa Dance, who¡¯d seen the trap as well as I had, closed her eyes.


    ¡°I lost a brother to the Carmine Killer,¡± one of the knights who¡¯d moved to stand with the priorguard said. ¡°The Inquisition is working to protect us. If they believe the lady is involved, then we should let them ask their questions.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll brutalize her!¡± Siriks¡¯s voice came near to a roar, his eyes wide with fury.


    A tall, ash-haired young man with dusky skin and gray eyes spoke then. I realized I recognized him ¡ª the archer who¡¯d fought with Siriks and Jocelyn against the storm ogre. I¡¯d never gotten his name.


    ¡°We defend the people from swords,¡± he said. ¡°The Church defends them from wickedness. I was there that night, Siriks. You saw all those bodies. They weren¡¯t all killed by the monster, and it¡¯s suspicious it attacked when it did. Have you considered she summoned it?¡±


    Siriks bared his teeth like an angry wolf. Or a lion. ¡°You¡¯re a bastard, Irving.¡±


    Irving glanced at the old prior. ¡°The realms and the clergy need to be united. If we protect heretics in our ranks, then what does that tell the people? I am no Recusant.¡±


    Emma shifted closer to me. ¡°Do you have a plan?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in the process of making one,¡± I replied.


    I watched every face I could, trying to decide what to do. No point in stepping out and making more of a scene. Letting the Priory know one of their escaped captives also protected Laessa wouldn¡¯t help her case. Oraise would recognize me.


    The Grand Prior had played this trick well as any stage magician. He¡¯d lost face with the city with the fiasco the night they¡¯d tried to take Laessa into custody. By twisting those events against her, making his faction look like protectors battling a wicked witch, and by baiting dissent in this public venue, he¡¯d tied Faisa Dance¡¯s hands. And, by extension, he¡¯d tied Rosanna¡¯s hands.


    He¡¯d made this about the nobility against the Church.


    I caught sight of a shadowy shape in the distant trees opposite the yard. Gray teeth flashed below hot-coal eyes. The devil watched me, gleeful, as though to say didn¡¯t I tell you so?


    Bastard. He¡¯d distracted me so I couldn¡¯t sneak Laessa out of here before this all went down. I saw his lips move as he muttered something. I could imagine what he said.


    What will you do now?


    ¡°I need my axe,¡± I said.


    Emma glanced at me. ¡°Are you going to do something very reckless?¡±


    I nodded. Emma shrugged out of the pack and handed it over.


    ¡°What shall I do?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Stay near Laessa,¡± I said. ¡°Make sure she gets back to the palace. The Priory won¡¯t take her tonight, not after this. She¡¯ll be under house arrest until they work out the details of this trial.¡±


    It would be during the tournament. The Grand Prior would want to redirect attention from the Emperor¡¯s show of realm camaraderie to this mess, to prove a point.


    If I had my way, the old snake wouldn¡¯t be there to see the results of his work. I didn¡¯t believe I could do anything about the trial ¡ª Siriks and Jocelyn would have to prove their worth there.


    Umareon had said other champions were being prepared. I wasn¡¯t one. I had my own role to play. When done¡­


    I¡¯m so sorry, Rose.


    <hr>


    Some time later, beneath the light of the waning Corpse Moon, I stood on a rooftop overlooking the edge of the Fountain Ward. The great cathedral spires and bell towers of the Bell Ward rose before me.


    Down on the street, the Grand Prior¡¯s armored carriage rolled across a bridge, heading for sanctuary.


    I unstrung the pack Emma had carried for me, letting the cover fall away. I held Faen Orgis in my hand, its alloy of faerie bronze and mortal steel bright beneath the moon. The golden inlays were oddly dim, as though all the blood they¡¯d drunk had tarnished their light.


    Horace Laudner is a wicked man, I told myself. He would condemn an innocent girl to torment and shame in order to rise in power. All of the misery I saw in those dungeons was his doing, ultimately, along with the persecution of the changelings.


    And yet¡­


    If I killed him now, would Laessa be blamed?


    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.


    <hr>

 4.24: Blood and Iron

    <hr>


    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.


    <hr>


    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.


    Priorguard, not all of them in full uniform, waited for me inside. They were confused, disoriented, but well armed and in numbers. They had adepts.


    I was done trying to cut my losses.


    No more holding back.


    No more trickery, or avoidance.


    Blood and iron. The gods had spoken, and the Headsman had come.


    Dust filled the entrance to the nave, helping cover my advance. It scattered quickly enough when I surged forth out of the cloud, blazing with aureflame, my axe swinging in ember-tailed arcs.


    By his build and commanding voice, I recognized the leader of the defense. The burly man who¡¯d originally told me of Rose Malin, and who¡¯d stalled me long enough for Kross¡¯s guardian to subdue me. Garm, I think his name was.


    He died first, advancing bravely with his iron-shod staff to stop my charge just as he had the last time. But I burned with power, my oaths old and new roiling in me, drowning out every other voice. My axe cleaved through his staff, through him, severing a hand at the wrist, slicing through bone and heart beneath.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He fell. I lunged forward, ducking under a man-catcher and ripping the blazing axe up into the wielder¡¯s chin, opening his skull. Blood splattered me, invisible against my red cloak and black armor, painting my face like Laessa Greengood¡¯s angry brush strokes on the canvas.


    The branch of the Malison Oak drank it, and grew. Wood creaked and cracked, and the axe grew long and fell, burning with a power wholly darker yet no less potent than my own.


    I swung with a crackling roar, ripping the axe ¡ª nearly long as a halberd now ¡ª across the disorganized row of shocked priorguard. Near half a dozen died, burning phantasm and magicked steel shredding through them. The aureflame rippled out beyond the cut, a whip of fiery amber, scorching more of the defenders.


    I had not fought this hard in many years. Not since the war.


    But tonight mattered. It would change things.


    I swore it.


    I hurled myself into the midst of my enemy, and they died.


    <hr>


    The Priory employed adepts, and they had been training hard. They attacked me with wailing guillotines of copper aura. I danced through them, cleaving the veiled defenders even as the eerie music of their Art filled the nave.


    They tried to bind me with golden ropes covered in cruel thorns, a crude yet effective variant of Lisette¡¯s threads. But my soul burned hotter, and I shattered their barbed phantasms.


    Crossbowmen and aura wielders formed ranks on the upper balconies and in the pillars, barraging me with steel-tipped bolts and phantasm alike. In a whirl of amber fire and blood red cloth, I avoided death by the width of breaths, of flinching reflex, of spaces no thicker than an elf¡¯s hair.


    I took wounds. When their golden barbwire wrapped my left arm, I ripped it free with a roar of effort and rage. The auratic constructs took flesh with them, but I had gone somewhere beyond pain, beyond restraint.


    Crossbow bolts struck me, embedding into the black chain mail, finding gaps. They slowed me, but not enough.


    Man-catchers and hooks clawed at my skin, leaving furrows and cuts. Staves slapped at my shoulders and back, marking me with bruises.


    For every wound I took, I took a life.


    I remember little else. The violence became a nightmare blur. It was not the first time I had lost myself in such a way, but in the past I¡¯d often had something worth keeping my focus ¡ª a mission, a promise, a hope.


    All I cared about that foggy night was delivering Umareon¡¯s message. And my own.


    It came as a shock, when the last scream faded from the nave and the last echo of clashing steel was gone. I stood in the midst of broken, burnt bodies, cloven and destroyed. No matter how beautiful it might seem, sorcery destroys bodies in ways just as ugly as any other form of violence.


    The pews had been broken, covering the beautiful mosaic floor with shattered splinters that mixed with blood and gore. Intestines lay across some of it like spilled sausage in a butcher¡¯s shop, making a foul-smelling soup with brain matter and bits of bone.


    Old stonework, the life¡¯s labor of long-ago artists who¡¯d spent generations raising this place from the ground, had been defaced by flame and arcane force, leaving cracks in the pillars, the floor, the walls. Half faded phantasm remained embedded in some of the architecture, golden thorns and flickering copper lines yet to cool into unreality.


    The dust had yet to settle. It cast a haze over everything, giving it all an obscure and oddly dreamlike quality.


    I rested my axe head down on the floor to keep upright, sucking in the reeking air with gasping breaths. My hair had been plastered to my skull by sweat and worse. My red cloak had turned near dark as the armor beneath, and I had two bolts in my left shoulder, another in my hip. Near half the skin on my left forearm was gone, and my neck and temple had been badly cut.


    The pain was there, but distant. So long as I burned my aura, let the golden flame of the Alder flicker, I would not succumb to death.


    I could not burn my soul forever. It would give out, and soon if I didn¡¯t slow.


    I still had strength. I would not slow.


    I began to walk for the stairs which would take me into the upper floors of the old cathedral. Faen Orgis¡¯s blade dragged behind me, grinding against already abused stone. I did not hurry overmuch ¡ª Horace Laudner had nowhere to run, and Qoth had orders to warn me if he tried to sneak away.


    I didn¡¯t trust the Briar Elf, but something told me he wouldn¡¯t betray me here. He wanted to see where this went as much as his dark lady.


    I met no more priorguard during my ascent up a spiraling stair cut into one of the towers. It brought me to a long hall. The damage the Dawn had done to the structure became more evident here. Walls had cracked, doors splintered off collapsed frames, beams tumbled from the ceiling.


    I found Oraise beneath one of those beams. He lay trapped beneath it, his collar bone broken, his face ashen. He sweated, pushing feebly against the beam. A young woman in the black robes of the priorguard, her cowl and veil removed, knelt at his side. Her long fingers worked in complex patterns. Thin, shimmering gold thread ran from the beam to the ceiling, while more sewed themselves through Oraise¡¯s flesh, staunching the bleeding from grievous splinters.


    When he saw me, the Presider let out a dry chuckle and relaxed. Dust rained in loose falls from the broken ceiling. The woman turned her blue eyes toward me, and they widened.


    ¡°Alken,¡± Lisette said. Her face, already pale from effort, lost more color when she saw the state of me. ¡°God and Her Angels, what have you¡­¡±


    She realized her mistake and pressed her lips tight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ bother.¡± Oraise grimaced as he tried to shift and failed. ¡°I¡¯ve known you were one of the Empress¡¯s a while now, girl.¡±


    Lisette started. Oraise ignored her, turning his gaze on me. He looked terrible. His elegant uniform had turned gray with dust, his brown hair clinging to his sweating skin.


    I considered killing him, then spoke. ¡°Where is the Grand Prior?¡±


    Oraise considered a moment, the fingers of one hand wrapped around the beam that trapped him. Then he nodded down the hall to a large, ornate door. ¡°There¡¯s a communion chapel a floor above us. It¡¯s fortified, and Horace has locked himself in with his clericons. Whatever you did to the cathedral, it convinced them they¡¯re under siege. They think the Houses have decided to attack them.¡±


    I felt very little then, but even still I tilted my head in confusion. Lisette bowed her own, her eyes shutting. I thought she might have murmured a prayer.


    ¡°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.


    <hr>


    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.¡±


    <hr>

 4.25: Clash of Two Flames

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    <hr>

 4.26: 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.


    She had built. Perhaps many people feared her, but fertile seeds had been sewn in these dark times because of Rosanna Silvering.


    ¡°The Choir should have ordered you to kill Markham,¡± Lias said. ¡°It would have done us all much more good.¡±


    He¡¯d learned all the wrong lessons, and I¡¯d heard enough. I raised my axe, letting amber fire burst to life around it. Lias became dispassionate with calm, the green in his eye turning moon bright. Shadows and mist shifted around him. He lifted his staff, aiming it at me.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°I will drag you back to the Empress if I have to,¡± I told him. ¡°This has to end.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he agreed. ¡°Let us end it, this charade.¡±


    He raised his staff high, and I felt the shifting of invisible, mighty energies in the world. Hidden mechanisms of realities, of potential realities, of memory imprinted like burn scars into the fabric of existence, turned.


    Lias had once told me that Art turns reality on your axis, for just a moment. The world turned on his then, and the shadows pressed in to swallow everything except him.


    His ruby eye became a distant blood star, his robes of blue and red and silver a nebula.


    I formed my own technique, focusing on one of my oaths. The Alder Knights are holders of lanterns in the dark paths that tangle Creation.


    But Lias did not make a shadowed road in some eldritch wood. A lantern cannot brighten the void. The light of the red star fell on me, a distant and malign eye wrought in ages long before Urn had even lifted out of the sea.


    I had seen him use this once before, to kill the Recusant magi Logan Dee. There had been nothing left.


    I had expected him to try to bind me, or subdue me in some nonlethal way. I¡¯d been prepared to do the same thing ¡ª injure, yes, but not kill.


    A mistake. He did not let nostalgia chain him down.


    He¡¯s got me, I thought. I¡¯d told Emma I could beat him, but I¡¯d been thinking of the Lias I¡¯d known in my youth. This was a wholly different power.


    I felt myself drawn to the center of that nebula, toward the baleful eye. I tried to plant my feet, but there wasn¡¯t anything to brace them on. I swung my axe, trying to catch it on the room I knew I truly stood in. Disoriented, I kept falling, unmoored from the material reality around me.


    When I touched that star¡­


    I would die.


    I felt afraid.


    I jerked to a stop as something caught me. A soft, warm light filled the void.


    I¡¯d been caught by golden threads.


    The phantasm broke, leaving me in the misty chapel again with the congregation of red-robed priests, the wounded devil, my oldest friend. Lias stared, confused as me.


    ¡°Alken!¡±


    My eyes went to the door. There, her fingers working small lines of white-gold aura, stood Lisette.


    Lias¡¯s expression changed from cold resignation to dark anger as he turned his staff on the girl. It began to glow with silver light.


    Lisette¡¯s threads loosened, and I leapt. Lias caught my charge out of the corner of his eye and cursed, spinning to face me. More threads caught his left arm, the one that held the staff, stalling him.


    He broke Lisette¡¯s Art as easily as he would have swatted a fly, shattering it with a sharp gesture of his free hand, but a moment¡¯s pause had been all I¡¯d needed. I swung.


    Faen Orgis cleaved through the top of the wizard¡¯s staff, cracking the wood in two and breaking the iron nail free. It went sailing, sinking into the wood inches from a traumatized cleric¡¯s foot.


    Stumbling back, Lias swiped his hand in a savage motion, spitting some arcane invective. A spiral of silver moonlight struck me across the chest, emitting a keening tone as it burst. Though the rings of the elven hauberk saved me, several broke free of the mesh and the impact knocked the wind out of me.


    The force of the blast knocked me back. I spun at a painful angle, hit the ground hard, and slid a ways before stopping.


    I¡¯d managed to keep hold of my axe. I used it to lift myself, turning with a snarl toward the magi. I lifted the axe, cocking it to throw.


    I didn¡¯t want it to come to this. I¡¯d come back for him, for Rose, for us.


    But there was no us anymore. We three had gone separate ways, and there could be no mending that broken string. Even tied together, all it formed was a knot.


    Just as I moved to hurl my weapon, I felt a flash of prickling heat against my skin. My instincts screamed at me, and I rolled aside as a blast of hellfire roared across the spot I¡¯d been standing. It caught one of the clericons instead, who screamed as he reeled back in a frantic tumble.


    Vicar stepped between me and Lias. His eyes blazed with infernal power, and beneath his angular chin¡­


    His throat bulged out against his armor, the skin stretched and transparent, full of flame.


    He¡¯d breathed fire. And that wasn¡¯t the worst of it.


    He¡¯d grown larger. His features stretched, the graying hair turning hackle-sharp, the eyes narrowing, ears growing pointed. Cinderous flame roiled and writhed around his form, and within it he became a black shadow, a coal inside a tongue of fire. Mangled human hands curled in on themselves, shriveling, then bloating, then sprouting claws.


    Lisette rushed to my side, her face pale with fear. ¡°What is he?¡± She asked, breathless.


    ¡°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.

 4.27: 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.


    ¡°You should,¡± I said. ¡°But I won¡¯t make you. You¡¯re right. We¡¯re bound together, you and I. We can¡¯t escape our names, no matter how much we might want to.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re scaring me,¡± Emma said, her voice calm, her amber eyes steady. She hid her fear, more for my sake I think than her own. ¡°Please, just tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±


    She put her hand over mine, heedless of the blood on it. More bells tolled. The sky slowly brightened as the sun made its ascent over the mountains far to the east, over the burnt lands.


    I told them what I intended to do.


    Lisette wept, and they both agreed to help me.


    <hr>


    The gathered lords of the Ardent Round, the governing body of the Accorded Realms of Urn, met in the court of Markham Forger. Gray clouds crawled over the Reynish coastland that day, eclipsing the sun. Not long after true day settled over the capital, a very light rain began to fall.


    Rose Malin burned to its foundations, I later heard, but the conflagration didn¡¯t end there. Though it didn¡¯t spread from the church, angry preosts and other Priory sympathizers retaliated against what they perceived to be an attack by the Houses, whipping the masses into a fervor. It was a violent day.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    But that came later. In the early morning, the lords met.


    Emma and her Briar Elf familiar, Qoth, helped me enter the palace. Lisette did too. It wasn¡¯t easy, but I will speak little of it, for it holds little bearing on what came next. With magic learned from her godmother, Emma helped me become one with the shadows. Qoth misdirected the attentions of sentries.


    Lisette did what she could for my injuries, but I didn¡¯t have the patience to wait for her to tend to them properly. She did just enough to keep me on my feet. Then I had her leave ¡ª she couldn¡¯t play a part in what came next. Though reluctant, she agreed.


    The gargoyles were more of a problem. There is a reason the impetuous predators are tolerated across the land, and it is for this ¡ª they sniff out spirits and other hostile creatures, and hunt them. And those who dwelt on the ancient bastion walls of the Fulgurkeep are no lesser stone beasts, but inhuman knights loyal to House Forger.


    But my own sacred aura confused them, and we were not repelled.


    There were guards outside the throne room doors, which had been closed while court was in session. The sentries were Storm Knights of House Forger, resplendent in brass-hued steel and gray-blue capes. One of them turned out to be Hendry Hunting. Chance, or some divine intervention?


    Who could say. When he saw me and Emma, he convinced the other guard to help him open the doors. Perhaps they both recognized me from the Empress¡¯s keep, and thought I brought news. My bloodied appearance aided that assumption.


    I left Emma in the hall with Hendry, knowing I needed to stand alone for this. I still wore my black chainmail, my faerie cloak wrapped around my neck, the pointed cowl raised to obscure my features. The shadows of Briar magic still clung to me, along with the scent of blood.


    The theater of it was important. I would need it.


    In the Emperor¡¯s court, lords and priests and kings had gathered. They were deep in discussion, but I did not take the time to listen. Perhaps they spoke of the attack on Rose Malin, the violent atmosphere building in the streets, or of the accusations against Laessa Greengood the past evening and how they might be connected.


    All voices stopped when the doors of the throne room were thrown wide, and I strode through.


    Silence, and the fixed attentions of many hundred eyes, closed in on me as I moved to stand before the high thrones, broken only by the soft rattle of my armor, the click of my boots. My eyes roamed the gathered court.


    There were many great names here. There, I saw Faisa Dance standing next to her nephew, the lord Natan Dance, tall and handsome, the leader of their clan. There, I saw Roland Marcher, King of Venturmoor, and across from him the crown prince of Lindenroad, who would be king soon with his father¡¯s ill health.


    Sno? Farram stood with her aged advisor and the delegation from Graill, clad in her wolpertinger pelt and silvered armor, her blue eyes piercing as she watched me.


    There were many others. I saw the Duke of Idhir, earls of the Gylden and the Bairn Cities. Westvaler counts and lords of other faraway places. I saw Dale kings, and proud warlords of Cymrinor and the isles beyond. I saw the two contesting rulers of the Bannerlands, the Lord Brightling and the Lady Ark, who had put aside their rivalry to attend the Emperor¡¯s summit.


    And many others still, all blood of the Houses, High and Low. I saw Tarners, and Mabsworn, Broods and Raviners, Bellcasts and Scales. There, the beautiful quartet of Sable sisters arrayed themselves by their allies, the bookish Mornes. I saw men of House Braeve, Maxim¡¯s kin, and the black-garbed Lord Judge of High House Pardoner, who may as well be king of the Bairns.


    I saw Oradyn Fen Harus, still clad in the robes of a monk, standing unseen amid the crowd. I doubted many eyes besides mine noticed him through his glamour. He watched me as intently as the rest. Not far, Siriks Sontae and Jocelyn of Ekarleon also stood in attendance, no doubt to speak on behalf of the girl who¡¯d been accused of witchcraft.


    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.¡±

 4.28: The Headsman Revealed

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

 4.29: 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 shook 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.


    Sno? 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!¡±


    None of the red clericons gainsaid her, though I saw some uncertain looks pass among them. At least a few had certainly seen the hellhound.


    ¡°Presider?¡± Markham asked, looking to Oraise. I had almost forgotten, until then, that the man was also an aide to the Emperor¡¯s own staff.


    Oraise glanced at the prior. The disfigured woman had triumph in her eyes. He looked at me, his blue eyes cold, and I felt my heart sink. Whatever he said, the court would accept it as truth.


    The Presider turned to the Emperor. ¡°I am afraid I was injured during the violence, Your Grace, and saw none of the final confrontation between the knight-confessor and Alken Hewer.¡±


    Prior Diana blinked, perplexed at the man¡¯s neutral tone.


    ¡°Horace Laudner did not serve God or the realms of men,¡± I said aloud. ¡°He served himself, and he was willing to sell his flock out to monsters in order to gain power. He instigated murders, kidnappings, and other atrocities. I have seen it all with my own eyes.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I recalled an empty village in the heartlands, eerie and cold, with the barbed trident hovering like a faded sunray above it.


    ¡°Yet,¡± King Roland put in, ¡°you did not kill him for your own personal feelings?¡±


    I saw the doubt in his eyes. I had expected this, too.


    ¡°I do not regret killing him, Your Grace.¡± I bowed my head to the king. ¡°But I would not have done it just for my own satisfaction.¡±


    ¡°How can we believe that?¡± Lord Oswald insisted.


    I looked at the throne when I spoke, instead of the Judge of the Bairns. ¡°Because, if it were for my own satisfaction, I would not be here.¡±


    Silence. I sensed I had struck a point, for whatever good it did me.


    ¡°It was the same for all of them,¡± I said, my voice gaining strength as they listened. ¡°These years¡­ I have been challenged. I have tried to keep to my oaths, but I will not deny I have broken many, and stretched the rest. I have lied, and cheated, and been dishonorable. I have hated, and I have spurned this land.¡±


    I shook my head, forcing myself not to look at my queen. ¡°I swear to all of you, I am no Recusant. I am no mad butcher. Least, I don¡¯t want to believe I am. I regret those lives I have taken that I did not need to.¡±


    Markham¡¯s gray eyes narrowed. He let my words hang a moment before speaking.


    ¡°Why are you here, Alken Hewer? Is this some sort of grand suicide?¡±


    I laughed. I couldn¡¯t help it. The hands on me tightened, angry by my insolence, but the Emperor waved them off and the grips slackened somewhat. I gathered my wits before answering the question.


    ¡°I expected I might die,¡± I said. ¡°But no. This is not suicide.¡±


    I lifted my head to look at them all. Only last did I let myself meet Rosanna¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°My existence, and my identity, are no secret to the elves.¡± I nodded to Fen Harus, who bowed his own agreement. ¡°I believe it should be the same for us. For mortals. I do still consider myself one of you, my lords, for whatever that¡¯s worth. I am tired of lying to you, of hiding from you, of living in shame.¡±


    I straightened best I could, lifting my chin. ¡°I was made a lord of Urn, and a knight. I take pride in that. I swore to that before anything else. I will serve you, to my death if I need to, but I will not do it as a shadow.¡±


    ¡°How can you serve us by killing us?¡± Lord Oswald asked. He had no scorn in his voice now. The question was an honest one, and fair.


    ¡°I have been given no name I believe to be undeserving of harsh judgement,¡± I said. ¡°There are those who lie beyond the authority of this court, for all the power in it. The Recusants, yes, but worse things still. Dark sorcerers, serial murderers who hide behind their authority, traitors who court powers most of you see only as superstition.¡±


    I let my eyes drift to the Lord Steward. He inclined his head, acknowledging the point. The red priests watched me, hateful and afraid, but said nothing.


    ¡°My task,¡± I said, ¡°and I do not brag when I say this ¡ª believe me, it is fell to my eyes as any of yours ¡ª but my task is to strike fear into those who would make prey of us. To hunt them where they would not otherwise be hunted.¡±


    Roland Marcher leaned forward on his staff, his expression dark. ¡°And you would have us sanction you?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°That, or be rid of me. Without your consent, this all just feels foul. That is what I decided.¡±


    ¡°So the Choir did not command you to come here?" Markham drummed the golden fingers of his gauntlet against his throne.


    ¡°No,¡± I confirmed.


    ¡°Then you do seem mad to my eyes, Alken Hewer.¡± The Emperor sighed. ¡°Your suggestion, Lord Fen Harus?¡±


    The elf thought a moment, then spoke in an almost bright tone. ¡°He is your subject as much as ours. My lady will not object to any judgement passed in this court. She will simply appoint her own Headsman, one who will be less¡­ willful. I will have to request you return that.¡±


    He pointed to the axe. That did not seem to settle well with the mortal lords. Many faces paled.


    The Emperor rubbed at his temple. ¡°You have given us all a great headache, Hewer.¡±


    I could not disagree.


    Even still, the vast majority of eyes in that court remained hostile. Markham Forger saw it well as I, and I knew, deep in my bones, he would not be brash here. He would do as the Accord willed, or he could not remain their emperor.


    Not enough. I¡¯d known nothing might be enough to make this fool plan turn out aright.


    Sometimes, I can be a true cynic. The gods seem to enjoy making a fool of me.


    There was a commotion at the doors, which were opening. The Emperor, scowling, shouted out a protest which was lost in the din. The Steward descended a single step on the dais, his cherubic face livid. Rosanna almost stood, trying to see over the throng. Her sons looked between her and their father, worried and confused.


    I couldn¡¯t turn about, so I only got their reactions. But the doors opened, and someone came through.


    ¡°What is this!?¡± Markham roared. ¡°Court is in session, damn you! Those doors are to remain shut!¡±


    ¡°Forgive me!¡± A tremulous voice cried out, sounding truly terrified. ¡°Forgive me, great one, but I had to come.¡±


    It took a moment for the familiar voice to register.


    Why would he be here?


    Long, threadbare robes scratched along the ancient stone of the throne room as a figure stepped up next to me and the knights. I caught sight of them out of the corner of my eye ¡ª small, bent, withered with age, with huge moss-green eyes and the wispy remains of hair on an oddly round, liver-spotted pate.


    I also caught sight of clawed feet beneath the hem of the robe, and the swipe of a long, reptilian tail. He hadn¡¯t even come in glamour.


    Voices murmured across the room. Another elf? They all asked. One of the oradyn¡¯s kin?


    Fen Harus smiled. I knew it wasn¡¯t one of his, at least not directly. Somewhere behind me, I heard a huge form shift, and a bestial snort. I could almost imagine hateful yellow eyes searing a hole into the back of my skull. How had they--


    But my attention remained on the changeling, Parn, elder to the canal slums of Garihelm.


    ¡°I apologize, gracious lord!¡± Parn fell to his knees and pressed his round head flat to the marble. ¡°I apologize! But I must speak!¡±


    Markham was as confused as everyone else. By Rosanna¡¯s face, she didn¡¯t know this creature either.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I muttered. One of the knights cursed and jerked me by the hair, silencing me, but I¡¯d managed to get the question out.


    Parn threw a nervous glance my way. ¡°Repaying a debt.¡±


    The Emperor traded a glance with his advisors, then beckoned. ¡°Name yourself, Fair One.¡±


    An old name for elves. Parn laughed, stifling it immediately when he realized he¡¯d just giggled at the Emperor of Urn.


    ¡°I am no Fair One,¡± the old apothecary said, leaning on his crooked cane. ¡°I am of the Hidden Folk, gracious lord.¡±


    The Lord Steward frowned deeply. ¡°A changeling?¡±


    ¡°A monster,¡± Prior Diana hissed. ¡°A creature of darkness. Guards!¡±


    Markham turned his iron glare on the woman, who barely seemed to notice. No knight moved to seize the old changeling.


    ¡°Your name?¡± The Emperor asked the newcomer.


    ¡°Parn, gracious lord.¡± Parn dipped into another deep bow. ¡°I speak for the inhabitants of the lower city, what we call the Drains. They are your subjects, O¡¯ King.¡±


    Markham took that in without a change of expression. ¡°I see.¡±


    Parn continued. ¡°I would like to speak on behalf of this man.¡±


    ¡°You are acquainted?¡± The Empress asked, gesturing toward me.


    Parn nodded eagerly. ¡°This man saved my life.¡± He nodded to the red priests. ¡°From them. And the¡­¡± he waved a hand in front of his wide lips. ¡°The veiled ones.¡±


    ¡°You mean the priorguard,¡± Rosanna said. ¡°The Inquisition.¡±


    Parn dipped his head. ¡°Yes. They raided the Drains many weeks ago, thinking my people were behind the killings. They took me prisoner. I was¡­ I was tortured.¡±


    That pronouncement was met with silence. All present knew the Inquisition had been Prior Horace¡¯s weapon.


    ¡°This man!¡± Parn waved a hand at me, picking up his thread. ¡°He saved me. The inquisitors captured him, and tortured him as well, but he broke free and saved my life. I watched him face demons and slay them.¡±


    ¡°Why did the inquisitors believe you were responsible for the murders which have plagued this city?¡± Rosanna asked.


    Many eyes went to the Presider, who kept his silence. He had been the hand, and all knew it.


    Parn shook his head. ¡°My people have always been seen as the beast under the bed, gracious lady. This is not the first time, and it was not always the veiled ones who sought to punish us for perceived evils.¡±


    I knew what they all must be thinking, looking at the small creature, almost childish despite his wrinkled skin. Does he seem a great monster to you? I wondered, my eyes wandering the crowd.


    This had been why Fen Harus had stalled. Had he set this up? He couldn¡¯t have known what I intended, could he?


    Markham took all this in some time before speaking. ¡°Though this is¡­ unprecedented, your courage is noted, Master Parn. Understand, it does nothing to change this man¡¯s crimes?¡±


    He gestured to me.


    Parn bowed his head. ¡°I could not have lived with myself had I not spoken, O¡¯ King.¡±


    His bravery came close to shaming me. He had to have expected he might die here. How in all the world had Fen Harus managed to get him into the court? Sensing Karog looming in the background, I wondered how they¡¯d managed that too.


    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.

 4.30: Consequences

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 4.31: Trust

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    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 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.


    But the emotion evident in the taut muscles of her face looked very human.


    ¡°I knew it was all excuses,¡± she said. ¡°But I''ve done worse. But then, when you listened to my story, and accepted me, then admitted all that heavy stuff¡­¡±


    She let out an exasperated breath. ¡°Hell, Al, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s all so tangled. But I didn¡¯t, okay? I didn¡¯t tell the Keeper a damn thing. I just told him I failed to get what he wanted, fed him some chimera shit.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Why would you do that?¡± I asked. ¡°You¡¯ve known him longer, owe him more. As you said, you need his protection.¡±


    ¡°The Keeper is a rancid ballsack,¡± Catrin told me cheerfully. ¡°I don¡¯t tell him everything I learn, and you better believe I use that.¡±


    I watched her, uncertain and frustrated by my uncertainty.


    Is she lying to me? Is this Fidei all over again?


    In a more subdued tone she added, ¡°How do I make you believe me?¡±


    She must have seen some of my thoughts in my eyes, in the stiffness of my posture. Maybe even in the dregs of my blood from our night together. She stepped close, reaching out a hand. She paused before touching me, pulling back. Her face seemed full of regret.


    I wanted to just believe her, but¡­


    Burned once, twice shy. And I¡¯d been burned more than once.


    ¡°Look into my eyes,¡± I said quietly.


    She did, with some hesitance, blinking several times as we locked gazes. The pale light in my eyes reflected in her own, washing out the ruddy brown. Her eyelids drifted further open.


    I felt her pull as much as she felt mine. Hers was like black water on a warm night, inviting me in. I ignored the call, and focused on the truth of her. My powers had been designed for this very thing.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± I said with subtle the echo of aura in my voice. ¡°That night¡­ was that for us? Or for him? Your master?¡±


    She spoke without hesitation. ¡°I just wanted to fuck you. Been wanting to since that night in Caelfall when we first met.¡±


    She didn¡¯t flinch, or wince, or gasp in pain. The light in my gaze didn¡¯t catch a lie. I asked my next question.


    ¡°Did you learn what my orders were from my blood?¡± I asked.


    Catrin nodded. ¡°I heard a lot of names in your thoughts, but I recognized the Grand Prior¡¯s.¡±


    I let out a breath. ¡°Did you tell the Keeper of the Backroad Inn what my orders were?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± she said, her voice firm as steel. ¡°And he¡¯s angry about it.¡±


    ¡°Did you tell him about what I told you?¡± I asked, my heart skipping a beat. ¡°About Fidei?¡±


    That secret, he could use to destroy me.


    Catrin¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°Of course not. That stays between you and me, to my grave.¡±


    I blinked, and she stumbled back a step with a gasp as the hold broke.


    She wasn¡¯t lying.


    She wasn¡¯t lying.


    ¡°Al?¡± Catrin tilted her head after she¡¯d recovered, frowning. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t breathe properly.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d betrayed me,¡± I said in a tight voice. ¡°I¡¯ve been betrayed so many times, Cat. I¡ª¡±


    I choked. God in Heaven, if anyone stumbled into that deserted backstreet then, and saw me¡­


    I wouldn¡¯t live that down. The fell Headsman, weeping.


    Catrin stepped forward to wrap her arms around me, pulling my head to her shoulder. She shushed me, running her cold fingers through my hair.


    Pathetic, I know. Yet¡­


    Relief can feel so much like pain.


    <hr>


    Some time later, we walked side by side along the edge of a canal. In the distance, thunder rumbled. With summer near, the storms would get worse.


    But the night remained calm for the time being.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, breaking the silence. ¡°That was¡­ cruel. What I did back there.¡±


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°I did it to you that first night we met. Fair is fair. Also, it¡¯s kind of exciting in a scary sort of way.¡±


    I shook my head, as always put off my guard by her.


    ¡°So I heard about what happened in the palace,¡± Catrin said, changing the subject. ¡°You made a big show of it. Cut down the whole Inquisition single handedly, tossed the Grand Prior¡¯s head down in front of the whole imperial court. Were there really angels there? And elves? Bards are singing about it, you know. How you intimidated the Emperor himself into submission.¡±


    She poked me in the ribs. I snorted. ¡°That is not how it happened.¡±


    Catrin hummed.


    I sighed. ¡°There was one elf. And¡­ there were angels.¡±


    Catrin pouted as we walked. ¡°I always miss these good bits. When do I get to take center stage in the drama of your life, eh?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You don¡¯t want that. Trust me.¡±


    We paused above a pier. One of the city¡¯s elegant gondolas lay below. I don¡¯t think either of us were in the mood to repeat that scene. Yet, I didn¡¯t feel bitter at the sight of it.


    I had expected to, for the rest of my days. I¡¯d just assumed this had all gone bad.


    I should have just talked to her from the start, I thought. Not everything in my life needs to be melodrama.


    I ended up telling her all of it. It¡¯s not like the Keeper couldn¡¯t find out all the details from a hundred other sources, anyway.


    ¡°So,¡± Catrin said, after I¡¯d finished.


    ¡°So,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°You made a ruckus this time, big man.¡± Catrin sighed. ¡°They¡¯re really going to make you a lord again?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Seems like.¡±


    Catrin eyed me sidelong. ¡°Is that¡­ good? Do you want that?¡±


    I knew her feelings about the nobility. I shrugged, glancing up at the moons. The Living Moon loomed huge in the sky, a great sphere of silver blotched with deep green. The od burning from it gave the night sky a wonderful vibrancy. I closed my eyes, soaking in it the same way I¡¯d enjoy sunlight.


    Catrin remained in the shadows along the edge of the path, where the roof overhangs sheltered her. She didn¡¯t seem to like the moonlight, much. Not from the greater one, anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to be alive,¡± I admitted after some thought. ¡°But things are going to get complicated, for me and Emma. It won¡¯t be easy to act in secret anymore, and I have a host of new enemies who didn¡¯t even know my name before this.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± Catrin asked. Everyone seemed to want to know the answer to that question, lately.


    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.

 4.32: 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.


    <hr>


    ¡°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?¡±


    I turned, squinting into the distant woods. A light mist hung low over the forest floor, growing denser at the base of the conifers. It obscured the distant scenery, but I thought¡­


    ¡°I see it,¡± I confirmed, taking a step towards the vague shape. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you tell?¡± Fidei had a pensive note in her voice. ¡°I would think you¡¯d know it anywhere.¡±


    I took another step forward. In the mist, glinting as a sun ray caught it¡­


    I took a breath, my heart thumping in my chest all the sudden. Rammed into the trunk of a tree, with blood burbling from the wound in the bark, was a sword.


    My sword.


    I reached down to my belt, and sure enough didn¡¯t find the blade there. My scabbard was empty.


    ¡°How did¡­¡±


    Rustling cloth drew my attention. When I turned, Fidei wasn¡¯t standing there.


    ¡°Dei?¡± I asked. Only, I hadn¡¯t started calling her that until much later.


    I took a deep breath, clenched my hand into a fist, and trudged toward the sword. It took a full minute to get my hand to stop shaking. When it did, I drew the weapon out. The rotted trunk gushed blood, and something like pus, as I freed the blade.


    I turned from it, lifting the claymos. The redwood forest had vanished, the towering trunks replaced by enormous pillars of deep blue stone reaching up into distant, cavernous gloom. Very like trees, as they¡¯d been fashioned to resemble them. Phantasmal lights clung to the stone, like in the woodland estate of Irn Bale.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I knew this place, too.


    I began to walk, my Alder armor clinking softly with each step, my elven cape dragging behind me. I held my sword out before me like a torch, aiming it into the dark.


    ¡°Enough of these games,¡± I said aloud. The ancient columns sent my words back at me even as the cavernous dark swallowed them, forming an eerie cycle. ¡°I¡¯m over it, Dei.¡±


    ¡°Liar,¡± the darkness whispered back.


    I grit my teeth. ¡°You keep showing me our past, then doing this.¡±


    I waved to the place familiar to both of us, to my blessed sword. ¡°If you want to talk, then let¡¯s talk.¡± I took a steadying breath. ¡°It¡¯s not like I can stop these dreams, anyway.¡±


    A piece of darkness detached itself. I caught sight of the same shape I had in the Forest of Heads ¡ª feminine, almost liquid, with flowing hair and two curling horns. Almost unreal red eyes, the whites stark within the shadowed visage, peered at me as sharp claws grated at the stone of a pillar.


    ¡°Do you remember this place?¡± The demon asked.


    I looked around, and set my jaw. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°This is where you drove that through my heart.¡±


    I looked down at the sword. Bright, clean, the hilt engraved with painfully beautiful designs of leaf and vine. Elven work, done to restore the brutalized war blade I¡¯d carried as Rosanna¡¯s champion. Sacred aura clung to it, giving the once gray steel a brassy sheen.


    ¡°And it¡¯s where you scarred me,¡± I said, running a thumb along the marks over my left eye. Then I shook my head. ¡°No. It¡¯s where she scarred me.¡±


    The shadow¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    I looked around, taking in the scenery. We were beneath the Archon¡¯s palace, in the deep vaults he¡¯d kept there. In my past, Fidei had brought me here. Then¡­


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of all this?¡± I asked her. ¡°To drive me mad?¡±


    The red-eyed shadow watched me, silent. Something rolled out of the darkness. I realized it was the red fruit she¡¯d stolen from me before.


    A wrinkled face grew out of the apple¡¯s red flesh. It mewled softly, the wound her teeth had made weeping blood onto the stone. Inside, tiny organs pumped.


    I grit my teeth in disgust and kicked it away.


    ¡°The dead will do that without my help,¡± the shadow hissed. A leathery wing flexed, then the horned shape retreated deeper into the darkness.


    Frustrated, and ¡ª no point denying it ¡ª very afraid, I followed it. My heart thumped in my chest, a drumbeat in my blood. A line of sweat made its way down my temple.


    Things moved in the darkness. I heard whispering voices. Pleas. A deep, rhythmic thumping sound like some alchemical engine drummed through the gloom. Though, I¡¯d heard its like before, and there had been nothing artificial about it.


    In the foggy light drifting like wraith-lit mist between the towering columns, I caught sight of a long-legged, feminine shape. It had its back to one of the pillars. I walked around to see her better, my sword held ready. I heard a moan.


    The woman was naked, comely, and writhing in something between ecstasy and agony. Something coiled around one bare leg, the shape traveling up, up¡­


    The face belonged to one of the giggling nuns from earlier, blank eyed and noseless, with too many teeth. She grinned at me, then let out a gasp as the serpent moved below.


    I tore my eyes away in disgust. ¡°Stop taunting me."


    The demon shadow kept its silence, though I felt its eyes on me. The darkness breathed malice.


    I¡¯d wake up soon. I just had to outlast this.


    ¡°You cannot outlast this,¡± the shadow told me. ¡°I am in your every thought, my knight. Your every dream. I did not need to reach forth from Hell for that to be true.¡±


    I paused, my armor clicking as it settled. ¡°Perhaps. But Dei¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°Shyora is in Hell. You¡¯re just her shadow, split off and put into my knight¡¯s mark. You¡¯re not really her.¡±


    Just a curse she¡¯d put on me. The only vengeance she could enact, besides my scars.


    ¡°I could be.¡±


    I froze, then turned sharply with my blade up.


    And she was there. She didn¡¯t wear her nun¡¯s habit, but a flowing dress like an elf maid. Her pale yellow hair, near white in the eerie gloom of the temple, fell loose around her shoulders. Her gray eyes watched me, calm, inviting.


    She was beautiful. So much it hurt. It wasn¡¯t like Rosanna¡¯s beauty, which made me feel pride and nostalgic regret in equal measure. It wasn¡¯t like Catrin¡¯s inviting imperfections. Fidei had always lingered in my mind long after leaving my vision. In those days, I''d tried to keep her face in my thoughts for hours, but details had always eluded me. It had made me eager to see her again, and refresh the image.


    I saw it now, all exactly as it had been. Pale hair, eyes that shifted between gray and green, patient and intelligent. Her features were soft, almost delicate, with a slim, slightly convex nose that gave the pretty face a more scholarly aspect and light brown eyebrows lifted in calm bemusement.


    Now I realized part of my struggle to remember that face wasn¡¯t just time. It had been her design ¡ª a succubus¡¯s seduction, turning my interest into burgeoning obsession. Part of it, I think, also might have been my paladin senses trying to break the glamour. She¡¯d somehow used even that to her advantage.


    Even knowing this¡­ the sharp pang of regret, and yearning, that went through me then almost made me stagger.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t you,¡± I told her, angry. ¡°This is just camouflage. A glamour.¡±


    She looked up at me. Her long, thin fingers ¡ª a musician¡¯s fingers ¡ª wrapped around the sharp blade of the blessed sword.


    ¡°Then break it,¡± she whispered, placing the tip of the blade to her breast.


    I shook my head. ¡°Stop this.¡±


    Slowly, calm as stone, she began to pull. The tip of the sword sliced through thin cloth, then bit into flesh.


    ¡°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 pleasure in 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.¡±


    <hr>


    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 Abgr¨¹dai 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


    <hr>

 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.


    I¡¯ve known this for going on a few weeks now, but wanted to wait for the arc to finish and for everything to be set in stone before saying anything. Right now, the deal is going to involve the first 3 arcs as full books being released across all platforms ¡ª including audiobook.


    This is a big deal to me, and not something I expected. I had intended to quietly write my silly web fiction about a very sad paladin for years before even considering looking at anything more serious. I hadn¡¯t even taken the step to start a patreon, mainly because I was never certain how much traction this story would get and didn¡¯t want to distract myself from the project itself. The publishing thing kind of fell into my lap out of the blue. I almost didn¡¯t take it, because being independent, while not lucrative, is simple and more relaxed.


    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.


    I admit, I¡¯m anxious and excited about this at once. When Podium originally poked me, I was hyper skeptical ¡ª what publisher would reach out to me, a little web fiction author with a story that¡¯s already very niche for the space it¡¯s in? I agreed to a meeting call, which went well, but I was kind of in the camp of just staying independent. After the pub reached out again very soon after the first meeting, offering a contract, and I saw what they were offering, I gave it some harder thought.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    So what does this mean for Oathbreaker? Well, for most of you, nothing much will change. I am going to continue to write and release the story on Royal Road, for free, until it is done. The deal only involves the first 3 arcs right now. Eventually, they¡¯re probably going to be stubbed for a kindle release. I don¡¯t have any projection currently on when that will be, but probably not for a long while. We¡¯re still in early days.


    Part of this deal does involve some new work being done to get the earlier parts of the story ready for publication. I¡¯ve said many times before in comments that the first 2 arcs, particularly the first, are the roughest parts of the narrative to me. I didn¡¯t have as strong a handle on the story and characters at the time, and I¡¯ve wanted to clean them up and revise them for a while. I asked the publisher if they would be alright with me doing my own major revisions before we got to the copyediting phase, they agreed, and I¡¯ve been doing that for most of the last couple weeks. Arc 1 in particular will probably end up looking pretty different when done, with additional scenes and a lot of edits made to make Alken more consistent with his later characterization, shore up some less satisfying plot beats, and correct inconsistencies with the lore.


    I¡¯ve already revised the first 9 chapters of arc 1, which are basically the same, only a lot cleaner in my opinion. I plan to switch those chapters out in Royal Road over the next couple of weeks, to give new readers a better early experience. After those chapters, my revisions become a lot more intense, with additional scenes and alterations to how arc 1 plays out. Eventually I¡¯ll give arc 2 a similar treatment. Arcs 3 and 4 I¡¯m more satisfied with, and part of the reason I¡¯m doing this is because they¡¯re getting turned into real books, and I¡¯d like them to be a bit longer and more satisfying as standalone reads.


    It¡¯s something I¡¯d wanted to do anyway, this deal is just giving me the push to roll up my sleeves.


    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

    <hr>


    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 blas¨¦ 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.


    She had seen the pain it caused. Had Rosanna Silvering decided to speak to him again?


    ¡°Your rooms in the Empress¡¯s bastion are to be cleared out,¡± Lisette said in a cool voice. ¡°You will be responsible for obtaining new lodgings. Further, all the codes at the sentry posts are to be changed, and neither of you will have access to Her Grace¡¯s treasury. Ser Kaia is seeing to the details.¡±


    Emma worked a moment to school her features before speaking. ¡°I see. Well, thank you for telling us.¡±


    They hadn¡¯t been staying in the bastion since the trial, anyway. Catrin had helped them get lodgings down in the city. They¡¯d moved a few times, trying to make sure no one could track where they slept. They couldn¡¯t do it forever.


    That will hurt him.


    Why do I care? He was always just a means to an end.


    Emma started walking. She¡¯d barely taken three steps before Lisette spoke again.


    ¡°God is with you both. We all saw it that day in the throne room. You should keep hope, and¡ª¡±


    Emma turned so sharply, the movement so casual and fluid, that it stopped Lisette¡¯s words dead. Keeping her motions languid, not taking her hands from behind her back, she closed on the cleric in a single long step.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Without meeting the other woman¡¯s eyes ¡ª Emma¡¯s remained downcast, her words soft ¡ª she put every ounce of her grandmother¡¯s acidic poise in her voice. She added some of her godmother¡¯s too.


    ¡°The gods are with us,¡± Emma said in a low, deadly calm tone. ¡°Why, Lizzie, don¡¯t you see? That¡¯s just the thing everyone is so afraid of. And it is the reason we are so very cursed. Don¡¯t you remember the second angel?¡±


    Lisette¡¯s face, already pale ¡ª she¡¯d gained more freckles since she¡¯d left the priorguard, Emma noted ¡ª lost most of its color. She reached for the auremark dangling from her neck, an almost habitual motion, and clutched it.


    Emma let herself smile again, though this time the expression had more teeth. ¡°If you ask me, the gods should mind their own business. Perhaps the opinion of an iconoclast warlock such as myself means little, but it looks like their garden is getting a bit singed.¡±


    She waved a hand to the smoke, then shrugged. With a note of annoyance, Emma realized that Lisette was taller than her. Not by much, but enough to notice. On impulse, she reached and tweaked the tassels hanging from the cleric¡¯s mantle. Lisette blushed angrily.


    ¡°I preferred you in black. Ah, well.¡± Emma shrugged and turned.


    Lisette collected herself around the seventh step Emma had taken. ¡°You are very good at hiding it. Your fear. But I know you¡¯re scared. For him, for yourself, for all of this. This is your homeland too, Emma Orley.¡±


    Emma, who had been ¡ª and still in most ways that mattered was ¡ª Emma Carreon, laughed. ¡°This land abhors me. You would too, if you truly knew me.¡±


    ¡°That is for me to decide!¡± Lisette called after her. ¡°I will pray for you both.¡±


    ¡°Pray all you like,¡± Emma muttered. What would that help? The ones all those prayers went to hated her, and always would. That had been true from the moment of her birth.


    Her good mood thoroughly ruined, Emma passed from the open air hall to a more traditional parapet. The dark stone of the Fulgurkeep loomed high, with the Emperor¡¯s private sanctum above.


    They all seemed so intent on pointing out villains. Yet, the greatest man in the Accorded Realms ruled from a fortress that looked like something a dark lord would dwell in. Emma wondered if any of them saw the same irony in it she did.


    It was beautiful, the Fulgurkeep, but only when viewed close, when you saw all the art inside, the austere architecture, felt the subtle pressure of aura ancient masons had worked into the stone to prevent it from collapsing under its own weight.


    A gentle rain pattered down on her head, pleasantly cool with the growing warmth of the approaching summer. Gargoyles, some of them alive, watched her, their glinting eyes full of distrust. They clutched halberds and cruel axes carved from iron and solid rock, deceptively still.


    Emma sniffed at them as well. With a thought, she could have her own monster by her side. She¡¯d been warned against using Qoth, but times were harder now. Alken had gone back on his previous stance, if not his trepidation, and encouraged her to keep the familiar close. He feared assassins, and worse.


    She glanced up at the gray sky. There had always been rain in Venturmoor, and mist. She hated rain. She missed snow. There had always been snow on the high hills of the Westvales. That had been a cold country, clean and still as a painting, but beautiful. She hadn¡¯t seen it since she¡¯d been twelve, but she would always consider it home.


    Thinking about home, and her past in general, worsened her mood. Clenching her jaw, Emma quickened her pace. She needed to deliver the Empress¡¯s message and help figure out next steps. Alken was attending court, as had been more often the case lately.


    As she often did when she was angry, Emma clutched the sword at her hip. The red metal of the cairnhawk worked into the hilt, and the red ruby its talons clutched, was as familiar to her as her own palm, her own heartbeat. She could still remember the day Brenner Hunting had handed it to her, and told her that her parents¡¯ coach had gone off a cliff.


    On a lower parapet, a pair of Storm Knights walked the fortress¡¯s winding walls. That put another unwelcome face into Emma¡¯s thoughts. She paused next to a stone angel, its wings weathered to nubs by generations of storm.


    She considered the figures in their brassy steel, their dour blue capes.


    She had been very cruel to Hendry Hunting. The boy had taken the message, and avoided her since. Even still, she had to admit to surprise that he¡¯d helped them get into the court that day. She¡¯d expected him to be sullen, to become her enemy.


    She could handle enemies. She understood them. But hating someone, while also knowing the reason you hated them had nothing to do with their own actions, was more complicated.


    Do I hate him? She wondered. I hated his father. And I certainly would have hated him, had our betrothal gone through.


    She had tried to find some interest in Hendry Hunting, but he¡¯d been such a sad, uninteresting boy. Always moping about, haunting her steps, trying to make her happy in the hopes his future wouldn¡¯t be a miserable cage. She had no doubt some of Hendry¡¯s feelings had been genuine, but¡­


    God. She was turning into Alken. She had no interest in romance.


    But thinking about Hendry, and the damned choir girl, made Emma¡¯s teeth itch. They both annoyed her, the bleeding hearts.


    ¡°Wearing your emotions on your sleeve? Anastasia would chastise you.¡±


    Emma froze, shivering as a sudden and very familiar prickling sensation crawled across her flesh, like the stems of barbed roses had suddenly brushed her from toe to neck. Her eyes turned to the dreadful, beautiful voice.


    It had come from the statue of the angel. In that same moment, the smooth stone of the effigy¡¯s featureless eyes cracked and crumbled away, revealing empty pits.


    ¡°Godmother!¡± Emma stepped back and lowered her head demurely, clasping her hands in front of her navel. The excitement ¡ª and the fear ¡ª came as it always had when her patron made an appearance.


    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.


    <hr>

 Arc 5: Torch || 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.


    He turned, hunching even more than usual to avoid brushing his course mane of gray hair over the residue clinging to the ceiling. I jumped over to the far side of the tunnel so the trench lay between us, giving us both room to walk side by side, more or less.


    We walked a ways in silence, content with our own thoughts for some time.


    ¡°I appreciate you helping with this,¡± I said after a while.


    Karog grunted. ¡°These creatures threaten the Drains as well. This is no favor.¡±


    ¡°I hear you haven¡¯t been in the slums much lately,¡± I noted. ¡°My squire caught your performance in the preliminary lists up in Cragtown. She said it was quite the show.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Karog snorted. It almost sounded like a laugh. ¡°Children raised to believe themselves warriors and hid their whole lives behind walls provide little sport. Wesley has me playacting against these blue bloods.¡±


    I quirked an eyebrow as we turned down a side passage, this one narrower. ¡°You haven¡¯t killed anyone, have you?¡±


    It happened in tourney fights sometimes.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Karog said. ¡°Though there were a few close calls. It has little in common with the gladiator pits I fought in during my years in the continent, these tourneys.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get your challenge,¡± I promised him. ¡°I¡¯ve seen some of the lists they¡¯ve prepared for the real thing.¡±


    Karog grunted again, seeming unimpressed. Then again, he rarely showed his true thoughts. Despite his brutish appearance, the ogre had an analytical mind behind that craggy brow.


    It still shocked me, that he wanted to be a knight. Then again, Emma wanted the same thing despite her upbringing. Karog had thrown in with the changelings of Garihelm¡¯s slums after arriving in the city, choosing to pursue a path to prominence with the upcoming grand tournament to help raise the slum dwellers¡¯ prospects. He¡¯d found a noble patron who¡¯d been willing to speak for a western mercenary, and an inhuman one at that.


    Apparently, that same patron had been the reason Karog and Parn, the aging leader of the city¡¯s changeling community, had managed to gain access to the Emperor¡¯s court during my impromptu trial several weeks before. Without that, I might not have survived that day.


    I¡¯d yet to meet the enigmatic Lord Wesley. From what I¡¯d heard, he seemed like quite the eccentric.


    We passed into a nexus chamber, which split off into three more drain tunnels. Water dripped here and there, a half seen rain in the gloom. Karog lacked my sharp night vision and had lit an alchemical lantern as we¡¯d walked, giving up on using his other senses in the stagnant air. It lit the scene in ghostly blue hues as he clutched it in his left fist, his right still holding his scarred cleaver.


    We paused, both trying to decide which way to go. The right passage would lead us back to Emma and an exit, while the left would take us deeper. I wasn¡¯t quite ready to give up the hunt.


    We moved on in silence a ways before the mercenary spoke again. ¡°We are being watched.¡± His voice was a quiet rumble.


    He¡¯d sensed the danger before I did. His senses were preternatural, not supernatural, no aura to give him an edge. Yet they were keen enough. I saw him freeze, watched the stripe of thick, sharp hairs running from his skull all the way down his back lift like a canine¡¯s hackles.


    The sensation hit me a moment later. The walls seemed to swim, as though for only an instant they had liquified. A thrumming heart seemed to beat through the world, stuttered and fearful.


    I recognized the signs. A Thing of Darkness drew close.


    I turned, axe up, and it was there. It stood in the distant gloom of the tunnel we¡¯d just come from, clearly visible even beyond the range of my dark vision. As though it produced its own light, it stood stark in an empty patch of black.


    It looked like a hunched, emaciated humanoid with sickly gray skin and too many bones. It had a bloated belly like a victim of starvation, and a dog¡¯s head mostly obscured by filthy hair from which two werelight eyes peered, blank and haunting. Root like genitals hung from a pelvis surrounded by weeping scabs.


    From its back, two shapely, androgynous arms emerged, palms upraised as though in prayer.


    Karog let out a threatening rumble as he lifted his cleaver, a scarred machete which had endured many battles. I held up an arm, stalling him. He growled in frustration.


    ¡°Why?¡± The ogre snarled.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap,¡± I said, narrowing my eyes at the twisted form of the demon. ¡°That¡¯s a chorn. They can bend space. There should only be about thirty paces between us and the end of the tunnel there. How far away does it look to you?¡±


    Karog¡¯s yellow eyes narrowed. ¡°Perhaps sixty, at least.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°You go near it, you¡¯ll be chasing it for hours.¡±


    Indeed, the demon seemed to lie very distant from us, almost like a faraway moon on a starless night. Its head tilted.


    I know you.


    It had a musical voice, emanating as though from very far away. I shivered, the sacred fire in me responding to the touch of that malignant presence with revulsion even as it pleased my ears like the sweetest elven music. The disparate feedback was disorienting.


    You killed Raath El Kur.


    You wounded the Wingtaker.


    You are the one Shyora marked.


    The scars over my left eye, four long grooves like clawmarks running from temple to cheek, were burning.


    Wingtaker. I recognized one of Yith¡¯s names. I took a single step forward, still indicating that Karog should keep back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak to it,¡± I told my companion. ¡°It can steal your memories that way.¡±


    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 Abgr¨¹dai ¡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.¡±

 5.2: 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 one tries to run to the end of a long tunnel, even as it keeps stretching out.


    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 need time to form into the right shape, along with the proper ritual motions, or they end up flimsy and useless. 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.


    I¡¯d known Emma less than half a year, and she wasn¡¯t always the easiest to get along with, but¡­


    Damn it. She was my responsibility, my ward and apprentice. I had accepted her into my life. I¡¯d fought with her, bantered with her. We¡¯d talked for hours over crackling campfires and kept one another company on winding roads. I¡¯d grown used to her being around, to her acidic temper, her sharp wit, her fickle moods.


    I¡¯d let so many people down. Not again. I forced my legs to move faster, muscles screaming with effort. I let out another shout.


    But she only kept getting further away. I heard the demon laugh in the darkness, its voice all around me.


    Emma stepped forward, confused why I wasn¡¯t getting any closer. She said something else. The chorn pulled itself out of the water, seeming in no hurry. Its pale, blank eyes shone in the tunnel¡¯s gloom, no sign of the woman body now except for those arms emerging from its cloak of dirty hair.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    It was right behind her. I couldn¡¯t warn her. I shouted again, voice cracking, but the warped tunnel ate my voice.


    Emma Orley might be many things. She can be haughty, conceited, even cruel. She had been raised by a woman who was in turn raised by a truly evil tyrant, and mentored by wicked faeries and a fallen angel. She stuck at my side, and I knew I could hardly be called a positive role model.


    What she wasn¡¯t was a fool, or defenseless. Emma saw my expression, my haste, and her hawkish eyes widened in understanding. She said something again, but not to me.


    To the being lurking in her shadow.


    The chorn swept out with its spindly claws to grab Emma and drag her down into the water. Instead, something flickered out of the darkness and struck it. Both that blurring shape and the demon went into the shadows, vanishing from my sight.


    A moment later, the chorn¡¯s spell broke. Normal sound crashed in, and I moved into the culvert chamber huffing for breath and tense with fear.


    A horrible, high pitched yowl echoed off the walls. It sounded very much like the sound an angry cat would make, only much louder and deeper. The noise made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end in a way even the chorn¡¯s presence hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked Emma as I stomped up to her. My heart pounded in my chest.


    Emma¡¯s amber eyes were fixed on the shadows, wide and unblinking as a bird of prey¡¯s, but they flicked to me with a mechanical motion. ¡°Yes. What about you? You¡¯re covered in blood.¡±


    I heard Karog stomp up behind, not looking much better. I focused my attention on the corner of the chamber where the horrible sound emanated from.


    ¡°Qoth,¡± Emma explained, though I¡¯d already guessed the second creature in that patch of darkness to be her familiar. Even my golden eyes couldn¡¯t pierce the supernatural gloom where the two monsters fought.


    The noise continued for over a minute, then ceased with a jarring abruptness. All three of us tensed, waiting to see what would crawl out of the darkness.


    When Qoth had appeared, I¡¯d only caught a brief glimpse of him in motion. However, I felt certain he¡¯d been in his feline form, a huge black cat with long limbs and a spindly tail. When he emerged however, it was in his elven shape as a short, thin man with long gray hair and a frayed nobleman¡¯s robe worn loose. The garment dragged on the damp stones, torn in many places, and Qoth walked with a notable limp. In his loose fingers he held a leaf bladed sword left to scrape along the floor.


    The sword was drenched in dark, steaming blood.


    The Briar Elf looked haggard, meeting none of our gazes until he drew near the pipe leading up to the street. Then, in a hoarse voice he said, ¡°I am tired. Do not call on me again until I¡¯ve had rest.¡±


    Without another word, the elf stepped into the current of relatively clean rainwater and wan daylight spilling below the pipe, and vanished.


    Emma sighed. ¡°He¡¯s gone into the Wend. I think he¡¯s cross with me.¡±


    I hefted my axe up onto one shoulder. ¡°You can rarely fight demons without cost. He probably needs to return to his own sanctuary to make sure the wounds don¡¯t linger.¡±


    The itching scars over my left eye acted as a constant reminder of that risk.


    Emma saw the state of me and grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re going to make me clean all that.¡±


    Despite everything, I felt a smile threaten the corner of my lip. I¡¯d almost lost her. If I had¡­


    I would have become a worse man for it, I think. I suppressed the smile and spoke with dour seriousness. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s a squire¡¯s duty to clean her knight¡¯s armor.¡±


    Emma let out a despairing sigh. ¡°Lovely.¡±


    ¡°If we¡¯re finished,¡± Karog rumbled, ¡°I need to return to the Drains. This business took up enough time. I must report.¡±


    I nodded, and the ogre began to climb out of the sloping pipe feeding water into the sewer tunnel. I glanced at the spot where the demon and wicked faerie had scrapped. It had seemed a hollow of almost physical darkness at the time. Now it was just an ordinary corner of the room. Gory, unrecognizable remains splattered the floor and walls in a steaming mess.


    Clerics would be needed to cleanse that, though I suspected the damage the chorn had done to the ecosystem below the city streets would take months to deal with. Perhaps years.


    It had just been one. And I was no closer to finding its big brother.


    <hr>


    I waited on the street above the sewer entrance for an hour, sitting on the edge of a fountain in a small square. Emma lurked in an alley nearby, using the roof of a building to keep dry. I let the rain wash off the filth of the sewers.


    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 the left 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.

 5.3: 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.


    My squire said nothing for a while. Then in a low, serious tone she said, ¡°It is demeaning. Having to trudge through the mud while the rest of the nobility ride about.¡±


    ¡°Neither of us are noble anymore,¡± I replied without looking at her. ¡°If your feet are sore, then rest after court.¡±


    Emma quickened her pace to walk beside me. ¡°You¡¯re not a vagabond anymore,¡± she said in a hard voice. ¡°Alken, appearances matter now. People are watching us. They are seeing you trudge into the palace on foot covered in grime, held up by guards and forced to make way when riders pass. You are being sent on rat hunts in the sewers because the Emperor doesn¡¯t know what else to do with you.¡±


    Wary of listening ears as we passed beneath the bridge¡¯s third arch, I replied in a low voice. ¡°The Emperor can¡¯t risk using me as the Choir does. If he does, the rest of the Accord will call him a tyrant. He¡¯s acting with due caution.¡±


    ¡°He is a tyrant,¡± Emma hissed. ¡°All kings are, if they want to keep their crowns. Markham Forger was raised by the realms to this position because he won a war. He is a warlord.¡±


    Though I didn¡¯t see the girl¡¯s angry amber eyes, I felt them as she finished her speech. ¡°He isn¡¯t using you because he fears the consequences. And playing the errand boy is making you look weak.¡±


    ¡°Then what would you have me do?¡± I demanded, annoyed and trying to bury the pang of worry her words stirred.


    We reached the second gate, and Emma fell back a step. She said one last thing before we got too close to the guards.


    ¡°You should be casting a long shadow everywhere you walk. Start acting like the Headsman.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    <hr>


    The time for private arguments with my squire soon passed. We were ushered into the audience chamber, a circular room with high windows where a large number of nobles and other officials had already gathered.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± Cairbre muttered sullenly as I moved around the outer ring of dignitaries waiting on the Emperor¡¯s pleasure. The thin man followed with quick steps, his hooked nose wrinkling. ¡°And you stink.¡±


    I barely threw him a glance, busy navigating the ring of courtiers encircling the enormous chamber. ¡°I had a difficult day.¡±


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t expect me to announce you,¡± Cairbre complained.


    Cairbre was the court herald, or one of them at least. It¡¯s a prestigious position in many courts, and a trying one. You need to know the names and coat of arms of every House, lord, knight, distinguished adventurer, and general person of note across the breadth of the Accorded Realms on sight, and be able to announce them with aplomb.


    The stick thin man was getting on in years, had a nervous disposition, and a habit of stuttering and coughing that made him seem apologetic where he needed gravitas. He had thinning gray hair he¡¯d grown to his neck, a fine doublet a bit too large for him, and wooden shoes which clicked annoyingly with every step.


    I¡¯d also caught him racking up gambling debts in the city. Ever since, he¡¯d been feeding me information about the court to avoid scandal. Not that I¡¯d actually out him and risk another enemy, but he didn¡¯t need to know that.


    ¡°What¡¯s the word?¡± I asked him, slowing my pace and peering into the center of the chamber. A group gathered there, addressing the throne.


    ¡°Messengers from the south,¡± Cairbre said, fidgeting as he hovered around my shoulders. He nearly bumped into Emma, muttered an apology to her, then coughed and continued when I tossed him an impatient look. ¡°Apparently they¡¯re, uh, dispossessed nobles from Verdanhigh. They are petitioning His Grace to provide funds and manpower to, erm, resettle.¡±


    I paused, taking a closer look at the group. They were all aristos, clad in fur coats and rich robes, most of them old and thin despite their open displays of wealth.


    Noble born refugees, I realized. Verdanhigh had once been a proud realm bordering Seydis, the Blessed Country where Elfhome had been located. It had been left as little more than scorched earth, forsaken since the end of the war.


    ¡°How¡¯s the court taking it?¡± I asked.


    Cairbre swallowed, the prominent bump in his throat bobbing. ¡°With very, um, eloquent disinterest.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°Figures.¡±


    The leading member of the delegation, a bent old man with an ornate cane, stood proud as an aged oak before the tiered dais where the imperial thrones rose above the assembly. His fur lined coat was long enough to drag along the ground behind him, and his voice had a tremor, but it filled the chamber with a stoic volume made more potent by his years rather than less.


    I shivered. Aura. Many greater nobles, especially the leaders of the Houses, had a strong presence in the world. Much of that is to do with being the center of events that move the world. It sometimes gave them preternatural charisma.


    I only caught the tail end of what the old man said. He started to continue, but a voice of fire forged iron and granite spoke over him, filling the chamber like a rumble of low thunder.


    The Emperor had a mighty soul too, and this fortress was the edifice of his authority. The very stone echoed with his words.


    ¡°I understand your loss, Lord Desmond, and this court grieves for it.¡± Markham Forger, King of Reynwell and Emperor of the Accorded Realms of Urn, sat straight and dour on his throne of iron and gray rock.


    As usual in his position as Knight of the Faith and the general who¡¯d beaten the Recusant Lords, he wore a long coat of chain mail laden with medals. A gauntlet of filligreed gold encased his right arm from fingertip to shoulder. I knew it hid missing fingers, that gilded hand. He wasn¡¯t a tall man, or a handsome one, but bore our world on his back.


    Eight years now since the war¡¯s end, and it hadn¡¯t broken yet.


    Lord Desmond leaned on his cane, his eyes fixed on the throne. My eyes wandered to the right of the Emperor, where the Empress¡¯s throne lay just a tier lower than his.


    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, Sno? 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.¡±

 5.4: The Game

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 5.5: Peer

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 5.6: Home, For A Time

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 5.7: Admission

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    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.


    ¡°Lias was just a magician back then. Lots of tricks, not a lot of Art. He¡¯d conned himself into a position in the Herdhold. When Rosanna came with what loyal attendants she had left, seeking refuge, he saw a way to build himself a legend. Lias always was ambitious, and he had his would-be monarch to raise up. All he needed was the strong sword arm, and I was the thickest head in the ¡®Hold.¡±


    ¡°All those times you said you weren¡¯t noble born,¡± Catrin mused.


    I nodded. ¡°Lias, the earl, and my father passed me off as a House Herder bastard, to give me legitimacy. Rose figured that out soon enough. I¡­¡±


    I shook my head, already dizzy at the scope of it all. ¡°Damn, but it¡¯s a long story Cat.¡±


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t need all of it tonight. I just want to know about how you got involved with the most powerful woman in the Accorded Realms. She seems important to you.¡±


    ¡°She made me a knight. And she wasn''t always Empress. She started me on this path, her and Li.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Lias¡­ I¡¯d barely let myself dwell on that. Where are you, Li? What are you doing, now you¡¯ve caused all this mess?


    I hesitated, then looked at Catrin. ¡°Lot of this is known back in the Dales, but even still¡­¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t give your personal business to the Keeper,¡± Catrin promised, her eyes steady. ¡°I want to know this, Alken. Cross my heart and hope to die. Properly, this time.¡±


    She did cross herself, making an X with a sharp nail over the slope of her left breast.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather you stay at least half alive,¡± I told her, grabbing the hand and holding it to my lips.


    Catrin shifted closer to me before asking her next question, starting to trace my jaw as she did. ¡°So, did you and she ever¡­ I mean, the way you talk about her, the look you get, it¡¯s a lot like¡­¡±


    I opened my mouth to tell her the same thing I told everyone ¡ª that no, Rosanna and I had never been that close, never been together. But I paused, studying Catrin in hesitation. She didn¡¯t rush me, even as the moon climbed higher and her time ran short.


    ¡°I can trust you?¡± I asked.


    She smiled her crooked smile. ¡°Didn¡¯t we have that talk? Some of the other girls are the Keep¡¯s mouthpieces, but I never let him own me like that. I want this secret for myself.¡±


    No reaction, even as I looked directly into her eyes. She was telling the truth, though I hardly needed to test it anymore. Besides, I had promised.


    So I undid a lock I¡¯d placed on myself in another life. I was tired of feeling guilty about it.


    That I had lied to the Emperor.


    ¡°One time,¡± I admitted. ¡°She and I were together just one time.


    I waited, judging Catrin¡¯s reaction. She just watched me, listening, with no hint of condemnation or even surprise.


    No point in stopping there. I continued, feeling calmer as I did.


    ¡°We both had an¡­ attraction to one another, but she had a kingdom to inherit, and I understood what that meant. But she was so alone, with so much weight on her, and I thought I was in love with her back then. She was my first real crush as a boy, and I held onto it as a man for a while.¡±


    Catrin brushed my cheek with a thumb. I¡¯d started shaving more regularly since she¡¯d commented on it after our first night together. ¡°You were both young, and dealing with some hard shit.¡±


    I inhaled deeply through my nostrils. ¡°It was the evening of the day she made me a knight. She called me to her chambers, and¡­¡±


    White silk, so thin I could see what lay beneath it. Emerald eyes bright in the candle light.


    ¡°We have to be careful. This doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    I had interrupted her. ¡°I know. It¡¯s alright.¡±


    I had meant to be reassuring, perhaps even suave. No such luck. That familiar frustration had flashed in her pretty face.


    ¡°This is serious, Alken. I cannot get pregnant off you, or this can all collapse.¡±


    I had been frustrated. Why couldn¡¯t this just be simple? Why couldn¡¯t she trust me?


    But I had been young, drunk on glory, and some wine, and she¡¯d been very beautiful. All that had drowned out the doubts.


    ¡°I think it was a reward,¡± I told Catrin. ¡°I know it was. That¡¯s how Rose thinks. But she had no one else to confide in back then except Lias, and he was as ambitious and willful as her. Me, on the other hand¡­¡±


    I sighed, leaning back on the pillows. Catrin traced the burn scars on my shoulder now, listening.


    ¡°I think, and I feel ugly thinking this, that she saw me as something like a murderous doll. A Marion, one she could say whatever she liked to, play with, use to kill her enemies. Part of me hated her for it, and part of me found it very¡­ endearing.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°We were both pretty fucked up.¡±


    ¡°It was just that once?¡± Catrin asked, frowning. ¡°I mean, if she had all this to herself¡­¡±


    Her hand started to go lower. I grabbed it again, annoyed and amused at once.


    ¡°The war against her uncle occupied us after that night,¡± I said. ¡°And she started getting marriage offers. She distanced herself, not wanting to take any risks. Then, after I killed her uncle and ended the civil war in the Karledale, she nominated me to the Table. I went off to the Blessed Country, and there wasn¡¯t any time for fraternization then.¡±


    ¡°And then you met that nun,¡± Catrin said, understanding. ¡°The one who wasn¡¯t really a nun.¡±


    I went still at the reminder. I didn¡¯t want to think about Fidei just then. My eyes drifted to the black book on the desk.


    ¡°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.

 5.8: Cackling Death

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 5.9: 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.


    I turned toward the sound of clicking boots as a figure stepped out of the fog. She wore a jacket against the night chill, her yellow scarf, and had her sword concealed in a bundle of hemp held in her right hand. Blood, still shining subtly with aura, dripped from a cut on her left palm.


    ¡°You¡¯re alright,¡± I said, feeling a knot of tension in me loosen at the realization.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Emma agreed with an arched eyebrow. ¡°I was just on my way back when Catrin found me. Is this the part where you lecture me about going out without telling you?¡±


    Normally, her flippant tone would have angered me. Now, I just felt too glad to see her unharmed, and too worried for Catrin, to be bothered about it.


    ¡°It probably saved your life,¡± I said. ¡°Where¡¯s Cat?¡±


    ¡°No clue,¡± Emma said, flicking some loose beads of blood off her fingers. ¡°I thought she was you at first, with that cloak. She said something about ¡®going hunting.¡¯¡±


    As if on cue, sounds emerged from a nearby alley. We both turned toward it, on guard. I raised my axe, and Emma flicked a spatter of bloody drops onto the ground, ready to transform them into more screeching spears.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    From the deep shadows within the alley, a small man tumbled out. He was shorter than Emma, bent and wrinkled with age, with a pair of spectacles askew on a long nose. He wore simple clothes like any shopkeep, and looked like nothing so much as the owner of some inviting little store. He fell to his knees in front of us, his nose crooked and bleeding, already swelling with a purpling bruise.


    Catrin stepped out from behind him, still engulfed in my cloak. A pale finger emerged from within it to point at the small man.


    ¡°I think this is our man. I caught him in an empty house nearby.¡±


    I studied the unassuming figure. He held his broken nose, hunching on the street to look smaller, and I think he might have been on the verge of tears. The glasses enlarging his eyes, and the fringe of white hair ringing his skull, gave him an almost comically perplexed look, as though he couldn¡¯t understand why he¡¯d been attacked and dragged here.


    He didn¡¯t look much like an assassin. Then again, the best rarely do.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± I asked.


    Catrin¡¯s red eyes glinted from the shadow of my cloak¡¯s pointed cowl. ¡°The house had two of those puppets guarding it, and he had some setup there. It was like a miniature stage.¡±


    ¡°Probably the channel for his Art,¡± Emma noted.


    I nodded. Most sorcery is like that, in truth, requiring intense ritual, time, and material through which to channel the emanations of one¡¯s soul. It¡¯s costly and easy to ruin, but it lets an adept perform far more complex magic than simply manifesting spectral weapons, as Emma and I did.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you could take other people through your shadows,¡± I said to Catrin.


    She scoffed. ¡°If I couldn¡¯t, I¡¯d be naked every time I came out. Still, it¡¯s not exactly pleasant for anyone else. Take a good look at him.¡±


    I did. The old puppeteer shivered violently, and not just from fear. His skin had a blue tinge, his teeth were chattering, and a gray, filmy substance clung to his skin.


    She uses the Wend to travel through shadows, I realized. Not a hospitable path either, at least to mortals.


    Of course she did. Why hadn¡¯t I guessed that? It was practically the same method Qoth used.


    I knelt by the man. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    He had pale green eyes, frosted with age. They danced about, not focusing on anything. He seemed so scared and helpless, but he¡¯d also just tried to kill me and two people I cared about. I didn¡¯t feel much sympathy just then.


    ¡°Speak,¡± I said in a quiet, calm voice. ¡°Why don¡¯t we start with your name.¡±


    The old man¡¯s flitting eyes went to me. He started to speak in a tremulous voice. ¡°I¡¯m dead anyway. I know who you are.¡±


    He had liver spots on his hands, and didn¡¯t seem like he¡¯d been in good health even before Catrin had broken his nose and dragged him between the cracks in reality.


    ¡°If I turn you over to the Fulgurkeep,¡± I said, ¡°they¡¯ll spend half a month torturing you, then hang you. Answer my questions, and you might get out of this alive.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes finally focused, but the fear didn¡¯t leave them. Panic had started to settle on him.


    Something felt off. His gaze kept going in every direction except to me.


    He¡¯s not afraid of me, I realized.


    The eerie cackle of wooden limbs echoed down the street. In a flash I spun, putting myself between the sound and Catrin, who stood closest, and who might look like me from a distance with her disguise.


    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 knelt, reaching out to press her fingertips to the red pool. The whole range of motions had an edge of cautious deliberation to it. Catrin pressed her wetted fingertips to her tongue, a shiver running through her whole body.


    ¡±Anything?¡± I asked her, trying to keep my revulsion from my voice. Having her take my blood had a quality of excitement to it. Watching her take it from a dead man on a dockside street was a different matter entirely.


    Catrin¡¯s pupils had dilated heavily, almost enough to swallow the irises whole. She seemed distracted, her head tilting to one side. ¡°Not much. He was terrified at the end. His thoughts are all jumbled. I¡¯m getting flashes of something¡­ a house? There are things on the walls¡­ more Marions, I think, but they don¡¯t look like these. They¡¯re smaller.¡±


    ¡±Must have been his workshop.¡± I folded my arms, studying the dead man. I hadn¡¯t even considered that Catrin might be able to pull memories from the corpse. A useful talent, if a disturbing one.


    ¡°There¡¯s a name in his thoughts,¡± Catrin added, her words taking on a dreamy quality. ¡°Thomas? Yes, that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°His name?¡± I asked.


    Catrin shook her head. ¡°No, he wouldn¡¯t have been thinking about his own name. I¡­¡± she shivered again, and I sensed this reaction to be more desperate than the last. ¡°These are just echoes, Alken. I could get more, but¡­¡±


    She licked her lips, her eyes going back to the pool of blood.


    ¡°We should go,¡± I said, thinking it best to draw her attention away from the corpse just then. Hoping to distract her I said, ¡°I do need my cloak back.¡±


    Catrin glanced at me, and some of the feverish intensity faded. Her 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.¡±


    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?


    ¡°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.

 5.10: 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.


    <hr>


    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.


    The First Sword of House Forger, whose true name I hadn¡¯t learned but who many called the Twinbolt Knight for his helmet, listened to Ser Moonbrand whisper into his ear before nodding and taking me straight to the Emperor. Markham was in the middle of listening to a report from a harrowed looking messenger I suspected had sprinted across half the city, by his red face and breathless voice.


    When the council heard I¡¯d seen the attackers, all fell silent and turned to me. I felt Rosanna¡¯s green eyes on me, but forced myself not look at her.


    ¡°They were Marions,¡± I told them. ¡°A group of them, directed by a puppeteer using a miniature stage as a focus.¡±


    When they started asking me for details, most of the questions coming from the officials present and not Markham or his head advisor, I told most of the story. I left out Catrin¡¯s involvement, only saying we¡¯d survived the attack due to still being awake when it started.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°A single puppet master couldn¡¯t have conducted an attack on this scale,¡± the Steward said to Markham.


    He was right. I especially didn¡¯t think that frightened old man Catrin had captured could have. Then again, appearances could be deceiving. There was every chance he¡¯d prepared his own creations to silence him if he were caught.


    But why would he have been close to me in a poor dock district, if he¡¯d been coordinating attacks across the city? No, it didn¡¯t add up.


    One of the councilors present, a middle aged man whose name I didn¡¯t know, spoke up. ¡°I have a report here that the Lady Sandra was set upon by men wearing the colors and gear of city guard. She killed one of them, and the rest committed suicide before her own guards could apprehend them.¡±


    The man lifted his eyes from the letter. ¡°Their identities are presently unknown, and this report came in half an hour ago. There is nothing here about animate puppets.¡±


    I folded my arms, taking that new information in.


    ¡°And what of the Lady Sandra?¡± The Steward asked.


    The courtier who¡¯d given that report swallowed. ¡°Dead, my lord. She expired from her injuries in her estate, according to this letter. It is from her eldest son.¡±


    ¡°God be with them both¡± the Royal Clericon said, her aged face tensing with sympathy.


    Rosanna turned to me. ¡°What became of the assassin you encountered, Ser Headsman?¡±


    She was very much the Empress then, all business. She¡¯d been woken in the middle of the night, and though she looked every inch the monarch, she lacked much of the more elaborate accoutrements I¡¯d seen her in most other occasions. She had two handmaidens with her, both young and silent, as well as Lisette, a young cleric who¡¯d become one of her personal attendants. Ser Kaia, armored and acting in her role as the Empress¡¯s personal knight just as the Twinbolt was to Markham, loomed nearby.


    ¡°Dead,¡± I told them. ¡°One of his own puppets shot him before I could get answers.¡±


    Someone along the long war table scoffed. I didn¡¯t catch who.


    ¡°And you just happened to be awake in the dead of night, and survive multiple attackers?¡± One of the noblemen present asked me, not bothering to hide his skepticism.


    I met the speaker¡¯s gaze. It hadn¡¯t been so long now that everyone had forgotten about my raid on Rose Malin, and I have been told I have a dour glare. He flinched. I turned to speak to Markham.


    ¡°I got lucky, Your Grace. How many attacks were there?¡±


    ¡°We have reports of seven so far,¡± the Steward answered. ¡°We believe there are more.¡±


    My heart sank, even as one of the nobles present gave voice to the thought I suspected went through every head. ¡°Are we under attack? Is this war?¡±


    Markham stared at the piling missives being dropped in front of him, then lifted his eyes to the room. More than thirty people, all powerful, all important in his government, and all very afraid, met that royal gaze.


    ¡°So far,¡± the Emperor said, ¡°these have all been isolated attacks on individuals. The culprits have all used different methods ¡ª Marions attacked Lord Alken, assassins disguised as guardsmen invaded the mansion of Lady Sandra, and Ser Alencourt was stabbed in a tavern by a serving maid in front of several of my own officers. We are still verifying the rest, but everything here indicates that these assaults have been individualized. Only the timing seems coordinated.¡±


    ¡°What of this maid who stabbed your captain, Your Grace?¡± One of the nobles asked.


    Markham¡¯s lips twisted into a deeper scowl. ¡°Dead. She committed suicide half a block away, just as those guards who set upon Lady Sandra did.¡±


    I frowned, looking at the pile of missives on the table. Messengers were coming in and adding to it every few minutes, most of them from guard captains and other officials out in the city. ¡°Who have been the rest of the targets so far?¡±


    The Steward answered in clipped, formal tones. ¡°Lord Halburan of House Rathur, along with his wife and daughters, were killed by what seems to be some sort of alchemical device. Poisonous gas, poured into their manor. Ser Brackswine, a knight from the Gylden, and several of his friends were shot on a gondola in the lagoon while taking a night of leisure. Lady Elmira of House Worthy and her lover, a mercenary from the continent, were both poisoned at a gala. We have also heard that Ser Tegan of House Barker was found just an hour ago some blocks from his father¡¯s estate, badly beaten.¡±


    ¡°Ser Tegan?¡± I asked, stunned. I¡¯d just seen the man the day before, healthy and cheerful. Then, something else clicked into place in my thoughts. Lady Elmira was a famous duelist, and I had heard rumors that Alencourt had been picked by the Storm Knights to represent them in the upcoming competition.


    ¡°Lord Halburan,¡± I asked no one in particular, cutting through the noise. ¡°And Lady Sandra¡­ were they both fighters?¡±


    Rosanna glanced at me, her attention mirrored by the Steward. Ser Jocelyn, not far away and in earshot, also perked up. The Emperor didn¡¯t look up from his reports, but I sensed he listened.


    ¡°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? 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.


    I refused to meet Rosanna¡¯s eye. Was some of the tension I felt in the room, as real to my senses as a scent or a sound, from her? Did she resent this?


    Justify my actions all I liked, I could not shake the sickly feeling that I had betrayed her.


    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.

 5.11: 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.¡±


    <hr>


    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.


    Despite all that, I had to hope I cut the right image, and not just look like a tired, injured man who hadn¡¯t slept in days. I wore Faen Orgis at my hip, its handle freshly shaved to fit through an iron ring attached to a modified sword belt. I¡¯d been given no badge of office as of yet, so the axe would have to serve as my mark.


    A few minutes later, Emma returned at the head of a group of people. There were six of them, and my immediate impression was that they were a motley lot. They were all different ages, with different kinds of dress. Two looked like they might have come directly from the holding cells of a guard barracks, with unwashed clothes and unshaven faces.


    I buried my sigh behind the most stony expression I could muster, keeping my lips tightly pressed and my eyes lidded with unimpressed neutrality. I¡¯d been warned about this. The Emperor¡¯s council saw my position as a tenuous one in need of refinement, and in the Steward¡¯s words, experimentation.


    For that reason, the bastard giant had decided to fill my command out with ¡°disciplinary¡± cases. The six before me were all malcontents, or at the very least individuals who¡¯d run afoul of some authority.


    They knew what this was as well as I did ¡ª a punishment detail, a tenure under the command of the infamous blackguard, Alken Hewer.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    It made sense, in a macabre sort of fashion. I was something of a penitent myself, an outlaw who¡¯d been brought back into the fold under strict stipulations and careful scrutiny. Perhaps this setup had fit the Steward¡¯s sense of aesthetics. Or perhaps it had been Markham¡¯s idea? Hard to say.


    Six sets of hard, suspicious eyes met mine in that barren tower room at the edge of the Fulgurkeep. I stopped my pacing to stand in front of the desk I¡¯d had brought in, which I¡¯d set some material on. I picked up some of that material, a sheaf of papers I¡¯d been studying the past hour. Emma stood nearby, back straight and hands clasped behind her back. One of the six glanced at her, but she ignored all of them.


    Speeches, I thought glumly. Right. This is part of it.


    I managed to start without doing anything so obvious as clearing my throat, my voice coming out hoarse from discomfort and fatigue. ¡°Before we begin, I would like to know what each of you has been told about this.¡±


    The man furthest to my left glared at me, openly hostile. He was brawny, in his thirties, with thinning hair and a notched ear. He looked like a dockhand who moonlighted as a leg breaker for some harbor gang. Perhaps he was.


    The man in the middle answered me. He looked to be in his mid twenties, with a handsome face and bright, attentive eyes beneath a mop of black hair. He wore the polished breastplate and uniform of the city guard. ¡°We¡¯ve heard what they say about you, my lord. We understand that you¡¯ve been tasked with hunting down the ones behind all these attacks, both from the other night and the past year.¡±


    He smiled, the expression half nervous and half eager. ¡°We have been told we¡¯re to help you bring them to justice.¡±


    I looked at the others. The man to the right of the one who¡¯d spoken was an old, wiry veteran with the lopsided musculature of a longbow archer, his left arm longer and more muscled than the right. He nodded in agreement, his demeanor more neutral than most of the others. Next to the notch-eared bruiser, a square-jawed woman gave a sharp nod. She looked uncomfortable, but kept her peace.


    The last two were both young men. One wore the amber robes of a clericon, and by his brass circlet and the ring design worked into his auremark I guessed him to be a member of the Abbey. He¡¯d be my scribe, then. They¡¯d given me that convenience, at least.


    The last of the group kept his eyes forward, his tall frame properly straight, looking for all the world like a solid man-at-arms standing at attention. He refused to meet my eyes, ignoring my raised eyebrow.


    Time for that later. I focused on the trim guardsman. ¡°You are Ser Kenneth? Of House Garder, I believe.¡±


    The dark haired man stood straighter, pressing his hands to the small of his back. ¡°Not a ser, my lord. I¡¯m the fourth son of a lesser House, and haven¡¯t received that honor. I¡¯m one of the outriders for the guard.¡±


    I glanced over the paperwork in my hand. ¡°This says here you were on the officer track.¡±


    Kenneth¡¯s smile turned more relaxed. ¡°Yes, lord.¡±


    ¡°You can use ser with me,¡± I told him. Lord was a courtesy title in my case, and while technically correct given I was part of the peerage again, I owned no lands and held no castles.


    An empty honor, all told. Markham had probably only named me a lord to give me legitimacy. Most nobles wouldn¡¯t bother giving way to a mere knight, no matter how many bodies he¡¯d stacked.


    I wondered how long it would be before all this politicking drove me mad.


    Kenneth nodded, unbothered. ¡°Yes, ser.¡±


    I kept reading the man¡¯s resume. Though the archer was older and would have more experience overall, Kenneth was noble born and had impressive merit. He¡¯d been a soldier of the Accord since not long after the war, came from a good family, and had been cited for a position of command.


    He¡¯d make an excellent second, someone I could put in charge of the others and delegate to. I also had a number of references in hand indicating his commanding officers had favored him, and that he¡¯d been popular among his fellows.


    Most captains would give up a thumb to get someone like him, which convinced me there was a catch. Why had he been stuck with me? Was this a gift chimera, or¡­


    I¡¯d earned a little paranoia, and would be keeping an eye on Kenneth Gard. For the time being, there were more pressing matters. I turned my attention to the others.


    The archer¡¯s name was Penric, and as I¡¯d guessed just looking at him, he was a veteran. The man had fought for the Ardent Bough during the war, and participated in several large actions since. Age and failing health had earned him a comfortable retirement with the Fulgurkeep¡¯s garrison, mostly mentoring new recruits. Apparently, he¡¯d volunteered for this post.


    The man with the barrel chest and mean look was called Mallet, and the records I¡¯d been given had him as a member of the city militia, a volunteer who¡¯d received training for times of crisis. He¡¯d been on duty this season, and had gotten into an altercation with his superior that¡¯d left the other man crippled. They¡¯d given him to me rather than hang him.


    I¡¯d faced scarier things than an angry eyed militiaman. He¡¯d provide muscle, at least.


    The woman, Beatriz, was also a fighter, formerly belonging to the personal retinue of a Reynish noble. I¡¯d been given little on her, other than a notice that she¡¯d been dismissed by the family who¡¯d kept her on retainer. Like Mallet, she had been jailed before being brought to this meeting.


    In her case, it was for getting into a fist fight at an upper class inn. She still had a swollen eye from it.


    The priest, Emil, wasn¡¯t much to speak of. The Royal Clericon¡¯s nominee, he was a member of the Abbey of St. Layne, an institution of healers and charitable pilgrims. The same order Lisette had been trained by originally. After questioning him, I learned he had a healing Art, along with some training in warding and cleansing. He seemed nervous about the whole thing, but I could tell why they¡¯d given him to me.


    Which brought me to the last of the six. I deliberately saved him for last, but soon enough I found myself pacing to the end of the line once I¡¯d finished taking stock of the rest. I didn¡¯t bother to hide my sigh this time as I met the young man¡¯s eye. Twenty years old at most, and the only one in the room tall enough to nearly meet my gaze level, his height and bearish frame seemed mismatched to a boyish face and ashy brown hair.


    ¡°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. We need to find something before then. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 5.12: The Headsman and The Lady Dance

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 5.13: 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.


    On one table, a woman in a chiton, the thin garment pinned at one shoulder to leave the other bare, spun to the tune of a fiddle played by a man nearby, her bare feet and loose dress whipping out to nearly strike the clustered onlookers. Her sweating face had a distant look, as though she¡¯d been entranced into some unstoppable motion. Her brown hair formed a blurring veil around her face, but I thought I caught a glimpse of bright yellow eyes and pointed ears.


    Pointed teeth, too.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The fiddler wasn¡¯t the only musician present. I heard strings, flutes, and drums within the din, giving the scene a sort of melodious heartbeat as I led my companions into the chaos. It wasn¡¯t just the noise and variety of people that¡¯d changed, but the building itself. It seemed bigger, more complex in its arrangement, with chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling and statuary set along the supporting sections of each wall. There were alcoves with larger tables where people gambled.


    People did other things in those nooks as well, which I tried to ignore. It is a brothel, I thought. You knew this. Don¡¯t get all out of sorts.


    Taking a shallow breath and forcing myself to focus, I pushed through the throng with my tag-alongs keeping close. As I often did, I went near the fire pit in the room¡¯s center to let the spirit inside catch my scent ¡ª an old custom from the Dales I¡¯d kept.


    I nearly reeled back into a table full of continental lansquenets when the flame erupted, then took the shape of a naked elf who rose above the throng. She spun to the same music as the woman near the door, letting out a throaty laugh that sounded like crackling embers.


    Nonplussed, I searched the room for a familiar face. The Keeper wasn¡¯t behind the bar, which also looked bigger and more lavish than before. Instead, a handsome young man with bright yellow hair stood behind it, chatting jovially with some guests. He wore an apron over a black vest and white shirt, and seemed to be an employee. His teeth were bright and white when he flashed them.


    ¡°No wonder you wouldn¡¯t bring me here,¡± Emma quipped, raising her voice over the noise. ¡°It¡¯s a pit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not always like this,¡± I answered, not sure if she heard me over the noise. I felt dazed, though that might have been whatever was in the smoke.


    The feminine thing in the fire was trying to entice Hendry to join her, beckoning to him with a shapely leg. He looked more frightened than interested, his brow beading with sweat and his hand hovering near his sword¡¯s hilt.


    I grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him along. ¡°I told you not to get distracted.¡±


    Hendry couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the burning elf-maid. ¡°What is that? Is it¡­ like Orley?¡±


    Emma¡¯s head turned sharply. I noticed that Hendry had tucked his left arm in, almost hunching.


    ¡°That¡¯s a hearth wraith,¡± I told him. ¡°An elf who¡¯s shucked their body and bound themselves to a place. Don¡¯t get close. She¡¯s taken a liking to you.¡±


    I led him along while the spirit cast wistful eyes our way. Emma looked more engaged than Hendry, her attention flicking from one colorful scene to the next, a jaunt in her step. I¡¯d have to watch her, too.


    I noticed a figure standing by the entrance to a hall next to the stair, waving furiously. I navigated through the mess, grabbing Hendry again as he bumped into a pair of hooded vagrants who turned out to be dyghouls rotted nearly down to the bone. I avoided a confrontation through sheer force of momentum as their empty eye pits glared after us.


    Soon enough, I got my group over to the one who¡¯d beckoned me. Catrin had changed too in the three days since I¡¯d last seen her. She wore an archaic looking garment very similar to the woman dancing to the fiddle, though hers included laced sandals, a stiff collar, and one billowing sleeve.


    She wore makeup, which I¡¯d never seen her in before, a touch of red on her lips and smoky black on her eyelids. Her ringlets looked a brighter shade than normal, closer to red than brown, with four long coils framing her temples and the rest knotted back to reveal her tapered ears, which she usually hid.


    She¡¯d even painted her sharp nails black. With her pale skin, the outfit made her look much like the classic vampiress, like some blood count¡¯s sultry bride.


    ¡°What is all this?¡± I asked.


    Catrin shrugged, as though the chaos of seedy entertainment was nothing much. ¡°We¡¯ve latched onto the biggest city this corner of the world. The ¡®Keep¡¯s expanding his business, taking on new clients.¡±


    She spread her arms out, indicating the transformed inn. ¡°Welcome to the new Backroad.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s much¡­ louder.¡± Almost on cue, the music picked up in tempo. It didn¡¯t quite hide a high cry of passion from one of the various nooks.


    Catrin had us follow her into the back halls of the building¡¯s first floor. The sound muted, allowing me to hear my own thoughts. I heard muffled conversation in some of the rooms.


    ¡°Private gambling spaces mostly,¡± Catrin explained. ¡°Lot of business meetings get done back here. This place isn¡¯t just for drinks and beds, especially not these days.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Emma said in an amused tone. ¡°I¡¯m certain it¡¯s all cards and coins laid out on those tables.¡±


    I threw her a furious glare, but Catrin just glanced back and flashed a toothy grin. Then, lowering her voice she said, ¡°I¡¯m surprised, Al. I thought you said you didn¡¯t want to be involved with this place?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°But things have changed. You¡¯ve heard about the trouble in the city?¡±


    Catrin nodded. ¡°I found out the attempt on you wasn¡¯t isolated as soon as I got back here that night. I wanted to talk to you about it, but¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said. ¡°I was in the palace, anyway.¡±


    I gave her a brief summary of the situation, which she already mostly knew from the letter I¡¯d left hidden in the house by the docks before vacating it ¡ª a system we¡¯d worked out to communicate when we couldn¡¯t reach one another personally.


    ¡°So in short,¡± I finished, ¡°I can¡¯t afford scruples. I don¡¯t have to like the Keeper, but he¡¯ll know something.¡±


    Catrin grimaced. ¡°He¡¯ll make you pay for it.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±


    She paused by a door near the back of the hall ¡ª it had been much longer than it had looked before I¡¯d entered it ¡ª and turned to face me. ¡°I can¡¯t bail you out of this one, Alken. The Keeper knows you and I are closer than I am with most of the guests. He¡¯ll use that if we let him. Whatever he says, whatever he asks of you¡­¡±


    She smiled wistfully. ¡°I¡¯ll have to go along with it.¡±


    I nodded, trying for a reassuring smile. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m a¡ª¡±


    ¡°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 stared 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 together, 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.

 5.14: Broker of Secrets

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    What do you want?¡± I demanded, growing more impatient and uncomfortable by the moment.


    exactly why you¡¯re here,¡± the Keeper disagreed without lifting his head. ¡°I can point you in the right direction, and in return you pay my price. That price is that you become a piece in my games. Didn¡¯t the dead slut tell you? Maybe she¡¯s not as impressed by your lordly member as she¡¯s made you think.¡±

 5.15: 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¡­¡±


    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.¡±


    I shook my head, confused. ¡°I¡¯m no priest. And I haven¡¯t told Cat to stop anything. She¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Eilidh demanded when I trailed off.


    ¡°She¡¯s fed on me more than once,¡± I admitted, uncomfortable. ¡°I never told her to stop.¡±


    I remembered how she¡¯d refused to take my blood the last time we¡¯d been together. I hadn¡¯t understood it, and hadn¡¯t given it much thought at the time.


    Eilidh searched my face a moment, then relaxed. ¡°I see. I just assumed¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked in exasperation. ¡°That I¡¯ve been guilting her into starving herself?¡±


    Eilidh sighed and adjusted some of her brown locks. ¡°Maybe you didn¡¯t tell her to stop, but that doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re not the reason. Cat¡¯s a smart girl, but she¡¯s younger than many of us.¡±


    She jabbed a sharp, painted nail into my chest. ¡°Don¡¯t confuse her. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    I heard my name. The others had stopped by the stairs to wait for me. When I turned back, Eilidh had left. Confused and a bit unsettled, I went with my group.


    <hr>


    I put the encounter with Eilidh out of my mind as we followed Catrin deeper into the inn. She brought us to a hall on the first floor, not unlike the one that¡¯d led me to the Keeper¡¯s private room. This one went on and on, over a hundred feet. Further than the creaky old building I¡¯d glimpsed outside should have accommodated.


    I wondered how far the inn¡¯s spaces could stretch, just how many secret corners and hidden rooms it actually held. If the Keeper got angry enough, could he trap me in here forever in endlessly looping corridors, or rooms with no exits?If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    An unsettling thought. Not all power is wielded at the edge of a blade. I shouldn¡¯t have forgotten that, or needed to have a glorified brothel owner remind me of it with cheap mind games.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked Catrin, who¡¯d been uncharacteristically quiet.


    She paused, turning to look at us. Emma and Hendry stood behind and to either side of me. I suspected their faces mirrored my curiosity.


    With a resigned look, Catrin explained. ¡°We¡¯re going to see one of the original patrons, a sort of benefactor to the Backroad. There are several of them, and you could say they¡¯re the inn¡¯s investors. They¡¯re all powerful, secretive, and dangerous.¡±


    She gave me a pointed look. ¡°If the Keeper thinks one of them can help you, then they definitely can. However, they don¡¯t serve him. You understand?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°He¡¯ll exact his own price.¡±


    Catrin smiled grimly. ¡°Yes, and he¡¯ll be a much bigger bastard about it. Unlike the ¡®Keep, these guys don¡¯t water themselves down to make customers comfortable. Be ready for trouble.¡±


    ¡°What can you tell me about this count?¡± I asked.


    Catrin shrugged. ¡°Not much. I¡¯ve just heard the name. All I can say is that he¡¯s probably dangerous, and probably not human.¡±


    ¡°An elf?¡± Hendry asked, curious.


    ¡°Could be,¡± Catrin said. ¡°Lot of elves aren¡¯t your pretty dancing in the glades, giving magic swords to heroes type. Lot of them are more like the monster under the bed.¡±


    ¡°Or the devil in the dark castle,¡± Emma muttered.


    I took a deep breath. ¡°Is he here in the inn?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Catrin said. ¡°But we can get to where he lives from the inn. A lot of places with close ties to us have back doors.¡±


    ¡°The Wend.¡± I cursed. ¡°Is it a safe path?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Catrin admitted sheepishly.


    I looked to my two followers. ¡°Neither of you have to come if you don¡¯t want.¡±


    Emma sniffed. Hendry stood straighter, his face set in dour resolve.


    Catrin led us to a door at the far end of the impossibly long hallway. It looked old and more elaborate than the rest, fashioned of dark oak, with a bronze latch engraved with the image of a snarling imp.


    ¡°I¡¯ll guide you through the path beyond,¡± Catrin said. ¡°And make sure you get back.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re coming with us?¡± Emma asked, surprised.


    ¡°The ¡®Keep probably just expected me to show you the door,¡± Catrin said with a defiant grin. ¡°But fuck him. I¡¯ve got a stake in this. They almost killed me that night, too.¡±


    She pulled out a ring of keys, sifted through it with her thumb until she found the one she needed, then put it into the latch. It turned with a solid noise, and the door swung open.


    Cool wind, smelling of autumn rather than summer, blew into the hall. I breathed deep, taken off guard by the sudden sensation I felt then. I smelled rotting leaves, sweet air, old trees.


    Whatever lay on the other side of that door, it was very far away from Garihelm.


    You¡¯re needed here, I reminded myself. If you get stuck wherever that is¡­


    I met Catrin¡¯s eye, seeing my worry reflected in her face. I steeled myself. For too long, I¡¯d been running around in circles trying to find my enemy. No more. If there was someone who could put Yith and his masters in reach of my axe¡­


    I¡¯d make a devil¡¯s deal, if I had to. My soul was tarnished already, and there was more at stake than my own penance.


    I stepped through the door.


    <hr>


    We passed into a forest. It was an old wood, the trees tall and bare, the air holding a prewinter chill as it moved in rustling eddies through the scene.


    Above, gray clouds moved low and fast over the sky. There was no rain, or thunder, but the air smelled of bad weather.


    Glancing back, I saw a dilapidated old shack sitting in the middle of the forest behind us. It had rotted down to its frame, revealing the cold remnants of the stone hearth inside.


    Catrin drew up next to me, nodding to the woods ahead. A narrow, winding path cut through them. I could barely see it for all the rotted leaves piled on the forest floor.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± Hendry asked, disturbed. ¡°This doesn¡¯t look like Reynwell at all.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know.¡± Catrin shrugged. ¡°World¡¯s a big place, kiddo.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in the Wending Roads,¡± I told the boy. ¡°Or a Burrow, probably.¡±


    ¡°Like the Fane?¡± Emma asked.


    I nodded. ¡°This one seems much deeper. The Fane is practically on the border, but this¡­¡±


    Something about the scene ahead felt wrong, in a way I couldn¡¯t name. Alien.


    Hendry¡¯s face went pale. Emma only pressed her lips together, hiding her own unease.


    I didn¡¯t blame them for their nervousness. The Wending Roads are a truly unnatural realm, a place where phantasm is more real, where even sunlight or rain might not be what they seem. They bore through reality in tangled lines, like wormholes. Some connect one place to another in the material world, or hide entire lands lost and forgotten, but others¡­


    There are stranger hinterlands than any path of the Wend. I had to hope we hadn¡¯t drawn near one.


    Catrin led us into those autumnal woods. As we went, the scene grew even stranger. At first, it could have been passed off as any late season forest across the land, save for the odd motion of the clouds above.


    But as we went deeper, a strange tint seemed to creep over the environment. Harsh, yellow, a brassy pallor that overtook the trees, the leaves, the clouds, the air.


    ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with the trees,¡± Emma warned quietly.


    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.

 5.16: 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.


    The three of us went back to back, forming a pyramid to cover every angle of the room. In the light of my sacred fire, the creeping darkness of the foyer was held at bay before it could claim my remaining companions.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Emma hissed.


    ¡°A monster,¡± Hendry¡¯s voice held an uncharacteristic growl.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Count.¡± My voice held the metal ring of aura. ¡°Keep close to me. He¡¯s still here.¡±


    I could sense him, now he wasn¡¯t trying to hide. It felt like clammy hands reaching out of the night, grasping at me with lustful eagerness.


    Profane. This was no dark faerie, but something far worse.


    A ripping chorus of baleful growls emanated out of the darkness. The shadows solidified, manifesting themselves into distinct shapes. Huge, course-furred, with serrated fangs and dim red eyes.


    Wolves.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Hendry said, his shoulders slumping. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Keep your fucking sword up!¡± Emma snapped. Then, with a flourish, she swiped her blade to one side and her off hand, her right, to the other. Specks of blood scattered across the checkered tiles of the floor.


    The writhing mass of yellow teeth, red eyes, and spiky black fur seemed to form one single amorphous shape around us. Perhaps it was ¡ª the wolves had the distinct unreal quality of phantasm to my eyes.


    They would still be perfectly capable of killing us.


    With a series of guttural barks, the beasts surged forward. I had already prepared my counter measure.


    With a flourish very much like Emma¡¯s own artful gesture, I spun my axe up into my right hand, turned it so the triangular head on the back end faced forward, then slammed it down into the tiles like a hammer.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The entire room shuddered. The glass windows rattled in their panes, threatening to burst, the marble plinths trembled, and the chandeliers swung into motion.


    And the floor cracked. A lattice of burning golden lines shot out from my axe¡¯s point of impact in a rapidly spreading cone, racing toward the encroaching mass of slavering jaws.


    The dire wolves scattered, flinching back like a breaking wave into two separate, smaller masses to avoid the racing lines of molten light. One got caught in it, revealed in a flash as a huge, grungy beast with white-spotted gums and bloodshot eyes. The golden light raced up its limbs, and began to unmake it.


    The wolf didn¡¯t burn. It melted. Its flesh jumped off its limbs in a rising gout, the bonds between sinew, muscle, and bone breaking apart, melting the creature away.


    In moments, there was nothing left but cracked, smoldering tiles and eddies of gilded mist.


    I breathed out, a plume of golden mist escaping my lips, and stood to meet the rest. There were plenty more. The rest kept back, snarling and snapping, wary of me now.


    Frustration welled up in me. Normally, after using a flashy technique like Relic Breaker or any of the other tools in my phantasmal arsenal, I would immediately go on the offensive. When my enemies flinched, that was when I preferred to hurl myself into them, taking advantage of their hesitation to cleave through them with brutal aggression.


    But the creeping, writhing darkness that spat these monster wolves out wasn¡¯t natural. If either of my companions left the radius of my aura, then¡­


    I was forced to keep on the defensive. And I¡¯d only stopped one section of the charge.


    Behind me, I was aware of my fellows¡¯ own efforts. The wolves lunged forward, but Emma and I had sparred often and she¡¯d learned the value of decisive, preemptive action. She couldn¡¯t match my strength or aggression, but she¡¯d learned how to punish both.


    The blood she¡¯d scattered across the checkered tiles hadn¡¯t been an accident.


    Letting out an almost banshee shriek, Emma made a clawing gesture with her right hand and swiped it up as though to slash at someone¡¯s chin with her nails. With horrible iron screams, a cluster of blazing scarlet pikes shot up from the ground. They caught the nearest wolf, converging into a near singular point while lifting it up high above our heads, skewering it through many times over.


    The beasts who¡¯d lagged behind that one recoiled, the pikes having formed a shimmering red wall blocking their way. Smart of them, because the next thing my squire did was squeeze her hand into a fist.


    More spikes erupted from the main bodies of each auratic pike, needle branches on a foul tree. They maimed the already dying wolf even further while stabbing at those still on the ground.


    Emma let out a breathy laugh, her amber eyes taken on a red shade as she admired the effects of her Shrike Forest, the Blood Art of House Carreon.


    Hendry¡¯s own efforts were less visually impressive, but hardly less effective. He took a low stance, bringing his sword in close, providing as small and solid of a target as he could. When one of the wolves got close, he thrust forward with a low grunt, punching his blade straight through the creature¡¯s skull.


    Hendry Hunting might have been a humble, soft spoken young man, but he came from the stock of warlords. His heirloom sword had been crafted by a smith who knew how to work Art, and its silvered steel cut that sorcerous beast true. He ripped the blade out, letting the already dead creature fall, then immediately whipped his bloodied sword about in a wide arc, cleaving through the skull of another.


    Both dead creatures fell atop one another, their previously red eyes blackened and hollow.


    But there were still more. We pressed closer together as the horde closed in. Scattered wolves tried us in twos or threes, each dying as they got close, but the darkness seemed to replenish their numbers as fast as the pack expended them.


    And would continue to do so. These weren¡¯t just monsters enslaved to the Count¡¯s will ¡ª this was his Art. I felt his power in the writhing shadows.


    And all he had to do was wait us out. The aureflame is powerful, but the longer I burn it the more of my spiritual energy it saps. I¡¯d burn out eventually, and then be left a mere man with exhausted muscles and no magical defense. Emma had a similar and even more dangerous restriction on her magic. She had to spill her own blood to make her scarlet spears, and she only had so much of that.


    And the Count had more tricks.


    I felt a premonition of danger, one I couldn¡¯t say was wholly thanks to my magic. I glanced up, and realized the crawling darkness had congealed into the gaps of the chandeliers. More snapping teeth and red eyes appeared there.


    I cursed. ¡°Above us!¡±


    I squeezed my axe¡¯s oaken handle. One of its burs cut me, and the axe grew in length with a rapid series of snapping sounds. A spear point of wood emerged above the head, just in time for me to stab upward as a wolf, still half made of intangible aura, collapsed on me.


    My improvised spear punched through it with a meaty sound just as though it had gone through real flesh. Its weight brought me to one knee. I growled, straining to get it off, but it had impaled itself well.


    One of the wolves on the ground leapt at me, taking advantage. I saw its teeth coming for my face, its maw opening wide. It had teeth in its throat, as though more wolves were congealing into being inside of it.


    Emma¡¯s saber swiped out, taking the thing¡¯s head off. Its momentum still brought it into me, knocking me onto my back. The aureflame flickered and dimmed, reducing the island of light around us.


    With eager barks, the wolves surged forward. One clamped its fangs closed around Emma¡¯s calf. She let out a sharp cry of pain, trying to stab at it but unable to twist into a good angle before it retreated back, just as another went for her other leg. Its teeth snipped, and she went down.


    I managed to dislodge one of the dead wolves ¡ª they didn¡¯t vanish when they died, as I¡¯d hoped ¡ª but the first still remained stuck to my axe. I let out a snarling curse, dropped it, and drew my dagger.


    Too late. Two wolves went in for Emma¡¯s throat while she knelt there, too stunned to react.


    ¡°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.

 5.17: 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 shrike spears 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.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I simply want these prizes?¡± The Count again showed yellow fangs, very much like his wolves, in a grin. ¡°Two daughters of darkness, here in the palm of my hand. I must reward the Keeper for these gifts.¡±


    ¡°He sent me here to get your help!¡±


    ¡°No matter to me what he intended,¡± the Count replied in a bored voice. ¡°Yet¡­ perhaps I can indulge the request of one of Tuvon¡¯s pets. Even if the poor thing was torn apart by them¡­¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    His eerie eyes drifted up to me. ¡°Were you one of those who slew him?¡±


    ¡°I was not,¡± I said.


    ¡°Say it again,¡± the Count ordered, his voice changing into a sharper note. ¡°Look into my eyes and say it again.¡±


    I met his pale gaze and enunciated each word carefully. ¡°I did not betray Tuvon. That was Ser Alicia and some of the other senior knights.¡±


    He studied me a long moment. ¡°You are telling me the truth¡­ or you are very mad. And yet, you carry that.¡±


    He inclined his head to my axe, still embedded into the brass pipes above the balcony. The Count hummed a moment in thought. I waited, a bead of sweat making its way down my temple. Hendry breathed heavily at my side, waiting for my lead.


    Was Emma still conscious? She hadn¡¯t moved in over a minute. If he killed her¡­


    ¡°Let them go.¡±


    The voice came from one of the hallways to the side of the foyer. I looked toward it, and saw a hulking shape emerging from the dark of the inner mansion. Though his eyes remained fixed on the Count, I recognized their angry yellow glint.


    ¡°Karog.¡± I stared at the ogre in confusion. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    Sure enough, the mercenary stepped forward out of the shadows with his usual uncanny silence, huge and hulking even next to the towering figure of Laertes. His weapons were sheathed, and he seemed passive, but even still I quietly despaired at the thought of fighting both him and the wizard.


    The Count clucked his tongue. ¡°The uninvited guest asks my retainer what his business is? I mislike your courtesies, ser knight.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Retainer? Wait¡­ you¡¯re Lord Wesley? Karog¡¯s patron?¡±


    The Count¡¯s voice grew colder. ¡°I find your familiarity uncouth. You may address me as Lord Laertes, not as that trifling alias.¡±


    His attention shifted to Karog. ¡°Why should I let them live?¡±


    Karog glanced at me, just for a moment. ¡°I know this man. We share enemies. He is also a servant of this land¡¯s highest warlord.¡±


    ¡°Not this land,¡± Laertes said with a chuckle. Then, after a thoughtful pause he added, ¡°You referred to yourself as the Headsman of Seydis¡­ I have heard a mortal man claimed that title, but I hardly believed it. Are you not here to take my head?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I insisted. ¡°I spoke no lies about my intent.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Perhaps I¡­ overreacted to your presence. I have not always had good relations with the paladins of Seydis.¡±


    I forced myself to nod, as though in agreement. ¡°Then¡­ can you please let my squire go, your lordship?¡±


    ¡°Your squire?¡± Those milky eyes shifted. ¡°You¡¯ve taken a scion of House Carreon as a squire?¡±


    ¡°She is a scion of House Orley too,¡± I told him with all the calm I could muster. ¡°It was her will.¡±


    He threw his head back and laughed. ¡°Ah, what rich irony!


    ¡°Please,¡± I begged. ¡°She can¡¯t breathe.¡±


    Laertes looked at Emma. He waited a long, deliberate moment, then dropped her. She slumped to the ground, coughing and gasping. Still alive.


    Even with the relief that flooded through me, it took all my willpower not to rush to her side. Hendry let out a gasp, as though he¡¯d been punched.


    ¡°Explain your connection to this man,¡± Laertes ordered Karog.


    The ogre stepped into the fading light filtering through the windows. Night was near, or whatever passed for it in this realm. As he often did, Karog seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking them.


    ¡°He stands against the ones who betrayed me.¡±


    ¡°The King of Talsyn and his coterie,¡± Laertes mused. ¡°I see, I see.¡±


    His gnarled, monstrous hand lifted to stroke at his chin. Through the gloom clinging to him, I caught vague details ¡ª a thick beard, gaunt features, unkempt hair. As I¡¯d thought before, he wore a rich coat lined in fur that slid along the ground beneath him, with aristocratic robes beneath.


    But those dead eyes, and his hands¡­


    This man wasn¡¯t human. At least, not anymore. I recalled his wolf¡¯s teeth, and could still feel a foul presence very similar to that of demons.


    It didn¡¯t quite feel like a demon, but still familiar enough. It was just like¡­


    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 Abgr¨¹dai 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 who is 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.¡±

 5.18: 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.¡±


    Emma sighed and adjusted a lock of brown-black hair. ¡°Very well. I suppose I shall play the helpless maiden, with my iron knight to defend me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Hendry said quietly. There was no heat in his voice, but he had a haunted look.


    Emma studied him a moment, then nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    Hendry sniffed and sat against the wardrobe, placing his sword down at his side. He¡¯d collected it before we¡¯d left the foyer. ¡°I¡¯ll keep watch,¡± he said to me. ¡°Go find her.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    <hr>


    As I navigated the winding halls of House Laertes, I took the time to actually think some things through.


    Coming here had been foolish, but time running about in circles putting out fires had made me impatient, and no point denying it, desperate.


    I¡¯d made an enormous play, taken enormous risk, when I¡¯d gone public to the Accord and thrown myself at the mercy of the nobility. I had put myself, Emma, Rosanna, and anyone else with any connection to me at terrible risk.


    And along with that, I¡¯d accepted a great responsibility.


    It was simple, being the vagabond executioner. Failure had meant death, but I knew the world would go on. Someone else could take up the mantle, and those who¡¯d once known me might never even learn about my fate. There had been a cold comfort in that.


    No longer. Now failure meant that the enemies I faced hurt people I loved, and a society I¡¯d sworn to protect. Markham had made me a knight again, and that meant something.


    Maybe not what it did to others. The Accord, the monarchs and lordlings who governed it, God, faith, all those institutions, they were just names. Ideas, ones I felt neutral toward at best. But there were people within all that I cared for. Being a knight meant protecting them, being there for them.


    If it came with a desk, paperwork, and scheming bureaucrats, I would accept and endure all of it.


    But I needed to be better. Smarter, stronger, less prone to being tugged about on invisible strings. The Keeper had made a fool of me in our meeting, and in this place¡­


    The walls of the mansion ran in winding turns. The brass pipes on the walls emitted strange sounds, as though the whole structure were quietly breathing. Abundant stairways ran up and down, connecting halls and oddly shaped rooms without apparent sense. I tightened my grip on Faen Orgis, retrieved after a brief detour once I¡¯d been sure Emma would be alright.


    I needed to prepare my people better, understand them better. Emma needed more training, and I had treated Hendry like an expendable tagalong. It wasn¡¯t just about fighting skill. I needed to prepare them for the ancient dangers that permeated the world.


    I needed to arm myself with more knowledge. No more settling for being the blunt instrument, the brute that Laertes had called me. There was too much at stake.


    The hollow eyes of elaborately dressed nobles stared at me from the paintings lining the walls. They were exquisitely detailed, and most of the subjects wore archaic fashions generations or even centuries out of style. Some wore no clothes at all.


    There were no servants, no guards. I didn¡¯t even spot the telltale signs of ghosts.


    ¡°Alken.¡±


    I froze, tilting my head towards an ajar door I¡¯d almost passed. It was dark inside.


    ¡°Catrin? Is that you?¡± I didn¡¯t quite trust this place not to play tricks on me.


    ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    I stepped toward the door, but some instinct stopped me. I felt danger, a sense of threat. The dark room seemed to exude cold, though all the manor held a chill.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked.


    A long pause. ¡°No. I got lost.¡±


    ¡°Can I come in?¡±


    Another pause. ¡°Might be better if you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked.


    ¡°That bastard pulled me into something. He said things to me. Showed me things.¡±


    I heard a shuddering intake of breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said. ¡°Emma and Hendry are safe, and I won¡¯t let him hurt any of you. Karog is here.¡± I tried for a smile. ¡°Turns out Laertes is actually Lord Wesley, his patron.¡±


    When she didn¡¯t answer I asked, ¡°Will you come out?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a good idea right now. I¡¯m¡­ not in control.¡±


    I nodded, though I wasn¡¯t certain I understood. ¡°I just want to know you¡¯re alright. I¡¯m not scared of you, Cat.¡±


    ¡°Liar.¡±


    I waited several minutes. There came another shuddering breath.


    ¡°Alright. Just¡­ alright.¡±


    Moving slowly, I walked into the room. It seemed to be some sort of gallery, not much larger than the bedroom I¡¯d been in before but lacking a bed or vanities. As my eyes brightened to clear away the shadows, I saw stands along the walls. Sculptures, all depicting humanoid figures. There were more paintings on the walls too, and some chairs. In one corner, I spotted a pedal harp worked from rich golden wood.


    ¡°Can I give us some light?¡± I asked the room.


    No response. Lifting my axe, I murmured a few words and made pale golden fire flicker across it. Those flames settled into the metal, making it glow.


    Seeing the room better now, I found Catrin. She stood by the lone window, peeking through a gap on the side of the curtains. She leaned on the wall, her posture slumped. Judging by the lack of light coming through it, night must have fallen outside.


    Catrin turned her head to face me. She had a distant look on her face, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Her neatly arranged coils of hair were disheveled now, forming a messy halo around her head that didn¡¯t quite hide her tapered ears or the thinness of her features.


    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.

 5.19: 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.


    ¡°Do you remember what that doctor, Olliard, said about me?¡±


    It took me a while to sift through my memories. That event was over a year past. ¡°He said¡­¡± I frowned, remembering his words. ¡°He said half dead like you, dhampirs, can become true vampires.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Had that been what the Count was referring to, with all his talk of grave flowers and buds?


    You can feel the vestiges of your mortality dying within you, Laertes had said. Something cold coiled around my heart at the memory of those words.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been having bad dreams,¡± Catrin said after several minutes of silence. ¡°I¡¯ve had them before, but they¡¯ve been especially bad lately.¡±


    ¡°Dreams?¡± I asked, thinking of my own haunted sleep.


    Catrin nodded. ¡°Do you¡­¡± She licked her lips. ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s like to be dead, Alken? Can you imagine it?¡±


    I shook my head slowly. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about what happens after a lot.¡±


    ¡°I know what it¡¯s like,¡± Catrin said as she narrowed her eyes to near slits. ¡°To be still and stiff, like stone. But you¡¯re not like stone. You turn soft, and you rot. Things get into you, eating you, until you¡¯re hollowed out.¡±


    Her eyes slid to the curtained window. As she continued to speak, her voice took on a distant quality.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t go anywhere. No heaven, no hell, no playing tricks as a ghost. You¡¯re still in that reeking thing. Because you¡¯re not actually in it. It¡¯s not some vessel or container for what you really are.¡±


    Catrin seemed to fold in on herself. ¡°It¡¯s you. That¡¯s all there is of you. And you¡¯re still aware. You still feel all of it, even while the maggots are crawling around in your ribs and the flies are¡ª¡±


    She stopped, choking. I realized she was crying.


    I didn¡¯t know if she still wanted me not to touch her, but I couldn¡¯t just leave her like that. I stepped forward, pulling her away from the wardrobe and holding her close. I could hear her sobbing into my chest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to what Laertes said,¡± I told her firmly. ¡°He is evil.¡±


    A laugh broke through Catrin¡¯s sobs. ¡°He didn¡¯t have to say anything. Don¡¯t you get it, Alken?¡±


    I didn¡¯t. I wasn¡¯t certain I wanted to, but I would not be a coward here. She had been there for me once, when I¡¯d sunk into a terrible place.


    ¡°I know,¡± Catrin said in a fierce voice. ¡°I remember being in my grave, and that wasn¡¯t the last time I rotted.¡±


    She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a dark red, no shine or gleam in them. Vampire eyes, bloodshot and hungry.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a soul, Alken. No aura. I don¡¯t get an afterlife. This is it. I am undead. I will live in death from now until something destroys me. And yet¡­¡±


    To my surprise, she lowered her head to kiss my chest. ¡°I love living. I want to have warm blood in me all the time. I want to drink, and laugh, and fuck. I want to feel joy and hate. I want and I love to be wanted. But I¡¯m a monster.¡±


    I stroked her hair. ¡°You¡¯re not a monster.¡±


    ¡°I have been!¡± She hissed. ¡°This whole world won¡¯t let me forget it. Even you¡­¡±


    She looked up into my eyes, squinting. ¡°I can¡¯t even look at your face without it hurting. I can feel that hallowed fire in you baring its fangs at me. I hate it¡­ and it makes me hate you sometimes. Sleeping with you feels like touching myself in front of a pulpit, daring those fucking angels and their golden queen to do something about it.¡±


    It took me a moment to find words. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t realize you felt that way.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ugly,¡± she breathed. ¡°God, I know it¡¯s ugly, but it¡¯s true. Half my attraction to you is just hunger and frustration.¡±


    I held her tighter. ¡°Only half.¡±


    She let her forehead fall against my chest, the motion more one of defeat than anything.


    ¡°What happens if this keeps up?¡± I asked her, speaking into her mussed hair.


    I felt her calm, though it seemed to take effort. When she spoke again, her voice had less of a tremor. ¡°I become more dead. Another week, a month at most, and I¡¯ll start to decay. I¡¯ve never gone much longer than that. Didn¡¯t have the self control.¡±


    ¡°And if you start feeding again?¡±


    Catrin sighed against my chest. ¡°Things go back to how they were. And, eventually¡­ I don¡¯t know. But I know I won¡¯t stay the same. Laertes was right, I think. Whatever change is going to happen to me, it¡¯ll happen soon.¡±


    Her voice tightened. ¡°I¡¯m scared, Alken. Being like this, I can handle it. I can handle being the little monster. What if whatever ends up blooming like that bastard said isn¡¯t really me? What if everything I am is just the dregs of that girl my parents buried?¡±


    Her eyes tilted up to look at my face. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be like him. The Count, I mean. He¡¯s so hollow. And¡­ I feel like he¡¯s been calling me a long time, Al. I¡¯d never met him, barely knew the name, but when the Keeper asked me to bring you here I felt so scared. Like one of my nightmares had suddenly come to life.¡±


    I cupped the back of her neck with my hand and rested my forehead against hers. ¡°Monsters like Laertes aren¡¯t born that way, Cat. He chose to be that, or was made into it.¡±


    ¡°What if I become like him?¡± Her voice sounded desperate.


    ¡°I¡¯m no priest,¡± I told her. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about souls other than how to shape mine into a weapon. If you really are soulless, then¡­¡±


    Her face fell, but I kept talking.


    ¡°Then I don¡¯t care. I¡¯ll treat you the same. This.¡±


    I held her face with both hands, avoiding meeting her eyes directly, wary of hurting her in this moment. I stared at the bridge of her nose instead, her lips.


    ¡°This is the Cat I care about. I don¡¯t care if there¡¯s some glowing spark inside or not. God in Heaven, if I could be hollow I would. My soul has done nothing but burn me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean that,¡± she said softly, brushing my chin. As she did, an odd look came over her. Her eyes, such a dark red they were nearly black, seemed to swell. I felt a shudder of danger, part animal instinct. Her sharp nails, very much like claws, lingered on my skin.


    ¡°I need it,¡± Catrin said with something like a whine in her voice. ¡°I feel so tired, Alken. I wanted to be strong, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re hurting yourself,¡± I told her. ¡°Over something neither of us really understand. We will figure it out, but you can¡¯t keep doing this.¡±


    Something cracked in her expression. ¡°It¡¯s really alright?¡±


    I set my jaw. ¡°Just¡­ leave me enough to stand. Can you do that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted. ¡°Can you stop me if I go too far?¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to hurt her, and might need to if I had to stop this by force.


    You¡¯ll hurt her worse if she ends up killing you because you didn¡¯t have the guts to be firm, I told myself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stop you,¡± I promised.


    She hesitated a moment longer, torn with indecision.


    ¡°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.

 5.20: Wars of Old, Wars of Today

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    <hr>

 5.21: 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.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making my head hurt,¡± Catrin whined, rubbing at her temples. ¡°What in the name of the God-Queen¡¯s shining tits does all that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means,¡± I said in a dark voice, ¡°that the abilities of those who compete in the tournament will be enhanced. It¡¯s how aura works ¡ª it¡¯s the same reason I can use mine to command someone to drop their sword, or why a king has the charisma to speak over an entire battlefield. Peoples wills, their beliefs, have real power. That power affects the world around them, sometimes without them even meaning for it too. You don¡¯t need your aura to be awakened for that to be true, though it makes the effects more extreme if it is.¡±


    Emma, an adept herself, nodded. ¡°Everyone¡¯s got aura, Catrin. It¡¯s just that being aware of it lets you be more deliberate with how it¡¯s used.¡±


    Catrin seemed to get it. ¡°So¡­ since there are going to be so many people involved in this big hoorah, and they¡¯re all going to be so into it¡­¡±


    ¡°It will make each clash more dramatic,¡± I said. ¡°Art will become more powerful as the natural abilities of the competitors increase in response to the city¡¯s rising fervor. It can even affect the weather. It will probably get more extreme the further into the fighting we get.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I inwardly cursed. How had I missed it? I¡¯d known about this phenomenon. There were plenty of stories of great battles between figures of legend which resulted in storms and earthquakes. Even outside of violence, it was the same reason why great lords seemed larger than life ¡ª the wills of those who followed and believed in such figures, the stories about them, pressed on reality.


    Most Art was fashioned from those stories, each phantasm a manifestation of the images great events had burned into existence.


    The grand prize of Garihelm¡¯s tournament was the Soul Art that would be born from it.


    Even ignoring that end, many of the fighters who didn¡¯t have powers would gain them, as their aura burned hotter and soaked in the spiritual energies running rampant all around them. Like leaves catching fire in a spreading inferno, adding to the conflagration. It could turn into a violent domino effect.


    ¡°It was common for such festivals to be used for exactly this purpose in ancient days,¡± Laertes added in an almost casual voice. ¡°To forge armies out of the uninitiated. Every warrior who can wield aura is a powerful weapon in a nation¡¯s arsenal, and often enough a High Art would be born at the end of such a clash of wills and destinies.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor definitely hasn¡¯t overlooked that,¡± I said quietly.


    I had underestimated Markham again. I had considered the grand tourney to be frivolous and wasteful. I had not considered just how important that show of unity, of strength, really was. Or its potential use in preparing the realm for whatever dark days lay ahead of us.


    This is why the Vykes sent those two here, I thought. The only reason Hasur is reaching out from his mountain palace now is to take advantage of this opportunity.


    I looked to the Count. ¡°How can Hasur use this?¡±


    Art is just a tool. What mattered would be how our enemy wielded it.


    ¡°In a great variety of ways,¡± Laertes told me. ¡°The tournament will act as the locus of a vortex of energies, a point of concentration upon which the will of the land will be fixed. Just as you might sharpen your own spirit into the edge of a blade, so too can this be done here. The principle is the same as the wielding of your own Battle Art, only done on a much larger scale.¡±


    Emma leaned forward. ¡°So the Vykes want to use the tournament for the casting of some enormous spell?¡±


    ¡°It is a ritual,¡± Laertes clarified. ¡°It could not be used by any mere bystander. It would require the caster to be strongly connected to the act itself, and to stand at its very center when the collected power has reached an apex.¡±


    My hand clenched into a fist as I realized what this meant. ¡°Calerus. The prince. That¡¯s why he¡¯s participating. He¡¯s the one who¡¯s going to wield this Art.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that require him to win the tournament?¡± Emma asked.


    Laertes nodded. ¡°That is the most direct course.¡±


    ¡°And what are they planning to do with this ritual thing?¡± Catrin asked, still looking like she was trying to keep up.


    ¡°Assassinate the Emperor?¡± Hendry suggested.


    ¡°This is a pretty elaborate scheme for that,¡± I said with skepticism. ¡°There are too many things that could go wrong, and easier ways to assassinate a monarch. No, they have something bigger in mind. If Calerus loses, then this whole plot goes to waste¡­¡±


    I stood suddenly. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    Catrin blinked at me in confusion. ¡°What¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°The Vykes were behind the Culling,¡± I explained. I almost laughed. Something very much like a laugh, breathy and hoarse, escaped my lips. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it. Markham¡¯s councilors were right. They were trying to remove competition. They want to increase their champion¡¯s prospects at winning.¡±


    ¡°Still doesn¡¯t tell us what they¡¯re actually trying to accomplish,¡± Emma said.


    ¡°That,¡± Laertes rumbled, ¡°I cannot answer. I am not privy to the councils or mind of Hasur Vyke. This knowledge I give you is largely conjecture. Educated guessing, though I am confident in my theories. I have been monitoring the situation for some time.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re putting Karog forward.¡± I turned to look at the quiet ogre. ¡°He¡¯s your counter play to prevent Calerus from winning.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a lot of potent names in this,¡± Emma warned. ¡°Karog might not even end up fighting Calerus. What if someone else beats him first, or both of them?¡±


    ¡°If the prince fails,¡± Laertes said, ¡°then we have won this round.¡±


    ¡°And if he reaches the finals, but Karog doesn¡¯t?¡± Emma pressed with an insistent tone.


    ¡°I will not fail.¡±


    We all looked at Karog again, who maintained his perpetual dour glare. It was hard to argue with the statement, looking at his enormous frame, crafted by western alchemists as a perfect instrument of violence.


    I studied him a moment, another realization coming to me. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about achieving knighthood and helping Parn¡¯s folk. This is about revenge, isn¡¯t it? For the Vykes betraying you?¡±


    Karog turned his beady eyes to me. He remained quiet a minute, then lowered his head. ¡°I can achieve both aims.¡±


    It had frustrated me, when Karog had refused to help me investigate the Carmine Killer. I hadn¡¯t understood why he¡¯d been so ready to abandon his crusade against our mutual enemy. Had he understood, even then, that Yith was only a minion of a greater power? Had Laertes already approached him and offered this?


    If so, he¡¯d been keeping it from me. I could have known my true enemy well before things had reached this point.


    Karog maintained eye contact with me, his heavy jaw set. I would get no contrition from him.


    ¡°I am confident in my champion¡¯s strength.¡± Laertes redirected our attention back to him. ¡°But I am aware that little can be predicted in an event of this scale. We cannot know who will emerge victorious, but King Hasur must be very confident in his son. He is a shrewd man, and would not leave things to chance.¡±


    ¡°Which means the Culling probably isn¡¯t going to be the only instance of the Vykes cheating,¡± I said. I drummed my fingers against the table as I considered.


    ¡°Then we must hedge our own bets,¡± Laertes suggested. ¡°Rather than leaving it all on Karog¡¯s shoulders, we must increase our chances of frustrating Prince Calerus.¡±


    He unfolded his fingers to gesture at me with an upturned palm. ¡°Will you not join this festival of war, Knight of Seydis?¡±


    Catrin, Hendry, and Emma all turned their heads to stare at me with wide, questioning eyes.


    I squared my shoulders, just as if I were bracing for a charge. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Emma stood. ¡°Alken, with both you and Karog involved there is a good chance one of you could get a shot at knocking this princeling out of the lists. Why not double our odds of stopping this?¡±


    I could see her eagerness, and knew she wasn¡¯t pushing just because of practicality.


    ¡°I am not a tourney knight,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not representing a House or in a position to eat up glory. I¡¯ve taken a post as a justiciar, Emma. It¡¯s the same reason I couldn¡¯t help Laessa or her champions. If I join, it will draw fire on the royal court. It¡¯s one thing for the Storm Knights to have a fighter represent them, but if I do it people will accuse Markham of rigging his own game.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Especially after I killed the Grand Prior. It would be a horrible scandal. Markham is no fool, and he would order me to withdraw if I tried joining the lists.¡±


    ¡°Not if you explain all this to him!¡± Emma set her jaw stubbornly. ¡°Surely he would understand the necessity.¡±


    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, 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.¡±

 5.22: 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.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°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.


    He also just learned that an entire retinue of knights and ambassadors here from the oldest realm in the Accord were slaughtered on the roads of his own kingdom. I imagined he wasn¡¯t having a very good day.


    ¡°We must simply not allow Prince Calerus to win, father.¡±


    I turned to the fourth person remaining in the room with us. Small and slim, with his father¡¯s dark brown hair and his mother¡¯s delicate features, Malcolm Forger possessed serious green eyes discordant with his eight years. Many children of the high nobility matured quickly, the strong aura surrounding them from birth providing an uncanny wisdom for their age.


    Markham calmed at the reminder his son was in the room with us. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, boy. The Condor won¡¯t leave things to chance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard any stories about Calerus,¡± I said. ¡°Is he a reputed warrior, Your Grace?¡±


    Markham considered a moment. ¡°He would have been too young to fight in the war. Any experience he might have, he would have gotten it since then. No doubt he¡¯s spent his whole life training for this¡­¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He met my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know. We should assume he is dangerous.¡± Markham snorted. ¡°As if I needed a reminder. I will make sure anyone set against him in the lists is made aware of the danger, and we will stay on guard for cheating.¡±


    Prince Malcolm frowned. ¡°Father, if we are aware that the Vykes are behind these recent murders, why must we simply let it pass? There must be justice.¡±


    ¡°We are in the game of realms, boy.¡± Malcolm moved to the war table and sat. ¡°You won¡¯t find much justice in it. We have no proof, just Ser Alken¡¯s word. I trust it, but¡­¡±


    He trailed off, glancing at me. I didn¡¯t need to finish the statement for him. We could not tilt the realms against Talsyn on the word of a reclusive wizard. Few trust them in even the best of times.


    I debated asking, then decided there was no harm. ¡°Your Grace, did you know about the power this tournament would conjure? How it might affect those who compete in it?¡±


    I realized only then that it troubled me, the idea my homeland¡¯s leader had engineered such a thing.


    Markham remained quiet a while. Then, with a slow nod he said, ¡°I had some idea of what might happen. It was Lias Hexer¡¯s idea, originally. He found records of some ancient rituals performed by our ancestors, and counseled me to prepare this tourney. He believed it would help shore up our loss of strength after the Fall.¡±


    The Emperor sighed, looking tired as I felt. ¡°He was supposed to be here to observe it and make sure everything went according to plan. He believed there might be unforeseen problems with so much magic concentrated in one place, said he needed to keep things stable.¡±


    Lacing his fingers together he added, ¡°I have a whole team of clericons paying attention to that now, but I doubt any of them have the wizard¡¯s expertise.¡±


    The tournament being Lias¡¯s idea startled me. It did not, after a some thought, surprise me.


    ¡°You¡¯ve had no contact from him since that incident with the Grand Prior?¡± Markham asked me.


    Though it had killed me to do it, I¡¯d reported to Markham what my old friend had done. I¡¯d wanted to talk to Rosanna about it, but she hadn¡¯t allowed a private conversation since before that night everything had changed. And they needed to be warned.


    Even after everything he had done, I still felt that reactive loyalty. I had still wanted to keep that confrontation to myself. I had chosen the wiser course.


    ¡°No, Your Grace.¡±


    Markham stood. ¡°Laessa Greengood¡¯s trial by combat will take place the first morning of the tournament. There will be three days of fighting, and by the end of the last day we will have a champion.¡±


    He stepped around the table to address me directly. ¡°Can you take this demon out of play before that? Make sure it can¡¯t be used for whatever the twins are planning?¡±


    Inhaling, I bowed my head. ¡°I may have found a way to locate the creature, yes.¡±


    I did not mention Catrin.


    <hr>


    As I left the council chamber, I heard the doors open behind me. Turning, I saw two figures step out and approach. I bowed my head as they stopped a short distance away, trying to ignore the looming figure of the Twinbolt Knight and keep my focus on the younger of the pair.


    ¡°My prince,¡± I murmured.


    Malcolm Forger studied me a moment, his emotions unreadable. Again, it struck me how those eyes did not belong to someone so young. He should have been struggling to form sentences and clinging to his mother¡¯s skirts, not appraising me with the calculating ambivalence of a young adult.


    He reminded me of an elf. They often appeared youthful, for all their ancient knowledge. Tuvon had been like that.


    ¡°We have not spoken since my mother introduced my brother and me to you,¡± Malcolm finally said. ¡°I have been wanting to have a conversation.¡±


    I had much to do, and none of it was trifling enough to wait on a royal child¡¯s whim. Burying my frustration I simply kept my head lowered and my tone polite. ¡°I am at your service, my prince.¡±


    Malcolm¡¯s green eyes, uncannily like his mother¡¯s, narrowed. When he spoke again, his voice seemed more cool. ¡°Yes, I remember you saying that back then too. And yet, you also promised my mother your service. Now you answer to my father.¡±


    The boy lifted his chin. ¡°Who do you serve, Ser Alken? My father? My mother? Yourself?¡±


    I blinked, taken off guard by the suspicion in the boy¡¯s voice. No, not just suspicion. Hostility.


    He¡¯s angry, I realized. Because he thought I betrayed his mother? Knowing what he did of our relationship, it probably seemed that way.


    He looked and sounded so much like Rosanna in that moment. She had been just like this when we¡¯d been young. Controlled, challenging, stubborn, and suspicious of everyone. Without even thinking about it, I replied to her son the same way I might have to her once.


    ¡°Have you not heard, my prince?¡± I tried for a smile. ¡°I serve the gods.¡±


    Rosanna and I had relied on one another, and she hadn¡¯t been child of an emperor. Malcom¡¯s gaze turned cold.


    ¡°I will not be mocked,¡± he snapped. ¡°And I will have an answer, ser.¡±


    His use of the knightly honorific was a not so subtle reminder of our difference in station, and it ripped me right out of my fit of nostalgia. The Twinbolt hadn¡¯t moved, but remained a looming, eerie presence nearby. I don¡¯t even think I heard breath through his elaborate helm, and like many royal guard it had been fashioned with some enchantment to keep the interior shadowed and anonymous.


    Somehow, I got the sense he wasn¡¯t watching me. The helm was slightly turned, as though the knight were listening to some far off noise.


    I bowed deeper, turning my attention back to Malcolm. ¡°Forgive me, my prince.¡±


    He waited with a stubbornly set jaw, and I realized he wouldn¡¯t let this go. His question had not been rhetorical.


    I decided for a half truth. ¡°I serve the realms, my prince.¡±


    He watched me for six long, uncomfortable breaths, then turned. ¡°We will see. Good day to you, Ser Alken.¡±


    He and his bodyguard departed then. I stood there until Emma stepped up to my side. She¡¯d been hiding in the shadows between two statues, using a bit of her Briar magic to keep watch on me.


    ¡°That was unsettling,¡± she noted. ¡°I thought he¡¯d have his guard draw on you for a moment.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s angry on behalf of his mother.¡± I turned and started walking.


    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.


    <hr>


    ¡°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.

 5.23: 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?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± I let my eyes slide from her face. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect anything. We both did what we had to.¡±


    Rosanna hadn¡¯t budged an inch, keeping her ring-laden fingers folded in front of her round belly like a shield. The elaborate gown didn¡¯t quite hide her growing pregnancy, more starkly obvious now than when I¡¯d been reunited with her nearly three months past. Her eyes didn¡¯t move either, remaining fixed on my face.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I should have heard about Lias from you, Alken. I want to hear it from you. I am owed that much.¡±


    I walked to the slim window near the desk, almost as though that sliver of daylight offered some escape from this conversation. I breathed in warm sea air.


    Owed that much. I owed her everything, and didn¡¯t need the reminder.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to say about it,¡± I finally said. ¡°He betrayed us. First you, then your husband, then me. He used all of us for his schemes, and now he¡¯s tied himself to something terrible. I don¡¯t know where he is, or what he¡¯s doing, or what he plans. I don¡¯t expect to see him again.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to see him again. I doubted that would be a peaceful meeting.


    Turning to Rosanna I said, ¡°He tried to kill me.¡±


    I had not told Markham that part.


    All the color bled from my queen¡¯s face. I had seen her angry, cold, bitter, cruel. Never before had I seen horror on her regal features.


    I couldn¡¯t look at it, so I turned back to the bay. ¡°He¡¯s gone now. I don¡¯t know where.¡±


    We listened to the waves crash against the tower¡¯s base. Several minutes passed before Rosanna broke her silence.


    ¡°Did you know?¡± She asked in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Know what?¡± I asked tiredly.


    I heard her take a steadying breath. ¡°When you came to the city, did you have orders to kill the Grand Prior? Did you know even while I sheltered you, through all the times we spoke?¡±


    Her cold voice held a brittle edge. I felt I could shatter her then, with just one lie. Perhaps the aureflame would smite me down for it, but not before I put it to words.


    It would be the wise thing to do. I could cut all our bonds right there, sever the cord. It would be safer for her if we never spoke like this again.


    It would free me.


    ¡°I told you that first night.¡± I turned to face her, looking directly into her emerald eyes. ¡°If you order it, I will tell you everything. But only if you order it, as my queen.¡±


    She remembered that conversation as well as I did. I had offered to tell her about my penance of blood, what it meant and what I¡¯d done the past six years. Rosanna had decided to not hear any of it, so she could remain distant from the repercussions.


    That had been before angels and kings had chosen to sanction me.


    Rosanna drew herself up, mastered her emotions, and spoke with all the calm authority of her birth and station. ¡°Then I will have this one answer from you, Ser Alken, and I expect truth.¡±


    Her eyes were steady now, showing none of the vulnerability I had glimpsed before. ¡°Did you use me to gain this post? Did you plan this from the beginning?¡±


    I stared at her in dumb shock, but her face remained clear of doubt. Like she already knew the answer, or thought she did.


    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.

 5.24: 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.¡±


    ¡°So what became of this assassin?¡± I asked.


    ¡°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 Sno?. 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.¡±


    I blinked out of my reverie. ¡°You¡¯ve been spying on me?¡±


    Rosanna turned and quirked a royal black eyebrow. ¡°Of course. I spy on everyone. I¡¯m a queen.¡±


    She knocked three times on the door and Kaia stepped in a moment later. The larger woman handed some scrolls to the Empress.


    ¡°That man, Emil, is a spy for the Clericon College.¡± Rosanna walked to my desk and placed her papers there. ¡°He is one of the Royal Cleric¡¯s people, and personally loyal to her.¡±


    I had suspected at least a few of my subordinates would be spies. ¡°Thanks.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I also have something here on Kenneth Garder,¡± she told me. She had a strange look then, one I couldn¡¯t read. ¡°I will let you decide what to do with it. It will make sense after you read these. I am also giving you Lisette.¡±


    I tilted my head, taken aback. ¡°Why? She¡¯s yours, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    Rosanna sighed. ¡°She is wasted as my scribe, and has been languishing ever since she abandoned the Priory. Her talents would be put to better use with you, where she might do some actual good.¡±


    ¡°Surely the Church has some use for her?¡± I suggested. ¡°There¡¯s always a shortage of healers and warders.¡±


    Rosanna adopted a troubled expression. ¡°The clergy does not trust her. She was a priorguard of the Aureate Inquisition, Alken. You know the sorts of things they did. You saw their dungeons. She was part of that, even if it was as my spy.¡±


    Another outcast, I thought. A talent rare as Lisette¡¯s was no small gift, so I inclined my head and accepted it. ¡°That is very generous, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Use all of this,¡± Rosanna said seriously. ¡°For all our power, my husband and I cannot move against the Vykes without moving the engines of realms. Stop their scheme, and stop this war before it shifts from knives in the dark to armies, and burning cities. That is a command from your queen and your empress.¡±


    Her voice softened. ¡°And get some rest. The days ahead will be trying enough, and you look dead on your feet.¡±


    I felt an involuntary smile tug at my lip. ¡°Is that an order as well?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said stonily. ¡°It is. Good day to you, Ser Headsman.¡±


    She gave a brief dip of her crowned head, then departed with her bodyguard. I stood there a while, chewing on everything our conversation had revealed.


    Why did all the catharsis in my life have to coincide with more complicated problems?


    <hr>


    An hour later, I sat behind my desk again and had Kenneth Garder standing in front of me.


    ¡°You wanted to talk to me, ser?¡± Kenneth had his usual half smirk on his face, not quite evident enough to be taken as insubordination. Much of it lurked in his eyes, a subtle wrongness I¡¯d felt but couldn¡¯t quite name in our interactions so far. They twinkled as though he knew something I didn¡¯t.


    My fingers lingered on some of the paperwork in front of me. I studied him a while, long enough for him to lose some of his humor and shift in discomfort.


    ¡°When I heard I¡¯d be getting a staff,¡± I finally said in a contemplative voice, ¡°it annoyed me. I knew I would be getting spies from other members of the council. The idea of juggling all the intrigue and secret motives made my skull ache. I¡¯m better with simple problems, you see.¡±


    I motioned with my hands, making a spinning gesture. The nobleman frowned, some of his foppish confidence fading.


    I stopped the gesture and splayed my fingers, showing him my myriad burn marks and other scars. ¡°When I am confronted with a threat, I chop it. I¡¯m a fighter, and a piss poor courtier. When they gave me you, Kenneth, I knew you were too good to be true. A great track record, a promising future, good breeding, obvious charisma. All the things I lacked. Things I could make use of.¡±


    Kenneth looked like he couldn¡¯t decide whether I were complimenting him or not. Pointing at him I said, ¡°I was certain you were an agent for someone in the court, moved into my command for some agenda. I admit, the lack of any obvious marks against you made me suspicious, but what the court gave me on you looked clean.¡±


    Kenneth shrugged. ¡°I am sorry to disappoint you, ser.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you haven¡¯t disappointed me. In fact, I¡¯m pleasantly surprised.¡±


    When he gave me another curious look, I stood and picked up the papers I¡¯d had in front of me. My eyes scanned the page a moment, considering the contents.


    ¡°Your family is quite wealthy,¡± I said. ¡°They must be, to pass enough coin around to keep a fourth son¡¯s mishaps quiet.¡±


    Kenneth¡¯s eyes went to the paper. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean, ser.¡±


    I held up the paper, bracing another hand against the cluttered desk. ¡°This is a report submitted by your commander from the city watch, which was kept from me until today. It includes the copy of a letter given to him by a merchant captain who docks here in the city.¡±


    The man¡¯s jaw flexed. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°It is a complaint,¡± I explained. ¡°And a plea for justice. Apparently he also tried to go to a bailiff, but your family bribed the law as well. Should I read the letter, Kenneth?¡±


    He shrugged, putting on a good show of nonchalance. ¡°If you must. I certainly have no idea what¡¯s in it.¡±


    ¡°In it is a description of how you stalked and harassed this merchant¡¯s daughter for several months,¡± I stated flatly. ¡°Using your position with the guard to do it.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the only mark I had against him. Rosanna¡¯s people had been thorough, and I knew now why a son of the well respected Garder clan hadn¡¯t earned himself a knighthood at his age.


    Kenneth¡¯s lazy smile returned. ¡°Ahh, I think I know what this is about.¡±


    He had the gall to laugh, as though some silly mystery had been revealed. ¡°Listen, this sort of thing happens all the time. A jealous father sees his precious girl carrying on with a man he doesn¡¯t approve of, and takes things too far¡­¡±


    He shrugged, flashing his good teeth. ¡°It¡¯s just a misunderstanding. I explained all this to my commander, but they moved me on just to prevent a hassle. Me and Ursula, well¡­ it¡¯s complicated, but I assure you I wasn¡¯t stalking her. ¡±


    ¡°She seemed to think so,¡± I noted as I flipped the page. ¡°She signed this as well.¡±


    Kenneth¡¯s expression turned cold. ¡°What is this about, ser? Do you want me to admit to some misbehavior? Over what, some tryst with a peasant?¡±


    ¡°Tryst is not the word I would use for it,¡± I said darkly.


    Kenneth surprised me. He took a step forward and lowered his voice, dropping all pretense of propriety or respect. ¡°Come now, let¡¯s not dance around one another.¡±


    He leaned close, almost over the desk. ¡°You and I both know what this is. This¡­ band of ours.¡±


    ¡°Do we now?¡± I asked dryly, curious despite myself.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Kenneth¡¯s eyes held no merry, personable glint anymore. ¡°The Emperor and his council assigned you people like me because they intend for us to do dark work. Unclean work.¡±


    When I just glared, the man huffed in frustration. ¡°You think that ape, Mallet, is some saint? He worked for dock gangs, breaking legs when people didn¡¯t pay their protection rackets. I know, because I helped arrest him for it several times. And that private soldier, Beatriz?¡±


    He flashed an ugly grin. ¡°She was let go from the family who employed her because they caught her sleeping in the heir¡¯s bed. Can¡¯t have a lowborn bruiser as a mistress for such a promising soul, especially when she was near done convincing him to elope with a sizable share of his fortune. That old bowman, Penric, used to murder his lord¡¯s political rivals. Talk to anyone in the castle garrison, they all know the stories.¡±


    Kenneth braced his hands on the desk, mirroring my own pose. ¡°You are the Headsman, man. Did you think they¡¯d assign good, chivalrous white knights to you? I was shocked to see that pup Hendry tossed in with the rest of us.¡±


    He pointed at his own chin. ¡°You need people like me.¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± I asked.


    The man¡¯s grin had more in common with a wolf¡¯s than a man¡¯s. ¡°You and I both know it. So let¡¯s not pretend like this is about some merchanter¡¯s letter, hm? You called me up here to appraise me. Well. Here I am.¡±


    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.

 5.25: 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. I wondered if this was a vision, 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 hadn¡¯t 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 abgr¨¹dai 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.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°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.¡±


    It stopped when it drew close enough to tower over me, then hunched down so we were at eye level. I remained perfectly still, broken blade in hand, knowing I couldn¡¯t run or fight this thing. Not here.


    It was already dead. This was just a ghost, a memory. Yet with the Adversary, even memories of them can have teeth.


    Rath¡¯s breath reeked of carrion as it drew close enough to reach out and touch, its stretched skull of a face filling my vision. Flies buzzed around me, huge and black, threatening to swarm in a biting frenzy.


    ¡°But you did not give me my thirst for blood,¡± the demon whispered. ¡°You did not give me my rancor. Those are mine and my own.¡±


    I tried not to take in too much of its stink, overpowering as it was. Speaking through clenched teeth I said, ¡°If you want my blood, you¡¯ll have to get in line. Your sister might take issue.¡±


    The toothy grin seemed to stretch. ¡°Tormentsister is near. I sense her shadow¡­ but I do not seek to consume you, paladin. I wish to thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thank me?¡± What kind of trick was this?


    ¡°For feeding me, of course.¡±


    Rath gestured with a four-fingered hand, flashing the blood crusted to its claws. It cupped them to frame the dead stewards lifted above the fountain.


    ¡°You and your order gave me this. Gave me war. Gave me a feast. And I have feasted well these years, Alder Knight. Even reduced to this shade I have rarely come so close to being sated.¡±


    I bared my own teeth. ¡°I haven¡¯t given you anything. I smote you down, demon, and I¡¯m not scared of your leftovers.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rath agreed. ¡°You do not fear blood. You have a taste for it, same as I.¡±


    I sneered. ¡°''We¡¯re the same'' is a pretty old play, Rath. I guess that¡¯s why Reynard had you doing his fighting for him, while your brethren did the more complicated tasks.¡±


    It chuckled, my attempt at goading it breaking off that death¡¯s head like a wave off a cliff. ¡°And yet, it is true.¡±


    Rath El Kur leaned closer, and its fixed expression looked very much like a leer then. ¡°Pretend to hate your lot all you like, but you could have walked away from this life long ago, Alken Hewer. You reveled in war once, and now you pine for it. You are no man of peace.¡±


    I swallowed my first reply, knowing any bitter retort or disagreement would only feed the thing. ¡°Why don¡¯t we get to the part where you start peeling my skin off, or whatever it is you¡¯re going to do? I don¡¯t have time for this.¡±


    I would wake up eventually. I just needed to wait this out.


    ¡°You would like that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Once again, Rath let out that hacking chortle. ¡°To reduce it all to pain, to lose yourself to sensation. It is simpler. Far easier to swallow than what you truly fear.¡±


    ¡°You do not know me.¡±


    ¡°I recognize you.¡±


    ¡°You are an animal who learned to mimic words.¡±


    ¡°I am what you wish you could be.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just an appetite, and you will never understand me.¡±


    ¡°I am a violent impulse.¡±


    I was breathing harder, my heart thumping in my chest. Cold sweat beaded across my skin. The acrid feel of the air grew steadily worse.


    Rath propped its spear against the ground, looking relaxed and comfortable on its haunches. Its iron teeth parted slightly, revealing a bloody light within.


    ¡°What do you think called me to you, O¡¯ Knight? Or you to me? Your virtue? Your honor? Your chasteness?¡± He cackled again. ¡°We both know you have none of that.¡±


    The demon reached out with a claw and pressed it against my breastplate with a solid click, right over my heart. Beneath layers of steel and cloth, I felt the bite wound Catrin had given me burning.


    ¡°If I am wrong,¡± Rath El Kur crooned, ¡°then why are all your romances with such ungentle creatures? Why do you find their cruel appetites so fetching? You are in love with violence.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    Damn it. I shouldn¡¯t have said a word, shouldn¡¯t have given this wretch anything.


    ¡°Tormentsister and that leech are both savage as I¡­ they merely wear prettier faces. Aye, even that silver queen of yours glutted you on war. Your bloodstained muses. But you don¡¯t even need that, do you? You miss it. All this.¡±


    Behind the demon, the figures impaled above the fountain had changed. They wore red and black robes. The fountain had overflowed with their dripping blood, a gory altar framed by the dead city and the poisoned sky. I could hear bells tolling somewhere in the distance.


    I took a step back. ¡°I did not want any of this. I didn¡¯t ask for any of it.¡±


    Once more Rath El Kur¡¯s jaws parted, and my own voice emerged from within.


    ¡°I should just kill those two.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time something is done about the Condor.¡±


    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 hallowed fire in you baring its fangs 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?¡±


    <hr>


    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.

 5.26: They Who Hunt Demons

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    <hr>

 5.27: Moth

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 5.28: 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.¡±


    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 believe they all went under the walls,¡± Jocelyn said. ¡°Or around them. This fog blew in over the bay.¡±


    His tone was apologetic, as though he regretted disagreeing with the cleric. ¡°The eyes of the stonewardens are not infallible, and they mostly only protect their chosen nests. The churches, castles, and some other abodes.¡±


    He was right. I cursed. ¡°You¡¯re saying there¡¯s an army gathering in the city?¡±


    ¡°Not quite an army,¡± the knight assured me. ¡°The Mistwalker Company only has about four hundred members. Um¡­¡±


    He glanced around at all the twitching, undead corpses. ¡°Sixteen less, now.¡±


    ¡°Enough for a coup,¡± Emma said warningly. ¡°We need to warn the Emperor.¡±


    I closed my eyes, thinking the problem through. It wasn¡¯t easy, pulling myself out of the burning chasm I¡¯d glimpsed inside the crypt, but I did so with the same kind of effort with which one rips their hand away from clinging ice.


    ¡°No. They¡¯re not here to attack the city, not yet. There are over a thousand knights here for the tourney, and that¡¯s just a small portion of Garihelm¡¯s defenses. Besides, they couldn¡¯t attack the Fulgurkeep. The gargoyles would rip ghoul intruders apart well before a single Storm Knight was even aware of the threat. There are other defenses, too.¡±


    It did confirm something I¡¯d already been suspicious of. The Mistwalkers, led by their gluttonous captain, were also allied with the Vykes.


    ¡°We must go,¡± Jocelyn insisted. His voice was calm, but I felt tension in him even from a distance.


    ¡°Where?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There is a safe place nearby,¡± the Ironleaf said. ¡°An old friend of mine is there, waiting for us. He asked me to invite you to a meeting this night, but then all of this happened.¡±


    He frowned at the small battlefield the cemetery had become. ¡°Perhaps it is fate?¡±


    ¡°It is not fate.¡± All eyes went to me, shocked by my vehemence, but I didn¡¯t care. Holding Jocelyn¡¯s gaze, I spoke in a low voice that hid none of my anger, or pain. ¡°None of this had to happen this way.¡±


    The man¡¯s calm hazel eyes studied me a moment. ¡°Perhaps not. Will you go with me?¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    I studied my diminished group. No one argued. Mallet glared at me as though all of this were my fault, and I could hardly blame him. Penric just looked old and tired, Hendry uncertain, and Lisette thoughtful. Beatriz acted as though none of us were there, her eyes fixed on the ground.


    Emma used her sword like a cane at my side, barely standing. It was clear to me she¡¯d fought hardest of them all, and suffered most for it.


    I had used them badly. Working alone had been so much simpler.


    ¡°Show us,¡± I told Jocelyn.


    As we left the cemetery, the shades gathered in my wake to condemn me. If any of my companions saw the faces in the mist, or heard their whispers, they did not comment on it.


    <hr>


    Jocelyn of Ekarleon led us to a small coastal wood not far from the cemetery. Our going was laborious thanks to our injured. Even with Lisette¡¯s tending, Mallet needed both Hendry and Penric to help him walk. Beatriz lagged behind, moving in an almost drunken stupor.


    I had to force myself to move forward. Each step I put between me and the cemetery felt like a betrayal.


    Penric had asked what happened to Emil, and Emma told the group what I¡¯d discovered in curt, simple words. Mallet spat out a curse, while Beatriz just squeezed her eyes shut.


    Only Hendry asked about Catrin. When I refused to respond, he fell quiet. Emma kept close to my side, as though wary that further questions might be a threat to me.


    Or that I might be a threat to myself.


    We were watched from the curling fog. It hung low over the fields beyond the city, shrouding everything but the moons and stars high above. Thick and languid, it seemed to leer hungrily at us.


    ¡°There are faces in the mist,¡± Beatriz said after a time.


    Mistwalkers. I tightened my grip on my axe, ready to defend us, and vent some of the ugly feeling twisted into my gut.


    ¡°They won¡¯t attack with both me and Ser Alken here,¡± Jocelyn said from the front of the group. ¡°Not until more of them gather.¡±


    I could see the shapes of armored legionaries here and there, appearing and vanishing as the shape of the brume changed. Human in appearance, the way they seemed to exude their own pale light and the wrongness in their faces made them seem unreal, like some afterimage recalled in a nightmare.


    The aureflame stirred inside me, ready to reveal itself and lash out against the evil it sensed. I kept it leashed with ungentle resolve, like pressing a hand down on the head of an overeager hound.


    As we entered the forest, the night seemed to clear up. The moonlight grew brighter, the mist thinner, and the stink of graves and mud gave way to clean dew and wildflowers. Everything became crisp, bright, and welcoming. I could hear a stream trickling nearby, and soft wind rustling the young trees.


    Shapes moved in the peripheral of my vision. They weren¡¯t the furtive, threatening aspects of shades or ghouls, but the winking lights of Wil-O¡¯ Wisps. The eyes of other curious creatures watched as well.


    I felt a familiar sense of ease, one I hadn¡¯t known for some time. Not since my last stay at the Fane.


    I shoved that sensation away. There was no time for feeling safe or content. I needed to keep myself focused.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± Mallet asked, frowning at the forest as though unsure whether to feel at ease or threatened.


    ¡°It¡¯s an elfwood,¡± I told the group without stopping or taking my eyes off the Ironleaf¡¯s back.


    ¡°I thought the Recusants burned them all during the siege,¡± Penric muttered. ¡°I remember watching the fires.¡±


    ¡°They missed a few,¡± Jocelyn told us without turning. ¡°Only a few, and none larger than this.¡±


    We soon moved from the shadow of coastal trees into a wide clearing. At its center was a babbling brook, fed by runoff from the ranges to the south. I could smell sea air, and knew the brook probably drained into the bay.


    Sitting on a cleft of stone beside the water was a figure in the brown robes of an itinerant monk. He looked sagely and old, but as we drew closer I made out the gleam of silver thread in his hair, the slight muzzle of his face, and the hint of cloven hooves beneath the robe¡¯s hem.


    Oradyn Fen Harus stood to face us. ¡°Welcome,¡± the elf sang. ¡°Welcome, my friends. Be at ease here. No Thing of Darkness shall intrude into this place while I guard it.¡±


    <hr>


    The group made a small camp by the brook while I moved aside to speak with the elf and the glorysworn. The Corpse Moon hung high and distant, its light almost drowned out by the ascending Living Moon. Fen Harus seemed distracted by that larger shape, his eyes tracing the patches of emerald along its surface.


    ¡°What are you two doing out here?¡± I asked without preamble. Focusing on the oradyn I added, ¡°I thought you wanted to meet in the morning.¡±


    Slowly, Fen Harus turned his alien eyes back to me. ¡°Ah, yes. That was my intention, but the situation escalated. I sensed movement from our foes, and asked the good knight to shadow you. I believed it might be of some benefit.¡±


    I had to swallow my immediate bitter response ¡ª that it had been of no benefit, not where it mattered most. If I¡¯d had any help from the Sidhe, perhaps she wouldn¡¯t have needed to¡ª


    I took a deep breath to calm myself, then looked to the serene Ironleaf. ¡°You probably saved the lives of my companions. You have my thanks.¡±


    Ser Jocelyn just inclined his head, his eyes heavily lidded as though in distracted thought. He turned as another approached our group. I caught Emma¡¯s eye, saw the defiant glint in it, and decided not to order her to go rest. She still limped badly, but had a fresh batch of Lisette¡¯s magic sewing her back together. She hovered at my side, and I got the message. I¡¯m part of this, and I will know what is discussed.


    No doubt she also still worried over me. Perhaps she was right to. I wasn¡¯t certain I knew myself just then.


    Forcing myself to focus, I asked the most pressing question on my mind. ¡°You both knew about the Mistwalkers being here before I did. How?¡±


    It was the knight who answered first. ¡°I have faced the Lost Legion before. My warband fought in the continent, and there is rarely a war there in which the corpse feasters do not appear. There were signs I recognized. Odd horns sounding in the distance, werelights, a quality to the fog.¡±


    He trailed off. I stared at him, a slow realization dawning.


    ¡°You are a paladin,¡± I said. ¡°One of the True Knights.¡±


    Jocelyn only smiled softly. ¡°Not an Alder Knight, I am afraid, or of any particular order of great note.¡±


    I had long known there were blessed knights besides those of the Alder Table. Renuart Kross had passed himself as one before I had discovered his true nature. Varied in both what abilities they might cultivate and the vows they take, they all share some commonalities with my own powers. Sensing wrongness in the world, gaining their strength from the oaths they swear, and possessing an arsenal of magical techniques are the most common features.


    In our few encounters, I had sensed something about the glorysworn mercenary. Jocelyn had possessed an uncanny aspect, like his soul was too large for his flesh and reached out to fill the world around him, much as I exuded a beckoning warmth. Or an abjuring one, as the case may be.


    ¡°Do you know why they¡¯re here?¡± I asked the pair.


    Jocelyn frowned and glanced at Fen Harus before speaking. ¡°The Mistwalkers subside off war. They seek to feast on the aura of strong foes, usually shadowing beleaguered armies and claiming their dead, like jackals or crows.¡±


    ¡°If they are here,¡± Fen Harus stated, ¡°then it is because they sense there will be a great amount of death to feast on soon. They are drawn by the very portent of war.¡±


    And there was one beginning, quietly and insidiously, here in the capital of the Accorded Realms. No doubt Issachar, captain of the Mistwalker Company, knew of Talsyn¡¯s plans.


    ¡°There is worse news,¡± Fen Harus told me. ¡°Tell him, Ser Jocelyn.¡±


    The Ironleaf met my eyes. ¡°House Sontae may be allied with the Vykes.¡±


    Emma frowned. ¡°Why would they do that? They were attacked the night of the Culling, or so goes the rumor. House Vyke was behind those attacks, so why would they send an assassin after their own ally?¡±


    ¡°The situation in the peninsula is, and always has been, complicated.¡± Fen Harus folded his hands into the sleeves of his monkish robes. ¡°The Princedoms of Cymrinor have rarely been unified. Their civil war lasted for near three years after the Accord was signed, only ending when Prince Grantius of House Hyriates quelled all protestation to his rule.¡±


    I had heard some rumors of bloodshed in Cymrinor during my travels after the Fall, but I had never strayed into that embattled northern realm in my life.


    ¡°One of those clans Grantius Hyriates dismantled was the Sontaes,¡± Fen Harus continued. ¡°Quite brutally, by my understanding. Siriks was a child at the time, and taken as a hostage against those allies of his family that remained. The last one to hold that storied name, a means to revive it, and also a threat. Should anyone act against the First Prince, House Sontae will be snuffed out.¡±


    The elf paced to the side of the brook as he spoke, his eyes dropping to the water to study his own reflection. He looked different in the water. Brighter, younger, and larger. I had to tear my eyes away, knowing it wasn¡¯t safe to look too long.


    ¡°Young Siriks is the leader of the ambassadorial delegation from the Princedoms,¡± Fen Harus explained. ¡°A subtly veiled insult, to send a hostage from a dead clan to represent their nation.¡±


    ¡°So this Grantius fellow is also very arrogant,¡± Emma noted.


    The oradyn inclined his head in agreement. ¡°The young lord desires revenge, as would anyone in his position, but House Hyriates is very powerful. More than that, the Accord will not use force of arms to dethrone High Prince Grantius. The Emperor desires peace, and already he is forced to take precautions against Talsyn.¡±


    And he¡¯s planning a crusade on Seydis. No, I highly doubted Markham would be willing to send troops against the tyrant of Cymrinor.


    ¡°It is my belief that the assassin who stole into the Cymrinorean embassy that night was none other than Prince Calerus himself.¡± Fen Harus looked up from the water. ¡°That he was there to display his strength to an embittered young man who desires war from a nation unwilling to give it to him.¡±


    ¡°Both Calerus and Siriks are planning to participate in the tournament,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°You believe they intend to cooperate?¡±


    ¡°If either gains the prize of victory,¡± Jocelyn interjected, ¡°then we may as well consider it Talsyn¡¯s victory.¡±


    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 strategy 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.

 5.29: 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 abgr¨¹dai.¡±


    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.


    I ignored them and focused on the pensive features of my squire. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to jump.¡±


    Emma shrugged and folded her hands behind her back. ¡°So, have you decided what¡¯s to be done? I am afraid I¡¯ve come up with no brilliant strategies.¡±


    ¡°My words before were unkind,¡± I conceded. ¡°You did not deserve them.¡±


    Emma sighed. ¡°No, I very much did. I was being a shit, as usual, and you shouldn¡¯t forgive it so easily.¡± She clucked her tongue and added, ¡°But we don¡¯t have the time for a heart-to-heart.¡±


    She was right. I took another long breath of the clean night air, on the cusp of decision. No, I¡¯d already decided, I was just stalling.


    ¡°Alken¡­¡± Emma stepped forward and met my gaze intently. ¡°If you wish to abandon all of this and go after Catrin, I will help you. I harbor no loyalties to this nation.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to be a knight?¡±


    The girl scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t give an inbred chimera¡¯s rancid shit whether some man in a golden hat taps my shoulders. I will make my own legend, and anyone who says I am no true knight can prove it on my sword. Let them say it, after I brave the Underworld itself to save your harlot lover. Erm, no offense to Catrin.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I admit, I considered taking her up on the offer. After a moment¡¯s thought, I shook my head. ¡°We¡¯d never find Yith down there. No, I have a different idea. If we can¡¯t go down there to him, then we¡¯ll have to make him come up here to us. There¡¯s another way. I destroyed his construct, so I expect this might work with a bit of luck.¡±


    Emma¡¯s amber eyes lit with interest. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a very brash plan,¡± I warned her.


    She grinned. ¡°My favorite kind. Something like with the Grand Prior? I do regret not getting to participate in that.¡±


    I didn¡¯t regret keeping her out of that, but even still I returned her dark smile. ¡°Not like that, though it¡¯s likely to blow up in our faces. Something Count Laertes said during our audience with him came back to me.¡±


    Lowering my voice, I made the decision in the same moment it formed into words. ¡°I¡¯m going back to the Fulgurkeep, alone.¡± When I saw argument form on Emma¡¯s lips, I placed a hand on her shoulder to stall her. ¡°I have a job for you and the lance.¡±


    When I had finished telling her, Emma was suppressing giddy laughter. ¡°Oh, I like it! Are you certain we can trust the others, though? Mallet seems quite cross with us, and that Beatriz girl is shaky.¡±


    I considered. ¡°Tell Hendry and Lisette. And Penric. I¡¯ll leave the other two to your judgement.¡±


    The fewer people involved in this, the less likely we¡¯d be found out.


    ¡°And what about you?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°I need a favor,¡± I said vaguely. ¡°And to make sure the palace is warned about what we learned. Rest here tonight, and return to the ¡®Keep in the morning. Do it in pairs, to draw less attention. I want us to have as low a profile as possible for the next few days.¡±


    <hr>


    The Empress entered her private chambers late, some time after midnight. She had a pair of maidservants with her along with Kaia Gorr, and tolerated them long enough to have her elaborate gown dismantled and her labyrinthine braids loosened, then dismissed all of them with a few tired words and a wave of her hand. The bodyguard was the last to go, giving her liege lady a significant look as she paused with the door to the room half closed.


    ¡°You need to rest, Your Grace.¡± The former mercenary¡¯s accented voice held a concerned edge. ¡°Do you want me to have a tea brought up? You¡¯ve not slept well lately.¡±


    Rosanna sighed. ¡°Not tonight. It unsettles the little one, and makes the waking hard. But if you could keep Giselle near at hand? She¡¯s a light sleeper, and I may need her.¡±


    The knight bowed her head. ¡°Then sleep well, Your Grace. Both of you.¡±


    Rosanna gave her First Sword a half shrug and a sardonic smile. ¡°I doubt he will. Good night, Ser Kaia.¡±


    The door clicked closed. The Empress let out a tired sigh, paused a moment with her hand rested on the intricate carvings of her enormous bed¡¯s nearest post, then reached up to undo the lone rope of braided hair her maids had left.


    ¡°You still make them leave that last braid,¡± I noted.


    Rosanna drew in a sharp breath, spun, and almost screamed. I¡¯d known I took a risk startling her, but couldn¡¯t quite help myself and trusted her stubborn self control to prevent her from shrieking.


    ¡°Alken? Is that you?¡±


    I stood near the window, where the alchemical lamps and lit hearth didn¡¯t quite scatter the darkness. Stepping out the shadows, I let the glamour fall away. It was much like shaking off water. The thin phantasm would take some time to fully fade, and made the corner I had occupied look unnaturally gloomy, my cloak closer to dry blood than wine.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± I assured her.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Rosanna hissed, her cheeks flushed with anger and shock.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t have time to ask for a proper audience. I need to talk to you.¡±


    Rosanna studied my damp appearance. It wasn¡¯t raining outside. Her eyes widened. ¡°Did you climb up here?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Not much worse than the Pinnacle back in Karles, and there are sentries who can see through glamour inside the castle.¡±


    ¡°What about the gargoyles?¡± Rosanna demanded.


    ¡°I¡¯m an Alder Knight,¡± I told her. ¡°They noticed me, but didn¡¯t make a fuss.¡±


    My queen sniffed, torn between relief I wasn¡¯t an assassin and anger at my intrusion. The lone braid remained intact, hanging down one shoulder while the rest of her black hair fell loose. That had always been her way, to demand her handmaidens leave that one thing for her to do herself.


    ¡°To what do I owe the¡­ honor of this visit, Ser Headsman?¡±


    By her cool demeanor, I knew I¡¯d annoyed her. Rosanna moved to a chair by the hearth and eased herself into it, grimacing and placing a hand on her rounded belly as she did. She wore a frilled night gown of silken white material. It covered most everything, but even still I knew it was scandalous for me to be here in this private space, when she was unguarded and without her royal accoutrements.


    It was the first time I¡¯d seen her without makeup or jewelry in well over a decade. She did look older, more so than she should have at thirty five. The greater nobility claim long lives, thanks to old alchemy in their lines and the nature of aura, which makes those perceived as being blessed often blessed in truth. She didn¡¯t have the lasting youth of an Alder Knight, but she should have been in her prime. I marked the subtle lines at the corner of her eyes, and the pronounced bones of her jaw.


    A life of conflict and burden had left its mark on Rosanna. Yet, in my eyes it had done nothing to steal her beauty, only refined it. I felt an old stirring, but found it did not heat my blood as it once had. There was a time I might have been her consort as well as her champion. It wasn¡¯t unheard of. Had she remained just a petty queen of a small country, we might have had a relatively peaceful life together.


    The child growing in her might have been mine, in that life. Him, and the other two. My sons.


    I searched my feelings, and touched on the bitterness which had been awoken in me when we¡¯d reunited those months past. I had seen her children, and felt both pride and longing. Did I feel that regret now?


    No, I decided. There was no longer any restless ardor in me for Rosanna Silvering. I loved her, truly and firmly, and knew she would always be my monarch first among all mortals. But we had taken different paths, and I would not diminish her by wishing for a different version of her.


    ¡°Alken?¡± Rosanna asked questioningly. I had been quiet for some time.


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± I told her in a quiet voice. ¡°I have some things to inform you about, Your Grace, and¡­ I need to affirm a decision.¡±


    ¡°What decision?¡± She asked, clearly confused. Exhausted as she looked, I could tell her curiosity had been piqued. Her emerald eyes seemed to gleam in the firelight, almost bright as I knew my golden ones did without it.


    I gave her a summary of the night¡¯s events, including all the things Fen Harus and the Ironleaf Knight had made me aware of. I told her of my ploy to draw out Yith, how it had succeeded in that I¡¯d ruined whatever evil he¡¯d been working, but failed in how I¡¯d not slain him. I told her that Hyperia Vyke was using Marions as her eyes and hands, and might have more who¡¯d replaced palace staff.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what sort of glamour she put on them,¡± I admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t get time to study it, but it¡¯s complex and strong. I didn¡¯t know Emil was false until I knew to look for it, and even then I had to touch him to break the enchantment. I doubt the Fulgurkeep¡¯s gargoyles will notice them ¡ª they sniff out fiends, wicked faeries, and undead. These constructs are new, and we¡¯ll need to find new strategies to deal with them.¡±


    Rosanna nodded slowly. ¡°Marions have been a growing threat for several generations now. Markham has spoken of finding new counters. Our people have relied on old mainstays like hearthhounds, trolls, gargoyles, and household spirits to guard us for so long, but war is changing. The old ways are becoming less effective, and the west produces stranger things all the time. We didn¡¯t even realize until we started trading with the continental guilds just how much the world has changed beyond our shores.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± I told her. Then, in brief, I explained Lisette¡¯s idea.


    Rosanna rose from her seat as I spoke, beginning to pace. ¡°Sister Lisette¡¯s suggestion is risky, but if it gets you into the Coloss and increases our chances of preventing Prince Calerus from winning¡­¡±


    ¡°Or any of his allies,¡± I interjected. ¡°Besides Siriks, the Talsyners might have put any number of their sympathizers into the lists. If any of them win, then Hasur Vyke has his war.¡±


    ¡°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 made me 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.


    <hr>


    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.¡±

 5.30: 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.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You remember all the things the Count told us?¡± Catrin asked me once she¡¯d recovered. ¡°The Vykes are the real threat here, Al. Yith is just their tool, and he doesn¡¯t get a choice in it. I think¡­¡±


    She licked her lips, shuffling nervously. ¡°I think maybe we were wrong to focus on him.¡±


    I wondered how much of what she said was actually of her own will, or if Yith fed her every word. There had to be a reason he hadn¡¯t just taken control of her body and made this obvious hostage situation more blatant. A sign of good will? Or was there a more insidious aim?


    I would assume the latter. I considered a moment, my jaw tightening and loosening as I worked to keep myself collected. ¡°I can¡¯t do that. Killing either of the Vykes will start a war.¡±


    Catrin went still. Yith laughed, and the chittering cacophony that filled the tower room was a small nightmare.


    I do not care!


    You will do it.


    Or I will twist this body until you barely recognize it.


    Then make you kill her by your own hand.


    You destroyed many of my disciples, but I can always make more.


    The fell voice turned contemplative.


    Those who live in death can endure so much more damage to their shells before their light snuffs.


    Catrin¡¯s already pale face bled of color.


    ¡°I will destroy you,¡± I promised him. ¡°If you hurt her, there won¡¯t be enough left for the devils of Hell to torture.¡±


    The demon trembled with irritation, something very much like the whole tower suddenly quivering in the onset of an earthquake.


    Why do you quibble?


    This enemy deserves your ire as much as any who have ever felt it.


    The Vulture King¡¯s spawn are molded in his own image.


    Yes, even their father has come to rue the monsters he has made of them.


    Slay them!


    It will satisfy you and free her.


    ¡°It¡¯s not about satisfaction,¡± I snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not like you. I don¡¯t kill for the joy of it, and I care about the consequences.¡±


    Then I will give you this consequence.


    You will kill my mistress.


    You have three days.


    If it is not done by the dawn of the fourth day, then I will make your lover Woed.


    Three days. That meant I would have to find a way to do it in the middle of the tournament, but before it reached a conclusion.


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough time,¡± I hedged. Perhaps I could find another solution with more space to work in.


    It is the time I give you.


    A gift.


    Would you prefer I demand it be done tonight?


    My larva already squirms within this form¡¯s thoughts.


    At my will, the change will begin.


    It is so much easier to twist dead flesh!


    She has no soul of her own to fight my spirit.


    Catrin¡¯s face went hard and brittle as a porcelain mask. The demon had touched on a vulnerable spot for her. Even recognizing the obvious manipulation, it still stabbed me to see her distress.


    ¡°And when you¡¯re free, what then?¡± I glared into the squirming shadows. ¡°How do I know you will be good to your word? There¡¯s no oath I can make you swear that will bind you, abgr¨¹dai.¡±


    You may trust in my desire to survive.


    I will free her, and then I shall retire for a time.


    There will be plenty of pain across this land for me to enjoy when all this is done, and I have no need to nest in yours.


    Our conflict was always as agents for powers at odds.


    Why continue to snap at one another when that is not so?


    He made it seem very reasonable. I wasn¡¯t fooled, but had no way to gain more assurance just then. I grasped for some other solution or argument in desperation.


    Three days!


    Then I shall take my satisfaction in your misery.


    Kill Hyperia Vyke, or lose your pet.


    Choose, paladin.


    The foulness in the room began to recede. I grit my teeth.


    ¡°Wait! We¡¯re not done, at least¡ª¡±


    But the demon only laughed, its message delivered. It wasn¡¯t fully gone, however. Catrin remained in the moonlight, and I could sense Yith¡¯s presence in her still. Not a true possession ¡ª no, the demon would not risk his true form getting that close to me. But he had made her a hostage, and I knew she would suffer if I did not play along.


    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 abgr¨¹dai 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 see her 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

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 6.1: Coloss

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    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    <hr>

 6.2: Festival of War

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 6.3: Armory

    <hr>


    ¡°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.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She got my cloak and hauberk off, then began the intricate process of encasing me from neck to foot in a shell of steel. She did it proper, too, making sure the chainmail did not catch or chafe on anything, fitting each plate together correctly, and using enough force to firmly tighten the array of straps that would distribute all that weight.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done this before,¡± I noted while she worked on a greave.


    ¡°I used to help Hendry,¡± she told me without taking her eyes off her work. ¡°His father insisted he start going about armored by the time he was fifteen, and already of a height with some men. We often trained in sword play together, so I had some practice in this part.¡±


    ¡°You two used to be close.¡±


    I put no particular meaning behind the words. They were just an observation. Though, I could still remember a moment before we¡¯d gone to the Brazen Woods, where he had called her Em.


    Emma shrugged. ¡°There was a time I considered indulging in our courtship, and we were both of an age to have romantic inclinations. He was kind, in his way, and there was a time when the entire alliance with House Hunting seemed a sort of game to me. That is how my mother and I used to discuss it. Oh, the kingdoms we conquered in our idle talks¡­¡±


    She trailed off, her mouth hanging open a moment. I¡¯d never heard her talk about her mother before, or her father.


    ¡°I would flirt with him, even toy with him, but I never felt any¡­ spark, I suppose. After my parents died, I dove fully into my apprenticeship with Nath. Without my parents to cow him, I became Brenner¡¯s path to power rather than the reverse. Hendry and I grew more distant, then.¡±


    A fuller picture of Emma¡¯s time with House Hunting started to form for me. Poor Hendry. Poor Emma, too.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look at me like that.¡± Emma pulled two lengths of leather hard enough for me to feel the pressure even through layers of padded cloth and metal.


    ¡°Like what?¡± I asked innocently.


    ¡°Like I represent some sweet tragedy.¡± Her eyes were hard as she stood and moved to my left shoulder. ¡°I am of the blood of House Carreon, and I would have been Hendry Hunting¡¯s hell, given time. Our affections are not gentle. Don¡¯t you remember Astraea¡¯s tale?¡±


    ¡°You are not Astraea,¡± I told her in a firm voice.


    Emma lifted my right hand by the wrist and slipped a gauntlet over it. The little plates along the fingers clicked solidly as I flexed them.


    ¡°I could have been,¡± she almost whispered. ¡°I may still become her. I may have a chosen a more martial path, true, but bloodshed and conquest still call to me.¡±


    She moved to the front of the stool, and in my seated position she stared down at me in a rare reversal.


    ¡°I am jealous of you,¡± she told me. ¡°I want to be out on that field, laying low those strutting cocks until I am champion.¡±


    I adopted an apologetic expression. ¡°I know. But I need you for the rest of it. I won¡¯t be able to do much else while I¡¯m playing this part. While I¡¯m strutting, the lance is yours.¡±


    Emma gave me a rare sort of smile for her, one without any derision or smugness. Taking me by surprise, she placed both of her hands on either side of my head and leaned down to press her lips to my brow, just as Rosanna had done. She kept her hands on my face a moment, studying me with an odd mix of approval and apprehension.


    ¡°Thank you for making me part of this,¡± she told me. ¡°I am proud to be your squire, Headsman, and to be one of the few allowed to see the man behind him.¡±


    She handed me the helmet. Standing, I rolled my shoulders and let the weight of the armor settle, accustoming myself to it. It had been many years since I¡¯d worn a full set like this. I spread my hands out, displaying myself. ¡°Well?¡±


    Emma pursed her lips. ¡°You look like a knight. Though, I¡¯m not sure you look like the type I¡¯d want rescuing me from any towers. More like the one to trap me in them.¡±


    ¡°I think my days of being the golden knight are done. Let them see me as the blackguard.¡±


    The man I would be out on that sand was much like the Headsman. A performance, a role I played to do my duty. So long as just a few knew the truth of me, I could endure it.


    With that in mind, I lowered the helm over my face. My vision narrowed as the close confines of leather and steel enclosed me. My breathing became loud and deep within the shell, not all of it escaping the lattice of small holes cut into the mask.


    Emma¡¯s reaction to the change told me it had an effect. Her eyes widened, all the doubt washing out of her in that simple shift of muscles in her face.


    ¡°Faisa Dance knows her business,¡± she breathed. ¡°If I did not already know, I would think you are that armor. Even now I¡¯m having to remind myself of it. And your eyes¡­ ah! That clever witch.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± We both started as my voice emerged from the helm as a brazen snarl, barely recognizable as anything human. ¡°Ah.¡±


    Glamour on the helm. One to mask my features in shadow, alter my voice, and I suspected something more. She would have needed to pay a fortune to a smith capable of working aura to have something like this commissioned, and couldn¡¯t have done it on such short notice.


    Which meant she¡¯d had this already. What sort of artifact had the duchess pawned off on me?


    Hopefully it wasn¡¯t cursed or something. I took the helmet back off, and Emma let out a breath of relief.


    ¡°Thank you. That was disconcerting.¡±


    ¡°A spell of non-recognition,¡± I said aloud as I studied the ornate helm. ¡°Elves and enchanters use its like all the time, so one can be standing right in front of you in a crowd and their face won¡¯t even cross your thoughts. It can be broken if you realize you¡¯re being manipulated, or if you know who¡¯s under the disguise already.¡±


    ¡°I know the theory,¡± Emma said testily, annoyed at my lecturing. ¡°I use glamour too, you know.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Keep reminding yourself it¡¯s me under here, or you might end up forgetting. That could cause a mess.¡±


    Worry touched her face. ¡°I don¡¯t like that idea. That my mind can be twisted that way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how all magic works, Em. Glamour is just another form of phantasm. You work your reality onto the one everyone else shares. Focus on what you know to be true, but don¡¯t deny other truths. That can lead to conceit, and it¡¯ll end up blinding you.¡±


    With that, I put the helmet back on. I doubted I¡¯d be taking it off often over the next few days, and wanted to get used to it. It fit me almost perfectly, the padding on the inside hugging my skull. I took a minute to work my neck about, testing the range the helm could turn or tilt. It didn¡¯t allow fully free motion like the rest of the armor, but it was cleverly made.


    ¡°And your weapon?¡± Emma asked. She knew well as I that it wouldn¡¯t be possible to use Faen Orgis out on the island. It would give me away immediately to many.


    I searched the room with my eyes, then moved to one of the racks set near the door to lift one of the instruments waiting on it.


    ¡°An axe again?¡± Emma sounded disappointed.


    ¡°Best to use what my hand knows,¡± I told her. Again, my voice emerged from the helm amplified rather than muffled. To my ears at least, it sounded deeper and more melodic, almost musical. ¡°I won¡¯t be the only one using an axe, and the armor will keep me anonymous.¡±


    My eyes had gone to the collection of swords, including one weighty two-hander which looked so much like my old blade. But it had been the better part of a decade since I¡¯d handled a sword, and there was no time to retrain myself.


    An excuse. I knew the real reason, but it boiled down to the same. The axe would do. The one I¡¯d claimed had a relatively short handle, not so long as my arm, with a proper grip wrapped in leather and framed by two wedges in the haft to keep it from slipping. Heavy, solid iron, it sported two twin blades from the head in the style of a classical barbarian weapon.


    I twirled it, and grunted in pleasure at the way the air audibly parted around the brutish arm. It had a good balance and pleasing weight, and the extra blade meant I could keep fighting longer if the first turned brittle from overuse. Many wood axes were made the same way. The steel also had a darker color, the only ornamentation a disk set between the twin blades.


    ¡°I like it,¡± Emma decided. ¡°The rest of the armor is quite fancy, so it balances it out.¡±


    After some thought, I chose a tall kite shield of white wood rimmed in metal as well. Emma picked out a black surcoat pattered in white, wrapped a blue cloth around the helm to form a sort of cowl, and added some other decorative. By the end, I looked a proper tourney knight.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re ready,¡± Emma said with a tight, eager grin. ¡°By the way, what name did the Empress pick for you?¡±


    ¡°Ser Sain.¡± I turned, metal plates clicking softly with the motion. ¡°From an old story Lias used to tell us.¡±


    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.

 6.4: Melee

    <hr>


    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.


    A trumpet played a heroic patter of notes, and the band of fighters started moving through the gate as Cairbre ushered us on with a swinging hand. Pounding feet and heavy breaths filled my world as I followed the flow.


    We stepped out into a pale gray sky, and into rain. It fell light and steady, drumming against the wooden bridge as it collapsed to link the arena wall to the craggy island beyond. Twenty pairs of heavy boots, some hard leather and others steel, clattered against the boards.


    Far below, white foam churned in the trench between the Coloss wall and the rocky island. The waves intensified further out, until they joined with the bay. The arena was constructed beyond the inner lagoon its calmer waters, and waves lashed beneath me with a hostile energy.


    The ancient arena held a very different aspect from this angle. The twin walls surrounding the island were enormous, monolithic things guarded by statues tall as castles. Banners fluttered in the wet air, the proudest of them ringing the royal box upon its high spire. I could feel the roar of the stands in my bones, and the voice of the tourney herald. He¡¯d seemed just a man when I¡¯d stood above him, but his voice now sounded like the rumbling proclamations of a demigod.


    Two similar groups emerged from other gates around the isle. One was near mismatched as my fellows, but the other seemed mostly made up of well equipped men-at-arms who came out in good order, some true knights among them. Whoever had set this up had not been fair about it, and the team expected to win was obvious the moment I saw them.


    This was why Karog had needed a good patron. Not just to get into the tournament, but to put him in a position where he could accomplish anything. Rosanna and Faisa had probably done their best, but with less than a day to get a false identity on the lists they had to make a compromise.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Fighting up from the bottom. I¡¯d struggled through worse.


    I slid my axe from its belt loop, adjusting my hand on the grip until it balanced comfortably. Faen Orgis was a mighty arm, but it had not been made to be comfortable in the hand. This more common instrument made me feel steadier.


    ¡°Just stay close to me, lad.¡± Harald clapped me on the shoulder. I felt his strength even through layers of steel and padding, and knew his muscles at least weren¡¯t for show.


    The other herald ¡ª the one up on the tower ¡ª drew my eyes as his trumpeting voice filled the air.


    ¡°And now, my good people, for another flavor of hero! You have seen the great among us clash in chivalrous combat, but many across the realms of Urn have made names for themselves in the shadow of nobler blood. Adventurers! Loyal soldiers! Houseborn who forsook their noble names to pursue honorable errantry. Defenders of road, hearth, and home, who have protected their beloved hamlets from all manner of horror.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t certain the man would feel so warm toward this group of villains if he¡¯d seen them up close, but the crowd seemed enthusiastic.


    ¡°From one among these we shall discover a worthy soul who will go on to face more renowned potentiates. They come to you nameless, good people, but one shall be known to you all ere steel is sheathed.¡±


    The drums picked up a beat. On some unspoken signal, all three groups of competitors started to walk forward. We moved at a walk, but very soon all three warbands would join in the island¡¯s center. Brittle gravel crunched beneath me, denser sand and solid rock lurking beneath it. Rain pinged against my armor, and formed a reflective sheen on Harald¡¯s horned helm.


    Those around us started to move faster. First escalating to a trot, then a jog. The drums picked up tempo. We hadn¡¯t been trained or drilled for this, but the Coloss had a ritual to it. I could feel it in my blood, and I imagine the others could too even without senses so abstract as mine. We broke these rites at our peril.


    Without warning, the drums stopped. Someone let out a shout, oddly tinny in that sudden quiet. That is, until the woman with the awry effigy on her armor screamed. It was a war scream, high and shrill.


    Their advance became a charge. No one moved in formation, or seemed to care much whether they kept pace with anyone. It became a race, the group spreading and thinning even as it surged forward.


    War. It had been so long. My blood sang, and I almost lost my discipline as well. But I remembered why I was there, and wrestled control over myself. I hung near the back, trying to judge the enemy, but too many bodies blocked my vision. Harald let out a roar and started to barrel forward, but I tapped him on one shoulder with the flat of my axe. He paused, glanced at me, and slowed.


    The ensuing scene was very much like three flocks of blind birds all collapsing in on one another. All three bands collided in the field¡¯s center in a shrieking, roaring, swinging madness.


    The dwarf went down first. Towering over the throng, he proved an easy target and his obvious uncertainty did him no favors. One knight in a beaked helm swung into his legs with a maul, taking the leg out from under the giantkin, while a larger man barreled into him like a lunging bull. All nine feet of the unfortunate soul vanished beneath a growing cloud of dust.


    I lost sight of much of it in the dust cloud. I didn¡¯t miss a shadow forming directly ahead of me, fast growing larger until a huge knight all in gray steel and wielding a morningstar exploded into my vision. He wore a dog-faced helm, with an elongated nose perforated with breathing holes, a tall plume of hair fountaining from the crest.


    He charged, moving with all the grace and momentum of a flying battering ram. I stopped my own advance, letting him close the distance, then lunged forward just before he swung. My speed took him off guard, and he got caught in that torn reflex between committing to his swing or defending himself. He ended up swinging, but not with enough force.


    He hit me in the left arm more with his hands than the weapon as I invaded his space, killing all the strike¡¯s power. I used my shield to shove him, sending him stumbling back, then dipped and hooked my axe behind his ankle before ripping up sharply.


    He went down on his back, sending up dust as all that weight of brawny human and steel landed. He had a green cloth tucked into his pauldron. On a whim, I ripped it off him and tucked it into my belt, then kicked his weapon away into the skirmish.


    ¡°Watch it!¡±


    I turned, lifting my shield in a reflexive defense, only to find Harald sinking his homemade weapon into the shield of another fighter. Crude as it might have been, his weapon had weight ¡ª it splintered wood and made the swordsman who¡¯d tried to come at my back stagger.


    Harald got his axe stuck in the man¡¯s shield, and they both struggled a moment. The probably-fake marauder snarled and spat and cursed, while the smaller man¡¯s cage-masked helm muted his own vitriol.


    I left them to their wrestling, keeping my attention on the surrounding chaos. My eyes alighted on one scene that made them narrow behind my helmet ¡ª the dwarf was trying to stand, with the cat-eyed man in green helping him. Three fully armored competitors surrounded those two. I could hear their taunts through the din of combat.


    Without thinking, I started toward them. I almost got caught in a sword duel between two fighters, managed to catch a blade on my shield before forcing through, then approached the downed dwarf. The changeling, whose glamour had come off to reveal a gaunt face with needle teeth, hissed at me.


    The dwarf¡¯s helmet had come off. He had two stubby horns, both shaved down, over a gray face sporting tusks from a jutting lower jaw. But none of those less human features were what drew my attention.


    He was hardly more than a child.


    ¡°Monster!¡± One of the knights shouted. He wielded a polaxe with a relatively small blade and a punching spike on the back end. He brought it up above his head. The changeling lunged at him, lifting a curved blade that looked better suited to hunting than tourneys. Another of the fighters, this one with an iron-studded club, smacked him on the back. He went down onto the rock face first.


    The knight with the poleaxe brought his weapon down with a whistling note of parted air. It sunk deep, but into my shield instead of the eld youth¡¯s skull.


    I could see the man glaring at me through the vertical slits in his helmet. ¡°Move!¡± He snarled.


    Instead of doing that, I jerked my shield and his still stuck weapon to the left and clanged my axe against the side of his helmet. It produced a satisfying noise, and he staggered. I¡¯d only used the flat of the blade, but it couldn¡¯t have felt good. I kicked him down, freeing my shield.


    ¡°No downed opponents,¡± I admonished him.


    But he wasn¡¯t the only one. No less than five competitors lurked in the coiling dust around me and the two injured elfkin. I¡¯d put myself in a mess, sticking up for them.


    I¡¯d known there were hard feelings against the elves and those more misbegotten kindreds related to them. I¡¯d no idea what had brought these two into the tournament, but they were not Karog or Nimryd. They were vulnerable targets for hard men to take their ire out on.


    The stands thundered with noise. Many of the fighters had already yielded or become too injured to continue. It only took minutes, but most of these weren¡¯t very well equipped. Show fighters, freeswords, used to hunting bandits and entertaining small villages.


    Those who moved to surround me weren¡¯t all from the same team. In fact, one of them was the spiky haired gladiator with the strange shoulder armor from my tunnel. She swung a spiked ball on the end of a long chain in slow, threatening circles, each pass producing a low whoosh, whoosh sound. A meteor hammer.


    ¡°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.

 6.5: 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 helped him to his feet before turning 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.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°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.


    ¡°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.¡±


    Again, I shook my head at the proud beast in front of me. ¡°This is a kingly gift, Rose. I¡¯m not sure¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are fighting on behalf of kingdoms,¡± Rosanna interrupted me. ¡°Accept it, Alken.¡±


    She pointed to the walls, where shelves and hooks held a number of items. ¡°Her tack. Would you like me to have a groom aid you?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Better if I do it. It will give us time to get to know one another.¡±


    My next bout would be another melee, probably the last before I would have to fight like a proper knight again. Why did that thought give me so much anxiety?


    Our conversation stopped when Ser Kaia stepped into the stable. Her face looked drawn, and something about her manner put my guard up.


    ¡°You should come see this,¡± she told us both in a near breathless voice.


    ¡°What is it?¡± The Empress asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Cymrinorean. He¡¯s fighting the champion from Aureia¡¯s Gate.¡±


    <hr>


    My predictions for how the brackets would collapse turned out to be off by some margin. I¡¯d been certain Nimryd would end up fighting me. There must have been some surprise upset or a contender unable to continue, because something had shifted.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    While Rosanna returned to her husband¡¯s side, I went to the viewing halls beneath the stands where other champions could watch the fighting from a nearer vantage. Once again masked and in character as Ser Sain, I strode through the crowd of armored competitors where they gathered at the windows.


    The storm was growing worse. Thunder mumbled sullenly in the clouds above. They seemed closer, as though sagging from their own weight. Strangely, the rain hardly seemed to touch the high walls or the small island they encircled, as though some force kept the growing downpour from touching the Coloss.


    The moment I took in that air, a strange thrill went through me. Not my Alder magic, but something deeper and more core beneath it. The wind tasted of excitement, of fear, of raw anticipation. I could feel the crowd¡¯s energy soaking into rain and rock. The emanations of burning souls.


    It reminded me of battlefields. I turned my attention to the figures facing off in the center of the rocky field. There were a dozen fighters, but only two stood. Siriks Sontae wore the same outfit he had the night I¡¯d first met him, with white warrior¡¯s robes patterned in clouds beneath pale blue armor, one pauldron larger than the other. An open faced helm shaped into the image of a roaring sea beast covered his head, his own long braid of dark red hair spilling from the back in place of a traditional plume.


    And also like that first time, he held a sword-spear of near impractical size, with a weighty blade grafted to a long handle. He cocked it back, almost as though prepared to hurl it.


    The shadow of an enormous shape loomed above him. Ser Nimryd of the Gate wore the mirror-bright steel of his order, fashioned to show the frightened faces of any interloper who might try that ancient road into the subcontinent without welcome. Chased with lines of scripture, all words once spoken by the God-Queen Herself, that armor almost seemed to produce its own light. I could hear a murmuring voice at the back of my thoughts, looking at it.


    Her voice, inscribed into metal and remembered through the long centuries. Few had kept faith so completely as the knights of Aureia¡¯s Gate, and that faith seemed bright as a cresting dawn to my eyes.


    Was Nimryd also a True Knight, like Jocelyn? Looking at him then, I considered it possible. He held a round shield bright as his armor and large enough for a man to lay on in his left hand. In his right, a sword short enough to be a gladius to him but a guillotine to anyone else shone with rain dew.


    Siriks seemed so small compared to that titan. The cloven peaks of Ser Nimryd¡¯s helm towered above him at a neck-craning height. And yet, the Cymrinorean stood calm and ready.


    ¡°One swing and he¡¯ll cleave him in half,¡± one of the knights near me muttered. ¡°Foolish boy.¡±


    ¡°Not sure how anyone¡¯s supposed to take that monster,¡± a young dame with armor finned and scaled like a fish noted. ¡°Did no one protest the Gate sending a giant to represent them?¡±


    They hadn¡¯t. The High Warden of the Gate had sent his eldest son, who¡¯d died when storm ogres ambushed their retinue. Nimryd fought on behalf of his lost lord, to honor him.


    Truth is so often an impediment to how people want to feel, and many around me looked at that towering warrior with fear and more than a little resentment.


    He¡¯s protected all of you for centuries, I admonished them in my thoughts. And yet, all they saw was another monster like the one who¡¯d rampaged through the city two months before.


    Nimryd lifted his broad sword high, as though saluting the clouds. The motion was slow, deliberate, yet the whole arena seemed to center on the blade¡¯s point. Siriks lowered himself into a crouch, sweeping his swordspear back.


    I stood at the ledge, and felt the air change. The wind seemed to pause, then start up again. But it flowed a different direction when it did.


    Did anyone else notice? By their focused eyes and excited conversation, they didn¡¯t seem to.


    ¡°Watch,¡± the man next to me murmured, nudging me. ¡°He¡¯s going to do it again.¡±


    Do what? I wanted to ask, but kept my focus on the match.


    Nimryd swung down, a vertical chop with all the weight and power of a collapsing siege gate in his arm. My teeth clenched. No man could survive that.


    But it never touched Siriks. He stood completely still, making no effort to dodge or block. The blade came down, producing a heavy whistling sound, then¡ª


    Stopped. Nimryd halted his sword little more than a foot above the Cymrinorean¡¯s head. The wind the blade parted didn¡¯t stop, striking the ground around Siriks and kicking up a cascade of dusty gray sand. His braid danced in that breeze.


    Even from a distance, I could see the tightness in Siriks¡¯s posture, almost see his anger beating off him like heat off stone on a summer day. There were murmurs and exclamations of surprise around me, reflected at greater volume across the stands.


    The young warrior moved, and I almost missed the movement. He seemed to blur, diving or sliding to one side in a flicker of speed. He vanished into the rising cloud of dust, then emerged from it and delivered an almost acrobatic cut that made the pole of his weapon bend under the heavy blade¡¯s weight. I heard his shout crack off the walls, which almost muted the sound of steel links popping apart.


    Nimryd recoiled, his blade sweeping in a reflexive slash that made so much air move in a rush I heard it even from most of two hundred feet away. The dust cloud followed his sword, the slash altering its shape.


    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.¡±

 6.6: 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.


    <hr>


    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!?¡±


    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.


    ¡°You sent the clerics and the healers away. You let the iron have me¡­ because you thought I was too weak, and you wanted another advantage. A monster son is better than a useless one, right?¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Another pause. ¡°You¡¯re being ridiculous. I would never do that to my own blood. You were delirious from the pain and the drugs.¡±


    ¡°You knew that even if I died,¡± Hendry continued as though his father hadn¡¯t spoken, ¡°one of my cousins could just marry Emma instead. Or you could. So long as you got your path to power, you didn¡¯t mind taking risks with my life.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Do you know what it was like?¡± Hendry asked quietly, his voice eerily calm. ¡°To feel the iron eating through my bones? I lay in that bed for weeks. I had dreams. Dreams of fire, and darkness, and pain. I saw terrible faces, made all of metal and flame and ice. They whispered to me. I saw Hell, father.¡±


    The lord drew in a slow breath. ¡°You survived it. It made you stronger.¡±


    Metal boots began to click against stone. Brenner¡¯s voice lashed out, harsh and quick. ¡°Where are you going? This discussion isn¡¯t over.¡±


    ¡°I need to get to my match.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s still time, just¡­ son!¡±


    Hendry didn¡¯t stop walking. ¡°I am no son of yours.¡±


    Brenner called out again, but Hendry ignored him. When he drew near the turn in the hall, I backed into the shadow behind a column. Hendry stepped into my line of sight. He wore the brass hued armor of a Fulgurkeep soldier, but his long coat bore the silver and burgundy of House Hunting, with its leaping kynedeer and lance-wielding rider.


    ¡°I am your father! You will obey me. You owe me, boy.¡±


    Brenner¡¯s voice almost sounded desperate. Hendry paused, shut his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. Then very calmly, he kept walking.


    Good lad.


    I waited until Brenner stormed away, then stepped into the middle of the hallway and slipped my helmet off. ¡°Ser Hendry.¡±


    Hendry stiffened, then turned. When he saw me with all my new finery, his eyes widened.


    ¡°Ser?¡± He asked.


    I gestured for him to follow me with a tilt of my head. We walked a distance side by side. I noted the young Hunting stood nearly of a height with me. His boyish features had turned more lean since the past fall, and he even bore the hint of stubble on his cheeks. I hadn¡¯t noticed before.


    I would have given him some privacy, but knowing he would be out on the island changed some of my plans.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me you¡¯d be fighting,¡± I said.


    Hendry winced. ¡°I didn¡¯t plan to, but my father¡­¡±


    ¡°Insisted?¡±


    He nodded, looking miserable. Then with a sudden shift he said, ¡°You won¡¯t tell Emma.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t quite a question.


    ¡°Tell her what?¡± I asked. ¡°That you and I might have to fight, or that your father risked your life with infernal sorcery?¡±


    Not just his life, but his soul too. I felt a slow boiling anger building up in me. And I knew then exactly why he didn¡¯t want me telling Emma.


    She might profess to not have feelings for Hendry, but she would kill Brenner for this if she knew.


    He glanced at me, his shoulders slumping. ¡°You heard that?¡±


    I nodded. We walked further, our steel boots echoing off the walls. Drums began to beat up above.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk it over,¡± I told him. ¡°You and I. Truth is, I don¡¯t know much about the Iron Realm or its masters. Could be there¡¯s something we can do for you.¡±


    ¡°And if not?¡± Hendry asked. ¡°What if I¡¯m¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem able to say it, but I knew what he meant. What if I¡¯m damned?


    ¡°I will look into it,¡± I assured him. ¡°After this crisis is over, when the Vykes aren¡¯t poisoning this city, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    That offer seemed to do much more for him than I suspected any false assurances about his soul would have. Truth was, I didn¡¯t know. The way afterlives worked, what is considered damned or sacred¡­ those things I¡¯d become less certain of, more so after what Fen Harus told me, and I would not trust the land¡¯s powers to be fair with Hendry Hunting.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Hendry asked, changing the subject. ¡°Emma, Lisette, Penric and the rest?¡±


    ¡°Emma is doing the things I would be doing, if I wasn¡¯t stuck playing at tourney. As for Lisette, she¡¯s on another errand for me. The lance is following Emma¡¯s lead, but they¡¯re about.¡±


    Hendry frowned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for deserting you.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Not quite desertion to attend to your lord father. Will you really disown him?¡±


    That would be a grave decision, one that would affect the rest of the boy¡¯s life. Emma might have given up a cursed legacy and a potential future among the noble class, but Hendry had lands to inherit and living relatives to disappoint.


    ¡°Not sure,¡± Hendry admitted. ¡°I was angry. I am angry at him. Sometimes, he¡­¡±


    ¡°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.


    <hr>


    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.

 6.7: 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 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.


    He would be heavier than me, stronger than me, faster than me. In battle, weight counts for much. You can be as skilled and dexterous as you please, but the larger, stronger opponent will always have the advantage.


    That is why aura is so integral to warfare. It is why a willowy girl like Emma or a kind-faced country lass like Narinae can hold their own against men twice their weight. It makes battle a contest of will as much as mass, lets one perform feats mere bone and muscle would be ill equipped for.


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    Siriks had shattered a blade larger than himself with an angry swipe of his weapon, and Laertes had batted my empowered axe aside with a bare hand. They did not use some spell or phantasm for those feats.


    My use of Art was hamstrung by my disguise, but flashy sorcery is not all one can do with their soul. I let mine thrum through me, sharpening it, hardening it. I let it soak into my bones, reinforce my muscles, lace my breath.


    Karog¡¯s heavy jaw loosened, flashing his wolf¡¯s teeth and letting out a steaming breath. Leather creaked as muscles tightened.


    I moved first. To an untrained eye, it would have looked like I vanished. Only, I¡¯d just ducked and lunged at once. Karog¡¯s spear blade severed the air where my head had been an eyeblink before, causing the blue cloth draped over my helmet to flutter like breeze-caught hair.


    He stumbled back as I stabbed and pushed with the halberd, invading his space. The slick gravel beneath me ground beneath my steel boot, cracking and crumbling as I braced one and slid the other back. I¡¯d aimed for the gap between his shoulder piece and arm pit, where the armor was thinner, but Karog turned and my weapon sliced harmlessly off the breastplate.


    I slashed up, going for his chin, but he surprised me by stepping back and batting my weapon aside with his cleaver. I¡¯d expected him to be all momentum, all anger and force, but he¡¯d sensed something and went on the defense.


    We both backpedaled, our brief exchange having lasted mere seconds. Karog appraised me.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d pull some trick,¡± he growled. ¡°Like on the road last winter.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to fight you then,¡± I admitted.


    Karog sniffed, then exploded into motion. With a shout loud as thunder he swept his leaf spear high overhead and down, using it almost as an axe. I sidestepped that deadly pendulum, letting it crack into the ground. Before I could retaliate against what seemed an overcommitment, he ripped the weapon back and held his cleaver up, a horizontal bar at sternum level.


    He used the cleaver like a shield, its weighty edge ready to defend him if I got past the reach of that ridiculous spear. I dodged the spear twice, its blade slashing and stabbing, each hit threatening to put me down hard as he had the Grotesque Knight.


    But my strength wasn¡¯t wholly natural. I judged his motions, waited for him to commit to a broad sweep, then hooked his weapon into the more complex head my own polearm sported. Using his own momentum, I ripped the spear up and over my head, pulled sharply to drag him forward, then stepped forward into a tremendous sweep that carried the halberd in a near perfect arc around my body.


    This would have been the moment where I¡¯d send out a whip of aureflame to slice through him, or some other powerful battle Art. But I couldn¡¯t use my normal techniques here without giving myself away.


    Besides, I didn¡¯t want to kill him. This was about proving oneself the better fighter, to convince your opponent to surrender and the crowd that a yield was earned.


    Karog had embarrassed Ser Jorg. So I decided to embarrass him.


    I paused there, almost the entire length of the beautiful halberd outstretched to my side as I lingered at the end of my motion, one leg braced back and the other bent forward at the knee. A moment later, a heavy piece of bronze clattered against the ground.


    Karog didn¡¯t catch what I¡¯d done at first. He tilted his helm, seemed to realize it felt lighter, then glanced at the piece I¡¯d cut off. The tall crest sporting its white plume.


    I expected rage. Fury. A violent outburst of motion that would end with one of us in pieces.


    I did not expect Karog to let out a low, throaty laugh. It was a raspy sound, mirthless and dry, unsettling in its own way as his threatening silences.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve proven your point, elf friend. I¡¯ll play the game.¡±


    He stepped back, lifted his spear, then rammed it into the hard ground. He left the quivering polearm there a moment, then walked back to his line and took up position among the others. I let out a breath of relief.


    I returned Jorg¡¯s halberd to him, which he accepted graciously before returning my shield and hammer. My eyes went to the crowd, a stirring tapestry of moving bodies and noise.


    That¡¯s one potential disaster averted, I thought. If Karog and I had gone at one another for real, it would probably have ended up with one or both of us too wounded to continue the tournament. Much as the warrior in me did truly want to test myself against the ogre, this wasn¡¯t really about the competition.


    Besides, he did not yield. This wasn¡¯t over.


    I was about to take up my spot among my fellows and let someone else have the attention when the air shuddered. I felt a pull, a strange sensation almost like the world tilted a moment. My feet skidded to one side, along with a layer of loose rock like an unfelt wind disturbed the ground. I steadied myself, catching one of the other knights before they collided with me.


    ¡°No,¡± an angry voice said. ¡°I¡¯m sick of this.¡±


    I turned, and there in the center of the field was Siriks Sontae.


    He¡¯d embedded his weighty blade into the ground, so the handle stuck up like a planted flag. He perched with one foot on one of the cross bars, his hand gripping the weapon, his other foot dangling loosely.


    I stared at him, taken aback. Where had he come from?


    The air still felt strange. Had he dropped out of the sky?


    He glared at me, his eyes wide and furious beneath the sea beast visage of his visor. ¡°You barely fought him,¡± he snapped.


    He couldn¡¯t see my expression, so I just shrugged at him. The crowd around us stirred with excitement, a weight of sound and movement on the walls.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your bout.¡± Ser Jorg glared at the young man. ¡°Return to the alcoves, Lord Siriks.¡±


    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.

 6.8: Wave Crash, Thunder Roar

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 6.9: Sunset

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 6.10: The Second Day

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 6.11: 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.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing!¡± He pointed his remaining axe at me. ¡°I only need the one to thrash you. Defend yourself!¡±


    With no more preamble, he spurred his mount into another charge. I didn¡¯t have the room to meet it at full speed this time. Biting back a curse, I took my sword in both hands and swung at the same time he did, parrying the blow. Sparks flickered in the air. My sword didn¡¯t stop, pivoting over my head as I instinctively went in for a riposte. Beneath us, our beasts strode shoulder to shoulder, keeping pace with each other. Konrad¡¯s was larger, giving him height on me.


    Too slow, I thought as he caught my counter, feinted, then nearly took the top of my helmet off with a furious backhand. Most of a decade without sword practice had taken its toll, and my opponent was no novice. He pressed me hard.


    When I¡¯d started fighting with the axe after being dubbed Headsman, it had taken many desperate battles to teach myself how to wield it with as much finesse and power as I¡¯d once used the greatsword. Now my hand itched for the more familiar weapon.


    But I wasn¡¯t without that muscle memory, and I¡¯d not gone long without fighting in all this time. With each parry, with each jab and cut, I felt more sure of myself.


    Three times I had a killing strike I could have made. Three times I passed it by. When I saw the winning blow, I moved without hesitation. A frustrated Konrad swept his axe back, going in for a mighty swing. His chimera reared in that same moment, its heavy feet kicking out. Morgause dodged that kick, and I stabbed with all my strength, my perfect steed prancing forward to give the blow even more power. The tip of the claymos caught Konrad dead center, shoved him while he was already off balance.


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    He went down off his mount and crashed into the sand. As he struggled to his feet, he found my sword¡¯s point hovering over him. He froze.


    ¡°Yield.¡± My voice warbled out from my helm.


    He did. When some pages emerged from one of the tunnels with a clericon to tend to his eye, he waved them off. He would refuse to remove his helmet until the fighting was done, I suspected. Foolish, but I could respect it.


    ¡°Victory to Ser Sain, the Hyacinth Knight!¡±


    Through the noise, Konrad spoke to me. ¡°Have you sworn your blade to anyone else, Ser Sain? The Burncastle could use an arm like yours.¡±


    I stared at him in a moment of dumb shock. That¡¯s where I¡¯d heard his name before. Burncastle was a famous redoubt, a hall of warriors dedicated to martial excellence. Not quite paladins, but they were among Urn¡¯s most famous knightly orders.


    This man was their lord. Flattered and taken aback, I just dipped my head in a hasty bow before returning to my spot by Karog. He watched me with a curious expression.


    ¡°Why do you use the axe?¡± He asked. ¡°You are better with the sword.¡±


    ¡°Because this isn¡¯t who I am anymore.¡±


    He said nothing to that, and we both returned our attention to the game. I rested the greatsword on my saddle, studying its fresh battle marks. The herald¡¯s next words passed over me as so much air, at least until I heard the next name called. My eyes shot up.


    Vander Braeve cut an impressive figure, in no-nonsense armor of classical gray steel scarred by more than one hard scrap. His yellow-and-white surcoat declared his House with its broken spear and bleeding serpent. Instead of a family crest, his helm sported a pious auremark worked from solid gold. His hand gripped a flanged mace, so much like a cruel steel flower. Also a very no-nonsense weapon. He rode a unicorn, pale gray and bred to sport a powerful whipping tail capped in a ball of iron, its single spiral horn also reinforced.


    The Lord of Drakegrave, who was also Maxim¡¯s son, paused in the middle of the field to wait for his challenger.


    Almost, I stepped forward again. But another moved first, and I restrained myself. The one who met Vander¡¯s challenge was a lady knight clad in green and brass armor sculpted to depict an athletic female form. Her helm resembled a screaming, snake-haired effigy, and I knew her immediately by that mask.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± I muttered to Karog. ¡°That¡¯s Myrice of House Gorgon.¡±


    ¡°They have a dispute?¡± He asked.


    ¡°The Gorgons declared for the Recusants during the war,¡± I said as the two knights faced off. ¡°But they joined the Accord in the first year of its formation, and made public amends. House Braeve was newly handed over to Vander at the time after his uncle¡¯s death, and he disputed their pardon. His uncle was killed by Myrice¡¯s brothers in an ambush in the war¡¯s last year. They turned him to stone with their Art. After the war, they refused to give his corpse back to the family. It¡¯s said the Gorgons still have it displayed in their gallery.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± Karog¡¯s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued. Vander¡¯s mount was pacing. Lady Myrice said something that made him pause.


    ¡°It gets worse,¡± I said quietly. ¡°I heard rumors Myrice¡¯s father offered her in marriage to Vander, to join the Houses and stop a blood feud from starting. Vander refused, quite harshly, then killed her brother when he started a duel over the insult.¡±


    ¡°A woman spurned,¡± Karog rumbled. ¡°And a sibling taken. You think she seeks revenge?¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re about to find out.¡±


    Ser Myrice ¡ª she would be Lady, but all are just Sers during tourney ¡ª wielded an eerie weapon. It seemed a sort of sword-cane, with a thin, sharp-edged rod protruding from a basket hilt. But when she flipped it to one side, the blade split into a hundred razor sharp fragments connected by a long wire, turning it into a steel whip. An alchemical sword, no doubt bonded with living mercury or some other unnatural substance. A round shield embossed with her family¡¯s monstrous symbol occupied her left hand.


    I knew the Art employed by House Gorgon. Unlike Emma¡¯s Shrike Forest, it was not passed through their blood but rather gifted through a pact with a particularly fell creature of the Briar. I¡¯d fought one of the dame¡¯s cousins nine years back, and nearly run afoul of it. When I¡¯d understood the trick, it hadn¡¯t been terribly difficult to beat.


    The question was whether she¡¯d use it here, and whether Vander knew the counter.


    Myrice started the fight with a vicious lash of her sword whip. She went for Vander¡¯s steed, sweeping those evil little shards low to take its ankles. It danced back, and the alchesteel sword only sliced sand. A near miss. The ring of spectators stirred in distaste for that unchivalrous move.


    A provocation? I felt she could have landed the blow, but wasn¡¯t certain.


    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 leaned 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.

 6.12: Waver

    <hr>


    Somewhere in the city, a church bell tolled. I barely heard it over the storm save as a faint, ghostly call. Next to me, Karog practically burned with impatience.


    I felt plenty of my own. This ritual combat was slow and methodical, and some of the knights took their sweet time ending their duels. Every minute seemed an eternity as I worried for my people, scattered and working towards the end goal I¡¯d laid out for them the day before the tournament. I wondered when one of my allies might be compromised, or one of my contacts become an enemy.


    If I could disqualify Calerus from the tourney, it would make everything easier. I needed to see it done. It didn¡¯t even need to be me who did it. My eyes drifted to Jocelyn across the way, who hadn¡¯t fought yet. Karog remained a looming presence at my side.


    The herald called out Ser Gerard Grimheart, one of Laessa¡¯s allies and a member of the Empress¡¯s faction. He rode a creature not unlike a porcupine, though careful breeding left a gap in its spines for a saddle to be placed.


    A knight to my right chuckled. ¡°Ah, maybe we¡¯ll get to see the Ironleaf in action again!¡±


    I glanced at him, curious. He noted my look and lifted his eyebrows, visible beneath the shade of his raised visor. ¡°What, you haven¡¯t heard? Ser Jocelyn has been sweet on the Greengood girl, but recent rumor has it that her family is considering a formal alliance with the Grimhearts, at the Empress¡¯s urging no less. Word is it¡¯s our man there that¡¯s most like to take the young witch¡¯s hand.¡±


    He nodded to Gerard.


    ¡°Hush,¡± another nobleman reprimanded the speaker. ¡°She¡¯s not a witch now, remember? She won her trial.¡±


    ¡°Right. Sure.¡± The first knight laughed.


    I returned my attention to Jocelyn, a slow unease creeping through my feelings. His head was turned slightly to one side, his gaze fixed on Ser Gerard.


    Please tell me you aren¡¯t going to dismantle this for some squabble with a rival lover, I silently pleaded with him.


    But Jocelyn did not move. I breathed a sigh of relief.


    That is, until Calerus spurred his horned hound forward.


    Several things happened at once. No less than eight knights moved to go into the ring. One of them was Karog, who practically leapt forward the moment the prince¡¯s mount took a step. Jocelyn saw Calerus accept the challenge, paused only a moment, then moved forward himself.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I cursed under my breath. None of those who¡¯d stepped forward could back out once they¡¯d met the challenge. The herald leaned forward, and even from so far I could practically see his eyes wide with glee. He began to call off names.


    How would they do this? A group melee? More one on one duels? I glanced at Calerus, and saw him smirking. Bastard. He¡¯d known there were hard feelings against his family from the war, and had no doubt anticipated this.


    He¡¯s trying to pit his enemies against one another. I tightened my grip on Morgause¡¯s reins and almost moved into that mess myself. I restrained myself. Better to play the trump card if needed, and not add to the chaos.


    ¡°I see many have met Ser Gerard¡¯s challenge!¡± The herald laughed. ¡°How you honor this man, my knights! But only one may face the first called. Decide for yourselves who is worthy.¡±


    He aimed his scepter at the group, and almost as though on command they all glared at one another. Gerard looked taken aback. No doubt he was smart enough to realize why so many had stepped forward, and he looked none too pleased about it.


    I stared at Calerus, trying to figure out his game. This seemed foolish. He had to expect all those other fighters would gang up on him.


    Only, that probably would have happened at some point anyway, the moment he was called out. This way he caught us off guard, drawing out those with reflexive ire towards him. Still, the boy fought against stacked odds. Did he have some technique to even things out? A hidden weapon, a scheme? I knew too little about him compared to Hyperia.


    The knights paced their mounts around one another, no one trusting anyone else not to attack. Not unlike a flock of angry birds, each carving out a space in which they would peck any of their fellows who approached. Gerard remained at a distance, unable to participate until the last. One of those who¡¯d stepped forward was the short man in the mushroom shaped helm I¡¯d been behind in the tunnel. He held an odd mace with a ring-shaped bludgeon, wore distinctly plump looking armor, and stared out from a scattering of little round holes beneath his helm¡¯s flaring top.


    Karog ended the stand off first. With a rumbling, throaty roar, he pointed his new cleaver at Calerus.


    ¡°I have a dispute with you, Vyke.¡± He began to pace forward, his heavy feet crushing gravel with each prowling step. ¡°I will collect on our debt today. Face me, vulture¡¯s son!¡±


    Calerus stared at him, saying nothing. His helm had a barbute design, with a thin Y shaped opening to reveal his thin lips and dead-looking eyes. He did not move forward or prepare to defend himself from the advancing ogre.


    Three of those knights who¡¯d stepped forward for the chance to fight Gerard at the same time as Calerus suddenly turned their steel-masked faces to Karog, and I understood the trap. I¡¯d suspected the Vykes might have planted their allies in the lists. Now, they revealed themselves.


    Karog paused, staring at the mounted warriors around him. For all his speed, mass, and superhuman strength, there are few things more dangerous in warfare than a fully armored rider on a trained chimera. Urnic knights are world renowned for our martial potency, even without enchanted arms and auratic sorcery to enhance us, and we often have plenty of both.


    And there were three of them. Four, counting the prince.


    Did I move forward to help?


    No. If I did, it would give us away.


    Damn it.


    One of the knights, draped in tasseled yellow cloth over blue armor, spurred his cockatrice forward and stabbed with his weapon ¡ª a heavy spear with a fleur-de-lys head very much like a stylized lily. Karog dodged it, but a crow helmed knight slapped at the back of his head with a medal-banded club before he could retaliate. I heard the ogre¡¯s snarl as the bludgeon struck the back of his helmet.


    And Calerus just stood back, watching.


    But there were other knights on the field. Jocelyn saw Karog¡¯s predicament and spurred his pegadrake forward to help, only for another knight in an iron helm fashioned to look like a grinning pig to get in his way. I didn¡¯t know if that one was another Vyke ally or just participating in the melee naturally, but Jocelyn was forced to defend himself. The last two of those eight, Mushroom Helm and a dame with goblin motifs on her armor, dueled on their own, heedless of the drama playing out around them.


    Did I move forward, or leave this to them? If I intervened, it would be questioned.


    Or would it? Three on one was not chivalrous. I watched the ring of knights, and saw none move forward to help Karog. Of course they wouldn¡¯t. He was a foreigner and inhuman to boot. I doubted any of them batted an eye at this.


    On the other hand, Ser Sain had already shown his mien when it came to this very thing. I made a decision, propped my sword on one shoulder, and ordered my scadumare forward.


    The sky flashed. I wasn¡¯t certain with the noise of combat around me, but it seemed like the wind circling the Coloss¡¯s outer walls was louder all the sudden, the waves crashing against the island more fierce.


    I chopped crow head¡¯s club in half while Morgause was in mid gallop, the strike in time with a fork of lightning almost directly above. The bird-faced knight reeled back. I didn¡¯t stop, instead putting myself between Karog and the other two.


    ¡°The Hyacinth Knight has intervened to aid the fomori!¡± The herald proclaimed needlessly. I heard excited rumblings from the stands.


    The ogre glowered up at me, his yellow eyes annoyed. ¡°I did not need your help.¡±


    So much for gratitude. I shrugged at him, then glanced at the spire. Markham and Rosanna stared down, distant and still, but made no protest. Hyperia sat at the Emperor¡¯s side still, and while I couldn¡¯t see her face clearly she seemed to lean forward.


    Calerus watched me curiously, but he seemed more interested than angry. I ignored him and focused on one of his cronies, the rider with the lily-bladed spear. Tall and handsomely equipped, he looked a proper Urnic champion in his tasseled yellow cloth and bright steel. His helm bore a modern design, with intricate curves and a heavy protective visor lowered to shadow his features, topped by a wispy white plume. His steed, a feathered and barbed raptor nearly eleven feet from snout to tail tip, croaked at me.


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    Were he and his fellows Recusant plants? Or had the chorn gotten to them?


    It didn¡¯t matter. I readied my sword.


    Karog faced off with the other two while I focused on the one who seemed the most skilled of the three. Calerus made no move to intervene, like it were he and not poor Ser Gerard we¡¯d all challenged. He was right, in a way.


    I would not fight him. The watching knights would take issue if I tried to steal glory. My interference was only tolerated because it would be perceived as a reaction to the ambush against Karog.


    I often felt ill equipped for intrigue and politics, but when it comes to the customs of warriors I was much more sure of myself.


    The spearman swiped his weapon at me. It was incredibly long and could slash as well as stab, the curved blades on either side of the point acting as deadly talons. I parried, nearly had my sword ripped out of my hands as one of those hooks caught it, and had to do a complicated maneuver to extricate myself. Morgause moved, assisting me and bringing me closer to my opponent, but the cockatrice proved its own worth by flaring its barbed wings and batting at her. My mount was forced to dance back as the raptor snapped at her neck. She hissed, more snake than horse herself as she bared her needle teeth.


    The yellow knight took his spear in both hands and pivoted it over his head in a wind-whistling motion. I felt an unnatural movement in the air, an odd vertigo.


    A simple Art, all told, just a minor manipulation of wind and force. The lily-bladed spear seemed to catch the air and condense it, hone it, forming a blurring impression around the weapon¡¯s head. Instinctively, I reinforced my sword with aura and used practically the same technique Siriks had in his duel with Nimryd ¡ª not a true sorcery, but a strike carrying supernatural force.


    I slashed the oncoming blade of phantasmal wind in an upward cut, severing it. There was a piercing crack! not unlike a lightning bolt clapping into a tree, a painful shock of impact through my arms. The ground on either side of Morgause suddenly erupted as steel-strong wind sliced into it, forming an expanding V around the chimera.


    The yellow knight tilted his head at me in an almost curious gesture, then slashed his spear sharply to one side. Once more, a whirling vortex of solid air began to twirl around his weapon.


    He has to catch the wind before he can release it in an attack, I noted. It¡¯s a simple move. Strong, with a visible tell and a lot of power. My sword had a chip in it from the attack I¡¯d already deflected. Probably it would have broken clean in half if I hadn¡¯t reinforced it, and even with that precaution my limbs trembled with strain. I wouldn¡¯t be able to do that many more times.


    Karog fought the other two at my back. I couldn¡¯t risk turning to check on Jocelyn.


    Best to focus on my own struggle.


    Instead of risking him battering me to pieces from a distance, I had Morgause charge. Lily Spear was ready for this, however, and instead of sending another razor sharp projectile at me he slashed the ground in front of him, sending up a cascade of dust and blocking my sight. I threw up an arm to prevent any of that cloud from getting into my helm. Movement disturbed the veil. I slashed on reflex, cutting another wind blade an eye blink before it would have slammed into me.


    Even as I deflected it, the edge of that blast caught me near the neck and put a deep rent into my pauldron. I grit my teeth. Fighting without my fire magic was proving more annoying than I¡¯d thought, and none of the tourney knights who¡¯d made it past the first day were easy opponents.


    Lily Spear burst through the dust cloud. Instead of attacking me with another projectile, he¡¯d wreathed his weapon in wind. He slashed at me with it. When I blocked, the wind dispersed in an explosive reaction that sliced the blue cloth of my surcoat, put more rents into my steel, almost took one of my eyes just as I¡¯d done to Konrad and left a vertical scar over the opening.


    But that left him without his magic for a moment. If I were him, I¡¯d have kept up the offensive. Instead, possibly wary of the unnatural strength I¡¯d displayed before, he had his mount step back so he had room to ready his Art.


    I had Morgause leap forward, then I struck him on the underside of his upraised arm.


    Without magic, it¡¯s not possible to cut good steel with a sword. The power of a blade is dispersed over too wide an area, and especially with well made armor you just risk ruining your weapon¡¯s edge. That¡¯s what maces, axes, lances, and a score of other increasingly complex tools are for.


    My heavy blade didn¡¯t cut the yellow knight¡¯s vambrace. It crushed it, crumpling the steel and breaking the bone beneath. A choked cry escaped his helmet as he recoiled from me.


    Konrad hadn¡¯t stopped even after I¡¯d taken one of his eyes, so I whirled my sword over my head and delivered a second strike to the back of the other knight¡¯s skull as I passed him. His helmet saved him from losing the top half of his cranium, but I still knocked him from his saddle and probably gave him at least a minor concussion.


    Calerus caught my eye, and tilted his head in acknowledgement.


    I let a long exhale escape the little breathing holes in my helmet, then turned away from the prince to check on my allies. I needn¡¯t have worried about Karog. He had Crow Helm¡¯s chimera on the ground, one knee down on its neck and its rider unconscious a distance away. The third spurred his mount on while he lowered his lance. Karog waited until barely more than three heartbeats separated them before moving.


    He lunged forward, then sidestepped suddenly and grabbed the rider by his breastplate while the knight was still moving at full speed. Karog¡¯s hand was large enough to nearly enclose the man¡¯s whole chest. He ripped him off his saddle and slammed him into the ground.


    That blow would have stunned most, even made them black out. But the knight went for a dirk at his hip. Karog lifted him, slammed him back into the ground, then roared directly into his face.


    The man¡¯s hand fell away from his dagger as he yielded. I let out a sigh of relief and turned to Jocelyn.


    What I saw made my blood run cold.


    Jocelyn was dismounted. His pegadrake limped a distance behind him, favoring one leg, and I could see blood trailing along the ground behind it. The knight he¡¯d been fighting, the one with the grinning pig¡¯s helm, rode an enormous boar not unlike the beast Doctor Olliard had favored during our journey to Caelfall. Only, this one had little in common with the placid Brume. Its tusks were wrapped in spiked rings of iron, with well scarred armor covering much of the rest of its leathery hide.


    I moved to help him, but a shadow fell over me. One of the other knights had moved out of the ring, and blocked me with his mount.


    ¡°You¡¯ve evened the field, Ser Sain, but this isn¡¯t your fight. If you wanted it, you should have stepped forward earlier.¡±


    The knight was tall, with a tall chimera and a helm fashioned into the likeness of a wizened lord not unlike one of the statues ringing the Coloss. He seemed calm and unthreatening, but did not move out of my way. Many other knights in the ring were also watching me.


    I clenched my jaw and looked past him. The pig-helmed knight was big, now I got a good look at him, with ugly armor and a morningstar. His boar alone was lethally dangerous. It worried the ground with a hoof, let out a sound that was more bellow than squeal, and charged.


    Jocelyn looked injured. He¡¯d lost his kite shield, and dust covered him from whenever he¡¯d fallen off his mount. No longer the proud captain I¡¯d gotten used to during my time in the capital. He still held his slender longsword though, and adjusted his grip on it as tusked death bore down on him.


    He managed to dodge the charging boar, almost getting gored on one of its tusks in passing, but not the pig knight¡¯s spiked mace. It caught him on the shoulder with an audible crunch I heard even from a distance. I grimaced.


    Jocelyn went down hard. He started to get back up, managing to prop a hand beneath him even as the boar turned. It scraped the ground again, spat steam from its nostrils in a snort, then charged the downed mercenary.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to trample him!¡± I snapped, not bothering with playing the mute anymore. The lordly knight turned and saw what I did. Even still, he did not move to intervene or get out of my way. I was aware of Karog moving in my peripheral vision, but not to aid the Ironleaf. He still wanted Calerus.


    But I couldn¡¯t spare any attention for that meeting. I didn¡¯t know Jocelyn of Ekarleon well, but he¡¯d saved my people and offered me critical information in a time of need. He¡¯d acted to protect an innocent woman against the ire of the Priory, and was quite possibly one of the only active True Knights in the subcontinent besides myself.


    But I stood too far away to do anything for him. I could only watch, helpless.


    Jocelyn got to one knee, shook his head. His helmet had slipped off, revealing his brown curls. He realized his danger, tensed to move.


    Too late. The boar was on him. It tossed its head once, brought its spiked tusks to bear¡ª


    I felt something I could not quite name, something I¡¯d never felt before. It wasn¡¯t unlike the uncanny sensation of an Art manifesting, but somehow different. More twisted, angrier. The aureflame within me stirred in warning, let me know it recognized this sensation. Just for a moment, I saw Jocelyn¡¯s form ripple, like a reflection in water. I heard his voice, taken up by the ghostly winds of the Coloss which sometimes gave those within unnatural volume.


    ¡°No¡­ not here, please, I¡ª¡±


    He suddenly bent backwards at the waist in a painful contortion. I saw his eyes, wide with pain and fear. The boar reached him in that same instant.


    And¡ª


    Jocelyn erupted. That is the only way I could understand what I saw. It was like deep green water suddenly billowed out from him, shapeless and writhing. It swallowed him and the boar knight, and kept expanding in a fountaining tide of something halfway between shadow and liquid.


    The sky rumbled once, but then went strangely quiet. Even the wind seemed to stop, as though as shocked as the rest of us. Those spectator knights nearest the scene recoiled, their mounts panicking and backing away.


    Where Jocelyn had been standing, a writhing mass of putrid looking green bubbled and reshaped itself. It seemed to exude heat, blurring the surrounding air and making steam ripple up from the rock for nearly ten feet around. Somehow I knew it was phantasm, but of a kind I¡¯d never encountered before. His Art?


    It felt wrong. My magic almost screamed in warning now. A flash of amber fire flickered around my left hand. I clenched it, wrestling down the surging power, but it fought me. Beneath my gauntlet, my skin blistered with the effort of containing it.


    A demon? Was Jocelyn possessed? No, it felt different. Yet, somehow no less dangerous.


    In the royal box Markham had stood up, while Rosanna held a hand to her mouth as though in horror. The herald looked confused as to what to do, and many of those spectators on the lower stands were crowding the edge, trying to get a better look. Karog and Calerus had also taken their attention off one another without even starting their fight, instead staring at that shapeless form now occupying the island.


    The mass pulsed once. It looked like some membranous sack, like a tumor of liquid amber. Its color had settled into a deep, almost golden green with darker shades lurking underneath. It bubbled again.


    The knight who¡¯d prevented me from helping spoke. ¡°What in the golden name of God¡ª¡±


    All at once, the shape ¡ª the cocoon ¡ª sloughed away. It burned the very rock where it touched, like acid or magma, sending up a cascade of steam. There were shouts of alarm, panicked noises from animals. Where the substance had melted away, there remained a coiled mass covered in brassy green scales, ill grown, razor sharp, like a hideous cancer mocking the form of a reptile.


    It lifted its head and opened a single milk white eye, as though waking from deep sleep.


    The golden magic in me knew it, and did something it never had before, not in all the many ugly, terrible battles I¡¯d fought against even the darkest things.


    The dragon opened its maw to hiss, and the blessed fire in me wavered.

 6.13: Wyrmblighted

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 6.14: Audience

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 6.15: 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¡±


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    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.¡±

 6.16: Yield

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 6.17: 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.


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    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.

 6.18: 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 abgr¨¹dai 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.


    <hr>


    ¡°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.

 6.19: 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.¡±


    <hr>


    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.¡±


    ¡°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.

 6.20: Battle of the Fulgurkeep Part 1

    <hr>


    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.¡±


    <hr>


    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.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    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.