《Omens: Relics, Demons, and Demigods》


 Chapter 1: Croak, Creak, Roar

    Ancient bones and armour rested peaceful in the lush Dromahair Forest. Bones not of armies or mercenaries, but of heroes, felled by a being of such immense strength that they would never comprehend. It had no name, no purpose.


    Furry woodland animals pranced and chased about between the being¡¯s stalky legs, ignorant to the latent power standing motionless amongst them. It towered amidst the trees, its ashen skin delicate and translucent, stretched tight across long, black bones. It bore no eyes, nose, ears, nor mouth, merely a hollow shell.


    A pair of mated birds sat on its shoulder, lulling it with their practised birdsong. A light breeze caressed the treetops, loosing the first autumn leaf. The spindly creature watched without eyes as the leaf drifted slowly by. Summer had passed, and soon would come the harvest.


    A deep croak curdled within the beast¡¯s belly. The once playful wildlife shook and fled as the croaking grew louder¡ªmore powerful¡ªeach creak a percussive blast battering against the hardwood trees. Its body convulsed violently, anguish and agony boiling within. The being flailed its elongated arms wildly about itself until a final ungodly roar reverberated into the sky.


    Worne craned his thick neck. The wind carried more than just the cold as it bristled his full brows and moustache. He slowly eased at the reins, and listened, his horse faltering under his broad frame.


    Something stirred awake in the woods, but it was not for him to put to rest. It had been a long journey and he had a job to do.


    The dwindling twilight was exacerbated this far north. Heavy fog often plagued the king¡¯s road at dawn, and that day was no different. Worne rode through the night; he wasn¡¯t paid to sleep, and at his age, sleep was already fleeting enough. His gaze fell slowly forward, the haunting roar already in the back of his mind, instead replaced by the clattering of bottles and jars secured in the large chest mounted behind him.


    Ahead, through the veil of morning fog, several figures surrounded a dark shadow. The shadow appeared submissive, showing no signs of struggle despite its circumstances. As he neared, Worne could make out the silhouettes of men mounted on horseback, overseeing the tableau from the king¡¯s road. The men were clad in castle-forged steel, their capes brandishing the green and yellow insignia of Worne¡¯s destination.


    ¡°Halt,¡± the man on the tallest horse commanded. ¡°On your way to Gildaun, good sir?¡± His voice was lilted and high-pitched, not the kind Worne had expected from a high-ranking officer


    ¡°Not much else around.¡± Worne grunted.


    ¡°I suppose not. Well then, that¡¯s lovely news indeed. We hardly get so many travelers up this way.¡± The man seemed chipper, in fact, all the men on horseback seemed in strangely high spirits.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me ask again, sir. Would ya spread your legs apart, if it please ya,¡± said another trebled voice, sounding as if spoken by a woman. Worne turned to the voice, it was a woman, dressed as a city guard along with the rest. She crouched at the feet of the surrounded shadow; a man with skin black as charcoal. The man was young, some might say still a boy, yet his skin was rough, speckled with ash-like pockmarks. His arms were shackled, the woman still working at his feet. Worne had neither seen a female guard nor a man as black of skin before.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t go making trouble for us like this one there. He¡¯s a murderer that one, if you¡¯d believe it.


    Worne examined the young man¡¯s sorrow expression.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he grumbled, then kicked his horse, leaving the small army of city guards and the young man behind him.


    The ride to the town of Gildaun was short, the sun¡¯s light was still golden by the time of Worne¡¯s arrival. Wooden houses with thatched roofs littered the lands as the forest thinned, and merged closer together as he drew near the town¡¯s centre. But Worne noticed something far behind the village, something he¡¯d have easily spotted earlier if he¡¯d expected to see it. It was a wall, at least thirty feet in height, built entirely of stone. Such a feature was typically reserved for only the wealthiest of cities and castles. By all accounts, however, Gildaun was supposed to be a small, poor town, with no more than a few hundred people. How could it be, Worne came to wonder, that such a city was unknown to him?


    As he passed through the city¡¯s gates, the town¡¯s true beauty and scale revealed itself. Gildaun was not the home to hundreds, but thousands, possibly tens, with bustling streets, and lively trade. Most of the buildings were made of a coarse, stony, pale concrete, none the likes Worne had ever seen. The steep roofs were shingled with pale pink clay plates, sloped downward to prevent the collection of rain or snow. Even the roads were sturdy and smooth. Worne wasn¡¯t one to admire beauty, but he appreciated a well-built road and skilled craftsmanship.


    In the distance, however, stood the true beauty: a castle, white as chalk, not to be admired for its size, but for its utter absence of complication. The grace of the city would appear entirely discordant if not for the castle¡¯s simple elegance. A fact, of which, Worne would never come to know.


    There was no creak when Worne entered the tavern, the large, clinking chest secured tightly in his hands. He wanted to close the door more slowly to test its quality, but was too encumbered to do so. He made a mental note of it for when he later left. The tavern was well decorated and designed with purpose, with wide arches, sturdy wooden supports, and dried, seasonal flower wreaths.


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    ¡°Oh my,¡± a hearty woman said, throwing a rag over her shoulder. ¡°Almost mistook you for a bull there, big man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a woman named Madwen. Short, white hair, silver jewelry. Said she¡¯d be here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re with that omen-woman then, eh?¡±


    ¡°She rent one of your rooms or not, wench?¡±


    The tavern wench flipped her thin copper hair and raised an eyebrow. ¡°First off, big man, I¡¯m the owner of this fine tavern, not some wench, so I¡¯m expecting you to address me properly. Second, I offered her our private room, aye, but she insisted on using our cellar if you can believe it. Strange woman that one, but I s¡¯pose that¡¯s part of her kind, meanin¡¯ no offense of course.¡±


    Worne maintained his permanent scowl. ¡°I have business with her.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t say!¡± The tavern keeper widened her eyes mockingly. ¡°Come, follow me then, big man. Though I doubt you¡¯ll fit seeing as to the size of you.¡± A jestful fact, but an accurate one.


    With heavy footsteps, Worne clambered down the cellar¡¯s steep, narrow stairs. He squeezed his arms and shoulders down through the cellar door; one never designed to accommodate men of his stature. Worne came to rest at the bottom of the stairs, staring into the dank room.


    ¡°I take it Aston delivered my list. Did you find everything?¡± Madwen stood with her back toward Worne, fumbling through the pages of a large tome. She was softly lit by an unseen white light sparkling about the stone cellar, her frizzy, white ponytail glowing in the paleness of it all.


    ¡°Come, place it all on the table,¡± she said, sweeping several items aside. Every movement of her hands rattled the assortment of plain silver bracelets that burdened her wrists. Worne stepped over a broken line of salt at the room¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°Still can barely read your writing,¡± said Worne. The chest made a heavy *thunk* as he placed it on the sturdy table.


    Madwen stared at him momentarily, unimpressed. ¡°You¡¯ll learn.¡± Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion and smudged dark makeup, adding another decade to her already mature face. She rummaged though the chest.


    ¡°The darkblood weren¡¯t where you said it¡¯d be.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, I never separate my bloods. It should have been with all the rest.¡±


    ¡°Was in the apothecary.¡±


    ¡°On the table?¡± Madwen asked. Worne stared. ¡°Yes. Well, I must have left it there after the C¨¦inc¨¦ile incident.¡± Madwen lifted the small, brown, darkblood vial into the gleaming light, noting it¡¯s missing label. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder you found it at all,¡± she said.


    ¡°You needed the job done. It¡¯s done.¡± Worne turned to leave.


    ¡°And where are you off to?¡± Madwen watched Worne over her shoulder. He stopped at the salt-line.


    ¡°Been a long trip. Need a drink.¡±


    ¡°You can drink when we¡¯re finished here. I appreciate it''s been a long journey, but I have more need of your services.¡±


    ¡°Better not be another delivery.¡±


    ¡°Indeed not. I need you to speak with the lord of this fiefdom. He''s called ¡®Daithi,¡¯ no doubt you saw the castle on your way in.¡±


    Worne grumbled. ¡°Not so good with speakin¡¯. Haven¡¯t seen him yourself?¡±


    ¡°If only I could, but I need to continue my research.¡±


    ¡°Seems like a lot o¡¯ work to hunt fairies and pixies.¡±


    ¡°You should consider yourself lucky. Two moons and the worst you¡¯ve seen is a mangy dog, but we¡¯re dealing with something real this time.¡± That caught Worne¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Go on then.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had more information, but I still need time to make sense of it all.¡±


    ¡°Huh, thought you¡¯d have more by now.¡±


    Madwen gestured generally to the table laden with various experiments and apparatuses. ¡°Sometimes you need to figure out what something isn''t, before you know what it is. I know what it isn''t, hell I know a thousand things it isn''t, but the only things left that it could be, however¡­¡± She felt a great pressure pulling down on her. ¡°They¡¯re dark, Worne. Sinister¡±


    The roar in the woods tickled Worne¡¯s mind once more. The pair¡¯s relationship had always been professional and Madwen was never one to embellish. When he watched her speak about whatever dark evil she believed was about, with her unwashed clothes and sunken eyes, he knew there was real danger about.


    ¡°Then we should get out there. Hunt it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, yes, and how do you propose we do so?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s as dark as you say, then it should come out if we make enough noise.¡±


    ¡°If only it were that simple. I¡¯m telling you, this isn¡¯t some jealous love-sprite or mischievous humble-cat. Do you remember what we did in Slyzch?¡±


    Worn nodded. ¡°Paskies.¡±


    ¡°And do you remember the experiment?¡±


    ¡°You lit a powder and asked me the colour o¡¯ the flame. Said it reacted with magic in the air.¡± Madwen raised an eyebrow. This felt like a test. ¡°Blue flame, blue smoke, black residue.¡±


    Madwen turned and dragged a flat, stone plate across the table. Worne approached, watching carefully. Most people would go an entire lifetime not once seeing a single ounce of magic, but Madwen performed it on a daily basis so casually that it had lost almost all whimsy. On the stone plate was a peppering of white powder and shiny flakes.


    ¡°Saltpeter and flakes of aluminium,¡± she said, bringing a dim flame close to the compound. The substances sparked and fizzled violently, then¡­ nothing. Madwen looked to Worne, awaiting his observation.


    ¡°No flame, no smoke, no residue. What¡¯s it mean?¡±


    Madwen crossed her arms and leaned against the table, this was the mystery she¡¯d been dealing with for several days now.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t mean anything,¡± she said. ¡°Every experiment I could think of has ended like this. It''s not that they''re yielding faulty results, it''s that they''re yielding none. You may as well ask me to record the color of the air, or the taste of water.¡±


    ¡°And you want me to tell the lord this?¡±


    ¡°Now that you''ve brought me some proper materials, I can finally start some real research, but I''ll need time. Normally, I''d investigate the city myself, but I need you to speak with Daithi. Don''t tip our hand just yet. Who knows how he¡¯d react. We need to know if he¡¯s hiding anything, and by the looks of this city, there should at least be something suspicious about him. A place like this doesn¡¯t get built without making a few sacrifices.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Worne grunted. ¡°Get some rest while I¡¯m here. You look like shit.¡±


    Madwen gave a single laugh. ¡°Perhaps later, there¡¯s work to be done.¡±


    Even without the chest, Worne¡¯s lumbering steps caused the stairs to bend under his weight. Madwen could hear the tavernkeep¡¯s flirtatious voice through the ceiling, accosting Worne as he left the tavern, pausing at the front door before doing so.


    Madwen dragged her multi-coloured nails down her face. Finally, the supplies she¡¯d needed so desperately were here, but she felt a fierce fatigue overcoming her.


    Something shifted. The mystical, sparkling light within the cellar flickered. Madwen¡¯s eyes darted, but saw nothing. Every day since she¡¯d arrived had been like this; whispers in the dark, shadows just out of view. She instinctively reached for a jar of salt, but abandoned the endeavor. At every attempt, any salt-line she drew was instantly broken before her eyes. She knew none of the precious, rare minerals or herbs that Worne delivered would make any difference.


    Madwen stretched her neck and pulled the last item from the chest, a thick tome titled: ¡°Relics, Demons, and Demigods: Detection and Eradication.¡±

 Chapter 2: Ser, Knight, Honoured Guest

    ¡°It¡¯s not the cost of the sheep that¡¯s pressin¡¯ ¡®em. They¡¯re sayin¡¯¡ªand Declan¡¯s told this to me ¡®imself¡ªthat if they cull any more sheeps, there won¡¯t be enough wool and meat come the winter.¡± Bridan, the lord Daithi¡¯s steward, healthy in his old age, stood proudly with his lord as if they were equals.


    ¡°That¡¯s a right shame. What of his lambs?¡± asked Daithi, scratching at his short ginger beard.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be no mutton ¡®cept for yourself, I¡¯m afraid. But I have heard rumours that there¡¯s a larger herd of elk this season than normal. If a hunt would please ye, my lord, I can have it arranged.¡±


    Daithi surveyed the castle¡¯s meticulously cleaned courtyard before him with his sharp hazel eyes. Servants, artisans, and decorators from all throughout Gildaun were eagerly redressing the grounds in preparation for the season¡¯s end. Banners were rotated, flowers groomed or harvested, and walls cleaned. Autumn¡¯s cool air had already begun seeping through the lord¡¯s simple, padded clothing, and Daithi basked in it.


    ¡°My bein¡¯ there will only spoil the hunt and add a fair bit of cost. Let¡¯s save the people their coin and leave it to our huntsmen. I reckon Oscar and Saoirse have been looking for a challenge.¡± Daithi smiled, smile lines and crow¡¯s feet on full display.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the word out soon as I can, my lord.¡± Bridan puffed his chest and strode toward the castle gate.


    Daithi breathed in deep, the cool air invigorating his senses. It had been a rich summer, and the following months seemed to promise the same prosperity as they had in nearly all years previous. If not for the city¡¯s unexpected visitors, Daithi would truly be at peace, but such is never the case for any lord.


    The sound of hooves and metal armour clattered through the gate and over the castle walls. The lilted-voiced captain of Daithi¡¯s guard marched into the courtyard, helmet in hand, his men slowly trickling behind. He and Daithi met halfway.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± greeted the tall pointy man. Cian had been the captain of the castle guard for nearly twenty years and his sing-song tone was known and cherished by all. On any other day, Daithi would be happy enough to see him, but not this day.


    ¡°We¡¯ve captured the wicked murderer. My men and women made an excellent job of it¡ªif you don¡¯t mind me saying¡ªbut it¡¯s been some time since our dungeon doors have been locked, so I figured you¡¯d like a word before we carried on.¡± Like Bridan, Cian held his head high.


    ¡°Is it true, what the fursman said?¡± asked Daithi.


    There was no smile with Cian, a rare sight on the man. He searched for the words, but they did not come. A simple nod would have to do. Daithi understood.


    The ferment in the courtyard settled, and the jingle of metal chains came to a rest behind the slender captain. Daithi stayed himself, and prepared to behold a monster. To his surprise, however, no monster stood behind Cian, but simply a man. He had black skin, yes, but Daithi had seen men in the sun turn dark. It was no surprise that, given enough time, the skin could darken into black. The man had foreign, tattered robes bleached bone-white, but again, these were merely the clothes of a man.


    Shackles rustled at the young man¡¯s extremities, misery and pain painting his square face. This was a murderer, a dark, twisted one by all reports, yet he appeared tormented beyond his wits. The anguish on the young man¡¯s face sickened Daithi, but strangely intrigued him also.


    ¡°Never have I seen a man so burdened by his own actions,¡± Daithi said, trying to meet the man¡¯s low eyes. ¡°What is it that drives you, I wonder, if not the thrill? Perhaps a sickness of the mind?¡±


    The young man¡¯s structured jaw hung open, as if he lacked the strength to close it. His lips trembled, a line of drool between them.


    ¡°¡­ I¡­ I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Come here.¡± Daithi closed the gap between them, entirely composed. ¡°I don¡¯t believe in killing¡ªtruly, it¡¯s not in my heart¡ªbut you¡¯ve done a very bad thing. You¡¯ve killed my people, and you¡¯ve hurt the ones still alive. They have to live with that, knowing what you¡¯ve done to the people they loved. Do you understand that? And we can¡¯t have someone like that around. It¡¯s simply too dangerous. You¡¯re, simply too dangerous. Now, judging by the state of you, I can¡¯t know if you¡¯re truly comprehending this, but just know this: You will die here. You¡¯ll be given a fair and honest trial, aye, as is your right, and as is our traditions, but then you will die.¡±


    Daithi¡¯s soft tone normally disarmed any who listened, but its soothing nature only tormented the prisoner more. The man whimpered; his eyes dry of tears. Rage tugged at Daithi¡¯s fingers, balling them into a tight fist. He felt the familiar itch to strike the pathetic man trembling before him into the dirt, but stayed his hand. That life had passed him. Justice was foundational to his fiefdom and he would not see that foundation weakened by his own fury.


    Daithi¡¯s modest clothing rustled in the quiet of the courtyard as he motioned his men to take the prisoner away. He would see to his justice another time, with all the lords of his land in court. A guard yanked the chain secured around the young man¡¯s bindings, and Daithi and Cian watched as the guards led the man into the keep¡¯s dark interior.


    ¡°My lord, there is another manner to discuss,¡± Cian said plainly. ¡°During our capture of the prisoner, we encountered another traveller. A big, strong-looking man. Summoned by the omen-woman if I had to guess. Seemed like an awful grump if I¡¯m honest.¡±


    Daithi nodded slowly and thanked his loyal friend. With hurt in his heart and his pride wounded, Cian left to oversee the imprisonment of the first Gildaun prisoner in years¡ªthe first he¡¯d failed to stop from committing a crime.


    A voice called down from the castle walls. ¡°Sir! A stranger approaches!¡± The day was still young, and already Daithi was faced with yet another challenge. He wanted to huff and retreat. He wanted to close the gate and block the doors. Even after all these years he still felt the tug of his old habits. To become a better man¡­ he thought. He straightened his posture and forced a smile.


    ¡°Have them meet me in the great hall!¡±


    Worne stood stoic and unmoving as various servants of Gildaun dressed the great hall around him. In the time he¡¯d waited, the sun¡¯s light had slowly drifted across a decorative carpet that split the room. There were three entryways: the main entrance that flanked him and two smaller doorways near the lord¡¯s table reserved for servants and honoured guests. Worne stared between them both, unsure of which the lord Daithi would finally emerge from.


    From the left, the middle-aged lord finally made his appearance, floating into the room with practice grace. He was handsome, more so than most lords¡ªhis cheekbones low-set, his lips thick. His strong nose had bifurcated slightly, adding a unique broadness to him, though he was of average frame.


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    ¡°I was wondering when the Omeness would finally grace my halls with her presence, but it would seem she¡¯d rather send me her bull.¡±


    ¡°Worne o¡¯ Ursholm.¡± Worne gave a cursory half-bow.


    ¡°Far from Ursholm, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s far from here.¡±


    Daithi opened his hands, ¡°And yet here I am with an Omeness in my humble town. Tell me, Ser Worne¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me ser,¡± Worne grumbled.


    Daithi parted his lips, provocation balancing on his tongue, but he spared the bull and continued instead. ¡°Tell me, Worne, why have I been host to an Omeness for over five days, yet have never met her?¡±


    ¡°Madwen said she¡¯s been hard at work.¡± Worne¡¯s voice was still low, and to Daithi, did not sound terribly apologetic.


    ¡°Oh? And what is it that she works so hard towards?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not sure.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s come an awful long way for ¡®not sure.¡¯¡±


    Worne blinked slowly. ¡°Ever met an Omeness?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting five days to.¡± Daithi smiled. Worne did not react.


    ¡°They tend to work that way. Go where the magic¡¯s concentrated. So they say. So I¡¯ve come to ask: Notice anything strange?¡±


    ¡°I feel like that¡¯s a better question for an Omeness.¡±


    ¡°Madwen¡¯s stuck in the tavern, and I just got here. Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve noticed anything strange myself.¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s your answer.¡± Daithi smile wryly. Three strangers had entered his lands now in less than a decas, a span of ten days. Each was a thorn in his side. The omeness¡¯ lackey would need to fight to get any an answer from Daithi, and Daithi was confident the lumbering bull lacked the wits to do so.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to take a look around,¡± said Worne.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m terribly comfortable with the idea.¡±


    ¡°Something to hide?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve found that if someone¡¯s looking to find something, whether it¡¯s there or not, they¡¯ll find it. I¡¯ve nothing to hide, no, but I¡¯ve a problem with a sorceress of the High Crown sniffing around my land for something they¡¯re not even sure they¡¯re looking for.¡±


    Worne¡¯s eyes scattered about the room. He¡¯d already studied every aspect of the great hall, but this was for show.


    ¡°Quite the city you¡¯ve got here. Expected no more than a small town. Would have expected you¡¯d want it protected at all costs,¡± said Worne.


    ¡°What need of I with a cat if I¡¯ve no mice, nor even a dropping?¡±


    The two stood in silence, eying each other intensely.


    ¡°Geoffren,¡± Daithi turned to a servant standing patiently near the back entrance. ¡°Could I ask that you fill my cup? Wine for myself, and¡­?¡±


    ¡°Not when I¡¯m working,¡± said Worne.


    Daithi softened his eyes and shrugged, taking a seat at the lord¡¯s table. The servant quickly returned with a cup and flagon. Any normal chair would have creaked as Daithi leaned into it, but already Worne had come to know that everything in Gildaun was expertly crafted.


    ¡°You see all of this?¡± Daithi gestured around the room with his cup, swirling his wine while doing so. ¡°Every season I open my doors to the people, my people.¡±


    ¡°Generous.¡±


    ¡°Ye may not believe it, but I used to be a working man me''self; slaved every working hour the sun was up. But, my lord was a wretched man. He made an effort to keep us common folk beneath his noble boot. I swore that if I were ever a lord, I''d never let me¡¯self turn into that prick of a man.¡±


    ¡°Lord of the people. Lucky subjects.¡±


    ¡°You jest, but everyone here respects me, and I them.¡±


    A servant entered the great hall from the main entrance, a covered silver platter in hand.


    ¡°My lord,¡± the servant bowed. ¡°The cooks have prepared a sample of lamb stew for your meal tomorrow, should you wish to test it.¡±


    Still sitting, Daithi returned the bow. The platter clinked on the lacquered hardwood table. The servant, deliberate in their movement, lifted the lid, revealing a sample of the hearty stew and wafting its savoury scent.


    When the scent reached him, Worne recoiled, abruptly and violently, forcing air out his nose like a skunk-sprayed dog. Daithi flinched at the sight of the massive man thrashing about so suddenly. Eyes alight, the servant moved to cover the plate. Daithi swatted away his hand, intent on watching the reaction.


    ¡°Quite the sensitive nose you¡¯ve got there,¡± said Daithi, leaning ever closer, studying every aspect of Worne in a new light.


    Worne shook his head sporadically, continuing to expel the stench from his burning nostrils while slowly stepping away. With every breath, his senses overwhelmed him. Finally, receding to the centre of the hall, he attempted to collect himself.


    Daithi grinned madly, barely stifling his excited laughter.


    ¡°Oh, now that¡¯s interesting. That is very interesting,¡± said the lord. ¡°I see you¡¯re just like me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking abou¡ª¡± Worne coughed, failing to convince even himself.


    ¡°You asked me not to call you ¡®Ser,¡¯ but I s¡¯pose you never said you weren¡¯t a knight.¡±


    Worne locked his jaw and his mean stare grew meaner. Daithi jumped to his feet and waved his servant away. The others in the great hall followed suit.


    ¡°It¡¯s intoxicating, isn¡¯t it? The scent of it.¡± Daithi dragged a finger around the rim of stew, then brought a drop to his lips. Worne watched Daithi¡¯s every movement. ¡°They start you off real slow-like, just a taste here and there, and you absolutely hate the wretched stuff. But after a whole season, oh, you come to love it, obsess over it, dream of it. Everything else turns bland and flavourless. No matter the amount of salt or sour you try to stomach, nothing quite tingles the tongue, does it? But a single drop of the good stuff, oh, you''ll be thinking about it for weeks. Men will go mad without it, and rightly so.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know whatever nonsense you¡¯re on about.¡± Worne stepped back, still struggling to restore his composure.


    Step by step, Daithi inched closer, ignoring any attempt to hide his intrigue. ¡°Oh no, I see it on you, clear as I see the floor beneath our feet. Like a dog to a steak. I bet your mouth''s all watery as we speak. You seem to have your head about ye, though. I reckon an omeness can get her hands on quite the pure samples. You made a deal with her then, didn¡¯t you? I wouldn''t blame ye if you did. Or perhaps you''re just as starved as the rest of them?¡±


    Worne stood still, silent. ¡°¡­What does it matter?¡±


    ¡°I like to know the kind of man I¡¯m dealing with,¡± said Daithi.


    ¡°Sounds like you figured out enough.¡±


    ¡°S¡¯pose I have. The way you¡¯re acting, though, maybe there¡¯s something I can do for you.¡±


    Every one of Worne¡¯s senses pulsed and tingled. It had been decades since he felt like this¡ªlike a creature. He imagined Madwen hunting him down and stunning him with some magical powder. The humble lord stepped closer to Worne, but Worne only squared himself, flexing every muscle in his body. Even in his jovial mood, Daithi¡¯s ambition simmered as he approached.


    Now only feet apart, Daithi tilted his head upward to meet the bull¡¯s gaze. ¡°I want that omen-woman gone. I¡¯ve paid my dues to the High Crown. I don¡¯t want one of their servants swinging around in the dark until they hit something.¡±


    ¡°You serve the High Crown too.¡±


    ¡°Aye, but I¡¯m far enough away to consider this my own kingdom. Even my own lord must stretch to reach here, let alone the High Crown.¡±


    The great hall was quiet. Even the subtle sound of clothing sliding against itself reverberated in the empty stone chamber.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± Daithi started. ¡°Come to my feast tomorrow as my honoured guests¡ªyou and the lady Madwen both. See my town and people as they are: peaceful and happy. If ye don¡¯t find anything by then, I want ye out of this place come the following mornin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Madwen¡¯s got work to do.¡±


    ¡°Then have a think about this: come tonight, and I¡¯ll pour you a bowl of my personal stew, the one that set your senses ablaze and your heart racing.¡± Daithi¡¯s smile could not grow any wryer.


    Worne thought to speak, but he knew any reply would only serve to satisfy the smug lord further.


    A mass of air brushed Daithi¡¯s cape as Worne¡¯s broad frame spun and left the room. Worne stormed out the castle and past the guards. Seeing such a large man move so quickly instilled a primal fear that had some of the men instinctively palm their scabbards. Worne brushed past them all, even shoving one man into the air and several feet backwards.


    The pale castle sat slightly elevated, allowing Worne to see the city below in its full splendour.


    A rush of emotions beat against his mind, but one stood out chief amongst them all: loathing. Not for Daithi, but for himself. Never had Worne allowed himself to be so vulnerable in front of another. He¡¯d spent years learning to rule his emotions with an iron fist, and yet in a single moment, they all slipped through his fingers like sand. If such an event were to repeat itself in front of the omeness when she needed him most, it may very well cost her life.


    There was one question, however, that tugged at Worne. When Daithi was asked about peculiarities, why not mention the prisoner shackled in the forest? Perhaps it was nothing. What was one murderer in a city of thousands of people? But why withhold that information? What was there to gain besides obfuscating the omeness? Clearly, Daithi was hiding something, though Worne could not know what. His mind turned to Daithi¡¯s offer, however. What if it was nothing? Was it worth mentioning to Madwen? At that moment, he could not say.

 Chapter 3: Tap, Tap, Tap

    The Mark of the Omeness; a six-pointed star drawn with a single line. Madwen could draw it in her sleep. From the age of womanhood, every omeness had been trained to recreate the symbol to symmetric perfection. Where it to be slightly crooked, lopsided, or unevenly spaced, the seal would simply break. Madwen was on her third attempt etching the ancient rune into a clay vase. Only magic could achieve such precision. She had dropped the veil of light that previously sparkled in the room¡ªshe had no concentration to spare.


    Madwen took in a deep breath and reached into the high neckline of her blouse, retrieving a both simple, yet complex, metal necklace. A thin, black thread looped through a Dara knot; an ancient, woven symbol made of intertwining curves like knotted roots in dense forests. With eyes closed, Madwen traced the intricate pattern that made hers unique with her fingertips. With one final breath, she stared down the vase before her.


    Hand hovering over the pottery, with fingers outstretched, Madwen opened her emotions to the well of magic within her. A single point of white-hot energy sparked to life on the surface of the vase. To an outside observer, the energy would appear to move on its own beneath Madwen¡¯s palm, but she was in complete control. Slowly the outline of an omen star appeared etched into the curve of the glazed pottery. Small puffs of smoke wisped into the air as the clay sublimated beneath the immense power of the omeness¡¯ magic. Madwen could again feel the weight of her exhaustion that tapped incessantly at the barriers of her mind.


    Tap-tap-tap.


    Madwen¡¯s focus wavered, but she kept on.


    Tap-tap-tap.


    Something shifted within the shadows that surrounded her, but Madwen continued.


    TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!


    The stone beneath her feet quaked; flakes of dust dancing on its surface like sand on a beaten drum. The barrier was faltering. Flashes of intense pain plagued her psyche. Images streamed across her vision: a young boy¡¯s smiling face, a handsome man¡¯s fury, hands reaching for the sky. Madwen kept her eyes clenched shut. In an instant, she felt the unbearable anguish of a desperate soul and unleashed it into the vase.


    TICK!


    Madwen opened her eyes. The rumbling had stopped, the shadows were gone, and the pain forgotten. The vase was no more, however. Instead, on the table before her, sat a small ceramic marble still coloured of the vase. With a heavy sigh and sunken shoulders, Madwen rolled the dense marble, heavy as a tome, toward the other two. Perhaps Worne was right. Any more sleepless days and she would truly be useless.


    Madwen left the dark cellar, shedding its confinement like clothes before a bath, and emerged behind the tavern bar from the cellar door.


    ¡°Oh! Didn¡¯t see ya there, omen-woman!¡± The tavern keeper¡¯s presence was so bright as to make Madwen squint, more so than even the sun streaming through the arched tavern windows.


    ¡°Just, ¡®Madwen,¡¯ darling.¡±


    ¡°Then you can call me, ¡®Carlina,¡¯¡± the taverness smirked.


    ¡°Hmm yes, very well then. Lady Carlina, I think it¡¯s come time to request that fine room of yours, should it still be available,¡± said Madwen. The taverness hurried with food in hand, squeezing past Madwen¡¯s thin build which juxtaposed her own full frame. Midday had come, and with it, hungry patrons.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Carlina. ¡°Figured you¡¯d emerge from that damp cellar eventually. Thought it might be sooner, mind you.¡± Carlina threw a cleaning cloth over her shoulder and unclasped a ring of keys from her hip. Madwen followed the taverness, not to the second floor, but to a third.


    Fascinating, Madwen thought. Buildings several stories tall were a rare sighting outside the High Cities. It truly was a marvel that Gildaun had somehow gone unnoticed.


    The private room was cramped but comfortable, with golden wood floors and walls, and a bed so fluffy and white, Madwen almost drifted to sleep at the very sight of it. The tavern keeper handed Madwen a thick iron key and held her hand for a moment as she passed it.


    ¡°That there big fella, he¡¯s not your fella, is he?¡±


    A wide smile grew on Madwen¡¯s face as she failed to contain a wicked belly laugh.


    ¡°By all means,¡± she said, ¡°have at him! Please. It might do him some good for once.¡±


    Carlina squeed, giddy with excitement, and left Madwen to rest. In an instant, Madwen had stripped herself of her over-clothes and collapsed into the billowing, soft bed. Her silver bracelets jingled as she curled the blanket half around herself and immediately slipped into the abstract realm between consciousness and unconsciousness.


    There were sparkles in the vision behind her eyelids; a sign that her sleep would be long and deep. Finally, the rest that eluded her had come at last.


    Tap-tap-tap.


    Within the recesses of Madwen¡¯s mind, the images lingered.


    Tap-tap-tap.


    Thin grey flesh twitched and spasmed wildly.


    TAP-TAP-TAP!


    Madwen¡¯s body thrusted through the cool air¡ªa darkness receding into the corners like roaches to the light. Time had passed; she couldn¡¯t know how long, but the sun¡¯s light was whiter, higher in the sky. She¡¯d felt this tapping in her mind before, but never to such an extent.


    This place, Gildaun, it reeked of a curse, its scent perverting the air like smoke. Madwen collected herself at the edge of the bed. Her head rang and her eyes ached. Since her arrival, sleep had alluded her like a woodsprite¡ªa notoriously slippery magical pest. It was easy enough at first to find blame for it, but as the days continued, Madwen¡¯s desperation and defeat increased. But today¡¯s rest, however fleeting it was, would sustain her if only for a few hours more.


    The walls that surrounded her were stifling, as beautiful as they were. Madwen needed fresh, free-moving air for once. She quickly dressed, splashed water from a wash basin in the corner of the room, and ventured outside the tavern for the first time since her arrival.


    Madwen made a note of the sign attached to the tavern as it swayed in the wind. It depicted an elk with large antlers. ¡°The Elk¡¯s Head?¡± she wondered. It¡¯d never occurred to her to ask the name of the establishment in which she stayed, but that felt like its natural name.


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    The tavern was not in the Gildaun¡¯s centre, but rather near to the main gate. From the voices that carried into the tavern¡¯s cellar, Madwen had gathered that many people frequented outside the city walls to visit the numerous surrounding hamlets, and the tavern acted as the perfect checkpoint. Most Clistet¨ªran cities tended not to see such mobility among their citizens, if not simply for their lack of safety beyond the walls.


    The streets were as busy as any city of Gildaun¡¯s size, yet something tugged at her¡ªsomething was out of place. An old woman and a guard smiled and chattered. Children chased one another about, grabbing an apple from a stall owner as he laughed at their playful antics. Was it so bizarre to see such joy amongst a people? If there was a curse about that tarnished sleep, then it certainly did not seem to plague the people before her. Perhaps the afflicted stayed indoors and were thus invisible to the public? Madwen needed answers.


    ¡°You there!¡± she called to a passing guard. ¡°How long have you lived in Gildaun? I wish to know of its history.¡±


    The guard stiffened his back, shifting in his oversized green and yellow gambeson. ¡°Erm¡­ my lady¡­ perhaps, I think, that might be a better question for the Lord Daithi. I can escort you to him at your request, should you desire to speak with him.¡±


    Madwen had a habit of correcting folk who called her ¡°Lady,¡± but the young guard¡¯s refusal to help piqued her interest.


    ¡°Do you have orders to do so? To escort me to your lord should I have any questions?¡±


    The guard fidgeted with his helmet strap. ¡°I¡­ I think I should speak with my captain¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are speaking to me,¡± Madwen pressed. She could see the hesitation in the guard. With such a peaceful life, the duty of a guard must have been easy. This young man, almost a child, had likely never faced resistance in his obviously short career.


    ¡°I¡¯m an Omeness, young man. Do you know what that means?¡±


    The young guard started to curl in on himself, like a spider before death.


    ¡°It means,¡± Madwen continued, ¡°that I am a direct servant of the High Crown. Would you disobey the High Crown?¡±


    ¡°Never, my lady! But I cannot disobey my lord!¡±


    ¡°So, then you have been ordered to withhold information from me? I see.¡±


    The guard¡¯s eyes shot open wide. Never had he been so quickly outwitted. In any other city, a city guard would fight to assert their power, but it seemed the naive folk of Gildaun simply froze like rabbits before a wolf.


    ¡°I imagine your lord wouldn¡¯t appreciate knowing one of his own so easily exposed his orders to an outsider. Perhaps if I were told something else¡ªsomething more interesting¡ªI may forget this conversation entirely.¡± Madwen assumed a sudden interest in her nails and bracelets.


    The guard¡¯s shoulders dropped with his jaw. A thousand thoughts raced through his still-maturing mind. He¡¯d taken a position with the watch to protect his beloved city, and already he had forsaken it. Were his captain, his lord, or even his family to discover his failure¡­


    ¡°I see. Perhaps I would like to be escorted to see this Lord Daithi after all. I¡¯ve suddenly thought of a thousand things I wish to speak about.¡± Madwen tugged at the shoulder puffs of her white blouse, untucking them from beneath her leather vest. The guard said nothing.


    ¡°No? Well, I can see the castle from here, I¡¯m sure¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait! Please! I¡¯ve nothing more to tell, I swear it on me mum¡¯s life! Gildaun is a peaceful place. There hasn¡¯t been a secret in the city since you and those other two arrived. I nearly felt sick when my captain¡ª¡±


    ¡°Other two?¡± Madwen interrupted.


    ¡°¡­Yes. You, your large friend, and the dark-skinned fella.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the dark-skinned man? When did he get here?¡±


    ¡°He got here a day or two ago, supposedly. Killed a whole village! Needed a whole platoon to take him in. Captain saw to it ¡®imself. The big fella should know. He walked in not an hour before they arrived. They would¡¯ve passed each other on the king¡¯s road.¡±


    A whole village? she thought. And Worne passed right by them.


    Madwen watched the young guard shaking in his bulky armour. Deep footsteps sounded amidst the buzz of the street and a shadow grew from behind Madwen, looming over her. The already terrified young man before her nearly cowered. She almost felt sorry for him.


    ¡°Consider our conversation forgotten,¡± said Madwen. ¡°On your way then.¡± She gestured, and the young guard quickly backed away, large, watery eyes locked on the approaching mass.


    ¡°You¡¯ve really seemed to make an impression on Carlina, the tavern¡ª¡± Madwen turned. ¡°Oh, what¡¯s gotten you in a bother?¡±


    To any passerby, Worne¡¯s familiar scowl would seem just the same as any other day, but Madwen knew better. Like any of the beasts she¡¯d faced, Madwen had come to study Worne. She had even made mental notes on some of his bizarre behaviours: his curious accent, his utter disregard for mystical creatures, his hunger for battle, the list went on.


    ¡°I told you, not so good with speaking. Didn¡¯t go well.¡± Something more stirred inside Worne, an anger unfamiliar to Madwen.


    ¡°Perhaps I should have seen him when I first arrived after all. Did he mention anything we should be aware of?¡±


    Worne remained silent for a moment, feeling a churning in his gut. ¡°Didn¡¯t say nothing.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, did you pick up on anything then? See anything strange?¡±


    Worne casted his gaze beyond Madwen, to the few guards that maintained not only their distance, but also their lines of sight on the pair.


    ¡°¡­Nothing, ¡®cept that smokeless flame. Lord says he¡¯s looking to meet you though. Said he¡¯d host us as honoured guests at a feast tomorrow and that if we don¡¯t find anything by then, we¡¯re gettin¡¯ the boot.¡±


    ¡°And you think we should take him up on this?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t see any more reason to stay.¡±


    ¡°Not even the prisoner?¡±


    ¡°¡­Prisoner?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the one you saw on your way here. You didn¡¯t care to mention that?¡±


    Madwen had seldom pressed Worne. He didn¡¯t care for being on the opposite side of her pointed questioning.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think it needed mentioning. What¡¯s one murderer in a city as big as this?¡±


    ¡°He murdered an entire village, Worne. You didn¡¯t think that needed mentioning?¡±


    Worne stared for a moment, getting angrier still. ¡°Didn¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°Because you didn¡¯t think to ask.¡±


    ¡°Seen the kinda men that kill villages. He ain¡¯t one of ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, well thanks to your psychological expertise, our biggest lead is now behind bars, likely out of reach, and we¡¯ve been delayed several hours. I hope you weren¡¯t looking too forward for a drink; you just created more work for both of us.¡±


    ¡°Take a look around Madwen.¡± Worne loomed closer over her, his gravel timbre growling further. He would never harm Madwen, but still the rage sat hot in his blood. ¡°Just a bunch o¡¯ pleasant folk who don¡¯t want none around.¡±


    Madwen¡¯s neck craned to meet Worne¡¯s light eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gotten into you but don¡¯t forget you signed up for this. There¡¯s something sinister here, more than anyone¡¯s letting on, and if anyone thinks they can stop me, that¡¯s what you¡¯re here for.¡±


    ¡°Expect me to take on a whole city? You flatter me.¡±


    ¡°I expect you to do as I say. Now go. Find that village. I don¡¯t care how. Take your anger out on some sorry city guard if you must¡ªgods know you need it. But if you come back from that village with nothing to report, don¡¯t bother coming back at all.¡± Madwen rested her hands on her hips. She did not fear Worne, but she had never seen him stirred to such an extent. Were he to direct his fury toward her, she¡¯d rather not have to deal with him so publicly; the ensuing mess would surely send the entire fiefdom down upon her.


    Worne¡¯s nostrils flared like the bull folks said he was. Any guard within sight that previously feigned disinterest had given up any subtlety and nearly leaned toward the heated conversation. Without a word, Worne huffed and stormed toward the city gate from which he entered, ready to unleash his anger on the first sodded fool who dared resist him.


    Madwen watched the angry man with concern. He was a surprisingly calm man otherwise, despite his outward appearance. To see him shift so quickly¡­


    If he returns with an attitude, I shall press him further, she thought. She¡¯d felt first hand the darkness of the city closing in on her, perhaps Worne had been affected too, only differently.


    Regardless, with the recent rest still lightening the load on her mind, Madwen had one more experiment to complete. The lord Daithi wanted her and Worne gone after the next day¡¯s night, and with the gradually decreasing weight around her wrists, she may not have a choice.


    Once more, Madwen attempted an Omeness¡¯ mark on the last spare vase she could find in the dark cellar. She¡¯d spare Carlina an extra gold coin to make up for the damage later. With great effort, she twisted her palms and curled her fingers. Again, the glazed clay vaporized at the singular point of her magic.


    Tap-tap-tap.


    She felt the barriers of her mind tested, but resist.


    With a deep, labourious breath, the single line of the Omeness¡¯s mark finally connected with itself. She examined her work. Pure precision. Now for the last step.

 Chapter 4: Straw, Wicker, Cloth

    When Ayube placed his palm on the pale stone floor, he felt nothing. It was lifeless¡ªdevoid of energy. Its soft glow then could only be natural to the local geology, he thought. As he lay, collapsed against the iron bars of his cell, he looked to the sky through a narrow barred window high on the wall above him. Ayube had never seen the inside of a dungeon before; he assumed it would be entirely devoid of any natural light, but was thankful it was not.


    Most the white stone had darkened to blue from moisture. Ayube had made an effort to avoid large cities during his travels; anything to prevent the spilling of innocent blood. Even so, he knew from first sight that the stonecrafters of Gildaun had struck a magical balance between strength and beauty. Yet, even in their expertise, water still plagued the dungeon that held him.


    A long, thin stream glistened in the sun¡¯s light, down the stone wall from the window above, and snaked toward a small circular grate in the floor.


    Fascinating, Ayube thought. They¡¯ve built some sort of drainage system beneath the castle. That these people would think to design such a thing. Already, through his short time in the High Kingdom, it was clear its peoples were not the bumbling slow folk that his own had rumoured.


    Ayube breathed deeply, the reservoir of energy weighing down his shoulders. Though the sleepless nights had disrupted the roaring rivers of magic that flowed through him, it had still been days since his last reprieve.


    ¡°Hello!¡± Ayube called out. His shout clapped empty against the cool stone walls. Through the heavy wooden door at the dungeon¡¯s end, a shadow shifted. There must be a guard stationed there.


    ¡°I need help!¡± he called again, but heard nothing except the distant sounds of the city from the window. Perhaps they were listening for signs of real trouble, he thought, perhaps they could not understand his thick Sadanu accent, or perhaps it was a flicker of the torchlight that tricked his mind.


    ¡°Please!¡± he shouted. ¡°I feel pain!¡± he cried. It was partially true. Magic weighed down like heavy rainfall on good days but like an icy waterfall on bad ones. Today was a bad day, and the frigid pressure burdened him sore. Again, the shadow moved human-like through the gaps in the wooden door until at last, a latch clicked, the door creaked open, and a guard entered.


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked the guard, serious in her tone, as if concerned for Ayube.


    ¡°Yes! Please, I beg of you! I must speak to your captain!¡±


    The stocky woman wrinkled her brow, searching Ayube for deception. ¡°You can talk to me.¡±


    Ayube¡¯s mind was weak, too weak, he thought, to be persuasive. ¡°I¡­ I wish to confess!¡±


    Again the dungeon guard stood motionless. ¡°You don¡¯t need to confess. There¡¯s no doubt about yer guilt.¡±


    ¡°I-if I can speak to your captain, I will confess to how it was done¡ªh-how I killed all those people!¡± The stout woman did not respond. Her eyes teetered left and right as she stood in thought. Without a word, she turned and left the empty echoing room, latching the heavy door behind her.


    Ayube relaxed for a moment, shoulders dropping, though still burdened. No real indication was given as to whether or not he would speak to the guard captain, but at least he had spoken to someone.


    What would he say if the guard returned? He could barely focus. He tried to think of the Captain who overseen his arrest and what he might say to convince him of his request, but his thoughts were blurry¡ªmuddled. They had been clear once. He could almost remember what it was like to be free, unshackled from the scattering confused thoughts that plagued him. When before he shut his eyes tight, he would see nothing. Now, he saw horrors: men, women, and children screaming; bloody piles of meat, bone, and cartilage, so unrecognizable, you would hardly know they were once human.


    Tears streamed steadily down Ayube¡¯s pockmarked face when the dungeon door opened once again. He wiped the tears, stripped of their salt in his malnourishment, and tried to calm his nerves.


    With the dungeon guard stood the captain, the man with the high voice. The captain, the one his men called ¡°Cian,¡± stood straight, arms crossed behind his back. He was tall and thin, svelte even. He was also old, possibly nearing his seventies, though Ayube had noticed the frail-skinned folk of the High Kingdom wore their ageing more visibly than people of the south. Ayube¡¯s gaze remained low, staring at Cian¡¯s freshly shined boots, devoid of the dirt that coated them only hours previous. The female guard stayed at Cian¡¯s side, though with a lift of his hand, she returned to her station.


    ¡°Now young man, I¡¯m told to you wish to confess. Wasn¡¯t sure we needed it, but I¡¯d be doin¡¯ myself a disservice not listening to what you have to say.¡±


    ¡°Please, you may not believe me, but I am in great need of charcoal. A single lump is all that I require.¡±


    Cian ducked his head, an eyebrow raised. ¡°And why should I do that?¡±


    ¡°Because, if you do not¡­¡± Ayube hesitated, ¡°everyone here may die.¡±


    ¡°Listen, boy,¡± Cian¡¯s voice quickly soured. ¡°You¡¯re not in any place to be making threats!¡± Cian snapped sharply to his left, billowing his short cape.


    ¡°No! Please! I am not making a threat! I will tell you all you wish to know, but I need this thing, if you can bring it.¡±


    Cian¡¯s upper lip curled in hatred as he looked down through the thick iron bars, but the quaking man before him softened his malleable heart. Cian was not a man of spite or revenge. Any attempt to hold these feelings twisted his stomach. He would not taint his values so late in his life.


    Cian retrieved the charcoal himself; there was a small pile kept in a metal container in his room high in the castle. Not everyone serving the lord Daithi kept chambers within the castle walls, but Cian had watched Gildaun grow. Seeing the sun¡¯s orange rays kiss the humid air every morning felt like a reward for his and everyone else¡¯s hard work. He ruminated on those thoughts as he fetched the prisoner¡¯s request; thoughts of the hard workers Gildaun would mourn. Fifty souls, lost.


    A single lump of charcoal clicked to the floor outside Ayube¡¯s cell. Without thought, he quickly snatched it and clasped it firm in his hands. He held it almost as if he were praying. His breath was sharp and deep, his eyes closed. For a moment there was nothing, and for a moment longer, nothing still. Cian scrunched his face, about to take leave once again until he finally saw it.


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    It was subtle at first, but soon light seeped between Ayube¡¯s fingers like a hand over a white flame. With each deep breath, the charcoal grew brighter, it¡¯s dusty, matte blackness paling into an ashen white.


    The charcoal clicked a higher pitch as Ayube placed it on the ground outside his cell, as if it were lighter. Cian crouched, ignoring the pain in his ageing knees. The charcoal¡¯s glow was bright; not strong like the sun¡¯s, but soft like the moon¡¯s. Cian looked away to stave the urge to touch it, but before he could even know it, the seemingly living material was balanced delicately between his fingertips.


    There, in a damp dungeon at the furthest reaches of the High Kingdom, Cian held the legendary element with a simple name.


    ¡°Whitestone,¡± he marvelled.


    Ayube dropped to his backside, exhaustion washing over him. Without knowing it, Cian was one of the richest men in the world, even if only for a moment.


    ¡°We call it, ¡®Gamohtuug.¡¯ It means ¡®a stone which has been set alight.¡¯ It is forbidden in my country.¡± Ayube¡¯s accent was thick, but his Clisten was perfect in its diction and grammar; years of study had seen to it. Speaking, however, was something he¡¯d only practised in the most recent weeks. It was pointy and forced his mouth into strange shapes. It seemed to change vastly between small regions of Clistet¨ªr as well, testing the limits of his listening skills.


    ¡°Illegal, you say? Now why would you go making something so grand, illegal?¡± asked Cian, still infatuated with the shining stone.


    ¡°It is magic,¡± said Ayube, ¡°and magic kills people.¡±


    Cian¡¯s expression turned. Thoughts of the bloody village returning to him. His fascination with the whitestone vanished¡ªit might as well have been any other lump of charcoal.


    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, lad,¡± said Cian, his hip cracking as he stood once again. ¡°You killed people. And now you owe me an explanation.¡±


    Fiam¨®r was the furthest Gildaun¡¯s villages, roughly a three-hour walk, but Worne¡¯s cumbersome frame was not well suited for long distances. He found its location easily using Madwen¡¯s suggestion: Take your anger out on some sorry city guard if you must. His horse stamped in place with a tug of the reins. Worne dismounted, leaving the creature untied; the mare would not go far in this now-peaceful place.


    Emerging from the forest¡¯s edge, the mark left by Daithi¡¯s men on the land in and around the hamlet was obvious. The ground had been thoroughly trampled and the bodies cleared, mostly. Some scraps of hair, flesh, and bone still corrupted the otherwise serene landscape.


    Worne started toward the nearest home but stopped in place, remembering the words of the omeness and the added difficulty he had created for them both. The grass, he thought. There was something peculiar about how it lay. Worne dropped to one knee and roughly combed it with his thick fingers. Strange. It had been packed down tight, but to one side only.


    It was almost amusing. Such an obscure phenomenon felt like just the thing an omeness would care deeply about, or at least, something that Madwen would. But such observations felt pointless to him Worne; why waste time hunting shadows and mysteries when a simple truth was often in plain sight? Madwen, however, worked in subtleties¡ªin fact, she thrived in them. And though Worne saw little value in it, he had seen her succeed in places where he would have resorted to simple violence. If this strategy had worked for Madwen, so too could it work for him.


    Worne stood, straight-backed, following the sheen of the grass as it curved around the mix of dwellings and functional buildings. He followed the unnatural curve around the entire village, meeting back at his place of origin. It was a circle¡ªas clean of one as he¡¯d ever seen¡ªwith a sudden stop at the forest¡¯s edge. What lay at the centre, he wondered.


    The first building on his path inward was much like the others. It had been split in two: one room for cooking, eating, and working, and the other room for living, leisure, and rest. Like any building he¡¯d seen in Gildaun, it was well constructed with both form and functionality in mind. This home had children, perhaps quite a few. There were dolls made of straw, wicker, and cloth sprinkled about both rooms, as well as piles of smaller clothes and shoes. Breathing deeply, Worne could still smell the blood-iron in the air.


    The other nine dwellings that formed Fiam¨®r told a similar tragedy, though each uniquely macabre. Some homes stood nearly empty, with barely a spot of blood or torment to be seen, whereas others were perhaps better described as paintings¡ªor grotesque imitations of ones.


    Every home had been built in relatively close proximity to one another. Each large and built of the same pale concrete as was used in Gildaun, though Fiam¨®r maintained the traditional thatched roofing seen across most of the kingdom. Some of the buildings appeared to serve other purposes, however: a fursman¡¯s workshop, a communal storehouse, and a granary. But the most prominent structure of them all was a long, L-shaped alehouse with rectangular wooden tables and benches both indoors and out.


    This is where it happened, he decided.


    The alehouse had seen the brunt of the carnage. Crimson coated the ground, the tables and benches, the walls. Flesh flies buzzed loud, laying their eggs and feasting on the morsels of flesh strewn about. Plates and tankards still lay scattered across the tables, food still rotting and staling. A mess such as this was clearly too much for Daithi¡¯s frail guard to address. In all likelihood, they would await the rain and rodents to dispose of the gore.


    Worne crouched, testing his perception once more, spotting long marks in the dirt. They were claw marks¡ªno, these were made by human hands. In an act of pure desperation, someone had dug their nails into the dirt, not to hold themselves in place, but to crawl forward. These were not the only ones.


    Placed centrally next to the L-shaped building was a stone well. More marks scored the earth¡ªpointing toward the well. As Worne drew closer, the disturbances grew larger, more pronounced. He could make out divots in the dirt where someone had dug in their foot, like a foothold in a cliff-side. An axe lay on its side, the blade covered in grime, the ground next to it chipped in the same shape. The blood seemed more congealed the closer Worne approached the well until suddenly¡ªnothing.


    Like a bloody battlefield around a walled city, at the centre of everything: the circle of grass, the pieces of meat, the pools of blood, the human claw marks; the well sat undisturbed, clean. Except¡ª


    Worne¡¯s horse huffed and whinnied outside the hamlet. It came trotting toward him but quickly veered at the scent of death, coming to rest nearby. Greycrows cawed and scattered amidst the treetops. A familiar breeze caressed him, bringing about a tingling chill. Deep in the corners of Worne¡¯s mind, something reached out for him; a memory begging to be recalled, like an itch on a severed limb. Something was watching¡ªstudying him.


    His heartbeat still calm, but ready to pump, Worne turned his attention back to the well. Something had embedded itself in the undisturbed dust. He struggled to free it from the ground at first. It was small and exceptionally smooth. Once in his palm, however, he noted its abnormal density. Worne held it close to his face, the sun¡¯s unobscured light bouncing unnaturally. He¡¯d seen this colour before; held this material before.


    Straw, wicker, and cloth.


    This was it. The pieces had fallen in place. All the signs were there. Worne had already suspected it, but this was the proof he needed.


    This was dark magic, powerful magic, familiar magic. Omen magic.


    Cian¡¯s breathing was deep, calm. In all his years, crime was seldom an obstacle he needed to face, and yet there he stood, listening to a man recite the cruellest, most heinous crime he could possibly imagine. It was still day outside the castle¡ªthe birds still chirped, the breeze still blew. Even in the dungeon, he could feel it all. But it all felt grey.


    ¡°I never meant for it to happen¡ªI swear it¡ªbut it happened all the same. As it always has. As I fear it always will. Now, when I feel I am in the place I need to be, I will be sentenced to death. A part of me thinks this may be for the best. I have caused too much pain. Too much suffering.¡±


    Cian turned to his left, slowly, his short cape barely swaying.


    ¡°Folk are surprised to hear that Lord Daithi and I don¡¯t agree on much. He¡¯s a fair man, I¡¯ve always thought so, but sometimes I fear he puts the needs of the many too far above the needs of the few. It pains me to say it, lad, but I¡¯m afraid he¡¯s right. We can¡¯t have someone like you around.¡±


    Ayube heard the heavy latch of the dungeon¡¯s door lock behind Cian as he left.

 Chapter 5: Lightblood, Water, Waxing Moon

    The water was cold to her feet. Lakes in Fraumin were always cold no matter the season, but the chill soothed her still, reminding her of simpler days. Madwen took a deep breath, eyes closed, and released slowly. It was a learned response to stress that she¡¯d found herself rehearsing even when calm. What¡¯s wrong, she wondered. Something had once plucked at her mind, but for the life of her, she could not remember it. It was as if she had awoken from a nightmare; fear stoked her heart, yet the memories of what caused it had slipped away, and thus, so too did the fear.


    Soft dripping water caught her ear. A small, wooden boat glided toward her, oars dipping quietly into the still water, then pulling back into a smooth, calm rhythm. A man of chestnut hair and a short ginger beard gently rowed, his cloth tunic loosely buttoned. There was a haze about him, like an idea that hadn¡¯t fully formed. And yet, Madwen felt no alarm. She had been here before¡ªseen this same man, felt this same chill, smelled this same air. There was no need to panic, no call for anxiety. She was safe.


    Neither of them spoke; why speak when thoughts were enough? Such a connection took years, decades even, to fo¡ª


    ¡°Madwen!¡± Worne¡¯s gruff voice pulled at her, grounded like stone. His rough, calloused hand gripped her arm, his grasp cold and lifeless. She yanked free, appalled at first but then came to. The two stood on a gentle hill on the far side of the city, scattered trees casting long shadows over the yellow flowers at their feet. The golden light of the setting sun hued orange as the evening fog crept toward the city. Worne stared his nasty stare¡ªyet something like concern, though twisted and warped by his bitterness, stirred deep behind his grey eyes.


    ¡°You deaf? Never seen you so jumpy,¡± said Worne. ¡°You get some sleep like I said? You still look like shit.¡±


    Still dazed, Madwen took another moment to recover. Yes, she thought, the ritual.


    ¡°I¡¯ve caught some winks here and there. Tell me, what have you found?¡±


    Worne eyed a man of early adulthood hauling a large vase toward the hill¡¯s peak, water sloshing within. Hired by Madwen, no doubt. He waited for the man to pass.


    ¡°Kid¡¯s a magic user,¡± said Worne, hushing his gruffness into a low growl.


    ¡°Magic? You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Worne dug his fingers into a small breast pocket sewn on the inside of his hard leather tunic. ¡°See for yourself.¡± He tossed the small smooth ball found at the epicentre of Fiam¨®r¡¯s destruction. Madwen held it to the light in the same fashion Worne had upon its discovery.


    ¡°Village is a fucking mess,¡± Worne continued. ¡°Pools of blood, sharp splatters on the walls like something big crushed ¡®em. That ball used to be a doll.¡±


    ¡°Burden,¡± said Madwen. ¡°An omen spell.¡± Her eyes flicked about, avoiding the marble weighing heavy in her fingers. ¡°You said the man wasn¡¯t the kind to kill a whole village; why not?¡±


    ¡°Bloke had been crying. Eyes all puffy. Look o¡¯ regret about him. Not a killer. Not intentionally, that is.¡±


    ¡°Gods. He¡¯s a dissonant.¡±


    ¡°Meaning?¡±


    ¡°Meaning he doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s doing. Magic is contractual¡ªconsensual. You need to study it before acquiring it, so you know what you¡¯re getting yourself into. He was either born with it or stumbled upon it during his adolescence. It¡¯s exceptionally rare, especially in men.¡±


    Worne shifted his weight. ¡°Born with it, eh? That make him more powerful?¡±


    ¡°More dangerous, yes, but he¡¯s magically weak. It¡¯s formless power, like striking a target with the flat of your blade.¡±


    Worne shifted again. In his youth, he had hated magic. It was the power that divided the High Cities from the low. He remembered the months of cracking, cutting, and hauling stone. So much effort only to create a single grain silo no more than thirty feet in height. All this while the High Crown sat atop a thin, whitesteel tower that dwarfed even mountains. Madwen was intentional with her magic, however, and during their short partnership, Worne had grown to see its many uses. Still, underneath the crow¡¯s feet and cracking joints, Madwen held even more power than that demonstrated in the now-former village.


    ¡°This certainly complicates things,¡± said Madwen, thumbing at one of her silver bracelets.


    The hired labourer approached the pair from atop the hill, exhaling sharply as he slowly descended. ¡°Work¡¯s all done, ma¡¯am! Jug¡¯s at the top o¡¯ the hill, just the way you asked.¡±


    ¡°Lovely, darling!¡± Madwen accentuated her posh accent and forced the feminine charm she often lacked. ¡°I¡¯ll be right up in a moment, but you¡¯ve earned yourself a proper payment for a proper job done.¡± She tossed a silver shilling from her coin purse, the man already smiling as he watched the sunlight flicker off the coin¡¯s shining white finish.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± she said from the side of her mouth toward Worne. ¡°We¡¯ll need to adjust our plans.¡±


    The sun had nearly fully set as the pair crested the hill. Faint rays of light lingered still, painting the undersides of distant clouds in a soft pink. Several markings scored the dirt where the labourman had rested the clay vase before finally placing it in a small circle carved into the earth. Worne spotted the six-sided Mark of the Omeness embedded into the vase¡¯s matte glaze.


    ¡°I still need to find the omen that lurks here, the one causing the dissonance in this city. This should be my final experiment.¡±


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    ¡°The foreigner not your concern?¡±


    ¡°He is, but I¡¯ll need you to retrieve him. I have to stay here.¡±


    Worne huffed, Lord Daithi¡¯s venomous offer still poisoned his mind. ¡°This final experiment, we start killing when it¡¯s done?¡±


    ¡°Do you have somewhere to be? Or are you simply dull?¡± Madwen¡¯s sudden shift in tone brushed off Worne¡¯s solid exterior, yet something weighed heavily upon him. ¡°Do you have any idea what we¡¯re dealing with? I¡¯m sure being as big as you are, ¡®big man,¡¯ you think we can simply smash two skulls together and call it a day, but I¡¯ve told you: this is serious. We may not survive. And I¡¯m tired of trying to explain that to you.¡±


    ¡°Got a time limit, if you forgot.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m slipping, then?¡±


    ¡°Never said that. You been here half a decas though, haven¡¯t found anything. Can¡¯t even tell me what this is.¡±


    Madwen could feel the pounding of rage at the barriers of her mind, cracking the stony foundation within her. Worne¡¯s sour mood was seldom contagious, yet for some reason, at that moment, she could sense it infecting her. In a heartbeat, she retreated into her internal sanctuary.


    A gentle breeze weaved through the tall grass nearby, leaving the two in their silence. The pressure pressing down on Worne lightened. He watched her with careful eyes as she relaxed her posture with a deep breath.


    ¡°Do you know why I look like shit? Why I¡¯m so ¡®jumpy?¡¯¡± said Madwen. ¡°Ever since my arrival, my mind has been met with nothing but oppression and exhaustion. Something¡¯s toying with me; testing the barriers of my mind. In all honesty, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s too much. What¡¯s more, whatever resides here is disrupting my attempts to find it. You yourself saw the results of my experiments. Most omens are fickle, flighty, unintelligent things. They may have basic needs and motivations, such as to feed and procreate, but most cannot think for themselves. Many even cannot be considered sentient, like curses or spells. You and I, we¡¯ve only ever dealt with these lower omens. There are, however, three categories of omens that show signs of intelligence and the capability for higher thought: relics, demons, and demigods.¡±


    ¡°Demigods?¡± the mere mention of the word made Worne¡¯s teeth grind.


    ¡°Indeed. However, I don¡¯t believe we¡¯re dealing with a demigod. They¡¯re often human in appearance, and their magic cannot interfere with my experiments. Not to mention, they¡¯ve been nearly extinct since the High War. No, we¡¯re dealing with either a demon or a relic. Demons being essentially shadows of The Ones Before, usually manifesting as creatures of strong emotional control and immense physical power, and relics being ancient spirits and possibly even some of The Ones Before that evaded the war. Both are often considered two sides of the same coin. When dealing with these creatures, however, we aren¡¯t dealing with kinds of creatures, but rather, each is an individual with different behaviours and abilities.¡±


    Madwen turned to feel the soft moonlight cresting over the forest canopy that surrounded most the city, the sun¡¯s weakening twilight dwindling further.


    ¡°That what the water¡¯s for?¡± Worne said, nodding his head toward the vase.


    ¡°Yes. Moonwater. The moon is still waxing, so it¡¯ll take most the night to complete the ritual, and I¡¯ll need to concentrate what remaining energy I have into it.¡±


    ¡°What then?¡± asked Worne. The paleness of the filling moon reached into the vase but could not yet touch the water within.


    ¡°The bloods you brought me, both have unique properties when mixed with omen magic. Darkblood consumes; lightblood emits. When lightblood fuses with moonwater, it creates a pure magical sound, completely opposed to magical dissonance. With that, casting it into the air, it will point me to any people manipulated by dissonant magic, like smoke toward a draft. Most importantly, I¡¯ll finally see its form, if only just the figure of it.¡±


    Madwen and Worne were merely silhouettes high above the city below. Lantern and candlelight glowed, ever-moving through the streets and windows. The sound and cadence of the city changed. Gone was the clanging of metalwork and the shouts of merchant sales; the bouts of laughter, lively music, and drunken singing filled their void instead.


    ¡°Lord¡¯s not going to let me take the dark-skinned man.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d be a fool not to. A dissonant doesn¡¯t have the trained emotional and magical discipline to channel their power. He¡¯s killed an entire village already. Locking him in a cell won¡¯t remove him of his magic. Besides, he can keep him there until we leave if he wants, but we must at least be able to speak with him within that time. Tell the foreigner who I am and that I¡¯ll take him to the High Capital.¡±


    ¡°Think they¡¯ll take in a murderer?¡±


    ¡°You think knights are virgins to spilling blood? Who have never raped a woman?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s battle, war. Dark skinned bloke¡¯s killed innocents.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, because if where you live has been sieged by a power-hungry lord, you¡¯re not innocent, you¡¯re a reward for your captor¡¯s efforts. When¡¯s the last time a soldier shed a tear for their victims?¡±


    ¡°Tears don¡¯t make it justified. Still murder.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and if the High Crown will allow murderers and rapers into their armies, one more ¡®murderer¡¯ shouldn¡¯t make a difference.¡±


    Worne sighed sharply. Returning to the castle meant another battle of words with the low lord Daithi, a task Worne was ill-equipped for. If only Gildaun were under siege, he thought, humble lord would make a proper prize. Madwen may have had her trained mind to ease her nerves, but Worne was content with the thought of beating the lord within an inch of his life, or perhaps a few inches past it.


    The night was growing colder, and the cool moisture in the air drew clouds with each breath.


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to the magic user,¡± said Worne. He started toward the city below.


    ¡°Worne,¡± called Madwen. He turned to her. She stood squeezing her arm, looking at the ground. ¡°There¡¯s something more I must tell you.¡±


    Worne waited, but Madwen remained silent. ¡°Go on then,¡± he said.


    Madwen raised her eyes. ¡°¡­I¡¯ve been seeing things these last few days, things that weren¡¯t there. Today I opened my eyes and I was somewhere else.¡±


    Worne thought for a moment. ¡°Think it¡¯s the omen?¡±


    ¡°Partially. In truth, I haven¡¯t slept since I arrived here. Maybe an hour every day or two. Worne, if something should happen¡ªif I should hurt someone¡ª¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    The two stood for a moment longer in the rapidly cooling air, then Worne turned once more and descended the hilltop toward the now-golden castle. With each step forward, his mind grew more focused, more resilient¡ªa skill of which he¡¯d mastered after decades of practice before battle. In his past, he often faced a single problem with a single solution. Now, Daithi was that problem. He¡¯d discovered Worne¡¯s secret, but in doing so, revealed his own.


    Madwen watched Worne¡¯s bulky figure disappear into the maze of streets below. A flicker of white light caught her eye as the moon¡¯s glow poured past the lip of the vase. She took a deep breath, eyes closed, and released slowly. Pulling her wrists together and elbows to her sides, the silver bracelets dangling from her forearms sparkled and glowed. She could feel the vast reservoir of magic coursing through her veins like brilliant rivers of heavenly light. In long, rhythmic movements, she calmed the rivers into tranquil streams, allowing the light to flow into the air, then guiding it gently into the water.


    The temptation to bask in the peace that surrounded her was nearly irresistible. After so many strenuous days, why shouldn¡¯t she afford herself some respite? But the well of peace was not hers to drink from¡ªto indulge would mean to lose control. And so, for the rest of the night, Madwen continued to resist the relentless pull, ignorant of the armoured figures waiting in the shadows, fixated on her every move.

 Chapter 6: Fold, Bend, Submit

    Each of the city guard watched Worne with keen eyes like cats in alleys as he passed. With the sun set, and the moon high, the humid northeastern air drained the heat from Worne¡¯s body, each step forward pushing him closer to freezing. His horse had been left with the stables along with his possessions. He¡¯d need to retrieve his cloak should he wish to continue through the night.


    The stable boy appeared dull, with large freckles and blond hair. At least, he looked like a boy, though his considerable size and calloused hands betrayed him. Worne could not know if the man had been born this way, or if a blow to the head at an early age had diminished his abilities. In either case, he did not care.


    Worne approached his roan mare, though found none of his belongings. Despite the late hour, the stable hand still did what he loved, cared for the horses.


    ¡°Where¡¯re my supplies?¡± asked Worne, the stone barn¡¯s torchlight eclipsing as he advanced slowly toward the simple man.


    The stable hand hunched, almost cowering. ¡°M-m-m-my lord. E-e-elks Head.¡± The man pointed toward the town square. Tavern wench, thought Worne.


    The fursman¡¯s wife, Hessa, sought to Ayube when he collapsed near their home. He remembered her gentle smile, her intricate braid, and the longing in her eyes for adventure. The pain she must have felt as he killed her¡ªcompressing her body into a third its size. If only the Creator God were not so distant¡ªif only he would intervene. Perhaps then Ayube¡¯s journey would have ended before it began, or at least, perhaps Hessa¡¯s death would have come swiftly.


    How could it have ended like this; trapped in a cell of stone and iron, thousands of miles from his home, freckles of blood staining his robes? His legs curled sitting up. He buried his face into his knees and clawed at the back of his head as if to peel away his scalp. His muscles tense, he could hear the blood rumbling through his eardrums. Like a yawn, the sounds of the world around him dampened, yet still he heard the incessant ringing of this dreaded city.


    Scattered feelings of hate and regret flared madly within him, when suddenly, quiet amidst the tempest, something resembling peace touched him. He raised his head. Nothing in the dungeon had changed. He stood, stretching to peer through the window above him. Yet again, nothing. This gentleness, he could hear it clear as his own thoughts. Ayube listened carefully, eyes closed. The ringing was subduing¡ªsubsiding; overtaken by this familiar sensation.


    A sort of strength seeped through him; not into his muscles or bones, but into the reservoir of magic he tried so hard to repress. Breathing deeply, he felt himself healing, like the slow pattering of rain dousing a burning village. But there was more. He could see something.


    This peace, it lapped like the ocean¡¯s waves¡ªno¡ªlike the ripples in a calm lake. A woman of grey-white hair sat on a short pier. Her eyes were fuzzy, undefined. She tried to speak, but was too distant. Ayube focused harder; peered deeper. She parted her thin lips, words dancing on the edge of her tongue.


    ¡°Escape. Save the High King.¡±


    On the precipice of indulgence, Madwen swayed slowly in place, rings of brilliant silver glistening around her forearms. Particles of pure magic sparkled in the air around her, twinkling like pale starlight. Radiant in appearance, one could easily have mistaken the omeness for a goddess, yet the ritual was anything but divine. In her frailing state, the simple wandering of the mind corrupted the magic channelling through her. A single thought of Worne, of her failure, or of her exhaustion caused the energy to shift and sear. Nevertheless, Madwen forged forward, suppressing the urge to flinch at each flash of pain.


    Someone was watching. When the hushed whispers first reached her ear, it was easy enough to attribute to her waning fortitude, but these we more than slipping thoughts. First, they were words of awe and astonishment; though she could not make out their meaning, their cadence held their implication. Then, they were words of caution and strategy. To pay enough mind to this growing threat would not only harm her more, but would delay her even further.


    The inevitable, however, was upon her.


    Emerging from the shadows of the hill below like a cloak before a dagger, two dozen steel-clad men and women approached¡ªsome with weapons drawn.


    ¡°Omeness, Lady Madwen. We ask you cease your witchcraft at once.¡±


    Another log to the fire. Within the High Kingdom, Berkrenndal held the title of the northernmost kingdom, with its ever-changing icy landscapes and boreal tundra. The intense light of the fire nearly scorched Daithi¡¯s face as he sat, lost in his memories of that frozen kingdom: the long nights, the scarce food, the biting cold that sapped the heat from his back. His band of hardened, bitter men spent hours staring into the flames in those so very distant nights, much as he had found himself doing still. There was no truth in fire, nor falsehoods or deceit, simply warmth.


    Though time had long since passed, forever would these thoughts stain his mind. What a shame, he thought, that the psyche allowed only the most intense of memories to carve their stay. After decades of prosperity and peace, after countless days of bliss, still Daithi could not remember the pleasure of living a fulfilling life. No. Instead, in his bouts of solitude, he recalled hallowed shrieks, burning forests, and black blood.


    Daithi stood, face flushed from the fire, and looked upon his private kingdom. It was beautiful under the moon¡¯s softness. The cool light blanketed the steep rooftops and the warm glow of firelight illuminated the building¡¯s undersides, creating flowing lines of shadows like intricate grains of cut wood. In the distance, atop a hill, a white light shimmered. It was barely perceivable from where he stood. Though Daithi could not know its purpose, he knew its cause: The Omeness.


    Daithi¡¯s knuckles cracked and his teeth ground.


    Enough meddling.


    Marching through the empty town square, Worne caught glimpses of the hilltop¡¯s inky silhouette against the night sky. Squinting ever so slightly, he could see a white glint atop the hill, twinkling like a morning dewdrop.


    Ahead, sounds of boisterous laughter bellowed from the Elk¡¯s Head Tavern. Humanoid shapes jostled about through the warped translucent windows. When Worne entered, however¡ªducking through the thick wooden door¡ªthe raucous banter simmered and cooled.


    Worne prepared himself for the imminent barrage.


    ¡°Miss me that much, eh big man?¡± said Carlina, plates of finished meals stacked high in her hands.


    Worne huffed. ¡°What you done with my supplies?¡±


    ¡°Had them brought here. Figured you¡¯d be back,¡± said Carlina, proudly. ¡°Looks like I was right to think so.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have come here if you didn¡¯t take my things. Maybe I stay with your fief lord instead.¡±


    ¡°You teasing me big man? While I¡¯m workin¡¯ no less. Where¡¯s yer decency? ¡®Sides, we both know you¡¯re not a castle man. Reckon you¡¯d hate a soft bed. Reckon you¡¯d prefer to sleep in the hay¡ªor maybe a roll in it.¡± The taverness giggled, turned, and walked to clear a table, appearing to accentuate the swaying of her wide hips under her billowing, white work dress.


    Worne could feel it, a dozen pairs of eyes shifting; a dozen mouths whispering. Most the patrons enjoyed each other¡¯s company, but in the far corners of the tavern, two tables of strong men and women failed to hide their timid spying.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind them,¡± said Carlina. ¡°They¡¯re just jealous.¡±


    ¡°Just get me my things, wench,¡± Worne growled.


    Carlina stopped in place. ¡°Now, that¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve called me that. First time was an honest mistake, but I¡¯ll not have you disrespecting me again. You understand?¡± The taverness¡¯ tone still rang playful, but her stern gaze told Worne otherwise. He widened his eyes and straightened his back, stepping closer to the bold woman. In his periphery, several figures tensed.


    ¡°Lady Carlina, I wish to procure my cloak before my audience with your lord.¡± Worne towered over the woman who dared challenge him, his fierce downward glare meeting hers.


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    Carlina frowned. ¡°Oh my,¡± she joked, ¡°Don¡¯t get too formal on me, big man.¡±


    Worne growled.


    ¡°Fine, fine, calm yourself. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± Carlina disappeared up a flight of stairs, leaving Worne in the tense room. Upon her return, he snatched the cloak from her hands and made his way. He could hear several chairs squeak against the floor as he left, keeping a watchful eye to his back.


    Daithi¡¯s blade had lost its shine; he didn¡¯t think it could. But a blade was a blade. He could make due.


    Two knocks at the door.


    ¡°Come,¡± said Daithi. Cian entered, catching a glimpse of the tarnished metal as Daithi sheathed it under his fur-lined cloak.


    ¡°Headed somewhere?¡± asked the captain.


    Daithi looked the man up and down; he still wore his armour. ¡°I could ask you the same question,¡± said Daithi.


    ¡°I won¡¯t lie,¡± said Cian, ¡°been a tad restless since my talk with the prisoner.¡±


    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± said Daithi, tightening his belt. ¡°He¡¯ll be dealt with soon enough.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just, that young man didn¡¯t mean to do no harm¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Daithi interrupted. ¡°I¡¯ll hear none of it. Did you really come here to speak to me on this matter?¡±


    Cian recoiled slightly. ¡°N-no, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Then?¡±


    ¡°¡­It¡¯s the large fella, Worne. Said he needs to speak to the prisoner.¡±


    ¡°That blasted man,¡± Daithi snarled. ¡°I¡¯ve had it with the omeness and her bull sniffing around my city¡ªour city. Did ye tell him off then?¡±


    Cian hesitated, almost worried at how Daithi would react. ¡°Well, no. I wanted to pass it by ye first, my lord. It is the request of an omeness, after all.¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Cian. The High King himself could request it and I¡¯d tell him to feck off.¡±


    Cian froze, unsure how to respond.


    Daithi sighed. ¡°Apologies, friend. I¡¯ve no business speaking with you in such a manner. It¡¯s the stress of it all.¡± Cian nodded meekly and stepped aside.


    ¡°Come,¡± said Daithi, ¡°I¡¯ll deal with that man me¡¯self.¡±


    Though sheltered from the wind, the castle courtyard did little to slow the sapping of heat from the humid air. Worne stood merely three feet from the pair of guards blocking the castle¡¯s arched double doors. Both stood more than a head shorter than the massive man. Both failed to hide the fear that gripped them. They had no doubt that, should Worne attack, the concerted efforts of the castle guard would certainly fell him, but they themselves would be the first brutal casualties.


    Both doors opened. Emerging from the comfortable warmth of the torchlit hallways, Daithi grinned with open arms.


    ¡°Worne, the Bull Knight,¡± said Daithi. Already Worne felt the familiar anger stoking a small fire within him; he would not give Daithi the satisfaction of seeing him angered again, however.


    Worne gave a half bow. ¡°Lord Daithi. Need to see that prisoner.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m told, though that, unfortunately, is a private matter and will be dealt with by my own court of justice.¡±


    ¡°Kid¡¯s a magic user.¡± Worne waited for the lord¡¯s face to twist, but it remained calm.


    ¡°You were there then when he slaughtered our beloved families?¡± Daithi feigned a look of confusion.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have to be. Left his mark all over the bloody place.¡±


    ¡°I see, and I¡¯m s¡¯pose to take your word for it?¡±


    ¡°You know many men that could kill fifty people without magic?¡±


    ¡°I can think of one, yes.¡± Daithi scanned the large man visibly.


    Worne narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. ¡°You weren¡¯t there yourself, were you? Too busy warming your bed in your high tower.¡±


    A flare of intensity shot through Daithi¡¯s face, cracking his thin mask of charm. Yet, in a moment, he laughed. And when he laughed¡ªstraight from his belly¡ªso too did the guards surrounding them. Worne watched the unsettling tableau, searching the faces of the laughing men for sincerity.


    ¡°These doors, do you know who built them? Who framed them, trimmed them, and hammered each iron nail into them?¡± Daithi asked. Worne eyed the castled doors, five inches thick.


    ¡°Build a few things, never need to work again then, is that it? Sure all your men get the same treatment,¡± said Worne. Daithi smiled pleasantly, though his eyes did not.


    ¡°My people are happy, Worne. Truly, I wish you may experience that yourself one day.¡±


    ¡°You can let me speak to that prisoner.¡±


    Daithi chuckled and scratched at the rabbit fur warming his neck. ¡°You¡¯re funnier than you let on, but no, Worne. Neither you nor your omeness are taking anything from me,¡± he smiled.


    The woman had vanished, but still her words rang clear in Ayube¡¯s ears. He had read about the High King: a royal hermit, commanding his kingdom to greatness in the highest city. But how could Ayube, a damaged good from Sadanu save him? And why? He grabbed the unused bucket in his cell and clenched it in his hands. Why was this happening to him? Had he gone mad? Was this some kind of trick? But the woman was easing his mind, so perhaps this was real? None of it made any sense. Clenching his jaw, his muscles shaking as he flexed them, Ayube threw the bucket against the iron bars that imprisoned him.


    ¡°AHH!¡± he screamed. There was a flicker behind the dungeon¡¯s single door, but then nothing. Ayube sat on the cold stone floor, and closed his eyes once more to drink from the peace that flowed around him. This peace was a river, and he, a tiny pebble.


    His mind wandered back to the ones he¡¯d killed¡ªhow could it not have? He thought not just of Hessa and the people of Fiam¨®r, but the ones in Ole?ov and even Fatugo, his home town. They could not have died for nothing, could they? he wondered. But then, if they had died for some sort of cause, then that would have only made them a means to an end.


    Better a means to an end than nothing at all, he reasoned.


    Even if he wished to escape, however, how would he do so? He was no trained sorcerer¡­ but he was a magic user¡ªa powerful one, evidently.


    Ayube stared at the iron bars surrounding him, then looked to the sky through the window in the wall above. The guard stationed at the dungeon door did not enter when he screamed and threw the bucket, would they enter if they heard anything else?


    Shimmying in front of the cell¡¯s lock, he sat on his legs, knees forward, and concentrated. In Fiam¨®r, when looking up with watering eyes, balls of meat and bone lay in the dirt and grass. The thought stung and seared sharp in his head like a needle scraping against his brain. The power was there; it lurked in the depths of the magic reservoir within him.


    Ayube reached into the magic, diving toward the power he required. He recalled the feeling of misery, the feeling of pure agony seeping from his bones, emanating outward like great waves of despair seeking to destroy any who would resist them.


    The iron bars began to tremble.


    The well of magic within him bubbled. He plunged deeper and deeper, nearly drowning in the unfamiliar power. Flashes of death and anguish scorched his psyche, burning the images into his eyes. It was like staring into the sun.


    The iron bars began to groan and bend.


    Only a little further, he thought, grimacing at the pain, grinding his teeth, growling deep in his throat.


    Almost there! He clenched his fists, burying his nails through his robes and into his skin.


    The ones he¡¯d cared for, the ones he¡¯d loved, their faces stared at him, begging and pleading for him to cease this torture¡ªbut he persisted.


    You. Will. Not. Have. Died. In. VAIN!


    Ayube gasped¡ªeyes open. The cell door folded and bent downward faster than he could even perceive. Ayube collapsed forward, desperately gasping for air as if he¡¯d nearly drowned. He quickly snapped his head to the dungeon door.


    The latch creaked.


    ¡°Leave me be.¡± Madwen¡¯s voice was low and raspy, her eyes half open. She continued to sway slowly; continued to guide the lunar light into the vase of water.


    A muscular woman¡ªlikely some kind of second-in-command¡ªstepped forward amongst the guards anxiously, watching the moon¡¯s light be somehow captured straight from the air. Madwen focused on the ritual, but she could make out the shape of the woman on the opposite side of the vase.


    ¡°Please, Lady Madwen. There¡¯s to be no rituals within the city, none even for an Omeness.¡±


    ¡°Magic cannot be made illegal within the High Kingdom,¡± said Madwen, her tone growing more sour with every word.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lady. We were given strict orders upon your arriving here.¡±


    ¡°If Daithi expects me to¡ªAH!¡± A blaze of brilliant energy singed her nerves when her thoughts strayed too far from the ritual. If her body was a canal that channelled the flow of magic, then the diversions acted like eroded embankments causing the magic to slosh and spill.


    Several guards, including the leader, flinched and stepped back at the omeness¡¯ cry of pain. Each looked to the other, eyes wide.


    ¡°Lady Madwen¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave me alone!¡± Madwen¡¯s glowing bracelets flashed brighter at her shout. She cringed at the pain. A pulse of pressure pressed down hard against the soldiers; some even stumbled in place.


    Madwen¡¯s breathing fluttered and faltered. Her eyelids were heavy¡ªso heavy. And the ruckus around her was shrill to her ears. But she was surrounded by peace. She could not indulge upon it, but perhaps just a sip may stay her mind¡ªif only long enough to seize control of the situation.


    ¡°Lady Madwen! This is your final warning!¡± shouted the guards¡¯ leader, drawing her sword.


    So tired¡­ just a sip.


    ¡°Lady Madwen!¡± The guard stepped closer, watching carefully for any quick movement, when then she saw it. The omeness¡¯ demeanour changed. Her eyes closed, her eyebrows raised, and her lips parted, steeped in pure bliss.


    ¡°Oh, darling,¡± she said. ¡°Why, I¡¯ve told you all before. I¡¯m not a lady,¡± she grinned.


    Worne flexed his hulking muscles, his leather gloves and vest creaking under the pressure. ¡°You say you¡¯re like me. Then you know what I can do.¡±


    Daithi narrowed his eyes. The mask he had worn was gone. Now only the true Daithi was on display.


    ¡°I know what you were capable of, aye, Ser Worne,¡± the cunning lord smirked. ¡°But, by the looks of it, those days are far behind you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask one more time¡ªreal nice like¡ªlet me speak to the prisoner.¡± Worne leaned forward, inches away from the smiling Daithi. ¡°Before I crush your fucking sk¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop him!¡± a voice called from within the castle. Daithi turned only for a short man, black of skin, to push him to the side and crash into Worne. Worne hardly budged. He looked down to the man who looked up to him, visibly shaking. Without thought, Worne grabbed the man¡¯s shoulder and squeezed, causing him to collapse before him.


    Daithi stumbled to the side, then looked toward the two. Somehow, the prisoner had escaped.


    Behind Worne, a bright light shone.


    ¡°The omenes¡ª¡± A pulse of dark energy boomed downward. A sound rumbled so low it could only be felt. Before his very eyes, every castle guard, every labourer, every servant in his castle collapsed to their knees, as if commanded to submit. An immense force pushed down on them all. Even Worne slumped down, grunting as he forced himself to his feet. The prisoner seemed unaffected and used the opportunity to make his escape.


    Daithi steadied himself. While the force was great, it did not burden him the same as all the rest. He strode slowly toward the castle gate.


    ¡°Daithi!¡± Worne shouted. With immense effort, Worne stood and looked Daithi in the eyes. It was a familiar stare, one neither of which had seen in decades, but both understood its meaning.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stop omeness!¡± said Worne.


    ¡°Do you need¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need it! Got this on my own!¡±


    Daithi nodded, and the two charged out the castle courtyard, together.

 Chapter 7: Light, Darkness, Nothing

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 Chapter 8: Terrifed, Steadfast, and Undeterred

    Find the dissonance in Treoirbaile.


    ¡°Aodh¨¢n?¡±


    Worne¡¯s eyes snapped from the floor to Madwen as she lay in the tavern¡¯s plush bed. Often, she spoke in her sleep, though her mumbles were rarely if ever coherent. Her eyes peeled open, crust breaking at the seams. The room¡¯s thickly sewn drapes had been drawn, though a thin line of light had found its way to Madwen¡¯s face as the sun moved across the sky.


    ¡°Worne? Wh¡ªah!¡± Pain boomed through Madwen¡¯s head. It felt as if she had been bludgeoned from the inside. She covered her face with her palms and slowly dragged them downward.


    ¡°Why Treoirbaile?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Treoirbaile, you mentioned Treoirbaile. Why?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re on about. Been quiet here,¡± Worne grumbled.


    Worne sat arms crossed in a small wooden chair in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on both the entrance and the omeness. A light gleamed from his lap. Madwen rubbed her eyes more thoroughly, using her fingernails to scratch away the crust and wipe away the gunk. It was his sword. Worne had laid it across his lap. Why would Worne¡ª


    ¡°Gods!¡± Madwen shot up from the blankets, white blouse stained in sweat. ¡°Worne! What happened!¡±


    The large man sat calmly, then leaned back to peak through the curtains toward the castle outside.


    ¡°Plenty o¡¯ of people looking to ask you the same thing.¡±


    Madwen¡¯s gaze scattered about aimlessly as vivid memories flashed through her mind. It pained her heart to see herself acting in such a way. A deep hole sank in her gut at the thoughts.


    When omen magic was first developed, the acting High King had strictly forbidden its use on humans unless absolutely necessary to save oneself. Even the current High King vowed not to use them as weapons or deterrents despite being faced with small skirmishes from surrounding kingdoms and countries. Madwen had just demonstrated why. Were the world to turn to magic for war¡­


    Worne watched the remorse ever growing on the omeness¡¯ pale face. ¡°You lost control,¡± he accused. ¡°Nearly killed everyone.¡±


    Madwen slowly lifted her arms in front of her, silver bracelets clinking as she examined them.


    ¡°Tried to take those away. Burned when I touched them,¡± said Worne.


    ¡°Burned? No, they¡¯re¡­ I¡­ was anyone hurt?¡±


    Worne took a hard look at the omeness. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    He continued to sit, uncareful with his words. Madwen remained in the bed, reliving the events of the previous night, horrified by the suffering she had caused.


    She opened her mouth for a moment. ¡°Did¡­ did I¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Worne continued his harsh glare. ¡°Told you I wouldn¡¯t let anything happen.¡±


    Tears began to well in Madwen¡¯s eyes. She frowned deeply and her lips and chin wobbled.


    ¡°What have I done?¡± she said, slumping forward, burying her eyes into the woollen blanket.


    ¡°Been wondering that myself. Assume you lost control. Sure didn¡¯t look like it, though.¡±


    Madwen lifted her now-red face from the blanket. ¡°It¡¯s this fucking city and this fucking omen!¡± she yelled.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t see no omens out there. Just you.¡±


    Madwen narrowed her puffing eyes. Sometimes she hated Worne. True, he had been a good partner¡ªafter all, he had stopped her when no one else could¡ªbut his complete and utter lack of empathy drove her to spite him at times.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand,¡± she said.


    ¡°Nearly killed me. Not going nowhere ¡®til I know why.¡±


    Madwen dabbed tears from her eyes using the blanket. ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m just a big fuckin¡¯ idiot, that right?¡±


    ¡°Hells above, Worne! Just¡ªgive me a moment.¡± The sliver of light from the curtain, Madwen looked into it¡ªpast it. Being on the third floor in the tavern and still lying in her bed prevented her from seeing the streets outside, however, she could still hear them. Merchants still called to their potential patrons. Women still gossiped. Men still cheered. Children still played. Somehow, Gildaun and its people continued to thrive, hustling and bustling like any day previous.


    How? Many of the people were likely still hurting; most of them likely still terrified, yet they continued to go about their day, steadfast and undeterred. To Madwen, Gildaun was nothing less than a nightmare, but to everyone else, it was a paradise. Even Worne seemed unaffected by the darkness that she could swear was present.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Madwen looked back to Worne who sat staring with his same, grim face. She owed him an explanation. She owed everyone an explanation.


    ¡°What do you know about magic?¡± she finally asked.


    Worne thought for a moment. ¡°Dangerous, uncontrollable.¡± Perhaps he could have said more, but it was a broad question and Worne had said he wasn¡¯t so good with talking.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s the gist of it,¡± said Madwen, giving a shallow nod. ¡°It¡¯s certainly dangerous¡ªyes¡ªbut not uncontrollable. In fact, magic needs no controlling at all. It¡¯s as stable and unreactive as gold. It¡¯s what the magic is tied to, however, that¡¯s difficult to control.¡±


    Worne sat silent, leaning back into the mid-backed chair, mindful not to break it with his weight.


    ¡°For years, my predecessors toiled about endlessly trying to control the energy that omens use as their source of power. They tried gemstones, books, magic words, even omen body parts, but each attempt to control the unknown led only to death and ruin. It¡¯s why most of the world still refuses to engage with magic at all; the research alone can kill hundreds, perhaps even thousands if done with true reckless abandon. It was only until Jeska, the first Omeness, realised the one thing nearly every creature shares in common: emotions.¡±


    Madwen watched Worne, though he gave no reaction. During her time studying and training with The Coven, Madwen had never had a pupil. Often times she¡¯d come to wonder what it might be like to share her experience and knowledge with one truly interested in the arcane, but instead, she was given Worne, a sometimes thoughtless brute.


    Still, she continued. ¡°I¡¯ll spare you the details of the story, but just know that by touching an emotion and then fusing it with magic, we can control how the magic works.¡±


    Worne grunted. ¡°That it then? Throw a tantrum and the whole city falls? Surprised more of you omen-women don¡¯t go killing the entire kingdom.¡±


    Madwen sighed. In a way, he was correct, but his tone and phrasing made it sound simple, even childish, when it was anything but.


    Madwen held up an arm. ¡°It¡¯s my rings. You¡¯ve no doubt noticed that I¡¯ve stored my magic in them to draw from later, but in order to do so, I need to tie an emotion to the magic first. Most people rely on only the magic inside them, but by storing my mine in a vessel, it gives me a much larger well to draw from.¡±


    The distant sound of heavy boot steps sounded from the window. Worne flicked his neck and peered through a small gap in the curtain, snapping his hand to his weapon as he did so. The sudden movement took the omeness aback. She hadn¡¯t had time to consider why Worne had been watching over her as she slept, or even how she¡¯d made it back to her bed. Clearly, Worne was guarding her. Clearly, he expected an attack.


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Madwen as she crawled out of bed, still in the clothes she¡¯d worn since her arrival into the city. Peering out the window, she saw nothing, only two tradesmen in heavy garb that appeared designed to withstand heat. Blacksmiths perhaps? Glassblowers?


    Worne leaned back, pulling away from the curtain. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°We should get ready then. I¡¯m sure Daithi¡¯s been itching to get his hands on me. I need to tell him¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Worne stood from his chair, longsword in hand. ¡°Told you, not goin¡¯ nowhere ¡®til I know how you almost killed me.¡±


    ¡°I drew from my magic when I shouldn¡¯t have. There!¡±


    ¡°Not good enough. Don¡¯t like magic, omeness, you know that. Quite enjoy killing the little vermin you find. Starting to look like you¡¯re just as bad as the omens we hunt, though. Pressed down a whole city, need to know why so I can make up my mind.¡±


    Madwen¡¯s face turned serious. ¡°Make up your mind about what, exactly?¡±


    Worne kept his stare. ¡°You know what.¡±


    It was tempting to remind Worne of his place, but he was right to be angry. Hells, Madwen thought, he¡¯d have been right to kill me in my sleep.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Madwen dropped her tense shoulders. ¡°If you must know, an omeness cannot drink from their own emotions. It¡¯s corrupted, tainted by it¡¯s own likeness. Normally when I draw from my rings, I separate the magic from the emotional energy, but last night, I tried to use that energy instead.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Worne asked.


    Madwen paced around the room, past Worne. ¡°And it didn¡¯t work! Clearly! As soon as I drank from the empathy and peace that I¡¯d imbued into my rings, it soured into apathy and spite. I don¡¯t know what I was thinking. I¡¯ve never done this before. I¡¯ve never even thought to do so before. But I swear to you, Worne, you may not see anything, but this thing is toying with my mind. It¡¯s making me do things.¡±


    ¡°It make you attack everyone?¡±


    Madwen stopped in place and dropped her head. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°That was the twisted apathy. Once I¡¯d felt it even for a moment, I was gone. Everything I¡¯d once cared about, good or bad, suddenly meant so little to me. I couldn¡¯t control myself.¡±


    ¡°Then all¡¯s forgiven,¡¯ Worne said sarcastically.


    ¡°I¡¯m not looking for forgiveness! You asked me what happened and I¡¯m explaining it,¡± Madwen snapped.


    Worne watched the miserable omeness standing slumped. To think only hours previous, she glowed with the power of a god. He wanted to press Madwen further¡ªwatch her squirm with regret for nearly killing him. In battle, you needed to be able to rely on every man in your unit. He fought to protect the omeness, but she fought to kill him. Were Madwen a member of his unit, he¡¯d have exiled or killed her, but it was clear that she was already experiencing her regret in its entirety. Why waste energy disciplining someone who disciplined themselves? Worne stayed quiet.


    ¡°I told you,¡± Madwen continued, ¡°I hadn¡¯t slept in five days. I¡¯ve been trying so hard to prove that something evil resides here, but no one¡¯s taken me seriously and my best evidence is simply the lack of evidence. When those bloody soldiers came lurking from the shadows waiting for my big strong man to leave my side so they could start telling me off¡ªI just thought maybe I could control it. Maybe just a sip of peace would calm my mind and give me enough concentration to maintain the ritual and talk the guards down. I was a fool to think so. I thought killing demons was the toughest opponent I¡¯ve faced. To think that my downfall would be lack of bloody sleep. Heavens below.¡±


    Madwen stared off downward. Worne watched.


    ¡°Got some rest now. Doubt the smug lord will let you keep working, though. Had to hold back half the city guard after I dropped you here. Little lord¡¯s furious,¡± said Worne, a hint of pleasure on his face when thinking of an angry Daithi.


    ¡°Still,¡± said Madwen. ¡°I do owe him some kind of explanation.¡± Madwen drew in a deep breath. The thing that eluded her most had finally come: sleep. Did it even make a difference? She tested her mind¡¯s barrier. It seemed solid. Perhaps she was safe from the mystery that lurked in the shadows, if only for a while.


    Madwen¡¯s clothes were filthy. She smelled under her arms and recoiled.


    Worne started toward the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be outside. Don¡¯t keep me waiting.¡± He squeezed through the doorway, closing it behind him and allowing Madwen a moment to freshen up. She could hear his weight shifting the floorboards and stairs as he descended, then heard the bothering tone of Carlina¡ªeven two floors up. She smirked imagining the taverness¡¯ ceaseless fawning over the grey, grumpy man, but her smile quickly faded.


    The moans of the soldiers that surrounded her the night before. To resort to something so dark¡ªperhaps she was slipping more than she¡¯d first thought.

 Chapter 9: Seize, Blame, Forgive

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 Chapter 10: Eat, Drink, Laugh

    The heavy latch to the dungeon lifted and dropped. Daithi glided in with calm grace, his palms low and faced upward. Cian lingered close behind, his narrow face turned downward, appearing profoundly sombre next to the glowing lord. Four guards stood outside Ayube¡¯s cell with several more standing ready nearby.


    Daithi stopped squarely in front of his prisoner. The slouched dark-skinned man did not look up at him, though Daithi wished he had. It was one of four times a year he dressed as a true lord, wearing a silken gold robe over a rich green doublet. Below the belt he wore white breeches and green, leather-soled shoes which came to a pointed tip. It all fit snug on the toned man, though Daithi wore it awkwardly. Fine clothing, he thought, allowed one to judge a person at a glance, and so obviously separated the rich from the poor. It was the autumn harvest, however. Nearly every citizen of his fiefdom would be in attendance in their finest clothing. On this day, everyone would appear equal.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± said Daithi, and the four guards departed. ¡°You as well,¡± he said, eying Cian over his shoulder.


    ¡°My lord, I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s the best¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please, friend. I ask only this. I won¡¯t go hurting an unarmed man if you¡¯re worried.¡±


    With hesitation, Cian nodded and left his lord alone with the prisoner. Braziers and torches blanketed the castle grounds in orange and yellow hues and shone through the narrow prison window. It was strange even to Daithi to feel such beauty and warmth inside a dungeon.


    Metal chains dragged across the ground as Ayube pulled his legs in closer. His previously destroyed cage was two cells further to his left, the metal door now separated and leaning against a far wall. He pressed his head on the iron bars, hopeless.


    ¡°I never got your name,¡± said Daithi. Ayube remained motionless.


    ¡°I said, I never got your name.¡± Ayube still did not move. Daithi flattened his lips and exhaled. He knelt down to the prisoner¡¯s level, demanding the young man¡¯s attention. Neither said anything for nearly a minute longer.


    ¡°Why do you torment me?¡± asked Ayube.


    ¡°Torment you? This is punishment for what you¡¯ve done. Do you think I enjoy all this?¡±


    Ayube finally looked up to the kneeling lord. ¡°You seem to derive some pleasures from this, yes.¡±


    Daithi furrowed his brow and stood to his feet. ¡°I used to be an angry man, stranger. Ages ago. Weren¡¯t from my family neither¡ªmy da was a kind, honest man. There was just so much to hate, so much suffering in the world caused by other angry men, so much¡­ injustice.¡±


    ¡°You think that this is justice?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t? Truly, do you believe that?¡± Daithi stared at the dark man in his filthy thick robes. Some might have thought the man thinking and plotting, but Daithi could see the only true thought buried behind those dark eyes: apathy.


    ¡°You silenced me,¡± mumbled Ayube.


    ¡°For the good of my people, aye,¡± said Daithi. ¡°You¡¯ve put me in a difficult spot though, I¡¯ll admit. I believe in justice¡ªin a fair trial¡ªbut the people of Gildaun are gentle folk, and already I¡¯ve seen your words sway my own captain and master of arms. These people believe in forgiveness, as do I, but there are some things that can¡¯t be forgiven¡ªthat I won¡¯t let be forgiven.¡±


    ¡°Then there was never any hope for me so long as men like you live; men who only believe in justice when the outcome suits their own favour.¡±


    ¡°I know what¡¯s right for my own people. Yee think we¡¯ve come as far as we have without my guidance?¡±


    ¡°Why have a trial at all if you will ultimately decide its outcome? Your kingdom¡¯s foundation is built on not but lies.¡± The rustle of Ayube¡¯s chains bounced around the stone chamber as he twisted, sitting on the hard ground.


    ¡°Your mother,¡± said Daithi. ¡°Did she value your opinions?¡±


    My mother, Ayube thought. He pictured her round face and beautiful smile. For a moment he heard the bugs of his land and the howling wildlife in the foliage around his town. He tasted blood on his lips, then looked back to the lord.


    ¡°These people are not your children,¡± said Ayube.


    ¡°Yee might think it strange, but I could name yee nearly each and every single person who lives among my flock, even the fifty yee killed. I love these people, with all my heart, and if I need to shelter them from creatures like you at the cost of some of their freedom, then so be it.¡±


    Ayube continued to stare at the floor. He was done speaking with the lord. Daithi had already made up his mind. If Ayube were to die soon, he wished to do so with his sanity still intact. A pointless argument with a vengeful lord only worked against that goal.


    Any hope seemed to have evaporated from the prisoner. Daithi walked to leave, then stopped.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have some food brought for yee from the feast. Then tomorrow, come noon, you will hang.¡±


    The tailors of Gildaun were just as talented as any other artisan within the city. Madwen wished to play the part of a partygoer, but more than that, she wished to feel comfortable. The life of an omeness rarely afforded one the ability to indulge in the pleasures of feasts and balls, rarer still was the ability to do so while working. And so, she purchased an elegant¡ªyet unrestricting¡ªfront-open gown.


    Madwen was quite stunning. Even sitting at the edge of the lord¡¯s head table, far from the common people, eyes from across the lively great hall drew to her like artists eying their subject. Worne gathered a similar collection of looks, though mostly in awe at his sheer size and endless appetite. If anything, however, some found it humourous watching the ravenous bull pile up bones and cartilage as he feasted.


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s time we mingled,¡± said Madwen in a hushed tone. ¡°I¡¯ll find a space to be on my own and concentrate on burdening the entire area under the castle. Hopefully, it¡¯s not enough that the guards will notice.¡±


    Worne dropped a bone to his plate, spying a servant opening a silver platter before Daithi. The lord lifted a spoonful of hearty stew to his face and melted in his chair.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± asked Worne.


    ¡°Why, what you¡¯re best at of course, being a social butterfly and keeping as many eyes off me as possible,¡± Madwen smirked, tucking her chair as she left. Worne only grunted.


    The great hall was indeed great for its size, but even a castle like Gildaun¡¯s could not hold the thousands attending that night¡¯s feast. Many ate outside in the courtyard, and many still collected outside the castle walls at various stalls and stands with delectable autumnal pastries and jams. Best not to stray too far, thought Madwen as she flowed around the edges of the dense crowd.


    At the side of the large room and somehow hidden in plain sight, Madwen leaned against a stone wall watching the boisterous common folk eat, drink, and laugh. Drawing her breath slowly, she gently touched her apathy and slowly mixed it with the well of magic within her. It took years of training to touch her negative emotions without provoking them. Apathy was a powerful emotion, however; the root of all her offensive magic in fact, and fatigue still gnawed at her mind despite her brief rest earlier that day.


    Below the great hall, below the feast, below the laughter and love, Ayube lay curled on the layer of straw in his cell, two guards flanking him on either side. There was no point in hope, so he had none. There was no point in thinking, so he did not. A burden pressed down on him ever so gently, almost comforting if it weren¡¯t so perverse. How could I have betrayed her?Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Plotting my demise, are we?¡± Daithi¡¯s gentle voice somehow danced through the buzz of the rowdy crowd.


    ¡°Lord Daithi,¡± said Madwen, adjusting herself to appear calmer than she was.


    Daithi stood to her side, a goblet of wine in one hand. ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± he said.


    Madwen relaxed her shoulders. ¡°Indeed. Though, I tend to live more vicariously I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°Aye, perhaps in my younger years, but alas, those are far behind me I¡¯m afraid.¡± Daithi¡¯s smile seemed genuine. Watching his people enjoy themselves clearly eased his stress.


    Madwen watched the handsome lord slowly scanning the room. There was a proudness about him, the kind built over generations. It felt even more distant than a father proud of his family, almost like an ancient soul bound to the land, basking in the fruits of its legacy.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit,¡± said Madwen, ¡°not many lords would open their doors like this.¡±


    ¡°Are there any at all?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve known a few.¡±


    ¡°Coming from you, that¡¯s a scary thing indeed,¡± said Daithi. ¡°I imagine an omeness meets only the most twisted of mankind.¡±


    ¡°The first thing you learn as an omeness is how similar fiends are to men. It makes the work considerably more difficult.¡±


    ¡°If only more were like me,¡± said Daithi.


    Madwen eyed the lord, then touched her apathy yet again, squeezing harder below the castle. Somewhere, the stranger would be falling further into darkness.


    ¡°You¡¯ve quite the opinion of yourself,¡± said Madwen, playfully.


    ¡°I only mean to say that more men should care less about wealth and more about the things that make life worth living,¡± said Daithi.


    ¡°You¡¯ve sure done well for yourself. I can¡¯t imagine that came from being entirely selfless.¡±


    Daithi smiled. ¡°I won¡¯t lie, Lady Madwen¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just, ¡®Madwen,¡¯ I owe no land, nor am I of noble blood.¡±


    ¡°Then you and I were similar at one point. My life was taken from me early, Madwen, and I¡¯d done some bad things trying to make it right¡ªI¡¯ll be the first to admit that. But after me da passed, I swore I¡¯d become a better man. So yes, I¡¯ve done well for me¡¯self, but I can promise yee that none of this comes from exploitation if that¡¯s what you¡¯re meaning.¡±


    Madwen felt the apathy slosh within her, spilling into her psyche. ¡°If only all those who had been wronged received their own castle.¡±


    ¡°I don''t deny I''ve been lucky, but I''ve never been corrupt.¡±


    ¡°A feast like this, a beautiful prosperous city, I¡¯d imagine you collect quite the taxes. I wonder if it all makes it back to the High King.¡±


    Daithi turned to the omeness, shoulders squared. ¡°I pay what''s expected of me to pay. If I started sending in large sums of coin, it might catch the High King''s glance, and with it, his grip.¡±


    ¡°So better you decide what to do with the funds,¡± Madwen stated sarcastically, stirring the magic within her, squeezing tighter below the floor.


    ¡°Would yee have it any other way? You¡¯ve seen it yourself, omeness. There''s no oppression here, no corruption. My dungeons have been empty for years, save the odd drunk who needs a place to cool their head¡ªand that lunatic killer, of course. Tell me, do you ask the High Crown how you should do your job?¡±


    ¡°The High Crown doesn''t know how to do my job.¡±


    ¡°And if yee ask me, they don''t know how to do mine neither.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t they? You can¡¯t deny the High Capital is a beautiful city.¡±


    ¡°Beautiful, aye, but does it function as a haven for its people? Are yee to tell me there¡¯s none without a home, a job, or even a purpose? During my past life, I had dealings with the High Capital and its lords and ladies, they were a twisted lot. Kind to your face, but mean as all when you weren''t looking.


    Apathy sloshed again within Madwen. ¡°You''ve been kind to my face,¡± Daithi¡¯s eyes remained calm, but Madwen could see the thin veil of guile returning to him.


    ¡°Perhaps that''s what you were talking of earlier,¡± said Daithi. ¡°Fiends and men.¡±


    Madwen smirked. ¡°Perhaps both need to be dealt with just the same.¡±


    ¡°Ha! I''m starting to wish we''d met sooner. You''re sharp as a knife, nothing like that dull one you keep with you.¡±


    ¡°He''s sharper than he lets on, don''t let him fool you.¡± Searching for Worne among the crowd was like searching for the sun during a cloudless day. He leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the great hall, the tavern keeper, Carlina, clinging to his massive frame, endlessly teasing the sullen man.


    ¡°Oh, that bull couldn''t fool me. I reckon I know him better than you do.¡±


    There it was again. Daithi had previously mentioned some kind of deal with Worne, but Madwen could not know of its nature, or even if or how it related to her. Even when Daithi lowered his guard, he still played games. Truly, she thought, this must be the man¡¯s second nature.


    Why can I not live a simple life?¡ªWhy do I only kill the innocents?¡ªAm I simply a killer?¡ªI cannot do a single thing on my own¡ªPathetic¡ªI am a fraud¡ªI am a freak¡ªAll I do is make things worse¡ªPathetic¡ªI am better off dead¡ªBetter in the ground¡ªPathetic¡ªI will die tomorrow¡ªPathetic¡ªI will be nothing¡ªPathetic¡ªThe creator god will toss me aside¡ªPathetic!¡ªPathetic! Pathetic!


    Burden bore down on Ayube as he clawed at his robes. His fingers trembled, blood creeping from his fingernails as they peeled back under his grip. The endless drone of Gildaun rang shrill in his ears. The more he clenched his jaw, the more the sound faded, replaced by the rumbling of his boiling blood.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± asked one guard to another. Each of them could feel the enormous pressure that burdened them less than a day ago.


    ¡°Lord Daithi gave explicit order to kill him if he acted out again!¡± said another guard.


    ¡°He looks like he¡¯s in pain. Do we help him?¡±


    ¡°He might kill us all!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never killed anyone!¡±


    ¡°No one has!¡±


    ¡°But he did.¡±


    Another guard burst through the dungeon entrance. ¡°Do we summon the lord?¡± they yelled.


    Another burst of pressure jolted the guards.


    ¡°Whats¡­ what¡¯s happening?¡± said one.


    ¡°I feel¡­ Fiona was in Fiam¨®r. Now she¡¯s dead,¡± said another.


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead. Soon we¡¯ll all be.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ so¡­. dark.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ where am I?¡±


    Red and black filled Ayube¡¯s already blurring vision, believing his own magic to be crushing him slowly. Through the whine and the rushing blood, he heard the guards collapsing to the floor, some beginning to sob.


    This is your fault! You did this! Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic!


    Ayube widened his eyes, his gaze scattering about the room. His heart pounded deep within his chest, sour blood coursing, thudding through the arteries in his neck. Swift, short breaths became him.


    I am so sorry¡­


    A deep rumble pulsed through the castle. Now, Madwen thought. She strained, sharply tuning her magic to match the new force just below them. Her eyes shot toward Daithi. Has he noticed?


    ¡°Where did you find such a man, I wonder?¡± asked Daithi, watching the taverness rub Worne¡¯s biceps longingly.


    Madwen fought to maintain her composure. ¡°He found me. Most men do. Some looking for glory, some to satiate their curiosity, and some with a simple death wish.¡±


    ¡°And which do you think he is?¡± Daithi looked back to the omeness. She was tense.


    The young man¡¯s power was not nearly that of Madwen¡¯s, but it shifted about unpredictably like wild flames. Her still-weak mind made it difficult to maintain the barrage of tiny adjustments.


    ¡°I told you,¡± said Madwen. ¡°He¡¯s sharper than he lets on. At first, I thought he only wanted death, but the more I¡¯ve grown to know him, the more I doubt that.¡±


    Daithi watched Madwen carefully. She tried to look away smoothly, but her quick, nearly shaking eyes deceived her.


    Deep in the crowd before them, a single smile turned downward. From across the room, Daithi watched as Carlina¡¯s gentle caressing slowed.


    ¡°Do you think he ever relaxes?¡± asked Daithi.


    ¡°If he does, then it¡¯s never around me.¡±


    Another smile in the crowd faded.


    ¡°And why do you reckon that is?¡± asked Daithi, locking eyes with Madwen.


    Again Madwen struggled. A single bead of sweat formed and slid down her forehead.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say. Perhaps a drink is his only version of relaxing,¡± said Madwen.


    Daithi watched Worne again. ¡°Except he¡¯s not drinking.¡±


    A dozen smiles faded in the crowd, a dozen laughs simmered.


    Daithi watched the room. ¡°¡­Because he doesn¡¯t drink when he¡¯s working.¡±


    Madwen¡¯s breaths drew shorter. Daithi stepped closer, an inch away from her eyes, his lip beginning to curl in anger.


    Worne leaned off the wall. Carlina fell to his side, then sat on the floor, no longer interested in the bull.


    ¡°What have yee done?¡±


    Another flare of power coursed through the room. Madwen¡¯s face twitched. She stared, switching between the lord¡¯s hazel eyes filled with fury. She could not respond.


    The crowd began to simmer.


    Daithi lifted his left hand, slowly peeling off his leather glove.


    Worne took a step forward.


    Quickly, Daithi snapped his hand to the omeness¡¯ wrist. A jolt of icy pain seared through her, the same grip that burned her when Worne had touched her, only infinitely more intense. Her power drained.


    In an instant, a massive wave of pure invisible power came screaming from the hells above, pinning each guest immediately to the ground. None resisted.


    Worne fought, but the unimaginable burden forced him to his knees. He tried to straighten his back but collapsed further to his hands. Daithi clutched Madwen roughly, the previously gentle torchlight now reflecting with fiery wrath from his eyes. Madwen was in pain, unable to move under Daithi¡¯s crushing hold. She¡¯d lost control, somehow even lost her power.


    Worne felt a familiar pull from his breast pocket. Sinister whispers taunted him through the deep rumbling surrounding him.


    No, all this time I¡¯ve never needed it.


    Another pulse of downward pressure forced Worne flat to the floor. Every one of his senses began blurring; fading. Through the growing darkness, Worne watched Daithi grab Madwen¡¯s throat. He squeezed. If she tried to resist, it was imperceivable. If Worne could hardly move, what chance did Madwen have?


    More and more the darkness grew; more and more Worne tried to move but could not. His fingers lay only an inch away from his breast pocket.


    ¡°M¡­MADWEN!¡± Worne screamed. Madwen¡¯s head slumped forward.


    Worne clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. With all his effort¡ªshaking and trembling¡ªWorne reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew a small, corked, brown bottle.


    Fuck it.

 Chapter 11: Wheezing, Sobbing, Lying - Part 1/2

    The smell was intoxicating to the point of putridity. The cork stopper would have fallen to the floor if Worne had spat it to the side, but the lingering flavour forced him to chew and swallow. Why did water never crystalise on the bottle? It was freezing to the touch despite being pressed to Worne¡¯s body for days.


    Another jolt of downward force caused Worne to collapse even further. His head lay flat on its side, his hand mere inches away, clutching the tiny bottle. Black vapour seeped from the neck, trailing into Worne¡¯s nostrils as if guided by some unknown force. A flood of unwanted memories clawed their way back into the forefront of Worne¡¯s thoughts, scratching, engraving plunging crevices deep into the folds of his brain.


    Wincing, Worne pushed the bottle under his thick moustache and to his lips. The freezing, viscous liquid spread and coated his mouth like frost creeping through a cave. It slid down his throat with ease, searing with exquisite pain.


    Worne¡¯s senses¡ªeven those lost long ago¡ªshocked his nervous system, jolting through his body like a blacksmith¡¯s hammer against hardened steel. His back arched, convex, slowly lifting from the ground. Worne smiled a toothy grin. His breath, opaque and white, seeped through his teeth like steam. After years of slumber, after decades of catatonic stupor, Worne was finally awake; finally alive!


    Daithi froze, Madwen¡¯s nearly lifeless body slumping further under his powerful grip. Something was wrong¡ªterribly, terribly wrong. Fear pierced his heart¡ªno¡ªsomething far beyond fear: doom, pure and absolute. Breath shallow, eyes wide and trembling, Daithi slowly twisted his neck.


    There he stood, not Worne, not the bull he once taunted so gleefully, but an awesome vessel of inhuman wrath.


    Stone cracked and crumbled beneath Worne¡¯s every step like dry, brittle earth. The tremendous downward power that had previously bludgeoned him was now no more burdening than flakes of snow.


    Daithi¡¯s grip weakened and his shoulders dropped. How could he not have seen it? How could he have been so blind? He and Worne were the same, were they not?


    A voice spoke to him¡ªan embodiment of an ancient, instinctual terror etched into his very essence millions of years ago.


    You are going to die.


    Madwen dropped limp to the floor, the fearful lord backing away slowly, hands raised in surrender.


    ¡°Enough! I¡¯ve let her go!¡± shouted Daithi, but Worne continued, inching closer, stepping around the pile of humans, each helpless soul pressed harder and harder against the floor.


    ¡°She¡¯s a sorceress! Don¡¯t forget why you exist!¡±


    Worne stepped closer still, steadily raising a single, large hand toward Daithi¡¯s throat. A thick cloth touched the back of Daithi¡¯s head¡ªa wall tapestry. Damn it! It was embarrassing. Backed into a corner like this? This was his kingdom, the fruits of his labour. Would he really allow one man to undo everything he had worked so hard for?


    Dathi thought to speak, but his silver tongue tarnished, unwilling to move. There was no reasoning with a raging bull. His eyes sharpened. That leaves only one option.


    Daithi bared his teeth.


    Worne closed his fist and swung.


    Daithi dropped low, swooping under Worne¡¯s hulking arm with unparalleled agility.


    Shards of chalky stone shot in all directions as Worne¡¯s fist ploughed through the billowing tapestry and into the wall.


    In one fluid motion, Daithi unsheathed his dagger and planted it deep into Worne¡¯s thigh.


    Worne¡¯s eyes followed the obvious veteran, moving with grace and precision.


    Daithi continued his attack, twirling around¡ª


    Worne caught Daithi by the cape.


    The lord¡¯s eyes bulged¡ªthe soft fabric pulling taught, collapsing his windpipe, sending him twirling into the air.


    Worne yanked.


    The cape¡¯s clasp gave; Daithi¡¯s skin burned as the fabric whipped past. His back slammed against the hard floor, forcing air through his bent trachea. He expected the strength¡­ but the speed?


    A shadow appeared above him. He breathed in sharp¡ªair hissing through his throat¡ªand rolled to the side.


    Worne¡¯s colossal boot came screaming down from the hells above like a falling star.


    With a burst of strength, Daithi pushed against the floor and propelled himself to his feet.


    The lord¡¯s clothes still settling, a massive hand came tearing through the air.


    Daithi quick-stepped back, but a clump of motionless bodies sent him stumbling to the floor yet again.


    Worne roared, reaching for the lord in the mass of people. Never would Madwen accept the death of innocents, but with his strength, that¡¯s all he would accomplish were he to attack.


    Daithi scrambled backwards, gasping, continuously faltering and floundering. Finally, he found solid ground and rolled to his feet.


    Worne dashed forward, raising his fists and unleashing a flurry of jabs.


    There was no time to think; Daithi moved only on instinct. His muscles had memory, though decades had seen that memory fade.


    At last, the inevitable had come. A single, tremendous blow struck Daithi squarely in the gut. The incredible force imparted upon the lord sent him tumbling through the air, slamming into the head table in a thunderous crash.


    Daithi stared at the ceiling surrounded by twisted, splintered wood. Each strained breath wheezed and whistled. Deep footsteps reverberated in his head like a great cathedral, walking just outside his narrowing vision. The sound of wood scraping against stone flooded his senses until finally, Worne appeared above wielding a table larger than even himself.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Should have¡­ know¡­ it was¡­ you¡­¡± Daithi coughed. Tiny speckles of blood spewed upward, then landed gently upon his face.


    Lifting the table high above his head like an axe before a log, Worne roared once again.


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Silver light beamed from across the great hall, and suddenly, there was peace. Madwen stood wearily, bracelets burning bright, energy almost entirely focused on the two fighting men. Neither could move, and nor would they until she allowed.


    ¡°Worne. Get the stranger. Don¡¯t hurt a single soul, do you understand?¡± said Madwen, exhausted but in control. Under the tremendous force, Worne managed to look at Madwen with a single eye only. Any strength he had, he used to keep himself standing and breathing.


    ¡°Good.¡± Madwen released her magic and her bracelets dimmed in kind. Worne¡¯s head snapped toward her, fury boiling within. He knew he stood no chance against her¡ªhe¡¯d always known this¡ªbut a part of him hoped his full strength could outmatch hers. How wrong he was. Worne¡¯s power was impure, forged by men and their foul, perverted sciences; Madwen¡¯s power was clean, pure, born from the world itself.


    Eyes locked for a moment longer, Worne yanked the dagger from his leg and dropped it to the floor with an empty clang, then moved for the dungeon. Blood drained from the wound as he walked, dripping onto the white stone¡ªdark. Madwen crouched over Daithi¡ªstill half-laying on the floor¡ªand studied the man. He¡¯d overpowered her, seemingly draining the magic from the very well within her with a sort of hunger she had never known.


    ¡°What are you?¡± she asked. And what more is Worne, she added.


    Just then, a noise stirred behind her. It started as a whine but grew into a sort of whimpering. Madwen turned. The people¡ªnone of them moved. They weren¡¯t dead, not from what she could tell. Some could have lost consciousness, but surely not all of them. The cry grew louder, longer. Madwen left the lord, still concentrating on countering the stranger¡¯s magic and keeping Daithi pinned on the floor.


    A woman lay among the bodies, staring into nothing above, tears streaming down her cringing face. Madwen stepped closer, then gasped. Everyone lay, eyes open, staring into some dark abyss. Slowly the crying grew, not from the woman, but from the people around her¡ªfrom the men, woman, and children choosing to lay still.


    ¡°Gods,¡± said Madwen. ¡°What¡¯s happening? What have you done, Daithi!¡± Madwen dropped her magic, and the glow from her bracelets ceased.


    Daithi gasped desperately as if on the verge of suffocation. The lord lurched forward to collect himself, his mid-length hair veiling his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s not¡­ what I¡¯ve done¡­ Omeness,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s what¡­ you¡¯ve done.¡±


    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± Madwen looked back to the heap of sobbing bodies. The wailing¡ªit was growing louder. Soon the entire great hall was filled with not but torment and agony. Madwen looked toward the entrance, then to the moonlight streaming through tall stained windows. More noise carried from outside.


    ¡°It¡¯s the entire city¡­¡±


    Worne squeezed through the tight spiral staircase, shuffling slowly downward toward the dungeon. Were Worne seizing the castle, he would have been at a strict disadvantage with such a bulky build, but on this day, none stood to resist him.


    A man clad in armour sat back, slumped on the final stair, sword on the floor in front of him. He wept quietly. Restricted in movement, Worne raised a foot, nudging the man. The man wobbled but stayed still, moaning continuously. Worne grunted, then shoved the sorry man to the floor where he stayed, staring into nothing.


    Many more hopeless men and women in guards¡¯ uniforms awaited Worne as he emerged from the stairwell, each strewn about the room like soiled clothing. Several passageways continued in several directions; most of the human husks, however, concentrated near one thick, wooden door.


    Straining bouts of quickened breaths sounded beyond the door, the familiar sounds of a panicked, fearful man. The door gave way when pushed, though only slightly; something resisted on the other side, squishy like flesh. Another guard must have slumped to the floor, Worne figured. Worne forced the door thrice more but to no avail. Again he grunted, like a bull before the charge. Fists closed and knuckles cracking, Worne¡¯s fist broke clean through the sturdy wood, splinters exploding outward on the opposite side into a thousand tiny pieces. Another fist exploded through to the other side, then another, and another. Soon the reinforced lumber was nothing more than mulch, the hinges hanging alone, still attached to the doorway.


    Madwen knelt before one of the many groups of people lying hopelessly on the floor. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Tell me. I can help you.¡±


    A trembling man grabbed her hand and squeezed. ¡°All those people¡­ dead,¡± said the man.


    ¡°Ma¡¯,¡± said a woman. ¡°I¡¯ll miss ye so much!¡±


    ¡°Why do I even try,¡± said another man. ¡°Just kill me now and be done with it.¡±


    ¡°Please, bring back the light.¡±


    ¡°Help me.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead. They¡¯re all dead!¡±


    ¡°Help me!¡±


    ¡°Take me back!¡±


    ¡°Help us!¡±


    ¡°Bring it back!¡±


    ¡°Bring back the light!¡±


    Each and every soul quaked with anguish, expelling their sorrow hopelessly into the air like scared pups.


    Daithi forced himself to his feet, both hands bracing his ribs. ¡°Ye should have¡­ never come here.¡±


    A single cell sat occupied, though one stood out being bent and warped beyond recognition. Worne eyed the warped metal cautiously. It served as a stark reminder that this man was to be treated carefully. Madwen had said that the young man wielded his power without form, though many forget that even a novice can drive a pointed tip through one¡¯s heart if the circumstances allow.


    Worne expected to see the dark-skinned man curled on the floor like a newborn, instead, he found him standing, his hands close to his chest, twitching about randomly and uncontrollably. The man stood still, then paced in tiny circles, eyes scattered about and focused on nothing. He muttered in a language unknown to Worne, whispering randomly, then occasionally yelping a single word. It was unnerving¡ªseeing someone with so much power rambling like a madman.


    Worne approached the prisoner, careful not to spook him. The man caught him in his periphery, then returned to his aimless wandering.


    ¡°P-please¡­ help me!¡± The man broke into quiet tears, still twitching, swaying, and circling.


    Worne inspected the cell door.


    ¡°Please, SOMEBODY HELP ME!¡± he screamed. The man squatted, holding his head and pulling his short, fuzzy hair.


    ¡°Easy now. Here to bring you to the sorceress, Madwen,¡± said Worne.


    The prisoner did not reply.


    Guards lined the dungeon up and down, as well as the corridor just outside. Madwen would still be fighting the young man¡¯s power above. For now, Worne was safe. With little time to waste, he tested the iron bars of the cell. They creaked and warped under his strength, but with both horizontal and vertical reinforcements it would take too long to make a hole large enough for the prisoner.


    Worne looked to his right¡ªa destroyed cell door leaned against the far wall. Only one way then, Worne concluded.


    Worne grabbed at the bars near the hinges; his large hands hardly fit through the gap. Knowing the Gildaun craftsmanship, he expected more resistance from the metal, but the hinge¡¯s barrel peeled from the hinge-leaf like the flayed hide of an animal.


    Ayube looked up at the giant before him. He moved to leave, but something stayed him. Too many thoughts berated his mind. Should he flee? Should he stay? Damn this sickened mind! Deep down, he knew the choices weren¡¯t the same, yet still his mind could not make sense of it. It was as if he were dreaming; everything felt equally logical and illogical.


    ¡°Need to leave, now,¡± Worne growled, his voice darker and deeper than ever before. The man shook his head.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t a question.¡± He watched the prisoner backing further into his cage.


    ¡°Fine.¡± When Worne reached into the open cell, the man flinched and jumped back, but Worne had no time for games. He ducked down, wrapping his large hand around the dark-skinned man¡¯s arm and yanked hard.


    ¡°AH!¡± Pain shot through Ayube, all the way from his arm down to his gut. The pain coursed through him with purpose a vigour, writhing violently like a serpent through a rodent¡¯s burrow. The searing pressure flowed through him and then stopped suddenly in his gut. Finally the pain ceased, and in an instant Ayube felt his energy draining. Emptiness overcame him. He resisted the large man¡¯s grasp at first, reaching wildly for the cell¡¯s bars, but in less than a moment, he felt himself slipping.


    The noise around him faded, as did the light. He felt himself tossed upward, slung over something¡ªlikely the large man¡¯s shoulder. There was no fighting the beast that took him, nor the emptiness he brought.


    Ayube¡¯s eyes closed.


    Was this peace or death? He could not tell¡ªbut he welcomed it.

 Chapter 11: Wheezing, Sobbing, Lying - Part 2/2

    The chamber went quiet. Every man, woman, and child that cried so desperately for help merely seconds ago lay in silent piles on the stone floor. The power emanating from below the castle had finally ceased.


    ¡°Worne,¡± Madwen whispered.


    Daithi collapsed into an empty chair at the head table, blood drolling into his ginger beard from the side of his mouth. Some of the higher-ranking members of the city still sat in their chairs, drooping so far back as to almost be lying down. Cian fought to peel his eyes open only to see his lord holding his wounds closed.


    ¡°Tell me what you¡¯ve done!¡± Madwen hissed.


    The bleeding lord chuckled then wheezed deeply and harshly. ¡°What more¡­ can I¡­ tell ye?¡± he said. ¡°Look¡­ around¡­ omeness. You did this¡­ Once that magic of yours stopped¡­ so did the suffering.¡±


    Madwen gazed upon the crowd of people who were slowly coming to. Daithi had a point, though no omeness has ever¡ªnor could ever¡ªsway emotions in such a way. On one person perhaps, but on hundreds, even thousands?


    Worne entered the great hall, Ayube slung over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    ¡°Like hells¡­ you are,¡± said Daithi, still slouched in his chair. ¡°Guards!¡± Daithi¡¯s raspy voice shrieked through the great hall. ¡°Seize them!¡± he coughed.


    As with the rest of his dazed citizens, every guard within the hall was either still lying among the piles of men and women or was sitting half-upright against the walls trying to make sense of what exactly had just happened. Most did not bother to look to their lord, and the few who did simply stared back into the mounds of their friends and families before them, letting his words ring hollow.


    Worne continued forward, unphased.


    ¡°Don¡¯t turn your back on me, dark one!¡± said Daithi as he broke into another fit of bloody coughs.


    Dark one? Madwen looked back to the bitter lord. None of his subjects beckoned his call and he was in no shape to move. He remained collected, however, despite nearly meeting his end. He should have looked defeated, he should have looked as crushed as his ribs and his windpipe, but no, he simply sat¡ªthinking. Plotting, perhaps?


    Madwen stepped carefully around the mass of motionless, silent humans, stopping only a few steps away from the broken lord.


    ¡°Your rings,¡± said Daithi, drooped to the side, staring low at Madwen¡¯s arms, his dark eyes hidden. ¡°Some are¡­ some are missing.¡±


    Madwen examined her forearms. ¡°Three of thirteen remaining, yes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what makes¡­ ye different, then? Never seen no man or woman¡­ with such a power.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ve never needed to use such power against any man or woman, at least not before tonight¡±


    ¡°Perhaps¡­ we¡¯re more similar than I¡¯d previously admit¡­ fiends and men and all that.¡±


    Madwen caught herself in a smirk, then shook her head. This man, she thought.


    ¡°It¡¯s a demon, isn¡¯t it?¡± said Madwen, Daithi¡¯s eyes still dark. ¡°You¡¯ve made a pact that gives you all this power in exchange for the minds of your subjects.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± said Daithi. He flopped his head back and rested it against the high-backed chair; he wished to look the omeness in her eyes. ¡°Ye just want to kill it¡­ It¡¯s all ye ever do.¡±


    ¡°So it can be killed,¡± Madwen stated.


    Now Daithi was the one to smirk and shake his head.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny is it?¡± asked Madwen, looking down her nose to the chuckling lord.


    ¡°I thought ye might surprise me, Madwen, but you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re just as predictable as that bull of yours. Do ye even know what you¡¯re doing?¡± Daithi¡¯s voice was still raw, though his coughing seemed to be subsiding.


    ¡°Regrettably a little fief lord has refused to tell me.¡±


    ¡°And yet, still ye fight something ye know nothing about, and for what?¡±


    ¡°These people were begging for death hardly ten breaths ago and you ask me why I fight?¡± Madwen snapped.


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have been begging if ye hadn¡¯t come here!¡± Daithi pushed through the pain of shouting.


    ¡°If you had simply given us¡ª¡±


    ¡°Given ye what ye wanted? The murderer who killed fifty of our friends and family without reason? Not one of us is above the law, though I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised that an agent of the High Crown wouldn¡¯t know this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t pretend to be above the law.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? Then what would ye say is a fair punishment for nearly killing an entire city?¡±


    ¡°That was an accident. If your people hadn¡¯t interrupted me I¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s our fault, then, is it?¡±


    ¡°I would never say such a thing! Had I known you had outlawed magic I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Had ye known? Tell me, who hid this information from ye?¡±


    Madwen paused. ¡°I¡­ no one told me¡ª¡±


    ¡°No one told ye not to murder also. Should I have to tell ye that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a universal law! How could I have known¡ª¡±


    ¡°Did ye even think once to ask? Or are ye so bloody arrogant to think that the entire kingdom is yours to do with as ye please so long as ye can justify it in whatever twisted way seems fit? I was sat here for days wondering why the High King¡¯s dog hadn¡¯t come to lick my hand until ye sent a dog of your own. And ye have the gall to blame us for your ignorance?¡±


    Again Madwen found herself without words. An indistinct whisper tickled from one ear to the other. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s complicated,¡± she said.


    ¡°Aye, it¡¯s complicated. Something I¡¯d hope ye would come to understand on your own since ye arrived.¡±


    Madwen took one step back, suddenly conscious of the people slowly regaining their wits around her¡ªthe people she had almost killed.


    ¡°You still aren¡¯t telling me what¡¯s happened here.¡±


    Daithi lowered his head and gritted his teeth. ¡°Magic drains the emotions of any who live here. We don¡¯t know why, but since magic is so rare we have no need to purge whatever curse has befallen this place. I ask you leave, Madwen. Don¡¯t go fixing something that¡¯s not broke.¡±


    Madwen digested his words for a moment. On the surface it seemed to make sense, but her experiments, her dreams, the shadows, Daithi¡¯s resistance to magic, there was more; she knew it. What¡¯s more, she simply did not trust Daithi.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± said Madwen, plainly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to make accusations after what you did!¡± Daithi stood from his chair, toppling it backwards. Madwen¡¯s eyes widened. Daithi wasn¡¯t plotting when he sat, he was healing!


    Madwen flared her magic and her three remaining bracelets began to glow. Several of the citizens nearby who were conscious enough to think flinched and cowered. Daithi dropped low and swooped around Madwen, again moving in one fluid motion as he had with Worne. The well of magic exploded within Madwen, bursting in an instant like a roaring geyser as she unleashed her burden on the wounded man.


    Daithi froze in place, his arms outstretched acting as a shield between Madwen and his people. The two locked eyes. Madwen would never willingly harm innocents, and even if she did, Daithi¡¯s gesture would do nothing to stop her. Both he and her knew this, but the terrified citizens of Gildaun did not.


    A man lying limp on the floor behind Daithi grimaced. He keeled over onto his front, then with great effort, pushed himself to his feet. Standing unsteady, he stepped forward and placed an arm on his lord¡¯s shoulder. Somewhere in the room, another man repeated the same steps, then another man, then two women, then four men, then five people. Soon every man and woman in the great hall was climbing to their feet only to surround Madwen in support of the one man who had not once stopped fighting for them.


    Glowing silver sputtered in Madwen¡¯s eyes as she watched the sparkling rings floating just off the skin of her forearms. The bracelets that once burdened her wrists were now few, and the immense power required to stay Daithi¡¯s body was quickly exhausting what little magic she had in reserve. Such strain wreaked havoc on Madwen, and the barriers in her mind were already weak. A single night of sleep helped her regain some sanity, but it had not been nearly enough.


    Slowly Madwen lowered her arms, gently releasing her hold on Daithi. He nearly went limp, stumbling forward almost to the floor, though his people held him high. Was this performative or sincere? It was hard to tell with Daithi. That thought alone made Madwen even more uncomfortable.


    ¡°Ye got what ye wanted. Take your bloody prisoner¡­ and please, just leave us be.¡± Daithi nearly whispered.


    Every eye in the great hall was fixated solely on the omeness. A path appeared before her leading toward the entranceway and away from the weary lord. Madwen moved forward with caution as over a thousand expressionless faces watched her every move. She could not keep her mind from wondering if Daithi had turned these people against her, or if she had done so herself.


    ¡°Lady Madwen,¡± Daithi¡¯s frail voice called from behind, though Madwen did not turn. ¡°Ask Worne about our deal.¡±