《The Faerie Knight [Volumes One & Two Stubbed]》 0. Glossary Glossary A Abatur, Saint (AH-ba-ter) - The Angelus of the North Star; Saint Abatur is said to weigh the souls of the deceased on his scales, to determine their fate after death. Abatur was slain during the Great Cataclysm, and the Angelus¡¯ corpse is interred beneath the Church of Saint Abatur in Falais, at the base of the Hauteurs Massif range that marks the southern border of the Kingdom of Narvonne. Saint Abatur¡¯s Feast Day is observed on the first day, or Kalends, of the Grey Moon. Accolon, Brother (AE-ka-lon) - The first recorded Abbot of the Monastery of Saint Kadosh, located in the village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, on the edge of the Ardenwood. Acrasia (ah-KRAE-sya) - A faerie Lady in the service of Auberon, King of Shadows. She is the sister of Cern, the Horned Hunter, and once called herself Linette, when she posed as a mortal girl. Addanc (ah-DANK) - A daemon, bound to the bottom of a lake, by the faerie court of the Ardenwood, during the Great Cataclysm. Adrammelech (ah-DROM-eh-lek) - A daemon known as the Prince of Plagues, bound long ago during the Cataclysm. Agrat the Plague Queen (ah-GROT) - A daemoness credited with spreading plagues throughout the world during the Cataclysm. Never confirmed destroyed or bound, she was sometimes called ''The Dancer.'' Revealed to be the patron of Lady Valeria, during the Battle of Falais. Alberic, Brother (AHL-ber-ik) - A middle-aged monk of the Monastery of Kadosh, who served as the personal tutor of Percival and Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden. Alyosha Nikitich (ahl-ee-OSH-a-NIK-it-itch) - A Kimmerian mercenary captain. Anais (ah-NY-as) - A young lady''s maid to Clarisant du Rocher de la Garde. Ardenwood (AHR-den) - The great interior forest of the Kingdom of Narvonne, which has remained largely wild since even before the Etalan conquest. The Arden is said to shelter roving bands of brigands, and to be the haunted demesne of faeries and even stranger monsters. In addition to the usual stands of oak, beech, ash, sycamore and hazel, the Ardenwood is the only known source of Iebara, a black wood nearly as strong as stone. The village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden lies within the edge of the Ardenwood. Arnive, Lady (AHR-nyv) - Baroness du Hauteurs Massif, and a young widow; her family¡¯s heraldry is a black mountain on red. She is the mother of Isdern, the heir to the Barony, and acts as regent in his name. Auberon (OH-ber-ahn) - The Fairie King of Shadows, said to hold court in the wild and haunted depths of the Ardenwood. Cern, the Horned Hunter, rides at Auberon¡¯s command with the Wild Hunt. Auberon is said to possess many treasures of great magical power. Aurelius (OAR-el-eus) - Etalan General of the Ninth Legion, stationed in the Province of Narvonne at the time of the Great Cataclysm. Aurelius is said to have fought several major battle against the daemons released by the Cataclysm, commissioned the Marian Codex, the first and greatest work of daemonology extant in Telluria, and married a Narvonni tribal princess to secure his claim as the first King of Narvonne. As much a myth as a historical figure, Aurelius is said by the Narvonnians to sleep beneath the Hauteurs Massif to the current day, waiting only for the kingdom¡¯s greatest need to awaken. Auron, Sir (OAR-on) - A knight sworn in fealty to Baron Urien de Rocher de la Garde. His knight¡¯s fee includes the small fishing village of Havre de Paix. B Bathin (BAH-thin) - A daemon said to be able to take men wherever they wish to go, before it was bound during the Cataclysm. Blasine du Rocher de la Garde, Baroness (BLAE-seen-do-ROE-shehr-de-la-GUARD)- Wife of Urien, mother of Gareth, Kay, and Clarisant. Baylin, Sir (BAE-lin) - One of the original seven Exarchs who fought for General Aurelius during the Great Cataclysm, Sir Baylin was the first Exarch of Saint Kadosh. Bors du Ch¨ºne Fendu, Sir (BOARS) - The current Exarch of Masheth the Destroyer, and one of the seven Exarchs charged with the defense of the royal family of Narvonne. Bors serves as the Champion of Lionel Aurelianus, the Crown Prince. He wears the arms of Masheth: golden wings on a white field, and below them a sword crossed with a lash. C Cador, Sir (KAY-door) - A trusted knight in the service of Baron Urien de Rocher de la Garde who often acts as his representative. Caliphate of Ma?¨©n (MAH-in) - A former Etalan Province, located south of Narvonne, encompassing the Maghreb wastes and with the Hauteurs Massif marking its northernmost border. Instead of a monarchy, the government of the Caliphate is theocratic: the Exarch of the Angelus Isr¨¡f¨©l always rules as Caliph, until their death, whereupon a new Exarch is chosen by the Angelus. Isr¨¡f¨©l often chooses a son or daughter of the ruling Caliph, whom he will have groomed for the position over many years, but not always, occasionally deciding someone else is more suitable. The current Caliph, Rashid ibn Umar, rules from the city of Ma?¨©n, located in a valley beneath the western mountains. Camaret-¨¤-Arden (CAM-a-rey-a-AHR-den) - A small village on the edge of the Ardenwood, and the Knight¡¯s Fee of Sir Rience, who holds it in fealty to Baron Urien de Rocher de la Garde. Camaret-¨¤-Arden is on the River Rea, which flows out of the Arden from its source in the mountains in the depths of the forest, and the river¡¯s current is used to operate a lumber mill. The village is important chiefly for the production of Iebara wood, a strategic resource for the Kingdom of Narvonne. Sir Rience¡¯s family rules from a manor named the Foyer Chaleureux, and the town is supported by the monks of the Monastery of Saint Kadosh. Camiel, Saint (CAM-y-el) - During the Great Cataclysm, Saint Camiel was Angelus of War. It is said that he was destroyed in battle with Samm¨¡?¨¥l, and his corpse laid to rest beneath the Cathedral of Saint Camiel in Lutetia, the capital of Narvonne. Carados, Sir () - A knight in the service of Baron Evarard du Rive Ouest. Cazador (CAZ-a-door) - A war trained destrier who serves as Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden¡¯s mount. His name means ¡®Hunter¡¯ in the pre-Etalan language of the tribes of the Hauteurs Massif. Cecilia du Camaret-¨¤-Arden (Se-SEAL-y-ah) - The late wife of Sir Rience, and mother of Trist. Cern, the Horned Hunter (KERN) - A faerie in service to Auberon, the leader of the Wild Hunt, and the brother of Acrasia. Also known as Hellequin or the Horned Lord. Chantal, Dame (shan-TALL) - A knight in service to Baroness Arnive of Falais, and commander of the Tower of Tears. Chapelle de Camiel (sha-PEL-de-CAM-y-el) - A ruined chapel outside the village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, once dedicated to the Angelus Saint Camiel. Cheverny (sha-VER-ny) - The Castle of the King of Narvonne, located on an isand in the middle of the river that runs through Lutetia. The majority of the Exarchs of Narvonne are stationed in Cheverny, to protect the monarch and their family, and court life revolves around events at the castle. Circum Mare (sir-CUM-MAHR-eh) - The central sea that surrounds the island of Etalus and once hosted the shipping lanes which connected the six provinces of the old Etalan Empire. It is said by sailors that the Cirum Mare is much more calm than the western sea, and it is easily navigable even by ships which hug the coasts. Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden (KLAIR-eh-sant-do-CAM-a-rey-a-AHR-den) - A young noblewoman originally betrothed to Percy du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, before being wed to his younger brother, Trist. She is the youngest daughter of Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde, and the sister of both Gareth, the eldest son, and Kay, squire to the Crown Prince. Clovis (KLOH-vis) - A blacksmith working as the Crown Prince''s armorer, in the camp at Falais. D Decimus Avitus (DES-im-us AH-vi-tus) - The eldest son of the last Etalan Emperor, Sevrus the Fourth. Avitus was appointed provincial governor of Narvonne, and administered from the provincial capital of Vellatesia, until the Great Cataclysm. Divdan, Sir (DIV-den) - A knight in service to Baroness Arnive of the Hauteurs Massif. Durentia (DER-ent-ya)- A river that flows out of the heights of the Hauteurs Massif, and has eroded the Passe de M?re, the only pass through the range that can accommodate an army of any size. Falais is the only significant settlement on the banks of the Durentia. E Enid De Lancey (EE-nid-deh-LAN-see) - The only daughter of Sir Tor and Lady Jeanette de Lancey, a knight in service to Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde. Her family¡¯s arms are a red warhammer on white. Epinoia (eh-pin-OY-ah) - The Angelus of Mothers, and one of the Angelus supporting the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n; her Exarch is the young Ismet ibnah Salah. Erasmus, Father (eh-RAZ-muss) - Priest of the Cathedral of Saint Rahab, in Rocher de la Garde. Erek, Sir (AIR-ik) - A knight in service to Baron Urien de Rocher de la Garde. Etalan Empire / Etalus (eh-TALL-an) - The Etalan Empire grew from an island nation to control every significant landmass on the Circum Mare, including the six provinces of Etalia, Iberia, Kimerria, Narvonnia, Raetia, and Skandia. In each province, the Etalan Empire stationed a legion loyal to the Emperor, enforced the use of Etalan coinage, calendars and laws, and did its best to stamp out native languages. When the Great Cataclysm spread from the Provincia Narvonia to consume the Empire, local rulers turned the former provinces into petty kingdoms, where old, previously suppressed languages and traditions were reasserted. Etoile, Dame (EE-twohl) - A knight in service to Baron Urien de Rocher de la Garde.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Ettarre, Dame () - A knight in the service of Baron Evarard du Rive Ouest. Evarard du Rive Ouest (eh-ver-ARD-do-REEV-OH-west) - The Baron of the Kingdom of Narvonne¡¯s western shore, beyond the Ardenwood. His vassal, Sir Florent, leads his troops. F Falais (fah-LAY) - A town at the northern end of the Passe de M?re, on the bank of the River Durentia. Falais is the seat of the Barony of the Hauteurs Massif, and as a result of its strategic importance has received funds from the Crown to see to the upkeep of its fortifications, including a southern wall and Falais Castle itself. Fazil ibn Asad (fah-ZEEL-eb-en-ah-SAHD )- A young warrior of the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n, who is the brother of Sh¨©rk¨±h ibn Asad. Florent, Sir (FLOHR-ehnt) - A grizzled veteran knight, leading the troops from the Barony du Rive Ouest, sworn in fealty to Baron Everard. Forneus (FOR-nee-ust) - A daemon of the sea, bound off the coast of Raetia during the Catacylsm. G Gareth du Rocher de la Garde (GAIR-eth-do-ROE-shehr-de-la-GUARD) - Eldest son and heir of Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde; brother of Kay and Clarisant. Great Cataclysm, The - Common name for the event that ended the Etalan Empire, though often also used to refer to the daemon Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun Eater. Historical records indicate the Great Cataclysm began in the Provincia Narvonia capital of Vellatesia, which was utterly destroyed by the arrival of the first daemons to Telluria. Some historians argue the Etalan Legions might have held the Empire together if Samm¨¡?¨¥l had not crossed the Circum Mare to Etalus itself, destroying the capital of the Empire and devastating the population of the province. With no surviving emperor to rally the legions, the Empire itself fragmented and had ceased to exist in any practical sense by the end of the Cataclysm. Battles against daemonic forces were devastating, and accompanied by waves of plague that decimated the population. When Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun Eater caused an entire week of darkness, so many crops died that a great famine followed. All told, the Great Cataclysm is said to have claimed the lives of fully half the people occupying the Empire at the time it began. Guiron, Sir (GEE-ron) - Exarch of Penarys, Angelus of Night. H Hauteurs Massif, The (OH-ter-mah-SEEF) - Both a mountain range marking the border between the Kingdom of Narvonne and the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n, and a Narvonnian Barony encompassing the same region. While the mountains are navigable by small groups, the only route suitable for an army is the Passe de M?re, a route carved by the River Durentia and paved with a road during the height of the Etalan Empire. Three towers, as well as the castle-town of Falais and various walls, protect the mountain chain from the threat of invasion, which has not stopped the Caliphate from making multiple attempts to claim the territory. The current Baron, Isdern, is not of age, and so the Barony is under the regency of his mother, Baroness Arnive. The arms of the Barony are a black mountain on red. Havre de Paix (HAV-er-deh-PEH) - A small seaside town primarily supported by fishing. Havre de Paix is the Knight¡¯s Fee of Sir Auron, in fealty to the Baron of Rocher de la Garde. Henry (hen-RY) - A young man-at-arms in the village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, in the service of Sir Rience. He is particularly skilled with a bow, and was taught to hunt by his father, Robert. Hugh, Brother (HEW) - The current Abbot of the Monastery of Saint Kadosh in Camaret-¨¤-Arden. Hywel (HOW-uhl) - The local Blacksmith at Camaret-¨¤-Arden. I Iebara Trees (I-eh-BAR-ah) - A rare and exotic species of trees valued for their black wood, which has a strength comparable to stone or metal. Iebara trees have black roots and bloom with white flowers, and are found only in the Ardenwood. Due to their unique hardness, woodsmen who cut Iebara trees use axes blessed by the monks of Saint Kadosh, and sing ancient tree-songs passed down from the Narvonni tribe before the days of the Etalan Empire. Iebara wood is the export of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, and considered a strategic resource by the Narvonnian Crown. Isdern (IS-durn) - The young Baron of the Hauteurs Massif, and the son of Lady Arnive and the late Baron Owain. Isr¨¡f¨©l, Saint () - The Angelus of Healing, and patron of the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n. Ismet ibnah Salah (IS-met-IB-nah-SOL-ah) - The new Exarch of Epinoia, a young woman of the Caliphate recently graduated from the University of Ma?¨©n. J Jeanette De Lancey (JUH-net-deh-LAN-see) - The wife of Sir Tor De Lancey, and the mother of Enid. John Granger (JON-GRANGE-er)- Master of Arms at Camaret-¨¤-Arden, in the service of Sir Rience. K Kadosh, Saint (kah-DOSH) - Often named Saint Kadosh the Guardian, this Angelus¡¯ Feast Day is during the Wolf Moon. Kay du Rocher de la Garde (KAY-do-ROE-shehr-de-la-GUARD)- Squire to Lionel Aurelianus, Crown Prince of Narvonne, and son of Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde. Brother of Gareth and Clarisant. Kramer, Father (KRAY-mur) - Priest of the Church of Saint Abatur in Falais. L Lionel Aurelianus (LIE-oh-NEL-OAR-el-ee-AN-us) - Crown Prince of Narvonne, son of King Lothair, and cousin to Sir Lorengel. Widely considered the greatest tactical mind in the Kingdom of Narvonne, and the ideal of knighthood. Though many noblewomen have sought to catch his eye, he has not remarried since the loss of his first wife, Gwen, to plague. His arms are the same as his father¡¯s: a golden lion on a black field, with a label to mark him as eldest son and heir. Lorengel, Sir (lor-EHNG-el)- The Exarch of Veischax, and the king''s nephew. Cousin to Crown Prince Lionel Aurelianus. Lothair Aurelianus (low-THAIR-OAR-el-ee-AN-us) - The King of Narvonne; father of Lionel Aurelianus, uncle of Sir Lorengel. The royal arms are a golden lion on a black field. Luc (LUKE) - A man-at-arms in service to Sir Rience du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, known for his exceptional size and strength. Lucan, Sir (LUKE-en) - The older cousin of Percival and Trist, and the nephew of Sir Rience. Sir Lucan is a knight in the service of Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde, and is recently wed to Miriam. Lurdane (LURE-daen) - A faerie in service to Auberon, King of Shadows. Lutetia (loo-TESH-ya) - The capital of the Kingdom of Narvonne, built by General Aurelius and Queen Elantia after his passing, to replace the former provincial capital of Vellatessia. Lutetia encompasses both banks of the Avainne River, as well as King¡¯s Island, in the middle of the river, where the castle Cheverny stands. Lutetia is also host to the Cathedral of Saint Camiel. M Ma?l du Champs d¡¯Or, Baron (MAEL-do-SHAMP-duh-OAR) - Lady Valeria''s father, and the ruler of the Kingdom of Narvonne''s breadbasket. Margaret, Dame (MAHR-grit) - The current Exarch of Rahab, stationed with the King at Cheverny. Marius (MAR-ee-us) - A staff officer of the Ninth Legion under General Aurelius. At the command of Aurelius, Marius compiled everything the Ninth Legion and the fledgling Kingdom of Narvonne could learn about the daemonic thread, and recorded the knowledge in what became known as the Marian Codex. Masheth the Destroyer, Saint (ma-SHETH) - The Angelus who concerns himself with the punishment of crimes, particularly murder, incest, and other atrocities. His current Exarch is Sir Bors. The arms of Masheth are golden wings on a white field, and below them a sword crossed with a lash. Monipodio (MON-eh-POE-dee-oh) - A businessman in Havre de Paix. Moriaen du Arsenault, Sir (MORE-ee-in-do-ARE-sen-uh) - A knight in service to Baron Ma?l du Champs d¡¯Or. Mukhtar (MOOK-tahr)- The previous Exarch of Jibr¨©l, who led the Caliphate forced north twenty-four years ago. N Narvonne (nahr-VONE) - The Kingdom that has emerged from the Etalan Provincia Narvonnia, which was effectively destroyed during the Great Cataclysm. The current Kingdom was founded by the Etalan General Aurelius and the Narvonni chief¡¯s daughter, Elantia, who became his queen. Narvonne is the only state descended from Old Etalus which formally disqualifies any Exarch from sitting as a reigning Monarch. Nasir al-Rashid (nah-SEER-al-rah-SHEED) - The eldest son of the current Caliph of Ma?¨©n, Rashid ibn Umar. O Owain du Hauteurs Massif (oh-WAIN-do-OH-ter-mah-SEEF) - The former Baron of the Hauteurs Massif; father of Isdern, and husband of Arnive. His arms were a black mountain on red, and are now carried by his wife and son. P Passe de M?re (pah-SHAY-deh-MYUR) - A pass through the Hauteurs Massif which extends south from Falais, to the Tower of Tears, cut by the River Durentia. Penarys, Saint (pen-AHR-is) - The Angelus of the Night, whose Feast Day is on the Winter Solstice. Percival du Camaret-¨¤-Arden (PURSE-eh-val-do-CAM-a-rey-a-AHR-den) - The eldest son of Sir Rience, elder half-brother of Trist, betrothed of Clarisant du Rocher de la Garde, cousin of Sir Lucan, and heir to Camaret-¨¤-Arden. His arms are the same as his father¡¯s, marked with a label to signify his station as heir: a black Iebara tree, with white blossoms, on a green field. R Rahab, Saint (rah-HOB) - Angelus of the Sea, whose Feast Day marks the beginning of the fishing season in Narvonne. Rashid Ibn Umar, Caliph () - Exarch of Isr¨¡f¨©l, father of Nasir al-Rashid, and Caliph of Ma?¨©n. Rience du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, Sir (RYNS-do-CAM-a-rey-a-AHR-den) - The father of Percival and Trist, widower of Cecilia, uncle of Lucan, and a knight in service to Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde. His Knight¡¯s Fee is the village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, and his arms are a black Iebara tree, with white blossoms, on a green field. Rive Ouest (REEV-OH-west) - The Barony on the western shore of the Kingdom of Narvonne, currently held by Baron Everard. The barony is isolated from much of the rest of the kingdom by the Ardenwood to the east, and the harsh western ocean. Robert - Father of Henry. A hunter from the village of Camaret-¨¤-Arden. Rocher de la Garde (ROE-shehr-de-la-GUARD) - The largest and most prosperous Narvonnian port, the city of Rocher de la Garde is located on the Circum Mare, and known for the exotic goods and wealth that flow through its markets. Baron Urien holds the city and castle in fealty to the King of Narvonne. S Sagramore, Sir (sah-gruh-MORE) - A knight in service to Baron Ma?l du Champs d¡¯Or. Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun Eater (sah-MY-ehl) - The first daemon to emerge into Telluria, often referred to as The Great Cataclysm due to the sheer destruction it wrought during the fall of the Etalan Empire. Samm¨¡?¨¥l has been credited with the destruction of the provincial capital of Vellatessia, the ruin of Etalus, the death of both the last emperor and of the Angelus Saint Madiel, and even with blotting out the sun for a week. Shadi ibn Yusuf (shaw-DEE-eb-en-YOU-sef) - The current Exarch of Jibr¨©l and the most favored General of the Caliph. Sh¨©rk¨±h ibn Asad (SHEER-kuh-eb-en-ah-SAHD) - A Caliphate scout and brother of Fazil ibn Asad. T Tor De Lancey, Sir (TOUR-deh-LAN-see) - A knight in service to Baron Urien du Rocher de la Garde. Husband of Jeanette, father of Enid. His heraldry is a red warhammer on white, and his knight¡¯s fee La Colline Isol¨¦, a quarry town. U Urien, Baron du Rocher de la Garde (YER-ee-ehn-do-ROE-shehr-de-la-GUARD) - Knight and father of Gareth, Clarisant, and Kay. He rules Rocher de la Garde in the name of the King of Narvonne, and his arms are a white sea shell on a blue field. V Valeria du Champs d''Or (vah-LAIR-ee-uh-do-SHAMP-duh-OAR) - Daughter of Baron Ma?l du Champs d¡¯Or, and heir to his Barony. Her arms, like her fathers, are a yellow sheaf of wheat on a green field, with a label to mark her as heir. Veischax, Saint (VIE-shax) - Angelus of the Seal, whose feast day in the Harvest Moon celebrates the first successful binding of a daemon during the Cataclysm. Vellatesia (VELL-ah-TESS-ee-ah) - The former capital of the Etalan Provincia Narvonia, destroyed in the Great Catacylsm. The daemon-haunted ruins are said to lie deep within the Ardenwood. Vinea (vihn-AE-uh) - A daemon known as The Stormbringer, bound during the Great Cataclysm. Vultures - A group of brigands who rebelled against the Baron du Champs d¡¯Or, and were crushed by the Crown Prince. Y Ya¨¦l du Havre de Paix (YAEL-do-HAV-er-deh-PEH) - A young girl from a fishing village, now squire to Trist. Z Zepar (zeh-PAHR) - A daemon armored in scarlet and said to be able to raise the souls of the slain; it was bound during the Cataclysm. 0.1 - Calendars, Chronology and Clocks The Etalan Empire numbered their years Year of the Empire (YOE), from the founding of their capital city, Rumen. The Cataclysm began in the 979th Year of the Empire, by their counting, and continued through the 981st. Etalan roads in Narvonne are often said to be ''a thousand'' years old; the Narvonni were conquered by the Etalans in the late 3rd century of the Empire, and remained under a provincial governor for the next six hundred years or so prior to the Cataclysm. The Narvonnian Calendar was marked from the year of the founding of Aurelius'' new kingdom, dubbed ''After Cataclysm,¡¯ and beginning with year 1 as 981 YoE; the fortuitous alignment of the number ''one'' was said to have been suggested by his wife, Elantia of the Narvonni. It is likely also Elantia''s influence that saw to the official use of the old Narvonni names for the moons, rather than the Etalan names. The divisions of the day established by the Church of the Angelus are the same as those which were used in medieval Europe. In Narvonne and the rest of the Etalan successor kingdoms, most people get up at dawn, which is called prime, or the first hour. The third hour, terce, is about halfway between daybreak and noon. Sext, or noon, is the sixth hour. The ninth hour, nones, is about halfway between noon and sunset. Vespers is the twelfth hour, or sunset. Church bells are rung at these times, though the precise timing often differs from village to village. If you are outside of hearing range from a bell, the only way to tell time is to estimate based on the sun, or to set up a sun-dial, such as the portable one Trust carries. The year consists of thirteen Moons, each of twenty-eight days, for a total of 364 days in the year. The names are different from place to place. Under the Etalan system, the Kalends marked the first day of a moon, while the Ides marked the 14th. The list of Moons below gives approximate equivalent dates to the calendar most readers will be familiar with. The Feast Days of Narvonne are listed; the people of the Caliphate, for instance, would celebrate their own set of Angelus, rather than the ones given below. Wolf Moon / Primus (January 19- February 15) The first Moon of the year, when the winter wolves have free reign to hunt over the frozen, dark land. The Feast Day of Saint Kadosh the Guardian is celebrated during the Wolf Moon, and it is common for peasants to offer Wolfsbane at his altars. Starving Moon / Secundus (February 16-March 15) The Starving Moon is marked by the slow increase of light over dark and warmer temperatures, though it is still winter; it is named for the fate of those who have stored insufficient food to last the winter. The Flood Moon /Tertius (March 15-April 11) Storms and floods mark the beginning of Spring, and the Spring Equinox. As the days grow longer and warmer, and the snows turn to rain, even the high peaks melt, often leading to flooding rivers, washed out roads, and a morass of mud. It is considered foolish to undertake a military expedition before the Ides of the Flood Moon, which is the Feast Day of Saint Rahab, Angelus of the Sea. This is a fisherman¡¯s holiday, and marks the beginning of their season. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Planting Moon/Quartus (April 12-May 10) Feast of Saint Lailahel on the Ides of Quartus As the mud dries, the spring crop is planted; at the same time, the trees begin to blossom and flowers begin to bloom throughout Narvonne. The Feast of Saint Lailahel, Angelus of Fertility, is celebrated on the Ides of the Planting Moon. It is traditional to bathe in a river, and for women who hope to conceive to put sachets of mistletoe, mint, and cinnamon in their bedrooms. Flower Moon /Quintilis (May 11-June 8) The last moon of spring, as the world grows green and the seasons pass into summer. Any untended land is a riotous profusion of wildflowers and tree blossoms, and in many parts of Narvonne, lavender grows in profusion. The Feast of Saint Theliel, Angelus of Love, is celebrated on the Kalends, with flowers used to decorate cattle horns, and offerings made to propitiate the faeries of the Ardenwood. New Summer¡¯s Moon / Sextilis (June 9-July 7) New Summer¡¯s Moon brings the first days of summer. In the second week of this moon lies the Summer Solstice, a time of religious ceremony referred to as High Summer, and the Feast of Saint Madiel, Angelus of Fire. Bone-Fires are built to drive off witches and dragons, and in honor of Madiel¡¯s death fighting the Sun Eater. Dried lavender is often used in these rituals, to bless and protect houses, or thrown into the Bone-Fires. High Summer Moon/September (July 8-August 5) The hot summer sun warms Narvonne, especially in the south, and in coastal settlements such as Rocher de la Garde, swimming and bathing in the sea is common. The Kalends is celebrated with tourneys in honor of Camiel, Angelus of War, and his Feast Day. Deep Summer Moon/October (August 6-September 3) Toward the end of the summer, the crops grow tall and ripe, and a haze of heat lays upon the land. In the south, especially, little work is done during the day. Harvest Moon /November (September 4-October 1) The Autumn Equinox and its accompanying Bone-fires, especially, are a time of great Magical potential. The Feast Day of Saint Veischax, Angelus of the Seal, ends the harvest season, with the blessing of the Angelus invoked to seal the granaries. Cats, believed to be favored by Veischax as hunters of rats, are honored, and Priests of the Angelus perform rituals to maintain and strengthen the seals on the bindings which have held daemons since the Cataclysm. Blood Moon/December (October 2-29) Blood Moon ushers in Autumn, its leaves as red as the name would indicate. The Ardenwood, the greatest forest in Narvonne, is likened to a roaring fire of red, orange, and yellow leaves during this time. On the Ides, the Feast Day of Saint Masheth the Destroyer, the Angelus who punishes the guilty, is celebrated. It is a common time for executions to be held, or for prisoners to be released after serving their sentence. Gray Moon/Undecimis (October 30-November 26) Only the faeries of the Ardenwood speak the old name of this time ¨C The Bone Moon, the moon when sacrifices were made in their honor. During their long withdrawal into the depths of the Ardenwood, the Etalans forbid the use of the old name, and Aurelius officially changed it to a less offensive description of this cold, gray season before the snows fall. On the Kalend, the Feast Day of Saint Abatur, Angelus of the North Star, is celebrated, who is said to weigh the souls of the deceased on his scales. New Winter Moon /Tredecimis (November 24 -December 21) In the more northern parts of Narvonne, as well as the Skandian March, the Principality of Raetia, and the Grand Duchy of Kimmeria, this is a picturesque time of new fallen snow, before the numbing chill of Deep Winter sets in. Deep Winter Moon/Quattuordecimis (December 22-January 18) The Kalends of Deep Winter marks the Winter Solstice, or Deep Winter Night, and the Feast Day of Penarys, Angelus of the Night. It is a time for feasting and celebration, as it marks not only the longest night of the year, but the days beginning to grow longer again and the eventual return of the sun. 1. Into the Woods It is tempting to think that, with the benefit of hindsight, we can point at clear signs of the coming Cataclysm. The truth, however, is that by all accounts Decimus Avitus led a thoroughly unremarkable life for the son of an Etalan Emperor, and that prior to the arrival of Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun-Eater there was no reason to think he would ever rise higher than his post as a provincial governor, or indeed do much of historical note at all. ? 19th Day of the Planting Moon, 297 AC When Trist had nearly reached the end of the woodcutter¡¯s paths, not far outside of where the edge of the village was marked by a stockade of dark Iebara wood, he reined Cazador to a halt and dismounted. The steel rings of his chain mail rustled, and he readjusted his broad leather sword belt to settle it on his hips comfortably. Rather than tie the gray destrier to a convenient branch, Trist pulled a carrot from his saddlebag. Caz snuffed over his hand, accepted the offered treat, and happily munched away. Trist took a few more things out: two unlit torches, which he thrust through his belt; a wineskin; and a sack with a slice of cold roast boar, a wedge of cheese, and a loaf of last evening¡¯s bread from the kitchens of Foyer Chaleureux. He checked the newly forged dagger in his boot, to be certain it was still there, and then turned back to the destrier. ¡°Good boy,¡± Trist murmured, cupping the horse¡¯s head with his left hand and leaning his own forehead down against the white blaze that stood out from Cazador¡¯s otherwise gray coat. ¡°Don¡¯t wait for me,¡± he said, after a moment, then stepped away and raised his voice. ¡°Go home, Caz.¡± He turned into the forest, ignoring the whinny from behind him, and set off through the Ardenwood for the Chapel of Saint Camiel. He knew the way: he had walked it since childhood. ? 7th Day of the Flower Moon, 285 AC Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden didn¡¯t have a destination in mind when he fled the manor: he only wanted to get away from his tutor, Brother Alberic, before the old monk could switch his knuckles raw again. Mother would never have let the old man hurt him, if she was still alive. ¡°It isn¡¯t fair,¡± Trist grumbled to himself, sprinting down the beaten dirt track to the forest, away from the center of the village, the river, or the fields to the south. Even Percy had yelled at him, finally, in frustration, when Trist had knocked over a pot of ink with his elbow. Trist¡¯s half brother - elder by just over two years, and their father¡¯s heir - was usually his protector, the one who stepped in when Trist was in trouble. But this time the ink had spilled on Percy¡¯s parchment of Old Etalan translations, and even he¡¯d had enough. Trist ducked off the path when he heard the woodcutters singing their tree songs up ahead in the distance, the thunk of their blessed axes, and their occasional shouts to each other in the cool morning. To the west, a carefully tended Iebara grove provided the village¡¯s most prized crop: a fine, black wood nearly as strong as steel, used to create longbows of incredible power, stringed instruments that sounded more truly than any other wood, and a dozen more goods besides. He jumped a fallen tree as he moved away from the woodsmen and the grove, cut around a patch of blooming sweetbriers, and followed the gentle sound of flowing water until he came out of the undergrowth to a broad, shallow stream, rippling over pebbles and around rocks. ¡°It must flow into the Rea,¡± Trist decided, talking out loud to himself. Another habit that Brother Albernic and his parents deplored. He sat down on the mossy bank, removed his boots, then his wool socks, and dipped a foot into the water, finding it cold. He was just selecting a good rock for skipping when the wind carried the sound of someone humming to him. ¡°Hello?¡± Trist called, and, forgetting his boots on the bank, picked his way upstream. He climbed a small series of cascades among the wet rocks until he came to a golden pool, sandy beneath the water, where a break in the green canopy overhead let fall a shaft of sunlight. A slim girl, perhaps ten years or so of age, like him, was standing in the pool in a white linen shift, singing softly to herself. ¡°Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, For he would call it a sin; I¡¯ve been with my love in the woods all night, Conjuring Summer in! Now is the Sun come up from the South, With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, my love, All of a Midsummer morn! Surely we sing no little thing, In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!¡± The falling sun lit up her pale hair like fine strands of fire, her shadow danced on the rippling water, and Trist stumbled, his foot coming down heavily, with a loud splash, as he caught his balance. The girl gave a cry of fright, eyes wide as she saw him, frozen in the moment like a deer startled by the hunters. Trist knew that she would run. ¡°Wait!¡± he called, holding up his hands. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you. I just heard you singing, and wanted to see who it was. I haven¡¯t seen you in the village, before.¡± She trembled, there, hesitant. ¡°I¡¯m not from the village,¡± she said softly. ¡°My name is Trist,¡± he introduced himself, but didn¡¯t dare bow. He felt, somehow, that he had trapped her eyes with his, and the moment he broke the connection, there would be nothing holding the girl here. ¡°Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden.¡± He swallowed. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be afraid. This is my father¡¯s land. I won¡¯t let anyone harm you.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Something flickered through her eyes at his name, and she swallowed. ¡°Call me Linette,¡± she said. ¡°What were you singing?¡± Trist relaxed a bit; she seemed to be calming. ¡°An old song,¡± Linette said, after a moment. ¡°A tree song.¡± ¡°It was pretty,¡± he said. ¡°Teach it to me?¡± Linette nodded, and they sat on the bank, bare feet in the brook, until he¡¯d learned the words and the tune, while she wove roses from the sweetbriers into his nut-brown hair. ? 19th Day of the Planting Moon, 297 AC Trist had expected that something would bar his way, but that it was a knight all armored in thorns was a surprise. ¡°Let me pass,¡± he said, grimly, but the wood-helmed knight gave no response, and Trist could not see his face. His armor was all of a pale green, almost faded to gray, in large, thick plates of bark. Sharp thorns extended from his pauldrons an inch or more, from his cuirass and greaves and everywhere that Trist could see. His shield was blazoned with the pink rose of the sweetbrier, and his sword was serrated beginning a hand¡¯s span below the tip. If drawn across his bare flesh, Trist expected it to leave horrific wounds: he was thankful he wore a shirt of good mail over his padded gambeson, with steel pauldrons and vambraces over that. Trist stepped left, and the Knight of Thorns mirrored him; two steps to the right, and the knight moved again. He pulled the unlit torches from his belt and dropped them, and then the sack of food. He had no shield to match, but his blade had the better reach. ¡°I have business with Linette du Chapelle de Camiel,¡± Trist said, formally. The Knight of Thorns raised his shield and set the tip of his blade in line with Trist¡¯s chest. Trist¡¯s longsword slid free of its leather sheath with a sigh, thirty-six inches of well-kept steel. He raised it to his right ear, both hands on the hilt, blade parallel with the ground, tip aimed at the chest of the Thorn Knight. Ox. John Granger, his Master at Arms, had always said that Trist favored the guard too much, but for all that, Percy could only rarely break it. For a moment, all the sounds in the forest died away, save for the soft babble of water over stone, somewhere just past the knight, from the brook that ran into the Rea. The twin shadows cast by the two knights leaned toward each other, barely restrained. Trist pushed off with his back foot, more clumsily than in the practice yard, his blade coming around in a diagonal cut, down and from right to left. The Knight of Thorns raised his shield to take it, and stabbed with his shorter arming sword. Trist smiled. His enemy had taken the feint; he hadn¡¯t been certain it would work. Instead of remaining committed to the cut, which would never have pierced plate in any event, Tristan kept moving forward, spun tight counter-clockwise around the shield, keeping it between him and the arming sword, planted his right foot inside the knight¡¯s left, and shoved him hard from behind. The Knight of Thorns stumbled, falling forward, and Trist quickly switched grips, holding his sword by the lower blade, and swung the cross-guard above the hilt into the thorn knight¡¯s helm like a warhammer. The metal crossguard punched through the helm like an axe through rotten wood. Trist wrenched it out, then swung a second time, then a third. By that point, the knight had stopped moving. The Thorn Knight¡¯s armor began to fall apart, twisted vines unraveling like threads. No longer tightly pressed together into plate, they curled up, stretching for sunlight, and green leaves sprouted all along their length. It was as if Trist watched winter pass through spring and into summer in the space of a moment. Where a knight had sprawled on the ground, defeated, a patch of sweet-briers now blossomed, the roses delicate and pink. Blood rushing in his ears, Trist looked at them once, then sheathed his sword and sat down to catch his breath. It was the first time he had ever been in a real fight, with live steel. Once his heart slowed, he picked up the things he¡¯d set aside, and made his way through the wood to the brook where he¡¯d met Linette du chapelle de Camiel, twelve years ago. ? 18th Day of the Harvest Moon, 287 AC ¡°You really live here?¡± They were thirteen, now, and after a day of dancing and cider at the harvest festival, Linette had finally agreed to take him to where she lived with her mother. Trist had a sack full of turnips, bread, a wheel of cheese, and salted dried meat, all slung over his shoulder. He¡¯d made a habit of bringing Linette and her mother food for years now, from the manor¡¯s kitchens. He also carried a knife in a sheath on his belt, though he would have wished for a sword, instead. Not that there was any danger so close to the village, not like in the depths of the haunted Ardenwood. Still, he liked the feel of a sword at his hip: it seemed to be the one thing he was good at, or at least the one thing he could do better than Percy. ¡°I do.¡± Linette nodded, reaching out her pale hand, and Trist took it. The briar-roses were still in her hair, from when she¡¯d met him at the edge of town in the morning, just as the monastery bells were ringing terce. She tugged him along up the worn stone steps, beneath a canopy of oak and ash boughs, and his boots rustled through the dry autumn leaves as he followed her up the path. There was a stone arch, and the foundations of crumbling walls running away from it to either side, covered in moss. Beneath the green he could make out faded carvings of the Angelus Saint Camiel, sacrificing himself against the Sun Eater. Past the arch, Linette led him to a small chapel on top of the hill, rectangular in shape, built of regular stone blocks. They were mossy, too, and discolored by long exposure to the elements. The door had long since rotted away, and the roof, as well, and a great oak tree had grown up from the floor, spreading its branches over the structure. The oak retained most of its leaves, with the effect that the chapel was roofed in bright autumn scarlet. ¡°But there¡¯s no actual roof,¡± Trist protested, their voices echoing around the inside of the chapel. ¡°How do you keep warm in the winter?¡± ¡°The cellar,¡± Linette said, motioning to a stair in the corner that descended down into the earth beneath the chapel. ¡°You can leave the food at the top of the stairs,¡± she suggested, and Trist set the burlap sack down. ¡°I wish you would come live in the village,¡± he said, again. ¡°My father would take your mother on as a servant, if I asked.¡± Linette shook her head, as she always did when he said this. ¡°We like the forest. There¡¯s too many people and too much fuss in town. We¡¯re quite happy here. Though I did like the dancing!¡± ¡°I worry about you,¡± he admitted. ¡°Especially in the winter.¡± ¡°Oh Trist,¡± Linette said fondly. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about me.¡± Suddenly, she leaned into him, flighty as a bird, and brushed her lips against his cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve shown you where I live. Now go, before my mother gets back.¡± He did as she asked, as if asleep, and hardly knew where she was until he¡¯d crossed the brook again and was nearly back to the village, only pausing once when he heard an old woman¡¯s sharp voice from the ruined chapel. ¡°Where¡¯ve you been, girl?¡± her mother said. The thought of fleeing Linette¡¯s mother displeased Trist, but he knew she was old enough to be betrothed now, if not married quite yet, and he didn¡¯t want to ruin her reputation. Trist grinned as he stepped back onto the beaten earth of the woodcutter¡¯s road. He was thinking of Linette as if she were a lady, the daughter of a knight or a baron, when she was a peasant girl with no father, living in the woods. He doubted anyone else in the village would say she had much of a reputation to ruin, in the first place. But he still wanted to protect her. His birthday was High Summer Day, in less than a year. After that, he would be fourteen years old, and that would be old enough. He was the second son, and would never inherit land, no matter what. He could support Percy just as well with a peasant girl for a wife, as with some western knight¡¯s third daughter. When he was fourteen, Trist decided, he would ask his father¡¯s permission to marry Linette. His fingers rose to touch his cheek, where she¡¯d pressed a fleeting kiss, and Trist hurried home. 2. The Labyrinth The Angelus, our prayers implore, Heralds of glory evermore, Angelus of all grace and might, To banish sin from our delight: Our mind be in their keeping placed, Our body true to them and chaste, Where only Faith her fire shall feed To burn the weeds of daemon seed. ? 19th Day of the Planting Moon, 297 AC As a child, Trist had hopped from stone to stone when crossing the brook where he¡¯d first met Linette. Now, armored in chain, longsword sheathed once again, he tromped through, careful of his footing, relying on the oiled leather of his riding boots to keep out the water. Once he¡¯d reached the far bank, he set off up the familiar game path that led to the hill upon which the ruins of the Chapelle de Camiel rested. When he came upon the worn stair, however, and the mossy stone arch above it, Trist did not see crumbling stones tumbled off to either side. Instead, the walls looked as if they had been built yesterday, the granite smooth and well fitted, stretching out to surround the chapel in both directions. Placing his left hand on the pommel of his sword, Trist strode up the steps and passed beneath the arch. Before him stretched another stone wall, parallel to the walls leading out from the arch itself, creating a sort of outdoor hallway or corridor, open to the blue sky above, but paved with broad, flat stones beneath Trist¡¯s boots. He looked up, measuring the walls, and guessed them to be at least ten feet in height, and too smooth to climb easily, especially armored. To the left, then, as one direction seemed as good as another. The walls curved, and he tried to imagine how, from above, they would form a circular fortification around the chapel. His father would have loved stone walls like this. The curve had taken him out of sight of the arch when Trist came to the first branching: the wall opened to his right, leading into another curving corridor. Or, he could continue on the outside ring. ¡°It is a labyrinth,¡± Trist realized, with a sigh. ? 13th Day of the New Summer¡¯s Moon, 288 AC The great hall of Sir Rience du Camaret-¨¤-Arden¡¯s manor, Foyer Chaleureux, was filled to the brim with relations and guests. His old friend and battle companion, Tor De Lancey, a gregarious man with a red face and a great belly that Trist guessed must have grown since the stories of their youth as squires, had brought his wife, Jeanette, and their daughter. Three great banners hung this evening: one with the black Iebara tree, sprinkled with white flowers, on a field of green, the heraldry of Trist¡¯s own family; and another, a red warhammer on white, shaped just like the weapon hanging at Sir Tor¡¯s belt when he¡¯d rode into the courtyard. The last was the white sea shell on blue of their mutual liege, Baron Urien. Percy and Trist¡¯s older cousin, Sir Lucan, had come, newly knighted and soon to be wed, escorting the young Lady Clarisant, who was to be Percy¡¯s wife, all the way from Rocher de la Garde, on the sea, where Trist dimly recalled spending a single, golden summer. The family¡¯s Master of Arms, John Granger, sat near the foot of the table, his hard eyes scanning the room as fiercely as he watched Trist and Percy in the practice yard. Brother Alberic sat next to Brother Hugh, the Abbot, deeply involved in a discussion of theology. Trist had caught just enough out of the corner of one ear to come to his own conclusions about how interesting the subject matter was, and the answer was ¡®not at all.¡¯ And while they were commoners, not nobles, Sir Rience had invited many of the more important people in the village, as well: James Miller, whose father and grandfather before him had run the lumber mill fed by the woodsman, for instance. His family had mastered the songs for the working of the Iebara wood cut from the grove. William Chapman and his wife, Anne, were the most prosperous merchants in town, enough so that they¡¯d rebuilt their shop in the market just two winters past, to be two stories tall. The only person missing was his mother, but Trist put that thought aside firmly. Trist took a long drink of watered wine; building the bone-fires with the other young men had been long work, even with - especially with - the help of the younger boys of the village, who were more interested in playing with the fires and running around, shrieking, with smoking brands. He didn¡¯t know whether the bone-fires actually kept dragons, witches and faeries away, but it was a Midsummer¡¯s Eve tradition, and he couldn¡¯t remember a year where he hadn¡¯t been running around on the errand the night before his birthday. He was fourteen tomorrow, on the Feast Day of Saint Madiel, and he now wore an arming sword on his hip, though he would have preferred something longer. Trist had come more and more to prefer a blade he could wield with both hands, though Percy told him he was a fool to give up a shield. Of course, Percy could hardly beat him one time in three, now.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°And Angelica root - wild celery? - that¡¯s good for aches and pains when you get older,¡± Enid De Lancey went on, seated to his right. She was younger than him, though Trist forgot by how many years, a wisp of a girl with brown hair and a quiet voice he had to strain to hear over the sounds of the feast. The current course was Tartes de Chare, a pork pie containing currants, dates, raisins, and pine nuts, spiced with pepper and ginger, and all mixed with honey. It was one of Trist¡¯s favorites, though Enid didn¡¯t seem to be eating much of it. In fact, while she¡¯d moved her fork around a bit, he wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d actually swallowed any. ¡°I wonder if Brother Hugh is aware,¡± Trist said, courteously. ¡°It might be good to grow a crop in the Abbey herb garden, for the older Brothers. How do you like the pork pie, Lady Enid? It¡¯s one of my favorites.¡± Enid looked down at her plate. ¡°I don¡¯t usually eat meat,¡± she admitted, in a voice that was barely audible. Trist opened his mouth to ask whyever not, but thought better of it. A knight was courteous. ¡°Well,¡± he said, after scraping his mind for a moment, ¡°You might prefer the mushroom and cheese pie, in that case. I¡¯m not certain what course it will be, but I helped gather the mushrooms yesterday. They grow on the oaks around here, and they taste a bit like lemon-chicken.¡± The younger girl brightened, giving up on moving pieces of pork around, now that she¡¯d been honest with him. ¡°Yes, that sounds wonderful! That sounds like Chicken of the Woods? There are a few that look much like it, but are poisonous...¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I had expert help,¡± Trist assured her. Linette had helped him, and she knew every berry, nut or mushroom that could be eaten in the Ardenwood. She had to, or she and her mother would have starved long ago. Trist¡¯s eyes flicked to his father, Sir Rience, at the head of the table, dignified in his white beard. Perhaps between the courses, Trist could find an excuse to sneak over and speak to him. He¡¯d practiced the words in his mind - and even out loud, in the privacy of the Ardenwood - a thousand times over. How he¡¯d admit Linette was not of noble birth, but describe her beauty, her intelligence, her loyalty. ¡°-Glad you¡¯re so kind,¡± Enid said, and Trist realized he had no idea what had come before. ¡°Father said you would be, but you never know until you actually meet someone. But now I see I had nothing to be frightened of.¡± Trist smiled politely; the footmen were coming in to clear the course. ¡°Of course. You are absolutely safe here. Would you excuse me, for just a moment? I need to speak to my father about something.¡± He rose even before the girl had responded, and threaded a path carefully up to the head of the table, where he greeted his father. ¡°Ah, Trist!¡± His father reached out an arm and wrapped it around Trist¡¯s shoulders, pulling him down and in for a loose, one armed embrace. Down the sides of the table, to the left and the right, Sir Tor and his wife, Percy and Lady Clarisant and everyone else who¡¯d been seated near the head of the feast-table, greeted him with smiles and raised glasses. ¡°Fourteen years old tomorrow. I remember when you were small enough I could hold you in the crook of one arm!¡± Trist blushed. ¡°You¡¯ve told me, father,¡± he said, and waited till nearly everyone had turned back to their conversations before lowering his voice. ¡°I had hoped to speak to you, actually. Now that I¡¯m old enough to be betrothed-¡± Sir Rience leaned in and lowered his voice. ¡°Sharp boy. Figured it out, eh? What do you think of her?¡± Trist¡¯s mind caught like a wagon wheel in the mud. ¡°Think of her?¡± ¡°Little Enid De Lancey. She¡¯ll make a good wife for you; best to give it a few years, let you both grow up, like we¡¯re doing with your brother,¡± the older man motioned with his goblet to where Percy and Clarisant were sitting side by side, speaking with their heads close together. Percy was sixteen, but his betrothed a year younger. ¡°But she¡¯s kind, and that¡¯s a good thing in a mother. Tor says she¡¯s crazy about plants, which is a bit odd, I¡¯ll grant you, but harmless.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to ask you about Enid De Lancey,¡± Trist finally blurted out. His father frowned, but he went on anyway. ¡°There¡¯s a girl who lives just outside the village - her name is Linette.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s her father?¡± Rience du Camaret-¨¤-Arden said gruffly, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Her father¡¯s long dead,¡± Trist said, ¡°and she cares for her mother. Which shows her loyalty, father. They aren¡¯t wealthy, I know, but I am only the second son. Percy¡¯s your heir. I care for her, father, and I want to ask your permission-¡± ¡°Angelus above, tell me you haven¡¯t already put a baby in her belly?¡± Trist just about choked. He¡¯d never had more than a dance and a kiss on the cheek from Linette - not that he hadn¡¯t thought about more. He shook his head, and his father let out a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Good. You¡¯re not to see her again,¡± Sir Rience ordered, with a decisive chop of his hand. ¡°A dalliance with a peasant girl can be overlooked, so long as nothing comes of it, but your future wife won¡¯t like it if she finds out, so best to end it now.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to wed Enid De Lancey,¡± Trist protested. ¡°She seems nice enough, but I don¡¯t love her. I barely know her.¡± His father grabbed him by his linen shirt and pulled him in close. ¡°You will not refuse the daughter of a knight, of one of my oldest friends, a young woman of good breeding and quality, for some ragged peasant girl living in the woods. Now that¡¯s the end of it. The betrothal will be announced tomorrow, so go get to know the girl, and be kind to her. I should have put a stop to you sneaking off into the Ardenwood years ago - it¡¯s dangerous. We lose woodcutters every few years, and the merchant wagons have it even worse. By all that¡¯s Holy, boy, the Bissets lost a child there just this past winter. You¡¯re to stay out of it from now on. Focus on your training with John.¡± Trist opened his mouth to protest again, but Sir Rience clenched his fist, balling up the linen fabric and pulling Trist¡¯s shirt tight. Trist¡¯s eyes flicked down the table to Sir Tor, sitting just two spaces down on the left, with only his own wife between him and Trist¡¯s father. A knight is courteous, he reminded himself. ¡°I¡¯d like to speak more of this tomorrow morning,¡± he told his father. ¡°We can speak,¡± the older man said, ¡°It will not change anything, but we can speak. Now go and see to the comfort of your guest.¡± Sir Rience released his grasp, and Trist stood straight, then set off to find his way back down the feasting table to his empty seat. Enid De Lancey, it seemed, had been craning her neck to watch him, and now that he was returning, she offered a tentative, hopeful smile. At that moment, Trist realized the feasting hall was the absolute last place he wanted to be. Turning away from the girl his father had decided he would wed, he strode out of the hall and into the warm summer evening, quickly, before his father could stop him. Announcement: Volume 1 Stubbed and moving to Amazon Volume one has now been stubbed in advance of release on Amazon. The ebook will be available on Kindle Unlimited for free, as of June 3rd (Five days from when I post this). Hardcover and paperback editions will also release on the third. I hope everyone''s managed to catch up by this point, and if you were still working your way through volume one I apologize. I hope waiting for the third isn''t too much of an inconvenience. Chapters 58 and on, which make up volume two, will remain here on Royal Road for the foreseeable future. I haven''t set a date to release those on Amazon yet; I can tell you that I''ve scheduled draft chapters out through the 29th of June, and that only gets us to Chapter 73 out of a total of 114 - if I don''t alter the schedule, I think we''d finish posting here mid-november. Sarah''s only at the idea stage for cover art, and there''s still a lot of revision to do, so I would be very surprised to get it out before September, even if the posting schedule was accelerated.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. And, of course, we have a lot of marketing to do. Facebook ads, a new RR ad, an upcoming podcast, getting author copies and putting them in local bookstores on commission. In any event, I''ll keep everyone updated here. 58. The Fall of Cheverny Who is to say there was not something rotten in the Province of Narvonne from the very beginning - perhaps rooted in that very Ardenwood where the Etalans built Vellatesia. Or perhaps Decimus Avitus was the one rotten from the start, which would explain why Emperor Severus passed him over for a younger brother. ? 13th Day of the Flower Moon, 297 AC Guiron, Exarch of Penarys, came back to himself with a sharp, panicked breath, and tasted smoke. The inhalation caused a stabbing pain in his right side, and he gasped, clutching at his steel cuirass to find it dented in and cracked. ¡°Your ribs are broken,¡± Penarys told him. ¡°At least. Take shallow breaths, and move carefully. You need to have them set and bound, if you do not want to risk a punctured lung.¡± ¡°The King needs me,¡± Guiron protested, and rolled onto his hands and knees. His twin arming swords he found close at hand; one beneath the corpse of a royal guard, the other under a broken wood beam. Until an hour before, it had barred the gate of the keep at the castle Cheverny. Penarys helped the knight to his feet, and together the pair followed a trail of corpses through the entranceway and toward the great hall, where King Lothair Aurelianus held court. To Guiron¡¯s left, the head of a squire had been crushed against the stone of the castle wall like a cracked egg; just three steps past, and lying on the right side of the hall, he winced to recognize Lady Blanche, the daughter of Sir Madoc, come from Dawn Spire not two months past to wait out the war with the Caliphate in safety. Guiron had danced with her more than once at the court masques, and found her light on her feet and as delicate as a bird. Now, both her arms had been ripped entirely from her body and thrown aside; she lay, pale and lifeless, in a sticky puddle of her own blood. ¡°Did you see who did this?¡± Guiron asked Penarys. He edged around the tacky blood, but couldn¡¯t entirely avoid it, and left bootprints the rest of the way down the hall. ¡°I did,¡± Penarys admitted. ¡°A man with short, dark curls, cut close to his skull. He wore a cuirass made in the old Etalan style, with the steel beaten into musculata, and then all of it enameled over with white, and gilt in gold. He strode through the broken gate after you fell, and then into the hall.¡± ¡°By himself?¡± Guiron hissed. ¡°Yes,¡± Penarys answered. ¡°And Guiron, you must not fight him.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to fight him,¡± Guiron spat. ¡°I¡¯m going to take his head for this. For all of this.¡± He surged ahead to the entrance to the great hall, swinging his twin swords to get as loose and limber as he could. Sparks of orange power flickered at the edge of his vision. He would trust to his Boons to keep him moving, and deal with his cracked ribs once he had saved the King. If it was not too late. Guiron heard the ring of steel with relief; someone, at least, was still fighting. He turned into the hall, and his stride faltered at the sight which confronted him. King Lothair¡¯s head had rolled to a halt about halfway between the throne and the entrance to the hall, while the remainder of his corpse had been nailed to the stone wall behind the throne by a glaive through the chest. The glaive of Dame Margaret, as a matter of fact: Guiron recognized the fearsome weapon from countless mornings in the training yard. Margeret, herself, lay broken against one wall, but her Angelus, Rahab, hovered under the vaulted ceiling of the hall, and half a dozen of its burning whips were wrapped around the left arm of the man who stood before the throne. Like Penarys had said, he wore old-fashioned musculata painted white, and Guiron recognized him from many a court function. ¡°Baron Ma?l du Champs d''Or!¡± Guiron shouted across the room. ¡°What low treachery is this?¡± The Baron turned to regard him down the length of the hall, and Guiron saw now the man had the king¡¯s nephew, Sir Lorengel, Exarch of Veischax, caught by the throat. The knight''s gauntleted fingers were wrapped around Baron Ma?l¡¯s unarmored hand, but all the strength of an Exarch seemed to cause the man no distress whatsoever. Veischax lay on the ground just beyond them, wings torn off the Angelus¡¯ back, leaving only stumps bleeding golden ichor. ¡°Of all the impertinence I have had to endure these long years,¡± the villainous Baron intoned, ¡°The use of pseudonyms has been, no doubt, one of the worst. The indignity of it; having to allow trash such as your pretender King to style themselves my superior. Any novelty has long since been lost. In hindsight, I killed him too quickly; he deserved time to appreciate his ending before it came.¡± Lorengal rasped out half a breath, the Exarch¡¯s eyes rolling back into his head, and rather than let a comrade die, Guiran knew he had to press the attack. ¡°You admit your own treason, then; good. No need for a court. I will simply execute you myself.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Guiron slid forward smoothly, covering the distance of the long hall in only a few strides. He raised the right arming sword to his right ear, nearly parallel to the ground, while twisting his torso to advance the left arming sword, holding it out in front of him with the hilt about level with his waist. Both points were in line with the wicked Baron¡¯s center of mass, and left Guiron with the freedom to parry or cut using either hand. ¡°Too weak,¡± Ma?l du Champs d''Or said, throwing Lorengal aside to skid across the stone floor. The man did not even have a weapon in hand! Guiron feinted a thrust with his left blade, then cut down at a diagonal with his right. The swing should have sliced through where the Baron¡¯s neck connected to his shoulder and collarbone, a killing blow. Instead, with a sneer, Ma?l caught Guiron by the wrist as easily as a grown man restrained a toddler. The cut never landed, and Guiron gasped in pain; he could feel the bones in his wrist grinding and cracking until the sword fell from his twitching fingers. ¡°Impossible,¡± Guiron gasped. No normal man could possibly have such strength. He had slain daemons who did not have this kind of power. ¡°Look upon me, Exarch,¡± Baron Ma?l whispered. ¡°Truly look, and see, and comprehend.¡± A veil lifted from Guiron¡¯s eyes, and what had been hidden was now revealed to his sight. The seeing was not a thing of the mortal world, but of the Angelus, and he now perceived the numerous threads running through the Baron¡¯s body, meeting in a bundle at his core. The number was overwhelming, more than he could count in a glance, especially with the pain in his wrist, but it was the color that sent a shock of fear through his heart. Every single thread burned a bright, nearly white-hot blue. No wonder this man was stronger than him: Guiron did not have a single Boon that burned brighter than yellow. With his left hand, he cut at the monster¡¯s arm, and Baron Ma?l reacted the way any man would: by letting go of Guiron¡¯s wrist, and pulling his hand out of the way of the blade. Guiron immediately scrambled back three paces, then raised the sword in his left hand, back into Plow Guard, hilt in front of his waist, tip pointed straight at the Baron¡¯s chest. He would have liked to get his other sword, but it was lying on the stone floor of the hall only a pace from the traitor. ¡°Where did this power come from?¡± Guiron asked, playing for time and for information. If he could stall until Lorengel was back on his feet, the two of them, plus the three Angelus who were hovering above, might still be able to pull out a victory here. Penarys had been with Guiron long enough to see what his partner was doing, and the relatively fresh Angelus was holding back the other two for the moment. Baron Ma?l slipped the toe of his boot under the blade of Guiron¡¯s lost sword, kicked it up, and caught it by the hilt easily in his right hand. The knight had never heard that the Baron of Champs d''Or was much of a warrior, but the movements of the man in front of him proved that assumption a lie. This was clearly a warrior who had spent countless hours drilling with the blade. ¡°Where?¡± Ma?l shook his head. ¡°Why, the same place as your power comes from, Exarch. An Accord. That is the only place that mortal men such as you and I can gain such power: from years upon years, and souls upon souls, of Tithes. You could not count the number of souls that have been sacrificed on the altar of my power, boy.¡± ¡°No Angelus would make an Accord with a man such as you,¡± Guiron declared, shaking his head. Admit it, man, he pleaded silently. Give me the name! ¡°Of course not; not at the beginning of it all, and certainly not now,¡± the man said, with a thin smile and cold eyes. ¡°If the name of my patron is what you wish to hear with your last breath of life, then it does me no harm to give it to you. Indeed, it is something of a relief, to finally reclaim my true identity, after all these years.¡± Guiron saw Lorengel rising, behind the traitor, but he kept his eyes fixed on the Baron so as to give no sign. ¡°Out with it, then,¡± he prodded. ¡°Let there be no more lies between us, when we finish this.¡± ¡°You will find me recorded in your history books as Decimus Avitus,¡± the man answered. ¡°Son of Emperor Sevrus the Fourth. Exarch,¡± he continued, each word like the toll of a funeral bell in Guiron¡¯s heart, ¡°Of Samm¨¡?¨¥l, the Sun Eater, Cataclysm of Etalus.¡± ¡°That is impossible,¡± Guiron responded in disbelief, before he could help himself. ¡°Avitus died centuries ago. He would be over three hundred years old by now. Not even an Exarch could live so long.¡± ¡°With enough souls Tithed,¡± the daemonic Exarch claimed, ¡°One such as us can live a very long life, indeed. Not quite immortal, I think; but so close as makes little difference. Long enough to set this day in motion.¡± Guiron¡¯s eyes connected with Lorengel¡¯s. The other Exarch gave him the smallest nod, and then the two men moved together, as they had trained to do over so many hours in the practice yard. The King they had trained to defend lay dead on the stone, but somewhere in the Hauteurs Massif was a new monarch, and so long as Lionel Aurelianus lived, the Kingdom of Narvonne had not fallen. Lorengel cut low, at Avitus¡¯ legs, while Guiron went high, and they not only came at him from front and back, but also swung from opposite sides. There should have been no way for the daemonic Exarch to avoid both of their strikes. With his right hand, the traitor used Guiron¡¯s own lost sword to set aside his strike with a ringing clang. An instant later, too quick to follow, he leapt over the blade that should have severed his legs at the calves. Then, reversing his grip on the stolen arming sword, Avitus stabbed backward, into Lorengel¡¯s chest. ¡°Go!¡± the dying Exarch choked, blood already spilling from his mouth. Lorengel wrapped his arms around Avitus, to hold him in place, and both the wounded Veischax and Dame Margaret¡¯s Rahab lashed out to aid him, wrapping tendrils of fire around the traitor¡¯s body as if they were spiders trussing an insect in silk. ¡°Find the King! Warn him!¡± Guiron hesitated only for a moment. He didn¡¯t want to admit that Cheverny had fallen, and with it the capital, but his duty was clear. With an inarticulate cry of frustration, he turned and dashed out of the throne room, Penarys flying above him, and then out through the shattered castle gate into the burning city of Lutetia. Panicked people ran in every direction, while Kimmerian mercenaries and men-at-arms wearing the heraldry of the Baron du Champs d''Or, a yellow sheaf of wheat on a green field, cut down the king¡¯s garrison in the streets. South. He had to get south, and find Lionel Aurelianus. 59. The Survivor Saint Penarys, Angelus of the Night, was one of the seven Angelus who empowered the first Exarchs of Narvonne; a Knight of Penarys has protected every sovereign of Narvonne ever since. Penarys is often said to be the brother of Saint Abatur, though I personally suspect that we are merely projecting human relationships onto beings beyond our comprehension. Regardless, the link between the Saint of the Night and the Saint of the North Star was strong: when Abatur was slain fighting the Prince of Plagues, it is said that the scream of Penarys shattered every pane of glass for a hundred miles. ? 2nd Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Trist turned away from the light in his eyes, away from the open window in the wall of the north tower, and buried his face in Clarisant¡¯s soft black hair. The gauzy summer curtains hanging around the bed stirred in the breeze, but did little to block morning sunlight. ¡°Good morning, husband,¡± Clarisant murmured, in front of him. It was only the second time they had shared a bed, and Trist was beginning to think that he could get used to waking up next to her. Beneath the linen summer sheets, he ran his left hand over the swell of her hip, marveling at how smooth and soft her skin was, compared to his. ¡°Have I told you,¡± Trist mumbled. ¡°Under the mountain. When it seemed like those stairs would never end, that I would die down there. It was you I thought of.¡± She turned over to face him, half pulling the linens off in the process, and when Trist opened his eyes they were nearly nose to nose. ¡°Tell me,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°Tell me all of it. Everything that happened between the morning you left, and now.¡± And so he did, though he did not mention Acrasia¡¯s name in the telling, so as not to upset her. Trist started there in the bed, but did not finish the tale before they rose. It was a long telling, and part way through husband and wife pulled on robes, so that Baroness Arnive¡¯s servants could bring in trays from the kitchen, and set them on the table. There was watered wine and fresh squeezed orange juice, which Trist had never tasted before, but which Clarisant knew from growing up at Rocher de la Garde. Leftovers from the feast, such as sheep¡¯s cheese, and thin cold slices of rib steaks with peppers and garlic; fresh fried bacon, bread still hot from the ovens, and fresh churned, creamy butter to spread, along with preserves made from apples and cherries. Having left the great hall early the night before, both of them dug into the food with enthusiasm. ¡°Lady Valeria,¡± Clarisant repeated, when Trist was finished. ¡°I met her once, you know, at Cheverny.¡± ¡°Did you?¡± Trist allowed himself to moan at the taste of a bite of steak. ¡°I have spent so long riding or walking from one place to another,¡± he admitted, ¡°With only salt meat and hard bread or whatever Henry could shoot to make a stew. Now that I can eat real food again, I think I am going to grow a gut.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t have that,¡± Clarisant teased him, leaning over to spear a slice of his steak with her fork, and pop it into her mouth. ¡°I enjoy watching you shirtless in the practice yard too much.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± Trist teased her right back. ¡°Watched me while I was still half crippled, did you?¡± ¡°Well, yes, a bit,¡± she admitted. ¡°But actually, I remember Enid De Lancey and I looking down at you and Percy in the yard, all those years ago.¡± The bedchamber was silent, for a long moment. ¡°I miss him,¡± Trist said. Then, he shook himself, took a drink of juice, and lifted his knife to cut another piece of steak. ¡°You said you met Lady Valeria at the King¡¯s court? I wonder whether she was already an Exarch back then, or if it happened since.¡± ¡°The King has half a dozen Exarchs at Cheverny,¡± Clarisant said, using her knife to add cherry preserves to a slice of bread. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine they would have missed the presence of her and her daemon.¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Trist mused. ¡°I did not notice her, until she revealed herself. That might be put aside,¡± he said. ¡°I have only been an Exarch for a moon or so. But Sir Bors has much more experience, and he had been accompanying the Crown Prince the entire time. I cannot imagine he would have ever let her alone with him if he had any suspicion at all.¡± ¡°Which means,¡± Clarisant said, after swallowing a bite of her bread, ¡°That she can conceal her nature, and that of her daemon.¡± ¡°A Boon of some sort,¡± Trist guessed. ¡°If she can do it, Trist,¡± his wife asked, ¡°What is to say that any servant of a daemon cannot do the same? Who is to say there isn¡¯t another one hiding in the city right now, or among the court at Cheverny?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Trist said grimly. ¡°But I think that we had better raise the possibility with the Prince.¡± Of course, there was quite a bit that had to happen before they could speak to Lionel Aurelianus, even after everything that had occurred during the battle. For one thing, even after Trist and Clarisant had finished eating, they had to wash up and dress for the day. While this was a relatively quick process on Trist¡¯s part, they had to finally open up the door to the sitting room where Henry and Ya¨¦l had been sleeping.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Trist had been too distracted to notice, but his wife¡¯s maid had journeyed with her from Camaret-¨¤-Arden: a slip of a girl named Anais, who now went through the long and convoluted process of dressing Carisant. Trist made himself comfortable on the bed, piling up cushions behind his back to prop himself up, and watched. ¡°Is m¡¯lord going to do this regularly?¡± Anais asked Clarisant in a voice that reminded Trist of a field mouse squeaking. ¡°If my lord husband wishes to watch me dress,¡± Clarisant said, casting a smile back at Trist, ¡°He may do so whenever he wishes.¡± ¡°It does not make you uncomfortable?¡± Trist asked. ¡°According to my mother,¡± Clarisant said, as Anais pulled off her morning robe, leaving her standing bare in the morning breeze, ¡°So long as you still enjoy looking at me, you are unlikely to be dragging servant girls off when I¡¯m not around. So look as much as you like, Trist.¡± His cheeks burned at her words, but Trist did not turn his eyes away. It ended up taking until after the next ring of the bells from the Center Tower before Trist escorted Clarisant down the stairs, arm in arm, with Anais and Ya¨¦l trailing behind them, to find Prince Lionel in Baroness Arnive¡¯s solar. Henry, it seemed, had chosen to sleep in the barracks last night, so that Anais could be near her mistress. One advantage of Ya¨¦l not being a boy, Trist reflected, was that they did not have to worry about her and the maid sleeping in the same room. That was a conversation he still needed to have, but it would keep. Servants in the red and black livery of Arnive¡¯s late husband opened the door for them without objection, and they found a gathering much like the one Trist had attended in the Prince¡¯s pavilion, just before he¡¯d been ordered up into the mountains. Some of the faces had changed, but they had dragged out the map table again. Trist immediately took a knee, while Clarisant, at his side, performed a curtsy. ¡°Rise,¡± Prince Lionel said, from beside the table, where he had grouped wooden markers representing the reduced Caliphate and Narvonesse troops together. The figurines were arranged at the north end of the pass through the Hauteurs Massif, where Falaise was located. ¡°Lady Clarisant, have you been introduced to everyone present?¡± Trist scanned the room at the question, noting that Anais and Ya¨¦l had found places along the walls with other squires and servants. Baroness Arnive was present, as well as Baron Urien, Sir Divdan and Sir Bors, and Dame Chantal, who wore a bandage over one eye and had an arm in a sling. It gave her the look of a grizzled veteran, which, compared to him, she was. No one seemed inclined to make her rise from her chair, where she had a good view of the low table. One of Urien¡¯s dogs seemed to have taken it upon himself to keep a watch over her, while the other snored next to his master. Besides Trist¡¯s own wife, the other addition to the group was Lady Ismet, who had brought along with her a lancer that Trist recognized: Fazil ibn Asad, who had ridden with her in the mountains, then survived the battle before the gates at the Tour de Larmes. ¡°I know my father and brother, of course, and Baroness Arnive and I have met,¡± Clarisant said, after a quick hug for the Baron. ¡°Sir Bors and I met at the feast, and I believe Sir Divdan accompanied the Baroness the last time we were at Cheverny together.¡± ¡°May I present General Ismet ibnah Salah, in that case,¡± the Prince said, ¡°And her captain, Fazil ibn Asad, who have both been kind enough to join us in considering the challenges ahead. Challenges which face both our peoples,¡± he added. ¡°General Ismet.¡± Clarisant offered another curtsy. ¡°Lady Clarisant,¡± Ismet greeted her, and instead of a curtsy, took each of Clarisant¡¯s hands in her own, then leaned in to kiss her cheek, which Claire accepted with grace and no outward sign of surprise. Instead of her helmet, which was what Trist was used to seeing her in, Ismet wore a bright red scarf of some kind, wrapped about her head so as to cover her hair entirely. Beneath that, the southern knight wore a black dress, without so much as a single other color, but with textured patterns for ornamentation. ¡°I am told that I have you to thank for the fact that my husband is still alive,¡± Clarisant commented, with a slight smile. ¡°I am still amazed with my own decision not to kill him,¡± Ismet commented, looking Trist over with arched eyebrows. ¡°Though it appears to have been the right choice, given the rest of the battle.¡± ¡°I would love to speak with you more, after this,¡± Clarisant offered. ¡°Perhaps we can take a ride, if there is time and opportunity.¡± ¡°That sounds wonderful,¡± Ismet agreed. ¡°Time may conspire against you both,¡± Prince Lionel warned with a frown. ¡°Now that Exarch Trist is here, I feel I must tell you all that late last evening, a message from Cheverny arrived by pigeon.¡± He unrolled a small piece of parchment, and read aloud. ¡°Lutetia under assault by troops flying a wheat sheaf, Or, on a field Vert, and Kimmerian mercenaries. City has fallen, King¡¯s Island and Cheverny besieged. 13th Day of the Flower Moon. Margaret, Exarch of Rahab.¡± In the silence that followed, the Prince passed the rolled scrap of parchment to his right, where Baroness Arnive happened to be. After a quick glance, she passed it on, as well, and the message made its way around the room. A knock sounded on the door to the chamber, and the Prince¡¯s squire, Kay, hurried out. ¡°It appears the father is just as rotten as the daughter,¡± Baron Urien remarked, without even waiting to examine the note. Ismet frowned. ¡°The father?¡± ¡°The heraldry,¡± Trist explained to her. ¡°The wheat sheaf on a green field. That is the sigil of Lady Valeria¡¯s father, Ma?l, Baron du Champs d''Or.¡± ¡°The timing of the attack on Cheverny,¡± Lionel explained, ¡°is too precise to be a coincidence. There is no way that he could have received word of what happened here, and then mustered his troops, hired mercenaries besides, and marched across half of Narvonne to siege Lutetia, all in the span of a single day.¡± ¡°Which means the two things were planned to coincide,¡± Baroness Arnive reasoned. ¡°It was the owl - Agrat, Valeria¡¯s daemonic patron - that broke the last chains on Adramelech,¡± Trist recalled. How much longer might those chains have held, if not for the daemonic owl breaking them? How many people - people like Luc - would still be alive? ¡°The plan was three daemons,¡± Lionel said. ¡°To kill both Bors, and General Shadi, and then cripple both armies, which were already worn down by fighting each other. Perhaps Valeria was to take me hostage and force a marriage. In the meantime, her father would have seized the capital and control of the king. We simply had more Exarchs than they expected.¡± ¡°And they certainly did not expect the Faerie King to take a hand,¡± Clarisant mused aloud. ¡°Which gives us the barest chance,¡± Lionel agreed, ¡°To save this kingdom. None of us were meant to still be here, or at least not free to act.¡± The door opened, and the Crown Prince¡¯s squire, Kay, returned. ¡°Your Royal Highness,¡± the young man said. ¡°Guiron, Exarch of Penarys, has arrived from Lutetia. I think that you will wish to hear what he has to say.¡± Announcement: Guild Mage: Apprentice is Live!
Guild Mage: Apprentice [Participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge] There are a lot of things wrong with Liv Brodbeck. She¡¯s too small, for one thing. When she works in the castle kitchens with her mother, she can¡¯t carry a sack of flour or roll a keg of ale. Baron Summerset¡¯s chirurgeon says that she has brittle bones, so she isn¡¯t allowed to wrestle or sword fight with the other children. Even sledding downhill in the winter brings the risk of breaking an arm or a leg if she falls. Everyone says that she ruined her mother¡¯s life when she was born. Not when they think Liv is in the room, of course, but she overhears all the same. In the kitchen of a less kind lord, a cook bearing a bastard child would have been more than cause enough for both of them to be out on the street. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. No, a child like Liv doesn¡¯t have much hope. But when she accidentally unleashes a surge of wild magic, she takes her first step on a journey which will lead her from the kitchens of Castle Whitehill, to the cold palaces of the Eld, and beyond, to the graves of gods... What to Expect: - MC starts off very weak, with a lot disadvantages - not just physically weak, but also vulnerable in a socio-economic sense. She has talents, but it is going to take time to develop them. I want to give this process room to breathe, so I hope you enjoy long-term progression. - The MC begins the story as a child. As she grows up, she will have relationships that I intend to be appropriate for her stages of life, BUT THERE WILL BE NO SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS UNTIL SHE IS AN ADULT. Expect eventual teenage drama progressing into more adult relationships. - There is action, but it is not constant action, and it will again be appropriate for the MCs development. As a child, she will be challenged by child things, and as she grows into power the scale of threats will increase. Update Schedule: For the duration of Writathon, chapters will be published as they are ready. Once Writathon is over, we will have a poll and discussion about long term schedule. This work is only published here and on my Patreon. If you see it anywhere else, it''s been stolen. Cover by Sarah Murphy. Both art and writing are entirely human-created; there is no use of AI in this work.
115. The Daemon Emperor鈥檚 Throne In theory, I believe it would be possible to adapt the binding rituals our priests use to imprison daemons, and turn them to the task of holding one of the Angelus. I have proposed the experiment to General Aurelius, but not yet received his approval. ? 13th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC The steel plates of Trist¡¯s armor hit stone blocks with an audible clang, and the daemon Bathin¡¯s body knocked the air from his lungs when the monster fell on top of him. The sparking portal snapped shut behind them, cutting off the cold breeze from Rocher de la Garde. Trist sucked in a desperate breath, grasped the monster¡¯s arms in his gauntlets, and tried to wrest it off of him, but he was in the worst possible position. Faerie Boons had blessed Trist with reflexes, grace, and physical speed far beyond those of a mortal man - and, at this point, beyond the speed of any daemon he¡¯d encountered, either. But where faerie magic focused on speed, he¡¯d learned over the course of many battles that daemonic Boons granted absolutely astounding strength. While he was certainly faster than Bathin, it was equally true that the Serpent of Gates had a brutal, raw power that Trist could not match. On top of it all, while Trist was exhausted by days of fighting and little sleep, the monster pinning him to the ground seemed to have done little but use its gates to ferry troops around the battlefield, leaving it comparatively fresh. Struggle as he might, Trist was unable to prevent Bathin from first pinning him to the ground, then throwing aside his longsword, and finally lifting him up. He found himself spun about and then forced to his knees, with the daemon holding his arms behind his back in a grip as inexorable as the coming of winter. Finally, panting from exertion, Trist realized that he needed to conserve his strength, and stopped trying to get free. He found himself in a throne room - the elder cousin of the great halls he¡¯d feasted in at Camaret-¨¤-Arden, Falais, and Rocher de la Garde. The floor and walls were of limestone blocks, with a vaulted ceiling overhead and a three step dais atop which a great throne rested. It was carved of oak, the deep, rich color of fresh honey, and displayed two golden lions rampant, rearing above the head of the man seated there: the arms of the royal family of Narvonne. Suspended from the oak beams above the throne room hung four cages of black iron, from chains of steel. In three of the four cages lay people, starved and clothed only in rags: two men and a woman. The fourth cage was empty, and yet behind each cage was a circle, drawn on the floor in rusty-red paint. Within each circle was an Angelus, wingless, spiked to the stone wall with nails of iron. Golden ichor, some long-dried and crusted, some fresh and weeping from their wounds, surrounded each spike where it pierced their body. Three banners had been hung behind the throne, none of them displaying the arms of the true royal family. Instead, to either side, a golden sheaf of wheat on a green field hung - the arms of the Barony du Champs d''Or. In the center, the largest banner displayed a golden eagle on a field of red - the symbol of the old Etalan Empire. Surrounding the dais stood three daemons. The first took, for the most part, the form of a man, dressed in fine clothes; but it was barefoot, and where the monster¡¯s skin touched the limestone of the floor, it smoked. Black feathered wings extended from its back, two sets of horns curled back from its head, and it wore a sword at his hip. The second was far more monstrous, with only the lower part of its body even resembling that of a man, though more heavily muscled by far, and clothed only in a dirty loincloth. Instead of feet, it had hooves, and they matched the enormous bull¡¯s head atop its shoulders. The last daemon, to the right of the throne, was female in shape, and both beautiful and terrifying in the manner of a wildcat. She held a bow in her hand, unstrung, and carried a quiver of arrows across her back. Her hair was black as the deepest sea, cut to her shoulders, with bangs across her forehead from which emerged two sets of delicate horns. She wore the well-fitted leathers of a hunter, boots and bracers to protect her forearms, and leathery wings like those of a bat were furled behind her. The deep red of the wings reminded Trist of dried blood. But it was the man on the throne who drew all attention in the room to him. In a way, he reminded Trist of Lionel Aurelianus: his confidence seemed to radiate from him, marking the man as the utter and absolute authority among those present. Trist recognized him immediately, for the Exarch who sat in that usurped throne matched the description given by Sir Guiron to the last detail. Baron Ma?l du Champs d''Or - or, as he had revealed to the Exarch Guiron, Decimus Avitus, son of the last Etalan Emperor - wore a cuirass in the old Etalan style. The steel had been formed into the shape of a muscled torso, then enameled in white, with trim of gold wire. He wore a cloak of purple attached to the armor, which had been the royal color of the Etalans, as well as a golden crown in the shape of a wreath. The laurel rested among shortly-cropped curls of black hair, and the daemonic Exarch¡¯s face was well formed and handsome, if also imperious and cruel.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°This,¡± Avitus said, leaning forward from his seat to examine Trist closely, ¡°is not Lionel Aurelianus. I have seen Lionel Aurelianus before, when I lured him to the Champs d''Or. I do not tolerate failure, Serpent of Gates.¡± From behind Trist¡¯s back, the daemon Bathin¡¯s voice rumbled, ¡°I have failed in that I did not bring you the prince. This man interfered. But I believe, First Exarch, that you may find him an acceptable prize, in place of the would-be-king.¡± Avitus¡¯ eyes flicked to Trist, and upon meeting that gaze he could not help but shiver. There was something utterly inhuman about Avitus¡¯ stare. Trist had heard stories of how those who met the eyes of a serpent might find themselves frozen in fear. ¡°What is your name,¡± Avitus demanded. ¡°I am Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden,¡± he responded. Bathin already knew who he was: there was no point in attempting to conceal anything. ¡°Exarch of Acrasia, in service to Auberon, the King of Shadows. Son of Rience and Cecilia.¡± For a long moment, Avitus¡¯ face remained still as death, and then slowly his lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. The eyes, Trist thought, of a corpse. ¡°Your failure is forgiven, Bathin - this time. Do not allow it to happen again. Sir Trist,¡± he continued. ¡°Nephew. I see my sister in your face. Yes, I heard your name from my daughter, not a week past. To hear her tell it, I have you to blame for her failure at Falais.¡± ¡°Valeria,¡± Trist said, with a scowl. ¡°That is your daughter, is she not? She fled the pass rather than die on my sword, if that is what you mean. And you are no uncle of mine.¡± ¡°Blood does not lie,¡± Avitus mused, tapping his fingers against the oaken armrest of the throne. ¡°And you were at Rocher de la Garde, were you? I presume, in that case, that you are also the reason my forces have not yet reported success in taking the city.¡± Trist grinned. ¡°I killed Zepar with my own hand,¡± he stated. ¡°Wounded your leviathan. And Vinea the Stormbringer is dead, as well. Yes, when your men betrayed a parley under the flag of truce, the walls still held. And if only one Exarch can hold against your forces, you have cause to fear now, for three more are with King Lionel, and they will all come for you.¡± In one of the iron cages, a gaunt woman stirred and gripped the bars with dirty hands, eyes shining at Trist¡¯s words. Avitus, on the other hand, snarled. ¡°Three Exarchs. There were six here in Cheverny when I broke the gates. You can see what is left of them behind me, in these cages.¡± He waved an arm at the ragged figures, and at the Angelus hung brutally from the walls behind them. ¡°No, Nephew, I do not fear your child Exarchs,¡± Avitus continued. ¡°Only half grown into their power. Lionel will have Sir Bors, I know, and Sir Guiron, who fled from me in this very hall, like a cur with his tail tucked between his legs. And then my daughter tells me the last will be this woman in the red veil, from the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n. But not one of them has caused me so much trouble as you, and I think I have got the better of this bargain. For I suspect that if Lionel Aurelianus knelt before me now, you and your friends would come for him, and not rest until you confronted me. As your friends will, no doubt, come for you.¡± Trist swallowed, but said nothing. ¡°Let them,¡± Avitus said. ¡°And what would you have done with this man, Emperor?¡± The daemon in fine robes asked. Its black feathered wings rustled as it turned to address the throne. ¡°Strip him of his armor,¡± Avitus commanded. ¡°And cage him with the others. Unless, Nephew, you wish to join us? No, I thought not.¡± Trist threw himself forward at that, and gathered his legs beneath him to rise, but Bathin¡¯s immense strength was yet more than he could overcome. The daemon in the form of a woman set her unstrung bow against the throne, left it to lean there, and approached, rolling her hips. ¡°You are a handsome one,¡± the daemon purred. ¡°I am Loray,¡± she said, ¡°the archer, Marquise of Hearts.¡± She leaned her face in close to Trist¡¯s and inhaled, while her delicate fingers worked the buckles on his pauldrons. ¡°You could be mine, if you wish,¡± she offered, letting the pieces of armor fall to the floor with a clang. Her scent was like no perfume he¡¯d ever tasted, but he recognized it all the same, for it was the smell of sex, of a lover¡¯s excitement. ¡°Say the word,¡± Loray offered, as she removed his gorget and set to work on his cuirass, all while Trist struggled without result. ¡°The First Exarch will break your chains. He can free you from this faerie wench you serve, and I will take you as my own Exarch in her place. You will find my service quite pleasurable, if somewhat¡­ exhausting.¡± Her words were at once lulling, like a mother coaxing her infant to sleep, and stirring, igniting a lust that left his heart pounding and his throat dry. Deep within Trist, the hot cord of an Oath sparked and flared to life. His eyes snapped awake, and the feelings of lust subsided. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I will not serve you.¡± ¡°A pity,¡± Loray sighed. ¡°But you may well change your answer, in time.¡± She pulled the cuirass off him, and then the cuisses and sabatons and all the rest, and did not stop even then. It was only when he¡¯d been stripped of linen shirt, breeches and boots, until he was left bare. Then, the two daemons forced him into the empty iron cage, and locked the door behind him. ¡°Good,¡± Avitus said. ¡°Now his faerie. I can see her lurking about.¡± Acrasia threw herself out from Trist¡¯s sword, where it had been thrown aside onto the limestone blocks of the floor. Her whips of fire and lashed out desperately, but she was quickly overpowered by the four daemons in the room. Trist grabbed at the iron bars of his cage, thinking to bend them, but cried out in pain as his palms burnt and smoked at contact with the metal. ¡°Trist!¡± Acrasia screamed as she was dragged over to the wall. ¡°Help me!¡± She was still screaming when the first spike was driven through her wrist. 116. The Forest of Shadows It gnawed at you, like hunger in your belly when you¡¯ve been marching too many days and there¡¯s nothing but half rations. No mistake, those were the worst days of my life. A man isn¡¯t men to go without being touched by the sun. It makes you sick - in the body, and in the head. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Claire frowned when she saw that Tystie, like the other horses, was frightened by the days that had passed without a dawn. The palfrey danced sideways, eyes wide, away from the groom who led her out into the torchlit courtyard, and did not calm until Clarisant stepped forward to comfort her. ¡°Hush, now,¡± Claire murmured, her breath frosting in the air, feeding the skittish mare a carrot from her hand, and then stroking the horse¡¯s velvety nose. She wore a winter cloak of thick white fox fur from Kimmeria, purchased from a merchant three years ago. ¡°None of the animals are taking this well,¡± Dame Etoile observed, pausing for an extra moment to settle her own rounsey before pulling herself up into the saddle. It had taken two days of the King¡¯s men harrying Sir Moriaen and his army north, followed by a great deal of scouting, before Gareth had agreed to let Clarisant ride out to the Ardenwood, and even now he refused to let his sister go alone. Etoile wore her plate and chain, dented and scratched from days of hard fighting, as did Sir Lucan, who had agreed to accompany them. ¡°I can¡¯t blame them,¡± Lucan commented. ¡°I¡¯m not taking it well, either.¡± Overhead, there was no moon, only stars, and a thin white ring where the sun should have been. Both knights carried torches, instead of lances, with spares strapped to their saddles. Still, if their journey took longer than expected, they would run out. Clarisant made a note to herself to allow only one of them to light a replacement when the first pair burned out, so that their supply would last longer. Her own saddlebags were filled with food, the copy of the Marian Codex she¡¯d taken from the Cathedral, and needles and silk thread for sewing wounds, as well as clean linen wraps and herbs for poultices. ¡°I still don¡¯t like you going yourself,¡± Gareth commented, from where he stood next to their father and mother, as well as Lucan¡¯s wife, Miriam, who held a sleeping infant against her shoulder. ¡°I am the only one here who was present when the bargain was made with the Horned Hunter,¡± Claire reminded them all. ¡°They will be expecting to see my husband, so it is only proper that I go in his place. And these are our vassals - it is our duty to protect them, and to bring them here.¡± ¡°All of which,¡± her father rumbled, ¡°I have agreed to. And yet it still leaves me ill at ease.¡± Baroness Blasine stepped forward. ¡°Are you certain you have recovered?¡± ¡°I was never injured,¡± Claire assured her mother. ¡°And you cannot expect me to stay in my rooms, simply waiting. In any event, we will be back shortly. I spoke to General Ismet this morning, and she assured me that the route has been well scouted, and remains clear.¡± Baron Urien looked to the knights, mounted to either side of his daughter. ¡°My daughter¡¯s safety - and the safety of her unborn child - is your greatest concern. Whatever else may happen, bring her back.¡± ¡°Do not let anything frighten her,¡± Blasine added. ¡°Nothing that might cause her to lose the baby. Stress can do that.¡± ¡°I swear it, my lord, my lady,¡± Lucan assured them, and Etoile nodded, though Clarisant noticed she remained silent. At that, the three riders turned their horses north and rode out of the courtyard and into the streets of Roche de la Garde. A fortnight past, this had been a bustling port city, one of the wealthiest in the Kingdom of Narvonne. The docks had been filled with ships, not only from Lutetia and Cou Rocheux, but also the Skandian March, and from Raetia and Kimmeria to the north, and before the war, even P¨¡rsa and Ma?¨©n. People had filled the streets, and with them the sounds of hammers ringing in the forge, the smells of fresh bread from the bakeries, the cry of fishmongers and the laughter of children. All of it was gone, now. Where the docks had been were only splinters of wood and wrecked ships. The King had set men to clear the harbor, but it was slow work in the dark. Soaked lengths of timber and shattered masts were piled up on the sand to dry, so that they could be used as firewood. A third of the city¡¯s population was dead, whether to fire, bombardment from Sir Moriaen¡¯s siege engines, the fighting atop the walls, or abuse at the hands of the Kimmerian mercenaries who had finally gotten into the city on the last day. Now, the burned out quarters of the city played host to an encamped army, along the outer walls where the enemy¡¯s pots of burning pitch and oil had shattered. The infantry and baggage train had arrived the day before, too late to participate in the siege. As Clarisant and her two guardians rode north, they passed rows upon rows of tents, along with cook-fires and lines of horses, spread out to either side of the cobblestone street. At the north gate - still broken - the King¡¯s men allowed them through with a salute, having been informed of their mission.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. As soon as they were out into the open, Claire clicked to Tystie and flicked her reins, sending the palfrey into a trot. She rode sidesaddle, with the wind in her face and smiled for the first time since her husband had disappeared. Lucan and Etoile kicked their horses into motion just behind her, and the three riders sped north toward the Arden. ¡°Who goes there?¡± a voice broke out of the trees. With no light from the sky, the forest was as impenetrable to Claire¡¯s eyes as ink spilled on vellum. ¡°Lady Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden,¡± she called back, reining Tystie in at the edge of the forest. ¡°With Sir Lucan and Dame Etoile accompanying me. Who is that - are you from Camaret-¨¤-Arden, and do you know my husband, Sir Trist?¡± ¡°M¡¯lady? Is that you? I can hardly see,¡± a man said, and came out of the woods, carrying a longbow with an arrow nocked. The light from Lucan¡¯s torch touched his face, and Claire recognized him. ¡°Henry!¡± Dame Etoile said, beating Claire to it. ¡°Put the damn bow down! I¡¯ve missed your cooking, so I hope you have a pot on the fire.¡± Henry smiled, and lowered his bow. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you both again,¡± he admitted. ¡°We¡¯ve had a bit of fun, here. I thought you might be more of those traitors.¡± Claire flicked her reins, urging her palfrey forward. ¡°Did they attack the forest?¡± she asked. ¡°Not as such,¡± Henry said, with a grin and a wink. ¡°They tried to log it, for their siege engines. But we got them every time they came, and eventually they gave up. Do you know why the sun¡¯s gone, m¡¯lady? And is the young lord back at the city?¡± ¡°You had better lead us to the camp,¡± Claire said, her stomach feeling a bit sick. ¡°Is Master of Arms Granger there? And Ya¨¦l, is she safe?¡± ¡°Safe in spite of herself,¡± Henry said. ¡°Come on down, we¡¯ll have to lead the horses,¡± he said, stowing his arrow in the quiver on his back. ¡°That girl was the first in every charge. You¡¯d think she was an Exarch, too, for all the caution she has.¡± Claire and the two knights with her slide down out of their saddles, took their horses by the reins, and followed Henry into the Ardenwood. After five days in the forest, the camp set up by the people of Camaret-¨¤-Arden was well established. Firepits had been well dug into the forest floor, and ringed with stones. Makeshift tents had been raised, using bed sheets and blankets. Freshly cut green wood had been used to raise fences, within which pigs and cows slept. Chickens wandered the camp, pecking at whatever fallen crumbs they could find. Everywhere, torches were thrust into the ground, casting circles of orange light. ¡°Claire!¡± Ya¨¦l shouted, and leapt up from the log where she¡¯d been oiling her sword. The girl ran across the camp and wrapped her arms around Clarisant, the enthusiasm of the hug a surprise to both of them. ¡°We were worried,¡± the squire admitted, after backing off a step. ¡°No one knew what was happening in the city, but we could smell the smoke. See it, before the sun went away.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you, also,¡± Claire said, with a smile. ¡°Is John Granger here?¡± ¡°Aye, m¡¯lady,¡± the Master of Arms called out, striding across the camp. He was not the only one to approach: in fact, it seemed the entire village population was edging toward her. ¡°What news of the battle?¡± ¡°The Siege of Rocher de la Garde has been lifted,¡± Claire said, raising her voice, to address the entire crowd. ¡°The King¡¯s cavalry rode ahead of the main force, took the rebels from behind, and broke them.¡± A ragged cheer rose from around her. ¡°Sir Trist destroyed the daemon Zepar at the west gate,¡± she continued, ¡°And killed the Kimmerian commander on the beach.¡± The cheer that followed that was louder. ¡°But I must tell you,¡± Claire continued, and the villagers quieted, ¡°That the enemy betrayed us during the parley that followed, under flag of truce. The Serpent of Gates, a daemon that can open portals from one place to another, tried to seize King Lionel. My husband,¡± she said, and swallowed, refusing to let the tears begin again, ¡°threw himself in the way, and saved our king.¡± ¡°What happened to Sir Trist?¡± Ya¨¦l asked, urgently. ¡°Is he still alive?¡± ¡°The daemon took him somewhere,¡± Claire answered. ¡°We don¡¯t know where. But I have faith that he is still alive, and that he will come back to us.¡± She clutched one of her hands in the other to keep from wringing them. ¡°You don¡¯t know, then,¡± one of the woodsmen broke in. ¡°The lord could be dead.¡± A panicked murmur of voices spread through the crowd. ¡°Shut your mouth,¡± Hywell, the smith shouted. ¡°I saw Sir Trist when he came back from the ruins on the hill. He braved that place before he was ever an Exarch. And you all saw him fight the daemon that attacked the village. He¡¯ll come back to us, m¡¯lady, you have no fear of that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Ya¨¦l shouted, spinning to run her gaze over the crowd. ¡°Trist killed Adramelech, the Prince of Plagues, and he fought the Stormbringer, too! There¡¯s no daemon in the kingdom can beat him!¡± ¡°We will all pray to the Angelus for our lord¡¯s safe return,¡± John Granger proclaimed, with a voice of authority that had the villagers nodding. ¡°Until then, Lady Clarisant rules in his stead. What would you have of us, m¡¯lady?¡± ¡°The route to Rocher de la Garde is safe from enemies,¡± she spoke clearly. ¡°I have just traveled it, with these two knights you see before you. We will pack our things, load the wagons, and make our way south to the city, where you will be under the protection of the King¡¯s army. Bring all the Iebara lumber you have saved, for King Lionel¡¯s army needs it urgently.¡± ¡°You heard my lady,¡± Hywell called, his voice booming across the grove. ¡°Break camp and load the wagons!¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Claire said to John Granger, when he stepped close enough. ¡°I do not know if they would have listened to me, without you three. They do not know me as well as they know Trist.¡± ¡°They would,¡± he assured her. ¡°They¡¯re good folk. We just helped speed things along.¡± He grinned. A growl came from the edge of the torchlight, and villagers pulled back in fear, scrambling away from a great, yellow-eyed wolf that paced into the clearing. Behind it, astride his six-legged horse, came Cern the Hunter, spear in hand, face elegant and pale. ¡°You,¡± the Horned Hunter called, his cold eyes fixed on Clarisant. ¡°Mortal wife of my king¡¯s knight. Tell me where my sister is.¡± 117. The Perce-Pierre Northerners often do not understand how cold the Maghreb is during the night. They envision our wastes as a place that boils under the heat of the sun, and that is true; but when the sun was gone, so too was that warmth. When the acacia wither and die, the sand gazelle follows. Our people starved during the Cataclysm, just as surely as those in the north. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Clarisant took a deep breath before responding to the faerie¡¯s challenge, straightening her back and meeting the eyes of the Horned Hunter without flinching. ¡°It is an honor to see you once again, Lord Cern,¡± she said, once she was certain her voice would not quaver. This was a creature that could slay her - and her unborn child - as easily as she could thread a needle. ¡°I wish also to thank you, and your liege, in my husband¡¯s name, for the care you and your people have shown for the safety of our villagers.¡± ¡°Answer my question, woman,¡± Cern growled, and a second wolf loped forward from the trees, then a third, their eyes glinting in the darkness. Lucan and Granger eased their swords in their sheathes. ¡°I do not know,¡± Clarisant said, truthfully. ¡°Two days passed, my husband threw himself in the way of the Serpent of Gates to save our king. He and the daemon tumbled through the portal, and I cannot say for certain where they are now.¡± ¡°But you suspect,¡± Cern pressed her. ¡°King Lionel believes that he recognized the great hall at Cheverny,¡± Clarisant answered him, and beside her, Ya¨¦l gasped. ¡°It may be they are held captive, or that they fought their way out and are even now making their way south. We simply do not know.¡± ¡°They are alive, but they have not escaped,¡± Cern the Hunter said, after a moment. ¡°I can feel her pain. Someone is hurting my sister.¡± The wind in the leaves roared in Clarisant¡¯s ears: anyone who could hurt Acrasia could do far worse to Trist. ¡°Can you go to them?¡± she asked. ¡°I have heard what you did at Falais. You could strike at Cheverny castle, bring them away.¡± ¡°We have no demesne at Lutetia,¡± Cern said, shaking his head. ¡°Not so close to the corpse of Camiel. Nor will my king allow me to leave the border of the Ardenwood, not without his express leave. You mortals must rescue them.¡± ¡°King Lionel will march his army north and siege the capital,¡± Clarisant explained. ¡°When he breaks the walls, he has promised he will free them.¡± The Horned Hunter scowled. ¡°I have little trust for mortal kings,¡± he complained, and turned. ¡°What about you, child? You have served Auberon once before. Would you take up the quest to free your knight?¡± Before Ya¨¦l could respond, Clarisant slapped a hand over the squire¡¯s mouth. ¡°We cannot,¡± she said. ¡°Our king has another purpose for us.¡± The six legged horse snorted and took a step forward, and the faerie leaned down close, pinning Claire¡¯s eyes with his unsettling gaze. ¡°What is more important than my sister, than your husband?¡± ¡°Raetia,¡± Clair said, grudgingly. ¡°The army needs food, and the King has tasked me to negotiate in his name. We leave as soon as the harbor is cleared, and a ship ready to carry us.¡± She looked down to Ya¨¦l. ¡°And I need this squire to accompany me.¡± ¡°Provincia Raetia,¡± Cern repeated, straightening in his saddle, and looked out over the torchlit crowd of refugees. ¡°I thought to offer your corpse as a gift to my sister, mortal woman, before I ever offered you aid,¡± he mused. ¡°And yet. I cannot leave this forest. When you go to Raetia,¡± the Hunter continued, ¡°go north, until you see the lights in the sky, and call out the name Beira.¡± ¡°Who is that?¡± Claire asked, removing her hand from Ya¨¦l¡¯s mouth. ¡°The Faerie Queen of Winter,¡± Cern stated. ¡°It has been many years since last I have spoken to her, but it may be that she can aid you. It seems that I must rely on mortals to save my sister, and so I offer you what aid I can.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°We will not forget it.¡± ¡°See that you do not.¡± Cern turned his steed, and with the wolves at his side, slipped back into the depths of the Ardenwood. ¡°I wasn''t going to say anything,¡± Ya¨¦l grumbled. ¡°Then nothing was lost,¡± Claire shot back. ¡°Come. We need to get everyone back to Rocher de la Garde, and prepare for our voyage.¡± The bells of the Cathedral of Saint Rahab were ringing nones by the time the last wagon from Camaret-¨¤-Arden trundled through the broken northern gate of Rocher de la Garde. The King¡¯s men had been waiting, and they took the wagons of Iebara lumber off to the side immediately, where a space had been cleared from the burned out rubble of the northern quarter of the city. There, James Miller looked surprised to find himself in immediate demand. ¡°The first order of business is a new gate,¡± Sir Florent explained to the overwhelmed man. ¡°We need stout planks cut. Lady Clarisant tells me that you and your sons know how to work the wood?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Aye, we do,¡± James admitted. ¡°But my equipment-¡± ¡°You will have whatever tools you need,¡± Florent promised, ¡°From the baggage train. Make a list.¡± Claire nudged her horse over. ¡°All is well, James Miller,¡± she assured the man. ¡°You can trust Sir Florent, and you may be assured that neither I, nor the King, will forget your family¡¯s aid.¡± ¡°Of course, m¡¯lady,¡± Miller said, bowing, and her words seemed to restore his confidence, for once he had risen he began to list off what he would need to do the work. Florent motioned a squire over, who began taking notes on a slate. ¡°Well done, m¡¯lady,¡± John Granger murmured, kneeing his gelding up beside her. ¡°James is a good man, but he¡¯s used to living out in the country, with hardly a knight to be seen. This,¡± he waved his arm at the devastated, torchlit city, ¡°is all a bit beyond him.¡± ¡°Can I trust you to watch over them?¡± she asked. ¡°While I am in Raetia. I know my father will, but I think they would feel better with someone they knew.¡± Granger shook his head. ¡°No, m¡¯lady,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you.¡± Claire raised her eyebrows. ¡°I sent the young lord off to war without me,¡± Granger explained, ¡°And I¡¯ve regretted it ever since. With Sir Rience dead, and Trist missing, you are the last member of the family left. I swore my sword to your father-in-law, and I know what duty he would ask of me now.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Claire considered her answer, but found it surprisingly easy to give. She needed all the loyal companions she could get. ¡°I am not the last, John Granger,¡± she said, deliberately allowing a hand to drop to her belly. Granger¡¯s eyes widened, then he slid down from his saddle and took a knee on the scorched ground. ¡°My life for yours, Lady Clarisant,¡± he swore. ¡°I will defend you and your child until my dying breath.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Claire said, simply. ¡°I accept your oath, in the name of my husband and our child. You will come with me to Raetia, then. And I would have you come, as well, Ya¨¦l,¡± she said, turning to the squire. The girl grinned. ¡°A sea voyage to the court of a Faerie Queen? Couldn¡¯t keep me away, m¡¯lady,¡± she said. ¡°I only wish Sir Trist were with us.¡± Henry, who had refused a horse for the journey south, sighed and leaned on his black longbow. ¡°I can¡¯t let either of you go off and get hurt without at least trying to protect you,¡± he grumbled. ¡°The young lord would never forgive me.¡± ¡°I have asked for, and received, the blessing of Baron Urien to accompany you,¡± Dame Etoile declared, from atop her rounsey. ¡°And your lady mother told me she would be much reassured to have a knight at your side.¡± ¡°Five of us, then,¡± Clarisant said, looking around the small company. Ya¨¦l and Henry she knew the best, having traveled with them from Falais, but Dame Etoile had very nearly sacrificed her own life to protect Claire in the cathedral. She could be trusted. And Granger had been loyal to Trist¡¯s family for decades. ¡°John, Dame Etoile, may I entrust the planning of supplies to you?¡± The two nodded. ¡°Excellent,¡± Claire said. ¡°Let us make our way to the keep then. My brother will be able to tell us the state of the harbor.¡± Nearly three days of hard labor, undertaken by scores of men, it turned out, was enough to clear a narrow passage out of the harbor. On top of that, Claire¡¯s brother, Sir Gareth, had set the surviving shipwrights of the city to work salvaging the least damaged hull they could find, and setting it to rights for a voyage. The morning tide saw the five companions standing on the wet sand by torchlight, where a rowboat had been pulled up onto the shore. The loading had progressed over night, and now even their horses were safe on board the Perce-Pierre, a cog with a single mast, single square sail, and a name that Claire appreciated quite a bit. The stone-cutter plant grew out of the cracks in the limestone around the city, hardy and stubborn, and it seemed like just the sort of omen they needed for this journey. ¡°This missive to Prince Conrad,¡± Lionel Aurelianus said, passing her the first sealed scroll of parchment, ¡°Confirms your authority to treat on my behalf, as Ambassador of Narvonne. This one,¡± he continued, handing her a second, ¡°is to the Bank of Basilea, authorizing you to draw upon the funds stored there. Conrad¡¯s father was more than willing to do business with us when my father fought the Caliphate a generation ago, and so I have high hopes they will do the same now. However,¡± he continued, ¡°we simply cannot know what you will find when you get there.¡± ¡°Particularly since we know that Avitus spent years there, and freed at least one daemon off the coast,¡± Claire observed. ¡°Just so. You will have to take your own measure of the situation on the ground, and make the best decision you can,¡± the King advised her. ¡°Whatever you do, speed is the most important thing,¡± General Ismet, at the King¡¯s side, emphasized. ¡°The army will not last unless you bring us supplies soon. The captain says two weeks, with a good wind, each way.¡± ¡°Which means you cannot possibly return in less than a moon,¡± Lionel said. ¡°By that time, we should have marched north to Havre de Paix, at the very least.¡± Ya¨¦l, off to the side next to Isdern, the King¡¯s squire, perked up at that. ¡°We can hope that the enemy did not inflict too much damage there, but it may take us time to set things to rights. But in all honesty, I would not look for us there: by the time you¡¯ve struck a bargain, loaded the ship, and sailed back, we will likely be somewhere just south of Cheverny, and I cannot say where we will encounter armed resistance.¡± ¡°We will sail south along the coast until we find you,¡± Claire assured them both. ¡°We will not fail you.¡± King Lionel nodded, offered his arm to Ismet, and the two of them stepped back. Her father and mother, as well as Gareth, and her brother Kay, who had arrived with the army, bid her farewell one by one. ¡°I don¡¯t like you taking such a voyage while carrying a child,¡± her mother fussed. ¡°The baby and I will be fine,¡± Claire assured her. ¡°Of course you will,¡± Baron Urien said, gruffly. ¡°Our daughter is a tough one. She made it through a siege, after all - a little voyage at sea will be nothing, compared to that.¡± ¡°Take care of yourself,¡± Gareth told her, and embraced her briefly. ¡°You brought a cage of pigeons?¡± ¡°I did,¡± Claire assured him, stepping out of his arms. ¡°And I will send word back once we arrive. But if you have any word of my husband, I expect a message immediately.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Gareth said, nodding, then stepped back. Finally, all the farewells were done. Etoile helped Claire into the rowboat, where Henry and John Granger were already waiting, and then Ya¨¦l, after giving Isdern an impromptu and awkward hug, scrambled in after. ¡°Heave!¡± one of the sailors shouted, and with a stroke of oars, the rowboat splashed into the waves. They cut through the sea spray toward the Perce-Pierre, under the light of the stars. 118. The Cage Taking prisoners, save for those of political importance, is a waste of resources. Feeding and guarding them will only strain the capabilities of an army, while there always remains the risk of an escape. Better to summarily execute them immediately. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Two nights in a cage made Trist long for the comfort of Claire¡¯s bed, back in her father¡¯s keep at Rocher de la Garde. He hadn¡¯t slept well, it seemed, for a week or more. Before the cage it had been the siege, with missiles from Sir Moriaen¡¯s engines bombarding the city walls at all hours. Before that, the desperate ride east to the city, and then north into the Arden, where his father had been killed. Now, he leaned against linen-wrapped iron bars that still itched his skin worse than coarse wool, and left a red rash. There was no help for it: the cage, suspended from the ceiling of the great hall in Cheverny, did not give him enough room to even stretch his legs, nevermind lie down. To avoid burning himself, he¡¯d torn his linen underwear to shreds and wound the strips around the bars. The first light of torches, used to mark the difference between morning and endless night, was just now spilling in from the corridor into the great hall, and he knew there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. As carefully as he could, so as not to jostle the cage or make any noise, Trist turned around so that he could see Acrasia. The faerie had stopped weeping sometime during the night, and now simply hung from the stone wall where she¡¯d been spiked through the arms. Instead of iron, they had used steel spikes, so as to keep her alive and tormented, rather than let her die. ¡°Acrasia,¡± Trist hissed, but there was no response. Instead, the woman in the cage next to his stirred. ¡°Don¡¯t let them hear you talking,¡± Margaret, Exarch of Rahab, warned him. ¡°They¡¯ll hurt you even worse.¡± Trist turned to face her. Margaret was even more filthy than he was, after over a moon locked in a cage, and starved besides. Her brown hair was matted and dull, her lips dry and cracked, her nails long and filthy. Just as they¡¯d stripped Trist, the daemons must have torn her clothes off, as well, for beneath the sweat and grime of her captivity flashed glimpses of a pale thigh, or the shadow of her ribs. There was no room for embarrassment or self consciousness here: they were at the mercy of Avitus and his daemons, and far worse awaited them. ¡°Like Bruin,¡± Trist whispered back, and Margaret nodded. The story of that Exarch¡¯s fate - how Avitus had consumed him and all his Tithes - had been the first she¡¯d told him, in the long hours of the night. Servants bustled in, bringing fresh wood for the two great hearths at either end of the hall. Trist settled back into silence, and watched them at their work; by the time they¡¯d brought in ladders to light fresh candles in the chandeliers overhead, he could tell the other captive Exarchs were stirring. There wasn¡¯t much chance to talk to those on the other side of the throne, but he knew that one was Sir Lorengel, the King¡¯s cousin and the Exarch of Veischax. The last, Margaret had told him, was Sir Cynric, Exarch of Theliel. It was, Trist considered, a mark of Avitus¡¯ arrogance to have kept them all alive and displayed as trophies. Four Exarchs in one place would cause a lot of trouble, if only they could get free: and while the three knights who had been in captivity since the fall of Lutetia might have given up their hope of escape, he had not. What Avitus did not know - what Trist had told no one, since being captured - was that both he and Acrasia had a single Tithe yet unspent, from the end of the siege. He¡¯d cut down Kimmerians on the wall, and then at the last, leaped down into the courtyard and killed a man there, as well. After accounting for Auberon¡¯s portion, he had one Tithe to spend - but he needed Acrasia to be awake and able to use it. Around the prisoners, the keep woke. Once the great hall was lit, and the fires in the hearths stoked, servants arrived in a line from the castle¡¯s kitchens, bearing platter after platter of food, which they set down at the high table. The smell of it was worse torture than being beaten: freshly baked loaves of brioche, heaps of juicy bacon, and pots of various fruit jams all taunted his nose. There were wheels of cheese, as well, and carafes of freshly squeezed juices, and creamy butter for spreading. The prisoners, of course, were fed only every other day, and only on kitchen scraps that had already been picked over by the servants. It all sat, untouched, until Avitus arrived. Trist couldn¡¯t have said how long that took, but when the daemonic Exarch finally entered the hall, he did not come alone. Two women came with him, one laughing and leaning into his arm, the other quietly following behind, eyes downcast. The first, Trist did not recognize, but the second, he did. He wasn¡¯t certain how Enid de Lancey had been taken captive by the usurper, but Trist guessed that it meant the late Sir Tor¡¯s knight¡¯s fee had been seized. So far as he could recall, La Colline Isol¨¦ was located north of Havre de Paix, and inland, a quarry town not far from the eastern edge of the Ardenwood, where men dug granite out of the hillsides. Avitus would doubtless be using the stone to repair Lutetia¡¯s fortifications in preparation for defending the city.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Come, sit with us, Enid,¡± Avitus urged, sprawling himself into a chair at the center of the high table. The smiling lady sat with him, and immediately began serving, filling the Exarch¡¯s plate. ¡°You need to put a bit of meat on you. Give her some bacon, Am¨¦lie,¡± he urged. ¡°As the Emperor commands,¡± Am¨¦lie said with a grin, and piled the meat on Enid De Lancey¡¯s plate. Just eat it, Trist urged her silently. Do not say anything to make him angry, and eat it. Instead, Enid spread butter and jam over a slice of bread, and took a small bite of that. ¡°I said eat the damned bacon,¡± Avitus shouted at her, and let loose with a back-handed slap to her face that sent Enid tumbling out of her chair and to the floor. Her long hair fell in her face, and Trist could see her shoulders trembling even from in his cage. ¡°You¡¯re too skinny for my bed,¡± Avitus complained. ¡°If you don¡¯t eat, you¡¯re no use to me at all. Do you know what I do with weeping women who are no use to me?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t waste your time on her,¡± Am¨¦lie crooned, leaning in to nuzzle the usurper¡¯s cheek. ¡°She¡¯s frigid, anyway. I can keep your bed more than warm enough.¡± ¡°She is defying me,¡± Avitus groused. ¡°I cannot have someone defy me. Enid De Lancey, sit in your chair and eat everything on your plate, or I will give you to my Kimmerian mercenaries. By the time they are done, you will be begging me to take your head.¡± ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord,¡± Enid said, in a small voice that made Trist sick to her stomach. When she took her seat and pulled her hair back out of her face, he could see her cheek already swelling from the slap. Avitus could have killed her with that blow, Trist knew - he had held back. Enid took up a piece of bacon, brought it to her mouth, and wretched. I don¡¯t usually eat meat, she had told him years before, in his father¡¯s hall. ¡°Enough of this,¡± Avitus said, pushing Am¨¦lie off his lap and rising. ¡°Where is my sword?¡± ¡°I will fight for you if you do two things,¡± Tor de Lancey¡¯s ghost had told Trist. ¡°First, call me to no battle that is not worthy of my vow as a knight. See that my daughter is safe¡­¡± ¡°If you want to practice fencing,¡± Trist called to the usurper, ¡°let me out of this cage and give me a blade. I at least will make you sweat for it. Only a weak man hits a woman who cannot defend herself.¡± Margaret shot him a wide-eyed look, and huddled in on herself, making her body as small as she could at the bottom of her cage. Quick as a wildcat, Avitus sprung out of his chair and closed the distance from the high table to Trist. Am¨¦lie and Enid gasped, but Trist smiled. He¡¯s slower than I am. Trist had already known that the Boons given by faeries emphasized speed and reflexes, while the daemons he had fought always held the edge in raw strength, but it was a pleasant surprise to find that for as many souls as he must have Tithed over the centuries, Avitus was still not invincible. If Trist was faster than someone, he could beat them, with time and skill. ¡°Perhaps I was mistaken to leave you a tongue,¡± the daemonic Exarch said, with a scowl. ¡°I can correct my mistake, and take it from you now.¡± ¡°Easy to do while I am locked in a cage,¡± Trist shot back. ¡°Unarmed and unarmored.¡± He needed to make the man angry enough with him that Avitus would forget about Enid De Lancey. ¡°No,¡± Avitus mused. ¡°Not the tongue, I think. I would much prefer hearing you scream and beg when I break you, Sir Trist. You have troubled me enough that I want to take my time doing that. Perhaps I should begin now. Am¨¦lie, dear, bring me one of those torches from the wall.¡± Trist gritted his teeth. Whatever Avitus did to him, he¡¯d kept his promise to the ghost of Tor De Lancey. Better that he be tortured, than an innocent girl. Am¨¦lie rose from her chair and strode over to the east wall of the great hall, toward one of the torches lit in a sconce. The door to the corridor slammed open, and Sir Moriaen entered. The knight marched forward, took a knee, and lowered his head. ¡°As you ordered, Emperor,¡± he said, ¡°I come.¡± Avitus was close enough that Trist was able to observe his cheek twitch. ¡°Two days ago, Moriaen, I commanded you to attend me and to report on your failure at Rocher de la Garde. Two days, and you only present yourself now. Did you finally overcome your cowardice?¡± ¡°No, Emperor,¡± Moriaen answered. ¡°I came as soon as I had seen to the retreat from Rocher de la Garde, and once I was confident there would be no immediate pursuit. Now that my men are encamped safely, I came as soon as the Serpent of Gates would open a portal.¡± ¡°Your defeat is unacceptable,¡± Avitus said, raising his voice so that it echoed around the great hall. ¡°You had four daemons to support you, Kimmerian mercenaries. Superior numbers. Against a garrison force of old men and young boys, a city stripped of its best fighters.¡± Moriaen looked up, his eyes meeting Trist¡¯s. ¡°You have the cause here in a cage,¡± the knight said. ¡°One Exarch,¡± Avitus chided him. ¡°You claim all of this is the fault of a single Exarch.¡± ¡°He killed Zepar and Vinea, and drove Forneus back,¡± Moriaen said. ¡°Killed Alyosha Nikitich. Sir Gareth could never have held the city without him. We would have secured the walls before Lionel ever came.¡± ¡°It is time to make adjustments,¡± Avitus said. ¡°Samm¨¡?¨¥l will starve them. You will pull your men back to Lutetia, and bring every scrap of grain, every barrel of ale, each chicken or cow you can find with you. Pick the countryside clean. Leave them nothing.¡± Moriaen bowed his head. ¡°As for the Exarch who has caused us so much trouble,¡± Avistus said, turning back to Trist in his cage. ¡°I will ensure that he never opposes us again.¡± Avitus was slower than Trist, but stronger. When he reached a hand through the bars, Trist tried to fight the usurper off, but had nowhere to go. Avitus caught him by the neck and squeezed. Trist, choking, reached up to pry the fingers from his throat, but he couldn¡¯t move them. He couldn¡¯t breath, and his vision began to fade. ¡°Never again,¡± Avitus said, and with his other hand ripped Trist¡¯s eyes out, one after the other, as fast as a chicken pecking at seed. The great hall echoed with the sound of screams. 119. Blind Though most call her the daemon-archer, she titles herself the Marquise of Hearts. Loray toys with the men for whom she conceives a great lust, making them into her besotted slaves. Those she does not find appealing, she sets to run before her, and hunts them down like a stag or a boar, feathering them with arrows before finally feasting on their heart. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC The moment Avitus¡¯ cruel fingers released their grip on Trist¡¯s neck, he sucked in a breath and crumpled in on himself. He couldn¡¯t think clearly through the pain: instinctively, he raised his hands to the bleeding holes where his eyes used to be, but the slightest touch only made everything hurt even worse. ¡°Trist!¡± Acrasia was shouting, and he recognized Enid De Lancey¡¯s voice screaming as well, and even Dame Margaret. ¡°When I get out of here, I¡¯ll cut you into pieces!¡± the Exarch in the cage next to him threatened. Everything was dark, every light in the world had been snuffed out in an instant. ¡°There you are, Sir Trist,¡± Decimus Avitus hissed from the other side of the bars. ¡°Nephew. A caged, blind man. You¡¯ll decorate my throne room until I grow tired of you. In the meanwhile, you will keep a respectful tongue in your mouth, or I will remove more pieces. I can display you just as well as an eyeless, noseless, limbless monster, so choose wisely.¡± Trist tried to bite down his moans, so that he wouldn¡¯t give the bastard any satisfaction, but it was like twin daggers had been stabbed deep into his skull, and he couldn¡¯t help himself. He rolled around on the floor of the cage, curled into a ball, flinching back whenever his skin came in contact with the bars, like a child burned by a hot iron pot. Some time later, the voices had receded. ¡°He¡¯s gone, now,¡± Margaret told him. ¡°He¡¯s gone, Trist.¡± ¡°My eyes,¡± Trist moaned. ¡°Damn him.¡± He¡¯d had a plan, but Trist had not anticipated the usurper doing something like this. ¡°Acrasia. Can you hear me, Acrasia?¡± he called. She was the only one who had been at his side through everything, from the day under the chapel. The faerie¡¯s voice told him where the rear of the great hall was; he had become completely disoriented. ¡°I¡¯m here, Trist,¡± she called. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± ¡°Is there anyone else in the room?¡± Trist asked, gritting his teeth against the agony of his wounds. ¡°No,¡± both Margaret and Acrasia said, at the same time. ¡°They¡¯ve all left the hall for the king¡¯s solar,¡± Margaret continued. ¡°That¡¯s where they go whenever he wants to talk about the Cathedral. Never in front of us.¡± That seemed important, but Trist couldn¡¯t think about it right now. ¡°I have a Tithe,¡± Trist gasped. ¡°Acrasia, I want to use it.¡± ¡°On what?¡± she asked. ¡°All your threads are at least orange, Trist. You don¡¯t have enough Tithes for me to do anything with.¡± ¡°You told me once,¡± Trist said, forcing himself to sit up and lean back against the bars he¡¯d wrapped in linen, ¡°that Exarchs earned their Boon by their deeds.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Acrasia¡¯s voice held the same notes of pain that his did; Trist found that without sight, he focused all his attention on the sound and the feel and smell of what was happening around him, desperate for any clue that would help him understand the world he was now blind to. ¡°I have passed through a portal,¡± Trist said, putting words to the idea that he¡¯d been ruminating on, silently, since the first night of their captivity. All he¡¯d needed was Acrasia to pull herself out of her own misery long enough to listen to him, and it seemed that Avitus¡¯ barbaric act had been the shock that she needed. ¡°A door in the world, made by the Serpent of Gates.¡± In the next cage, Margaret gasped. ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­¡± ¡°Do it,¡± one of the men on the other side of the throne called. ¡°Is it enough?¡± Trist asked Acrasia. ¡°Can you make it work?¡± ¡°I will try,¡± the faerie said, after a long moment. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anyone with a Boon like that, other than Bathin,¡± she admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t even know if Auberon can do that. He can move through shadows, but I have never seen him make a door of darkness.¡± Trist¡¯s darkness exploded with light. A skein of burning whips and tendrils burst out of Acrasia¡¯s core, fiery yellow and orange, and he could actually see it. He could see himself, as well, when he looked down, a tightly bundled knot of threads, and to his right Dame Margaret, burning there in her cage. Beyond her, farther away into the darkness, he could see the glowing cores of the other two Exarchs, as well, with a kind of vision that was beyond mortal sight. One of Acrasia¡¯s threads stretched out from where she was spiked to the wall, through the iron bars of his cage, and touched his core. A jolt of power seized every muscle in his body, and the pain receded, overwhelmed by a rush of sensation. A new thread, deep red, grew out from his core like the sprout of a plant bursting its seed. Trist focused on it, and found that it was like one of Clarisant¡¯s needles: he could punch through the world with it, if he willed it so, as easily as a scrap of linen.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°There,¡± Acrasia gasped, reeling in her tendril. The pain from Trist¡¯s empty eye-sockets returned, and the light of five burning cores in the room faded away again, leaving him mired in a world that was painted entirely black. ¡°Did it work?¡± Margaret asked. ¡°I think so,¡± Trist answered. ¡°You need to tell me when they all go to sleep,¡± he told the Exarch of Rahab. ¡°When no one is in the hall, and they¡¯ve put out the torches.¡± ¡°It will be many hours, yet,¡± she warned him. ¡°They only just broke their fast.¡± ¡°We have nothing to do but wait,¡± Trist said, and slumped in on himself, lost in a world of blind pain. Trist tried to mark the hours by the coming and going of footmen as they served meals, and by the echoing voices of Decimus Avitus and his sycophants conversing while they ate. He recognized the voice of the woman, Am¨¦lie. When the Exarchs and Angelus had a moment alone in the hall, again, Margaret told him that she was the sister of Avitus¡¯ vassal, Sir Beaumains. ¡°The kind of woman who makes herself important by attaching herself to a powerful man,¡± the Exarch of Rahab judged, with clear contempt lacing her voice. Trist marked Sir Moriaen¡¯s voice, as well, throughout the day, and other men he did not recognize. Sometime before the evening meal, he received a most unwelcome visitor, announced only by Margaret¡¯s fearful intake of breath, and the utter silence of the prisoners. ¡°Such a shame what Avitus did to your face,¡± the daemoness Loray purred, reaching in through the bars to stroke her hand along the bare skin of his chest. Trist flinched. ¡°Though,¡± she continued, ¡°You will find that I am more partial to such things than a mortal woman would be. How do you think it would feel, for me to tongue your empty eye sockets while I ride you?¡± ¡°Get away from me,¡± Trist gasped, flinching away from her fingers, but he could not see her. She circled his cage, reaching in to stroke him like a prized stallion, touching wherever she wished, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. ¡°There is a place where pain and pleasure become indistinguishable,¡± the Marquise of Hearts continued. ¡°I could take you there, Trist. You won¡¯t care about anything but what I make you feel. All you have to do is reject that crippled bitch on the wall, and throw yourself at my feet. Avitus will let you out of the cage then, and we can go right to a bedchamber. I¡¯ll help you¡­ rest.¡± ¡°I am married,¡± Trist began, but Loray the daemon archer interrupted him. ¡°She can be my slave, as well.¡± The words dripped with cruelty and the promise of ravenous lust. ¡°Or we can use her, together, until she dies of exhaustion. That would be entertaining.¡± ¡°If you ever touch my wife,¡± Trist blurted, before he could stop himself, ¡°I will not rest until you are destroyed.¡± ¡°You actually care about her, don¡¯t you?¡± The murmur came right at his ear, Loray¡¯s hot breath caressing his skin. ¡°Before it was just a passing fancy, but now I am intrigued. What¡¯s her name?¡± Trist clamped his jaw shut. ¡°Learn your place,¡± Loray hissed, her voice cold and hard. ¡°You will be my slave, today or tomorrow, or a moon from now. You will break, sooner or later. Now.¡± The daemon¡¯s hand grabbed him between the legs, and squeezed, hard. ¡°Her name.¡± ¡°Clarisant!¡± Trist shouted, finally, to make the pain stop, and Loray¡¯s hand withdrew. ¡°Excellent.¡± The daemon¡¯s voice returned to that seductive purr, as if she had never shown her cruelty. ¡°I will make certain to collect her. I think the three of us will have great fun playing together. Consider my offer, Trist,¡± Loray called, her voice receding. Trist realized she must be walking away, leaving the hall. ¡°It is the only freedom you will ever taste again.¡± He could do nothing but whimper from his pain. At some point, Trist must have fallen asleep, for he jolted awake at the sound of shoes echoing off stone. ¡°Who is it,¡± he hissed to Dame Margaret. ¡°The girl he beat,¡± she replied. ¡°Enid?¡± Trist called out. ¡°Shush,¡± Enid De Lancey scolded him. ¡°Be quiet, Trist. I cannot be found here or he¡¯ll¡­ he¡¯ll do horrible things to me.¡± ¡°Then you should leave,¡± Trist urged her. ¡°You spoke up to save me,¡± she said, her voice now so close that he guessed she must be right up against the cage. ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± he confirmed, after a moment. ¡°I promised your father I would protect you.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± Enid said. ¡°Here. Stay still. I have boiled wine and clean linens, to clean your eyes.¡± ¡°You have wine?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Give it to me, Enid. Pass the cup through the bars.¡± ¡°It is to clean your wounds, not to get you drunk.¡± Of course she would think that - he remembered her father¡¯s fondness for wine, in life. ¡°Do as he says, girl,¡± Acrasia hissed. She must have been thinking the same thing that Trist was. ¡°Fine. Here.¡± A hand wrapped around his, pulling his arm forward, and then Enid placed a goblet into his fingers. Despite himself, Trist smiled. He unwound the orange thread of a boon from his core, and touched it to the goblet in his hands. For a moment, the other Exarchs, Acrasia, and the Angelus all glowed at the edge of his vision, but he ignored them, stirring the wine until it shone. ¡°Will it be enough,¡± Trist wondered, aloud. In the stories, Sir Madoc was able to regrow even a severed arm after drinking from Auberon¡¯s Graal; but the graal itself burned a blinding blue-white, much more powerful than Trist¡¯s Boon. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Acrasia admitted. Trist took a deep breath to steady himself, then tipped the goblet back to his lips and drank. The wine slid smoothly down his throat and to his stomach, heating his body the entire way, spreading a warm orange glow all through him. The aches of his muscles, cramped from days in the cage, eased. The lingering soreness of the wounds in his legs passed away, and even the dull ache between his legs where Loray had squeezed him in her fist. When the agony of his empty eye-sockets subsided, Trist sighed in relief. Muscles he did not realize he¡¯d clenched loosened, as for the first time in hours his pain went away. ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± he gasped, then tipped the goblet to continue drinking. A few more gulps, and the light of the world would return. Trist drank, and drank, until only the dregs were left. ¡°No,¡± he moaned, dropping the goblet, which rolled out of the cage and hit the stone floor of the hall with a metallic ring. ¡°What is it?¡± Margaret asked. ¡°It was not enough,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°He is still blind.¡± 120. Cheverny by Night Cheverny Castle was the child of Laurent I¡¯s mind. His mother had concentrated on defending the city at large, and put very little effort into upgrading the wooden hall on King¡¯s Island from whence her father had ruled the Narvonni. Laurent, once he was king in his own right, demanded a castle impressive enough for an Etalan Emperor, built from stone. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Still blind. Acrasia¡¯s words echoed in Trist¡¯s head, until he could focus on nothing else. The truth of it was the death of everything he¡¯d ever been and ever wanted to be. How could a blind knight fight? What good did it do him to be the best with a blade in hand, when a half-trained farmer with a spear would be able to kill him as easily as an unarmed child? ¡°Trist,¡± Margaret hissed again. They¡¯d all been trying to get his attention, but the voices of the other Exarchs, even of Acrasia, were as meaningless as the buzzing of a fly. Something hit his cage; it shook, then began to swing wildly. He banged into the bars, and recoiled in pain when the iron burned the skin of his arm. ¡°What?¡± Trist finally demanded. ¡°If you are going to use that Boon,¡± Acrasia¡¯s pained voice came from somewhere outside of the swinging cage, ¡°Do it now. Before a guard hears us.¡± ¡°How can I use it if I cannot see?¡± Trist complained in despair. ¡°You mortals, obsessing over a single sense,¡± the faerie chided him. ¡°You don¡¯t need to see to use a Boon. Focus on the threads in your core, and move them.¡± Trist wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball, shut them all out and wait for Avitus to return and execute him. It would be easier, and it would put an end to the pain. What was left for him? He¡¯d worked his entire life to be a knight, to serve his liege and his kingdom, and to protect his family. He couldn¡¯t protect anything now: he would be nothing but a useless cripple for the rest of his life, relying on other men to do his fighting for him. What possible use was there for him? Acrasia would be better off without him: at least then she would be free, like she wanted, instead of chained to him and miserable. His father and his brother were both dead, and the village they¡¯d all sworn to protect was burned. The same dark thoughts that had come to him beneath the mountain, two hundred stone steps down into the earth, after Adrammelech had nearly killed him, dragged him under now. He felt like he was drowning, deep beneath the surface of the ocean, and he didn¡¯t even know which way to swim to get to the light. There was only one thing to hold onto: he still had a wife and a child. Under the mountain, he hadn¡¯t even known how Clarisant felt about him, but now she¡¯d told him that she loved him, that he made her feel safe, and he¡¯d promised to protect her. Not only her, but he needed to protect their unborn child. A child whose face he might never see. ¡°Very well,¡± Trist said, and reached a hand out in front of him. If he hadn¡¯t been blind, he might have closed his eyes to focus better, and the thought brought a grim smile to his lips. He reached down into his core for the weakest of the threads that was wrapped there, the red Boon stolen from the Serpent of Gates, and teased it out. He had not the slightest idea what he was doing, and Acrasia couldn¡¯t help. But he had, at the least, seen Bethin use this power before, and he visualized his red thread unraveling into dozens of strands, stretching out into a circle beneath him. Again, the image of Claire¡¯s sewing needle came to his mind, and with some part of himself he could not explain, he punched the needle through the world and out the other side. With a cry, Trist fell through the portal and out the bottom of his cage, where he hit the stone floor of the great hall, hard. ¡°You did it!¡± Margaret cried, from somewhere above him and over his shoulder. ¡°He did it!¡± she hissed to the other Exarchs. ¡°Quiet!¡± Enid hushed them all. ¡°Get the spikes out, Trist,¡± Acrasia begged, from somewhere in front of him, but Trist grappled his way along the floor. He pulled his red thread back, and let the circle he¡¯d torn in the world collapse, but he wasn¡¯t finished yet. Instead, he teased out an orange thread, holding two strands out of his core at the same time. ¡°Margaret,¡± he muttered. ¡°Exarch of Rahab.¡± The orange whip of the Hunter¡¯s Boon latched on to her, off to his right and above, swinging in her cage of iron. Once he had her location, Trist slipped the needle of the red thread back into the world, and out the other side, and was rewarded with a startled cry and the thump of a body hitting the floor next to him. ¡°Thank you,¡± Margaret said, catching him up in her thin arms. ¡°Can you get the rest of them?¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said, already casting about with the Hunter¡¯s Boon for Sir Lorengel. ¡°You and Enid need to free Acrasia, and the Angelus,¡± he insisted, and Margaret released him. ¡°We will,¡± she promised, and Trist crawled across the great hall to the next cage. It was exhausting, terrifying work, for all that Trist¡¯s part of it was done first. With Cern¡¯s Boon to guide him, he was able to navigate from one person to another, though he scraped his shoulder against the throne on his way past. Using the two Boons in succession, it was only a matter of repeating the same steps to free all three Exarchs, though the effort left him gasping for breath, curled up on the granite stones of the floor. ¡°Rest now,¡± Enid told him, her cool hand on his shoulder. She helped him up to a sitting position. ¡°I can¡¯t do much to free the Angelus,¡± the woman he might once have married admitted. ¡°I¡¯ll let the Exarchs do that.¡± In the end, Margaret and the others tore strips from the rags they wore and used that to wrap the iron spikes, and to scrub at the binding circles of blood. It only took one break in the circle to disrupt them, but pulling the spikes out was more difficult, and the job ended up falling to Lorengel, as the physically strongest among them. Trist couldn¡¯t be certain whether the Exarch of Veischax would outmuscle him in a contest, but then again, Lorengel had the use of his eyes, so Trist left him to it. About halfway through the process, the group heard two guards coming on patrol. Trist wrapped Enid and himself in shadows, while Margaret and Cynric, the final Exarch, took up positions to either side of the door to the great hall. From the startled grunts and sounds of choking, Trist was able to picture what happened to the guards pretty clearly. ¡°Take their weapons,¡± he suggested, once it was done. ¡°I¡¯m already doing it,¡± Margaret assured him. ¡°Help me drag the bodies under the table here, Cynric,¡± she said, and there was a scrape of steel rings against stone. Finally, no more than half a bell from when Trist had first fallen out of his cage, he heard Acrasia¡¯s cry of relief, and then the faerie tumbled into his arms, her corporeal form trembling in his grasp, as if she could hardly hold it together. ¡°You will recover,¡± Trist reminded her, awkwardly. ¡°This body is not you, remember?¡± ¡°It still hurts,¡± Acrasia complained. ¡°Can you feel where the sword is?¡± Trist said, with a sigh, trying to keep her focused. ¡°Aye,¡± the faerie assured him. ¡°It¡¯s as much a part of me as my throne under the hill.¡± ¡°Lead us there,¡± Trist said. He fought the urge to try to look for the other Exarchs, and instead just trusted they would be close enough to hear him clearly. ¡°If we have any luck at all, your weapons and armor will be stored in the same place.¡± ¡°And once we arm up, we fight our way out of here,¡± Margaret said, her thinking clearly aligned with his. ¡°That bastard killed my uncle,¡± Lorengel objected. ¡°He has tortured us for weeks. We can¡¯t run now.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the very reason we have to escape,¡± Trist insisted. ¡°None of us are at full strength. We need to rejoin King Lionel, rest and recover. And then we come and deal with Avitus, all together. Anything less is just asking to be defeated again.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± Dame Margaret said. ¡°We get our things, and then - Trist, can you portal us out of here?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± he admitted. ¡°I can try.¡± ¡°Best not count on it, then,¡± Cynric said. ¡°Lady Acrasia, if you would lead the way?¡± ¡°I need to go now,¡± Enid said. ¡°Before he finds me missing.¡± ¡°You should come with us,¡± Trist countered. ¡°You said yourself he would do horrible things to you, Enid. You will be safer with us.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no fighter,¡± the young woman protested. ¡°Come with us,¡± Trist said, feeling somewhat guilty about using this against her, ¡°and you will speak to your father again.¡± ¡°My father is dead.¡± ¡°Trist, we don¡¯t have time for this,¡± Margaret urged. ¡°I said what I said,¡± Trist told Enid. ¡°Come with us, or hide. Your choice. Acrasia, to the sword.¡± Cynric slipped his shoulder under Trist¡¯s arm, and the other Exarch helped him up to his feet. ¡°My thanks,¡± Trist said, and they were off through the cool evening halls of the castle Cheverny. The three Exarchs of the Angelus had the advantage of knowing the building, having served there for years, and with Cynric helping Trist they were able to move quickly. ¡°We¡¯re headed for the armory,¡± Lorengel said, after only a few moments. Trist was focused on drawing shadows about them all, to conceal their movements, and after that realization they picked up the pace. ¡°Who goes there!¡± a guard¡¯s voice called from somewhere ahead, and then the clash of steel. ¡°Wait here,¡± Cynric grunted, putting Trist down against a wall, and then moving off. Trist gritted his teeth. He was helpless, and there was a fight happening only steps away. He hated it, detested putting his life in someone else¡¯s hands, not even being able to watch what was happening. If the exarchs lost, the guards would only have to walk over and capture him again, and all of this would be for nothing. ¡°I¡¯m here with you,¡± Enid murmured to him, putting her hand back on his shoulder. Trist was ashamed how much he panicked without human contact. Without a touch, he had no idea where anyone was. The exarchs did not lose. ¡°Well,¡± Margaret said. ¡°There¡¯s that. Trist, we¡¯re going to get you over to the door now; it¡¯s locked, and none of us have our keys. You need to make us a door through it.¡± ¡°Put my hand up to the wood,¡± Trist asked her, and once he felt the polished grains against his palm, he pulled up that newest red thread again. It was harder, to hold the gate open, than it had been to just let someone fall through and release. It was like carrying a bucket of water across the courtyard, instead of simply lifting it and putting the bucket back down. It was a new muscle that Trist had never used before, and he grew tired quickly. When everyone else was through, Enid pulled him after, and he allowed the gate to close, finally. ¡°I cannot do that often,¡± Trist admitted, slumping down to the floor of the armory. ¡°I hope you can open this door from the inside.¡± ¡°We will deal with that in a moment,¡± Margaret said. ¡°Everyone get your things. If you can¡¯t find your armor, do the best you can.¡± ¡°Trist,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Here it is. I have your sword.¡± He reached his hand out blindly toward her voice. The faerie took Trist¡¯s hand in her own, and guided him to the hilt of his longsword. Trist¡¯s fingers curled around the leather-wrapped grip, and he exhaled in relief. Having the sword in his grasp felt like coming home. It was a step forward, at least. Beneath the metal, he could feel the intertwined threads of the Boons that empowered the blade, and connected both he and Acrasia. Trist might be blind, but at least he had his sword in hand again. To his right, the door to the armory shuddered with a violent impact. ¡°You in there!¡± a man¡¯s voice called from out in the hall. ¡°Open up and surrender, if you want to live!¡± 121. Morax They call it the daemon bull, the unstoppable force. Fortunately, the monster did not prove difficult to bind: while it is certainly physically potent, we found it somewhat lacking in cunning or intelligence. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC ¡°Can you portal us out of here, Trist?¡± Margaret asked. Trist shook his head. ¡°I would not even know where to go,¡± he admitted, as another crash echoed off the door to the armory. ¡°I have never been to Cheverny before this. I do not know the castle, or the city. Putting us through a door is easy enough, but I can not picture anything further.¡± ¡°We fight our way out, then,¡± Lorengel said. ¡°At least we¡¯re armed and armored, now.¡± ¡°I assume this armor that was with that blade belongs to you, then?¡± Sir Cynric¡¯s voice came from near Trist¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It should be,¡± he answered. ¡°Good. Enid, is it?¡± Cynric continued. ¡°Help me get him in battle harness. Even if he can¡¯t fight, it will help turn aside a dagger.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Enid said, and Trist got to his feet. This, at least, was familiar enough, though he was even less a part of the process than usual. His padded gambeson, cold and stiff after days without being used, was the first step. They found his boots, as well, and even a pair of breeches which didn¡¯t feel like his, put fit near enough. Cynric knew what he was doing, even if Enid didn¡¯t, and between the two of them he was armored again before the door came down. ¡°Stay behind us with Lady Enid,¡± Margaret commanded. ¡°The three of us can handle a few guards, but we need to get out of the castle before any of the daemons come. I¡¯ll get us to the postern gate, and if we can¡¯t open it, you can make us a way through.¡± Trist nodded, and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. ¡°I can do that. Enid, stand behind me and keep your hand on my back.¡± The bashing at the door ceased, and instead, they could all hear the click of tumblers turning over in the lock. ¡°They found someone with keys,¡± Lorengel observed. ¡°Ready,¡± Margaret said, and then everything burst into chaos. Trist could hardly comprehend it, without the use of his eyes. Boots slid on stone, steel rang out against steel, men grunted and screamed. There was the scent of blood in the air, and then the bowels of a dead man releasing his last meal. Through it all, Trist saw only darkness. He didn¡¯t draw, because he was as likely to wound an ally, if he swung his blade, as kill an enemy. It was maddening, and terrifying, because he could not recall being so utterly helpless. Even crawling up those stone stairs under the mountains, he¡¯d been able to see, and to pull himself forward. His life had been in his own hands, then. Now, he had to trust in others to keep him alive, and Trist did not at all like it. He was certain these Exarchs were competent enough knights, but he didn¡¯t know them, hadn¡¯t fought beside them. All he could do was listen, and wait for Margaret¡¯s word when it was over. Then, in the darkness, there was a glimpse of color. A bundle of orange and yellow, tightly wound, moving through the otherwise absolute blackness of the world. No, Trist realized, not one bundle - three. Three wrapped cores of burning strands, each pulsing like a man¡¯s heart, and each moving about the darkness before him. He could see the cores of the three Exarchs. It wasn¡¯t much - it wasn¡¯t anything like actually having eyes - but it was better than the nothing that he¡¯d been dwelling in before. Trist could at least track the rough direction and distance of the three knights in front of him, now. When they stopped moving, and the bright flames of their strands dulled to banked embers, he knew their enemies had been defeated. ¡°We¡¯re clear to move,¡± Margaret said. ¡°Enid, you¡¯re going to have to lead Sir Trist so we can fight.¡± ¡°No,¡± Trist spoke up. ¡°Stay behind me. I can follow your cores.¡± There was a moment of silence. ¡°Alright,¡± Margaret said. ¡°We¡¯re moving now. Stay close.¡± They rushed, more than crept, through the halls of the castle. It was clear the alarm had been raised, because the guards at the armory were not the last skirmish the Exarchs fought through. ¡°At least they¡¯re all Champs d¡¯Or men,¡± Cynric commented. Trist recognized the sound of a man pulling his blade out of a corpse. ¡°I would have misgivings about killing people I¡¯ve known for years.¡± ¡°I would not,¡± Lorengel said. ¡°Any of the castle guards who stayed to serve this monster are traitors.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Come along,¡± Margaret urged them. ¡°We¡¯re almost to the gate. Through the next courtyard.¡± Ahead of Trist, the three lights he was following turned, and he stumbled, stretching his hand out to the side to make certain he didn¡¯t hit a wall. With the change in orientation - they must have taken a side passage, or come to an intersection - his view shifted, and a cold stone dropped into the bottom of his stomach. ¡°Wait!¡± he called to Margaret and the others. ¡°There¡¯s a daemon ahead!¡± The core of the thing was burning like bright, baleful sun, with strands of fire curling out and pulsing. It was larger than the cores of any of the Exarchs that Trist could see: where most of them had four or four strands, and he himself had earned six, the daemon ahead possessed only three. Each one, however, flared a bright yellow. ¡°How do you know?¡± Lorengel hissed, as all of them skidded to a halt. Trist could hear their boots scrape against the stones of the hallway floor. ¡°I can see its core,¡± Trist shot back. ¡°Three strands of yellow, just ahead.¡± ¡°You can see through a door?¡± Cynric asked. ¡°How can you see at all?¡± Enid said, from behind him. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Margaret said. ¡°This is our route. If we turn back, it¡¯ll be behind us, and they''ll surround us and trap us in the castle.¡± ¡°Move!¡± Trist shouted, as the yellow core shot forward towards them. He grabbed Enid and pulled her to his left, the both of them slamming into the stone wall of the corridor harder than he¡¯d intended. There was a crash ahead, the sound of splintering wood, and hooves ringing on stone. The yellow core hit one of the three Exarchs, but Trist didn¡¯t know their colors well enough to tell which one. The Exarch was flung aside, and a man¡¯s voice called out. Not Margaret, then. ¡°Stay here,¡± Trist told Enid, and drew his sword. The world slowed, and a bright yellow flare of power shot through his muscles. There was a route forward: the slowest Exarch had been thrown aside, while Margaret and the last had acted on his warning, and gotten out of the way. The burning yellow of the daemon¡¯s power continued on, but it was slower than him, and Trist stepped into its path. He couldn¡¯t see whether the thing carried a weapon. He couldn¡¯t tell whether it had wings, or claws, or a tail. Trist recalled three daemons surrounding Avitus¡¯ throne, but he didn¡¯t know which one he was facing now. If it was Loray, however, Trist thought she would have said something to him by now. That left the giant daemon with the head of a bull, and the daemon who had worn a sword at his belt, with black feathered wings and bare feet that smoked and burned where he stood. Trist didn¡¯t smell smoke. That left a single daemon, and the idea of a bull-headed monster crashing headfirst through a wooden door made the most sense in any event. Trist tried to picture the thing¡¯s body as best he could, but he didn¡¯t really recall anything more dangerous than the horns on its head. He had to avoid getting gored. Moving faster than anyone else in the hall, Trist ducked as low as he could, cutting a vicious slice in the direction of the bull-daemon¡¯s core as he let it go past him. There was a roar of pain from the daemon, and the scent of blood, and the shudder of an impact up the length of his sword to Trist¡¯s arm. He spun after letting the monster pass him, and fell into a Plow Guard, hilt at his waist and the tip of his blade in line with the daemon¡¯s yellow core. ¡°You little gnat!¡± A rumbling, deep voice echoed down the hallway from the general direction of the daemon¡¯s yellow core. ¡°I¡¯ll rip you in half for that. I have feasted on Angelus! I¡¯ll eat your hearts!¡± ¡°Which one is it,¡± Trist asked, panting. ¡°The one with the horns?¡± ¡°Every daemon I recall seeing has horns of one sort or another,¡± Cynric said, and the knight¡¯s voice let him put a name to that particular bundle of strands. The Exarch of Theliel moved into position next to Trist, and Margaret came up on his other side. Lorengel was still on the ground, and from the sound of it, struggling to catch his breath. ¡°Three of us, Morax,¡± Margaret said. ¡°Are you ready to die tonight?¡± Morax. It was the bull-daemon, then; Trist had guessed correctly. Instead of charging them again, the daemon bull roared, the sound so loud that Trist winced, and wished for some of Ya¨¦l¡¯s wax to plug his ears with. ¡°I have found them!¡± it cried, in a deep thunderous voice that seemed to shake the castle. ¡°They are making for the postern gate!¡± ¡°Run!¡± Margaret commanded, and all five of them took off, Cynric¡¯s hand guiding Trist through the splintered remnants of the door to the courtyard. Trist could tell when they¡¯d got outside from one taste of the fresh night air. ¡°They¡¯ll all be coming now,¡± Cynric said, leading Trist over to the gate and placing his left hand against the wood. ¡°Take us through, Trist,¡± Margaret ordered. Trist took a deep breath to center himself, the sword in his right hand almost forgotten. He risked a glance back, and saw that there were more cores coming their way: two in the air, and one closer to the ground. The brightest burned blue and white, like Auberon. Trist teased his newest red thread out, then split it. With each use of the Boon, he was more confident, and the opening of the portal came easier to him. He threaded the needle and punched it through the world, and a circular gate, bordered by red threads, yawned before him. ¡°Go!¡± he told the others, afraid that it would close if he moved. One, two, three cores moved through, and Enid brushed past him as well, before Trist ran forward, letting the thread go. It was like dropping a great stone, and he gasped in relief, sucking for breath. ¡°We need to keep moving,¡± Margeret said. ¡°They¡¯ll be after us.¡± ¡°Two in the air,¡± Trist told her, between breaths. ¡°Loray and the other.¡± ¡°Cail,¡± Margaret said. ¡°We had time to learn all their names. But I¡¯m more worried about the archer.¡± She grabbed Trist¡¯s hand in her own, and pulled him along after her. Together, the five escaped prisoners ran across smooth stone. He couldn¡¯t see where they were going, couldn¡¯t do anything useful other than keep watch on the burning cores of the daemons. One of the two fliers pulsed, extending a strand of fire that picked out a shape that Trist recognized: the form of a drawn bow with an arrow nocked. Something about the pulsing yellow energy made Trist¡¯s stomach roil, and reminded him of fighting Agrat, the Plague Dancer. ¡°Keep going!¡± Trist shouted, and yanked his gauntlet out of Margaret¡¯s grasp. He took the hilt of his sword in both hands, and when the burning yellow line of the arrow shot down at them, he lunged forward and swung. Trist¡¯s blade pulsed with fire, and sheared Loray¡¯s arrow out of the sky, cutting it in half. The two pieces fell to either side of him, harmless. ¡°How are you still fighting?¡± Cynric asked in awe. ¡°I said go!¡± Trist shouted, cutting a second arrow down as he backed up. Loray glided down toward them, and her voice was the softest silk, whispering in the night. ¡°Trist,¡± the daemon purred. ¡°Don¡¯t run away, lover. I have such plans for you.¡± 122. The Corpse Beneath the City While most of the daemons fight with their own foul magic, or natural weapons such as claws or horns, there are a few who use weapons, not unlike those of mortal men. Zepar the Scarlet, famously, and Loray the Archer. Cain, Prince of Coals and Ashes, is one of these. ? 15th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC In a world of utter darkness, Loray¡¯s daemonic core burned a bright yellow. Focusing on her was like staring into the hot center of a forge, and the effort of doing it beat a pulse in Trist¡¯s forehead, behind his empty, ravaged eye sockets. He could catch just a glimpse of the daemon¡¯s otherworldly being extending back out into¡­ somewhere. Wherever daemons, Angelus, and fairies really came from. ¡°Does it look like I am running?¡± Trist answered the monster, holding his longsword steady. He brought the hilt up to his right ear, the length of the blade parallel with the ground he could not see, the point extended at the daemonic core itself. ¡°You can¡¯t fight me,¡± Loray taunted him. He could picture her expression from the way she spoke: she sounded like a cat hunting a mouse. ¡°You¡¯re blind, sweet boy.¡± ¡°I can see you,¡± Trist said. He hoped the other Exarchs were getting Enid out. He could always find them later, using the Hunter¡¯s Boon, and all he had to do now was buy them time to get across the bridge and into the city, where they could hide. Lutetia was the largest city in the Kingdom, with more people even than Rocher de la Garde. ¡°Have it your way,¡± the daemoness growled. ¡°I¡¯ll take that toy sword away from you, and carry you back myself.¡± ¡°Trist!¡± he heard Enid shout from somewhere behind him. ¡°We can¡¯t leave him!¡± ¡°Come on,¡± Margaret¡¯s voice echoes across the bridge, and Trist¡¯s ears caught the sound of their boots retreating on stone. Loray chose that moment to attack. If she had thought Trist distracted by the voices of his companions, she was proven wrong quickly. The daemon archer loosed an arrow at him from no more than twenty feet away, but Trist could track it by the shine of her Boons, and he brought his blade around in a diagonal stroke, cutting the arrow down into the stone beneath his feet. Then, he dashed forward and lunged, cutting back up again in a reverse stroke that would have laid the daemon open from hip to shoulder if it had connected. Instead, she moved back and up, and even without the use of his eyes, there was something about the motion that was immediately familiar to Trist. He¡¯d fought enough of these winged monstrosities now that he recognized the move: a leap back, accompanied by a beat of the wings to gain distance, and then the swoop forward for a counterstroke. Trist was ready. He must have taken Loray by surprise, because as she came back in, he simply extended his blade forward in another lunge, pushing off the opposite foot this time. His armored shoulder hit the demon¡¯s body, her claws scraped the steel of his armor with a terrible, high pitched noise, and black ichor poured over his hands. ¡°You, you,¡± the monster stuttered, as if he¡¯d impaled her head rather than her breast. Trist¡¯s Daemon Bane Boon did its work, flaring up in vibrant yellow as it burned away at Loray¡¯s torso. It actually helped him to see her more clearly: she showed up as an absence, a darkness silhouetted by the ghostly flames of the Boon. Odd, that: he¡¯d never been able to see the actual Boon at work before, only the blackened, curling skin it left behind. With a shriek of pain, Loray threw herself back off his sword. He heard her impact the ground, and from the movement of her core and the still-burning flames at the edges of the wound he¡¯d given her, Trist guessed she was crawling backward. ¡°Do it,¡± Acrasia urged him. ¡°Tithe her.¡± Trist raised his sword into High Guard, but just as he cut down to finish the daemon archer off, a second burning core swooped out of the sky. His blade clanged off another sword, and he stumbled, off balance. ¡°The terrible Loray,¡± a masculine voice, cold as ice, spoke. ¡°Cut down by a blind swordsman. I will not let you forget this.¡± ¡°Just kill him already,¡± Loray shrieked, scrambling backwards away from Trist, her desperation audibly scraping the stone bridge. ¡°Cail, is it?¡± Trist asked, settling back into a Plow Guard. He could see the daemon¡¯s core, but not his sword, and that was a problem. It made him want to keep his own weapon between them, to better defend himself from attack. ¡°Cail, Prince of Coals and Ashes,¡± the daemon answered. ¡°I come on raven¡¯s wings, and I carry your death in my hands, Fairie Knight. Ask me what happens if you face me today.¡± ¡°I do not need to ask you,¡± Trist said. He could no longer hear any sound from the other Exarchs; they must have made their way safely across the bridge by now, off of King¡¯s Island and into the city itself. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°I am bound by Oath to speak truly, if you ask,¡± Cail pressed him. Trist could hear the smile on the daemon¡¯s face in his voice, and Loray was laughing from where she¡¯d crawled away. ¡°Fine,¡± Trist said. ¡°Tell me what happens if we fight, here and now.¡± ¡°You die with my sword through your back,¡± Cail said, and Trist couldn¡¯t help but think of his own broken Oath, and all of the visions Acrasia had shown him, where he died a dozen different ways. ¡°Then I will not fight you,¡± Trist said. ¡°Tor De Lancey! Percy! Father!¡± He thrust his sword point down into the stone in front of him, and heard the crack of ice on stone as the temperature of the dark city, already cool, dropped further in an instant. ¡°We¡¯re here, Son,¡± the ghost of his father said, just in front of him. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°Give me time to get across that bridge,¡± Trist asked. ¡°Done!¡± Tor De Lancey roared, and everyone moved at once. The three dead knights, visible to Trist as barely perceptible shades of thin fire, tied to his sword by burning cords, charged the two daemons. He didn¡¯t wait to see what happened. Instead, Trist turned and ran, stumbling on the stones of the bridge. ¡°Margaret,¡± he breathed, casting out the line of the Hunter¡¯s Boon. It latched onto the Exarch of Rahab, somewhere beyond him in the city, and he followed it as best he could. The cries of the ghostly knights, and the daemons they fought, faded behind him, and he careened off the corner of a building, bruising his shoulder. Without anyone to guide him, Trist had to put his sword away. He managed to get it back into the sheath by feel - a motion he¡¯d made a thousand times before, so familiar it was near as practiced as breathing. Everything else, however, was a disaster. The fiery orange trail of the Hunter¡¯s Boon pulled him onward, and sped his steps to a point that was outright dangerous when Trist couldn¡¯t see the world around him. He tripped on gutters, and only the leather interior of his gauntlets prevented him from skinning his palms when he fell and caught himself. He knocked over barrels, ran into walls, and before long he was stretching his arms out in front of him and to the sides, trying to fend off the constant collisions. While he ran, bruised and exhausted, Trist clung to the only way he had of seeing anything: that sometimes elusive, off-focus, nearly trance-like state where he could perceive the cores of daemons, faeries, and Angelus. With nothing nearby to latch onto except the tether of the Hunter¡¯s Boon, and his own sword at his side, it was hard to tell whether he was succeeding at all until he rounded a corner and skidded to a stop, slipping on the stones and falling to one knee. Somewhere beneath the city lay a nightmare. It burned blue and white, a thin knot of strands that had been stretched out from a single core and pulled taught, like the web of a spider. Lesser fires burned around the greater, not strands, but chains, like those he had seen beneath the Hauteurs Massif so many weeks ago. Two or three chains were attached to each blue-white strand, and they were of no brighter a shade than yellow. Trist was surprised they could hold the greater core at all: it must have been as powerful as Forneus, the daemon of the sea, or perhaps even Auberon. ¡°What is it?¡± he asked. ¡°Acrasia, do you see it?¡± The fresh scent of the Ardenwood broke around him, pushing aside the smells of the city for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s an Angelus,¡± the faerie said, her voice coming from somewhere above his right shoulder. ¡°Or the corpse of one, at least. Beneath a great cathedral, buried under the stone.¡± ¡°There is only one cathedral in Lutetia,¡± Trist said, his thoughts racing. ¡°The Cathedral of Camiel.¡± ¡°Angelus of War,¡± Acrasia said, and Trist nodded, though he couldn¡¯t see more than her shining core. ¡°The same one they dedicated the chapel to, when they imprisoned me.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°The histories say that Saint Camiel died fighting the Sun Eater, and that they raised the Cathedral over his tomb.¡± ¡°The Angelus and their tombs,¡± Acrasia said, and he could picture the sneer on her lips. ¡°Monuments to their own fragile egos.¡± ¡°What is happening to it?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Those chains - they¡¯re like the chains that bound Adrammelech.¡± ¡°It is a binding,¡± Acrasia agreed. ¡°But more than that. I can feel the blood, the Tithes, wrapped up in the magic. I can almost see it, even through all the stone beneath the city. If you were to go down there, Trist, I think you would find a circle of blood, much like the one Agrat drew in the Church of Abatur at Falais.¡± ¡°Agrat was trying to corrupt the church,¡± Trist recalled. ¡°To take it away from the Angelus, to make it no longer sacred, and to change it into some kind of dark power. But I thought they needed Adrammelech to do that.¡± ¡°The Prince of Plagues was not the only one who knew how to corrupt,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Think of how many daemons we know to be free now, Trist. Half a dozen, at least.¡± Trist lurched to his feet, turned away from the sight of the corpse beneath the city, and focused again on the strand of Cern¡¯s Boon. One step at a time, he let it lead him away from the Cathedral, and toward Dame Margaret. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Acrasia asked him. ¡°I cannot do anything right now,¡± Trist said. ¡°Blind and alone. I need to find the others.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t let them corrupt the corpse of an Angelus,¡± Acrasia insisted, grabbing him by one pauldron and pulling him to the right. ¡°That¡¯s a wall, Trist. You were about to walk into a wall.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°Is it morning, yet?¡± He saw the faintest trace of something on the horizon, some pale glow in the everpresent darkness. ¡°As much as it¡¯s ever dawn, since the Sun-Eater struck,¡± she told him. ¡°I can see the white ring rising to the east, but you know it won¡¯t light the city.¡± ¡°But it means the bells will ring soon,¡± Trist pointed out. ¡°I need to get off the streets, to wherever the other Exarchs are hiding. We need food, and a rest, and to make some kind of plan.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± Acrasia said, continuing to guide him through the cold streets of Lutetia. ¡°And then, Trist? Once you¡¯ve all had a moment to catch your breath?¡± ¡°Then,¡± Trist said, ¡°our goal is no longer to escape. Our goal must be to stop whatever is happening beneath the city. We need to break into the Cathedral, fight our way to the corpse of Camiel, and destroy whatever foul rite they are performing.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t be left unguarded,¡± Acrasia cautioned him. ¡°Then we kill whatever is in our way,¡± Trist resolved. ¡°Whether it be men, or daemons.¡± Announcement: Graal Knight Live on Amazon Today is the big day! The second volume of this series, The Graal Knight, is now live on Amazon, and may be found here: https://a.co/d/bn6M9yR Release day is a big deal for the algorithms; if you enjoy this series and have time, I would appreciate it very much if you went by and left a rating or review, or even if you pulled the book up in KU and flipped through the pages.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. If you really love this series, you could even pick up a hardcopy! I personally think the hardcovers come out better than the paperbacks :) I''ll see you all tomorrow for our regular chapter! 123. The Simorq P¨¡rsa was one of the old empires, from the days when Etalus was young and the Narvonni were scattered tribes of barbarians in the forest. They were traders even then, making port in the Bay of Sabs to barter with the desert tribes. They had the trick of navigating by the stars long before the Etalans learned it. ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC The Simorq could not have been more different from its grand name. The first ship to make port in Rocher de la Garde since the siege had been lifted was a P¨¡rsan trading vessel, built for cargo rather than war. Ismet guessed that the captain had probably sailed west long before word of the siege could have reached his home port, or he would simply not have come. In the wake of the battle, however, he was going to find himself making more silver than he would know what to do with. Ismet swung down from Layla¡¯s saddle onto the beach, and the sand gave beneath her boots. Around her, the Exarchs Guiron and Bors dismounted, as well as Baron Urien and Lionel, and finally Fazil, who had appointed himself her bodyguard. The Narvonnian King offered her his arm. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been time to build a proper dock,¡± Lionel apologized. ¡°The sand can be a bit treacherous.¡± ¡°I spent my childhood at Eayn Zarqa'' oasis,¡± Ismet pointed out. ¡°I know how to walk on sand, Your Majesty.¡± But she smiled, and accepted his arm anyway, in the manner of the Narvonnian noble-women. The sea-breeze was cold off the Circum Mare. Though High Summer had been celebrated the night before, it felt more like late autumn or early spring. Over the harbor, instead of a bright yellow sun, only a cold white ring shone down, and the sky was full of stars. The darkness had forced the men clearing the harbor to work by the light of torches and bonfires, and rest often to warm themselves from the chill of the water. And yet, Baron Urien¡¯s insistence on clearing a path through the wrecked ships that had littered the harbor bore fruit now. The small party walked down to the strand, where the P¨¡rsan rowboats, along with every small local craft that could be pressed into service, had been ferrying goods to shore for the past hour. ¡°Baron Urien!¡± a woman¡¯s strong voice broke across the beach. Ismet turned to watch the speaker approach. Her hair was jet black, bound back in a loose braid, and as dark as the wide legged trousers she wore, drawn close to fit around her calves, and at her waist. She wore a kind of vest of wool, with open shoulders that bared her muscular arms. ¡°Captain Cyrah,¡± Urien said, stepping forward to greet her. ¡°You come at a most fortunate time, as if you were blown by the trade winds of fortune itself.¡± He motioned with an arm. ¡°Your Majesty, this is Captain Cyrah Esfandiar of the trading ship Simorq, out of Siraf. Captain Cyrah, you have the honor of being presented to Lionel Aurelianus, King of Narvonne.¡± Cyrah blinked, but recovered herself quickly, and took a knee. ¡°It is my very great honor to meet you, Your Majesty,¡± she said, lowering her eyes. ¡°No, the honor is mine,¡± Lionel said. ¡°For we are sorely in need of the supplies you bring. May I present to you General Ismet ibnah Salah, Exarch of Epinoia, our ally from the Caliphate of Ma?¨©n.¡± ¡°An honor to meet you, as well, General Ismet,¡± the P¨¡rsan captain said, rising at Lionel¡¯s indication. Ismet exchanged bows with her. ¡°And I you, Captain,¡± Ismet said. ¡°I still recall my wonder, as a child, the first time I felt P¨¡rsan silk on my fingers.¡± ¡°Silk, I have,¡± Cyrah said, with the twinkle in her eye of a merchant who sees an opportunity. ¡°Come, let me show you.¡± She turned to lead them to where wine barrels and crates of all sizes were being stacked nearly on the sand by her sailors. ¡°What we need more than silk,¡± Lionel admitted, ¡°Is food. Food, weapons, boots.¡± ¡°I did not expect to be trading with an army,¡± Captain Cyrah admitted. ¡°But I believe I have some things that can meet your needs, Your Majesty. After all, as they say, beggars cannot be choosers, yes?¡± ¡°I believe I have heard that expression before,¡± Lionel agreed. ¡°P¨¡rsan wine,¡± Cyrah said, putting her hand on the first of the barrels. ¡°A waste to mix it with river water, but it will at least keep your men from shitting themselves to death on the march. I have barley, lentils, beans, dried figs and dried grapes. I have linen, silk and wool, both bolts of fabric and fine clothing; cedarwood, glass, dye, copper and tin.¡± As she spoke, she opened crates one by one, letting them get a look at the merchandise stored inside. ¡°We will take all the food you have,¡± Lionel said, ¡°Whatever it is. Along with the bolts of wool and linen.¡± ¡°And perhaps silk for the General? I see she prefers red veils,¡± Cyrah pressed, pulling a length of deep red silk out of one of the crates. ¡°Here, feel.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Despite herself, Ismet reached out and ran her fingers along the fabric. The smooth feel of it brought a smile to her face, and memories of her father taking her to the night market when the P¨¡rsan traders would come. ¡°I will purchase the silk,¡± Ismet decided, on a whim. ¡°Something to bring back for my mother, perhaps.¡± ¡°Allow me to make a gift of it, to you,¡± Lionel offered. ¡°Whatever you wish as gifts for your family. Something for your father, as well.¡± Ismet turned to Lionel, grinning beneath her veil, the silk still in her hands. ¡°Are you trying to buy your way into my family¡¯s heart, Your Majesty?¡± she asked him. ¡°I only want to show them that my proposal is a serious matter,¡± Lionel answered, ¡°And not to be taken lightly.¡± ¡°General Ismet!¡± a man shouted from up the beach. Around them, the Exarchs guarding the king put their hands on the hilts of their weapons, ready to defend Lionel. Fazil, as well, made ready to draw, though in truth he could never stand against any enemy which was able to threaten Ismet. Half a dozen riders dismounted, leaving their horses on the street above the beach, and striding across the sand. They were riding desert horses, Ismet noted, and wearing the armor of the Caliph¡¯s royal guard. ¡°General Ismet,¡± the man in the lead began, holding up a rolled, tied and sealed piece of parchment. ¡°I bring you the command of Rashid ibn Umar, Exarch of Isr¨¡f¨©l and Caliph of Ma?¨©n, may his wisdom guide us.¡± He stopped two paces from Guiron and Bors, who barred his passage. ¡°Let me through,¡± Ismet asked, and handed the silk back to Captain Cyrah. The two Narvonnian Exarchs made way for her, then closed ranks behind to protect their king. ¡°I receive the command of the Caliph,¡± she said, reaching out for the message. Ismet broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and began to read. As she did, the smile slipped from her face. ¡°The warriors of the Caliphate are our allies against the daemons,¡± Lionel said, stepping forward and waving aside his guards. ¡°There is no need to be on guard against these men. Baron Urien, see to lodgings for them, and stables for their horses. I am certain you must be tired from your long journey.¡± The leader of the messengers inclined his head. ¡°Indeed, it has been a long ride. We thank the Crown Prince for his hospitality.¡± Ismet glanced at Lionel¡¯s face. He did a good job of maintaining a pleasant smile, but she knew that he would already be calculating the implications of that statement. ¡°I am commanded to return to Ma?¨©n,¡± she said aloud, ¡°And to report to the Caliph regarding the death of General Shadi.¡± None of the messengers from the royal guard looked surprised by this, Ismet noted. And it was telling that the Caliph had sent his guards - telling and unusual. ¡°Fazil,¡± she called, having made her decision. ¡°Go and find your brother, and bring him here now.¡± ¡°As you command, General,¡± Fazil said, inclined his head, and rushed up the beach toward the city. ¡°I will leave Commander Sh¨©rk¨±h to coordinate with you in my absence,¡± Ismet said, turning to catch Lionel¡¯s eyes with her own. There was so much she could not say out loud, and she wished she had spoken to him, just once, in all the days they¡¯d spent together, of the Caliphe¡¯s son, Nasir. ¡°Sh¨©rk¨±h ibn Asad has earned the respect of us all,¡± Lionel said, his tone careful and even. ¡°He will do well in your absence, and the experience can only season him into a better leader. I look forward to your return, and pray you come swiftly, and with reinforcements. I will give you a letter for the Caliph, himself, in my own hand.¡± ¡°The troops cannot stay,¡± the Royal Guard protested. ¡°They have been recalled by the Caliph.¡± Ismet broke Lionel¡¯s gaze, and pinned the man with her eyes as easily as she would step on an ant. ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°Omar ibn Ajmal,¡± the man answered her, ¡°Captain of the Caliph¡¯s guards.¡± ¡°The Caliph did not explicitly recall my troops, Captain Omar,¡± Ismet said, holding up the parchment. ¡°Only myself, by name. Read his words yourself, if you doubt me, but my men will remain in Narvonne, to make war upon our true enemies - the daemons that have risen.¡± Captain Omar¡¯s cheek twitched with rage, and Imset smiled to see it. ¡°The General would expose herself to great danger traveling alone,¡± he said, finally. ¡°It is our duty to offer ourselves as an escort, to ensure that she reaches Ma?¨©n safely.¡± ¡°I am Exarch of Epinoia,¡± Ismet shot back. ¡°I faced the Sun Eater himself at the Tower of Tears. I assure you, Captain Omar, that anything that poses a danger to me would destroy you as easily as a cat catches a rat.¡± ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Omar ibn Ajmal responded, with a smirk, ¡°My duty to the Caliph is clear. I must be certain you return to Ma?¨©n.¡± ¡°As you wish, then,¡± Ismet said. It was clear that this summons was, in truth, an order to arrest her. ¡°You may accompany me on the Simorq.¡± Behind her, Ismet heard the shuffling of boots in sand. ¡°General Ismet?¡± Captain Cyrah asked, hesitantly. ¡°Yes, I find I must request your aid, Captain,¡± Ismet said, turning to face the P¨¡rsan woman. ¡°I must return to Ma?¨©n with all due speed.¡± Cyrah looked trapped. ¡°My ship is not suitable for sailing the Outer Ocean,¡± she protested. ¡°Nor would I ask you to,¡± Ismet assured her. ¡°No, I require passage to Khalij Alrimal.¡± ¡°That is in the entire opposite direction from Ma?¨©n!¡± Captain Omar protested. ¡°We will sail south to Khalij Alrimal,¡± Ismet insisted. ¡°And from the Bay of Sands ride west across the Maghreb, where I will bring my father gifts and a letter from King Lionel. There, we will pick up additional horses, and his men will escort us to Ma?¨©n with all due speed. It will be the safest route,¡± she explained, turning back to the royal guards. ¡°Unless you do not have confidence in my father¡¯s control of his own lands. And I will, of course, see you paid handsomely, Captain Cyrah.¡± ¡°Of course, General,¡± the P¨¡rsan Captain agreed, inclining her head. ¡°Excellent, it is agreed,¡± Ismet continued, speaking before Omar could chew on what she¡¯d done and find another objection. ¡°I will leave you, Captain Omar, to see to your men and your horses after such a long journey, while I meet with Commander Sh¨©rk¨±h and while Captain Cyrah empties her holds. We can leave with the tide, tomorrow, once I have the king¡¯s missive in hand.¡± She nodded to Omar, dismissing him, and turned back to Lionel. ¡°In that case,¡± the King of Narvonne said, ¡°I will leave Baron Urien to see to matters here, and accompany General Ismet back to the keep. We have, after all, much to discuss and many preparations to make.¡± Bors and Guiron placed themselves between the Caliph¡¯s guards and their charge, conveniently blocking access to Ismet at the same time. As the two walked back up the beach to their horses, Lionel spoke in a whisper. ¡°What in the name of the Angelus is happening?¡± ¡°Nothing good,¡± Imset said. ¡°I have eyes sharp enough to see a trap when it is in front of me. If I must go to Ma?¨©n, I will not go alone.¡± 124. The Fighting Lion Black Pudding Eggs Fresh Baked Bread Fried Mushrooms Choice of Bacon or Sausage Choice of Ale of Cider ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC The Hunter¡¯s Boon eventually led Trist to a locked wooden door, and from there the fiery cord proceeded down into the ground. ¡°A cellar,¡± he realized, leaning against the wood. ¡°Where are we, Acrasia? What does it look like?¡± ¡°The yard of an inn,¡± the faerie decided, after taking a moment to survey the dim of perpetual twilight. ¡°Can you hear the horses over there, in the stable? Or smell them?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said. He sucked in a breath through his nose, and there it was: the sweet smell of manure. ¡°They must be hiding in the wine cellar.¡± He thumped his fist against the door three times, then called in: ¡°Margaret?¡± ¡°Who¡¯s that out in the yard?¡± a man¡¯s voice bellowed, coming up on Trist from behind. ¡°We don¡¯t hold with vagrants or beggars here. Be off with you, now.¡± Trist winced. He couldn¡¯t give the other Exarchs away, but he didn¡¯t want the innkeeper to see his face, either. Two bloody holes where his eyes used to be would make for a quite distinct impression, and Avitus¡¯ daemons would no doubt be searching the city for him. At the same time, no one who got a look at him by torchlight would mistake Trist for anything but a wounded knight - his armor was expensive, clearly well-used, and hadn¡¯t been cleaned in days. ¡°Your pardon, innkeep,¡± Trist said, keeping his head down to conceal his eyes. ¡°I will be on my way.¡± He kept a hand on the door, then found the stone wall of the inn¡¯s first story, which he used to guide himself to the left, away from the cellar. ¡°Who are you?¡± the innkeeper¡¯s voice demanded again, closer now. Acrasia must have decided not to be seen, or Trist guessed he would have said something to the faerie by now. ¡°Only a soldier,¡± Trist said, ¡°Looking for a place to rest. I will trouble you no more.¡± ¡°A soldier for which side? We don¡¯t want any trouble here,¡± the man continued, and he must have gotten a good look at Trist¡¯s face then, for he gasped audibly. ¡°Never mind, I can tell the answer to that from your eyes, lad. It isn¡¯t safe for you here, the Baron¡¯s men patrol the streets every morning.¡± ¡°Point me out of your courtyard, then,¡± Trist said. ¡°I will find an alley somewhere to sit.¡± ¡°Not like that you won¡¯t. Angelus save me, you can¡¯t be any older than my daughter. May I take you by the arm?¡± ¡°You may,¡± Trist allowed, and stopped moving. A hand landed on his pauldron. ¡°Come inside, quick,¡± the innkeep said. ¡°I can give you a bath to wash in, at least, and something to wrap those eyes.¡± He turned Trist about and began to lead him across the courtyard. ¡°Why?¡± Trist asked. ¡°If they find me here, they¡¯ll kill you, as well as me.¡± ¡°Least I can do for a man wounded in the service of the true king,¡± the innkeep said. ¡°Mind the steps here, there are three of them. Up you go.¡± ¡°How could you tell?¡± Trist felt his way up the steps with his boots, and then they were inside, where the smell of fresh baked bread and ale filled the common room. ¡°If you fought on the Baron¡¯s side, you wouldn¡¯t be wandering the streets blind now, would you?¡± the Innkeep told him. ¡°Welcome to The Fighting Lion. I¡¯m Roger, my wife is Agnes, and we¡¯ve hardly had a guest take a room in weeks, so don¡¯t worry about being seen. Let me help you up the stairs.¡± ¡°No one wants to mark themselves by staying at an inn named after the royal arms, is it?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Not with a murderous git like the Baron sitting on the throne,¡± Roger confirmed. ¡°Agnes! Draw a bath, would you?¡± ¡°We have a guest?¡± a woman called, and Trist heard steps on the wooden floor of the common room. ¡°Oh!¡± the innkeeper¡¯s wife gasped, at the sight of him. ¡°I apologize for my state,¡± Trist said, keeping his voice as calm and level as he could. He didn¡¯t want to scare the poor woman any more than he already had. ¡°If you need me to be on my way, I will leave.¡± ¡°Nonsense,¡± Agnes said. ¡°Let me have a look at you.¡± She hissed and took him by the cheek, turning his head from side to side. ¡°Been done long enough you¡¯ve started to heal up, but your face is still covered in crusted blood. I¡¯ll start water on the fire, you follow me husband up.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°I¡¯ll help you get this armor off,¡± Roger offered, but Agnes interrupted. ¡°You will not, Roger Bowman,¡± she said. ¡°You know the Baron¡¯s men come around every morning, and they¡¯ll ask questions if you aren¡¯t down here. Get the boy upstairs, and then take a broom and sweep up the mud from his boots, so they don¡¯t see it.¡± ¡°Right you are, love,¡± Roger said, and between the two of them, they managed to get Trist up onto the second floor of the inn and into a room. ¡°We¡¯ll bring up the water for a bath after the guards have come and gone,¡± Roger said. ¡°I can help you unstrap everything after that.¡± ¡°My thanks,¡± Trist said. ¡°Now do as your wife said, and get downstairs. I will not make any noise or trouble.¡± It was only once the door to the room had clicked shut that Acrasia made her appearance. ¡°I don¡¯t trust him,¡± the faerie whispered in the empty room. ¡°He¡¯s hiding something. If he knew the others were in his basement he would have taken us there, wouldn¡¯t he? What if he turns you over to Avitus, Trist? I won¡¯t be spiked to a wall again, I can¡¯t bear it.¡± ¡°You will not be,¡± Trist promised her. ¡°A few guards I can fight, if I have to. And no matter what the man says, I will not be taking my armor off until they have come and gone. Now hush, and let me try to listen.¡± Carefully, he got down onto the wooden floorboards, and pressed his ear to them. ¡°-haven¡¯t had any guests here in weeks, Aldo,¡± Roger said below, his voice carrying through the floor. ¡°Serving you lot a bit of breakfast and ale is the high point of my day.¡± ¡°I told you, you¡¯ve got to change the sign over,¡± a second man, the kind who was a loud-talker, responded. ¡°No one¡¯s going to stay here until you do. How about ¡®The Cock and Stones?¡± More than one voice was raised in laughter. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly got balls enough for it.¡± ¡°I bought this place on the coin I won fighting the Caliphate,¡± Roger said, once the chuckles had died down. ¡°Named it then, and I¡¯ve done well for near twenty-five years. Raised my daughter here. Would be bad luck to change it.¡± ¡°Bad luck to keep it,¡± Aldo said. ¡°And I¡¯ve got orders, Roger. I¡¯m sorry, I wish I didn¡¯t have to do it, but I must. While you get our breakfast ready, my men will search your inn. Every room and the cellar.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± Roger asked, and Trist could detect a note of panic in the man¡¯s voice. ¡°Orders,¡± Aldo repeated. ¡°That spitfire of a daughter of yours broke out last night. I¡¯ve got an extra two squads outside, but I held them back on account of how you always looked out for me Ma and I when I was a lad. But it¡¯ll be my head if we don¡¯t search the place. I hope for your sake, Roger, she ain¡¯t here. And for hers.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t let you,¡± Roger protested. ¡°I¡¯ll take my old sword down off the wall before I do!¡± ¡°Do that, and these lads¡¯ll cut you down,¡± Aldo said calmly. ¡°You and Agnes just get us our breakfast, and do nothing else.¡± ¡°Damn them all,¡± Trist muttered, rolling up from the floor carefully. He couldn¡¯t do anything about the Exarchs in the cellar, but Margaret was as smart as any knight he¡¯d ever met, and she could handle herself. Trist was in far less a position to be fighting off three squads of guards. ¡°Is there anywhere to hide in this room?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Under the bed,¡± Acrasia said, after a moment. ¡°But all it takes is one look to find you there.¡± ¡°I have a plan for that,¡± Trist said. ¡°Lead me to it.¡± It was a nerve-wracking few moments: Trist couldn¡¯t see where he was going, or any of the furniture in the room, and he knew that the slightest creak of a floorboard, the knock of armor against a bed frame, could give everything away. At the same time, if he took too long about getting situated, the guards would be in the room anyway, and the whole endeavor would be a moot point. Finally, he squeezed himself under the bedframe and the mattress. ¡°Anything sticking out?¡± he asked Acrasia. ¡°Nothing,¡± she said. ¡°Back in the sword then,¡± he suggested. In the meantime, he unspooled an orange thread of fire from his core, and focused on stirring it to life, thickening the shadows about his body, to conceal himself in darkness. It was hard to tell how well it was working, without a functioning set of eyes, and Trist was just considering asking Acrasia to come back out and take a look at the results for him when the door swung open, and two sets of boots clumped in across the floorboards. ¡°It¡¯s just like the last three,¡± a man¡¯s voice complained, not more than three feet from the bed under which Trist hid. ¡°Check it all anyway,¡± another, nasally man¡¯s voice returned. ¡°It¡¯ll be our necks on the block if you fuck this up, Hal.¡± Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Hal moved about the room, throwing open the doors of what sounded like a wardrobe, and swinging up the lid of a chest. In another time and place, Trist might have been fascinated by how his mind connected the familiar sounds to physical objects, but as it was he tried not to breathe. ¡°Nothing, just like I said,¡± Hal whined. ¡°Under the bed, too, you daft bastard,¡± the second man insisted, and Trist really did hold his breath. ¡°It¡¯s ain¡¯t your bad back, now is it?¡± Hal kept up his complaining, but from the sounds of it he did get down on his knees on the floor. ¡°See? Nothing. Let¡¯s finish this up, I want my breakfast.¡± Trist didn¡¯t allow himself to breathe until the count of ten after the door had swung shut, and by then his lungs felt like they¡¯d been filled with stones. ¡°Auberon¡¯s Boon,¡± Acrasia whispered in his ear. ¡°Not one you use often, but quick thinking.¡± ¡°It was either that or open a portal,¡± Trist reasoned. ¡°But I have no idea where I could have it take me to.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve never been in this city before, then,¡± Acrasia asked. ¡°Never,¡± Trist confirmed. ¡°We shipped wood here, but we never visited Lutetia ourselves. Farthest we ever traveled was Rocher de la Garde.¡± ¡°Will they find the other Exarchs, do you think?¡± Acrasia wondered. Trist chewed on it for a moment. ¡°I would put coin against it,¡± he said finally. ¡°Margaret is smart. They have three Exarchs there, all well accustomed to working as a team. I could not even tell you what all their Boons do. There must be something they can use to conceal themselves, or as a distraction.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re wrong, the first thing we¡¯ll hear of it is the yelling,¡± the faerie said. Trist wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his longsword, there under the bed, and listened. If Margaret and the others were found, he would do his best to help them. He had to: He¡¯d promised the ghost of Tor De Lancey that he would protect Enid, and that was an Oath that Trist intended to keep. The silence stretched on, filled by nothing but the chatter of Aldo and the other guards enjoying their breakfast below. Finally, Trist heard the men get up to leave and bid Roger and his wife farewell. He counted to one hundred in his head, then started over again, wanting to make sure the men were all gone before he moved. With a thump, the door to the room opened. ¡°Who¡¯s in there?¡± a voice called in. 125. The Ghost in the Cellar Camiel was the ideal of the Angelus. Noble, brave, self-sacrificing - most Angelus leave the actual fighting to their Exarchs, but the Saint of War never did. When I saw the Sun Eater rip his wings off, it felt like all hope had gone out of the world. ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Trist rolled out from under the bed, drawing his longsword and making a horizontal cut in a single motion. It wasn¡¯t until his swing was already in motion - aimed in the direction of the voice at the doorway - that he realized he was swinging at a knot of tangled threads. He could see the bundle of fire at the core of a daemon - or an Exarch. With a clang, his blade was deflected by a weapon that he couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Trist!¡± the voice exclaimed, and his brain struggled to catch up with what he was hearing. ¡°It¡¯s me! Margaret!¡± Panting, his heart beating like the hooves of a galloping horse, Trist pulled his sword back into Ox Guard, and paused there. ¡°Dame Margaret?¡± he asked. It was a woman¡¯s voice, certainly, but he hadn¡¯t known her for very long at all. He wished that he could see her face. ¡°Dame Margaret,¡± she repeated. ¡°From the cages. I know you can¡¯t see my face, Trist. You got us out. You opened those portals beneath us, and we fell out of the cages. Who else would know that?¡± No one, he realized, but the four other people who had been in the great hall of Cheverny a few hours before. Trist dropped his blade, fumbled for his sheathe with his left hand, and managed to put the longsword away. He¡¯d nearly cut one of his only allies in the city in half. ¡°My apologies,¡± Trist said. ¡°There were guards downstairs, and they searched the room. I had to hide under the bed until they left. When I heard your voice¡­¡± ¡°I understand,¡± Margaret said. ¡°You didn¡¯t know who it was. But come with me, it isn¡¯t safe for us to stay up here where there are windows.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said, reaching out a hand. ¡°Could you lead the way? The innkeep was going to bring me a bath¡­¡± ¡°We could all use one of those,¡± Margaret agreed. ¡°But safer to do it in the wine cellar. Papa will bring the tub down there.¡± Her hand wrapped around his, and she tugged him along out the doorway and down the hall toward the stairs. Trist blinked. ¡°The innkeep is your father?¡± ¡°This is where I grew up,¡± Margaret said. ¡°My father fought for King Lothair in the Hauteurs Massif, when I was just a baby. He¡¯s the one who taught me how to use a spear, and it was only later that Rahab chose me.¡± The stairs creaked under their feet as they descended. ¡°Now it makes sense why the Hunter¡¯s Boon led me to the cellar door,¡± Trist said. ¡°You came here, and your parents hid you.¡± ¡°You have the right of it,¡± Margaret confirmed. ¡°Papa, all¡¯s well,¡± she called out as she led Trist down off the last step. ¡°Trist here is an Exarch, as well. We couldn¡¯t have escaped without him.¡± ¡°Forgive me, then, Sir Trist,¡± Roger¡¯s booming voice broke across the room. ¡°If I¡¯d known, I would have put you in the cellar. But as it was, I couldn¡¯t risk giving me daughter away.¡± ¡°No apology needed,¡± Trist said, trusting Margaret to lead him across the room. ¡°You did what you could. What would have happened if she did not vouch for me?¡± ¡°I would have fed you and asked you to move on,¡± Roger said. ¡°Unless it turned out you were working for the Baron. Then we would have done for you in the bath, or while you were asleep.¡± ¡°Then I am grateful it did not come to that,¡± Trist said. ¡°Come along dear, let¡¯s get you into the cellar,¡± the voice of Agnes, who he now realized must be Margaret¡¯s mother, came from his left side. The older woman took his arm, and between the two of them he rapidly found himself steered out into the yard, then down another set of stairs into a cool, dry chamber that smelled faintly of oak wood and wine. ¡°Sir Trist!¡± The voice was Enid¡¯s, followed by an exclamation from Sir Cynric.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Ha! I knew he¡¯d make it back alive.¡± ¡°Good to see you all again,¡± Trist said, and then immediately felt like a fool, because he couldn¡¯t actually see any of them at all. ¡°Or hear you, at any rate. Lorengel is here, as well?¡± ¡°I am,¡± the final Exarch spoke up. ¡°You¡¯ll all have to take turns with the bath,¡± Agnes said. ¡°And I¡¯m certain I don¡¯t need to tell you knights to give the ladies their privacy.¡± ¡°I am a married man,¡± Trist promised the innkeeper¡¯s wife, then tapped his forehead. ¡°And I find myself unable to see anything, in any event.¡± ¡°Aye, it¡¯s Cynric we have to worry about,¡± Margaret said, with a chuckle. ¡°He¡¯s always had an eye for an elegant shape.¡± ¡°My intentions have never been anything but pure,¡± Cynric insisted, and Trist got the impression this was an old joke between the two comrades. ¡°But I am the Exarch of the Angelus of Love. Some things come with the job, so to speak.¡± ¡°I hate to ruin the mood,¡± Trist said, ¡°but there is something you both should know. That all of you should know. During my flight through the city,¡± he continued, once the two women had got him settled on the cellar floor, back against a wine cask, ¡°I got a glimpse of the Cathedral of Saint Camiel. Avitus is doing something there - or his daemons are.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Lorengel pressed, his voice coming closer and his boots echoing off the stones underfoot. ¡°I saw chains,¡± Trist said. ¡°Much like those that bound Adrammelech in the Hauteurs Massif. Acrasia said she thought it was a binding, and that we would find a circle of blood if we went down into the tomb. We think they¡¯re trying to corrupt the corpse, just as Adrammelech was trying to do with Abatur.¡± ¡°Your father and I will be back with the tub, and hot water,¡± Agnes said, softly. ¡°It seems you have things to discuss that are beyond me.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mama,¡± Margaret said, and Trist heard the creak of her armor as she settled down on the floor nearby. In fact, from the sound of it, everyone was drawing around close and settling in. A moment later, the door of the cellar shut. ¡°I¡¯ll bar it again,¡± Cynric said, and his boots scuffed on the steps. It was only once he¡¯d returned that the conversation continued. ¡°Lorengel,¡± Margaret began, ¡°What do you think?¡± ¡°I need to see it,¡± the Exarch said, after a moment¡¯s thought. ¡°And I have no knowledge of what was attempted at Falais. But they had enough skill to bind our Angelus in circles, in the great hall. I think that we must assume they could do the same, under the Cathedral.¡± ¡°Whatever they are doing,¡± Trist insisted, ¡°We cannot allow them to finish.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not certain that we can stop them, Trist,¡± Margaret said. ¡°We have three exhausted, starved Exarchs, and a fourth who¡¯s been blinded. I don¡¯t say it to be cruel, but not a single one of us is really in a fit state for a battle. And the Baron - Avitus - six of us fought him before, and lost. If we couldn¡¯t beat him then, when we had better numbers and were all rested, we can¡¯t beat him now.¡± Trist frowned, surprised not a single voice was raised in objection. What Margaret sounded like - what they all felt like - were people who had accepted their own defeat. People who had already given up, and now were only trying to survive. ¡°King Lionel is coming,¡± he said. ¡°With three more Exarchs. That will give us seven, against Avitus, his daughter, and seven daemons. Those numbers are as close to even as we are going to get. The more bindings they break, the more daemons they raise - the more people sell themselves and become daemonic Exarchs - the worse those odds get for us. We have to do everything we can to stop them from piling on any more advantages, before the King and his army get here.¡± ¡°I hear what you¡¯re saying,¡± Cynric said. ¡°But what do you want us to do, charge the cathedral? The moment we do, they¡¯ll send everything they have after us. Even if we stop whatever they¡¯re doing in the tomb, they¡¯ll trap us down there and take us prisoner again.¡± The man¡¯s voice broke at the thought. ¡°At Falais, we nearly lost,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°It was desperate. But we did not stop fighting. At Rocher de la Garde, we held the city for three days against everything they threw at us. Three daemons, they had, and I was the only Exarch, but we held until the King lifted the siege, and the other Exarchs arrived. I know that it looks like we are in a hopeless situation,¡± he continued. ¡°But you do not know what the King is doing. He will be on his way here, I know it, gathering every man he can across the countryside as he comes. We need to do our part, no matter how difficult it is.¡± ¡°If we could get into the Cathedral,¡± Lorengel said, ¡°I could at least get a look at what they are doing. Then we would know what the stakes are, and we could make a better decision.¡± ¡°Trist,¡± Margaret said. ¡°If we get you to a wall, you could gate us in through the stone, yes?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± he said. ¡°And I can pull shadows around us, as well.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan, then,¡± Margaret said. ¡°We rest and recover here for the rest of the day. Once the bells ring for vespers, the streets will begin to clear out. That is when we move. We go through back alleys to the Cathedral, and Trist gets us inside. Once we reach the tomb, the rest of us buy time for Lorengel to figure out just what is happening down there. Lady Enid,¡± she continued, and Trist could actually hear her turn away from him by the way her voice changed. ¡°I would like to send you south, if we could, to Rocher de la Garde. My father has some friends I would trust to smuggle you out of the city. You can be our messenger to King Lionel.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Enid squeaked. ¡°But I¡¯m not¡­ I¡¯m no knight, nor even a soldier,¡± she protested. ¡°All I know how to do is grow plants in a garden.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been a prisoner at Cheverny for days now,¡± Margaret said, ¡°And not confined to one room, as we were. I expect you will have quite a bit to tell the King, and he will protect you once you reach his army.¡± ¡°Enid,¡± Trist broke in. ¡°I promised you that if you came with us, you would speak to your father again. I think you should listen to what he has to say.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see how that is possible,¡± Enid said. ¡°My father has been dead for years, Trist. You were there.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said. ¡°I was.¡± He drew his longsword, and placed his hands crossed over the pommel, resting the blade across his lap. ¡°Sir Tor De Lancey,¡± he intoned. ¡°I call you.¡± The sensation of the temperature in the cellar dropping was familiar to Trist, but he heard gasps around him from the others. He¡¯d seen frost crackle across stone so many times, by now, that he could picture what was happening even without the use of his eyes. ¡°I am here,¡± Tor¡¯s voice boomed through the cellar, ¡°Though I see no battle before me, lad.¡± ¡°I did not call you here to fight,¡± Trist explained. ¡°Turn around, Tor, and speak to your daughter.¡± ¡°Enid?¡± the ghost¡¯s voice broke. ¡°Daddy?¡± Enid exclaimed, and then she began to sob. 126. Circles in the Dark It has been my life¡¯s work to learn everything I can about the immortal creatures who have come to this world from beyond, and to record that knowledge here, for the benefit of future generations. I can admit, now, as an old man, that what began as an order from General Aurelius has consumed my life. I have no family, no surviving friends. This work is my legacy - but it is only a hollow legacy. Where do they truly come from? What is their essential nature? I am no closer to grasping that now than I was during the Cataclysm. ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC ¡°How are you here,¡± Enid De Lancey asked the spirit of her father, and Trist could tell she was crying from the breaking of her voice. He set his longsword down on the ground, reached out for the wine barrel he was leaning against, and got to his feet. ¡°Let us give them a moment,¡± he murmured, in the direction of Dame Margaret, and she led him to the far end of the cellar, where the four Exarchs reconvened. ¡°My portals and shadows to get us in,¡± Trist began, once he¡¯d found another seat. ¡°I know you have all worked together for years, but I must admit I do not know your capabilities.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t drown,¡± Margaret began. ¡°You could knock me over the head and dump me over the side of a ship in the outer ocean, and I¡¯d float to shore safe and sound. Might take a while. If there¡¯s water in the area, I can send it in a wave to knock our enemies over, but the Cathedral isn¡¯t close enough to the river for that to matter. If I submerge someone in the ocean, I can disinfect their wounds, heal them a bit. Not as impressive as your wine trick. I can also call creatures of the ocean, and talk to them - again, not much use for what we¡¯re doing. There¡¯s a reason the King kept me at Court, unless there was some sort of pirate crisis or something. How powerful I am is really very dependent on the environment.¡± ¡°Do seagulls count?¡± Trist asked, after thinking a moment. ¡°They do,¡± Margaret confirmed. ¡°And yes, I can use them to scout our way to the Cathedral. It will help us avoid patrols, at least. Cynric, your turn.¡± ¡°I can see emotional connections between people,¡± Cynric said. ¡°What they¡¯re feeling, even when they try to hide it. The spark of desire when two lovers gaze at each other across a room. King Lothair usually kept me at his side during audiences, so that I could advise him on what people left unsaid. I can speed the growth of crops, or quicken a woman¡¯s barren womb. I can fight, of course, but it isn¡¯t my specialty.¡± ¡°Saint Veischax,¡± Lorengel began, without needing a prompt, ¡°is the Angelus of the Seal. I can tell at a glance the strength of a binding, and whether there are any weak points. If you give me enough time, I can bind a daemon to a place, and I can renew or even break a binding. My power extends to more esoteric meanings of the word, as well: I can seal an oath, for instance, so that I immediately know when someone breaks it.¡± ¡°I can see why the King kept you three close by,¡± Trist said. ¡°And why Bors was the one he sent south.¡± ¡°Aye, Bors is good for breaking things, and not much else,¡± Cynric said, in good humor. ¡°So,¡± Margaret said, getting them back to the point. ¡°We get cleaned up, and wait for most of the city to go to sleep. We use gulls to scout our way to the Cathedral. Otherwise, it¡¯s as I said before. Trist cloaks our passage, portals us in and Lorengel checks the bindings. Trist, how many Tithes would you need to improve that Boon? To try to heal your eyes again?¡± ¡°Four,¡± Trist said, ¡°which means twelve, once I pay Acrasia and the King of Shadows their shares.¡± ¡°Too many,¡± Margaret said, discarding the idea. ¡°Just give us room to fight as best you can, and we¡¯ll try to keep them off you.¡± There was a thump at the door to the cellar. ¡°That¡¯ll be Ma with the tub,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll let her in.¡± ¡°Ladies first,¡± Cynric said. ¡°We¡¯ll stay right here until the two of you are done.¡± ¡°Trist,¡± Acrasia said, appearing opposite him like the stroke of lightning at night. To Trist¡¯s surprise, he could see every piece of her: those winter-blue eyes, the pale hair, her delicate pointed ears, and the black dress she wore. ¡°How can I see you?¡± Trist murmured. ¡°Everything else is darkness.¡± He heard Cynric and Lorengel shuffling away, clearly giving him privacy. ¡°You aren¡¯t seeing my body,¡± Acrasia explained. ¡°I haven¡¯t manifested it. I¡¯m using illusions, again, to affect your mind. You don¡¯t need eyes for me to make you think you can see me.¡± Ironic, Trist considered, that the beautiful faerie he¡¯d rejected might be the only woman he¡¯d ever see again. ¡°Can you use your illusions to show me other things, as well?¡± he asked. He doubted there was much chance of it, or she would have already done it.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Not in any way that will be useful to you,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°I could conjure an illusion of whatever I wanted, but I couldn¡¯t move it fast enough to let you fight. I would be half a step behind, and that would get you killed.¡± Trist nodded. ¡°I understand. It was too much to hope for.¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t need me to do that, Trist,¡± she continued. ¡°That¡¯s why I came to speak to you.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked. While they spoke, the thread of Tor De Lancey¡¯s presence finally slipped through his grasp, and warmth returned to the cellar. ¡°Listen,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Do I need eyes to see?¡± ¡°No,¡± Trist said immediately. ¡°You seem to do just fine without a physical body - but you are a faerie. I get glimpses of you, from time to time - the rest of you. Stretching back to wherever your body actually is. But I am not a faerie. I cannot do what you can.¡± ¡°You can, though,¡± Acrasia insisted. ¡°You¡¯re already starting too, Trist. Most Exarchs never see our real bodies, and if they get a glimpse, it¡¯s after years in the service of their Angelus. Do you think Sir Baylin would have left me alive if he could have seen enough of me to kill me for true?¡± ¡°So what, I have a talent for it, then?¡± Trist asked. He couldn¡¯t help smiling. The only other thing he¡¯d ever had a talent for was swordplay. ¡°It¡¯s more than that,¡± the faerie pressed him. ¡°Why do you think I didn¡¯t Tithe you in the woods that first day, Trist?¡± His smile melted. ¡°I thought it was because we liked each other.¡± ¡°That came later,¡± Acrasia said, and though Trist had tried to put aside his past feelings for her long since, it still hurt to hear. ¡°You caught my attention because you were different than any other mortal I¡¯d ever seen. It made me curious, and I had to know why. And then as I spent more time with you, that¡¯s when I began to care for you. But if you¡¯d been any ordinary boy, I would have Tithed you then and there. That¡¯s why I was singing in the first place - you just happened to be the first person to follow the sound of my voice.¡± Trist turned away, forced to re-examine everything he¡¯d thought to be true about his childhood love. There had been no chance encounter in the forest: he¡¯d been her prey. Acrasia, the wolf, and young Trist, the hare. He would never have been able to stop her. ¡°There is nothing different about me,¡± he said finally. ¡°I am a man like any other.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± she raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. ¡°I heard the story your father told you, when you summoned his ghost.¡± From the other end of the cellar, the splashing of water came, but Trist was focused entirely on his conversation with Acrasia. ¡°About my mother,¡± he said. ¡°Yes.¡± Acrasia nodded, pale hair shifting about her shoulders. ¡°You are the son of an Exarch, Trist. A daemonic Exarch, yes, but an Exarch all the same. How long were you growing in your mother¡¯s womb, before she cast off Agrat?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°Long enough to ride from the Tower of Tears, north through the pass, into the Arden, and to Vellatesia.¡± ¡°Vellatesia,¡± Acrasia repeated. ¡°The city where Avitus made his bargain with the Sun Eater. Where he let them all into our world, Trist. And what, exactly, did your mother and father do there, to break Agrat¡¯s hold on her? All while she carried you, Trist. I¡¯ve never heard of any other Exarch who was a mother. Centuries of power, those Boons she¡¯d built upon scores of Tithes - did they move through you, as well as her? I think they did.¡± ¡°This is all guesses, then,¡± Trist challenged her. ¡°Not all of it. I saw the barest spark within you, when you were a child,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Now I think I understand why it was there. Perhaps Agrat is as much a mother to you as Cecilia. I think, sweet boy, that you have never been entirely mortal. But you were starved, until I took you as my own. Only in the past few months has the power within you been able to feed, and grow.¡± ¡°That monster is not my mother,¡± Trist said, angrily, and the sound of splashing stopped. ¡°Is everything alright, Sir Trist?¡± Dame Margaret called back to him. ¡°Yes,¡± Trist said. ¡°My apologies. I am speaking to Acrasia.¡± ¡°Put that aside, for a moment,¡± the faerie continued. ¡°Perhaps it was only your mother¡¯s Boons that touched you, and made you something more. But the fact that you can see me, Trist - and you¡¯ve been fighting today by seeing the cores of the daemons, haven¡¯t you? I¡¯ve never heard of any other Exarch doing something like that.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Trist said. ¡°Let us say for a moment that my mother¡¯s power changed me, somehow. It is enough to keep me alive against a daemon, if there is no other choice, but I still can¡¯t fight as I did before.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because you haven¡¯t truly opened yourself up to the world, yet,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°I don¡¯t think you need eyes at all, Trist. I think you need to learn to see as faeries do.¡± ¡°Can you teach me?¡± he asked. ¡°I believe I can.¡± She sighed. ¡°Whether I can do it before you leave for the Cathedral is another matter, entirely. You¡¯ve learned how to use your Boons more easily than most, I believe. I remember how Aurelius¡¯ first seven Exarchs stumbled their way through it, like blind idiots in a thicket of briars. But you take to this power like a fish born in the water.¡± ¡°Let us at least try, then,¡± Trist decided. His heart leapt at the idea of seeing again, of being able to fight instead of being a useless cripple who needed to be protected. He tried not to get too excited, to tell himself that it was only a slim chance, that he would be a fool to build up his hopes, but he had to know. He had to make the attempt. Acrasia smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve never been much of a teacher,¡± she admitted. ¡°But I will do my best.¡± She reached out with her hand, extended a delicate finger, and drew in the dark, on a cellar floor that Trist could not see. Where the faerie touched, a trail of light remained behind, until Trist, leaning forward, could see a picture. ¡°Two circles,¡± he said. She¡¯d drawn them side by side. ¡°Yes. Imagine that those circles are your world,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Here, we can add to it. I¡¯ll make a square - that¡¯s a castle. And these dots are people. And looking at them from above, we can see the picture. If we care to look closely, we can see all sorts of detail, but I won¡¯t draw it now.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not certain I understand,¡± Trist admitted, frowning. ¡°I see your world like I am looking at a picture.¡± Acrasia stood. ¡°Here. If I stand in this circle-¡± she stepped into the left circle she¡¯d drawn. ¡°All those little dots there, those mortal people, they see my foot and they think that it¡¯s me. But they don¡¯t see this.¡± She waved a hand up and down her body, to indicate the rest of her. ¡°That¡¯s your world, Trist,¡± she continued. ¡°They think I¡¯m standing in their castle, but it¡¯s only ever my toe, or my finger. And the real me is looking down at them, from above, beyond anything they can comprehend. This is how you need to learn to see, and it has nothing to do with your eyes.¡± 127. Dreams of the Sea You don¡¯t know how many nights I¡¯ve dreamed of you, my love, and then awoke to a cold bed and a pillow wet with tears. ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC The rest of the day, spent in the cellar beneath The Fighting Lion, was as frustrating for Trist as his memories of how it felt to learn his arithmetic from Brother Alberic when he was a child. Hours of coaching from Acrasia, while the other Exarchs and Enid took their turns getting cleaned up, didn¡¯t bring him any closer to seeing anything other than cores. He could recognize the different Exarchs by the number and colors of their burning threads, and the patterns of how those threads were wrapped around each other into a core. He could slip into that way of seeing in a moment, and stay there, in the peculiar frame of mind he¡¯d only ever grasped for short durations. Trist guessed that his blindness was at least partially responsible for his improved endurance: the moment he let his focus slip, he was utterly in the dark once again, and he hated it. The longsword remained visible to him, as well. By the time they took a break so that Trist could have his own turn in the tub, he could also see not only Acrasia, but the three Angelus tied to the Exarchs. ¡°Try looking at the water,¡± Acrasia suggested, and Trist had simply had enough. ¡°I need a rest,¡± he said. ¡°Let me just clean up without thinking about this.¡± Acrasia frowned. ¡°You want to be able to fight tonight at the Cathedral, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I do,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°But sometimes, when you are trying to learn something new, it is important to know when to stop. Frustration does not help, but coming back to practice fresh often does.¡± ¡°Something that master-of-arms of yours told you?¡± Acrasia asked him, arching her eyebrows and tossing back her hair. ¡°Over and over again, when I was a child,¡± Trist said. ¡°Now give me a few moments of peace.¡± The water was only half warm, but it was a relief to be able to finally get clean after three days imprisoned in a cage. Margaret¡¯s parents had brought them a bar of soap, and while hardly any of it was left by the time it was Trist¡¯s turn, the scent of bergamot and lime made him feel as if his lungs were opening up. The best soap came from the Caliphate, and Trist was a bit surprised that Margaret¡¯s parents could afford such a luxury. Their inn must have been doing quite well before the city was conquered. The hardest part was dealing with his eyes. Using his Boon had healed the weeping wounds where Trist¡¯s eyes had been torn out, but his face was still crusted with blood and pus and Angelus knew what else. The empty sockets were tender, and he discovered that getting soapy water in there stung fiercely. Finally, after cleaning himself, Trist accepted a towel from Cynric, and the other Exarch helped him dress in clean clothes brought by Margaret¡¯s father. ¡°I feel as helpless as a child,¡± Trist admitted, fumbling with his boots. ¡°Not quite that harmless, I think,¡± Dame Margaret said, the sound of her boots on the cellar floor approaching. ¡°My mother sent this for you. Hold still a moment.¡± He felt a cloth settle over his eyes. Margaret shifted around behind his back, and Trist sat there while she pulled the fabric tight and tied it behind his head. ¡°There,¡± the Exarch of Rahab said, her voice moving as she came around in front of him again. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look bad, Trist. And it will keep dirt from getting in there.¡± ¡°I must look like a beggar on the side of the road,¡± Trist grumbled. ¡°You¡¯ll be a beggar in plate, then,¡± Lorengel pointed out. ¡°At least you won¡¯t have to worry about your helm cutting your field of vision. Worst part of wearing the damned things.¡± In spite of himself, Trist grinned and felt a bit better. ¡°I think the heat is worse, honestly,¡± he admitted. ¡°Alright. We have a bit of time. I am ready to get back to work, Acrasia.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s try something different,¡± the faerie said, sitting down in front of him and smoothing her dress out. ¡°I think you¡¯re too close to things. I want you to try pulling back.¡± ¡°How do I do that?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Lay down in my lap,¡± she said, ¡°and relax.¡± ¡°Acrasia,¡± he said, ¡°we have spoken of this before. I am married now.¡± ¡°I know that,¡± she shot back. ¡°I need you to let go, Trist, and this is the best way I can think of to do it. Nothing more. I promise.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± he said, after considering for a moment. ¡°I assume you have actually gotten your body out for this.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°She has,¡± Cynric called over. ¡°And a beautiful woman she is. Lady Acrasia, how would you feel about-¡± ¡°Shut up, Cynric,¡± Margaret shouted him down. Trist turned around and settled back, stretched out on the cool stone floor, until his shoulders, neck, and head were in Acrasia¡¯s lap. Then, he felt her fingers in his hair, along his scalp. She began to rub, gently but firmly, and worked her way down to his neck. In spite of himself, Trist let out a long breath, and felt his muscles loosening. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Acrasia murmured. ¡°Let yourself drift. This mortal world isn¡¯t all there is, Trist. You are not your body. Let yourself float, and just feel everything around you.¡± Her words were rhythmic, soothing, like a lullaby. Trist¡¯s mind drifted to a memory of his mother, singing to him while he wrapped himself in blankets and burrowed into his pillow. The last few days had been exhausting, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He felt himself begin to drift. In his dream, Trist could see again. He looked down at the cellar from above, and saw himself, or his body, resting motionless with Acrasia¡¯s hands moving in circles on his shoulders. Lorengel and Margaret had got oil, rags and a whetstone from somewhere, and they were working their way through all the weapons and armor, cleaning. Cynric was sitting next to Enid, and the two were speaking in hushed tones. Back farther, Trist¡¯s vision moved, and he could see a large man walking up to the cellar door, carrying a basket. It must be Margaret¡¯s father. Roger Bowman had put on weight since he¡¯d gone to war two decades earlier; his face was red, and his belly shook as he rapped on the cellar door. It was Cynric that got up and moved the bar, and accepted the basket. The scent of fresh bread and roast chicken wafted through the cellar. None of this was what Trist wanted to dream about, however. He wanted to see home, and the people he cared about, not dwell on the same place he was trapped when he awoke. Clarisant. He wanted to see his wife, and tell her that he was alive. Trist¡¯s dream shifted, and he saw a ship at sea, by the light of the stars overhead and the white-ring that should have been a summer sun. A stiff wind filled the sails, and salt spray was flung back from where the ship cut the waves at the front. Clarisant was there, on deck, dressed in a heavy wool dress in dark blue, worked with white sea-shells and pearl buttons, and Ya¨¦l was by her side. The squire was practically hanging over the rail, and Claire had her hand at the girl¡¯s waist, fingers wrapped around Ya¨¦l¡¯s sword belt. Trist couldn¡¯t help but grin at the sight of it. ¡°Do not let her drag you over with her,¡± he said, before he could think better of it. Claire¡¯s eyes opened wide, and she looked directly at him. ¡°Trist?¡± ¡°Here, have something to eat,¡± Enid offered, shaking Trist¡¯s shoulder with her hand, and he was back in the dark cellar. Trist sat up quickly, rolling out of Acrasia¡¯s lap. ¡°I had the strangest dream,¡± he said, and then stopped. ¡°I could smell the bread¡­ is that roast chicken?¡± ¡°Roast chicken, fresh bread, and cheese, too,¡± Enid said. ¡°I didn¡¯t want it to get cold while you slept.¡± Acrasia, in the meanwhile, had withdrawn into his sword - that he could see, by the movement of her core. ¡°I wanted to thank you, Sir Trist,¡± Enid said. ¡°For letting me speak to my father one more time. And for rescuing me.¡± ¡°You do not need to thank me,¡± Trist said, accepting a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese, one on top of the other, and taking a large bite. How long had it been since he¡¯d had decent food? He couldn¡¯t help but moan as he chewed, and then swallowed. ¡°It is my duty as a knight to protect the innocent. And more than that - I promised your father I would protect you.¡± ¡°He told me,¡± Enid admitted. ¡°And how he died, as well. Lights, leading them into the forest. Faerie lights.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said, with a sigh. ¡°He was a Tithe. He and the girl he was with, both.¡± ¡°I think it is best that I leave, after all,¡± Enid said, quietly. ¡°It was your faerie that killed him, wasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°It was.¡± He paused eating, waiting for her response. ¡°Father says it isn¡¯t your fault,¡± Enid said. ¡°That you weren¡¯t with her, and didn¡¯t even know about it. And that you¡¯ve kept your word to him. But all the same, I don¡¯t want to be in the room with her. With the monster that-¡± Her words broke off. ¡°I understand,¡± Trist said. ¡°I would not ask you to stay - nor to come with us under the cathedral. You would be doing us a service, in all honesty, to get back to the king and tell him what you can.¡± ¡°My mind is made up, then,¡± Enid De Lancey said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to eat.¡± Her skirts rustled, and he was alone again. Trist took a bite of chicken. ¡°What she neglected to mention is that her father was already drunk and betraying his wife when I found him on the edge of the woods,¡± Acrasia said, re-appearing in front of him. ¡°He was no prize, that one.¡± ¡°He was still her father,¡± Trist pointed out. ¡°She has a right to hate you.¡± Acrasia rolled her eyes. ¡°Nevermind that. Did you see anything? When you relaxed?¡± ¡°No.¡± Trist took a swallow from the wine-skin Enid had left him, to wash down his meal. ¡°I fell asleep, and dreamed, and that was all.¡± ¡°What did you dream?¡± Acrasia narrowed her eyes. ¡°Of the cellar, at first,¡± Trist said. ¡°Likely because I could hear what was happening around us. Margaret¡¯s father coming with the basket of chicken and bread, Lorengel and Margaret cleaning the weapons. And then I wanted to see Claire.¡± Acrasia¡¯s lips twitched, but she held in whatever she wanted to say, so Trist continued. ¡°She was on a ship, at the rail, holding on to Ya¨¦l to keep the silly girl from falling overboard. And just at the end-¡± he stopped. ¡°What?¡± Acrasia asked. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°For just a moment,¡± Trist admitted, ¡°I thought she looked right at me, and said my name.¡± Acrasia laughed. ¡°Leave it to you, Trist. I ask you to take your first step, and instead you run off into the forest.¡± Trist frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Two circles, remember?¡± Acrasia said, taking a moment to sketch them on the ground again, so that the illusion shone in Trist¡¯s mind. The faerie stood up, and put both feet in one. Then, she lifted her left foot, and set it in the second circle. ¡°You are not making any sense,¡± Trist complained. ¡°I asked you to take a step back from this world, so that you could see it better,¡± Acrasia explained. ¡°You did more than that. You put a foot in each circle, Trist. For that moment, when your wife saw you, and spoke? You were in two places at once.¡± 128. The Hound of Slaughter Veischax, though never the most fearsome of the Angelus, is in many ways the most vital. Compared to the losses we¡¯ve sustained trying to actually kill a daemon, the option to bind them in a prison is quite often the superior tactic. ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC ¡°I¡¯ll never get used to that damned ring,¡± Cynric muttered as they moved out into the courtyard of The Fighting Lion. ¡°It¡¯s easier at night, when I can at least pretend things are normal. The stars haven¡¯t changed.¡± ¡°Hush, now,¡± Margaret chided him. ¡°Trist, there are lanterns hanging above the streets. Can you cover us with shadows before we move out?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said, keeping one hand on the back of her cuirass so that he didn¡¯t get lost. ¡°Give me a moment.¡± He unraveled two stands from his core, and threw them out. One, he cast off into the city, willing it to attach to the Angelus Camiel. That burning cord caught and stretched taught, and Trist could feel it pulling him toward the cathedral. The second, he used to gather shadows about them, as he¡¯d done when breaking through the enemy lines with Clarisant, just before the siege of Rocher de la Garde. ¡°How does it look?¡± Margaret asked. ¡°Frightening,¡± Enid De Lancey admitted. ¡°But hard to see,¡± Margaret¡¯s father, Roger, added. ¡°Stay away from the lanterns where you can, I¡¯d say. But if you keep to the alleys and the shadows, I can¡¯t imagine anyone taking much notice of you all.¡± ¡°Good. You¡¯ll get Enid out?¡± Margaret reminded him. ¡°Take her in the wagon as soon as you lot are gone,¡± Roger promised. ¡°Take care of yourself, Maggie. Your mother and I expect to see you again when this is all over. And all you other knights, you come back to eat with us once the true king is on his throne!¡± It was an awkward journey through the city, four knights in full battle harness clumped together on foot, creeping through alleys and crossing streets to avoid the light. They did their best to keep their chain and plate from clanking, but it was hard for Trist, especially, not to stumble. If he hadn¡¯t had one hand on Margaret, it would have been a lot worse. She knew the city the best, out of all of them, which was no surprise now that Trist had learned she¡¯d grown up in Lutetia. Twice, they hid from patrols of Avitus¡¯ guards, crouched low against a wall, hardly daring to breathe until the men of the Barony du Champs d''Or had passed. The night was cold, even worse than the day in the cellar, and Trist had a suspicion that without a sun to warm the days, Narvonne¡¯s summer would quickly turn into an extended winter. How long before the crops died, and people began to starve? There was little he could do about it, so he focused on what was in front of him: the Cathedral of Saint Camiel. ¡°This is it,¡± Margaret whispered, finally, turning and taking his hand, which she pressed against a stone wall. ¡°The wall of the cathedral. On the other side should be the nave.¡± ¡°I will take us through,¡± Trist promised. With a great deal more effort, he unwound a third burning thread from his core, and activated the Boon he¡¯d stolen from the Serpent of Gates. The thread unwove, at his intent, into a dozen red strands, which spread out into a circle. At their widest extent, finally, they tore the world asunder. ¡°Go now!¡± he told the other exarchs. Trist recognized Lorengel moving through the gate first, by the color and number of threads wound in his core, and then it was obvious that Cynric followed, because Margaret still had a hand on him. Finally, the two stepped forward together, and then Trist let the doorway collapse behind them. In the nave of the cathedral, the scent of incense lingered from whenever the priests of the Angelus had last conducted a service - but beneath that, there was another smell. Trist sucked a breath in through his nose, and then nearly gagged at the distinctive odor of blood, bowels and rot. ¡°Can you smell that?¡± he asked the others. ¡°Ugh,¡± Margaret said. ¡°Aye. Smells like a battlefield.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t smell anything,¡± Lorengel said. ¡°That, my friend, is because you are as nose-blind as a tanner,¡± Cynric teased him. Trist shuddered; he¡¯d only made the mistake of entering a tanner¡¯s shop once. They used feces to treat the leather. ¡°Forgive me for not being able to identify a lady¡¯s favor by her perfume,¡± Lorengel shot back. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve long since forgiven you,¡± Cynric said. ¡°Lady Amelia, on the other hand¡­¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Enough,¡± Margaret silenced them both. ¡°Come along. We need to get down into the tomb. Lorengel, you know the way?¡± ¡°Aye, I¡¯ve been here before, to check the seals. Follow me.¡± Lorengel set off, and the other followed. Trist kept the shadows wrapped around them as best he could: he didn¡¯t expect random patrols of guards, such as they¡¯d had to evade in the streets, but he also couldn¡¯t imagine Avitus being careless enough to leave the Cathedral entirely unguarded. As they descended the stairs, the stench of blood and rot became overwhelming, and for a moment Trist thought he might vomit. Even Lorengel, at the head of their company, gagged and needed to pause for a moment to recover. ¡°By the Angelus,¡± Cynric whispered, ¡°What have they done down there?¡± ¡°Nothing good,¡± Trist said. ¡°I think we had best be ready to fight.¡± Swords cleared sheaths with the ring of steel against leather, and even Trist drew, though he didn¡¯t feel confident he could fight well without the use of his eyes. Worse yet, he was starting to catch glimpses, again, of burning chains below them, and the sickening light bound at the center. They continued on, and with every step a feeling of wrongness grew. ¡°It¡¯s just like Adrammelech,¡± Acrasia whispered in Trist¡¯s ear. ¡°Like under the mountain.¡± ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Lorengel murmured. They took the last few steps as quietly as they could, then stepped out into the tomb. Trist couldn¡¯t see it: he had no idea what the layout of the room was. Nor could he see the bodies, but from the stink of the place they had to be there. ¡°Angelus,¡± Margaret gasped. ¡°What is it?¡± Trist asked. ¡°What do you see?¡± ¡°They must have killed every priest here,¡± Cynric said, after a moment. ¡°A dozen bodies, or more. They¡¯ve used the blood to make the circle.¡± ¡°Not just the blood,¡± Lorengel said, and Trist could hear the clomp of his boots against the stone floor as the Exarch of the Seal walked forward. ¡°Intestines strung out like rope. They¡¯ve ripped the limbs off, as well, and set them in patterns.¡± ¡°I can see nine chains,¡± Trist said. ¡°Each rooted in the floor, stretching inward.¡± ¡°Aye, I can see where they¡¯re attached,¡± Lorengel confirmed. ¡°We need to break the seals - nine smaller circles, arranged around the greater circle. I¡¯ll go right, and Cynric, you go left. Margaret, watch our backs, and Trist, tell me what happens when I-¡± The knight¡¯s voice cut off with the sound of a sudden impact, a growl, and a cry. Trist saw a bundle of burning strands shoot out of the darkness, knock into Lorengel, and bowl him over onto the ground. Both cores pulsed with light, lashing out at each other and tumbling. ¡°What is it? Trist asked Margaret. ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± she shouted, pushing him against the wall of the crypt, where Trist braced himself. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen it before. Some kind of winged hound.¡± The sound of her boots on the stone told Trist she was running to fight it, and the sudden movement of her core away from him confirmed it. He wished he knew which daemon it was, what capabilities it had. Not for the first time since being captured, Trist wished he could consult his wife. Clarisant had made a study of the Marian Codex - the king had even let her keep the copy from the Cathedral of Rahab in Rocher de la Garde. If anyone would recognize the monster, and be able to tell him how to beat it, it would be her. Amidst the snarling, the cries of battle, and the flash of Boons in the darkness, Trist turned back to the chains wrapped around the corpse of the Angelus Camiel. Carefully, he crept closer, trusting to the three Exarchs who still had their eyes to fight the monster. Once he was right up on the circle, he began making his way to the left, away from the fighting, to the nearest place a chain was anchored. When he got there, he crouched down and felt around. Something squished beneath his gauntlet, and a wave of rot and blood hit him like a hammer to the face. ¡°Be my eyes,¡± he asked Acrasia. ¡°Tell me what it is.¡± ¡°A human heart,¡± the faerie answered. ¡°Ripped out of one of those priests, I would guess. Shot through with black veins, and still beating.¡± Indeed, Trist could feel it now against his gauntlet. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. With each beat, the burning chain pulsed. The pulse moved, from the heart in his hand forward, to the center of the tomb where the nine chains met. Now that he knew what to look for, Trist could see similar pulses proceeding down each chain, all in time with each other, the beating of the hearts perfectly synchronized. The bundle of threads at the center of the tomb, to which all nine chains were attached, must have been the corpse of Camiel. It was cold and dead, unlike the burning cores Trist had seen before. But with each pulse along the chains, two things happened. First, a brightness came over the core of the dead Angelus, like nothing so much as the sight of a man breathing coals back to life. Second, the pale, washed out colors of the Angelus¡¯ cords were wound about with black filaments, and these extended further toward the center of the core each time the nine hearts beat together. ¡°Are they trying to bring it back to life?¡± Trist asked Acrasia. ¡°So it seems,¡± the faerie answered. ¡°But not as it once was. They¡¯re twisting Camiel¡¯s core, corrupting it at the same time they pump life into it. The Angelus of War is gone, Trist. Whatever rises from the center of this tomb won¡¯t have a mind - but it will have his power.¡± ¡°Each one of his Boons,¡± Trist murmured. From the direction of the fighting, Cynric cried out in pain, and Trist recalled the Exarch of Theliel admitting that he was the least powerful fighter among them. ¡°What is that?¡± Trist asked Acrasia. Cynric¡¯s core had tumbled nearly over to the circle, and fire was spilling out of it toward one of the anchors. ¡°His blood,¡± Acrasia answered. ¡°The daemon-hound tore his arm off, Trist, and then threw him into the circle. He¡¯s bleeding right next to one of the hearts. I think-¡± Before Acrasia could even finish her thought, Trist released the heart he¡¯d been holding and clasped both hands around the hilt of his sword. Then, he plunged the tip down into the beating heart of a dead priest. Instead of pulsing power along the chain, the heart stilled, and a jolt coiled up Trist¡¯s blade and into his arm. It was the first he¡¯d taken since the fighting at Rocher de la Garde, and it went to Auberon, but no matter - he was going to take them all. Trist scrambled left, away from the fighting, tripping his way through piles of corpses and severed limbs as he went. He got to the second heart just as the entire circle beat again. This time, a wave of fire from the wailing Cynric poured up through one of the eight remaining chains. If the pulses from the priests¡¯ hearts had been like a man blowing on coals, Cynric¡¯s blood was like pouring alcohol on a fire. The core at the center of the tomb blazed to life. Cursing, Trist plunged his sword down into the second heart, claiming a Tithe for Acrasia, but it was too late. In the center of the Tomb of Camiel, the dead Angelus¡¯ core began to rise up into the air. 129. Abomination When a piece of the divine is destroyed, what is left? If a thing of horror is removed from the world, surely that is a good thing; but if, instead, a glittering wonder is shattered, does that not lessen us all? ? 16th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC As one, the seven remaining hearts spaced in a circle around the Tomb of Camiel flared like torches, then extinguished, leaving nothing behind. The circle itself broke apart into motes of blood-red fire, drifting up into the air before winking out one at a time. Trist lifted his sword to his right shoulder, settling into the Ox Guard, and followed the rising core of a dead Angelus with the tip. The strands of Camiel¡¯s Boons unraveled from the core, lashing out in all directions in flashes of yellow and white. A ghostly image began to coalesce, with the blackened core at its heart. Wings of bronze spread, with a scraping of metal feathers, and then tarnished as Trist watched, losing their luster unevenly. In some places, they even acquired a patina of sickly green, like old copper. The body supported by the wings was similar to that of a human man, though grotesquely deformed. As Trist watched, it lost all excessive flesh or fat, the stomach sucking in until it was nearly concave. All the Angelus¡¯ muscles, however, remained, leading to a distorted contrast between wide shoulders, a strong chest, and famine-stricken ribs. The skin was pallid and bloated, like a water-logged corpse, and Trist remembered finding the bodies of Sir Tor and the miller¡¯s daughter, near ten years gone. Finally, the monster opened its eyes, which were black as night. Just a breath behind, its forehead split open, revealing a third eye, just as dark as the normal two, in the center of the forehead, above the nose. ¡°Camiel!¡± A woman¡¯s voice broke across the tomb like thunder, and Trist flicked his eyes to the side to watch Rahab manifest. Dame Margaret¡¯s patron had skin pale and luminescent as mother-of-pearl, eyes the color of low tide under a summer sun, and wings that shone in beautiful pinks and purples, like nothing he¡¯d ever seen before. ¡°This is not you, brother,¡± the Angelus of the Sea pleaded. ¡°Go back to your rest!¡± With a roar that shook the entire tomb, and perhaps even the city around them, the monster that had once been Camiel, Angelus of War, lashed out with whips of fire, throwing Rahab aside. ¡°Hold it a moment!¡± Margaret shouted, and Trist heard the wet sound of her glaive chopping deeply into flesh. The agonized howl that followed pointed at the monstrous, demonic hound which had been guarding the tomb as the most likely victim. Uncertain of his footing, Trist edged forward. He could see Camiel well enough, but not the floor of the tomb. For all he knew there were stairs, railings, benches, or any number of obstacles scattered about that he was liable to crash into. If he could have seen clearly, he would have relied on his speed to close the distance before the monster saw him coming, but it was just too much of a risk. Instead, Trist made certain of his footing as he came on, ready to strike at any strands of fire Camiel threw his way. He didn¡¯t have to wait for long. The corrupted Angelus had initially turned toward where Rahab had hit the floor of the tomb, but Margaret¡¯s patron came up with her bright wings spread, and flew low toward their enemy, dodging around burning lashes as she went past, forcing it to turn back toward Trist. Once it saw him, it roared again, and swept half a dozen strands of fire at him in an assault that would overwhelm most Exarchs. Unlike those empowered by daemons or Angelus, however, Trist had been bestowed with inhuman speed, grace and reflexes. He shifted his weight to the left, letting one strand slide past him and impact the stone of the tomb floor, sending up a spray of chips and dust into the air. The second and third whips he cut as they came, severing them before they could touch him, and then he pushed off his with back foot to dash forward into the gap, low past the fourth whip. He was just close enough to threaten Camiel with his backswing, a diagonal cut up which would have split the monster from hip to shoulder - if the last two burning whips had not caught him and tossed him aside. The impact crumbled his cuirass, and flash-heated it at the same time, scorching the skin of Trist¡¯s chest even under his padded gambeson. Worse, it threw him across the tomb into the wall, where he hit with a deafening clang, then slid down and fell to the floor. ¡°Get up, Trist,¡± Acrasia urged him, ¡°or your friend over there won¡¯t be the only one to lose an arm.¡± Trist shook his head, got his feet under him, and leapt forward, rolling across the floor of the tomb just in time to let four lashes strike the wall where he¡¯d been only an instant before. Another shower of rock chips and dust erupted from behind him, and Trist coughed. ¡°I¡¯ve got your back,¡± Margaret called out, and he caught sight of her core rushing at Camiel. A glance to where she¡¯d been fighting showed him that the daemon-hound was dead, its core dissipated and no doubt already Tithed. Cynric must have been crawling away from where he¡¯d been thrown at the edge of the circle, for his core had moved, but was still low to the ground. Lorengel, on the other hand, visible as the only other core in the room, had moved around behind the monster and was doing something other than fighting, for he wasn¡¯t moving nearly fast enough to be in combat.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Trist raised his sword again, felt his way forward, and managed to make it to Margaret¡¯s side in time to ward off a counterstroke in her direction. When he swung at Camiel¡¯s incoming strands of fire, the hideous thing backed off, unwilling to risk further maiming. ¡°I do not think I can beat it without my eyes,¡± Trist admitted, gasping for breath. Pain shot through his chest every time he inhaled too deeply, and he suspected he¡¯d cracked a rib. ¡°We don¡¯t have too,¡± Margaret panted, next to him. ¡°We distract it while Lorengel and Veischax bind it. All we need to do is give them time.¡± ¡°Together, then,¡± Trist agreed. ¡°Relax,¡± Acrasia whispered in his ear. ¡°Just like earlier today. Let yourself see it.¡± Trist grunted, but there was no time to respond to the faerie, and certainly no way he could relax in the middle of a battle for his life. Margaret lunged forward, her core advancing at his side, and it was all he could do to keep up and defend her. Without actually being able to see what she was doing, he was afraid that attempting any more than that would only get in her way. Somewhere behind them, footsteps came tromping down the stairs from the nave above. ¡°Cynric!¡± Margaret shouted. ¡°Hold the stairs!¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only got one arm left over here!¡± Cynric shouted back, but he must have done something, for Trist heard the ring of steel on steel, and he wasn¡¯t stabbed in the back in the next few moments. Whatever mind was left in the risen corpse of Camiel must have decided that it couldn¡¯t win by fighting at range, and the next time the whips came, it was a feint. The moment Margaret dodged to the side, and Trist swung to protect her, the monster barrelled forward at them in a sudden rush of speed. There was a metallic clang, and Margaret¡¯s core was thrown aside, but Trist was able to slip around the oncoming Angelus and get a horizontal slice in at its side. His Daemon-Bane Boon was of no use here, unfortunately, but he a spray of stinking ichor spattered against the steel of his plate armor. ¡°How much longer?¡± Margaret shouted from where she¡¯d fallen, her voice raw. ¡°Almost finished,¡± Lorengel called back. ¡°Hold it.¡± ¡°We are holding it!¡± Trist shouted, though he was the only one within range at the moment. He spun, let his cut pull his blade up, then reversed into a downstroke at the monster¡¯s back, hoping that there would be nothing underfoot to turn his ankle. He felt the slice connect and took a step back, stumbling, settling into Tail Guard, with his left foot forward and the blade of his longsword trailing out behind him, tip down nearly to the ground. ¡°Come on then,¡± he shouted to keep Camiel¡¯s attention. The scuffling had left him as the only thing between Lorengel and the risen Angelus - there could be no retreat. The world slowed, as it had so many times before when Trist fought, his survival hanging on the edge of a blade. There was that peculiar sensation, again, that he had felt for the first time in the cellar of The Fighting Lion earlier in the day. It was as if he had stepped back from his body, and was watching someone else fight from a distance, tethered only by strands of light. Suddenly, Trist could see everything in the tomb clearly. The stone effigy which had marked the tomb itself was cracked apart into three pieces, all of which had been thrown aside to make way for the circle of gore in which they fought. His stumble had been over the dismembered leg of a priest, one of many making up the ritual ground in this room of horrors. Lorengel, grasping a length of black wood which now shone like the sun on the water, was scribing strange symbols into the stone of the floor. Margaret, in the meantime, had lost her helm at some point, and wiped blood from her mouth as she rose, settling her glaive for another charge. At the foot of the stairs, Cynric fought with an arming sword in his only remaining hand, the entire left side of his armor soaked in blood from where his missing limb had been torn from the socket of his shoulder. That was not, however, the extent of Trist¡¯s sight. He could see the daemoness Loray winging through the night above the city, nearly to the cathedral, and just on her heels the black-winged monster with the sword, coming on fast. That would make two daemons, on top of dozens of guards racing through the cathedral toward them, and the horror raised her this evening. It was too much for only four Exarchs, one of whom was already barely on his feet. Trist knew, in that moment, what he had to do. The dead-Angelus threw its bronze wings forward at Trist, as if to slice him with the razor-edges of its feathers, but there was one difference between how Trist had fought it before, and how he fought it now. Now, he could see. He leapt the wings, letting them hit the stone beneath them both, cracking it. Trist¡¯s boots touched the length of the bronze wings, and before the abomination could react, he ran up their length, dragging the tip of his sword along one wing as he came, leaving a trail of gushing black and gold ichor behind him. The monster¡¯s three eyes widened in horror, and it tried to step back, but it was slow compared to the speed granted Trist by the faeries. He swung a cut at its head, and the edge of his blade sunk into its angelic skull, spraying chips of bone and gouts of corrupted ichor in every direction. He set a foot on it¡¯s shoulder, yanked his sword clear, and hit the ground running before it could turn, then headed right for Margaret. Her eyes were wide as she drifted forward, and he put a portal right in front of her. Before the Exarch of Rahab could stop herself, she careened through, and Trist let the gateway close behind her, digging the toe of his sabaton into the stone to turn himself toward Cynric. As he ran, explosions of stone trailed him, the flailing whips of the corrupted Angelus never quite moving fast enough to catch him. Trist grabbed Cynric by the pauldron from behind, and yanked him back into a second gate. He sliced as he went by the stairs, gutting two guards in the gold and green livery of the Champs d¡¯Or as he went by, then kicked off the wall next to the stairs and dashed back toward Lorengel. A circle of light rose around Camiel as Trist drew closer, and the wounded monster screamed in agony. Chains the color of moonlight wrapped around it, but Trist didn¡¯t stay behind to see what happened. Instead, he tackled Lorengel through a final portal, leaving the tomb at the bottom of the cathedral behind them. They tumbled out into the cool air of the Ardenwood, rolling across the forest floor until they fetched up against the trunk of an old oak, and with the impact, Trist¡¯s sight left him once again. 130. Dangerous Waters The seas are the domain of Auberon¡¯s third queen, Melusine, and she is dangerous as a sudden storm, beautiful as sunrise over the water. All sea captains love her, in their own way, and it is why they can never truly be satisfied with a life on land. ? 17th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Clarisant shivered in the spray from the prow of the Perce-Pierre. The horrible white ring in the sky did hardly anything to warm days which should have been the height of summer, and the wind off the sea chilled her fingers. Overhead, the constellations scattered across the heavens shone as clearly as on a moonless night, and she traced the arm of The Hunter to the North Star of Abatur, at the center of his scales. North, then west around the coast of Skandia, lay their route. ¡°Here, m¡¯lady.¡± Clarisant accepted the cloth from Dame Etoile, who stood with one hand on the rail next to her, wearing a loose linen shirt and breeches. ¡°Thank you,¡± Claire said, and wiped her mouth. ¡°Being at sea makes it worse, I think. Or perhaps the other way around. I was never sick when Gareth took me out on the harbor.¡± ¡°The harbor isn¡¯t the open ocean,¡± Etoile pointed out, turning around to lean her back against the rail. ¡°And you¡¯re at the worst time for it. My mother always said once you started to show, the sickness got better.¡± ¡°I look forward to it, then,¡± Claire admitted, and tucked the cloth away to be cleaned later. ¡°Seven more months of this would be too much.¡± ¡°You¡¯re certain about when it happened, then?¡± Etoile asked. ¡°Certain enough to count, at least?¡± ¡°Aye. We were wed on the 23rd of the Planting Moon,¡± Claire explained. ¡°And then I didn¡¯t see him again until the first day of New Summer. By then I¡¯d already missed my cycle.¡± ¡°You were wed for the first time five days earlier,¡± the blonde knight pointed out, keeping her voice low enough that none of the sailors bustling about with the ropes would be able to hear. ¡°Some people might wonder which husband the child belongs to.¡± ¡°Those people would be fools,¡± Claire shot back. ¡°And cruel, besides. Are you one of them?¡± ¡°No,¡± Etoile said, shaking her head. ¡°In truth, m¡¯lady, I believe you. But I have to ask, because one day I might need to champion your honor.¡± ¡°In Raetia?¡± Claire frowned. ¡°I doubt anyone we¡¯ll meet there will be familiar with the complications of my marriage. I can hardly see it coming up.¡± ¡°You might be surprised. I¡¯ve sat in on enough negotiations, guarding your father, to see how any weakness can be used against someone. But that isn¡¯t what I¡¯m talking about. I wondered, m¡¯lady, if you might be willing to accept my service, after this is all over. Assuming we win, of course.¡± Etoile grinned. ¡°Your service? Are you no longer satisfied serving my father?¡± Claire couldn¡¯t help but let her surprise show in her voice. ¡°Your father I would follow to the end of the world,¡± Etoile explained. ¡°But it won¡¯t be your father forever, now will it? It¡¯s your brother who comes after him, when Baron Urien passes. And it was Gareth who didn¡¯t bother to evacuate Camaret-¨¤-Arden - not to mention Havre de Paix, or any of the other villages north of the city. If he¡¯s so quick to abandon his people in time of war, how easily will he throw away the lives of his knights?¡± ¡°My brother is a good man,¡± Claire protested. ¡°He may have read a bit too much Aurelius, I think. To him, everything is about the numbers. I suspect Gareth would argue that he sacrificed a small number of people to save the larger population.¡± ¡°It may be the smart choice,¡± Etoile argued. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t the right choice. I want to serve the people who make the right choices. I think your father would release me to your service, but I doubt Sir Gareth would. So I¡¯d rather do this now, before the years pass. If you¡¯ll have me.¡± ¡°Are you certain this has nothing to do with Henry¡¯s cooking?¡± Claire asked her, with a grin. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say nothing,¡± the burly woman answered. ¡°It would be a crime to never taste that man¡¯s rabbit stew again. And that chowder he made last night? I thought the ship¡¯s cook was about to start smoking out the ears.¡± ¡°It was good,¡± Claire admitted. ¡°If it¡¯s truly what you want, and my father will release you, then yes, I would be happy to have you, Ettie. You saved my life in the cathedral. I won¡¯t ever forget that.¡± ¡°Good. You can repay me by never using that nickname where anyone else can hear it. You think the kid¡¯s awake?¡± ¡°Ya¨¦l? We¡¯ll probably have to roust her out of bed,¡± Claire said with a snort.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°One last thing before we do, then,¡± Dame Etoile said. ¡°She told me you thought you saw Trist, yesterday.¡± ¡°Standing right there.¡± Claire pointed at a spot on the deck. ¡°Clear as the sky on a still day. ¡°I had Ya¨¦l¡¯s sword belt in my hand, because she was leaning over the rail like a fool, and he spoke to me. ¡®Do not let her drag you over too,¡¯ he said. That¡¯s what made me turn. He was there for just a moment, and then gone. But-¡± ¡°What?¡± Etoile asked. ¡°I¡¯ve already told you I believe you about the other thing. I¡¯m not going to call you a liar over this, m¡¯lady. The man¡¯s an Exarch. The things I¡¯ve seen him do, I never would have believed. If you say he was standing on deck, he was standing on the deck.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Claire said. ¡°But there was something I didn¡¯t tell Ya¨¦l, because I didn¡¯t want to frighten her. He was hurt, Ettie. His face was pale and thin, like he hadn¡¯t slept or eaten in days, and there was a cloth wrapped around his eyes. Like the kind a blind beggar would wear.¡± ¡°You were right to keep this to yourself, I think,¡± Etoile said. ¡°Though we might tell Granger and Henry. M¡¯lady, we don¡¯t know where your husband is, or what¡¯s happened to him. And we won¡¯t know for certain until he returns, in the flesh. If he¡¯s hurt, is there anything you can do for him now?¡± ¡°No.¡± Claire shook her head. ¡°And there¡¯s nothing Ya¨¦l can do for him either. She¡¯d work herself into nervous wreck over it,¡± Etoile guessed. ¡°She worships him. And she¡¯s only ten. She¡¯s had a hard life, but - children aren¡¯t know for their patience, or their ability to put things in perspective. And she needs to focus on her swordplay.¡± ¡°She needs to focus on her reading,¡± Claire countered. ¡°Come along. Let¡¯s get her out of bed.¡± They walked across the deck to the stairs, and Claire tried to put it out of her mind, but she couldn¡¯t help worrying. ? Claire sat on deck, back to the forecastle, the Marian Codex open in her lap, a lantern hanging overhead to light her reading. If she was being honest, the lanterns were probably not actually for her, but for the sailors who needed to see what they were doing, but she was using it. Perhaps fifteen feet away, John Granger was drilling Ya¨¦l on how to best break different guards. The names, at least, were familiar: they were the same as in the fencing manual Claire had found in her husband¡¯s bed chamber, after Trist had gone to war. ¡°Good,¡± Granger said, after the ring of steel on steel paused for a moment. ¡°The young lord taught you the basics, and he did a good job of it. Henry tells me you¡¯ve even killed a man.¡± ¡°One that I know of,¡± Ya¨¦l said, panting. Etoile walked to her side and offered a wineskin. ¡°Killed one of those Kimmerians at the edge of the Ardenwood. Cut another on the way into Rocher de la Garde, but I didn¡¯t see what happened to him.¡± ¡°Which puts you already a step ahead of many squires your age,¡± Granger pointed out, giving the girl a chance to get a second wind. ¡°You won¡¯t hesitate or freeze up on the battlefield. Now we just need to hone your technique, until it is instinct. In a real fight, when it¡¯s life or death, we descend to the level of our training.¡± ¡°Trist said that,¡± Ya¨¦l commented, with a grin, and passed the wineskin back. ¡°Who do you think the boy got it from?¡± Granger shot back with a scowl. ¡°Now, show me your Fool¡¯s Guard.¡± ¡°Sail!¡± a man¡¯s voice called down from atop the main mast. ¡°Sail ahead!¡± Claire shut the Codex, stood, and tucked it under one arm. ¡°Will it be trouble?¡± Ya¨¦l asked. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m going to find out,¡± Claire replied, and set out for the wheel, with Dame Etoile shadowing her. There, she found Captain Morrel, a man of exceptional height, now somewhat stooped with age. She recalled him from her youth as a man often employed in construction or repair by her father, who had retired with enough money to maintain a sailing ship for his own pleasure. Now, he was peering through a brass looking glass of Caliphate make. ¡°What do you see, Captain?¡± she asked, coming to a halt at his side. ¡°Lady Claire,¡± Morrel said, slowly lowering his glass. ¡°I hope that you are well today. I wish I had an apricot in my pocket for you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not six anymore,¡± Claire reminded him, with a smile. ¡°And I doubt we¡¯ll find any in Raetia. But perhaps when we get back we can share one. The sail?¡± ¡°A Skandian ship, I would say.¡± Morrel raised the glass again, then passed it to her. ¡°Take a look. She¡¯s been hit by something. They¡¯re bailing water over the side. We will stop to render aid, if we can.¡± ¡°It could be a trap,¡± Claire pointed out, raising the glass to her eye. The distant ship jumped into focus, and she could clearly see men working with buckets. One of the masts was snapped off, and some of the sails were ripped. ¡°Well, you brought a knight, a master-at-arms, and a squire,¡± Morrel said. ¡°And don¡¯t you worry, my men know how to fight as well. We¡¯ll just get close enough to shout over.¡± That, it turned out, was the work of some delicacy, with sails being taken in, and all sorts of nautical goings on that were beyond Claire¡¯s limited experience of rowing along the shore with her older brother. ¡°Get yourselves ready to fight,¡± she told Granger, Henry and Ya¨¦l, once she¡¯d gotten back to them. ¡°Just in case.¡± Dame Etoile and the squire went below first, and once they¡¯d returned to the deck armed and armored, it was the turn of the master-at-arms. By the time Claire joined Captain Morrel at the rail, it was with three trained fighters at her back, and an archer in the rigging. ¡°Ho, the ship!¡± cried Morrel, raising a hand to cup his mouth. A man opposite them shouted back in Skandian, to which Morrel replied easily. Claire frowned; it was not a language she was practiced in, but she resolved to change that as soon as she could. ¡°What does he say,¡± she asked the captain at a pause in the exchange. ¡°Was it pirates? Kimmerians?¡± Morrel shook his head. ¡°He says it was a great serpent,¡± the captain translated. ¡°It reared up out of the water and plucked two men off his deck in its jaws, and swallowed them whole. Tore their sails, then, after one of his men threw a harpoon at it, stove their starboard side in with a butt of its head, like a great whale.¡± Forneus, Claire thought, but she was cautious enough she wouldn¡¯t be saying the name out loud. ¡°We need to move,¡± she told the captain, instead. ¡°It¡¯s the leviathan my husband fought at Rocher de la Garde.¡± ¡°The one that broke the docks and wrecked the ships,¡± Captain Morrel recalled, nodding his head. ¡°Hoist sail!¡± he shouted. ¡°We need to be out of these waters before the daemon returns! All sail, and bring us round!¡± The old sailor shook his head. ¡°The Skandians will have to get themselves to shore.¡± 131. The Arden by Twilight Our ancestors made offerings to the King of Shadows and his three queens as if they were gods; Nivi¨¨ne, Queen of the Wood; Melusine, Queen of the Sea; and Beira, the Winter Queen. Those who earned their ire were pursued by Cern and his Wild Hunt. It was only with the coming of the Angelus that they withdrew from mortal affairs. ? 17th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Trist rolled off Sir Lorengel, put a hand to the trunk of the oak they¡¯d fetched up against, and staggered back to his feet. ¡°Margaret?¡± he called out into the forest. ¡°Cynric?¡± ¡°Here!¡± Margaret¡¯s voice came from somewhere ahead and off to his right. ¡°I¡¯m trying to stop the bleeding, but it¡¯s bad. If we had a torch, we could cauterize it¡­¡± ¡°Use my sword belt,¡± Lorengel said, and Trist listened to the other knight¡¯s boots scuffing through the leaves on the forest floor. It was enough to follow, though he had to move slowly so that he didn¡¯t trip over roots or errant stones. ¡°Does anyone still have a wineskin?¡± Trist asked, his left hand outstretched so that he wouldn¡¯t run into a tree trunk headfirst. ¡°Nothing here,¡± Margaret said. ¡°Pull it as tight as you can.¡± Cynric groaned in pain, and Trist was grateful that he wasn¡¯t the one who had to put the tourniquet on. He was having a difficult time even imagining how to deal with the mess left by a man¡¯s arm being torn out of its socket. ¡°There,¡± Lorengel said after a moment. ¡°That¡¯s the best I can do. We need to get him to a barber-surgeon, or get Trist some wine.¡± ¡°Or get to the ocean,¡± Margaret added. ¡°Trist, thank you for getting us out of there, but where are we?¡± ¡°The Ardenwood,¡± Trist said. ¡°I was reaching for the logger¡¯s grove just outside Camaret-¨¤-Arden, but I could not reach it, so I latched onto¡­ wherever here is.¡± ¡°You gated us somewhere without knowing where it is?¡± Cynric groaned, chuckled, and then coughed. Trist imagined the man was probably hacking up blood. ¡°It was like climbing a cliff,¡± Trist explained. ¡°I just felt something I could get a grip on. But I do not know why.¡± ¡°I can tell you why,¡± Acrasia said, appearing to his left. She must have manifested entirely, rather than only use an illusion, for Dame Margaret responded to her. ¡°I suppose it makes sense that you would know the Ardenwood better than any of us,¡± the Exarch of Rahab admitted. ¡°Would you mind explaining, Lady Acrasia?¡± ¡°We faeries tie ourselves to places,¡± Acrasia answered. ¡°Trist is only the second Exarch we¡¯ve ever taken. Look there, at what is carved into the oak.¡± The creak of armor and leather told Trist that someone had risen, and a moment later Lorengel spoke slowly, as if reading aloud from a difficult text: ¡°Here lies Sir Madoc of the Wood, Exarch of Auberon, and Princess Helyan of Narvonne. May they rest together in death, as they could not in life.¡± ¡°I would not call it coincidence that the second Exarch of Auberon¡¯s Court felt himself drawn to the grave of the first,¡± Acrasia remarked, in the silence that followed. ¡°Did you know him?¡± Margaret asked. ¡°No. I was bound beneath the Chapelle de Camiel, during his lifetime,¡± Acrasia explained. ¡°But once I¡¯d risen again, these past few decades, I heard the stories from my brother, so I recognize the name.¡± ¡°Did the Horned Hunter tell you where in the Ardenwood Maddoc¡¯s grave was located?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Her brother is Hellequin?¡± Cynric chuckled from where he lay. To Trist¡¯s ear, the man sounded delirious from blood loss, barely conscious. ¡°No,¡± Acrasia admitted. ¡°But we will not be far from wherever King Auberon is holding court. You should use my brother¡¯s Boon to find them, Trist. We can get help there.¡± ¡°The last time we sought help from the faerie court,¡± Trist pointed out, ¡°we lost three days in the mountains. And how do you know we can get there in time? Cynric will not survive a journey measured in days.¡± ¡°The King of Shadows is never far away in his own demesne,¡± Acrasia pointed out. ¡°If you are looking for a safe place to rest, near enough your friend won¡¯t perish before we get there, I do not know another.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t just let him die, Trist,¡± Margaret added.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Trist frowned. He couldn¡¯t escape the feeling that, once again, going to the faerie king would make them little more than pieces on a board of Six Soldiers. The last time, Ya¨¦l had very nearly died so that Auberon could seize a new piece of territory. Unfortunately, he didn¡¯t see another option that might save Cynric¡¯s life. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, making up his mind. ¡°But I would ask you all to be very careful what you say when we get there. Do not agree to any bargains.¡± ¡°Why Trist,¡± Acrasia said, and he felt only more wary at her feline grin, ¡°you¡¯re learning, after all. I think I¡¯m rather proud of you.¡± With an exasperated huff that he was unable to contain, Trist unspooled the burning orange thread of the Hunter¡¯s Boon out from his core, focused on the idea of the faerie king, and cast it out. Every other time he¡¯d used the Boon, it had settled easily, like a rope tied firmly to the bough of a tree - even when he¡¯d tracked Adrammelech, coming down out of the Hauteurs Massif. Now, however, he felt instead as if something had reached out and caught the Boon before it could find its target. Eyes like stars burned in Trist¡¯s mind, and a voice cold as winter ice echoed in his ears: ¡°How interesting. Very well, my Knight of Shadows - come to me.¡± Trist stumbled forward, actually pulled by the Boon. ¡°This way,¡± he said. ¡°Take Cynric and come along, I do not think I can stop.¡± He kept one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, the other stretched out in front of his face to ward off branches. Behind him, Trist heard Lorengel grunt, and Cynric cry out in pain, and they were off. The journey that followed was an ordeal like Trist¡¯s night ride with Cern, when last he had travelled the enchanted wood. For one thing, he couldn¡¯t see; and for another, because at every step he had the sense of being watched, and that they were not alone. He was not the only one who felt it, either, for Margaret remarked, after perhaps half a bell of walking: ¡°I can see lights in the fog, Trist.¡± ¡°Volont¨¦ des Feux Follets,¡± Trist named them. ¡°Will of the Wisps. We get them around Camaret-¨¤-Arden every time there¡¯s a fog. Ignore them. They will lead you into a bog, or off a cliff.¡± ¡°Sounds like a wonderful place, your home,¡± Cynric moaned. ¡°Log,¡± Margaret warned Trist, taking him by the hand to lead him around. Acrasia, in the meanwhile, cocked her head to one side, as if listening to something that no one else could hear. ¡°What is it?¡± Trist asked the faerie. ¡°Listen, they¡¯re getting closer,¡± Acrasia said, and they all stopped moving. At first, the forest was still, save for the sound of a confused nightingale, singing from its perch. Then, the howling of wolves rang out across the wood. ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that,¡± Lorengel remarked. Trist shook his head. ¡°Those will not be normal wolves,¡± he said. ¡°It will be the Wild Hunt. Keep walking, but when the Horned Hunter comes, let Acrasia and I do the speaking for all of us.¡± They trudged onward, Trist pulled so insistently by the thread he¡¯d cast out that he couldn¡¯t have stopped for more than a few moments, even if he was exhausted. As it was, the Hunter¡¯s Boon kept his legs fresh, and if he wasn¡¯t worried about leaving the others behind - and if he wasn¡¯t blind - he could have raced ahead faster than a bounding stag. Finally, a breaking of brush all around them, a growling of wolves, and a clomping of hooves signaled the arrival of Cern the Hunter. Though Trist¡¯s feet urged him to keep moving, and the Boon pulled at him still, he paused with an effort of will, and offered a cautious bow. ¡°Lord Cern,¡± he said, guessing at the direction of Acrasia¡¯s brother from the sound of his six-legged steed¡¯s snorting. ¡°It is an honor to meet you again. I confess I missed your ride at Falais, but I heard tell of it from my man Henry and my squire.¡± ¡°It was pleasant to be allowed to hunt mortals again,¡± Cern declared, ¡°without care for how many I took. If you can call the Ornes yet mortal. It would have been more entertaining, still, if I had been permitted to scour the entire city of your filthy kind.¡± ¡°Have you been sent to escort us to the king, brother?¡± Acrasia asked. ¡°I have,¡± Cern confirmed. ¡°And he has sent five of his own steeds to bear you, as well.¡± ¡°Does the King of Shadows ask anything in return for this hospitality,¡± Trist asked, keeping his voice calm and even. ¡°Consider it a gift,¡± the Horned Hunter said, and when Trist glanced sideways to Acrasia¡¯s illusory form, she nodded. ¡°We accept the gift,¡± Trist said, careful not to thank anyone. In short order, Cynric was hoisted onto the back of a horse. Trist couldn¡¯t see, but he imagined the semi-conscious knight had been laid across the saddle crosswise, with his legs dangling off one side and his one remaining arm off the other. Lorengel would take the reins and lead the wounded knight¡¯s horse. Margaret led Trist to his own steed, and he gave the animal a chance to snuffle at his hand for a moment, to get his scent, before hoisting himself up into the saddle. Acrasia climbed up onto the fifth horse, and with a dull pang Trist realized that just two moons past, she would have ridden with him. It was better this way: his loyalty, and his heart, belonged to Clarisant, now. Perhaps the faerie was beginning to respect that. They rode for half a bell more, Trist guessed, but he could also tell that even though the horses were walking, so as not to injure Cynric any further, they were rapidly covering the distance between the grave of Sir Maddoc and wherever Auberon was holding Court. Trist could actually see the power of Cern¡¯s Boon humming in the air around their group, enfolding the entire party in the faerie¡¯s magic to speed their passage. Eventually, Trist saw something up ahead: bright blue mushrooms, with broad, pointed caps and red tinged gills underneath, rising up out of the darkness on tall, pale stalks in clusters. At first there were only one or two, and then as many as half a dozen at a time, luminescent and taller and taller as they progressed, until the mushrooms rose taller than the height of a man on a horse. More peculiar than the striking, vibrant shade of blue in the darkness was the fact that Trist could see the mushrooms clearly, even without his eyes. ¡°What are they?¡± he asked. ¡°We are entering the heart of the King¡¯s domain,¡± Acrasia explained. ¡°Things are real here, Trist. You aren¡¯t seeing only the shadows of your mortal world. This place exists just as we do. Remember the circles I drew on the floor of the basement? You¡¯ve been living in a world of drawings your entire life, and now you finally have the perspective to see clearly.¡± Trist reached out a hand to brush one of the enormous blue mushrooms as he passed, and with a shake of the cap, a puff of blue motes lifted into the air around them. The spores carried with them the scent of the world just after a fresh rain, and breathing them in soothed Trist¡¯s aches and bruises from the battle in the Tomb of Camiel. He couldn¡¯t help but grin like a child. ¡°Look!¡± Margaret called. Turning, Trist found that he could make out the shape of her body by an absence: like a shadow, or a silhouette, she was outlined by the dusty blue spores of the mushrooms. He followed her arm, and caught sight of a hill ahead. Ancient trees rose from the hill, oak and ash with the thorny vines of wild roses growing at their bases, and the roots of everything entwined at the base of the hill, where they formed a doorway. Led by the Horned Hunter, the knights descended through the door and passed beneath the hill, into the court of Auberon, King of Shadows. 132. The Silver Fields There was a bushel of Goblin Fruits made as a gift at the General¡¯s wedding, from some sprite of the forest or other. The Queen ordered them all destroyed, but I got my hands on a few. What a night that was! ? 17th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Mist boiled around the four knights when they rode with the Wild Hunt beneath the hill. The fog was cool and left their skin damp; it muffled the sound of the horses¡¯ hooves, and blotted out the view of their surroundings and the descent utterly. ¡°Stay close and do not stray from the path,¡± Cern, the Hunter, instructed them. ¡°What happens if we do?¡± Lorengel asked. ¡°Any mortal who leaves the path is no longer protected from the creatures in the mist,¡± Acrasia explained, her voice echoing like bells through the fog. ¡°I can hardly see the shape of the horse in front of me,¡± Lorengel complained. ¡°Aye, but your steed knows where he¡¯s going,¡± Margaret assured him. ¡°Just let him follow the others and he won¡¯t turn aside.¡± Lorengel continued to grumble, but Trist put the Exarch of the Seal out of his mind. He could still feel Auberon pulling him closer, and there was no more chance he¡¯d lose the path than that he¡¯d lose himself in his father¡¯s hall of Foyer Chaleureux. ¡°I can see light up ahead,¡± Trist called, and indeed the mist around them slowly took on a silver tone, as if lit by the full moon. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you can see anything,¡± Margaret remarked. ¡°You no longer walk among shadows, mortal woman,¡± Acrasia told her. ¡°You have come to the other world now, and flesh is not what matters here.¡± With the faerie¡¯s words, the mist broke, and there was not one of the knights who did not gasp, save Sir Cynric, who lingered on the edge of death and saw nothing. The company of riders found themselves descending a gentle slope, along a path of bare black earth beaten by the passage of many feet. Before them stretched a vast plain of wheat, which grew to either side of them as high as a man¡¯s waist. Rather than gold, the wheat was silver in color, and it stretched out as far as they could see in every direction. Above their heads, Trist saw no earth, roots or stone, as one might have expected from a cavern beneath a hill. Instead, much like Acrasia¡¯s bower beneath the Chapelle de Camiel, an endless sky extended to the horizon in every direction. Dark as shadows, it was, with bright stars scattered across it like grain thrown from the farmer¡¯s hand. ¡°Beautiful,¡± Trist admitted. As much reason as he had to distrust Cern, and even Auberon, the faeries and their haunts were never less than awe-inspiring. ¡°Follow the path with your sight.¡± Acrasia pointed with one pale arm. ¡°You notice the orchards? That is where we are going.¡± Indeed, following the direction of her extended finger, Trist could see the dark shape of foliage. As they rode closer, the shapes resolved themselves into fruit trees of all kinds, but chiefly apples. For every peach or pear, there were half a dozen ripe apples hanging from boughs that arched over the heads of the knights. Lorengel reached his hand toward one particular fruit that hung low and within reach, and Margaret reined her horse over to bump into his, slapping his hand down. ¡°Goblin fruits,¡± she warned him. ¡°Do not touch anything that isn¡¯t offered! Didn¡¯t your mother ever tell you stories of the Ardenwood?¡± ¡°My mother was a princess,¡± Lorengel groused. ¡°She didn¡¯t tell me faerie tales or any bedtime stories at all - that was for the governess.¡± ¡°The governess should have said it, then,¡± Margaret muttered. ¡°Dame Margaret is right to be cautious,¡± Trist said. ¡°Acrasia, what do the fruits do to mortals?¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t deadly poisonous, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re afraid of,¡± Acrasia explained. ¡°But they do have a tendency to result in somewhat lowered inhibitions.¡± Cern laughed out loud. ¡°What my dear sister is dancing around is this: any human that eats a goblin fruit is going to be as randy as a goat, tearing their clothes off and tumbling the first person they see. It¡¯s quite entertaining to watch.¡± ¡°No fruit!¡± Margaret repeated to Lorengel, emphasizing her point with a sternly raised finger, pointed right at his face.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Up ahead, Trist could hear the murmur of voices, and the notes of gently plucked strings, rising above the conversation. The path turned one last time, and Trist found himself once again amidst the faerie-throng he had first encountered, delirious and wounded, in the heights of the Hauteurs Massif. The tables of the faerie feast were spread out to either side of the path, which led directly through the center to a cleared space of fresh green grass, dew-decked under the night sky. The open grass was surrounded by torches in a circle, and filled with elegant dancers, tall and fair, with long hair unbound. The faerie dancers moved with the grace of cats, and as if it had been rehearsed over long hours, parted to either side, so that the knights astride their horses could proceed directly to the throne of the faerie king. Auberon, as Trist had seen him do twice before, lounged on a seat formed by the trunk of a great oak. It looked not so much carved, as somehow grown into the shape naturally. The massive tree, whose branches rustled in the night breeze overhead, cradled the King of Shadows as if in a gentle hand. Auberon sat forward to inspect them closely, his goblet forgotten in his left hand, which leaned on the arm of the oak throne. ¡°Welcome,¡± the faerie king greeted the four knights. ¡°Lady Acrasia, your presence ever brings joy to our revels. Knight of Shadows, you have paid your Tithes and served me well, though perhaps that has not always been your intent. But I see three other mortals here who have never come beneath our hills before, and I would hear their introductions.¡± Dame Margaret slid down out of her saddle, set her glaive upon the grass, and bowed as if she were a man. It was considered appropriate, Trist knew, for female knights in armor, when a curtsy would be somewhat ridiculous. ¡°I am Dame Margaret Bowman, Exarch of Rahab. With me are Sir Lorengel Aurelianus, Exarch of Veischax, and Sir Cynric of Rive Ouest, Exarch of Theliel, who is sore wounded from our battle.¡± ¡°I would hear more of this combat,¡± Auberon said, taking a sip from his goblet and leaning back into his throne. ¡°And of how it is, Sir Trist, that you appeared so suddenly in our Ardenwood, at the grave of Sir Maddoc.¡± Cern, in the meanwhile, dismounted and walked over to stand at Auberon¡¯s right hand, the wolves of the Wild Hunt sitting back on their haunches to observe the proceedings. ¡°And we are eager to share what we have learned,¡± Trist said, swinging down out of his own saddle. ¡°For I think there may be much of interest to you, Your Majesty. But we would be poor comrades, indeed, if we did not first ask of you healing for Sir Cynric.¡± Auberon rolled his eyes. ¡°Osma, fetch him a goblet.¡± One of the dancers, a slip of a faerie maid who looked to Trist to be no older than fourteen, rushed over to the tables and filled a goblet. ¡°Help me get him down,¡± Trist said to Margaret and Lorengel, and between the tree of them they got Cynric out of the saddle without starting the bleeding again. Still, for all the ragged stump of his arm had been tourniqueted tightly with a sword belt, the entire left side of his armor was caked with dried blood, and it had soaked through his gambeson. Trist suspected that if Cynric had not been an Exarch, he would be dead already. ¡°Here, Sir Trist,¡± Osma, the faerie girl said in a voice sweet as honey, leaning down to hand him the goblet. Ruddy gold hair fell about her shoulders in curls, held back only by a sort of circlet or coronet set with many jewels. The jewels, however, were dull in comparison to the light in her eyes and the verdant tourmaline of her lips. ¡°My thanks, Lady Osma,¡± Trist said, accepting the goblet, and reached out, unwinding the sparking orange strand of his Boon from inside his chest. He stretched it out to the wine in the goblet, and stirred until a soft glow rose up from within the goblet. ¡°Tip his head back and open his mouth,¡± Trist said, and Margaret set to helping him. Carefully, Trist set the rim of the goblet to Cynric¡¯s lips and poured the wine, just a little bit at a time. After a long moment, the knight coughed, sputtered, and opened his eyes. ¡°Good,¡± Trist said. ¡°Keep drinking. This will heal your wounds.¡± Cynric raised the gauntlet of his right hand to the goblet, and Trist let himself be guided, but did not release the stem until he was certain every drop of wine was gone. Then, he took the goblet away, and handed it back to the faerie maiden, Osma, who took it away. ¡°Will he live?¡± Margaret asked, for Cynric¡¯s eyes had already fluttered once and closed. ¡°I think so,¡± Trist said. He was no surgeon, but it seemed to him that a flush had returned to the knight¡¯s cheeks, and he no longer looked fit to be a corpse. Trist turned back to the faerie king and inclined his head. ¡°Thank you, King Auberon, for allowing us to treat our companion. I am prepared to tell you all that we have seen, now, and how we came to be here.¡± His eyes followed Osma with curiosity as the faerie girl, after setting the goblet away on a table, crossed the grass to take up a position opposite Cern, on the right side of the throne. ¡°One of my daughters,¡± Auberon explained. ¡°Quite young, in fact; she did not make the crossing with us, but has only ever seen this world. Continue.¡± The words meant nothing to Trist, but he put his questions aside and began with a brief description of the siege of Rocher de la Garde, since last he had seen Cern the Hunter in the Ardenwood, and how after the victory the Serpent of Gates had tried to take King Lionel captive. ¡°This story we have heard,¡± Auberon commented. ¡°It is what happened after you fell into the hands of the daemons that we would know.¡± Trist frowned in confusion. ¡°I met your mortal wife two days ago when she rode into the Ardenwood to collect the people of your village,¡± Cern explained. ¡°She told us of how you came to fall into the hands of your enemies, and I reported her words to my king.¡± ¡°Clarisant?¡± Trist could not help but exclaim. ¡°Is she well, Lord Cern? I beg you, tell me of her.¡± Auberon inclined his head, and Cern sighed. ¡°She was as well as a mortal can be,¡± the Hunter remarked. ¡°You are all touched by death, and it only waits for its moment to spring upon you. But neither she nor the child she carried had suffered any hurt, or sickness, so far as I could tell. She asked me to rescue you, and I refused her.¡± ¡°As you were bound to do,¡± Auberon said with a nod. ¡°I am not ready for you to ride out from the Arden, my hunter.¡± ¡°She told me that your mortal king was sending her north across the sea to Raetia,¡± Cern continued. ¡°I directed her to seek out Beira, the Queen of Winter, when she reached those shores. It may be that the Court of Winter can be of aid to your wife¡¯s mission, though I cannot say what price she will pay.¡± ¡°I saw her on a ship,¡± Trist said, reaching a hand up to his forehead, which had begun to ache. ¡°Sailing with my squire, but I did not know to where.¡± ¡°How did you see her?¡± Auberon asked, leaning forward in his throne again, his eyes sharp as blades. ¡°As we do, my king,¡± Acrasia broke in. ¡°He can see as we do. Look at the cloth he wears bound around his eyes. Avitus ripped them from his skull. Any other mortal would be blind, but it is exactly as you told me it would be. He is like us.¡± 133. The Hermit鈥檚 Tale The schemes of the faerie king are subtle and far ranging, they say; few mortal men ever understand his machinations. ? 17th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 AC Trist could not help the way his muscles tensed, as if his body was in expectation of sudden attack. He felt the eyes of the faerie throng at the tables, fixed upon him from behind, as a murmur of quiet voices spread. The dancers, to either side of him, made no sound, but stared intently just the same. From her side of the throne, it was Auberon¡¯s daughter, the girl Osma, who spoke. ¡°How is that possible, Father?¡± The faerie princess¡¯ brows furrowed in consternation. ¡°Mortals can no more do that than a milk-cow could write a book.¡± ¡°Exarchs get a glimpse, from time to time,¡± Auberon said. ¡°Though you are correct, daughter, that they could never see two places at once. And I doubt most of them could learn to compensate for the lack of their physical eyes¡­ step closer, Sir Trist, and lift your cloth, so that I might see your wounds better.¡± ¡°Something tells me,¡± Trist said, ¡°that you can see just as well with the cloth on.¡± The faerie king laughed. ¡°So I can!¡± he said, with a delighted grin. ¡°You used the Boon you won from me at Falais, I see. But that thread is not nearly so strong as the Graal itself, and the most it was able to do was to close the wounds. No matter how much you drank, it would be insufficient to regenerate your eyes.¡± ¡°But the Graal would have been able to,¡± Trist guessed. ¡°Aye, that it would,¡± Auberon said. ¡°Still could, most like. There are very few hurts beyond its power.¡± ¡°None of this explains how a mortal can see, Father,¡± Isma prodded the king. ¡°You see how I indulge my daughter?¡± Auberon commented. ¡°Anyone else who questioned me like this, I would eat their core whole. But very well, a story it is, for the assembled company. A tale that begins over twenty-three years ago, when Sir Trist was but an infant in his mother¡¯s womb. I am told your people celebrate each turning of the year since their birth, by the way, my knight. Allow me to raise a cup to your twenty-third birthday.¡± Trist inclined his head. ¡°Spent in an iron cage,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Let us hope next year is in better circumstances.¡± ¡°Quite,¡± Auberon continued. ¡°Your father and mother rode north from Falais into the Ardenwood, with a single knight as their companion, and from thence to the ruins of Vellatesia. I, of course, could not fail to notice a daemonic Exarch entering my demesne, nevermind the Plague Dancer herself, dragged along like a prisoner chained behind a wagon. I see that two of the three who made that journey are here with us now. Perhaps you would do us all the courtesy of calling them forth.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± Trist drew his sword, planted it point-down in the grass, and spoke two names aloud. ¡°Sir Tor De Lancey. Father. I ask you to come.¡± Frost crept out from the tip of his sword, coating each blade of grass in turn and freezing the drops of dew that had been left behind after the dancers parted. On Trist¡¯s left, his father appeared, and on his right, Tor de Lancey, each only half glimpsed, as if through a funeral shroud, and shining like the moon behind clouds. ¡°The hermit!¡± Sir Rience gasped, his eyes fixed upon the throne. There, Auberon¡¯s accustomed visage had been replaced by that of an old man, bent with his years, remaining hair silky-white and thin. He grasped a crude walking staff, and wore only undyed wool and a rope belt. ¡°Indeed!¡± the old man on the throne proclaimed, in a voice that sounded roughened and broken by decades of drinking, sickness, and ill use. He stepped down from the oaken throne onto the grass, and performed a twirl as if to show off his disguise before returning to the more familiar shape of Auberon and sitting back in his throne. ¡°For the two of you it has been many years,¡± the faerie king observed. ¡°And yet for me it is but the blink of an eye.¡± ¡°Father?¡± Trist asked, turning to his side. ¡°After we crossed the lake, we were harried by wolves,¡± the ghost of Sir Rience explained. ¡°Until we came to a clearing where a hermit tended a rough forest chapel. He took us in for the night and fed us a hearty stew, and then accompanied us to Velatessia. It was he who led us to the seals that Veischax had placed round the city.¡± At these words, Lorengel stirred, but remained silent. Trist saw the Angelus itself, wings of bronze tucked behind its back, observing the proceedings sternly. ¡°I showed them the way through the seals, and to the Gate of Horn,¡± Auberon continued, ¡°by which we entered this world so long ago, and through which, when opened a second time, came the daemon Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun-Eater, and thence the rest of the two and seventy daemons unleashed by Decimus Avitus of Etalus, son of Emperor Sevrus. And after them, answering the call of General Aurelius and the Legions of Etalus, the Angelus. Including the three that stand among us now.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°You speak of matters not meant for mortal ears,¡± Rahab called out from behind Trist, and he saw her wings spread, shining mother of pearl. ¡°We have an Accord.¡± ¡°An Accord imposed on my people when the Angelus were at the height of their power,¡± Auberon shot back with a sneer. ¡°And not, as you are now, nearly spent by two wars against our daemonic cousins.¡± Dame Margaret gasped, and Trist felt his own jaw drop open. He had seen daemon, Angelus and faerie alike, it was true, and all of them had many things in common. But to hear it stated so plainly- ¡°This cannot be true,¡± Lorengel broke in. ¡°It was the Angelus who created this world, and they who saved us during the Cataclysm. The church teaches-¡± ¡°Your Church of the Angelus is a pack of useless lies,¡± Auberon shouted him down. ¡°This world was here before any of us, and you mortals as well. The Three Queens and I led our people to this world because we were sick of the constant fighting between daemon and Angelus. Here, we thought to find peace, and so we did, for a time. Peace, and mortals who were more than willing to offer up Tithes to us in return for our blessings. We had neither need nor desire to open the Gate of Horn, for a thousand years. It was a jealous, scheming mortal prince who did that.¡± ¡°Avitus.¡± Trist spoke the name aloud. ¡°The first Exarch. The man who has taken Lutetia.¡± ¡°The same,¡± Cern confirmed, speaking for the first time since Auberon had begun. ¡°And if I had known what he would do, I would have flayed him alive the moment he stepped foot on the eastern shore of Narvonne. Everything that has happened over the last three centuries - all the time we have spent under the yoke of the Angelus - I lay it all at the feet of a spoiled prince who could not accept being passed over by his father.¡± ¡°The yoke of the Angelus,¡± Rahab countered, stepping forward and spreading her wings so that Trist and the other knights had to stand aside and make room for her. ¡°What have we done to you, Auberon, but set rules? Is it such a taxing burden, to curb your worst abuses of the mortals? You, who would not lift a hand to fight beside us, during the Cataclysm?¡± ¡°Your presence in this world was neither asked for, nor invited,¡± Auberon responded, shadows gathering around his throne in a coiling, writhing mass. ¡°We were invited by General Aurelius,¡± Rahab responded. ¡°A mortal. You intrude on our world, and have the gall to justify your presence with the invitation of a mortal,¡± Auberon scoffed. ¡°Sir Trist, would you step onto a man¡¯s property at the invitation of his goat?¡± ¡°We are not goats,¡± Trist said with a scowl. ¡°And from the sound of it, this was our world before any of you ever came here.¡± ¡°So it was,¡± Rahab confirmed. ¡°For our part, at least, we had no choice. We could not, in good conscience, allow the daemons led by Samm¨¡?¨¥l to have free reign here. If they had their way, all of you would be nothing more than cattle - fattened for the slaughter to feed their hunger.¡± ¡°And the Angelus would have you as pets,¡± Auberon said. ¡°Loyal hounds trained to their beck and call.¡± ¡°While you would hunt them as wild game,¡± Theliel said, stepping forward. ¡°With no care for anything but the thrill of the hunt and the feast to follow.¡± ¡°And now, it is all laid bare,¡± Auberon said, leaning back in his throne and spreading his hands. ¡°Angelus, daemon or fairy. The difference between us, mortals, is only how much care we have for our livestock. You are all destined to be served at our tables, sooner or later.¡± Trist¡¯s stomach turned, and it was all he could do not to empty it on the grass at his feet. He gripped the hilt of his sword, still thrust down into the loam of the faerie glade, and saw that the faces of Margaret and Lorengel, and even his father and Sir Tor, showed the same horror he felt. ¡°Why should we do as any of you wish, then?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Why should we not cast you all out, and be free of you?¡± ¡°Because you yet need us,¡± Auberon said. ¡°You most of all, Trist, son of Cecilia - or is it Trist, son of Agrat? Two mothers, bound together as one, carried you in their womb, boy. What an abomination - the child of an immortal, and a mere shadow. Unlike anything else in all this world, or the other. I never thought to see your like, but when I did, I began to wonder. This little seed, could it grow into a mighty oak? What would happen if I watered it? Yes, I led your parents to Vellatesia. I took the shape of a hermit, and told them the way to the Gate of Horn beneath the city, where Cecilia threatened to throw herself and Agrat through, both of them, unless the Queen of Plagues let her go free. And it was I who went from there to Camaret-¨¤-Arden, where I broke the seals laid by Baylin, roused Acrasia, and set her to watch over you as you grew. And now we see what has come of it all. A being of two worlds, neither entirely mortal, nor entirely daemon. Fed a steady diet of Tithes by war, grown strong with Boons of my Court.¡± Everyone was staring at Trist now, and he could not tell whether Margaret and Lorengel wore expressions of merely shock, or of horror and disgust that he was born of a union between mortal and daemon. He resisted the urge to turn toward Acrasia: she¡¯d told him, at the Fighting Lion Inn, that she¡¯d only noticed something special about him when they first met. She¡¯d lied to him again. ¡°We thought we¡¯d freed you of her,¡± the ghost of Sir Rience said. ¡°I am sorry, my boy.¡± ¡°You have a bargain yet to keep with us,¡± Acrasia said, stepping out from Trist¡¯s shadow into the space before Auberon¡¯s throne, where she turned to put her back to the faerie king and to face Trist and the other knights. ¡°The price you agreed to, in return for the people of your village being sheltered in the Ardenwood. You will go to Vellatesia, and you will destroy the Gate of Horn. No more daemons, nor any further Angelus, will come to this world. The way will be closed. There will be no second Avitus.¡± ¡°You would trap us all here, forever?¡± Veischax cried out. ¡°And now I see your scheme plain, Auberon,¡± Rahab said. ¡°You kept your people aside to let us exhaust ourselves against each other. With every daemon or Angelus that dies, your own power grows.¡± ¡°It will be as it was,¡± Auberon said. ¡°My people will once more have this world as our own, to do as we will, to live as we will. There will be no daemons to strike at our demesne, no Angelus to dictate Accords to us. The mortals will remember the old ways, and Tithe to us their sacrifices in the bone-fires. It has taken three hundred years of waiting, but at long last, we are nearly free of you all.¡± 134. The Fountain of Nivi猫ne While Biera and Melusine withdraw from their husband¡¯s company, the last of Auberon¡¯s wives did not leave his side. Instead, she anchored her power at the heart of his own demesne, creating something greater still in the combination of their magic. ? 17th Day of New Summer¡¯s Moon, 297 The faerie princess, Osma, led the weary knights down a dirt trail through the trees. Lorengel helped Cynric along, and they did not move quickly. By the lightness of Osma¡¯s step, and the way she bounced along the path like a puppy, Trist guessed that she could have left them all behind easily. ¡°The Well will soothe your hurts,¡± Osma said, from the front of the company where she walked with Acrasia at her side. The older faerie had neither returned to Trist¡¯s sword, nor taken a place beside him as had been her habit in the past. The revelation that Auberon had sent her to spy on him as a child had torn apart what little trust she had rebuilt in his mind. For his part, Trist was exhausted, despite the effects of his Boons. By his best count, he had not truly been able to rest in well over a week, since some time along the road between Falais and Rocher de la Garde. During the intervening days, he had fought over and over again, first in the Ardenwood and at the edge of Camaret-¨¤-Arden, then during the long days of the siege, and then to escape imprisonment at the castle of Cheverny. The desperate struggle in the Tomb of Camiel had come when he was at his absolute lowest, and now it was all he could do to trudge forward, one foot in front of the other. ¡°What is this well,¡± Lorengel asked, the tone of his voice sharp with suspicion. ¡°The Well of Nivi¨¨ne,¡± Acrasia spoke up, ¡°is a spring which one of the three faerie queens has bound herself to. While Auberon¡¯s Graal is the strongest healing magic we possess, bathing in the waters of the spring is only slightly less potent.¡± ¡°Few mortals have ever been given such an honor,¡± Osma pointed out. ¡°I can recall only two - Sir Maddoc, and Queen Elantia.¡± ¡°You all keep pointing out what an honor it is, to follow in Sir Maddoc¡¯s footsteps,¡± Trist grumbled. ¡°But for all of it, he ended up in the grave. And you are still here. I cannot help but wonder whether he might not have been better off without all of these honors.¡± Acrasia frowned, and though he did not lift his head, Trist saw it with the faerie-sight that was becoming easier all the time to use in place of his eyes. ¡°Let me call ahead,¡± Osma said, and skipped forward along the path, down an incline crossed by roots so thick they almost became steps. ¡°Mother!¡± Below, Trist could hear the murmur of running water, and when they rounded the last turn of the path, it was to arrive at an irregular pool, roughly in the shape of an oval, perhaps thirty feet across at its widest point. The water there was shallow and clear, and the bed of the Well covered in stones smoothed and rounded by the long working of the current against them. A set of wide, flat slabs of rock had been placed as steps down into the pool, and to Trist¡¯s left, out one end, a stream flowed, cutting through the earth of the forest floor. Osma stood at the edge of the Well, grasping the hands of a tall, thin faerie woman. Queen Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s hair was long and dark, her features fine and delicate like all of the courtiers attending Auberon above, and her skin pale as moonlight on water. She wore a white dress, and when she turned from her daughter to look the rest of them over, her eyes narrowed. ¡°Welcome,¡± the faerie queen greeted them, nonetheless. ¡°My daughter tells me that the king has promised you rest and healing, and you shall have it. Acrasia, Osma, help me tend the wounds that afflict these knights.¡± The three faerie women bustled around the Exarchs, unstrapping pauldrons and lifting aside shirts of chain. As they worked, Trist noticed steam rising from the Well, as from a cauldron of water set to boil over a fire. ¡°It will soothe your muscles,¡± Nivi¨¨ne told him, then took his hand in hers and led him into the pool. The water was hot - nearly hot enough to scald, but not quite, and Trist shuddered in relief when he finally sat down. Stone benches had been set along the edges of the Well, and it was one of those to which Nivi¨¨ne brought him. The water reached midway up his chest, and when the faerie set to work cleaning him with a cloth, he sat back and allowed it to happen. His own relief was nothing compared to Margaret¡¯s reaction, when she slipped into the pool. Trist did his best not to pay close attention, to respect the woman¡¯s modesty, but he could no longer simply close his eyes or turn his head. His sight extended all around him now, and it was impossible to avoid noticing her broad shoulders and well muscled arms, built from years of fighting. Her body was so different from Clarisant¡¯s, or from Acrasia¡¯s, and he wondered if that was what Ya¨¦l might look like when grown: a woman built for war.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°I can feel the power here,¡± Margaret said, and, pushing off from her feet and turning, slid on her back into the water, skimming just beneath the surface and stretching out her hands. She took a breath, and ducked her head beneath the water, and was grinning when she re-emerged, hair plastered around her neck and shoulders. ¡°It isn¡¯t like the sea, but it is wonderful. I feel like I¡¯ve just slept a day and a half and then woke.¡± ¡°You are the Exarch of my sister Rahab,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said, soaking her cloth in the water and then wringing it out, before scrubbing at a particularly stubborn crust of dried blood behind Trist¡¯s right ear. ¡°Of course you would feel it. Are you going to come out, sister, or remain hidden?¡± Rahab shook her wings, and stood at the edge of the pool, but did not enter. ¡°You can see me one way or the other,¡± the Angelus said. ¡°It hardly matters.¡± ¡°It is true, then?¡± Lorengel asked, settling onto his own bench. ¡°The faeries and Angelus - you are all the same.¡± ¡°Not the same,¡± Rahab said. ¡°Some of us take responsibility for our power. Others turn their heads from the suffering of the world, and think only of themselves.¡± ¡°Let us not bring up the old argument again,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°Your Exarchs are ill-used, Sister. They need rest. Can we agree on that, at least?¡± ¡°We can agree on that,¡± Rahab allowed, with a sigh. ¡°You all may as well be at ease. We are at the very heart of Auberon¡¯s power, and there is little any of us could do should he choose to betray you.¡± ¡°How comforting,¡± Cynric said, with a chuckle. Osma had quite a task helping him into the pool, and puffs of dried blood rose into the water all around his body, obscuring the stones beneath the Well. ¡°Once we have cleaned your wounds, we will leave you to speak,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°I think, Lady Acrasia, that you had better come with my daughter and I, as well. It has been too long since we had the pleasure of your company.¡± Acrasia furrowed her brow. She stood at the edge of the pool, but had made no move to enter, or to help any of the Exarchs. ¡°As you wish, my queen,¡± she said, finally, and Trist guessed that she was unable to refuse. Finally, their wounds washed clean, the knights were left to rest in the hot waters of the spring. ¡°Stay in the water until I come to fetch you out,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne admonished them, pausing at the top of the stone stair that led out of the pool. Her white dress was sodden, and clung to her body so tightly she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. ¡°The healing power of the spring needs time to work. Daughter, Acrasia, come along.¡± Arm in arm, the three faerie women followed the path back up toward Auberon¡¯s host. ¡°So,¡± Cynric said, after a moment of silence. ¡°What do we do now? We¡¯ve escaped Cheverny.¡± ¡°We get out of this cursed place and make our way to King Lionel¡¯s army,¡± Lorengel proposed. ¡°I will not be the pawn of the faerie king, and I know where my loyalties lie.¡± ¡°That is an easy choice for you,¡± Cynric argued. ¡°You still have both your arms. What good would I do him, even if I went? I¡¯d be cut down by the first daemon we face.¡± ¡°This is no time to give in to despair,¡± Margaret chastised him. ¡°Losing an arm does not make you any less an Exarch, Cynric. War was never your chief value to the old king, in any event. Lionel will need you at his side, to advise him, just as his father did.¡± ¡°As you say,¡± Cynric muttered. ¡°What of you, Sir Trist? Back with us to save the kingdom, or will you do the bidding of the King of Shadows?¡± Trist grimaced. ¡°I gave my word that I would go to Velatessia,¡± he admitted. ¡°After the siege at Rocher de la Garde. Unless I want another broken Oath hanging around my neck,¡± he continued, ¡°I must go. And yet, I do not like it.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to be a puppet dancing at Auberon¡¯s strings, either,¡± Lorengel said, and Margaret hushed him. ¡°Have you forgotten already how many times over you would be dead without Trist¡¯s help?¡± Margaret asked. ¡°Trist broke us out of Cheverny, held our pursuers so we could escape, and got us out of the Tomb. Not to mention that I suspect our reception here would have been much less warm,¡± she splashed her hand into the water of the pool, ¡°if he had not been with us.¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know,¡± Cynric observed. ¡°Apparently we¡¯ve come in time for a reunion of long lost family. Being the Exarch of the king¡¯s sister-in-law might have done well enough for you, Maggie.¡± ¡°I am sick of being a piece on Auberon¡¯s playing board,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°I thought I knew where I came from, but it has been him for over twenty years. Guiding my parents to do what he wanted before I was ever born, sending Acrasia to watch me grow. She never told me that. I thought, no matter what happened after, at least while I was a child we had something real. But I was only ever a mission from her king, and my brother paid the price. And I do not think this business in Velatessia is the end of what they want from me.¡± ¡°They played Sir Maddoc for a fool, as well, in the end,¡± Dame Margaret observed, her voice quiet. Trist scowled. ¡°All I can think,¡± he said, grappling for words as he went, as if feeling his way through a fog, ¡°is how many times we¡¯ve been forced to do what other people want. Not even just us,¡± he continued, waving his hand around the pool to indicate the others. ¡°But all of Narvonne. We were conquered by the Etalans, and then invaded by daemons. And supposedly the Angelus came to save us, but they were really just another kind of invader. And a thousand years before, even the faeries were not native to this place - they came here from whatever world they were born in. Thirteen hundred years of people from other places invading our home, generation after generation, and changing us. Faeries making our ancestors offer up sacrifices in the bone-fires, Angelus giving us rules, Etalan legions building cities and roads and forts. It makes me wonder what we would be like - what Narvonne would look like - if they had all just let us be, and never come here. Would our ancestors even recognize what we have become?¡± ¡°You cannot change the past,¡± Margaret cautioned him. ¡°No,¡± Trist said, making up his mind. ¡°But perhaps we can change the world our children will live in. I do not want any more cataclysms when my child is grown. At long last, is it not time for an ending? I will go to this gate,¡± he said. ¡°I will go to Velatessia. And I will make certain that it never happens again.¡± 135. Basilea The Raetians never declared themselves to be ruled by a king; instead, they acknowledged a hereditary prince. There is little difference in practicality, but they maintain a polite fiction that in the event of a true Etalan Emperor, they would remain loyal. ? 1st Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Chunks of ice struck the bow of the Perce-Pierre as she cut through the scattered floes on her way into Basilea harbor. Around the cog, the masts of trading ships from Skandia, Kimerria and Ma?¨©n rose, many coated in rime. Clarisant shivered, pulling a fur-lined cloak of thick Falaisian wool tight around her body. ¡°Every time I see my breath fog in the air,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m still surprised. This should be the warmest time of the year.¡± ¡°There¡¯s always snow on the peaks of the High Taurn,¡± John Granger said, from his place along the rail at her right hand. ¡°But even for Raetia, I¡¯ve never heard of anything like this.¡± He swept a hand out toward the city of Basilea, where the roof of every building shone white with a crust of snow under the starlight. ¡°It¡¯s been two weeks of darkness, and the world is only growing colder. I can¡¯t imagine any of the summer crops have survived. If there isn¡¯t already famine here, my lady, it is coming soon. You need to allow us to protect you.¡± ¡°You need have no fear of that,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°I am not my husband, I have never been trained for war, and I know it. I have different talents. I will trust you and Ettie to guard me.¡± Granger nodded. ¡°To the palace, first, then?¡± Around them, sailors rushed about, striking sails and preparing to tie the cog fast to the quay. ¡°Yes. I will present the king¡¯s letter to Prince Conrad¡¯s people, and I would expect they will provide us with apartments for the duration of our stay,¡± Clarisant explained. ¡°I do not know how he will react to His Majesty¡¯s request.¡± She cast her eyes up to the crest of the mountains behind the city, rising up into the blue winter sky. ¡°Do you know how far north we need to go to see the lights?¡± Granger shrugged. ¡°I came here only once,¡± he admitted. ¡°Soon after Sir Rience and Lady Cecilia were married. We stayed long enough to retrieve some of her possessions and sell a bit of property. I saw the lights once, on a particularly clear night, but I recall being told that you needed to cross the mountains and travel north to get the full effect. There is a pass,¡± he continued, ¡°though I don¡¯t recall the name of it. The locals travel in sleighs pulled by rather peculiar northern stags when they need to cross the snow. I will look into it once you are settled in at the palace.¡± ¡°Once we access the king¡¯s accounts at the Bank, we will have sufficient funds for the journey,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°Make certain you find trustworthy guides. And send one of the pigeons we brought.¡± ¡°Are you certain you want to make the journey?¡± the master of arms asked. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous enough to treat with the faeries we know, in the Ardenwood. This Queen of Winter is something else entirely.¡± ¡°The Horned Hunter seemed to think that she could help us,¡± Clarisant reminded him. ¡°I do not know that I would trust him about anything else, but where his sister is concerned, surely that counts for something?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Granger said. ¡°Let me go see if they¡¯ve finished packing our things. I suspect we can be off shortly.¡± Indeed, the port side of the Perce-Pierre¡¯s hull bumped up against the wood of the quay as he spoke, then drifted back a yard or so until the sailors had finished tying the ship fast. Dame Etoile and Ya¨¦l had, it turned out, finished with the packing, and with Henry and Granger¡¯s assistance, carried all of their packs and chests up onto the deck, and from thence onto the quay. Clarisant left Etoile to negotiate a carriage for them, and once it had come got herself inside and seated while the trunks were loaded without her. With the door closed, she finally pulled her chilled hands out from under the fur of her cloak, rubbed them together, and blew on her fingers, trying to warm them again. ¡°Are you safe and warm in there?¡± Claire whispered to the child in her belly. Not quite three moons had passed, and she did not expect to show until the fourth had come and gone. Her mother had told her that she should not expect to feel the babe move for even longer, but at least the nausea had settled somewhat. She was so tired all the time, even on days that she¡¯d hardly left the cabin. When the doors of the carriage swung open next, it was to admit Dame Etoile, Ya¨¦l, and Henry. ¡°John¡¯s riding up front with the driver,¡± the hunter let Claire know, before taking a seat opposite her on the other bench. Ya¨¦l settled next to Claire, while Etoile slid in next to Henry. ¡°Are we really going to ride through the mountains on a sleigh?¡± the quire asked, cheeks flushed with the chill.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I intend that we shall,¡± Clarisant said, nodding. ¡°But first, we must negotiate with Prince Conrad.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know much about him,¡± Etoile admitted. ¡°Save that he only came to power a few years ago. I recall your father speaking of it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± Claire said, as the carriage jostled them all and set off down the quay for the city streets. ¡°He was the younger son, and no one expected him to succeed his father. I recall there was some sort of sailing accident - the elder prince, Henlyn, drowned, along with several of his friends. It was something of a scandal, as they were all said to have been quite drunk. Now, when we arrive at the palace, you must all let me speak. If someone greets you, you may respond. Ya¨¦l, you remember what I taught you?¡± ¡°Gr¨¹ezi,¡± Ya¨¦l said, haltingly. ¡°Good,¡± Claire said, with a smile and a nod. ¡°Anything past that, simply switch to Narvonnian and apologize for not speaking Raetian. With anyone at the prince¡¯s palace, that should be enough.¡± ¡°This is all too fancy for me,¡± Henry grumbled, glancing out the carriage window. ¡°I mean, just look at this place.¡± The carriage rolled up to the gate of a curtain wall, where guards in the livery of the Prince of Raetia: a white mountain flower, on a field of blue, with white trim. Granger, at the front of the carriage, spoke with the guards briefly, and then they were permitted to pass beneath the outer wall and into a courtyard paved with wide granite stones. Once the carriage had rolled to a halt, the door was opened, and Dame Etoile was the first out. Claire waited until the armored knight reached back into the carriage, and then she used the stronger woman¡¯s arm to help herself out. ¡°Lady Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden,¡± one of the guards addressed her, inclining his head respectfully. Though his Narvonnian was accented, his words were perfectly clear to her. ¡°Your man tells us that you come bearing greetings from Prince Lionel of Narvonne.¡± ¡°It is so,¡± Claire confirmed, pulling the letter with the king¡¯s seal out from within her cloak so that the guard could see it. ¡°I am instructed to deliver it to Prince Conrad directly.¡± ¡°Of course. You must be weary from your long journey,¡± the guard said. ¡°Please, come with me. My men will see to your things.¡± They crossed the courtyard, and the wind pulled at Clarisant¡¯s cloak so that she had to clutch it about her to keep it closed. Torches guttered in sconces set along the walls, and the limestone of the palace reflected the light of the stars above. She could barely make out the red, rounded roofs of the towers, which rose to a sharp point so that the snow would slide off, instead of piling up. ¡°I am Riddersman Reinolt,¡± the guard introduced himself, as he led them into the palace. ¡°In your language, you would call me a knight, though the word has a somewhat different meaning here in Raetia.¡± ¡°It is my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Reinolt,¡± Claire returned the greeting. ¡°To my right is Dame Etoile du Rocher de la Garde, and behind her Ya¨¦l du Havre de Paix, my husband¡¯s squire. John Granger here is our master of arms, and Henry one of my husband¡¯s loyal men.¡± ¡°I pray you will forgive me, Lady Clarisant,¡± Reinolt said, taking them up a grand staircase to the second floor of the palace. ¡°I am familiar with the names of the Barons of Narvonne, and even some few of their heirs, but I cannot claim my knowledge is extensive. Might I recognize the name of your husband?¡± ¡°Sir Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, Exarch of Acrasia,¡± Claire gave the name. For a moment, she saw him again, as she¡¯d glimpsed him on the deck of the Perce-Pierre at night, with a bandage wrapped around his eyes. She thrust her worries aside to focus on what was in front of her. ¡°An Exarch!¡± Reinolt exclaimed. ¡°It is an honor to receive you, indeed. We always keep at least one set of guest chambers in readiness, of course, for any guests the Prince might receive.¡± ¡°Riddersman Reinolt!¡± a woman¡¯s voice called from behind them, and Claire looked back to see a young lady in a dress of dark winter wool hurrying to catch up. Her hair was a blonde as pale as butter, and her blue eyes sparkled like ice at dawn. ¡°We are receiving guests, I see?¡± Reinholt stopped, turned, and bowed. ¡°Princess Keterlyn,¡± he said, ¡°Lady Clarisant and her companions have just arrived from Narvonne.¡± ¡°Princess,¡± Clarisant greeted the young woman, reaching down beneath her heavy cloak to grasp her skirt and make a curtsy. ¡°It is my honor to meet you.¡± ¡°Narvonne,¡± Keterlyn repeated, frowning. ¡°We have heard tales of the war tearing apart your country. You have my deepest sympathy, Lady Clarisant. With all the troubles in the world right now, I cannot imagine the horror of a civil war on top of that.¡± ¡°I would not call it a civil war,¡± Clarisant said, rising. ¡°Rather treason. But I have faith that the conflict will be short lived, and that King Lionel will sit his father¡¯s throne when everything is over.¡± Reinholt and Keterlyn shared a glance, and Clarisant realized that her mission would not be an easy one. ¡°My brother does not think it appropriate to recognize one side or the other during another kingdom¡¯s internal conflicts,¡± Keterlyn said. ¡°I see Reinholt is taking you to the Silver Fur suite. It is one of my favorites; my mother had just finished redecorating it before she passed. I will leave you to make yourselves comfortable, but I am certain we will speak later. Good day, Lady Clarisant. Reinholt.¡± With an elegant nod of her head, Keterlyn swept away. ¡°If my lady would turn this way,¡± Sir Reinholt said, and Clarisant followed him. Two guards in the same blue and white livery waited outside the entrance to the suite, and one of them opened the door without being asked. As Princess Keterlyn had said, the rooms were decorated beautifully, in shades of silver and a deep forest green, with furniture of dark wood. There was a large window looking out on the mountains in the sitting room, and Clarisant could see multiple attached bed chambers, every room with a hearth built around a central point. ¡°I will leave you all to rest,¡± Reinholt said, bowed, and closed the door behind him when he left. ¡°That was odd,¡± Dame Etoile remarked, as Henry threw himself down into a chair by the window. ¡°Something did not feel quite right about it all.¡± ¡°That,¡± Clarisant said, ¡°Is because Avitus has gotten here before us. Or at least, one of his instruments has. I fear those two guards outside the door may not be entirely for our safety.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ya¨¦l asked, the girl¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°I suspect that we have just become Prince Conrad¡¯s prisoners,¡± Claire said. 136. The Bay of Sands Khalij Alrimal, or the Bay of Sands, has served as the gateway to the Maghreb Wastes since before the coming of the Etalan Empire. For centuries, the desert tribes have come out from the wastes to trade in the night market, sharing their tents with all the peoples of the world. ? 2nd Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Ismet had been to the Bay of Sands many times before, with her father, but this was the first time that she was coming under duress. Omar ibn Ajmal had all but shackled her to the bed in Captain Cyrah¡¯s cabin, which the P¨¡rsan mariner had given over to the Exarch upon agreeing to the voyage. Fazil was able to come and go freely enough, but whenever Ismet attempted to go up on deck, Omar or one of his men would be stationed at her door. With many courtesies and an obsequious manner, the guards who had been sent to ferry her to Ma?¨©n had made it clear that Ismet would need to resort to violence if she wanted to overcome their objections. They were charged with her safety, of course, and it was not that they did not trust the P¨¡rsan sailors - of course not, never say such a thing! - but that a woman of Ismet¡¯s stature would be more comfortable without being exposed to such uncouth people. And, of course, it was so cold on deck, without the sun to warm the world, she would not enjoy it. No, truly, she was lucky to have the comfort of her cabin. The prospect of running first Omar, and then the rest of his men, through with a sword became more tempting by the day, but Ismet restrained herself. ¡°I cannot believe they have the gall to treat you in such a manner,¡± Fazil groused, as he helped her pack the last of her things back into her trunks. ¡°Why have we not simply tossed them all overboard?¡± ¡°Like it or not,¡± Ismet said, ¡°they came under the orders of the Caliph, and I will obey his commands. We were fortunate they found me at Rocher de la Garde,¡± she admitted. ¡°The presence of Lionel and the other Narvonnian nobles put them on their best behavior.¡± ¡°Not to mention they would have had to contend with thousands of men who would die for you in a heartbeat,¡± Fazil remarked. ¡°They are like hyenas stalking the gazelle. They did not have the nerve to attack a herd, so they wait until we are alone to show their teeth.¡± ¡°What a wonderful metaphor,¡± Ismet remarked. ¡°Have you ever tried your hand at poetry, Fazil?¡± ¡°Perhaps once or twice, but that is not the point. Are you confident that W¨¡li Marwan will help you?¡± the young warrior asked, fussing over her last trunk. ¡°Marwan ibn Khalil and I are of the same tribe,¡± Ismet said. ¡°He fought at my father¡¯s side against the Raiders of Botis before I was born, and he has always been like an uncle to me. He will not turn me aside now.¡± ¡°If Captain Omar allows you to see him,¡± Fazil objected. ¡°I think if he could have forced the ship to change course, he would have taken us around Skandia and into the Outer Sea.¡± ¡°Thankfully, Cyrah would not allow that,¡± Ismet said. ¡°But you are correct that we would be fools to give Omar a choice in the matter. Epinoia,¡± she called, and with a rustle of bronze wings, the Angelus appeared. ¡°You would have me go ahead, would you not?¡± Epinoia asked her, with a smile. The two of them had grown so close, Ismet reflected, that the Angelus of Mothers could often tell what she was thinking before she ever spoke aloud. ¡°I would,¡± Ismet confirmed. ¡°I know that you and I have never visited this city together. Can you find him?¡± ¡°It is true that we went directly from the university north to the Tower of Tears,¡± Epinoia responded. ¡°But you are not the first Exarch I have taken under my wings, lovely Ismet. I have been to Khalij Alrimal many times since the Cataclysm. I will find the governor, and he will hear your message.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Ismet said. ¡°Now, this is what I would like you to tell him.¡± ? With the excuse of bringing their things up on deck, Ismet and Fazil were finally able to push past the men Captain Omar had stationed at the door to her cabin. After weeks at sea, the familiar Bay of Sands should have been a comforting sight, but instead, it only drove home to Ismet how much devastation the Sun Eater was responsible for. Instead of a sun drenched city, and the feel of her skin first baking in the heat, then being refreshed by the sea breeze and salt spray, Ismet could only dimly make out the Maghreb highlands behind the city beneath the light of the stars. The rising land was as nothing more than shadows, and the city, spread out across two peninsulas that embraced the sea, sparkled with the light of lanterns and torches despite the hour, which Captain Cyrah claimed was close to noon.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Ismet could not help but scowl, and was only comforted by the fact that her veil hid her expression. She wore the piece of scarlet silk that Lionel had bought her when the Simorq landed, as a private sort of rebellion, and to remind her of the Narvonnian King. Beyond that, with the exception only of her helm, she wore her armor and her sword buckled at her hip. ¡°Ah, Exarch,¡± Omar ibn Ajmal greeted her, the false affection in his voice already cloying. ¡°As you can see, we have arrived at Khalij Alrimal. When the ship has docked, I will send my men to arrange for spare horses, and we can ride for Ma?¨©n.¡± ¡°We will ride for Eayn Zarqa'' Oasis,¡± Ismet corrected him. ¡°Where my father will escort us across the Maghreb.¡± ¡°I can well understand the desire of a filial daughter to see her beloved father once again,¡± Omar said, inclining his head in a pantomime of respect. ¡°And yet, the sea voyage has already taken longer than I had anticipated. I fear that we must ride directly to Ma?¨©n, to fulfill the command of the Caliph.¡± ¡°It was my understanding that Captain Cyrah made very good time,¡± Ismet protested. ¡°In any event, we can speak more of this after I see my Uncle Marwan.¡± Omar shrugged. ¡°While it would no doubt be an honor to be received by the W¨¡li, he is a man with many cares, and an important port to oversee. I fear we will not be able to wait for him to schedule an audience, as our journey is pressing.¡± In spite of herself, Ismet¡¯s eye twitched in irritation. What kind of fool did the man think she was, to be put off by such excuses? She comforted herself with the knowledge that Epinoia would not fail her. Indeed, by the time the Simorq was tied up at the quay, Ismet was pleased to see a reception already awaiting them. She was even more delighted at the expression on Omar ibn Ajmal¡¯s face when the plank was lowered, and Marwan ibn Khalil, surrounded by half a dozen of his city guards, marched up onto the deck, arms spread wide. ¡°Can it truly be that my beloved niece has at last come to visit?¡¯ Marwan said, with a grin nearly as broad as his shoulders. ¡°My Desert Rose, it has been years! Look at you!¡± The Governor of Khalij Alrimal swept her up in an exuberant embrace, lifting Ismet off the ground as he had when she was but a child, and spinning her around on deck. In spite of herself, Ismet could not help but grin. ¡°Uncle!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Put me down!¡± ¡°In a moment,¡± Marwan murmured as he spun her. ¡°Your messenger reached me. We will go directly to my palace, where I will put these fools off.¡± He set her back on her feet, and then raised his voice so that it carried across the deck and down to the docks, as easily as he filled an audience chamber. ¡°It brings me great joy to see my beloved niece again!¡± W¨¡li Marwan proclaimed. ¡°And such pride. When you set off to the university, who could have expected you would return an Exarch! I will welcome my niece with a feast this evening! Come, come my little rose,¡± he said, throwing an arm across her shoulders and steering her down the plank to the dock. ¡°My men will bring your things. Who is this young man who accompanies you?¡± He threw his left arm out and tugged Fazil after them, and as if rehearsed, Marwan¡¯s men moved in to cut off Omar by lifting Ismet¡¯s trunks and carrying them in her wake . ? The next hour was a whirlwind, which deposited Ismet in a suite of rooms at the W¨¡li¡¯s palace, with her Uncle¡¯s own guards at her door, who steadfastly refused to admit Omar or any of his men. ¡°How can they refuse my hospitality after such a long journey?¡± Marwan asked, with a twinkle in his eye, as he plucked a fig off the tray which had been set out in Ismet¡¯s sitting room. ¡°It would be impolite, and dangerous to insult a governor in such a way. Do not be worried, little one. I have set my vizier to the task, and he has a thousand ways of distracting them. Now that we can speak freely, tell me what you need.¡± ¡°I am arrested in all but name,¡± Ismet explained, from her place at the window. ¡°I went north with General Shadi, to fight at the Tower of Tears. But when we arrived, Uncle, I found that the Narvonnians were not our true enemies. We were beset by daemons - Adrammelech, who came down out of the mountains and killed the general. Agrat, who assaulted us in the pass. And finally, Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun Eater, the Great Cataclysm itself, brought down the walls. It was only by allying with Narvonne that Adrammelech was slain, and the other daemons driven off.¡± ¡°You faced the Sun Eater?¡± Marwan asked, fig forgotten in his hand for the moment. ¡°Faced it?¡± Fazil grinned. ¡°W¨¡li, she put its eye out herself and forced it to flee.¡± ¡°I wish I could have killed it then,¡± Ismet said. ¡°If I had not let it go, the world would not be plunged into darkness, now. Uncle, that is not the end of it. There have been half a dozen more daemons unleashed, at the very least, and the man who caused the Cataclysm now sits the throne in Lutetia. I cannot afford to be forced out of the fight, to waste my time in Ma?¨©n, when my soldiers are already marching north to confront the greatest evil our world has ever known.¡± Marwan grimaced. ¡°I see that news has not yet reached you, my flower. If you think that Ma?¨©n is safely out of danger, you are wrong. The city is wracked by plague. Three weeks past, Rashid ibn Umar went into the outer city to heal the sick, and lost his life in a great fire that consumed the hospital.¡± ¡°What?¡± Ismet¡¯s mind ground to a halt, like a wagon wheel caught on a stone. ¡°The Caliph is dead?¡± ¡°He is,¡± Marwan confirmed. ¡°And his son Nasir confirmed as his successor.¡± ¡°Isr¨¡f¨©l would never choose that man as the next Caliph,¡± Epinoia said, appearing in the room with such abruptness that Marwan jumped. ¡°Honored Saint,¡± he said, bowing his head to the Angelus. ¡°Forgive me. It has been announced that Isr¨¡f¨©l is too busy fighting the plague to take an Exarch, and has commanded that Nasir ibn Rashid is to lead the Caliphate. In the meantime, Nasir has declared that the title of Caliph is now hereditary, and will pass to the oldest male heir.¡± ¡°You say all this began with a plague?¡± Ismet asked, and her uncle nodded. She shared a glance with Fazil, and then with Epinoia. ¡°Agrat,¡± Ismet spat, and put her hand to the hilt of her sword. ¡°This has to be the work of the Plague Dancer.¡± 137. The Maghreb The gh¨±l haunted wastes of the Maghreb are among the most desolate regions known to man. They broke three Etalan legions, leaving nothing but wind howling over a few scattered bones. The only ones who can traverse the wastes are the tribes who live there. ? 2nd Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 ¡°Can you get me a list of where the other Exarchs are, at the moment?¡± Ismet asked W¨¡li Marwan. ¡°We need to get messages to them.¡± Marwan furrowed his brow. ¡°I do not know about all of them, at the moment,¡± he admitted. ¡°Ashar and Hafaza the Guardian are almost always in Ma?¨©n, with Isr¨¡f¨©l. Jibr¨©l has not, to my knowledge, chosen another Exarch yet. You and Epinoia are here. That leaves the Exarchs of Ra''d, N¨¡shi?¨¡t, and M¨©k¨¡l.¡± ¡°I know Samara ibnah Arif,¡± Ismet said, musing. ¡°She was two years ahead of me at the University, before N¨¡shi?¨¡t selected her. If I send a letter to her, I think she will come.¡± ¡°Forgive me, General,¡± Fazil spoke up. ¡°The Exarch of Souls is not known for being the most militant woman.¡± ¡°No, she is a poet and a scholar,¡± Ismet admitted. ¡°But no Exarch is without power, and she has a good heart. She was always kind to the younger students, and I cannot imagine that Cyra will stand for what is happening, once I make it known to her. I have never met the Exarchs of Ra''d or M¨©k¨¡l, however.¡± ¡°Jamal ibn Hisham is the Exarch of Ra''d,¡± Marwan said. ¡°He has been south of the Maghreb, holding the border, for most of the last decade. I think there are few remaining men that he could be said to be close to. The old Caliph was one of them. If we send a message to a few of the southern garrisons, it will get to him; but I cannot guess what he will do. He has little reason to take our word for anything.¡± ¡°Perhaps not your word,¡± Epinoia said, ¡°but Ra¡¯d knows the worth of mine. It is not a waste to write to him, Ismet.¡± ¡°Which brings us to the Exarch of M¨©k¨¡l,¡± Ismet said. ¡°Unlike the rest, the Angelus of Mercy did not choose a graduate of the University of Ma?¨©n. I recall it being quite the scandal when I was a young girl.¡± ¡°No, even the act of choosing was itself a mercy,¡± Epinoia said. ¡°M¨©k¨¡l selected an orphan, a street boy who tried to feed his mother and sister by begging and stealing. Imran of the Streets they call him, the Saint of Beggars.¡± ¡°And it is impossible to know where he is at any time,¡± Marwan said. ¡°He wanders from town to town, helping the poor wherever he goes. I would not even know where to begin.¡± ¡°Perhaps I can find M¨©k¨¡l,¡± Epinoia said, after a moment. Ismet glanced over to the Angelus. ¡°How far from me can you travel, and how long?¡± ¡°How long is the question,¡± Epinoia said. ¡°Distance for Angelus does not mean the same thing as for mortals, but when we make an Accord, we do tie ourselves to our Exarchs. I will search for him in the nights, while you are asleep, my daughter.¡± ¡°Very well, then,¡± Ismet said. ¡°Uncle, may I trouble you for parchment and ink, so that I can write two letters?¡± ¡°Of course, my flower,¡± Marwan said. ¡°Write tonight, and I will marshal what warriors I can to send with you. In fact,¡± he suggested, ¡°I would advise writing a third letter, as well, so that your father can begin calling his own men together before your arrival.¡± ¡°Make it four,¡± Ismet said, after considering. ¡°My father, and one more, to go north to Narvonne.¡± ? When Ismet and Fazil rode out from the Bay of Sands after their morning prayers, it was at the head of twenty horse-archers, another twenty lancers, and one hundred infantry. ¡°I will send more behind you, as soon as I can gather them,¡± W¨¡li Marwan promised, standing in the courtyard of his palace. ¡°It will take some weeks, however. I only wish that I was still young enough to go with you myself.¡± ¡°You have done more than enough, Uncle Marwan,¡± Ismet said, bowing her head to him from atop Leila. A night¡¯s care in the governor¡¯s stables had done the desert steed a world of good, after the long sea voyage, and now she was prancing in excitement at the prospect of a ride. ¡°I will send you a message back when we reach the oasis.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°And I have sent yours already,¡± Marwan pledged. ¡°These are hard days, my desert rose,¡± he said, stepping up to her horse. ¡°If the sun does not come back soon, it will be starving times,¡± he told her. ¡°I must keep enough men with me to ensure the city does not fall into chaos.¡± ¡°I fear we will all need to trust Lionel and his Narvonnian Exarchs for that,¡± Ismet said, frustrated. ¡°By the time I finish in Ma?¨©n, I suspect they will already have come to grips with the Sun Eater. I do not like having to be absent for that battle.¡± ¡°Sometimes,¡± Fazil said, from his own saddle, ¡°We must simply have faith that our friends will do what they must, even if we cannot help them.¡± ¡°Ha! How did this young one become so wise?¡± Marwan asked, with a grin. ¡°He can hardly even grow a beard!¡± A stable boy came rushing over, and fell on his knees before the governor. ¡°W¨¡li,¡± the boy said, ¡°You ordered us to inform you when Captain Omar and his men reached the stable. They are saddling their horses now.¡± ¡°Good, good,¡± Marwan remarked, slipping the boy a silver coin. ¡°It is time for you to be off, Ismet. Bring my greetings to your father - and show the daemon what it means to pick a fight with the Caliphate!¡± ¡°Until we meet again, Uncle,¡± Ismet said. She stood in her saddle, turned to address the hundred and forty men who had been placed under her command, and called out to them. ¡°We ride for Eayn Zarqa'' Oasis!¡± ? By the time Captain Omar and his five men had caught up with Ismet and Fazil at the head of the column, they¡¯d not only marched out of the city, but were passing the rocky highlands, skirting along the lower slopes as they headed west into the plains. ¡°Exarch Ismet!¡± Omar ibn Ajmal shouted as he rode up on them, his face red. ¡°What is the meaning of this? Are you attempting to defy the orders of the caliph?¡± The wind off the plains blew gravel and grit about the horses, and Ismet was thankful she¡¯d wrapped her new red veil tightly. ¡°The orders of the caliph, who is now dead?¡± she asked them, raising her voice enough for the horse-archers and lancers to hear every word she said. ¡°Dead, with no new Caliph chosen, and the Angelus Isr¨¡f¨©l missing? For the first time in three hundred years, we have no successor.¡± ¡°That does not give you the right to raise your own forces in rebellion,¡± Omar burst out in response, dropping his hand to the hilt of his saif. ¡°A new caliph will be chosen, and I will bring you to him. Your only choice is whether to come willingly as our prisoner, or whether we must drag you there bound and gagged.¡± At that his men rode up around her to either side, obviously seeking to cut off Ismet¡¯s escape. ¡°Omar ibn Ajmal,¡± Ismet said, her words measured, ¡°You are a fool. The capitol is wracked by plague, and already seized by a usurper. You think this mere coincidence? I faced the daemon Agrat, Queen of Plagues, in the Hauteurs Massif not two moons past, and now our rightful Caliph dies in a fire, tending to the sick? All of this timed perfectly to draw me away from the battle against the Sun Eater in Narvonne? You are either a willing pawn of the daemons, or simply a piece on the board, moving blindly at the urging of an unseen hand. Whichever it is, I no longer have time to waste on you.¡± ¡°That is not your choice to make,¡± Omar said. ¡°The new Caliph will decide.¡± He drew his sword, and his five men followed. Ismet, on the other hand, did not make even the slightest move toward her own blade. ¡°I faced the Sun Eater himself at the Tower of Tears,¡± Ismet said, still raising her voice so that the men Marwan had given her could hear her clearly. ¡°I fought Adrammelech, the Prince of Plagues, in the mountains west of Falais. I drove off Zepar, the Scarlet, when he assaulted the rear of our army on the road to Rocher de la Garde. Scores of Kimmerians fell to my arrows when we lifted that siege. And you think six little men with their swords can threaten me?¡± Though her heart was pounding, she forced herself to throw her head back and laugh. She wanted the soldiers to hear it. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Lionel, for now she saw the use of such theatrics. ¡°Put your swords away,¡± Ismet continued. ¡°If you strike at me not a single one of you will survive.¡± ¡°This is revolt!¡± Omar shouted, with an ugly scowl. ¡°No,¡± Ismet said. ¡°The revolt is already happening, and it has already claimed the life of our beloved caliph. I am riding to Ma?¨©n to stop it. I am riding to restore the Caliphate, and purge the daemon that has beset our capital.¡± Now, she drew her sword, but instead of threatening the six guards who had been sent to arrest her, she thrust it into the air, above her head. ¡°Are you coming with me?¡± she asked, shouting the words not to Omar and his men, but to the soldiers marching behind them. One hundred and forty men roared in response. Omar and his men only now seemed to realize that, far from having her cornered as had been the case during the sea voyage, she now had them outnumbered. If the caliph had still been alive, no one would have dared defy them: but now, the soldiers trusted in their W¨¡li, and in the Exarch who rode with them. ¡°Let me lend you a hand,¡± Epinoia said, speaking so that only Ismet could hear her. Then, the Angelus appeared in the air above the marching army, wings spread, arms upraised, and hung there suspended. The Angelus of Mothers shone like a star descended from the sky, and with no sun, she might have been the brightest object for miles around. At the sight of her, the marching soldiers began to cheer. ¡°Let me be absolutely clear,¡± Ismet said, lowering her voice for Omar alone. ¡°You are not capable of stopping me. Put up your swords, or I will cut you all down. If you will not help me save the Caliphate willingly, I will put your souls to use as Tithes in the battle to come.¡± Captain Omar looked from her, to his men, then to Fazil and the cheering soldiers behind them, riding and marching in nearly ordered columns across the plains. Then, he looked above, to where Epinoia¡¯s light was now nearly blinding. Before, he had been ruled by anger. Now, when Ismet looked at his eyes, she saw only fear. Omar ibn Ajmal sheathed his sword, and his men followed. They reined their horses in, letting Ismet and her soldiers pass them by on their way west into the Maghreb desert. ¡°They will cause trouble if we leave them behind us,¡± Fazil said, riding in close beside her. ¡°Perhaps,¡± she admitted. ¡°But if they go back, my uncle will force them to stay as his guests until everything is settled. If they follow us west, my father will arrest them. And if they strike out into the plains without us, we will find out how soft living in the capital has made them, I suppose. The Maghreb eats soft men by the score.¡± They rode west, toward the Eayn Zarqa'' Oasis and her father; and then, beyond that, toward Ma?¨©n itself. 138. Three Visions Nivi¨¨ne is said to be the kindliest of Auberon¡¯s three queens; while men who seek out Beira often end up decorating her sculpture garden, and those who reach Melusine are eaten by crabs before washing ashore, the Queen of the Well has been known to offer her aid even to lost travelers, from time to time. ? 3rd Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Trist sniffed the steam rising from his cup with some hesitancy. ¡°Is this like what they drink in the Caliphate?¡± he asked, trying to recall Ismet¡¯s name for it. Something that began with a k, or a q, he thought. Claire would probably know. ¡°No,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°This is from much farther east, well past broken Elantia and Kimmeria. I believe the P¨¡rsans trade in the leaves, occasionally. It takes me quite a bit of effort to get any brought to Narvonne. Try a sip.¡± To Trist, it looked like the cup was filled mostly with hot water, but it smelled of herbs and greenery. At the bottom of the cup, a flower had bloomed from a tightly rolled bud. He tried a sip, and found it slightly bitter, though not unpleasantly so. ¡°You are seeing better every time we meet,¡± Nivi¨¨ne observed. ¡°You don¡¯t even have to think about it any longer, do you?¡± Trist shook his head. ¡°The hardest part is the change in perspective,¡± he admitted. ¡°For my entire life, my view of the world has come out of here.¡± He touched two fingers to the bandage of clean white linen wrapped around his eyes. ¡°But now, it is like I am looking over my own shoulder, instead of actually inside myself. It is taking a lot of work to get to the point that I am comfortable fighting like this.¡± ¡°And yet, it is better than being blind for the rest of your life, is it not?¡± the faerie queen asked him. ¡°Better, aye,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°But I do not know that I will be able to live like this when I leave. Seeing is so much easier, here. And what about after I break the gate in Velatessia, and free Acrasia? I doubt that I will still be able to do this then.¡± ¡°You may be surprised,¡± the queen said, taking a sip of her tea. ¡°You are the first true interbreeding of our people and the mortals of this realm. None of us can truly predict what you will be able to do, without the crutch of an Accord. Now, let us begin our lesson again. Start with one of the mortals, it will be easier. But not your wife - someone you have less of a connection to.¡± Trist took another sip of the hot water, and then, as Nivi¨¨ne had suggested before they began, let himself simply breathe in the aromatic steam. If he¡¯d still had functioning eyes, he would have closed them in order to focus; as it was, he pictured the king, Lionel. At first, the image was one that he remembered, from the night the two of them sat and talked over a campfire north of Falais. Then, there came a feeling like when the Hunter¡¯s Boon locked onto someone as his target. The image changed, and Trist saw King Lionel mounted on a horse. ¡°He is still riding north, towards Lutetia,¡± Trist murmured. ¡°And I still do not see General Ismet, but her troops are there. I want to try her today.¡± ¡°It may be more difficult, because she is an Exarch,¡± Nivi¨¨ne warned him. ¡°Her Angelus will tend to react poorly to a faerie trying to spy upon her.¡± ¡°I am not a faerie,¡± Trist said, trying to place exactly where the army was. South of Havre de Paix, or had they already marched past the fishing village where he¡¯d found Ya¨¦l? If his father had brought him to visit the capital when he was younger, he might have a better idea of Lionel¡¯s location. ¡°That is what the Angelus will assume,¡± Nivi¨¨ne pointed out. ¡°But very well. You have been making great strides during our lessons. You may attempt the Exarch.¡± Trist let the image of King Lionel fade from his mind, and instead called up his memories of Ismet ibnah Salah. The first time he¡¯d seen her, when she leveled her strange, curved southern blade at his face. Riding down out of the mountains, and fighting against Agrat in the pass. Sitting at the feast with Claire at his side, Trist¡¯s wife pointing out the way Ismet leaned in close to Lionel. For a moment, a well appointed room shimmered before him like summer heat rising off rocks, and Trist caught just a glimpse of Claire before he was able to wrench his thoughts back to Ismet. The day he¡¯d asked her to train Ya¨¦l. The southern Exarch riding into Rocher de la Garde by darkness, leaping up onto a roof with her bow strung. With a snap, Trist had it. There was Ismet, a new red veil wound about her head, riding at the head of a column of men across a vast plain, under the stars. Wind whipped dust and pebbles around the feet of their horses. ¡°I have her,¡± Trist told the faerie queen. ¡°But she is not with King Lionel. I do not recognize where she is - there is dust blowing all around, and she is at the head of an army. I do not see plants growing anywhere. No water.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°The Maghreb,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°Good. That may be the furthest you¡¯ve ever cast your sight. Be careful. The Angelus will-¡± Trist didn¡¯t hear the rest. The rustle of bronze wings filled his ears, and he found himself staring into eyes deep as the sea, unable to look away. ¡°Not a faerie at all,¡± Epinoia said. ¡°I recognize you, Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden. Whatever are you doing here?¡± ¡°Learning to see,¡± he said, and the Angelus cocked her head to one side, like a cat. ¡°You have seen. I do not normally permit my daughter to be spied upon.¡± ¡°Spying was not my intent,¡± Trist said. ¡°But I did not realize she was in the Maghreb. When last I saw her, she was with King Lionel.¡± ¡°The captain of the caliph¡¯s guards came to arrest her and bring her to Ma?¨©n,¡± Epinoia explained. ¡°She took ship south to the Bay of Sands, and is now on her way to meet her father, where she will gather additional troops. The caliph is dead, Isr¨¡f¨©l is missing or destroyed, and we believe that Agrat is in Ma?¨©n.¡± ¡°I wish I could help,¡± Trist said. ¡°But I am too far away. In the Ardenwood.¡± He thought for a moment, and then realized there might be a way he could be of use, after all. ¡°If I look in upon Sir Bors,¡± he said. ¡°I could passage a message through him, to the king.¡± ¡°I would not attempt this with Masheth,¡± Epinoia advised, ¡°without some prior agreement. Choose a less combative Angelus.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°But if I find a way to pass word to King Lionel, what should I tell him?¡± ¡°That Ismet is safe,¡± Epinoia said. ¡°Safe, but she cannot return to him until she has defeated Agrat and put the Caliphate back in order. He should not worry himself, I think she would say; allies are coming to aid her, including what Exarchs we can find. She would not, I believe, say how much she misses him, but I feel it nonetheless.¡± ¡°He is riding north to Lutetia,¡± Trist said, ¡°but has not reached it yet. If I can get a message to him, I will come back to speak to you again.¡± ¡°Good. Go now; I will tell her tonight, when she has made camp.¡± Trist nodded, and the Angelus released him in much the same way Trist had thrown a small fish back into the Rhea when he was a boy. Suddenly, he was back sitting at a table with the faerie queen. ¡°You understand, now?¡± Nivi¨¨ne asked him. ¡°Why it is best to be cautious with anyone who is not a mortal?¡± ¡°If she had wanted to hold me, or hurt me,¡± Trist admitted, ¡°I do not think I could have stopped her.¡± ¡°I doubt you could have, either. Very well,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said, with a sigh. ¡°You may look in on your wife again. It is not good practice, because it does not push your limits - but I know that it is who you long to see most.¡± Trist breathed in the scent from his cup. The water had cooled, and was no longer steaming. He summoned Claire¡¯s face in his mind. Trist knew her better than either Lionel, or Ismet, and so it was far easier. He knew the scent of her hair, and the feel of his hand on her skin. The connection came so quickly that it was nearly as easy, now, as drawing his sword from its sheath. Clarisant was still in the same suite of rooms as the last few times he had looked in on her, and he caught glimpses of her companions, as well. Ya¨¦l he had expected, and Henry, but she seemed to have brought Dame Etoile as well, and even John Granger. That comforted him, because it confirmed that she had brought the people of Camaret-¨¤-Arden back to Rocher de la Garde after speaking with the Horned Hunter. He couldn¡¯t place where she was, exactly, but Cern had told him she was going to Raetia on a mission for King Lionel, and the suite of rooms certainly looked like the sort of place where a Raetian prince might host a Narvonnian ambassador. Now, Claire was wearing one of the green and black dresses she¡¯d brought with her when she came to Falais; he recognized it from the feast thrown by King Lionel. Her black hair was once again bound by a silver circlet, but otherwise uncovered by a veil. She was seated in an armchair, in the sitting room of the suite, with Etoile on one side of her and John Granger on the other. Ya¨¦l was at the door, with Henry. Sitting opposite Claire, in another armchair, was a man dressed in blue and silver. He had dark hair, slightly wild, brushed back from his face, and it fell into unruly spikes and curls. ¡°Prince Conrad apologizes again for not being able to receive you personally,¡± the man was saying, and Trist recognized that his wife did not look happy. ¡°But you understand, I am certain, how much time a head of state must dedicate to serving their people,¡± the man continued. ¡°I do,¡± Claire said. ¡°Yet, part of that obligation is to deal with matters foreign, and not merely domestic. The King of Narvonne-¡± ¡°Prince,¡± the dark-haired man said. ¡°We do not take sides in the internal conflicts of other kingdoms. I-¡± he stopped, suddenly, and turned to look directly at Trist. Dark scales crashed through salt-waves; fangs the size of swords, black horns falling back from the lizard-like head in a spray. Once again, Trist was dragged through the ocean depths, clinging to the hilt of his sword for his life. He gasped, and pulled himself back to Queen Nivi¨¨ne, where he found he had dropped his cup and was shaking. ¡°What have you seen?¡± the faerie queen asked, her voice even and measured. ¡°Claire,¡± Trist said. His hands stilled only after he took the time to breathe in and out, slowly. ¡°She is in the same room as Forneus. The Leviathan wears the shape of a man, and he saw me.¡± ¡°Then you did good to come back,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°If Epinoia could hold you, Forneus could shred your core to nothing. You might have fought him once in the mortal world, but you are not ready to fight a daemon soul-to-soul.¡± ¡°I have to go back,¡± Trist said. ¡°Claire¡¯s in danger.¡± ¡°The more you look in on her, the greater the danger will be,¡± Nivi¨¨ne countered. ¡°Once, the daemon might overlook. But if it catches you there again, it will be certain that she is someone you care about, and it will use that.¡± ¡°They do not have an Exarch there,¡± Trist protested. ¡°I need to protect her.¡± ¡°You can only do that,¡± the faerie queen said, ¡°If you continue to learn from me. Consider this motivation.¡± ¡°What do I do next, then?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Something your Acrasia tells me you have already done once before, by mischance,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°You learn to be in two places at once.¡± 139. Vigil Much like Narvonne, Raetia has historically kept the peace with its native faeries by effectively ceding territory to them. North of the mountain passes, in the lands where no trees grow and the northern lights shine, only The Winter Queen rules. ? 3rd Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 ¡°Is everything alright, Minister Fabian?¡± Claire asked. The Prince of Raetia¡¯s representative had suddenly stopped talking and turned to one side, as if something shocking, or even dangerous, had caught his attention. ¡°Perfectly well, Lady Clarisant,¡± Fabian said, turning back to her and fixing his face with a smile that managed to look both obviously fake, and sincerely predatory at the same time. She neither trusted the man, nor did she enjoy his company, but he was also the closest she had come to speaking with Prince Conrad himself since arriving in Basilea, and she couldn¡¯t afford to offend him. ¡°Good,¡± she said, keeping a polite smile on her face that she was confident looked more genuine than what the minister was doing. ¡°I really don¡¯t expect it would take very long,¡± Claire pressed forward. ¡°A brief meeting to deliver the letter from King Lionel, and then we can wait for the prince to consider his response.¡± ¡°I will do my best to arrange such an audience for you,¡± Fabian assured her, but she knew he was putting her off. ¡°I may be able to find an opportunity sometime next week, I believe.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Claire said, deciding to change her tactics. ¡°In that case, I look forward to seeing more of Basilea. Are there any particular places of cultural significance you would recommend for a first time visitor?¡± ¡°Regrettably, with the state of things in the world at the moment, and the uncertainty among our people regarding the sun, I think it would be safer for you to remain our guest at the palace,¡± Fabian said. ¡°Minister!¡± Claire gasped. ¡°Are you implying that the prince does not have control over his own people? Have there been riots?¡± ¡°Nothing of the sort,¡± Fabian said. ¡°You need have no concerns on that account, Lady Clarisant. Nonetheless, the prince would feel more assured of your safety if you would do him the honor of remaining within your rooms here at the palace.¡± ¡°For the next week,¡± Clarisant repeated. ¡°Indeed.¡± The Minister rose from his chair. ¡°And now, I must take my leave of your company. There are certain pressing matters which require my attention.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Claire rose as well, and nodded to Henry and Ya¨¦l at the door. The hunter opened it and held it aside for Minister Fabian to pass, just as if Clarisant had been hosting a visitor at Foyer Chaleureux, instead of being kept prisoner in a very luxurious apartment in a foreign land. As soon as the door was closed, however, the archer spoke his mind. ¡°I don¡¯t like him, and I don¡¯t trust him,¡± Henry said. ¡°Right, this is a pile of horse shit,¡± Ya¨¦l chimed in merrily. ¡°Are we doing the thing now?¡± ¡°Tonight,¡± Claire said. ¡°When most of the palace is asleep.¡± ¡°I do wonder,¡± Dame Etoile said, ¡°how long everyone will be able to keep up any sort of normal schedule without the sun rising and setting.¡± ¡°The guards will keep up their shifts until everything falls apart,¡± John Granger speculated. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine it will take much longer. I¡¯ve already heard the maids talking about food shortages.¡± ¡°I wish we could wait for a riot to break out, but we really cannot,¡± Claire said. ¡°It¡¯s become obvious that we¡¯re being stalled here. They¡¯ve either decided to back Avitus, or they really are staying neutral; I can¡¯t get a read on which without talking to the prince himself. But in either case, we aren¡¯t going to be able to get what the king wanted just by staying here in our rooms. It¡¯s time to take our chance on the faerie queen.¡± ¡°I feel that it is my duty, once again, to point out that we do not have an Exarch with us this time,¡± Etoile cautioned her. ¡°That bargaining with faeries is notoriously dangerous. And that these aren¡¯t even Narvonnian faeries. We hardly know anything about this Queen of Winter.¡± ¡°We know that the Horned Hunter thinks she might be able to help us,¡± Claire pointed out. ¡°Which is a better chance than we have staying here.¡± ? The plan was simple enough. John Granger had organized guard shifts for Sir Rience¡¯s manor over the past decade or more, and Dame Etoile and Henry had both done their share of standing watches. All three of them agreed that the lonely stretch of night between Vigil and Matins was the time when guards were most lax. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. When Henry gave her the signal - the hunter had been keeping track of the motion of the stars in the sky - Clarisant began to groan and moan loudly, and then to cry out. She did her best to sound like she was in agonizing pain. After a few moments of that, Ya¨¦l jerked the door to the hall open and poked her head out. ¡°We need a surgeon!¡± the squire told the guards outside the doors. ¡°Lady Clarisant is ill! The baby may be in danger!¡± One of the guards said something in Raetian, and Ya¨¦l pointed at her own belly. ¡°Baby!¡± she repeated, and pointed into the room. Claire wasn¡¯t even showing yet, but losing a child to miscarriage was common enough, and the guard seemed to get the hint, for he rushed into the room. John Granger, who¡¯d been hiding behind the door, stepped out behind the man, slipped his arms around the guard¡¯s neck, and began to choke him. The guard¡¯s arms pinwheeled in a panic, and Ettie stepped past the struggle - and Ya¨¦l, who¡¯d made certain to duck out of the way - and pommel-punched the other guard in the nose. A sickening crunch, followed by a cry of pain, made Claire flinch for real. Etoile dragged the second guard into the room, his broken nose gushing blood. She stomped on the back of his knee with her sabaton, bringing him down to the ground, and set about choking the second man out using a slightly different technique than the master of arms. Ya¨¦l pulled the door closed. ¡°The two of you are terrifying,¡± Henry commented. ¡°You should wrestle me sometime,¡± Dame Etoile offered. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you a few things you¡¯ve never seen before.¡± ¡°Later,¡± Clarisant said, rising. ¡°We need to be quick about this. Get them stripped.¡± Within ten minutes, the guards were naked, gagged and bound in one of the bedrooms. They¡¯d used the sheets, wound up into ropes. Henry and John Granger, in the meanwhile, were wearing both the guards¡¯ armor and their livery. ¡°Right,¡± Granger said. ¡°Henry, you¡¯re in back, I¡¯m in front.¡± ¡°You¡¯re certain you can get us out of here?¡± Henry asked. ¡°I wrote the turns down when we first got into the rooms,¡± Granger said, ¡°and memorized it. If anyone says anything to us, just ignore them and keep moving. A nod or a shake of the head if it''s needed, but don¡¯t talk, lad, or they¡¯ll know what¡¯s wrong instantly. Look like you know where you¡¯re going, and like you¡¯re supposed to be here. Bored is good, too.¡± Claire wrapped herself in her winter cloak. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± They stepped out into the hall, John taking the lead and Henry bringing up the rear, with Claire, Dame Etoile, and Ya¨¦l in the middle. The squire was carrying Henry¡¯s bow and quiver, because the palace guards only wore arming swords at their belts. The halls of the palace were quiet, and they made it back down the grand staircase to the first floor. Lanterns, stocked with whale oil, burned along the walls at regular intervals, casting circles of light and deepening the shadows between them. Claire felt distinctly better about their odds every time they stepped into the shadows, and felt her heart pound when they walked back into the light again. If Trist was here, she knew, he would just wrap them in shadows, and that would be the end of it. She shoved the thought down and focused on what she needed to do right now. They were just in sight of the two guards at the palace entrance when their plan fell apart. ¡°I do hope your men haven¡¯t killed those guards,¡± Riddersman Reinolt called across the darkness, and Claire spun to face him. ¡°It would be most inconvenient, not to mention inconsiderate.¡± Henry and John Granger drew their arming swords, and Ya¨¦l followed suit. Dame Etoile put a hand to Claire¡¯s shoulder, and gently pulled her back, so that anyone coming at them would have to go through everyone else before getting within reach. ¡°There won¡¯t be any need for that,¡± Princess Keterlyn said, stepping into the light at Reinolt¡¯s side. ¡°Princess,¡± Claire greeted her, with a nod. ¡°I apologize for my brother¡¯s actions,¡± Keterlyn said, her unbound blonde hair falling around her shoulders, and hanging down to the breast of her chemise. ¡°Whatever his political reasons, he should not be holding messengers from another kingdom captive, when you came here in peace.¡± ¡°Something is very wrong here, Keterlyn,¡± Claire said, from behind her wall of guardians. ¡°You must know that the war in Narvonne does not affect us alone. Avitus and his army have allied with daemons. They are working with the Sun Eater itself, and they¡¯ve freed at least one of the monsters that was bound in Raetia.¡± ¡°I have tried to speak to my brother of this,¡± Keterlyn admitted. ¡°But he will not listen to me like he used to.¡± ¡°It¡¯s his new minister,¡± Reinolt said. ¡°If you had come here a moon ago, Lady Clarisant, you would have received a very different reception. Get to your ship, and be gone before the alarm is raised. It would be best for all of us if you do not return to Raetia.¡± The guards at the door stepped aside. ¡°We are going now,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°Thank you. Come along,¡± she told her people, but they did not sheathe their weapons until the entire group was out the door and moving across the snow-swept courtyard. ¡°To the ship?¡± Granger asked, as they left the courtyard. Claire noticed a lack of guards at the gatehouse, and assumed that Reinolt or the Princess had arranged for that. ¡°No,¡± she said, shivering as they hurried through the city. ¡°Take us to where we can hire passage. The plan hasn¡¯t changed.¡± Somehow, the alarm bells from the palace did not ring until after they were all packed into a sleigh, wrapped in furs. The Raetian who was to be their driver narrowed his eyes at the chimes, but apparently had decided that Claire was paying well enough not to ask questions. ¡°North!¡± the man shouted, in his mangled Narvonnian, and used a long whip on the odd beasts hitched in front of the sleigh. They were indeed something like Narvonnian stags, though much stranger, with fur that was more silvery-gray and white than brown. Claire had tried to ask what they were called, and gotten back something that sounded like ¡®rentier¡¯ from the driver. With a jolt, the sleigh took off across the packed ice, headed out of the city and toward the dark mountains. Flakes of snow drifted by in the wind of their passing, and overhead the stars glimmered in the darkness. Bundled up next to Claire, Ya¨¦l let out a delighted whoop and a laugh. Her eyes were wide, and she was grinning. ¡°This is amazing!¡± ¡°It is beautiful,¡± Claire admitted. Her breath frosted the cold air, but wrapped in the furs, sandwiched between Ya¨¦l and Etoile, she was warm enough that she didn¡¯t mind. ¡°Try to get some sleep,¡± she told the squire, even though she could not imagine that happening. By the time they were skidding across the snow into the mountain pass, the horrible circle of white light that used to be the sun had begun to rise to the east. ¡°Do you think she will help us?¡± Etoile asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Claire admitted. ¡°But I have to try everything I can before we give up.¡± Even if that meant going to the court of a faerie queen. 140. Nordlicht The Church of the Angelus teaches that the lights appeared to the north of Raetia and Kimmeria when the Saints first came through the Gate of Horn. It was a sign of a sacred promise, that they would protect us from the daemons. Of course, Etalan sources make it clear the northern lights existed long before the Great Cataclysm. ? 4th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Clarisant dozed as the sleigh travelled north through the pass, and then into the vast land beyond the mountains. It had been a long night, and she found herself exhausted more easily than before she became pregnant. When she finally woke, it was a struggle to emerge from the piled furs and expose her face to the wind again. ¡°The lights in the sky,¡± Claire remembered, looking up. The white-ring where a sun should be hung behind them, to the south, while ahead a shimmering curtain of green, blue and purple stretched across the stars. ¡°Nordlicht,¡± the sleigh driver said, and then continued on with a string of words in Raetian that Claire found incomprehensible. Instead of trying to understand, she turned to Ya¨¦l, who had also fallen asleep at her side, and gave the young squire a nudge. Ya¨¦l grunted and turned over, pulling some of the furs tight around herself in a sort of cocoon. ¡°You¡¯re going to want to see this,¡± Claire said. ¡°Are we there, then?¡¯ Ya¨¦l asked, opening one eye. It must have been enough for her to catch sight of the colors in the sky overhead, for she sat up immediately, grinning. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful!¡± ¡°It is,¡± Claire agreed, with a smile. It was too bad that Trist couldn¡¯t be there to see it with them. ¡°What happens next?¡± Dame Etoile asked, from her other side. ¡°The Horned Hunter said that we were to go north, until we saw the lights in the sky,¡± Claire talked herself through it. ¡°And then, to call out the name of the Queen of Winter.¡± ¡°Are you going to do it now?¡± Ya¨¦l asked, hauling herself upright and leaning over the edge of the sleigh to watch the tracks they were leaving behind to mark their passage. ¡°Those are the lights,¡± Claire said, by way of an answer. ¡°Is everyone prepared?¡± ¡°For more faerie nonsense?¡± Henry asked, shaking his head. ¡°No. But I won¡¯t get any more prepared if you give me an hour, or a moon.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see anything ahead but an endless white plane,¡± John Granger said. ¡°And I¡¯ve been watching since there was light enough to see. For all I know, we could go on forever, to the end of the world, and never find anything. Aye, call her name, m¡¯lady.¡± Claire took a deep breath of the cold air, and looked up to the sky. Then, as loudly as she could, she called out: ¡°Beira! Queen of the Northern Lights, I call you!¡± The sleigh driver turned around, his bushy eyebrows coated in frost, eyes wide, and began to harangue her as he pulled up on his reins. The sleigh slowed, and the strange stags finally came to a halt. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s very happy,¡± Henry observed. ¡°Did anyone tell him we were going to see the faeries?¡± ¡°Let me offer to pay him more,¡± John Granger said, and leaned forward to attempt to negotiate in his broken Raetian. A great wind whistled across the snow-covered plains, and brought with it a stinging cloud of tiny particles that turned the entire world white. Whether they were ice or snow, Claire couldn¡¯t say for certain, but the gust forced her to close her eyes and pull the furs tight around herself. Through the howl of the wind, Claire suddenly heard other sounds: hooves breaking snow, the jingling of bells, and the snort of horses. The temperature dropped even further, and she shivered from within her knot of furs. Finally, the wind died down, and she was able to open her eyes again. A second sleigh had come to a halt in front of them, this one pulled by three white horses. As Claire watched, an old man with a great white beard and a long, fur-lined coat of deep blue wool climbed out, pulled a long wooden staff after him. He drove it into the snow and ice to use as a walking stick as he approached. The Raetian sleigh driver bowed his head and averted his eyes. ¡°Who comes to the Kingdom of the Winter Queen and invokes her name?¡± the old man asked. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°I do,¡± Claire said. ¡°I am Lady Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, and these are my companions. We were sent to Raetia by King Lionel of Narvonne to seek aid, but we were turned away by the prince. The Horned Hunter told us to come north until we saw the colors in the sky, and call out to the Queen of Winter. He said that she might help us.¡± ¡°She might,¡± the old man said. ¡°Or she might not. We shall see. Come into my sleigh, all of you. Pay your driver; he will not be accompanying us.¡± They pried themselves out of the warm furs, gathered up their things, and tromped through the snow over to the new sleigh. Clarisant and Ya¨¦l were able to walk on the crust of the snow without breaking it - the girl more easily, but Claire stepped carefully. The other three, in their armor, had to trudge through drifts up to their knees or higher. Once John had handed over a handful of silver coins, the Raetian driver turned his team of stags - or rentier, as he had called them - and with a shout to his team sped south, leaving them alone. ¡°Might I enquire your name, sir?¡± Claire asked the bearded man, as Dame Etoile helped her into the back of the sleigh. She had worried that it would not hold them all, but now that she got a close look, it was larger than it had first appeared. ¡°You may call me Bore,¡± the old man said, settling into his driver¡¯s seat while they all re-arrange the furs in the back of the sleigh. Claire found them to be of much higher quality than those of the Raetian driver: instead of bear and beaver, luxuriously soft pelts of white northern rabbits, foxes, and wolves were an absolute pleasure to dive into. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Bore,¡± she said, once they were in and she¡¯d made certain that Ya¨¦l was neither going to freeze to death, nor go flying out. ¡°Long has it been since the Wild Hunt visited our demesne,¡± Bore said, watching them all get settled. ¡°I do not know what you have done to earn his favor, mortal woman. Cern usually detests your kind.¡± ¡°Women?¡± Etoile asked, but the old man shook his head. ¡°The living. Hold tight!¡± His whip cracked, and the team of three horses shot off across the field of ice as easily as an Etalan road. Though it seemed impossible, Bore¡¯s sleigh travelled even faster than the Raetian¡¯s, so that Claire had to squint against the constant spray of ice and snow that shot up around them. In the sky overhead, the colors grew even brighter, and moved and danced as if they were performing a masque at the court of a king. They shimmered in veils of color, and the stars sparkled through. There was little to do but to watch the nordlicht, and yet Claire never grew weary of the sight. She thought that she could have watched the lights for days, and it would still never be enough. Finally, they came to something other than the endless plain. It was, of course, Henry who saw it first: he had never stopped scanning the horizon, always the hunter. ¡°There!¡± he called, pointing a finger ahead, then withdrawing back into his furs with a shiver. ¡°What is it?¡± Granger asked, but Henry shook his head. ¡°Maybe a building? Too small to be a mountain,¡± he said. As they drew closer, Claire could eventually see it, as well. Gradually, a glitter and a shadow on the horizon resolved into an elegant palace of ice, rising up from the plain and stretching its towers toward the stars. As the nordlicht danced above, the colors of the lights in the sky reflected off the ice, and parts of the palace shone blue or green or purple. ¡°The palace of the Winter Queen,¡± Bore called back to them. ¡°Look upon her garden, and see what happens to those who come as her enemies.¡± The plain before the castle was scattered with what Claire at first took to be sculptures of ice. She had seen the like once before, when a Raetian sculpter came to entertain at old King Lothair¡¯s winter court. The man had used hammer and chisel to carve great blocks of ice into flowers, animals, and other fantastic shapes, including one dancing woman that Claire had absolutely fallen in love with. The statues before the Winter Queen¡¯s palace were far larger than the ones Claire had seen as a girl at Cheverny. There were armed men, swords raised, captured in the moment of their charge. Swordsmen, spearmen and archers. One even rode on horseback, lance lowered. Bore slowed the team of horses to a walk, and they were all able to get a closer look as he wove between the statues. ¡°Why do they have colors inside?¡± Ya¨¦l asked. ¡°Those aren¡¯t sculptures,¡± Claire realized. The swordsman on her right wore a cloak of gray fur, thrown back to reveal glistening, polished steel plate beneath. She could see the brown of his eye, and thought for a moment he was looking at her. ¡°As I said, my queen¡¯s enemies,¡± Bore explained. ¡°We thought the southerners had learned long since, but we were assaulted again less than a moon ago. You see?¡± They slid past a frozen statue much larger than the rest: beneath the ice, Claire glimpsed a form only vaguely human, with the head of some sort of wildcat, and great feathered wings spread out behind it. The snarl of the monster¡¯s fanged maw was filled with hate, and despite her furs she shivered at the sight. I wonder which one that is, she thought, and grabbed her bag, with the copy of the Marian Codex she¡¯d taken from the Cathedral of Rahab safely inside. She would look as soon as she had a chance. ¡°So the daemons have come here,¡± she observed, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself. ¡°We are fighting them in Narvonne, also. That should make us allies against a common enemy.¡± ¡°We shall see,¡± Bore said, and pulled up the team of horses in front of the frozen gates of the great palace. ¡°You will enter here, and stand before Queen Beira. She will decide what is to be done with you all.¡± He pulled his staff out again, and leaned on it when he stalked across the crusted snow to the massive doors. Claire climbed out of the sleigh and followed him, shivering under her cloak now that she¡¯d left the pile of furs behind. The gates to the frozen palace stood three times the height of a man, at least, and had been sculpted into carvings both beautiful and horrifying. Claire thought she recognized some of the creatures depicted on those doors: monsters with wings and the parts of animals, using swords and whips and stranger weapons to torment people dressed in the garb of ancient Etalus. Around them, a city burned, and in the background was some sort of gate. Before she could ask questions, Bore rapped the head of his staff against the center, where the two doors met. The impact rang out, clear as the bells on his sleigh, and without any hand to move them, the doors swung inward, silently. Before them stretched a long hall, the center aisle flanked by pillars of ice on either side. A great window was set behind a throne of white wood, and through the ice panes of the window could be seen the shimmering colors of the lights in the sky. The thone itself was wound in holly, and covered in white furs, and on it sat a woman tall and pale. ¡°Step forward,¡± Beira, the faerie Queen of Winter, called out, and her voice echoed down the hall. ¡°I would speak with the mortals.¡± 141. The Winter Queen We do not honor the gh¨±ls who haunt the Maghreb with titles such as king or queen - but then, the Narvonnians once worshiped the monster, and burned sacrifices to them in cages of wicker. ? 4th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Claire had seen Acrasia several times, and the experience always left her mind in dark places. The larger part of that was the memory of the night Percy died. However pleasant the faerie might make herself appear, Claire knew that she was only a single incomprehensible decision away from violence - like a wild animal. The smaller portion was that Claire had to admit that Acrasia was inhumanly beautiful. Trist had loved her once, even if she¡¯d been lying to him, and there was always a sliver of worry that wormed its way into Claire¡¯s chest. How could any man who had loved someone so gorgeous ever be satisfied with a normal woman? Beira made Acrasia look like a young girl playing with her mother¡¯s jewelry and makeup. The Faerie Queen¡¯s eyes were the blue of a cloudless winter sky, her hair the shining of dawn sunlight on iced over tree branches. Her skin was white as new snow, before man or beast tracked their way across it. She cast light down from her throne so brightly that Claire had to squint her eyes: Beira was nearly blinding. Claire made her curtsy. ¡°Thank you for your hospitality, your majesty,¡± she greeted the faerie. ¡°I am Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden, and these are my companions. Dame Etoile,¡± she indicated her armored guardian with one hand, and the broad-shouldered woman nodded in greeting. ¡°John Granger, our Master of Arms. Henry, a hunter and man at arms in my husband¡¯s service. Ya¨¦l du Havre de Paix, squire to my husband.¡± ¡°Why do you come before my throne, Lady Clarisant?¡± Beira asked. ¡°I have watched you since you called my name. The decorations in my garden should have been adequate warning to turn you back, I would have thought, but you have continued on. I presume there is some reason you judge important enough to give your life for.¡± ¡°We mean no offense to you, and no intrusion on your territory,¡± Claire answered. ¡°We come as friends, to speak of things which threaten us all. I saw the daemon frozen in your garden, as you call it. That makes at least nine daemons that have been loosed into the world over the past few months, your majesty. The very sun has been blotted from the sky by the Great Cataclysm itself. In Narvonne, our king and our Exarchs are fighting as we speak, but they need help.¡± Beira shrugged. ¡°It would be an understatement to say that I have no affection for Samm¨¡?¨¥l,¡± she said. Bore, in the meanwhile, had advanced up the long aisle and taken a place standing to one side of the queen¡¯s throne. ¡°I would have preferred your human Exarchs removed his presence from our world centuries ago, to be quite honest. And yet, in this one particular instance, his actions do not displease me. The entire world is winter,¡± she pointed out, with a smile. ¡°Not true winter,¡± Claire attempted. ¡°True winter has snow so bright under the sun you can hardly look at it. And if this darkness lasts much longer, thousands of people will starve.¡± ¡°It is too late to stop that,¡± Biera said. ¡°Weeks of darkness have killed almost all the fruits and grains you mortals rely on. The animals will begin dying next, the ones that eat the grass and the leaves. But none of it really matters. My people will persist.¡± ¡°Cern said you could help us,¡± Ya¨¦l broke in. ¡°Like he and Auberon did at Falais.¡± The faerie queen¡¯s head moved like an owl, turning rapidly and further than any human woman¡¯s neck could have moved. ¡°How do you come to know those names, human child?¡± ¡°I met them,¡± Ya¨¦l said, and Claire knew she needed to find a way to stop the girl from talking. ¡°Auberon gave me his ring for the chapel where he grew the tree-throne, and I got to eat from his Graal too, once. And he healed Trist! Do you know Acrasia, too?¡± ¡°My husband,¡± Claire broke in, ¡°is Exarch to the Lady Acrasia, who is sister to Cern the Hunter. Trist Tithes to Acrasia and to Auberon.¡± ¡°Auberon has taken a second Exarch?¡± Beira turned back to Claire. ¡°How interesting. Your husband, you say?¡± The queen of winter leaned forward on her throne. ¡°I am intrigued. What would you have of me, mortal woman? Perhaps we can bargain.¡± ¡°My king wished to purchase food from the prince of Raetia,¡± Claire began. ¡°But when we arrived, Prince Conrad locked us up. We can¡¯t even get to see him - he only ever sent his advisor, a man named Minister Fabian.¡± Bore and Beira exchanged glances. ¡°That creature¡¯s name is not Fabian,¡± the faerie with the long beard told them. ¡°Creature? He isn¡¯t human, then?¡± Claire asked. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Stop giving them things for free,¡± Beira chastised her attendant. ¡°What do you offer me, Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden? A first-born child is traditional, and I see you carry one. I might also be persuaded to accept the squire. If Auberon has a fondness for the girl, she might make a good bargaining chip.¡± Before Ya¨¦l could open her mouth, Claire firmly said, ¡°Neither of those is someone I am willing to part with.¡± ¡°Offer me something else, then,¡± Beira said. ¡°Love, to warm my heart. I can feel it here among you. Yours, for your husband, perhaps? Or these two who make eyes at each other when no one is looking. I would accept that.¡± Claire very deliberately did not look at either Etoile, or Henry. ¡°Not love,¡± she said. ¡°What about a Tithe?¡± ¡°Continue,¡± Beira said, making a turning motion with the first two fingers of her right hand. ¡°You need Tithed souls, do you not?¡± Claire said, her thoughts scrambling. ¡°And you accept oaths.¡± ¡°Both of these things are true,¡± Beira said, with the smile of a cat stalking a mouse. ¡°An oath then,¡± she proposed. ¡°That before my death comes, I will Tithe my soul to you.¡± ¡°You are no Exarch, to make a Tithe to me,¡± Beira mused, ¡°but I can work around such things. One soul, however young and beautiful and filled with delicious love, will not purchase you much, girl. Particularly not when you offer nothing immediately - only the promise of something in the future.¡± ¡°Not one soul alone, then,¡± Etoile broke in. ¡°I will make the oath as well.¡± ¡°And me!¡± Ya¨¦l shouted, eagerly. ¡°I¡¯m going to regret this,¡± Henry said, with a sigh. ¡°Fine. When I¡¯m old enough I can¡¯t stand the arthritis any more, you can have me.¡± ¡°Four souls is something,¡± Beira said, as if weighing the offer on a scale only she could see. ¡°I must consider that, despite your best intentions, something could happen to prevent these Tithes from ever reaching me. A sudden death in battle, or when you are delerius from fever.¡± ¡°Then allow me to offer one right now,¡± John Granger said. ¡°Take me to seal your bargain, faerie queen.¡± ¡°John, no!¡± Claire said. ¡°Done,¡± Beira said, and the entire structure of ice around them shivered, as if waves could pass through the ice like they did the ocean. The world itself seemed to toll like a bell, and Claire gasped as she felt something wrap around her heart and settle, heavy as a chain. ¡°As none of you are Exarchs - and unlike Auberon, I have no intention of making any - I must give you all a tool with which to Tithe when the time comes. Accept this, John Granger of Camaret-¨¤-Arden.¡± For the first time, the Queen of Winter rose. She walked to the nearest pillar, and reached a single delicate white hand into the ice, from which she drew forth a long shard that seemed to go on and on. Finally, she held a frozen blade, which she carried down to them, descending the steps with her cloak of white furs trailing behind her. John Granger knelt, bowed his head, and held his hands up. Beira placed the sword into his waiting palms, and Claire watched his fingers tighten around the hilt. Granger hissed in discomfort. ¡°It¡¯s cold,¡± he said. ¡°Only for a moment,¡± Beira told him. John turned to Ya¨¦l, first. ¡°Keep your practice up, squire,¡± he said. ¡°Every morning when you rise. Cut the clock like I taught you, hear me?¡± ¡°Aye sir,¡± Ya¨¦l said, and Claire thought she looked like she was about to cry. ¡°You two,¡± the master of arms said, addressing Henry and Etoile next. ¡°Stop dancing around it, already. Death comes quick, when you don¡¯t expect it. And have a drink with your father for me,¡± he told the hunter, with a grin. ¡°John,¡± Claire repeated. Her throat was dry, and it felt like she had to choke his name out. ¡°You¡¯ve had a hard time of it, m¡¯lady,¡± Granger said. ¡°I hope I¡¯ve been able to ease your burden, somewhat. If you¡¯re afraid he won¡¯t come back, don¡¯t you worry. Trist is the best student I ever had, and there¡¯s nothing in the world that would stop him finding you again. He¡¯s got a good heart, but he needs someone like you to keep him from doing something dumb. Take care of him, and he¡¯ll take care of you.¡± ¡°I will,¡± Claire promised. ¡°Right then,¡± John said. ¡°Don¡¯t be sad for me. I¡¯m just off to join my friends. They all went ahead of me years ago anyway.¡± With that, the master of arms turned the sword, as easily as Claire would work a needle, so that he held the hilt out at arm¡¯s length, with the tip against his stomach, just beneath where his ribs met. Then, he drove himself down to the ground, letting the weight of his body impale himself on the sword of ice. The tip and a handspan of the blade plugged out his back, cutting through the stolen armor of the Raetian guards as if it were nothing more than linen. Frost crept out from the blade along the steel of the armor, and where blood coated the blade, it steamed. John Granger fell over, onto the floor of the Winter Queen¡¯s palace, with his eyes open. He held his head up for a moment to look out the window, at the lights dancing in the sky, and then the tension left his body and his eyes closed. Claire screwed her face up, trying not to let tears fall from her eyes, and looked to the faerie queen. ¡°What have we bought?¡± she demanded. ¡°Will you feed our army?¡± ¡°I am the Queen of Winter, girl,¡± Beira said, her cold lips curved in a smile. ¡°Do I look like I have fields of wheat and rye to reap for you?¡± ¡°What then?¡± Claire nearly screamed. ¡°You have bought the storm,¡± the pale faerie intoned, raising her arms. Around her, the palace shattered into a million shards of ice, and they fell to the ground. Claire did scream then, falling to the ground and raising her hands above her head in a vain attempt to save herself. Somehow, not a single razor-sharp fragment of ice hit any of them. It was as if there were a circle of calmness around Beira, within which the ice did not dare fall. ¡°Lift up the sword,¡± the faerie monarch intoned, while she herself raised her arms up into the air, fingers outstretched into claws as if she was grasping something and lifting it into the sky. Around them, the shards of ice lifted, flying together. Where they impacted each other, they stuck together, piling on and forming more and more complex shapes. Ya¨¦l made for John Granger¡¯s body, but Dame Etoile stopped the squire with a hand on her shoulder. Instead, the older woman knelt down, grasped the hilt of the frozen sword with a wince, and drew it forth from their companion¡¯s dead body. ¡°Good,¡± Beira said, grinning. ¡°Good. Use it well, mortal woman.¡± Around them, the clusters of ice built into recognizable shapes: soldiers, bears and wolves, horses, all shining beneath the dancing lights in the sky. ¡°South!¡± the faerie queen called out to her minions as they built themselves around her. ¡°To Basilea, where we slay a Leviathan!¡± 142. An Unhappy Family They say that the ink wasn¡¯t even dry on Emperor Sevrus¡¯ last decree before everything went utterly and completely to shit. ? 4th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 ¡°We¡¯re leaving, Trist,¡± Margaret said. Once, he would have opened his eyes, but there was little point to that now. He¡¯d seen her and the other two Exarchs coming through the fields of silver wheat anyway. ¡°Good,¡± Trist said. He was sitting with his legs crossed, as he and the other children of the village had done when playing in the dirt. He¡¯d learned to build a fire, sitting like this, from Percy, and how to cook fish. ¡°The king will need all three of you. Cynric is well enough to travel?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Margaret said, coming over to sit down next to him. She looked better, herself: clean, finally, as she¡¯d never been during her time in the cage, or even after their escape in the basement. Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, and she wore a gambeson over a linen shirt and doeskin trousers provided by Queen Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s servants. The Exarch of Rahab had regained weight, too, during her convalescence: she no longer had the sunken cheeks and eyes, the skeletal ribs visible through her skin, that came of weeks held captive in Avitus¡¯ cage. ¡°He¡¯s a shit swordsman with his left hand, but that was never his strong point in the first place.¡± ¡°Will Cern provide you an escort through the Ardenwood?¡± Trist asked. He was pretty certain that he already knew the answer, but he¡¯d paid less and less attention to the other Exarchs and their travel plans, as the faerie queen¡¯s lessons consumed his days. ¡°Riding with the Horned Hunter - there¡¯s another thing I never thought I¡¯d do,¡± Margaret grumbled. ¡°But yes, he says he¡¯ll see us to King Lionel tonight. I don¡¯t know how he thinks we¡¯ll cover the distance that quickly-¡± ¡°You will,¡± Trist assured her. ¡°He¡¯s far better at using that Boon than I will ever be. Just don¡¯t fall behind or get lost.¡± She nodded. People seemed to do that without thinking, even when they knew he couldn¡¯t see. Of course, here he could, after all. ¡°Anything else you want us to tell them?¡± Trist shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ve already talked it over three times, and you have my letter,¡± he said. ¡°Cern will get you to Lionel, and then the five of you will have to see him through at Lutetia. Make sure he knows that General Ismet is alive, and what she is doing in the Caliphate.¡± ¡°I will,¡± Margaret promised. ¡°And I¡¯ll tell him not to expect food from Raetia, either. You still can¡¯t see your wife?¡± ¡°Not since she crossed the mountains heading north,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°I am going to try again after you leave. But I think I would rather have her with the Queen of Winter than within arm¡¯s reach of the Leviathan.¡± His power as an Exarch, not to mention the magic of the faerie court, would probably protect him, if Forneus¡¯ attention settled here. However, Trist had taken to using the moniker instead of the daemon¡¯s name, anyway, since seeing it with Claire. He couldn¡¯t be too careful, and he¡¯d already drawn the monster¡¯s attention once. ¡°This is farewell, then,¡± Margaret said. ¡°At least for a while. I hope to see you alive after it¡¯s all over.¡± ¡°And you, Dame Margaret,¡± Trist said. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°For what?¡± she asked, with a laugh. ¡°You got us out of Cheverny, Trist. And then you dragged us out from under the cathedral, as well. It¡¯s us who should be thanking you we¡¯re still alive.¡± ¡°I could not have done any of that without the three of you,¡± Trist pointed out. ¡°Especially not after losing my eyes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all even, then,¡± Margaret said. ¡°And we can share a drink after the war.¡± She stood, brushed dirt off her breeches, and extended a hand to him. Trist accepted, and held the clasp for a moment before releasing her. ¡°After the war,¡± he agreed. ¡°You will need to come find me in Camaret-¨¤-Arden. I intend to plant myself there and not leave, once this is over. I will have a child to raise.¡± If I survive, he did not say out loud. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll visit you,¡± Margaret promised, then turned away from him and made her way off through the wheat. ¡°You can be certain of that. Until then, Sir Trist.¡± ¡°It does not make you uncomfortable,¡± Osma asked from over his shoulder, ¡°to be the only mortal remaining here, after they leave?¡± ¡°I felt you coming,¡± Trist said, then rose. ¡°I am not certain that any mortal will still be here, when those three depart. Is your mother ready for me?¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Queen Nivi¨¨ne is ready for your lesson,¡± the faerie princess said, and Trist did not miss her insistence on the title. Osma did not speak to him while they walked to Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s pool, and Trist kept his own silence, as well, until they reached the root steps. There, the princess turned aside, and Trist descended alone. ¡°Welcome back, Sir Trist,¡± the faerie queen called to him, from where she knelt at the edge of the pool. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Trist called back, in return, and picked his way over to join her. ¡°I am ready to get back to practicing.¡± ¡°Put that aside for a moment and join me,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°I need to show you something, and I think the time has come.¡± ¡°As you like,¡± Trist said, and got himself comfortable on the edge of the pool while the faerie stirred the waters with her hand. The reflections of branches and leaves were broken by spreading ripples, which shimmered until the entire expanse of water took on a glow. Nivi¨¨ne withdrew her hand, and the pool settled - not into a reflection of the glade around them, but instead into the image of a woman, a complete stranger to Trist. Her face was flushed, and her dark hair was plastered to her forehead by sweat. As Trist watched, an infant¡¯s shriek broke the quiet of the trees, and a naked babe was placed in the woman¡¯s arms. ¡°Who is she?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Ravena,¡± Nivi¨¨ne explained. ¡°wife of Sevrus, the last Emperor of Etalus. And that child is Decimus Avitus, the man who opened the Gate of Horn, made an Accord with the Sun Eater, and began the Cataclysm.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t look like a monster,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°He looks like any other infant.¡± ¡°You are going to be a father yourself, soon,¡± the faerie queen observed. ¡°You will find, I think, that no child is quite as beautiful as your own. But have you ever thought what it would be like if there was something wrong with them?¡± ¡°One of the woodsmen,¡± Trist recalled, ¡°had a child that did not live, when I was a boy. I remember the funeral. Something was wrong with the heart, Brother Alberic said. And I know that some children pass in the night, and that no one knows why. Though some say it is Agrat or her owls, come to steal their souls. I try not to think about it,¡± he admitted. ¡°To lose a child is heartbreaking,¡± Nivi¨¨ne continued. ¡°And yet, what Ravena had to live through may have been worse. Her son did not die. Indeed, Avitus was always physically healthy. He seemed eager to live up to the nine Emperors who had carried the name before him. But there was something wrong, nonetheless.¡± She waved her hand again, and the waters rippled. Trist frowned. A young boy shoved another child down a flight of marble steps; finally coming to rest at the bottom, bruised and bloody, the smaller boy wailed. He watched as people swarmed into the scene, some to care for the injured boy, others to chastise the one who had pushed him. Though the words would have been in Etalan, Trist found that through the magic of Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s pool he could understand Ravena perfectly when she took her son aside. ¡°We¡¯ve talked about this,¡± the mother scolded him. ¡°Even if you are frustrated or angry, you cannot hit other people.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t hit him,¡± Aurelius sulked. ¡°You pushed him down the steps!¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t hitting,¡± the boy protested, and the waters rippled again. ¡°He seems a piece of work even then,¡± Trist observed. ¡°Ravena did the best she could,¡± Nivi¨¨ne continued. ¡°She tried to discipline him. She loved him, I am certain, like any mother loves her child. But as Avitus grew older, I believe she also grew to fear him. And he could sense that. People like him always can.¡± Images flickered through the water, one after the other: Avitus, always growing older and larger, throwing tantrums. The boy would fly into violent rages, breaking vases or sculptures, assaulting servants and other children. And then, once again, the pool showed an image of Ravena giving birth. ¡°His brother?¡± Trist asked. ¡°Younger brother, yes,¡± Nivi¨¨ne explained. ¡°Tatius. And he was everything his sibling wasn¡¯t. A gentle, kind child who loved for his mother to read to him, and his father to carry him. It must have been a relief, after dealing with Avitus for so many years. But it also meant, I think, that the mother and father turned away from their eldest son even more.¡± The pool showed a third birth, and Trist leaned forward to get a closer look at the infant. ¡°Is that-¡± ¡°Your mother, yes,¡± the faerie queen confirmed. ¡°Cecilia. Perhaps the only person that Avitus ever truly loved, in his own way. And the only one willing to forgive him, even able to moderate his bad behavior, to an extent. I suspect that is why she accompanied him to Velatessia, when his was made governor of the Provincia Narvonnia. By that point, you see, Sevrus and Ravena had already made up their minds to groom Tatius as the next Emperor. They wanted their eldest son out of the way, and where better than over an ocean?¡± ¡°Did they know the Gate of Horn was there?¡± Trist asked. Nivi¨¨ne shook her head. ¡°Not what it was, at least. A piece of ancient art, uncovered in the forest and worshipped by the barbaric tribes of the Narvonni, they would have said. The Etalans were always arrogant.¡± ¡°Avitus found it, then,¡± Trist guessed. ¡°Found it, and tried to learn its secrets,¡± the faerie queen explained. ¡°But I am not certain he would ever have used it, if his father had not passed him over. Emperor Sevrus visited Velatessia. He felt he had to tell his son in person, I believe. That he owed the boy that. Avitus flew into a rage, and his father left him there. He thought Cecilia might be able to talk sense into him. Instead, Avitus invited the Sun Eater through the Gate of Horn as soon as his father had left. By the time Emperor Sevrus had reached his ship, the Cataclysm had begun.¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t beaten,¡± Trist pressed. ¡°Or abused as a child?¡± The faerie shook her head. ¡°My squire,¡± Trist continued. ¡°Ya¨¦l. If anyone has reason to grow up twisted, it would have been her. Abandoned to the streets, an orphan. Forced to steal. Beaten and starved and used by evil men. Avitus did not suffer any of those things.¡± ¡°For all our knowledge,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said, ¡°who can say what makes people who they are? I cannot point to any cause that turned Decimus into a monster. Being passed over for his brother was the trigger, certainly. But it was not the cause. The terrifying truth is this: some people, despite being loved, are simply rotten at their core. Despite everything Ravena did, she was helpless to change him. Some people, Trist, cannot be saved. And he has only grown worse as the years have passed. Power had made him free to be who he truly is: a violent, cruel, manipulative man. I do not think he considers anything but his own desires. And what he has wanted, since he was a small boy, is what he considers his due: to sit atop the throne of an empire, as his father did. He believes it is his right and his due, and he does not care how many corpses he must pile to climb into that throne. This is the man you must stop.¡± 143. The Battle of Basilea I: The Host of Winter Even the Etalan legions feared to push north through the mountains of Raetia. It is a harsh land, with little there to eat - at least, little for any mortal. ? 5th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Clouds boiled south, flowing around the mountain peaks and through the pass, and from there out toward the city of Basilea and the sea. Beneath the clouds, a blizzard raged. So much snow was driven before the wind that Claire could see little but white, in every direction. She was wrapped in furs again, in the sleigh of Lord Bore. For the most part, she kept her eyes closed, and tried to stay warm. Here and there, Claire was able to catch glimpses of dim shapes through the snow: a pack of winter wolves pacing the sleigh, once, and another time a great white bear lumbering alongside. All of them ignored her, and for much of the journey, she was alone. Etoile, Henry and Ya¨¦l had been given steeds: more of the strange, shaggy northern stags that served the faerie queen. The rentier did not run as fast as horses, but they were sure-footed in the snow. Clarisant would have been left to her own devices the entire way, if not for a single white fox that appeared out of the storm and leapt up into her carriage. It was about the size of a large cat or a small dog, and settled into her furs as if they had been constant companions for years. The fox¡¯s fur was soft, and it let Claire run her fingers through it, so she did not complain. Having a companion who did not talk to her, but kept her warm in the furs, gave her a great deal of time to think. Rather than dwell on John Granger¡¯s death, or the bargain she herself had made, Claire chose to consider what she had missed. Forneus was in Basilea. Beira¡¯s use of the word ¡®Leviathan¡¯ made it obvious to her: had they not encountered a ship damaged by the daemon¡¯s passage, on their way from Rocher de la Garde to Raetia? That alone would seem to indicate it had the same destination as them, but Claire hadn¡¯t put it together immediately. Perhaps that was forgivable, but then when she found that Prince Conrad had inexplicably turned against his former allies, when they were imprisoned in their guest suite - that should have been enough. She¡¯d always thought herself quite clever, but she hadn¡¯t realized until the Winter Queen had come out and told her. She¡¯d even known that Forneus could take more than one shape, from her study of the Marian Codex! Could Beira and her court defeat Forneus, where Trist had failed? Claire didn¡¯t think she knew enough to judge that for certain. It was a powerful daemon, that was certain: the way it had destroyed the entire fishing fleet of Rocher de la Garde, and then the docks on top of that, made its physical prowess obvious. But Trist had driven it off, even when at quite a disadvantage. Her husband really had no good way to fight at sea, and the sheer ridiculousness of his stunt on the bay had worked better than they¡¯d had any right to expect. Now, the Leviathan would need to fight on land - or at least, that would be the case if it could be prevented from getting to the ocean. Instead of having an advantage in the terrain, this time the daemon would be on the back foot from the beginning. But Claire had no idea how Beira¡¯s forces stacked up to what her own husband could do on the field. Suddenly, the walls of Basilia emerged from the storm, close enough to jar Clarisant from her musings. At the speed the sleigh was travelling, there was no chance they could possibly stop in time, and she clutched the fox to her chest, bracing for impact. With a bone-shaking lurch, Claire was thrown back in her seat, and the sleigh began to rise. For half a moment, she fancied that somehow the faeries had made the sleigh fly. But no, that wasn¡¯t it: instead, a great ramp of ice had been raised up from the drifts of snow on the ground, curving at a steeper and steeper angle until it topped the city walls, and then descending again. The storm had abated just enough for Claire to see a short distance, now. The team of rentier halted only once the sleigh began its descent into the streets of Basilea. The winter creatures in service to Beira, in contrast, did not slow in the slightest. Instead, wolves, foxes, rentier and great white bears charged past the sleigh, up the ramp and then down again, spilling into the city streets, where they collided with guards in the heraldry of the royal house of Raetia. Among the chaos stalked creatures of ice: tall and thin, some of them, and sharp as a knife, sometimes without even hands, but only frozen blades. Others were broader, like a child¡¯s nightmare of an ogre or a troll, massive and snow encrusted. Claire watched one faerie bat aside a man in chainmail with such force that he flew through the air, hit the wall of a bakery, and then slumped to the ground, motionless. ¡°Most of these people haven¡¯t done anything wrong,¡± Claire said aloud, searching the street for the faerie queen. ¡°They would kill you nonetheless, at the order of the Leviathan,¡± Beira said, riding out of the blizzard on the back of a white bear twice as large as the others. Plates of ice sat on the thing¡¯s shoulders and haunches, shaped into pauldrons and barding, and a fur-lined saddle was strapped to its back for the faerie to perch upon. ¡°If you would finish this quickly, mortal woman, invoke the daemon¡¯s name.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Why me?¡± Clarisant shouted to be heard over the chaos. ¡°If I do it, my power will make him cautious and reticent,¡± Beira explained. ¡°But you are only a mortal. Say it with intent, and then say it again. Call him out to face you.¡± ¡°And you will protect me?¡± Claire asked. ¡°We will do what you paid us to do,¡± the faerie said. ¡°We will oust the Leviathan from our lands. Along with any mortal foolish enough to serve it.¡± ¡°We will protect you, m¡¯lady,¡± Etoile said, emerging from the white with Henry and Ya¨¦l. Henry had a black arrow nocked on his bowstring, and Ya¨¦l held an arming sword that was already streaked with blood. Worst of all, Dame Etoile wielded the shard of ice that John Granger had killed himself with. Claire rose in the sleigh, standing with the furs still wrapped around her and the white fox clutched to her chest. ¡°Forneus!¡± she shouted. ¡°Forneus, come face me! You fled from my husband at Rocher de la Garde, and now I call to you! Are you afraid of a mortal woman?¡± A weight, a heaviness fell upon her, and for a moment Claire could not catch her breath. Her eyes darkened and blurred, and now she understood for herself why people were so hesitant to speak the names of daemons. The risk of drawing their attention might be small, but the feeling of Forneus noticing her was terrible. She swayed there, and almost lost her balance. ¡°Clarisant du Camaret-¨¤-Arden,¡± a man¡¯s voice came over the wind, and Minister Fabian stepped out of the storm. His smile looked painted on, and ill-painted, at that, by a talentless hand that failed to make anything even remotely human. The wind caught at his dark hair, and a monster lurked behind his eyes. ¡°This was a mistake on your part,¡± Forneus continued. ¡°The Queen of Winter is no ally of yours, nor even your husband. Regardless of who you¡¯re fucking, the faeries don¡¯t care about you.¡± With the twang of a bowstring, a black shaft of Iebara-wood flew over Clarisant¡¯s shoulder. Fabian - or Forneus - raised a hand as if to deflect or catch the arrow, but then gave a surprised cry of pain. Claire¡¯s eyes widened, in spite of herself. Forneus clutched at his own right hand, where Henry¡¯s arrow had pierced his palm. Black ichor already ran down the daemon¡¯s forearm. ¡°Impossible,¡± Forneus hissed. ¡°No mortal weapon can harm me.¡± ¡°Iebara wood,¡± Henry called back, drawing another arrow with practiced ease. ¡°Strong as metal, hard as stone. Grows only in the Ardenwood, with a faerie beneath its roots. Seems it¡¯s magic enough to kill you.¡± With a roar, Forneus curled in on himself, and then began to expand. The doublet he¡¯d worn ripped and tore away as his skin was replaced with dark scales. The wild curls of his black hair stiffened and swept back into horns, and when he raised his head, his mouth yawned impossibly wide, growing larger and larger until at last it was a gaping maw of fangs. The rentier hitched to the sleigh reared back and shied away in panic, and Claire scrambled out of the seat and down onto the snow-swept stones of the road. The white fox leapt out of her arms and ran off. ¡°Get behind me!¡± Dame Etoile shouted, sliding down out of her own saddle and pulling Claire back with one gauntleted hand. The broad-shouldered knight raised a blade of ice between herself and the rising daemon. Around them, with a crack and a crash, entire buildings were pushed aside. Walls and roofs caved in, while the people of Basilea fled screaming. The city guards who had at first opposed Beira and her army of animals and creations of ice now scrambled back alongside them, desperately trying to get enough distance not to be crushed by the coils of the Leviathan. If Claire had expected Forneus to be at a disadvantage on land, it was not enough to prevent the daemon from being an absolute terror. In those first moments, when it collapsed what seemed like half the city as it grew, she had no idea how even the storm of the faerie queen could kill it. Quick as a gull taking a fish from the bay, Forneus¡¯ reptilian head shot down from above the roofs of the city, jaws gaping, and took three of the winter-wolves in a single bite. The remnants of the pack leapt aside, howling and baying, and tried to sink their teeth into the coils of the leviathan. Unfortunately, Forneus¡¯ dark scales were more effective than steel plate armor, and the wolves¡¯ jaws were too weak to damage it. ¡°Forward!¡± Beira, the faerie queen shouted, and the great white bears charged, lowering their shoulders. Three of them took Forneus in its lowest coil at the same time, and they somehow succeeded in rocking the monster. Above the coils, raised on its long neck, Forneus¡¯ head swayed, looking for a moment as if it might lose its balance. Then, it lashed out again, lifting one of the bears between its jaws. Blood sprayed everywhere. Claire, in the meanwhile, had fallen back with Henry and Ya¨¦l. The three of them hid behind the wall of a stable that was now only half standing, the rest of the stones scattered across the street. Henry loosed another arrow, and the black shaft thumped into Forneus¡¯ neck, where it quivered. The Raetian archers of the city guard must have seen his success, for they began loosing arrows, as well, from the walls of the city and the nearby streets. The daemon was so impossibly massive that they could not help but hit their target. Unfortunately, just as the daemon had bragged, his scales deflected each and every arrow, save the ones from Henry¡¯s quiver. ¡°Where did Ettie go?¡± Clarisant asked, casting about desperately. She¡¯d already lost John Granger, and she had no intention of losing another of the companions she¡¯d brought north with her. ¡°There!¡± Ya¨¦l shouted back, and pointed. Dame Etoile had not pulled back with them. Instead, shard of ice in her hand in place of a sword, she stalked forward to where the daemon coiled among the ruined buildings of the city. She raised the frozen blade above her head, falling into one of the same stances Claire recognized from Trist¡¯s old fencing books. ¡°Foolish,¡± Forneus rumbled from where its head was raised above the skyline of the city. Then, quick as a striking snake, the leviathan¡¯s open jaws descended on Dame Etoile. 144. The Battle of Basilea II: Blood and Scales It is either arrogance or desperation, for a mortal to face a daemon - such a battle is the province of Exarchs or Angelus alone. ? 5th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Weeks ago, when Clarisant had first arrived at Falais and gotten a good look at her husband¡¯s young squire, she¡¯d immediately known that Ya¨¦l was a girl. She and Trist had spoken several times, to each other and to the orphan herself, about what that meant, including trying to get her training time with people like Dame Chantal and General Ismet. Trist had insisted that, though Ya¨¦l would never put on the sort of muscle a grown man could, she might be just as deadly by relying on a combination of grace, speed and skill. Claire had even used Dame Margaret, the Exarch of Rahab, as an example. Dame Etoile showed everyone watching in the streets of Basilea exactly how dangerous the match of speed and skill could be. The mammoth, serpentine head of the daemon Forneus struck downward quick as an adder, hitting the cobblestones like a battering ram. Shards of rock flew up in all directions, and Claire¡¯s ears rang with the impact, but Etoile slipped to one side as easily as a fish from a child¡¯s hand. The frosted blade she carried, courtesy of the Faerie Queen Beira, screamed against the monster¡¯s dark scales as the knight passed, spraying a fan of black ichor out to spot the wall of a half-collapsed warehouse. Pulling its head back up out of reach, Forneus roared. Etoile didn¡¯t even pause. Instead, she dashed in with the sliver of ice held low and off to her right, trailing behind her, and then brought it up and around as she lunged up to the monster¡¯s coils. She brought her sword forward, up and then down, cutting a diagonal arc that sent chips of scale into the air, and drew another gout of daemonic black blood from the leviathan. ¡°She¡¯s almost as good as Ismet,¡± Ya¨¦l remarked, in Clarisant¡¯s ear, standing up to get a better view, like a fool. Claire reached up, grabbed the girl by the back of the neck, and pulled her back down behind what was left of the wall they sheltered behind. The fox, in the meantime, had reappeared and was smart enough to cower up against Claire, shaking like a bird. ¡°Not a fair comparison,¡± Henry commented, loosing another arrow. This one took the daemon in one eye, up where it had pulled its head away from Etoile¡¯s blade. The daemon shook its head, as if trying to shake loose an insect. ¡°The General¡¯s an Exarch. Ettie¡¯s a normal woman, and she¡¯s still got the guts to fight that thing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Ettie now from you, is it?¡± Claire teased him, but Henry merely grunted and pulled another shaft from his quiver. ¡°Lady Clarisant!¡± a man¡¯s voice called from down the alley, and Claire turned her head. Riddersman Reinolt, sword bared and wearing his guard¡¯s uniform, skidded to a halt behind the wall with her, along with half a dozen palace guards. ¡°What in the name of the Angelus is happening here?¡± he demanded. ¡°That,¡± Claire said, pointing at the monstrous serpent, which knocked buildings to the ground with every shift of its coils, ¡°is the daemon Forneus.¡± She ignored the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at saying the name - the monster already knew she was here, and if it beat Etoile, there wasn¡¯t much Claire could do to stop it anyway. ¡°Otherwise known,¡± she continued, ¡°As your prince¡¯s newest minister, Fabian. And now we know why he took us captive, and did not wish to aid Narvonne against the daemons.¡± ¡°That thing is Fabian?¡± Reinolt gaped in shock. ¡°And what of the blizzard? The animals?¡± ¡°Those are hers,¡± Claire said, motioning now to where Queen Beira rose into the sky, born aloft by snow-flecked winds, her hair streaming out around her. ¡°The Faerie Queen of the North. We had to pay a high price to get her here, but we wouldn¡¯t have even a chance of defeating the Leviathan without her.¡± Beira, in the meanwhile, had raised her hands aloft, as if to embrace the sky above. On the street, jagged spires of ice rapidly condensed from the air itself, swelling until they formed spears as long as the bolt of a ballista. The faerie queen threw her hands forward, and the frozen spires ripped themselves from the ground, and were flung up and into the body of Forneus. Scales and ice alike shattered, reining down from above, and one of Reinolt¡¯s men held a shield up to shelter them. ¡°You went to bargain for the aid of the faeries,¡± Reinolt said, shaking his head. ¡°No one does that. They¡¯re dangerous.¡± ¡°More dangerous than that thing?¡± Claire asked him. ¡°Point,¡± Reinolt admitted. ¡°How do we fight it?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± Henry said, loosing another arrow. ¡°Unless you have Iebara-wood arrows or a magic ice sword about. Or an Exarch - you don¡¯t have any Exarchs at the palace, do you?¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Reinolt shook his head. ¡°We had two, but they were sent west to respond to reports of a destroyed fishing village,¡± he said. ¡°Fabian¡¯s orders.¡± ¡°Convenient for him,¡± Clarisant said. ¡°Then do what you can to get everyone trapped in these buildings away from the fight. If you have siege engines, you could try them, but I wouldn¡¯t expect much.¡± ¡°You should come with me,¡± Reinolt said. ¡°I can get you somewhere safe.¡± ¡°The last time I went with you I was locked in a room for days,¡± Claire shot back. ¡°Go take care of your people.¡± With a scowl, Reinolt ran back down the alley, and his soldiers followed. ¡°I only have a few arrows left,¡± Henry said, sighting along one. Claire could tell he was waiting for his moment, whether to take advantage of an opening, or to distract the monster when it struck at Dame Etoile. ¡°They pierce the scales well enough, but the thing is so big I¡¯m not more than a bee sting.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not certain Ettie¡¯s sword will cut any deeper,¡± Claire admitted. ¡°But she seems to be hurting it, at least.¡± In fact, the knight seemed to have already realized the problem. Rather than strike indiscriminately, she darted in and out of the fight, taking advantage of the faerie queen¡¯s assault to focus on the same part of Forneus¡¯ coils with repeated attacks. Instead of merely chipping away at a few scales and drawing blood, Etoile had opened up a gaping, bleeding wound, perhaps the size of a knight¡¯s shield, where not a single scale remained. Every time she came in, she hacked deeper into the flesh, and her armor was drenched in black gore. ¡°Enough!¡± the monstrous serpent roared, and Claire was surprised that Forneus could speak at all, in its leviathan form. Perhaps, she considered idly, it had something to do with the daemon¡¯s gift of languages, noted in the Marian Codex. She was fairly certain her mind was grasping at anything that would distract her from blind panic. The coils of the daemon spun, rasping against each other, tail knocking over a guard tower as it slid past, and the wound Etoile had made with such daring moved away from her nearly as fast as a horse could run. The knight dashed after it, at first, then pulled back when she realized she couldn¡¯t keep up, but Claire could see that it was too late: the mistake had already been made. Forneus had managed to get Etoile between an inner coil and an outer, and now it pulled its long, serpentine body back closer together. The monstrous bulk of the daemon moved with deceptive speed, and put the knight out of their sight. ¡°It¡¯s going to crush her!¡± Henry realized, a second after Claire did, and shot his arrow up at the beast¡¯s face. ¡°First the knight,¡± Forneus rumbled, ¡°and then the archer. When the mortals are dead, Queen of Winter, I will feast on your core.¡± ¡°Forneus!¡± Claire shouted, running out from behind the wall and into the devastation. If someone didn¡¯t distract the daemon right now, Ettie would be crushed. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be me you want? I called you here. I brought the faeries. This is my trap!¡± She clenched her hands into fists, trying to keep herself from shaking. Beira was shaping more lances of ice, but not quickly enough, and the leviathan lowered its head until its massive eyes could meet Claire¡¯s, on the same level. ¡°You again,¡± Forneus muttered, and the stink of its breath made her flinch. ¡°Your husband did hurt me. A pity for you that he is not here now. What will he think when he learns I have eaten his woman?¡± ¡°He¡¯ll come and kill you,¡± Claire shouted back. ¡°Unlikely,¡± the daemon said. ¡°He has been taken by the First Exarch. He will not escape the Sun Eater. But I will be certain he learns of this day, so that whatever cage Avitus has him rotting in can witness his screams of grief and despair. Your soul is mine, mortal woman.¡± The daemon opened its maw wide and lunged forward to swallow her, but a wall of ice rose in front of Claire. It cracked, rammed by Forneus¡¯ head, but somehow held. ¡°Her soul is mine,¡± Beira called, from up in the sky. ¡°Sealed on an Oath. Your kind has sought to take what is ours from the moment you came to this world, and I am long since sick of it. Die.¡± Another wave of icy spears shot forward, breaking Forneus¡¯ scales, but this time the monster did not flinch away. Instead, it reared up with speed that belied its mass, snapping its jaws at the faerie queen. Beira flung herself to the side with a great gust of wind, but could not quite get out of the way, and the leviathan¡¯s skull hit her like a runaway wagon, knocking the faerie out of the sky. She tumbled, spinning, until she hit the roof of a two-story house a block away, and crashed through like a falling star. Forneus¡¯ head turned back to Claire, from high above. The faerie queen was out of the fight, and Dame Etoile was nowhere to be seen. A final black shaft shot up into the sky from where Henry knelt, but the daemon simply shook its head at the annoyance. At Claire¡¯s feet, the little fox bared its teeth. Claire looked around, and realized that they had lost. It had been foolish to face a daemon without an Exarch. She didn¡¯t have a spike of cold iron convenient to hand, like she had in the Ardenwood outside of Camaret-¨¤-Arden. She¡¯d been lucky that time, and they¡¯d still nearly lost Ya¨¦l. They had lost her father in law. She drew herself up, staring Forneus right in the eye. At the very least, she wouldn¡¯t look away. Instead, Claire rested on hand on her belly. I¡¯m sorry, she thought. I should have kept you safe. ¡°Get behind me, m¡¯lady,¡± Ya¨¦l said, stepping forward and drawing her arming sword. ¡°You should run,¡± Claire told the squire. ¡°Your my knight¡¯s lady,¡± the girl said, raising her sword into a Plow Guard, though her arms were shaking. ¡°My job is to protect you. I couldn¡¯t ever face Sir Trist if I ran away now.¡± ¡°Alright then,¡± Claire said, reaching out to rest her hand on Ya¨¦l¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Thank you.¡± The head of the leviathan rushed down at them, jaws wide enough to swallow the world. Claire closed her eyes, but instead of her death, she heard the ring of steel, and a roar of pain. She forced herself to look. Ya¨¦l was still in front of her, the squire¡¯s sword upraised. Had she somehow turned the monster aside? ¡°Trist,¡± Ya¨¦l gasped, and then Claire saw him too. He shimmered, like summer heat above the sand, and Claire was reminded of when she¡¯d seen her husband for just a heartbeat, on the ship. Trist wore no armor, and there was a white cloth wrapped around his eyes, but his sword was raised, and it burned like fire. He turned to look over his shoulder at the two women, and smiled. ¡°Get somewhere safe,¡± Trist said. ¡°While I kill this thing.¡± 145. The Battle of Basilea III: Where is a Lie When a man knows that he¡¯s about to die, that¡¯s when you see who he truly is. ? 5th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 ¡°Can you see her?¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne asked, with the same even and patient tone she used whenever she was teaching Trist. After she¡¯d shown him a glimpse of Avitus¡¯ past, he¡¯d asked her why it was her guiding him, and not Auberon. ¡°My husband does not have the patience to teach,¡± she¡¯d said, with a smile. ¡°Which is odd, because when his schemes require it, he can be quiet as a whisper for centuries, waiting for the right moment. I suspect it is the fault of his own arrogance. In any event, be grateful you have me instead of him.¡± Today, it was back to Trist¡¯s training. Nivi¨¨ne still considered it too much of a risk for Trist to look in on his wife, and he¡¯d been cautioned not to get anywhere near Masheth, who would be watching over Sir Bors. As a result, for his practice, he had chosen Enid De Lancey, who he had not seen since the night he and the other Exarchs had assaulted the Cathedral of Saint Camiel. Time had a tendency to slip away, in the faerie realm at the heart of the Ardenwood, but reaching out to observe others had helped him to keep a sense of the date out in the wider world, and it had been just over two weeks since Enid left them in Lutetia. ¡°Aye,¡± Trist responded to the faerie queen¡¯s question, at last. He found reaching out in this way to be easier when the person he sought was someone he was close to. While Enid had helped them break out of the cages in Cheverny, and he¡¯d met her once as a young man, he could not say that they truly knew each other well, which only made this trial more difficult. The pool, the greenery around them, and the bed of moss on which Trist sat all faded into the distance as his attention latched onto a different place, far away. To his surprise, it was a place that he was familiar with, though the last time he had seen it, the moon had been high above the sea. Now, only a white ring where the sun should have been illuminated the small fishing village of Havre de Paix. Enid was sitting at the front of a wagon carrying many barrels, perched next to Dame Margaret¡¯s father, Roger Bowman. They had come to a halt along the Etalan road that stretched south along the coast of the Circum Mar, from Lutetia all the way down to where it finally banked west and entered Rocher de la Garde. The wagon had been stopped by armored guards wearing the golden wheat sheaf on a field of green that was the heraldry of the Baron du Champs d¡¯Or. ¡°-going to be a battle here in a few days,¡± the guard, who was at least a decade older than Trist, was saying when sounds finally came clearly. ¡°This shit-hole is the last place you want your daughter to be when the rebels come through.¡± ¡°It does reek of fish, doesn¡¯t it,¡± Bowman observed, with an exaggerated sniff. ¡°You say we have a few days, though? Because I have sixteen barrels of good ale to sell, and soldiers like to drink. I can be in and out in a day, then head back north to Lutetia with my coin.¡± ¡°Soldiers also like a pretty girl, and after the march here, the boys won¡¯t be very picky,¡± the guard emphasized. ¡°Look, old man-¡± ¡°Bowman,¡± Margaret¡¯s father corrected him, while Enid remained silent, her eyes lowered. ¡°Roger Bowman. Earned the name at Falais, might as well use it.¡± The guard seemed to relax. ¡°An old soldier like us, eh? The name is James, of Gu¨¦ de Galets,¡± he introduced himself. ¡°Alright, Bowman. Most people have already fled the town, but its true enough the boys will be thirsty. There¡¯s only a single inn to be found in this entire village, at the sign of the white gull. Go there and ask for a man named Boucher, he¡¯s the quarter-master. Tell him I sent you, and he¡¯ll give you a good price. And then get yourself and your daughter back north before you find yourself in trouble.¡± ¡°My thanks,¡± Bowman said, snapped the reins, and started the wagon moving forward again. Once they were out of earshot of the guards, rolling into the outer edges of Havre de Paix, Enid finally spoke up. ¡°They¡¯re never going to let us continue south,¡± she pointed out. ¡°If we try to go that way, they¡¯ll know which side we¡¯re on.¡± ¡°True enough,¡± Margaret¡¯s father said. ¡°I¡¯d hoped the king would have taken the town before we got this far, but I also knew at some point we¡¯d need to cross enemy lines. I have an idea. We¡¯re going to sell not only the ale, but also the wagon and the horses. Then, we¡¯re going to buy a boat.¡± ¡°A boat?¡± Enid¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Trist could see that they were rolling past the church where he¡¯d left the orphans, moons ago, and he could also pick out a faded wooden sign with a white bird painted on it just down the street, where one of the white lanes of crushed shells crossed the Etalan road. ¡°Aye, anything with oars that floats,¡± Bowman explained. ¡°We go just before dawn, and row south along the coast until we see the king¡¯s army. Now, let¡¯s get to selling this ale.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Enid,¡± Trist murmured, and the young woman jumped in the seat of the wagon, looking around. ¡°Enid, you are hearing true. This is Trist speaking. Do not speak, but nod if you hear me and understand.¡± Trembling, Enid nodded, her lips pressed so tightly together they nearly turned white. ¡°Good. I have news for you to give King Lionel, when you see him. Tell him that three Exarchs are on their way to him, and they will be coming out of the Ardenwood. He should expect Margaret, Lorengel, and Cynric. They all survived, but Cynric is wounded. They can tell him about what happened in Lutetia when they arrive. Tell him also,¡± Trist continued, ¡°that General Ismet is marching on Ma?¨©n with an army. She will not be able to join him any time in the near future, because she has to deal with Valeria there. My wife has arrived in Raetia, but he should not count on her bringing aid; she has been imprisoned there by Prince Conrad, who is in the thrall of the Leviathan. Nod if you remember all of that.¡± ¡°I can remember it,¡± Enid murmured, lowering her face to hide the movement of her lips. ¡°What about you, Trist? Where are you?¡± ¡°At the heart of the Arden, learning from a faerie queen,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°Tell him, as well, that I must keep my oaths and go to Velatessia. I will not be able to help him. If Sir Bors can promise to keep Masheth from lashing out at me, tell them I will try to get in contact again, when I am able.¡± ¡°I will,¡± Enid promised. ¡°Be safe, Trist.¡± ¡°And you as well,¡± he said. ¡°Bowman is a good man. Take care of each other. Farewell.¡± Trist allowed his intent to withdraw from Havre de Paix, and from Enid de Lancey. That had gone well, and he did not feel ready to return himself to the pool of the faerie queen just yet. He knew that Nivi¨¨ne was correct, and that it was dangerous for him to look in on Claire, but he had to know whether she was safe. He focused, and the world turned white. The city was unfamiliar, though he guessed that it must be Basilea, the capital of Raetia, based on where Claire had been when last he¡¯d seen her. A winter storm raged, with hard winds driving snow through the city streets, and gray clouds above. Claire was huddled behind a broken stone wall, a remnant of a ruined building. Henry was with her, and Ya¨¦l as well, and a little white fox. The squire had an arming sword in hand, and Henry had his bow of black Iebara wood, and around the three of them, a battle raged. A lance of ice shot through Trist¡¯s stomach when he saw what they were fighting. Forneus had clearly discarded his human disguise, and grown again into the massive form of a serpent. Trist would have thought the daemon clumsy on land, after seeing how well it was adapted to the ocean, but that was clearly not the case, because its coils were crushing everything in its path. In fact, as he watched, Dame Etoile screamed, caught between two gargantuan coils that closed in on her. Trist acted before he had time to think. Where is a lie, first Acrasia and then Queen Nivi¨¨ne had taught him. He pictured two circles, shining in the dark, and himself standing in one. As simple as picking his left foot up, and setting it down in the other circle. He pushed against he knew not what, and the world burned the colors of his core, red and orange and yellow, and then something broke. Perhaps it was the world, perhaps it was himself. Snow whipped against Trist¡¯s face, but there was no time for that now. He dashed to where Dame Etoile was, caught her up in his arms, and leapt into the air. Carrying a muscular woman in armor would have been difficult enough, but no normal man could have made such a jump with her. As the faeries had been telling him time and again, however, Trist was no longer a normal man. His muscles burned yellow, as the threads of his boons vibrated through him. Trist hadn¡¯t fought since coming to the Ardenwood, and under the Cathedral of Camiel, he¡¯d been weak from days of captivity, wounded and blind. For the first time since before the siege at Rocher de la Garde, he felt completely rested and healed. Etoile shrieked in his arms as they flew into the air, and then Trist¡¯s boots scraped against the scaled hide of the monster. He ran along the shifting coil, and it was as easy to keep his balance as to walk a freshly paved road. ¡°Hold on,¡± he told Etoile, and jumped again, down off the daemon¡¯s body. As soon as he had the two of them safely behind a wall, in an alley, he set the other knight down, and was surprised to see that she carried a sliver of ice, instead of a steel sword. ¡°What is that?¡± Trist asked. It reminded him of his own blade, the one Acrasia had bound herself to, and it burned with magic to his eyes. ¡°A gift from Beira,¡± Etoile gasped, catching her breath. ¡°Sir Trist, how are you here?¡± ¡°I am not,¡± he said. ¡°Not truly. And I do not know how long I can remain. But it may be just long enough-¡± A loud crack rang across the ruined city, and they turned to see the daemon shaking itself off from battering down a wall of ice. There in the street stood Clarisant, and above her reared the daemon Forneus. ¡°Go,¡± Etoile said. ¡°I am fine.¡± Trust¡¯s boot dug into the cobblestone of the alley, shattering it, and he was off, faster than any mortal could see him run. Power vibrated in his bones, beat in his heart, and moved in and out of his lungs with every breath. He saw the faerie queen knocked out of the sky, as he ran, and he watched Ya¨¦l step between his wife and the leviathan, arming sword raised. The great, reptilian head came down, maw gaping wide, fangs exposed, to consume everyone Trist loved. He drew his sword and swung in a rising cut, up from his left hip and to the right, ending with his blade extended high. The sword blazed through Forneus¡¯ snout, and the daemon recoiled, its scales burning away beneath the onslaught of his Daemon Bane Boon. ¡°Trist,¡± Ya¨¦l said, and he risked a single glance behind him to make sure both women were safe. For just a second, Trist caught his wife¡¯s eye, and he could not help but smile to see she was still alive. ¡°Go somewhere safe,¡± he told her, ¡°while I kill this thing.¡± Then, Trist turned back to Forneus and shifted into a High Guard. ¡°Do you remember me, daemon?¡± he shouted over the storm. The leviathan answered with a roar, and Trist lunged forward. 146. The Battle of Basilea IV: The Serpent in the Snow We have never been able to confirm to my satisfaction the veracity of certain reports that more powerful daemons might be able to appear in more than once place at the same time. ? 5th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Trist dashed back to Forneus¡¯ coils faster than the mammoth daemon could react, and then leapt up. When he¡¯d fought the monster in the bay outside of Rocher de la Garde, he¡¯d been able to get up onto the back of its great, scaled head. If it hadn¡¯t dived down under the waves, he thought he would have been able to kill it then, and he wanted to get back into that position if he could. Trist landed on the outermost coil of the monstrous serpent and began to run, using its own scaled hide as a curving ramp to make his way up toward its skull. As he ran, he once again shifted his sword into Near Guard, holding the hilt to the right of his waist, with the blade itself trailing behind him and down, so that he could cut along Fornerus¡¯ scales as he went. He relied on speed, rather than strength or leverage, and the fact that his Daemon Bane Boon only needed the slightest contact to function. As the tip of his sword scraped and bounced along the daemon¡¯s coil, the scales blackened, cracked and smoked, as if they¡¯d been thrown into a smith¡¯s forge. Forneus must have known exactly what Trist was doing, however, for the great serpent rolled its coils, exposing its belly to the winter like a dog at the approach of its owner. Trist tried to angle himself back up the curve of the coil, but couldn¡¯t maintain his footing. He hit the cobblestone street and rolled, the impact bruising and scraping his skin. If his body weren¡¯t fortified by the Boons of an Exarch, he realized, he would have just broken enough bones to put him out of the fight. The daemon¡¯s head shot down from above, its fangs gaping, but Trist ducked to one side and drew his blade along its horned cheek, scoring another cut. The rank stench of its breath made him gag, and the impact of Forneus¡¯ head carried enough force to bring down half a brick building. Trist didn¡¯t have time to see what sort of shop was falling on him. All he could do was raise his arms over his head, and wish that he¡¯d been wearing his armor when he went to learn from Nivi¨¨ne. The faerie queen was probably going to be upset with him for getting involved in this. She¡¯d warned him that, while he might be able to defeat Forneus in a physical battle, Trist was still unprepared to fight in the way daemons and faeries did. Thankfully, the monster hadn¡¯t yet seemed to realize that Trist was in two places at once. The noises of Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s grove hovered at the edge of Trist¡¯s mind, a constant distraction, and he knew that if he lost his focus for even a moment, his grasp of what he was doing would slip, and he would open his eyes sitting by the pool in the heart of the Arden. He needed to defeat this daemon before that happened. Invoking the Gate Boon he¡¯d stolen from the daemon Bathin, Trist spun a net of red threads from his core, while the bricks rained down on his back and shoulders, and opened a circular hole in the world. He¡¯d been a little worried this trick might not work, given what he was already doing, but he dove through anyway, emerging in the air just above Forneus¡¯ head. There was just enough time for Trist to spin his sword around, tip down, and slam it into the back of the leviathan¡¯s skull. His blade sunk deep, a length of metal about equal to a man¡¯s forearm buried into the gap between two dark scales. Forneus screamed, and smoke began to rise around Trist¡¯s blade. Just like during the battle in the bay, a desperate grip on the hilt of his sword was all that kept Trist from flying off, as the daemon thrashed its head wildly to and fro. Trist¡¯s feet were in the air, with nothing to push against, and he was moving so fast that his bandage was ripped from over his ruined eyes. The monster must have thrown its head to the side in just the right way, because abruptly Trist¡¯s sword dislodged, and he found himself flung out above the roofs of the city. Somewhere below, he distinctly recognized Clarisant¡¯s voice screaming, cutting through all the chaos of the battle. Trist relaxed and let his focus slip. In the grove beside Nivi¨¨ne¡¯s pool, the breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, and the faerie queen studied him with narrowed eyes. A wave of exhaustion swept through Trist, so that he slumped to one side and almost fell over before catching himself. ¡°I believe I warned you about Forneus,¡± Nivi¨¨ne scolded him. ¡°You did,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°But I had to go. If I had not, my wife and son would already be dead. And I have to go back now, because the fight is not over.¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Nivi¨¨ne reached out a delicate hand, and rested her fingers on his forehead. The movement, the touch, brought back memories of his mother caring for him when he was sick, as a small child. ¡°You cannot do this for much longer,¡± the faerie queen warned him. ¡°You are using a muscle that has no endurance. Overusing it, more like. You¡¯ve been a knight long enough to know the result of that, I hope.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Trist said. John Granger had always warned he and Percy about pushing themselves too far in the practice yard. ¡°But I cannot stop until I know that she is safe.¡± ¡°Go, then,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°I will watch over you here.¡± Trist nodded, crossed his hands over the hilt of his sword - when, exactly, had it come to hand, in this place, for this body? Did he have two swords at once? The complexities of it all astounded him, but there was no time to wrap his mind around it. Instead, he focused on Claire again, and let himself slip away from the pool. ¡°Trist!¡± his wife was screaming, as Ya¨¦l and Henry dragged her away from the wreckage. ¡°Where did he fall, Henry, did you see?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± Trist said, using one hand to steady himself against the wall of a building, suffering through a wave of vertigo. They were in an alley, but he had no idea what part of the city they were in now. He was certain that focusing on Forneus itself would have been an invitation for disaster, however. Claire spun around and threw herself against him with a cry. He staggered, but managed to stay upright, clinging to her now instead of the wall. His sword dangled from where he kept his grip on the hilt with his left hand, and he wrapped his right arm around her for the first time in what felt like eternity. ¡°I¡¯m safe,¡± he told her, burying his face in her hair. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± ¡°No,¡± Claire said, pulling back just enough to look him over. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt, but Trist, by the Angelus, your eyes? What happened?¡± ¡°Avitus ripped them out,¡± Trist admitted, and heard Ya¨¦l gasp. Claire looked like she might cry, so he quickly added, ¡°But I can see without them. Don¡¯t worry about me. I can still fight.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t what I¡¯m worried about,¡± Claire said, raising a hand to his cheek. ¡°I can¡¯t stay long,¡± Trist said. ¡°I¡¯ve never done this before, and I don¡¯t think I can keep it up. I need to beat Forneus now, before I can¡¯t hold onto this any longer.¡± ¡°Go do it, then,¡± Claire said. ¡°And then come back to me.¡± ¡°As soon as I can,¡± Trist promised. ¡°Henry, Ya¨¦l, get her away from the fighting.¡± He unwrapped Claire¡¯s arms from around him, set his boot against the dirty stones of the alley, and ran out into the city. Dame Etoile had gotten herself back into the fight, while Trist had been distracted, and he could see her hacking at the monster¡¯s coils as it slid down toward the Basilea harbor. In the meantime, the same faerie who had been throwing ice before was back up in the sky, and she seemed to be creating a frozen wall between Forneus and the water. As Trist dashed closer, he realized the monster was trying to escape. ¡°Exarch of Auberon,¡± the faerie in the sky overhead called down to him, and her voice was as cold as the frozen Rea in the depths of winter. ¡°You are more than you first appear. Not even an Exarch should be capable of what you are doing now.¡± ¡°I cannot do it for long,¡± Trist gasped, tearing open another portal and running through it. He skidded to a halt on top of the wall of ice, backed up against the sea, where the winter faerie was rapidly building stakes of sharp ice now. ¡°Together, then,¡± she proposed. ¡°And your patron, as well. I see you there, Lady Acrasia.¡± With no apparent use in concealing herself, Acrasia appeared atop the wall next to Trist. ¡°As you wish, Queen Beira,¡± she said, her black dress whipping about her in the wind of the blizzard. ¡°I will consider you to owe a debt to my king, for our assistance.¡± Acrasia raised her hand, and the shadow of Forneus pulled away from the daemon¡¯s coils. Just like the ephemeral knight Trist had fought in her maze, so long ago, Acrasia conjured a leviathan of darkness, equal in size and ferocity to the daemon itself. The shadow-serpent flung itself at the wounded monster, latching its jaws around one of the great, scaled coils. ¡°I will only be able to hold it a short while,¡± Acrasia said, gritting her teeth. ¡°You will not need to,¡± Beira proclaimed, fluttering down closer to them. One after the other, the spikes of ice she had prepared shot forward, impaling Forneus and drawing great rivulets of black ichor that spilled down onto the streets of the city. The daemon howled in pain, and then was suddenly gone, taking Acrasia¡¯s shadow with it. ¡°Where did it go?¡± she cried. ¡°I can still feel its shadow under my control, but-¡± ¡°Forneus is a shape-shifter,¡± Trist reminded her. No longer bound by the physical limitations of a man¡¯s eyes, he spotted the dark-haired man running down a side street, away from his own shadow, bleeding. Trist tore another portal open through the skin of the world, and stepped through swinging. The daemon screamed when Trist appeared in front of it, blade already arcing at its neck. Forneus raised its arms instinctively, and Trist¡¯s sword cut both hands off at the wrist. ¡°Wait,¡± Forneus sputtered. ¡°I can tell you things. I can tell you what Avitus-¡± Trist brought the longsword around in a doubled cut, and the daemon¡¯s head hit the cobblestones, then rolled a few feet away. Forneus¡¯ human body crumpled to the ground. ¡°How many?¡± he asked, and Acrasia was beside him, like always. ¡°Thirty-two,¡± she said, as the jolts of power snaked up Trist¡¯s sword, into his arm, and from there into his core. ¡°Ten for you.¡± ¡°I think-¡± Trist swayed, then fell to his knees. The world around him wavered, and he struggled to maintain his connection with this place, to stay long enough to see his wife again. ¡°You¡¯re pushing too far,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°Queen Nivi¨¨ne will be furious if you don¡¯t return right away. You¡¯ve done what you came to do.¡± ¡°Claire,¡± Trist mumbled, and fell sideways. When he hit the ground, it was the grass on the edge of the pool, in the Ardenwood. He saw the faerie queen and Acrasia lean down over him, frowning, and then he saw nothing, and his sword slipped out of his hand. 147. Eayn Zarqa The tribes of the Provincia Iberia are a people both hardy and strange. I have encountered the raiders of the Maghreb at the southern passes, bringing their goods to market, and I cannot help but wonder what it does to a man - to live an entire life in a place where the land itself is trying to kill you. ? 13th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 On the tenth day of marching west through the Maghreb, Ismet and the troops W¨¡li Marwan had placed under her command reached the Eayn Zarqa'' oasis, where she had spent her childhood. Alone, she could have made the ride in only two or three days; but as she had learned at the University of Ma?¨©n, and then experienced for herself riding with first General Shadi, and then Lionel, armies covered ground at a much slower pace than a single rider. Not even the Etalans had been able to maintain roads in the wastes. Sandstorms covered the Etalan stones in drifting dunes, and there were very few landmarks that remained constant. As her father had taught her, using the skills passed down by their ancestors for generations, Ismet navigated by the stars. In this task, the Sun Eater worked against his own aims, for the constant presence, day and night, of the constellations made Ismet¡¯s task easier. She maintained a screen of mounted scouts, which she put Fazil in command of. When they made camp, she was careful to assign watches and enforce discipline. This was the first time that the entire responsibility of leadership had fallen on her shoulders alone. Always before, she had either Shadi or Lionel to lean on, with whom she could discuss decisions and debate problems. Ismet found the experience surprisingly lonely. Though she was surrounded by one hundred and forty men, the only one she could trust with her worries was Fazil, who had been with her ever since the march north from Ma?¨©n to the Tower of Tears. Eayn Zarqa'' Oasis emerged from the wastes so suddenly that, coming upon it for the first time, a parched traveler might be forgiven if they mistook it for a mirage. Where one moment there was nothing but the endless wastes as far as the eye could see, stretching out beneath the cold stars, the next a dark smudge appeared on the horizon. Beneath the sun, Ismet knew from long familiarity, the contrast of green against brown would be shocking. Even in perpetual night, the warm shine of hundreds of lanterns and torches brought life to a land otherwise desolate. As they drew closer, the oasis resolved itself into more familiar shapes, if seen only by night. Above the groves of date palm, almond and olive trees rose the Rock of Eayn Zarqa'': a plateau of limestone upon which her ancestors had raised walls of baked mud, surrounding a tower of the same rock. The oasis itself stretched below, interconnected lakes, ponds and canals fed by a remarkable three dozen freshwater springs. The town was of mud brick houses, as well, though generations of serving as a nexus for trade and travel through the Maghreb had imported wood, cloth, metal and jewels from many lands. The night market, as a result, displayed brightly colored awnings over stalls built of cyprus wood, brass braziers lit to ward off the chill, and lines of horses, camels and mules used for hauling goods to market. Her father¡¯s men waited at the edge of the town, just past the outer wall of baked mud brick: an honor guard of forty men, wearing their brigandine armor, and carrying their shields, bows, and swords. Ismet reined her borrowed horse in, and held up a hand to halt the march of her troops before dismounting and striding forward by herself, with only Fazil to accompany her. ¡°Lady Ismet,¡± an officer called, striding forward to meet her. ¡°We received word of your coming from W¨¡li Marwan¡¯s pigeon seven days ago. Your father has been marshaling troops since then.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Ismet said, unable to suppress a sense of relief. For days now, she had struggled to quiet her mind in the lonely hours before sleep took her, counting over every way that her plan could go wrong. ¡°My father is in the tower?¡± ¡°He is,¡± the officer confirmed. ¡°He waits for you there with the Exarch of N¨¡shi?¨¡t, who arrived yesterday.¡± ¡°Samara has come?¡± Ismet smiled. ¡°Good. My men will need a place to make camp, as well as fresh food and water. We travelled lightly, and they could use a rest. There is also a chest of gifts from the King of Narvonne, for my family.¡± ¡°I will see to it, Exarch,¡± the man said, and bowed. ¡°Your name?¡± Ismet asked him. ¡°Arkan,¡± he said. ¡°I was promoted to captain of your father¡¯s guard a year and a half ago, while you were in your final year at the university.¡± ¡°After wedding my cousin Fatima,¡± Ismet recalled. ¡°I was disappointed that I could not return for the ceremony. It is good to be greeted by family. How is she?¡± ¡°She is well,¡± Arkan said, with a grin. ¡°And our first child comes soon. Fatima has acquired such a craving for fresh dates that I worry she will scour the entire oasis clean of them. Give me one moment, and I will accompany you up to The Rock.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Ismet ended up handing the horse she had borrowed from Marwan to one of Arkan¡¯s men, while her cousin¡¯s husband gave orders. Not five minutes later, his men were leading the troops from Khalij Alrimal into the oasis, while Arkan, Ismet and Fazil made their way to the two hundred and forty wide stone steps that led up The Rock, spiralling around the perimeter before coming, finally, to a gate set in the mud-brick wall. Her father¡¯s guards, many of them men she had known since she was a young girl, saluted as she passed, and she greeted them by name where she could. There were new faces, as well, since she had last visited: fresh boys who could not yet grow a beard. Once past the walls, the interior complex of her family¡¯s fortress sprawled out around her. Unlike the oasis below, The Rock of Eayn Zarqa'' was no lush paradise of fresh water and shady trees. It had been built entirely for defense, and depended on a combination of cisterns and wells to bring water up from below. A single round tower, squat and fat, served to keep watch over the waste for miles in every direction, and provided ample warning of any approach. Over the years, her father and grandfather before him had purchased and imported, at great cost, a selection of scorpions and trebuchets to line the outer walls. By the light of torches, lanterns, and braziers, Ismet could see that every one was manned now. In fact, Ismet noted, some of the guards she saw in the courtyard wore bandages that must have been used to treat recent wounds. Frowning, she turned her steps to the tower itself. Visitors often expected it to be her family¡¯s residence, but the truth was that no one wanted to live up here, baking beneath the sun without any shelter or relief from the trees found at the Oasis below. If Ismet had come to visit merely for the pleasure of seeing her family, she would have sought them out at the Palace of Gazelles, where her mother, aunts and uncles, and younger cousins would be waiting. Instead, with two armed men at her side, she strode into the fort to the map room, where she found her father. Salah ibn Yassar was no stranger to battle. He had survived the Massacre at the Tower of Tears just before her birth, and was a veteran of routine conflicts against the small bands of raiders who plagued the wastes. Though his beard was now more white than black, and his face sagged with more lines than she remembered, he broke into a smile at the return of his only daughter. ¡°Ismet,¡± he said, opening his arms wide. ¡°It is a relief to see you again.¡± ¡°Father,¡± Ismet said, and could not help but smile and fall into his embrace, though the armor they both wore made it awkward. ¡°Have you had trouble here?¡± she asked, once they¡¯d released each other and stepped away. ¡°I saw bandages on several of the guards outside.¡± ¡°Botis Raiders,¡± Salah said, with a grimace. ¡°Three days past. This darkness is turning men into starved animals, Ismet. They are desperate and frightened. Even here at the Oasis, where we have fresh water to spare and plenty of stored food, my people are starting to panic. If the sun does not return soon, I fear for what will happen.¡± ¡°That is out of our hands now,¡± Ismet said, though it still gnawed at her. ¡°Exarch Samara, it is good to see you again.¡± She turned toward the other woman in the room. Samara ibnah Arif was two or three years older than her; Ismet could not quite recall the precise date. ¡°You received my letter?¡± ¡°I did,¡± Samara said. ¡°Though I am not certain I would have believed it all if N¨¡shi?¨¡t had not spoken to Epinoia, and confirmed what you said. You have been on quite the adventure since I last saw you at Ma?¨©n. The Angelus say you have fought no less than four daemons in the span of only three moons.¡± ¡°It does seem outrageous when you say it like that,¡± Ismet admitted, stepping over to the broad, polished table of cyprus planks where ox-hide maps had been spread, and weighed down by chunks of limestone. There were polished stones of different colors arranged to mark troops, and she found herself missing Lionel¡¯s neatly carved wood figurines. It was easier to determine troop compositions at a glance with the king¡¯s set, she had to admit. ¡°Adrammelech, Agrat and Samm¨¡?¨¥l in the Hauteurs Massif. Zepar the Scarlet on the road to Rocher de la Garde. I missed the worst of the fighting during the siege, though. That fell to Sir Trist.¡± ¡°But,¡± she continued, ¡°there will be plenty of time to speak of those battles on our march west.¡± Not to mention, Ismet decided, Lionel¡¯s letter and offer of marriage. ¡°How many men do you have gathered here, Father?¡± ¡°With increased assaults from the raiders, as well as the spreading panic, we will need to leave a sizeable force to defend the town,¡± Salah ibn Yassar warned her. ¡°I have called upon every settlement our tribe has within four days ride, and most of the warriors they have sent have already arrived. That means, however, that what we have here is overwhelmingly cavalry, not infantry.¡± ¡°The numbers?¡± Ismet asked again. ¡°One hundred and forty on horse,¡± her father said. ¡°Split evenly between lancers and horse archers. One hundred infantry. The rest I must leave behind.¡± ¡°Uncle Marwan gave me another hundred infantry, and a score each of mounted archers and lancers,¡± Ismet said, reaching out for matching stones and moving them to rest on the painted depiction of the oasis. ¡°Three hundred and eighty men, all told.¡± ¡°I am not a student of war,¡± Samara said, cautiously. ¡°But that does not seem like enough to take Ma?¨©n. Particularly if there is a daemonic Exarch to contend with. I am not as capable a warrior as you,¡± she admitted. ¡°I understand that,¡± Ismet said. ¡°But no Exarch is truly helpless, and even the slightest edge you can give me against Valeria and Agrat will be worthwhile - to say nothing of the effect you will have on the morale of our troops.¡± ¡°We will pick up more men as we go,¡± Arkan, pointing at the map. ¡°We can take the trade routes through Rabie Altimsah and Suq Alnakhil here, and here.¡± His finger traced a route across the wastes and west toward one of the mountain passes south of Ma?¨©n. ¡°They are both loyal to the tribe. And Eish Alsaqr Pass, here,¡± he continued, ¡°is commanded by Rizqullah ibn Zayyan, who fought with Marwan and your father in their youth.¡± ¡°I remember. Do you still trust him?¡± Ismet asked, looking to her father. ¡°We visited the pass when I went to university, but I haven¡¯t known him as long as you.¡± ¡°I trusted him twenty years ago,¡± Salah ibn Yassar said, without a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°And I trust him today, with my life. He is a good man.¡± ¡°Necessity renders our decisions simple,¡± Ismet said, with a sigh. ¡°A daemon cannot be allowed to control the Caliphate. Let us hope Rizqullah is the friend we both remember. When we reach the pass, he will either join us, or we will break him. Nothing can be allowed to stop us from reaching Ma?¨©n.¡± 148. A Subtle Dance A child who suffers cruelty will grow into an adult who inflicts it. ? 13th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 ¡°Something is troubling you,¡± Valeria observed. She poured fresh qahwa into the Caliph¡¯s cup, set the pot back on the low table in his sitting room, and then circled around behind him. He stiffened when her fingers found his shoulders. ¡°Has a woman truly never done this for you before?¡± she purred in his ear, making certain to get close enough that he would be able to take in the scent of her perfume. It was expensive enough, after all, that it should not go to waste. She leaned forward with the weight of her body, her thumbs seeking out the knots in Nasir al-Rashid¡¯s muscles. ¡°Not a woman, no,¡± the Caliph admitted, then groaned as she found a particularly sensitive spot. ¡°It would be improper.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Valeria answered, ¡°I am a woman of Narvonne, not of Ma?¨©n. I see nothing improper about it at all. You are the man carrying the weight of the entire Caliphate on his back. I am happy to ease your burdens.¡± ¡°You already do so much,¡± Nasir said, slumping under her hands. Valeria¡¯s father had made certain she was trained young in how to relax a man, how to make certain he lowered his guard. A P¨¡rsan slave had been procured to instruct her in this particular skill, and certain eastern dances, as well. A shame that she¡¯d wasted so many hours soothing Lionel Aurelianus, with nothing to show for it. She promised herself that this time would be different. ¡°I do hardly anything at all,¡± Valeria insisted. ¡°I am a foreigner in a strange land. The only thing I have to offer you is a kind ear to listen to your troubles. What happened today?¡± She glanced over to the door, where two palace guards stood at attention. So long as they were present, Nasir¡¯s illusion of propriety was preserved. ¡°Word from Captain Omar,¡± Nasir groaned. ¡°Sent by pigeon from The Bay of Sands.¡± Valeria frowned. The Bay of Sands was on the eastern coast of the Caliphate, across the entire stretch of the Maghreb wastes. ¡°What is he doing there?¡± she asked. ¡°I thought you had sent him to arrest the traitor.¡± ¡°And so I did,¡± Nasir complained. ¡°But the fool allowed her to talk him into sailing from Rocher de la Guard to Khalij Alrimal, where she has connections through her father¡¯s tribe.¡± ¡°I must confess, the concept of tribes is somewhat unfamiliar to me,¡± Valeria wheedled for more information. In the meanwhile, she went to work behind his shoulder blades. The man was practically one giant knot of tension. ¡°Before the Etalans came and conquered us,¡± Nasir explained, ¡°the people of Magreb, and the people of the western mountains, were divided into tribes. I am told your Narvonii were much the same.¡± ¡°True,¡± Valeria admitted. This would be easier if she could get him to strip to the waist, and let her use almond oil. ¡°But the ancient Narvonnian tribes are long extinct. They were replaced by the barons, and the knights beneath them.¡± ¡°Our tribes are still very important to us,¡± Nasir said. ¡°They are like great extended families. My father and I are of the ''ahl aljibal, the mountain people. Ismet ibnah Salah is of the ''ahl alsahra, the people of the wastes. Her tribe is spread throughout all the major oases in the Maghreb, and the governor of the Bay of Sands is one of them as well.¡± ¡°So Captain Omar let her go home,¡± Valeria concluded, ¡°to where the people are loyal to her and to her family. She must be raising an army, then.¡± ¡°You are as insightful as ever.¡± Nasir had relaxed back into her now, and Valeria was careful to lean forward and accidentally press her chest into his back when she went to work on his scalp. This required removing his shum¨¡gh, which she set aside. ¡°Omar sends word she rode west from the Bay of Sands with perhaps a hundred and fifty soldiers, making for her father¡¯s oasis of Eayn Zarqa'', where she will no doubt gather more troops.¡± ¡°I am no commander of men,¡± Valeria admitted. It was always good to make sure the men she were working on felt superior to her, that they knew things she did not. They often enjoyed explaining, because it put them in the position of being superior. ¡°But surely you have the greater force. Can you not strike now, while she is still gathering her army, before she is ready?¡± ¡°Fighting the ''ahl alsahra in the Maghreb is suicide,¡± Nasir said, doing exactly as she had intended. ¡°The desert tribes will come with the sandstorm and fall upon an army¡¯s supply lines, then vanish back into the dunes. They will shelter at half a dozen oases that are marked on no map, while your own men die of thirst and heat, or are stung by the scorpions that crawl up from the sands. If you do take an oasis, they will poison the water as they retreat. No, we will crush them in our own lands.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°You will permit them to march to Ma?¨©n, then?¡± Valeria asked. She wasn¡¯t certain how she felt about that. On the one hand, it would be very satisfying to destroy Ismet ibnah Salah herself. On the other hand, the southern woman was a trained soldier in her own right, before ever having been chosen as an Exarch, and Valeria was not. ¡°Only as far as the mountains,¡± Nasir said. ¡°I have instructed my generals to begin mustering. It will take her time to cross the wastes, where there are no roads. We can be at Eish Alsaqr Pass long before them, and it is already fortified. They will not have siege engines; the wastes do not produce lumber. That is where we will break them.¡± ¡°And yet,¡± Valeria said, leaning over his shoulder to murmur in his ear, ¡°you are still concerned.¡± ¡°I am,¡± Nasir admitted. He shivered at her closeness, and she could feel it. How adorable it was, she found, to seduce a man with such limited experience of women. ¡°She is an Exarch, and battle tested.¡± ¡°You have Exarchs of your own, do you not?¡± Valeria asked. She knew he did, for she¡¯d only killed the one, as of yet. ¡°They have not responded to my letters,¡± Nasir said. ¡°I summoned them to Ma?¨©n to mourn the passing of my father, and yet they have not come. Only Ashar, Exarch of Hafaza the Guardian, is here in the city, and he will not see me since my father¡¯s death.¡± ¡°It is a shocking display of disrespect,¡± Valeria said, letting her contempt color her tone as she spoke. ¡°No Narvonnian king would ever stand for such behavior.¡± ¡°This is not Narvonne,¡± Nasir chided her. ¡°And our ways are not yours. What I am doing has never been done before. Always, the caliph has been selected by Isr¨¡f¨©l. Everything would be settled already, if the Angelus was not absent. There would be no whispers, no doubters.¡± ¡°And that is a show of disrespect, as well,¡± Valeria insisted, coming around to kneel in front of the young caliph. ¡°You are your father¡¯s son. Isr¨¡f¨©l should have come to you upon his death. To spurn you like this, after all of the work you have put in to keep the Caliphate together, is unforgivable.¡± ¡°It is not the place of mortal men to judge the Angelus,¡± Nasir protested, but Valeria could tell that he was wavering. ¡°I forgive you, because you are a foreigner, and speak out of ignorance. But talking in such a way is dangerous.¡± ¡°I say these things only because I cannot stand how you have been treated,¡± Valeria insisted. If she didn¡¯t have to wear the awkward veil, she would have made her lips tremble; as it was, she tried to put all her emotions into her eyes, which Nasir could at least see. ¡°You have been so kind to me, kinder than I deserve. You¡¯ve taken me in when no one else would, when I was thrown aside. I can¡¯t stand to see you spurned the same way I was. It is unjust, and I will say so, no matter who is present to hear us!¡± There, just a flick of her eyes towards his guards at the door, subtle but enough for him to notice if he was paying attention. Nasir chewed on that a moment, then turned to his guards. ¡°Wait outside,¡± he commanded them. There was a moment of hesitation - Valeria knew it was at the impropriety of what was about to occur, but she saw the chance to drive another wedge, here, and she took it. ¡°Why do you hesitate when your caliph commands you?¡± she asked. The guards saluted, then, after a brief delay, exited the sitting room, and closed the door behind them. ¡°I should not have done that,¡± the caliph said. ¡°It will harm your reputation here.¡± ¡°My reputation,¡± Valeria said, ¡°means nothing to me compared to your well being.¡± To emphasize the point, she reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. His beard was a bit long for her tastes, she decided, but at least it was well groomed. ¡°I do not know how I have come to deserve the kindness of such a woman as you,¡± Nasire said, placing his own hand over hers. ¡°I feel as if I spent years chasing a mirage in the desert, only to dash upon sharp stones. And now, when I least sought for it, I have stumbled onto a spring of cool waters and shaded palms.¡± ¡°In Narvonne, after words like that, a man would kiss a woman,¡± Valeria told him, lowering her voice enough that he would have to lean in to hear her. ¡°Such things are not done until after marriage, here,¡± Nasir told her. Valeria deliberately broke eye contact, looking down at her own lap. ¡°I understand,¡± she said. ¡°I have presumed too much. Of course I know you would never wish to wed me. I should not have allowed myself to indulge in fantasies.¡± ¡°Valeria du Champs d''Or, what man would not wish to wed you?¡± Nasir asked, just as he¡¯d known she would. After all, she¡¯d essentially forced him to disagree with her. ¡°You say that,¡± she said, ¡°But here I am, alone and unwed. And in a few years, when you have settled into your reign, you will wed a woman of high birth here in the Caliphate. Perhaps one of that desert tribe, to secure their allegiance. And I will have to leave, because she will not wish me here in her palace.¡± Nasir al-Rashid grappled with himself for a long moment, while she remained silent. Better to let him step over the edge willingly, Valeria judged, than to give him one last push. ¡°It does not have to be so,¡± he said, finally. ¡°Your father is the king of Narvonne. A wedding between the caliph, and a princess of Narvonne, would secure a strong alliance. Such a match could put an end to centuries of conflict.¡± Valeria looked up, putting hope into her gaze. ¡°Do not say that if you do not mean it,¡± she told him. ¡°It would break my heart all over again.¡± ¡°I am a man of my word,¡± Nasir pledged, his voice firm now that he had decided. ¡°I will send a pigeon to Lutetia tonight. Three pigeons, to ensure that at least one makes the flight safely.¡± ¡°I wish you could see my face, to see how happy you¡¯ve made me,¡± Valeria told him. ¡°We are alone, Caliph. Perhaps¡­ just a brief moment of impropriety?¡± Before he could object, she unwound her veil from her face, tilted her face up, and pressed her lips to his. For a heartbeat, Valeria, Exarch of Agrat, worried that she might have overplayed her hand. When the caliph kissed her back, she knew that she had him. 149. Burning White It is a mystery to me, to have found a hidden room in the deepest cellars, sealed with the emperor¡¯s own mark. An emperor of many generations gone, no less, when our legions first came to this wild place. I would never have found it at all, if not for having to send workers below to repair the water damage. ? 13th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Trist woke to beams of light falling through the rustling leaves above, and beyond that, the strange sky of Auberon¡¯s realm under the hill. He felt weightless, and the sensation was doubly jarring because, since suffering his wound, he passed directly from unconsciousness to awareness and vision, all at once, without the intermediate step of opening his eyes. He was floating in the Fountain of Nivi¨¨ne, surrounded by the faerie queen herself, her daughter Osma, and even Acrasia. Three pairs of hands, delicate and cool, moved over his limbs and his torso. ¡°Be still,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°You have exhausted your very core. You know that I did warn you about this, Trist.¡± ¡°You pushed too hard against Forneus,¡± Acrasia chastised him bitterly. ¡°Your oaths to us are not yet kept.¡± ¡°It was quite romantic to watch, however,¡± Princess Osma said, with a sly grin pointed in Acrasia¡¯s direction. ¡°Charging in to save your wife like that. Most men would have run away, I think.¡± Trist sighed. ¡°She is safe, then? I could not find her at the end.¡± ¡°She is,¡± Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°And I tell you that so you will not reach out and try to find her. Let your Clarisant tend to her own affairs for a while - she has one of my husband¡¯s wives to help her, already. You must recover.¡± ¡°How do I do that?¡± Trist asked. ¡°This pool is a good beginning,¡± Osma explained. ¡°You know the healing properties it holds from when you first arrived with your companions, I believe. But the next step, you can only do with Acrasia.¡± ¡°You are holding a great many Tithes,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°You should spend them, Trist. It will strengthen your core, rather than work it harder, straining to hold them. Think of it like the difference between holding a mug of ale aloft for an hour, in your hand, rather than drinking it down. One will eventually tire the muscles in your arm. The other won¡¯t.¡± ¡°Ten, you said,¡± Trist recalled. It was pleasant to float, and to be tended to. More pleasant than the idea of rising from the pool, and going to a ruined city where he would need to fight more daemons, alone. He forced himself to consider his options, and what he might need in Vellatesia, without any support to be had. It was tempting to strengthen his Graal Knight Boon from a red strand, to an orange. He would need to be able to tend to his own wounds, and the power of the Graal had saved not only himself, but his friends and companions many times over. Then too, he wondered whether he might not be able to regain his own sight, the eyes he had been born with, if that strand was more potent. Or had he missed his chance forever, trying to heal himself without enough power? Instead of bleeding, leaking eye sockets, he now had scars, as if the wounds were from months or years in the past. The Hunter¡¯s Boon, which he had of Cern, would help him run or ride to Vellatesia with great speed, and without tiring, but he had a better way to travel, now. Why cross the intervening space of the forest at all, when he could use the Gates that he had stolen from the daemon Bathin? ¡°Two Tithes to the Gate Boon,¡± Trist said, after a moment of long consideration. Acrasia reached out her right hand, splayed her fingers, and set her palm over his heart. The part of her that had no physical form reached down into his core, weaving two threads of the power he had gained from slaying the leviathan, and injecting them into a single red strand. Power thrummed through him, and the shade of the burning whirl she manipulated lightened, from a deep red to a blazing orange. That left eight Tithes to use. It also left Trist with not a single red boon. His core was now a knot, or perhaps more like a ball of yarn, entirely in orange and yellow fire. Would it be better to shore up some of the Boons he had neglected, of late? Only Fae Touched and Daemon Bane were yellow, because he had felt constantly on the edge of losing not only himself, but those he cared about, when forced to fight battle after battle against daemons. On the other hand, did he really expect Avitus and his minions to allow the Gate of Horn to be destroyed, without trying to stop him? If the Suneater descended on the ruins of Vellatesia, would Trist rather have shored up his ability to track his quarry through the forest, or have enhanced his physical strength and speed even further? The idea of fighting Samm¨¡?¨¥l was what decided him, in the end. That confrontation was going to have to happen eventually, if this endless night was ever going to be lifted. Trist knew that Ismet would be willing to fight the thing, and he had no doubt that Bors would give it his best, as well, but he wasn¡¯t willing to count on one of the other Exarchs dealing with the problem. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Fae Touched,¡± Trist said aloud, and Nivi¨¨ne sighed. ¡°Are you certain?¡± the faerie queen asked him. ¡°It is not uncommon for Exarchs to reach shades of yellow during the course of their lives and their battles. A Boon strengthened to burn white, however - that is the border of the capabilities of beings like Auberon himself. Mortals of your world were not truly meant for such power. You are unlike other Exarchs, in the circumstances of your birth, but I feel I must give you a warning even so.¡± ¡°The Sun Eater must be stopped,¡± Trist said. ¡°Do it, Acrasia.¡± The last time she had bound so many Tithes into Trist¡¯s core at once, when he¡¯d just defeated Zepar the Scarlet before the west gate of Rocher de la Garde, he¡¯d lost consciousness entirely. He braced for the feeling of his body seizing up once again, entirely out of his control, and was thankful that at least now he was floating in the water, surrounded by those who would care for him. There was no fear of falling over. Acrasia thrust both her hands into his chest. Her fingers passed through his muscle and wrapped around his heart, his core, and Trist¡¯s limbs shot out, fully extended. His back arched, and he strained so hard his muscles ached. He could not breathe, he could not think, and once again he experienced the peculiar sensation of floating above his body, detached from the physical. All around, in the darkness, he could see twinkling lights, dozens of them. He recognized one as Acrasia, grown fat and bright on the Tithes he¡¯d fed her over the past moons, and nearby the other two must be Queen Nivi¨¨ne and her daughter. Osma burned nearly entirely yellow, with only the barest flicker of orange left, but the faerie queen¡¯s blinding shades of white and blue matched those of Auberon, in the distance. There was Cern as well, and more faeries within this realm than Trist could count, each one its own star in the vast darkness. Only Acrasia¡¯s core, however, circled his. Or, more precisely, they circled each other, in an endless dance, with cords of fire stretched out between the two, twining and binding them to each other in revolution after revolution. ¡°This is you,¡± Trist said, without a voice, in a place where form was meaningless. ¡°Is it not?¡± ¡°This is me,¡± Acrasia pulsed, and a corona of burning yellow fire licked off her. ¡°Now wake up, Trist.¡± He sucked in a breath, and all the tension left his body. If it hadn¡¯t been for the three faerie women holding onto him, he would have fallen below the surface of the pool, then, in a panic, and Trist wasn¡¯t certain his exhausted arms and legs would have had the strength to keep him from drowning. ¡°This is the greatest change to your body you¡¯ve ever experienced,¡± Nivi¨¨ne murmured in his ear. ¡°You need rest. Let us care for you, Trist. Relax. Empty your mind, and sleep.¡± Her words were soothing, her voice a soothing lullaby, and Trist let himself drift away again. ? When he woke, lying on a carpet of plush moss, beneath the arching boles of a great oak, Auberon was waiting. Trist had not spoken to the faerie king in weeks, since he and the other Exarchs had first arrived at the heart of the Ardenwood. ¡°Now,¡± Auberon said, ¡°You are ready.¡± ¡°I was not before?¡± Trist asked. ¡°To go to Vellatesia?¡± ¡°To get there, yes,¡± Auberon explained. ¡°You could have done that. Your father and mother did so, with me to guide them. You might even have been able to destroy the gate,¡± the King of Shadows mused. ¡°If no one stopped you. But while Avitus never expected your mother to turn against him, he is well aware of your existence, Trist. How could he not be? At every turn, at his every advantage, you have somehow appeared to ruin his stratagems. Plans he has laid over the course of decades, you have set to naught. He never accounted for you, though perhaps he should have.¡± Trist frowned. ¡°But he is working with Agrat. Valeria is her Exarch. They sent a plague to kill my mother. They must have known that I exist.¡± ¡°A human child,¡± Auberon mused. ¡°With no power. What threat could you possibly be? They knew, you see, that no Angelus would ever take you as an Exarch, Trist. Whatever potential you inherited from Agrat, from that second mother¡¯s womb, would never flower, because it would never be given an opportunity. Which is why I sent Acrasia to you.¡± ¡°You made me,¡± Trist said. ¡°Because you needed someone capable of doing what you want. I am a sword to you. A weapon in your hand.¡± ¡°Your mother and father made you,¡± Auberon said, with a grin. ¡°If they planted a seed, I simply watered the garden. Or, if you would prefer, they forged you, while I quenched you in oil, wrapped your hilt in leather, and ground an edge onto your blade. And what a weapon you are now. You will serve me in a way that Maddoc never could.¡± ¡°And when it is done,¡± Trist said. ¡°If I survive it all. I free Acrasia, and I am free of you?¡± ¡°Is that truly what you want?¡± Auberon asked. ¡°To return to obscurity? You are a hero to your people, Trist, a champion of your kingdom. Will you find it so easy to hang up your sword on the wall and go back to your village? To raise a pack of brats, and grow old and fat and die?¡± With a groan, Trist rolled over and got onto his hands and knees. He hurt everywhere, but he managed to get to his feet. ¡°I will go,¡± he said. ¡°And I will keep my oaths. And then we are done.¡± ¡°You will not leave quite yet, boy,¡± Auberon said. ¡°There is one more thing you need to do, first. Take up your sword.¡± ¡°What?¡± Trist¡¯s mind was fuzzy, still fogged with sleep. ¡°Take up your sword,¡± Auberon repeated. ¡°And defend yourself. Let us see precisely what quality of weapon the past two decades of work have forged for me.¡± The King of Shadows reached into his own, and drew forth a blade of utter and absolute darkness, that seemed to consume light itself. It was long and thin, a blade meant to rely on speed and grace, and yet Trist sensed from it such a threat as he had never faced before. On the moss at his feet, Trist saw that his longsword had been placed beside him. Never taking his eyes from the faerie king, Trist crouched, grasped the hilt in his right hand, and held the sheath in his left. The sword sang against leather when he drew it forth, and then stood up again. Blade in hand, beneath the oak leaves, Trist faced the faerie king. 150. Auberon鈥檚 Test There¡¯s more than one reason the general never tried to rebuild the damned city - who ever decided it was a good idea to build in the swamp, in the first place? Probably a couple of poncy old senators looking at a map. ? 13th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Auberon lowered the tip of his sword, settling into the stance Trist recognized as Fool¡¯s Guard, inviting an attack. Beneath the surface of his body, Trist glimpsed a burning knot of bright white and blue, pulsing and shooting out flares of barely restrained power. Without eyes, Trist saw in every direction at once. Trist raised his longsword above his head, tip pointed to the sky, in High Guard. Other than the rustle of wind in the leaves of the trees overhead, the world was silent. He could hear the beat of his own pulse in his ears, feel his heart in his chest, and he was aware of every breath that passed in and out of his body. If the faerie king was inviting Trist to make the first attack, then he would oblige. The tip of Trist¡¯s boot ripped moss from out of the earth, sending it flying back behind him, and he closed the distance between in less time than it took a man to blink. Though his body still ached, he pushed through the pain. With a ring of metal, Auberon set aside Trist¡¯s blade, ending in an Ox Guard, the hilt of his sword raised to his ear, blade parallel to the ground. Trist was knocked back by the faerie monarch¡¯s casual strength, but managed to recover, withdrew a step, and began to circle. The faerie king showed no indication of concern or effort at all. ¡°I am surprised that you use the same guards that we do,¡± Trist admitted. ¡°Zepar the Scarlet did, as well. I thought you all came from some other place, some other world.¡± ¡°So we do,¡± Auberon said, lowering his blade again into Fool¡¯s Guard. ¡°This place was meant to be our refuge and escape, where we would be free to live as we wished. Nonetheless, within the restrictions of this world, and the limitations imposed by a physical body in the shape of a human, their most efficient ways to move with a blade are geometrically inevitable. Hit me if you can.¡± Trist cut down from the left to the right in a feint, lunging halfway into distance and then pulling back again, leaving his blade in Rear Guard to keep from encountering the unstoppable force of Auberon¡¯s blade. The feint drew a parry, as he¡¯d intended, and as soon as the faerie king¡¯s sword had passed, Trist leapt back in with a rising cut behind the passing stroke. ¡°Good,¡± Auberon said, with a smile, and his shadow rose up to parry Trist¡¯s blow. Auberon and the shadow slid to opposite sides, then began circling Trist so that it was all he could do to keep either of them from slipping behind him. ¡°When you go to the Gate of Horn, you must expect to be opposed. You have never yet defeated more than a single daemon at a time, but you must break that limit now. You must dance among them like a leaf driven before the storm, or they will stop you in Vellatesia.¡± ¡°You could send Cern to help me,¡± Trist grumbled. He lunged at the shadow, but before it could parry, Trist ripped a portal open in the world directly in front of him. It brought him out behind Auberon, sword still in motion, but too fast for any eye to follow the King of Shadows spun and parried again. ¡°Excellent,¡± Auberon praised him again. ¡°Bathin is too cowardly to make effective use of his portals in combat, but I see you do not share his weakness. Unless he is pressed to utter desperation, he prefers to move troops and other daemons about, rather than risk himself.¡± ¡°If you won¡¯t go to Vellatesia, what will you do?¡± Trist asked. ¡°The Winter Queen went to war against Forneus.¡± ¡°Yes, Beira. My dear wife did not act without reason. Your Clarisant bought her alliance,¡± Auberon said, then went on the attack. Around them, the world stopped. Trist¡¯s perception shifted to that place which had become so familiar to him in the rush of combat, when the speed granted to his body by the Boons of the faeries put him in another realm entirely. There was no wind; the leaves ceased to shake, and branches bent by the breeze did not spring back up. Only Trist and Auberon moved - Auberon, and the king¡¯s shadow. Trist parried, rising up to Ox Guard, then ducked out of the way of the shadow¡¯s slice. He spun on his heel and unleashed a series of doubled cuts on Auberon, the faerie slipping aside from each without even using his blade. For an instant, Trist experienced what it must be like for a normal man to fight him: Auberon was simply too fast to touch. With a grimace, he pushed harder, and the world hazed in a white glow that soaked Trist¡¯s muscles and drove him to greater and greater speeds. Strike, parry, feint, withdraw, lunge - he could not hit Auberon, but neither could the faerie king hit him. With a shock of thrill, Trist realized that he was better than Auberon. At nothing but swordplay, of course - the Shadow King¡¯s strength and speed were beyond him - but Trist had practiced his entire life to be a knight, while the faerie king moved in a manner that suggested someone who treated swordplay as a hobby or a pastime. Trist feinted at Auberon, then turned and cut at the shadow, faster than he¡¯d ever moved before in his life. His longsword flashed past the shade¡¯s guard, cutting it from root to stem, and the shadow dissipated. The world returned with a boom like thunder, and a wave of pressure exploded out from Trist, ripping leaves from the trees and sending a spray of dirt flying in every direction. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°There it is,¡± Auberon said, lowering his blade and allowing it to dissolve back into mere wisps of shadow. ¡°That is how you will need to fight in Vellatesia.¡± ¡°What just happened?¡± Trist asked. He hesitated, but once he was certain the test was truly over, he walked over to where he¡¯d left his sheath lying on the moss, and bent to pick it up. ¡°The tip of your sword moved faster than sound,¡± Auberon explained. ¡°It disrupted the very air itself, creating a shockwave. No daemon can match your speed. But keep in mind that, even with all the power you have gained, you will never be able to defeat their strength - not any but the weakest among them. If you allow them to get a hold of you, they will win.¡± ¡°I have learned that already,¡± Trist admitted, sheathing his sword. ¡°Do I pass your test?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Auberon said. ¡°For now, at least. Make your preparations to depart. I imagine you will want your armor.¡± Shadows swirled around the faerie monarch, and then Auberon was gone. ? Trist¡¯s armor had been cleaned and reconditioned: even the holes left by Adrammelech¡¯s claws, during the fighting in the Hauteurs Massif, had been repaired with such skill that he could not find anything to mark where they had been, no matter how closely he looked. ¡°Hywel would be amazed,¡± Trist observed in awe, turning the cuirass over in his hands. ¡°We do have a few tricks that mortal smiths have not yet learned,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne observed with a smile. Her daughter, the Princess Osma, finished securing Trist¡¯s cuisses over his thighs, while Acrasia waited with his pauldrons. Having three people to help made the process remarkably efficient. ¡°Did you ask your brother about horses?¡± Trist checked with Acrasia. ¡°I did,¡± she said. ¡°He will loan two steeds, one for each of us.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Trist said. ¡°I don¡¯t see why you can¡¯t just gate your way into the ruins,¡± Osma said, straightening and then heading over to sort through his vambraces and gauntlets. ¡°I do not know precisely what we will be walking into,¡± Trist explained to the faerie princess. ¡°Nor have I ever visited that cursed place before. Even after strengthening the Boon with Tithes, I mistrust opening a gate to somewhere I do not know. Look what happened when we arrived at Maddoc¡¯s grave. That was not my intent, and things could have gone much worse. This time, we will be entering enemy territory. No, we will go to the bridge where Acrasia and I fought the Addanc, and follow the Etalan road north from there.¡± ¡°I see the wisdom in your choice,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said. ¡°Perhaps approaching by the old road will even keep our enemies from noticing you, for a time.¡± ¡°I wish I had a copy of the Codex here,¡± Trist groused, not for the first time. Or Clarisant to read it. ¡°I recall Aurelius and his men bound some number of daemons in the city, but I cannot for the life of me recall how many or which.¡± ¡°They will be weak,¡± Acrasia said, ¡°even if they are able to break their bindings. They will not have fed on new Tithes for three hundred years. Perhaps even weaker than Adrammelech was, when he first rose.¡± ¡°He was strong enough to beat me, at the time,¡± Trist pointed out. ¡°You are not the same man now as you were then,¡± Acrasia said, and Trist thought he detected a hint of bitterness in her words. ¡°I have not forgotten my promise to you,¡± he assured her. ¡°Once we have destroyed the Gate of Horn, I will set you free.¡± ¡°And I will hold you to it,¡± Acrasia returned. Once Trist was fully armored, and his sword buckled around his belt, the Hunter brought two horses to the edge of the pool. ¡°They will see you to Vellatesia,¡± Cern promised, his eyes still sharp and cruel as a hawk¡¯s. ¡°Then, they will return to me. Should you survive, your escape from that accursed place must be of your own making.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Trist said, inclining his head. Out of habit, he turned to Acrasia, to offer to lift her into the saddle, but the lithe faerie slipped up onto her steed¡¯s back as easily as she had once skipped through the Ardenwood with him. Trist set his own foot in the stirrup, instead, and hefted himself up, then swung a leg over the saddle and settled in. ¡°We have healed you,¡± Auberon said, striding out of the trees and up to the pool. ¡°We have taught you, and tested you, and given you what gifts we can. What happens now is on your shoulders, Trist du Camaret-¨¤-Arden.¡± ¡°And what will you all be doing while I fight your battle?¡± Trist asked once again. ¡°Do not concern yourself with that,¡± Auberon replied. A smile graced his perfect lips. ¡°There is enough and more to be done before this is all over.¡± Trist scowled; he was tired of being a piece to be moved on Auberon¡¯s board of Six Soldiers. ¡°Very well, then,¡± he said, for a knight was courteous. ¡°I thank you all for your hospitality, and your aid. Perhaps we will meet again one day.¡± ¡°Perhaps we shall,¡± Queen Nivi¨¨ne said. Trist raised his hand, and allowed threads of orange fire to unspool themselves from his core, reaching out before him to take hold of the world itself. The threads of his stolen Boon ripped and tore, until a yawning portal tall and wide enough to ride through opened, from the faerie glade out to a dark world. Acrasia nudged her own steed with her knees, turned the mare¡¯s head with her reins, and rode through the portal first. After she was through, Trist followed, and then allowed the gate to close behind him again. The two riders sat their horses on the edge of a dark lake. Overhead, the stars and the white ring where once a sun had been were the only light in a vast sky. In the lake, the stars and the remnant sun were reflected back from the still water. All around, the once verdant grass which had carpeted the banks was dead, curled and dry. The leaves of the trees, as well, had withered and fallen, as if it were winter and not the height of summer. Trist turned his horse to the bridge, and together they rode out across the water, north toward Vellatesia. 151. Suq Alnakhil Every oasis is precious; a small, delicate world within a vast wasteland. ? 16th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Suq Alnakhil, or Palm Market, was an oasis nearly as blessed with water as that beneath the Rock of Eayn Zarqa¡¯. Rather than a series of interconnected ponds and springs, the settlement clung to the banks of a single long lake, surrounded by groves of date palms. Irrigation canals extended perhaps a quarter of a mile from the lake in every direction, and beyond the greenery fed by the waterworks, high dunes of sand piled, visible from every corner of the town and a constant reminder of the encroaching wastes. Ismet rode Sarkha, a battle-trained desert mare she¡¯d left in her father¡¯s stables when she went away to the University of Ma?¨©n so many years ago. Sarkha had foaled a strong colt while she was away, and under normal circumstances would not have been sent to war, but she¡¯d held up admirably on the ride west through the Maghreb. Around her, the host broke into smaller units, each captain leading their men to make camp. Fazil rode back out of one of the streets that radiated from the lake at the center of the village, drawing rein within easy distance to speak, and both Captain Arkan and her father brought their own steeds in. ¡°How many here?¡± Ismet asked. ¡°Another hundred infantry,¡± Fazil answered, ¡°and sixty-lancers.¡± Ismet added the number to the tally in her head. ¡°With the men we picked up at Rabie Altimsah,¡± she said, ¡°that gives us seven hundred and fifty.¡± ¡°More will join us along the way,¡± Arkan said confidently. ¡°There are many villages who have not yet sent men, but they will know our route.¡± ¡°Less than you might think,¡± Salah ibn Yassar said with a frown. ¡°We should have expected this. Many do not wish to risk taking a side. They will wait until it is clear who has the advantage before committing. And those who do support us must hold men back to deal with the raiders. If any more men do trickle in, they will not be enough to matter.¡± ¡°There is more,¡± Fazil reported. ¡°A merchant caravan coming east arrived yesterday. Both the merchants and the guards speak of reinforcements marched from the Capital to reinforce Eish Alsaqr Pass.¡± ¡°Does Rizqullah ibn Zayyan still hold the command?¡± her father asked. ¡°When they left, yes,¡± Fazil answered. ¡°But if there are enough men from Ma?¨©n, it may not matter. The caliph¡¯s own soldiers will not follow what they see as a rebellion.¡± ¡°So what, we must rescue Commander Rizqullah from his own troops?¡± Arkan scowled. Ismet had come to appreciate her cousin¡¯s husband as a reliable and loyal man, but it was painfully obvious to her that he lacked experience in actual battle. ¡°See that the men are settled,¡± Ismet ordered, and even her father nodded at her words. It was an odd feeling, but more and more these men saw her as the Exarch who had fought daemons, and not the girl they had once known. There was a certain distance, she had found, that came with command. ¡°We will plan over a meal in my tent, after.¡± With that, she turned Sarkha¡¯s head toward the horse line. Her men had already raised the tent by the time she¡¯d tied the mare up and left her to be brushed down. It had appeared out of nowhere, after they¡¯d left Eayn Zarqa¡¯: a traditional bayt al-shar of camel hair, standing up in a tall peak from the desert, with rugs spread for a floor and cloth hanging to divide it into rooms so that she would have privacy. Ismet had assumed she would sleep in the women¡¯s section of her father¡¯s tent, as she had when he took her on a journey when she was a child, but it seemed a truth of both the north and the south that a general must require their own tent. Fazil followed her in, by the light of small, portable oil lamps, but remained in the outer area, taking a seat on one of the cushions. Past the cloth flap that gave her privacy, Ismet unwound her red hijab. A pail of water from the oasis spring awaited her inside, with a second, smaller pail of shnan soap, for washing her hair. Made from the ashes of a shrub native to the wastes, the mixture had a tendency to gradually bleach blonde into one¡¯s hair, but she still appreciated the luxury. ¡°See to the map, please,¡± Ismet called out to Fazil as she unbound her hair and shed her armor, piece by piece. It was a relief to get the weight off, and her lower back ached from the day¡¯s riding. Not so long ago, she would have died before undressing while speaking to a man, even with cloth between them to shield her modesty. But the urgency of the march made such feelings seem trivial, and perhaps her time in Narvonne had already begun to affect the way she thought. ¡°There are less men than you had hoped,¡± Fazil replied. ¡°Will there be enough?¡± ¡°Do you remember the Hawk¡¯s Nest well?¡± Ismet asked. Once she was nude, she set about washing her hair. ¡°You must have travelled through the pass, when you first went to Ma?¨©n.¡± ¡°I passed through it, yes,¡± Fazil replied. Whatever awkwardness had once existed between them had passed somewhere along the long journey. He was perhaps the only person she could trust all of her thoughts to. ¡°It was a quick passage, however, and I did not see much. It is very narrow, from what I recall.¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°It is,¡± Ismet said, wringing the soapy water out of her hair and back into the pail. ¡°There is a wall of stone that stretches between the rock faces on either side, cutting the road off entirely, with only a single gate. The top of the wall is held by a hundred archers at all times, and Commander Rizqullah has enough men to keep four full shifts.¡± ¡°Four hundred archers, then,¡± Fazil tallied the sum. She could hear the clink of stones as he counted out troop markers. ¡°And another four hundred guards,¡± Ismet continued, ¡°to take shifts inspecting merchant caravans and travellers. Eight hundred, in total, is his normal complement.¡± She pulled her hair back, reaching for a comb to work out the tangles and knots. ¡°That already outnumbers our men, even without reinforcements,¡± Fazil pointed out. ¡°Yes,¡± Ismet agreed. ¡°But there is something more important.¡± ¡°That we have two Exarchs?¡± her aide asked. ¡°No, though that is an advantage,¡± she replied. ¡°My father and Commander Rizqullah are old friends.¡± ¡°So you have said,¡± Fazil admitted. ¡°But I do not believe we can rely on him to simply hand the pass over to us.¡± ¡°They are old friends,¡± Ismet continued, ¡°which is why, when Father took me to the university, we did not simply ride through the pass and continue on. Instead, we stayed with Rizqullah ibn Zayyan for a week as guests, during which time he gave us a tour of the fortifications.¡± There was a clacking sound, and Ismet smiled at the thought of Fazil dropping the stone markers. ¡°You toured the fortifications?¡± he asked. ¡°I was very interested,¡± Ismet recalled. ¡°On my way to the capital, and determined to become an Exarch. It seemed like the sort of thing I should know. And, of course, I was the daughter of a powerful man, a leader in the tribe. It did not hurt that I was rumored to be quite beautiful. There were many guides eager to show me around. To explain how everything worked, and the reasons behind it all.¡± Fazil laughed. ¡°I would have thought, by now, that you would cease to surprise me, General,¡± he said, once he was done. ¡°It would seem that I was wrong.¡± ? Ismet held the corner of her veil aside to take a small bite of khubz, the traditional flatbread of the wastes, and could not help but smile again. It had been years since she¡¯d had real khubz, cooked on hot stones. The remains of a meal lay scattered and defeated around her, with only the last few bites to be finished. Her father, Fazil, Arkan, and Samara ibnah Arif, the Exarch of Saint N¨¡shi?¨¡t, sat around in a loose circle, having made themselves comfortable on the rugs and cushions of her command tent. Now that they had all finished eating, eyes naturally turned to the map and the stones, where Fazil had carefully marked out Ismet¡¯s best estimates at the enemy troop numbers. ¡°I have said before that I am no expert at such things,¡± Samara began, ¡°but if I count those stones correctly, we are outnumbered.¡± ¡°We are,¡± Ismet agreed. ¡°They would have a hair more even if the pass had not been reinforced, and I think we must assume they have at least twelve hundred men, if not more. I do not see much of a point in sending less than four hundred to reinforce the pass, and the more men from Ma?¨©n, the less Nasir would worry about them turning on him.¡± ¡°Traditional wisdom is that assaulting a fortified position, one would wish not merely a numerical superiority, but to have several times the number of troops defending,¡± Arkan pointed out. ¡°This is so,¡± Ismet said. ¡°But we have several advantages. First, division within the ranks of the men guarding the pass. Commander Rizqullah will not wish to betray his old friend, and his men will have no small amount of loyalty to him. They will have spent days cramped by new arrivals, men they do not know from the capital, who disrupt their routines. There will be resentment. When we reveal the presence of not one, but two Exarchs, that will divide them further.¡± ¡°You wish to make a show of things, then,¡± her father guessed. ¡°Indeed. We will ride forward to the wall and call up to speak with the commander. I will make our case in front of every man on the wall,¡± Ismet said. ¡°The presence of Nasir¡¯s men will mean they cannot openly turn against Ma?¨©n, but I think by the time we are done there will be very little desire to fight us. We will give them three days to make a decision.¡± ¡°Can we truly afford to wait three days?¡± Arkan asked. ¡°They could receive more reinforcements. They could send Ashar the Guardian.¡± ¡°I am not certain he would come, even if ordered,¡± Samara mused. ¡°You are both assuming he still lives,¡± Ismet pointed out. ¡°With Valeria and Agrat in the capital, I would not count on it. In any case, we will not give them three days. Instead, we will send a small team here.¡± She pointed a finger at a very particular point on the lower slopes of the mountains, far beneath the pass, two switchbacks down along the road. ¡°What is that?¡± Samara asked. ¡°That,¡± Ismet said, ¡°is a drainage.¡± Her father slapped his thighs and laughed. ¡°Little Ismet, crawling around until you were filthy every day,¡± he recalled. ¡°It seems your time was not wasted.¡± ¡°The pass is very narrow,¡± Ismet explained. ¡°There is no room to build barracks for eight hundred men. Instead, they dug into the rock face on either side. The armories, cisterns, cellars, all of it is mined out of the rock. However, when you mine down, you eventually reach water.¡± ¡°Which requires drainage,¡± Fazil pointed out. He had the advantage that she had already explained it to him once. ¡°It is small,¡± Ismet admitted. ¡°Not even three feet high. We will have to crawl through the water. And there are metal grates along the way, to prevent exactly what we are going to do. I believe the strength of an Exarch, however, will be enough to knock the grates loose.¡± ¡°I hope you are not asking me to do this,¡± Samara said. ¡°No,¡± Ismet assured her. ¡°Once we are through, there will be fighting. I will go myself, with a small group of men. We will crawl through the drainage shaft, then I will lead them up through the fort and out into the pass. We will open the gates, and then, Father, you will lead our army through.¡± She waited, holding her father¡¯s gaze for a long moment. ¡°Were you waiting for me to protest?¡± Salah ibn Yassar asked her with a grin. ¡°You will be disappointed. Go ahead of us, daughter, and open the way. I will be waiting to follow you. Show all of the Caliphate what I have known since you were knee high: once your mind is set, it is useless to stand in your way.¡± 152. Jabal Al Nusur The officers can do their arithmetic about how many men you want to send at a wall, but what I know is this: I¡¯d rather be the one on top of it, than the one climbing the ladder. ? 19th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 Nasir al-Rashid¡¯s reinforcements had brought scorpions. Ismet grimaced, at a glance counting the siege engines along the top of the stone wall that stretched across Eish Alsaqr Pass. ¡°Six,¡± she commented out loud. ¡°That means at least a hundred of the men they brought are likely engineers. They won¡¯t be any good at close in fighting.¡± ¡°And yet, with the siege engines, they are a problem,¡± her father judged. His old gelding, ''Arnaba, shuffled his hooves to Ismet¡¯s left. On her right, Fazil sat his saddle easily, looking unconcerned. ¡°The Narvonnians had more than that at the Tower of Tears,¡± Fazil said. ¡°And the tower itself, besides. If they force us to, we will take the pass.¡± ¡°Let us pray to the Angelus it does not come to that,¡± Samara ibnah Arif said. Behind them, the entire force they had gathered was drawn up, with infantry in the center and two wings of horse archers and lancers at the flanks. They had no siege engines; there was not enough wood in the Maghreb Wastes to build them. The desert tribes fought in other ways. On the wall, between the regularly spaced siege engines, lines of archers were easily visible by torchlight. The stout wooden gate in the center was closed, and whatever traffic might have been moving through the pass before the army was sighted had been shuffled out of sight, likely back down the other side of the mountain slopes. Behind Ismet and her men, the road descended the rocky heights of Jabal Al Nusur, the Mountain of Eagles, in a series of long switchbacks. There had never been any question of approaching by stealth; the fortifications commanded a view of the entire descent. They must have been seen coming, even in the darkness, at quite a distance. ¡°Raise the flag,¡± Ismet commanded Arkan, and her cousin¡¯s husband lifted a banner of bleached white linen on a pole. With that, the five of them rode forward to approach the wall. ¡°Rizqullah ibn Zayyan, you old scoundrel!¡± Ismet¡¯s father shouted, once they had reined in. ¡°Are you up there? It has been too long since we¡¯ve drunk a cup of Qahwa together!¡± Despite the likelihood of impending battle, Salah ibn Yassar wore a broad grin. ¡°I see you down there, Salah,¡± a gentle, wavering voice called down from above. Ismet¡¯s eyes found a tall, thin man with a gray streaked beard, and she was surprised at how much the commander of the pass had aged since she travelled to the capital only a few years before. ¡°I see a lot of other people, as well. I do not know that I have enough Qahwa for all of your friends.¡± ¡°That is a tragedy,¡± Salah admitted. ¡°Perhaps just five cups, then. One each for me and my new nephew, a third for Fazil ibn Asad - you remember his father, don¡¯t you, from that dawn raid on the Botis? And, of course, your two best cups for the Exarchs of N¨¡shi?¨¡t and Epinoia.¡± Ismet could hear the murmuring of the soldiers above at the revelation that two Exarchs were present. Perhaps they had been warned of her, prepared for the idea of facing a single rebel, but now there were two, and that changed things. ¡°As much as I would love to invite you up,¡± Commander Rizqullah replied, ¡°I am afraid there is a man here from the capital who would not allow it.¡± ¡°Ismet ibn Salah!¡± The new voice came from a younger man, whose beard was pure black and whose face was all sharp lines and dark brows beneath his keffiyeh. ¡°You are hereby ordered to surrender yourself and disband your rebel forces, to be taken before the caliph for judgement for your crimes!¡± ¡°You see?¡± Rizqullah said, with a shrug. ¡°He is very insistent.¡± ¡°Nasir al-Rashid,¡± Ismet shouted up, finally breaking her silence, ¡°is no caliph. What is your name?¡± ¡°I am Malik ibn Zain,¡± the dark browed man called back. ¡°And it is not the place of a traitor to say who is or is not caliph. It is your place to submit, and to be instructed, as a woman should.¡± It was fortunate, Ismet decided, that her veil prevented anyone from seeing how her mouth twitched at that particular statement. ¡°A traitor to what?¡± she called back, turning her head to look up and down the wall. ¡°I was placed under the command of General Shadi by the Caliph of Ma?¨©n, Rashid ibn Umar, and sent north to hunt a daemon waking in the Hauteurs Massif. We found the daemon Adrammalech, and more besides. After the Prince of Plagues killed General Shadi, I assumed command of the army to deal with the immediate threat of additional daemons. Who have I betrayed, by doing the work of the Holy Angelus in this world?¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°You allied yourself with the degenerate northerners,¡± Malik called back. ¡°Drinking alcohol and whoring yourself to their decadent rebel prince. Spending the lives of our soldiers for the benefit of your Narvonnian lover.¡± ¡°You dare insult my daughter?¡± her father shouted back, dropping a hand to the hilt of his sword. ¡°I will cut your tongue out and feed it to the vultures!¡± On the wall, archers nocked arrows and raised their bows. ¡°Hold!¡± Commander Rizqullah shouted. ¡°Any man who looses without my order will be thrown in a cell!¡± ¡°I can answer for myself,¡± Ismet shouted. ¡°Did I ally with the Narvonnians? Yes!¡± There was renewed murmuring on the walls at her admission. ¡°And what are the results of that alliance? Adrammelech, Prince of Plagues, dead! Zepar the Scarlet, dead! Vinea the Stormbringer, dead! The Sun-Eater, fled from the field after I struck it blind in one eye! And the Plague Dancer, fled¡­ fled with her daemonic Exarch, Valeria, to Ma?¨©n!¡± At this, shouts broke out on the walls, in protest, shock and anger. ¡°Lies!¡± Malik tried to shout them down, but Ismet continued. ¡°I am the Exarch of Epinoia, and I do not lie!¡± Ismet continued, without giving him space to respond. ¡°We are not Narvonne. Our caliphs have always been chosen by the Angelus. Nasir al-Rashid is not caliph simply because his father was! That is the way of Narvonne, not Ma?¨©n! Where is Isr¨¡f¨©l? If Isr¨¡f¨©l wishes Nasir to be caliph, why has the Angelus not spoken?¡± ¡°It is not for you to question the Caliph!¡± Malik roared. ¡°Why is Isr¨¡f¨©l not in the capital, but a daemon is?¡± Ismet pulled up on Sarkha¡¯s reins, so that the mare danced back on her hind legs, rearing up at her command. ¡°Why do I hear rumors of plague in the Ma?¨©n, even from out in the Maghreb? Why is it that two Exarchs stand before you now, and you refuse to heed the words of the Angelus?¡± The word ¡®two¡¯ could be heard from the walls, and Samara kneed her own steed forward. ¡°Hear me, people of Ma?¨©n,¡± she called, taking her place beside Ismet. ¡°I am Samara ibnah Arif, Exarch of N¨¡shi?¨¡t, and I will ride to Ma?¨©n. Any man who stands in my way, stands against the Angelus. I do not ask you to believe my words, but the evidence of your own eyes!¡± At that, the two Angelus appeared above the army, higher then even the walls, shining down with their own inner light. N¨¡shi?¨¡t and Epinoia were the brightest things in the pass, nearly blinding, with their white wings spread wide. ¡°Stand aside,¡± Epinoia¡¯s voice rang like bells. ¡°Open the gate,¡± N¨¡shi?¨¡t followed. ¡°We are coming to Ma?¨©n to bring justice. Woe to any who would bar our path.¡± On the wall, bows were lowered, and Ismet could feel the men panicking. ¡°Stand down!¡± Commander Rizqullah shouted to his men. ¡°Open the gate!¡± There was a quick, violent movement, and Rizqullah fell with a strangled cry. Next to Ismet, her father cried out also, as if he was an echo. ¡°That is the fate of traitors,¡± Malik shouted, and by the light of the Angelus above Ismet could see dark blood on his drawn blade. ¡°Any man who flees, will be executed! You will hold the gate, at the order of your caliph! These people are rebels and traitors. Archers! Draw!¡± ¡°We should pull back,¡± Fazil said, reining his horse around. ¡°Out of range.¡± ¡°Malik ibn Zain,¡± Ismet shouted, standing her ground. ¡°You are a murderer, and the pawn of daemons. Yet even now I offer you mercy. You have three days to open this gate. Do so, and you will be judged for your crimes like any other man. Do so, and we will pass peacefully, without giving battle. Fail to open the gates, and we will raze your walls to the last stone, and I will kill you myself.¡± ¡°Loose!¡± Malik shouted, and a scattering of arrows fell down out of the sky. Ismet drew her blade, refusing to move back, and cut an arrow out of the sky before it could reach her. Then, slowly and deliberately, she turned Sarkha¡¯s head and rode back to her army. ? ¡°That honorless jackal,¡± her father ranted, storming back and forth across the rugs of Ismet¡¯s tent. ¡°He cut down Rizqullah without a word! I will slit his belly open and stake him out for the buzzards!¡± Fazil was helping Ismet to remove her armor. ¡°You have picked men for me?¡± she asked Arkan. ¡°I have,¡± her cousin¡¯s husband assured her. ¡°I asked for volunteers, and then chose the smallest. I measured each of them against a length of twine cut to your height, Exarch. None of them will be taller than you, though some are more broad.¡± ¡°How many?¡± she asked, buckling her sword back on now that she was clad only in sarwal, belted at the waist, and a silk jubba over her torso. Ismet didn¡¯t want to get stuck in the drainage cut because a piece of armor caught on the rock. ¡°You will have six men,¡± Arkan answered. ¡°If you will have me, I would be the seventh.¡± Ismet stepped forward, finding her eyes level with his chin. ¡°It would appear not, cousin,¡± she said. ¡°It is not a matter of bravery. It is a matter of making it through the tunnel.¡± Arkan nodded, though he did not look pleased. ¡°They wait for you outside the tent.¡± ¡°Then I will see them.¡± Ismet strode forward, off the carpets and onto the hard rock scrabble of the mountain pass. As Arkan had said, six men were assembled in front of her in a line. None of them wore armor, but they had swords and daggers aplenty. She picked out the widest, a muscular man whose wide shoulders seemed nearly as broad as he was tall. ¡°Your name?¡± she asked. ¡°Rayan ibn Aadil,¡± he responded, back straight. ¡°You go last, Rayan,¡± Ismet said. ¡°If you get stuck, we will have to leave you. Is that understood?¡± ¡°It is, Exarch,¡± the soldier assured her. Ismet nodded. ¡°Very good.¡± She stepped back to the center of the line of men, and addressed them. ¡°We are entering a drainage tunnel that leads into the lower levels of the fortifications cut into the mountain. It will be tight, dark, and wet. There will be metal grates to bar our path. I will go first to remove them. When we reach the cellars, I will lead us up and to the gate winch. We will go quickly and silently, and we will kill anyone in our path, without mercy. We will open the gate, and then we will hold it until the rest of our troops arrive. This will not be easy. You may die. Any man who cannot do this, step back now and leave.¡± Not a single man moved. ¡°Follow me,¡± Ismet said, and turned down the slope. ¡°May the Angelus guide you, daughter,¡± her father called after her. ¡°We will see you at the gate!¡± Fazil said. Ismet and her six chosen men walked through the camp, and everywhere they passed, men prayed to the Angelus for blessings upon them. Then, they were out past the picket lines, headed down the mountain under the light of the bright stars above. 153. Maaz the Brave There is nothing more valuable than knowing the ground on which you will fight; that one thing is worth a thousand men. The Campaign Journals of General Aurelius, volume I ? 19th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 If Ismet hadn¡¯t known what to look for, she wasn¡¯t certain she would ever have found the drainage cut. Even with a rough idea of where it must come out, downslope of the pass, it was too difficult to go directly to where it opened up. Instead, she and her group combed the slope, searching for a stream. While Jabal Al Nusur was mostly made up of bare granite rock face, the lower slopes were covered in a smattering of low scrub: clumps of acacia, aloe, and desert rose concealed the rise and fall of the land. Ismet and her men lit torches to see by, and concentrated on inspecting the vegetation. The brush disguised low seams in the slope, where mountain streams tumbled down over smooth, rounded rocks. When they found a waterway, they tracked it back up the slope, searching for a source that was not natural. They followed two streams up to the height of the pass, before Ismet called a halt. She knew the drainage cut would have to come out lower. The third brook, however, spilled out of a metal grate set into the rock. ¡°This is it,¡± Ismet said, splashing down into the water and crouching. She put aside her hesitation: it wouldn¡¯t be only her boots that got wet before this was all over, and she would have worse things than rust on her hands. Ismet grasped the grate and yanked. She was no match for strength of a daemon, but the battle at Rocher de la Garde had brought her many Tithes. Ismet¡¯s muscles strained, and a flare of yellow power shot out from her heart along her limbs as she called on her Boons. No mortal man could match the might of an Exarch, and certainly not an old, rusted steel grate. The bolts which secured the metal into the granite of the mountain gave with a screech, and Ismet threw the grate aside. ¡°Extinguish the torches,¡± she commanded. ¡°But General,¡± one of the men asked. ¡°How will we see?¡± ¡°We go in the dark,¡± she said. ¡°Unless you want to die down there, choking on smoke.¡± As if he wanted to prove he would not be a hindrance, Rayan ibn Aadil, the man with the wide shoulders, immediately ground the head of his torch down against the stones of the stream bed, quenching his flame in the water. Then, he tossed it aside and glared at the other men. In a rush, they followed his example, and Ismet smiled. ¡°Good,¡± she said. ¡°Follow me, and be as quiet as you can. We don¡¯t want them to hear us coming.¡± Ismet had to get down on her hands and knees to get into the drainage cut, and the cold flowing water immediately soaked her hands, her legs from the knee down, and her boots. She couldn¡¯t help but shiver: everything seemed to have gotten colder without the sun, and even if her plan went exactly as she hoped, it would be hours before she could get herself into dry clothes and warm up next to a campfire. She splashed forward, and what dim light there had been from the stars and moon was quickly gone, leaving her in utter darkness. It slowed her down, because she had to feel ahead with her hands, or risk hitting her head on the rock. Ismet felt a hand on her boot, and pushed aside her initial annoyance at the contact. ¡°My apologies, General,¡± the man behind her whispered. ¡°No,¡± Ismet said. ¡°This is better. Everyone keep a hand on the man in front of you. It will help us stay together. Rayan, were you able to get in?¡± ¡°It was a tight fit,¡± the muscular soldier called up from all the way in the back of the line. ¡°But I made it. Just keep going, General.¡± And keep going she did. It was miserable work: even with the increased physical resilience and endurance granted to her by the Angelus, Ismet quickly lost feeling in her cold fingers and toes. They couldn¡¯t move forward faster than a slow crawl, with her groping along at the front and everyone else bumping forward only after she did, like some giant human centipede or caterpillar. There was no way to track time, or progress, save by counting the grates as they found them. Each time her hand reached forward into the black and found metal, Ismet would call back, ¡°grate.¡± The entire line would stop while she got a grip, the men lifting their hands up out of the water and stuffing them under their armpits to try to warm their fingers back up. Not that she could see what they were doing, of course, but Ismet heard them whispering advice to each other while she worked. She started by feeling around each grate, to try to get a picture of it in her mind. Ismet was worried that one of them would be too rusted and break when she pulled, so she tried to find the strongest bars on each grate. Then, she gave it a yank. The tough part was finding a place to put them once she had them dislodged: they took up valuable room, and she didn¡¯t want her men cutting themselves on rusted metal as they passed. In the end, she would feel around to try to get a sense of whether there was more room on the left or the right side of the cut, shove the grate sideways against the wall, and then call back what direction she¡¯d left it on. Stolen story; please report. Then, their human chain would reestablish its links, with each person putting a hand forward to make contact with the one in front of them, and they would resume crawling ahead. They were constantly making their way up, as well as into the mountain, and that made the work more difficult. But the worst part was not anything physical at all. Ismet had never suffered from any particular fear of close spaces, or of the darkness, but deep beneath Jabal Al Nusur, it was difficult not to remember the entire weight of the mountain above them. Just how stable was the drainage cut, anyway? How much care had the miners really taken here? If yanking a grate out of the stone caused a collapse, all of that rock above would come tumbling down on their bodies, grinding them to nothing but bloody paste. Perhaps worse was the nagging idea that, other than making sure the water was still draining, it was unlikely anyone had done any maintenance on the cut since it was first made. What if there had already been a collapse? The stone could have settled in such a way that water still flowed through, but their passage would be blocked. The thought of having to repeat the entire journey, crawling backwards, was terrifying enough, but what if she got stuck? What if she became trapped down here forever, until she starved to death in the dark? Ismet knew that Rayan must have it even worse. Twice, the broad man called up that he was stuck, and everyone halted, waiting. Long moments listening to the soldier grunt and pant, trying to wedge his way through, would pass. Both times, Ismet heard cloth rip. The second time Rayan got stuck, he cried out at the ripping, in pain. ¡°Are you well?¡± she called back. ¡°Scraped myself a bit,¡± he grumbled. ¡°It¡¯s fine. The blood makes it easier to get through.¡± Somehow, they were lucky enough not to have to leave him behind. One of the other men, somewhere around the center of the line, finally broke. ¡°I can¡¯t breathe,¡± the voice came from behind her, and Ismet recognized the same kind of raw panic that had gripped men fleeing from the Sun Eater. The soldier was gasping, nearly panting, so badly that she could hear it clearly up the line. ¡°What¡¯s your name, soldier,¡± Ismet called back. ¡°Maaz,¡± the man choked out. ¡°Brave man.¡± She recognized the meaning. ¡°You have lived up to your name by coming with us this far.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± the man gasped. ¡°I can¡¯t go on. Can¡¯t breathe. Have to get out.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t go back,¡± Rayan told him gruffly. ¡°There¡¯s no way past me through the tunnel. You have to go forward.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Maaz repeated. ¡°Listen to me, Maaz,¡± Ismet said, as calmly and evenly as she could. Now would be the worst possible time to let her own fear show, even if the soldier¡¯s reaction was completely rational. Not the time to think about how easy it would be for all of them to die down here, in the dark. ¡°Breathe with me. In, slowly. Fill your lungs. And out. In,¡± she said, then paused, to follow her own example. ¡°Then out. There is enough air here for all of us. Better?¡± ¡°A little,¡± Maaz said. ¡°Good. In, out. We have already passed the halfway point.¡± It was a lie, but it was something everyone needed to hear, Ismet decided. She would apologize to the Angelus in her prayers later. ¡°We have?¡± Maaz asked, his voice as hopeful as a child¡¯s. ¡°The General knows what she¡¯s doing,¡± Rayan said from behind. ¡°The Angelus guide her.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Ismet said. ¡°And the Angelus will lead us out of this tunnel. We are doing their will in this world.¡± She hesitated for a moment, and then teased out an orange thread from her core, spooling it back to settle over the men behind her. This was not a Boon that she used very often; as a soldier, she did not have occasion to. But Eponoia was the Angelus of Mothers, and the Boons she granted reflected that. ¡°Take comfort. Take heart,¡± Ismet murmured, letting her power settle over the men under her command. If this was working as the Angelus had explained to her, they would each be feeling an echo of the comfort they had once known as children, from their own mothers. ¡°The Angelus are with you.¡± The effect was gradual, but the orange thread that caressed each of the men let Ismet feel how their muscles relaxed, their breathing slowed. The fear was receding. Carefully, after a moment, Ismet withdrew the thread, and allowed the Boon to settle back into her heart. ¡°Can you continue, Maaz the Brave?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡­ I think I can,¡± Maaz said. ¡°Yes, General. I¡¯m ready.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Ismet crawled forward into the darkness. ? It turned out that there were three more grates, but if any of the men realized that she had lied to them earlier, they made no complaint. Whether it was the hope of coming to the end of the tunnel soon, or the lingering taste of Epinoia¡¯s power, Ismet could not have said, but there were no further delays. The men followed her until she reached the final grate. Unlike the others, this one was fixed to the outside of the tunnel, and the edges of the metal grate overlapped the stone wall onto which it was secured. Ismet could not pull the grate inward without breaking it entirely, or twisting it out of shape. A daemon might have been able to do that, but such strength was beyond her. Instead, she punched forward. The bolts set into the stone snapped off, and the grate flew out into the open air beyond, clattering on the stone so loudly that Ismet froze, certain they had been discovered. Only after a long moment of silence passed did she crawl forward and find herself on the edge of a vast cistern. Ismet pulled herself to one side, so that the next man could pass, and sucked in deep breaths, shuddering. It was still dark here, but there was an oil lamp burning on the wall of the corridor that led into the cistern. The drainage cut was set at a level to keep the corridor from flooding, but the cistern itself dropped lower, filled with black water that would keep the men guarding the pass supplied with water indefinitely. There was even a winch, rope and bucket for hauling water up out of the cistern. The presence of the lit oil lamp suggested to her that soldiers came here often, either to fetch water, or on patrol. They would have to be quick. As the others made their way out, Ismet drew her sword. Maaz was second to last, and she clapped a hand on his shoulder once he was out. ¡°You did well,¡± she told him, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. Rayan, bringing up the rear, looked even worse than Ismet had guessed. His clothes were torn in many places, and the skin beneath was scraped raw and bloody where he¡¯d forced himself through the tight stone confines of the drainage cut. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, General,¡± he said, drawing his own sword. ¡°You just lead the way.¡± ¡°Follow me,¡± Ismet said, standing for the first time in hours, and set off up the corridor with her men close behind. 154. The Gate And I say unto you, those who stand against the word of the Angelus, they are forsaken. ? 19th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 The first pair of guards were loitering at the base of the stairs which led down to the cistern level. In the glow of an oil lamp, their eyes were blind to where Ismet and her men crouched in the shadows, close enough to hear the soldiers speak. ¡°...the way he cut down the commander,¡± the guard on the left said. Ismet had missed the beginning while she focused on creeping closer without giving herself away. She had never trained as a spy, but had spent a day riding with her own scouts during the march to Rocher de la Garde. In that moment, it didn¡¯t feel like enough. ¡°Be careful who you say that to,¡± the second guard warned, glancing back up the steps. ¡°He¡¯ll cut you down as quick as he did Commander Rizqullah.¡± ¡°But don¡¯t you think we should do something about it?¡± the guard on the left insisted. ¡°It isn¡¯t right. And two Exarchs - I don¡¯t want to fight that. It¡¯s like spitting in the face of the Angelus themselves.¡± ¡°Listen to me,¡± the second guard said. ¡°You just keep your head down and stay quiet, if you want to survive all this. And if an Exarch somehow ends up in front of you, just drop your sword and walk away. Won¡¯t no one blame you for that.¡± Ismet grinned. She did not, after all, want to kill these men. ¡°Good advice,¡± she said, standing up and stepping out into the light of the oil lamp, where she raised her sword. ¡°I hope that you will take your own words to heart.¡± Both guards¡¯ spun to face her, and Ismet¡¯s men came up out of the gloom to either side of her, their weapons out. ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± the second guard gasped. ¡°Angelus forgive me.¡± He raised his hands in the air. ¡°Maaz, take his weapon,¡± Ismet said. ¡°And find something to tie him up. We can¡¯t risk either of you men making noise,¡± she explained. ¡°Exarch,¡± the first guard said. ¡°You¡¯re here to do right by the commander?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here to get my army to Ma?¨©n, so that I can put an end to the Plague Dancer,¡± Ismet said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt any more people than I have to. But Malik ibn Zain cut down a good man. Yes, I intend to see justice done before I go. And I do not think my father will give up vengeance for the loss of his friend.¡± ¡°Then let me come with you,¡± the guard said. ¡°Why?¡± Ismet asked him. ¡°When I die, and go before the Angelus,¡± the man replied, ¡°and they ask me why I let a good man be murdered and did nothing, what am I going to say?¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Ismet said, with a grin. ¡°Come along then. I¡¯ve only been here once before. The quickest way to the gates. What is your name?¡± ¡°Nazih,¡± he said. ¡°Nazih ibn Farid. Come, Exarch, I will show you the way.¡± Nazih glanced down to where Rayan had trussed the second guard up like a goat. ¡°I will come back for you, as soon as it is done, Abdul,¡± he promised. Abdul grunted and nodded his head, and they hurried up the stairs. Coming upon Nazih, Ismet quickly realized, was an unexpected stroke of luck. The man was familiar not only with the layout of the fortress that was dug into the mountain, but also with the shifts, patrol routes, and routines of the other guards. With Nazih¡¯s guidance, they made it all the way up through the cellars and to the hallway which led to the winch room without having to fight. There were a few tricky moments, when Ismet was afraid to even exhale, and wondered if passing patrols would hear the pounding of her heart, but left to her own she would have had to kill half a dozen men by now. This was better. Unfortunately, at the door to the winch-room was where their fortune ended. ¡°Malik replaced the guards here with his own men, from the capital,¡± Nazih whispered as they all huddled together, crouched down low in the darkest part of the hallway. In the light of an oil lamp, Ismet could see both guards clearly, one to each side of the door. There was no way she could find of approaching any further without being seen. ¡°You did well, Nazih,¡± she said, adjusting her grip on her sword. ¡°Move when I do. You will not be able to keep up, but that is fine. Drag the bodies inside after me and bar the door. Understood?¡± Ismet looked around, meeting each man¡¯s eyes in turn. Each held her gaze, or nodded, to show they were ready. Ismet did not often find herself envious of anyone; she had been raised as the daughter of a powerful tribal leader, in more wealth and privilege than any common tribesman of the Maghreb. She had learned from her own private tutors, and consumed everything they taught her voraciously, until only the University of Ma?¨©n offered her the opportunity to go further. There, she had excelled, and caught the attention of one of the Angelus. She had led men in battle, stabbed the Sun Eater itself through the eye, and been courted by a king. Listed plainly, it sounded more like a campfire tale than someone¡¯s actual life. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. But she could have done with Sir Trist¡¯s speed, right now. The Faerie Exarch would have been able to close the distance to these men before they were even aware of him. Ismet was not that fast on her feet, even with the Boons of the Angelus. While her Tithes to Epinoia had given her greater strength and speed than any mortal woman, it was her stamina and endurance that were truly exceptional, and that wasn¡¯t going to help in this situation. Ismet took a breath, shook her head, and put aside her second thoughts. She would use the tools she had, and not waste her time wishing for more. She pushed off the stone of the corridor floor with her left boot, springing up out of her crouch in a single motion, and sprinted down the hall, through alternating patches of darkness and light, as she passed each oil lamp. The two guards turned at the sound, and she saw their eyes widen in a moment of shock. She was halfway there before either acted, but it was still too great of a distance to stop them from sounding the alarm. ¡°Intruders!¡± one of the guards shouted, grabbing for the pull of a bell hung from the wall to the side of the door, and yanking it. A peal rang out through the hall, while the other man drew his sword. By the time the blade had cleared the scabbard, Ismet was on him, her men only a few steps behind. She opened the guard¡¯s throat with a single quick cut, so that he couldn¡¯t scream and make any further noise. The other man let go of the bell pull and backed away, but Ismet kept right on toward him without slowing, reversing the swing of her sword and bringing it back around to take the second man through the throat, as well. There was a moment of stillness, with the only sound the echoing rings of the bell, dwindling with each strike of the clapper against the bronze. Then, Rayan hit the door behind her with his shoulder, and one of the hinges broke with an audible crack. The door collapsed inward, and her men tumbled into the winch-room. Ismet followed them as soon as the doorway was clear, while in her peripheral vision she saw Nazih grab one of the dead guards under the shoulders, dragging the corpse with a grunt of effort. She had no time for that. Rayan was exchanging cuts with one man, while the other had Maaz backed into a corner. Ismet reached out with a yellow thread and touched each of her men, kindling their bodies with a jolt of yellow lightning visible only to her. The Boon refreshed both of them, as if they¡¯d just woken from a night¡¯s rest. With a sudden increase of strength and confidence, her two soldiers quickly cut down their foes, while Ismet turned to the winch. She sheathed her sword, and took a hold of the crank. ¡°Rayan, help me here,¡± Ismet said. ¡°The rest of you, drag the bodies inside and bar the door as best you can.¡± ¡°My apologies for the hinge, Exarch,¡± Rayan said, getting in beside her to help turn the crank. ¡°Shoddy construction.¡± ¡°For that, you can be the first in line to hold the door when they come through,¡± Ismet told him with a grin. ¡°The gate is coming up!¡± Nazih shouted. He was standing next to a vertical cut in the rock face; Ismet imagined it would make a good location for an archer, but from the torchlight coming in, she guessed it also provided a good view of the gate. Indeed, panicked shouts sounded out from the road and the wall. Further away, horns sounded out in the night. ¡°That will be our men,¡± Ismet said, with one final grunt, as she and Rayan turned the winch one last rotation. ¡°Here, let me,¡± Nazih said, coming over to them, and the guard engaged the brake. ¡°It will stay up, now, unless someone releases the rope here.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Ismet said. ¡°Our task here is simple, men. We hold this room, and let no one pass alive.¡± From outside in the corridor came the sound of shouting, and then, a moment later, a more distinct voice. ¡°Open this door!¡± a man called from outside the winch room. ¡°Should we say anything?¡± Maaz asked, his voice hushed. ¡°I do not think it will make a difference one way or the other,¡± Ismet admitted, grinning even though the men could not see her expression beneath the veil. ¡°Goats fucked your mother,¡± Rayan called back out through the door. ¡°And we don¡¯t want any goat-fucker¡¯s sons in here.¡± It was ridiculous, and the men couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Ismet was surprised to find that she was laughing along with them. A moment later, the door shook as the men out in the hall tried to break it down. ¡°I regret breaking the hinge now,¡± Rayan admitted, as the head of a spear poked through the gap between the door and the frame carved into the stone. Ismet backed up from the door, leaving it to her men to hold for a moment, and drew her sword again. ¡°Let them through on my command,¡± she said, ¡°and then get to the side.¡± None of the men objected, and when Ismet shouted, ¡°Now!¡± they all jumped to one side of the room or the other. The door tumbled in, and two men fell on top of it. Ismet stabbed down twice, killing them both, then strode forward up to the doorway. Outside, the corridor was crowded with a dozen soldiers or more, all of them pressed together and trying to break into the winch room. So long as Ismet didn¡¯t go out to join them, they could only come through the doorway one at a time - two, at most. ¡°I am Ismet ibnah Salah, Exarch of Epinoia,¡± she greeted them, settling into a low stance and raising her blade. ¡°Come against me, and die. Flee, and you may yet live, if you run far enough and fast enough.¡± They did not believe her at first, but when she had slain the eighth man, piling the bodies up knee deep in the doorway, those that remained had seen enough. The last of them broke and ran. ¡°Hold the winch,¡± Ismet commanded her men. ¡°Rayan ibn Aadil has command here.¡± ¡°Where are you going, Exarch?¡± Maaz asked. ¡°I said I would see justice done,¡± Ismet called back over her shoulder. ¡°I am going to find Malik ibn Zain.¡± Sword in hand, she stalked out into the endless night. 155. Malik ibn Zain Aye, I¡¯ve gotten plenty of advice over the years - most of it wise, no doubt. Revenge won¡¯t bring your friends back, Titus, now will it? Shit like that. And no, it won¡¯t. But you know what? Some bastards just have to die. ? 19th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 The mountain pass was little more than a press of bodies and steel beneath the light of the moon. Small circles of lamplight illuminated the struggling mass, picking out individual soldiers with a glint of firelight on steel. Ismet paused at the open doors that separated the fortifications dug into the cliffs from the pass itself. The blade of her sword was wet with blood, not only from the men she¡¯d killed at the winch room, but also from three smaller skirmishes along the way. But nothing had prepared her for this. Between her father¡¯s men, the troops she¡¯d been given by W¨¡li Marwan, and the men who¡¯d joined them from all across the wastes, they had brought near eight hundred soldiers to the pass. Commander Rizqullah had commanded another eight hundred men before reinforcements arrived from Ma?¨©n. Though she could not be certain of the exact numbers, Ismet guessed there were something like two thousand men here, between both sides. It looked like nearly all of them had pressed onto the thin road that ran through the gate, between the rock faces of Jabal Al Nusur on either side. There was no room for tactics, not even room for battle lines. Instead, an incomprehensible mass of bodies simply pushed in on itself in a crush, swaying back and forth as more men tried to get in through the open gate. Ismet saw soldiers fall, only to be lost in the surging tide of flesh and never rise again. She couldn¡¯t even tell whether they were her men, or the enemy. With a sudden urge to retch, she turned back into the garrison and made her way to the nearest stairs. There was no way she was going out into that mess; even with the strength of the Angelus, there was little or nothing she would be able to do. The thought of being trampled underfoot, ground into the dust of the mountain as her bones snapped and boots trod her face down¡­ Ismet shuddered, putting out her left hand to steady herself against the wall of the stairwell. From the wall, at least, she would be able to see; and perhaps able to do something about enemy archers. Shouts echoed up the stairs from behind her; soldiers must have thrown themselves into the garrison to escape the morass outside. They could fight each other. Four years, it seemed, was not enough time for Ismet to forget the way up to the top of the wall. She did not get lost or turned about; instead, she kicked the door open and dashed through, out into the cool night air above the slaughter. Malik ibn Zain¡¯s archers were shooting down from the wall into her army, below, where the men pushed forward to get in the gate. The bowmen didn¡¯t even have to aim: they simply nocked an arrow, leaned around the crenelations, and loosed down into the army. The men were packed together so tightly that every shot hit something. Ismet lunged at the nearest archer, and the man never even saw her. Her blade flashed, and the man¡¯s head dropped over the wall, while his body slumped down at her feet. A bolt of power shot up her arm, the shuddering passage of a Tithe, but she did not allow it to distract her. There would be time to sort all that out with Epinoia after the battle was won. The second archer screamed before he died, and that raised a shout. ¡°Enemy on the wall!¡± the bowmen called, and turned to flee from Ismet. Archers never held once you got in among their ranks. It was just as effective as killing them; whether they were fleeing her or dying, either way the barrage of arrows ceased falling on Ismet¡¯s men below. ¡°Rally on me!¡± a man¡¯s voice shouted. ¡°We¡¯ll push them off the wall!¡± Ismet grinned. Ahead of her, Malik ibn Zain, with a handful of his men, fell into formation to block her path. ¡°There¡¯s just one of them, Commander,¡± one of the men from the capital exclaimed. ¡°One is enough to be the death of you,¡± Ismet snarled, stalking forward and flicking her blade through the air to clear it of blood. ¡°Malik! Justice has come for you. Face it on your feet or die like a dog.¡± ¡°Kill her,¡± Malik snarled, eyes shining from beneath his dark, heavy brows. ¡°That¡¯s an Exarch,¡± one of his men protested. ¡°Are you mad?¡± With a single, straight arm shove, Malike sent his own guard tumbling off the wall down into the press of men below. The man screamed as he fell, and then could be heard no more over the chaos of battle. ¡°Kill her,¡± Malik repeated, ¡°or I¡¯ll kill you myself.¡± His remaining men charged, shields raised and swords flashing by the light of the oil lamps that lit the wall. Ismet waited until they were almost upon her, then leapt up onto the crenelation to her right. For a frozen heartbeat, she balanced there; if her boot slid out from under her, she would tumble down off the wall and be lost. Then, with the inhuman strength and grace gifted to her by the Angelus, she leapt again, coming down behind the charging men in a crouch. She spun on her toe as she landed, one leg extended like a dancer, and cut the hamstrings of the rearmost soldiers, sending them to their knees. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The men in the front rank scrambled to turn and face her, just in time for Ismet to leap again, planting both her feet on a man¡¯s shield and bearing him to the ground. As they came down, she sunk her blade into the other man¡¯s neck, just where it joined the shoulder, and a fountain of blood told her he was as good as dead. She hopped off the shield before she could lose her balance and fall, and instead stomped on the man¡¯s helm. The steel could not stand against the strength of the Angelus, and crushed in, popping the man¡¯s skull like a ripe melon. In less time than it would take to draw a breath for each man she had killed, Ismet and Malik ibn Zain were alone on the top of the wall. Wherever the archers had fled to, they had abandoned their commander. ¡°You¡¯re a daemon,¡± Malik snarled. ¡°Ironic,¡± Ismet said, carefully stepping her way out from among the heap of corpses so that she would be able to rely on her footing. She raised her sword, keeping it between Malik and herself. ¡°You stand against the chosen of the Angelus, barring our way. You protect the Plague Dancer and the man who has usurped the Caliphate. And you name me a daemon? Are you truly so blind? Or simply a fool?¡± ¡°All your pretty words do nothing to change the fact that you are a traitor,¡± Malik insisted, raising his own blade. ¡°You were sent north to crush the Narvonnians, and instead you joined them. You could have wed our caliph, and instead you ran off to fuck an infidel prince. You¡¯ve thrown away everything our people gave you, and now you lead a rebellion to spill the blood of your own brothers and sisters. You have brought nothing but suffering to this place.¡± ¡°I gave you a chance to surrender,¡± Ismet reminded him. ¡°Your response was to cut down a good man.¡± ¡°Rizqullah ibn Zayyan was only one more traitor,¡± Malik spat. ¡°And I will send you to join him.¡± Instead of a shield, he drew a second curved sword from his belt, holding one in each hand, and falling into a modified stance with the two swords parallel to each other. Ismet narrowed her eyes, then leapt forward, making a cut down from above her shoulder on the diagonal. Malik parried with both his swords, then immediately shifted. With his left sword, he kept her in the bind, while with his right, he sliced at her belly. Only the speed of the Angelus allowed Ismet to leap back in time to avoid the cut. Getting her feet back under her, she began to circle, her movements hampered by how narrow the wall was. Malik merely grinned, and followed her movements, maintaining distance. ¡°Never fought a man with two swords before, have you?¡± he taunted her. ¡°Your time at university and a few small battles are nothing compared to the years I¡¯ve spent fighting the Botis.¡± The man had height on her, and reach as well. Ismet lunged forward again, this time circling her blade back and swinging a rising cut up at Malik¡¯s groin. Again, he cut down with both blades to knock her strike aside, and then immediately flicked one sword up at her chest while using the other to keep her blade out of play. This time, instead of leaping back, Ismet dropped her sword and continued forward, closing distance before Malik was ready. His blade sliced through the silk of her jubba and scored a cut along her ribs as she went by. But Ismet was inside his guard now, past where he could cut with his swords, and though Malik was larger than her, she was stronger. Ismet¡¯s hands shot up, grabbing him by both sides of the head, and she jerked her hands, pushing forward with her right while pulling back with her left. There was an audible snap, and Malik ibn Zain¡¯s body fell to the stones, his two swords clattering down next to him. Her fingers spasmed as the man¡¯s soul flowed into her. Once the Tithe had passed, Ismet dropped a hand to her side, and felt the heat of her own blood. She pressed her hand to the wound, retrieved her sword, and hacked off Malk¡¯s head in a single stroke. Then, she strode to the inside edge of the wall, and shouted down over the press of bodies. ¡°Men of Ma?¨©n!¡± Ismet screamed, her throat already raw. ¡°Men of Ma?¨©n, hear me! Your commander is dead!¡± She let go over her bleeding wound so that she could raise the severed head of Malik in one hand, and her sword in the other, both into the air above her. From below, a cheer broke out from Ismet¡¯s own men, mingled with a cry of despair from those who had held the gate. ¡°Throw down your weapons!¡± Ismet begged them. ¡°Let no more men die this day! The Angelus command it!¡± Above her, Epinoia opened her wings, her light shining down on the battle. Men began to drop their swords, and Ismet was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness. It was all she could do not to fall, to remain standing strong and upright, until her father¡¯s men reached her. ? Someone had moved Ismet¡¯s things into a room in the garrison, and now she was able to recline against her own pillows while Samara used a cloth soaked in water from the cistern to clean her wound. ¡°I believe it will heal clean,¡± the Exarch of N¨¡shi?¨¡t said, after looking it over. ¡°You will have a scar, however. And I would suggest you rest for at least a week before riding.¡± She began to wrap bandages of white linen around Ismet¡¯s naked torso. ¡°We ride as soon as the men have had a chance to sleep,¡± Ismet insisted. ¡°And to have a meal. The longer we wait, the worse things will be in Ma?¨©n.¡± She wondered what Lionel would think of her scar. Some men turned away from the women they claimed to love as soon as the blush of youth was gone; she did not think he was one of those, but a scar could be an ugly thing. ¡°Are you fit to receive company, Daughter?¡± her father called from outside the room. ¡°One moment, Father,¡± she called back. Samara had brought her a clean change of clothes, and Ismet did not allow the pain of the wound to stop her from dressing. Once she was dressed again, not only her father entered, but Fazil and Arkan as well. ¡°She will live?¡± Salah ibn Yassar asked Samara. Fazil grunted. ¡°It will take more than a single cut to kill your daughter,¡± he grunted, taking a seat among the cushions. ¡°If the Sun Eater could not do it, a man like Malik did not have even a prayer.¡± ¡°I will be fine,¡± Ismet assured her father. ¡°The ride to Ma?¨©n will be enough time for the wound to close.¡± ¡°That is not normally how such things work,¡± Arkan protested. ¡°Moving will only break the wound open again, over and over.¡± ¡°I am an Exarch,¡± Ismet said. ¡°It will heal. What were our losses?¡± ¡°At least two hundred dead,¡± her father said. ¡°And as many again wounded.¡± Ismet closed her eyes. That was half her host. ¡°However,¡± Fazil broke in, ¡°tell her the rest.¡± Arkan leaned forward. ¡°Nearly the entire garrison surrendered. What¡¯s more, most of them stayed out of the fighting entirely. They remained in their bunks and barred the doors. Most of what we fought were the reinforcements from the capital. And, Exarch, they will join us.¡± ¡°Join us?¡± Ismet blinked, unable to comprehend. ¡°Malik killed their commander,¡± her father explained. ¡°And we came under the light of two Angelus. We will leave our wounded to hold the pass, and take Rizqullah ibn Zayyan¡¯s men with us to Ma?¨©n. Ismet, we will march with more men than before we reached the pass. We will bring over a thousand soldiers against the traitors.¡± Ismet exhaled. It was better than she¡¯d had any right to expect. ¡°Let the men sleep and eat,¡± she said. ¡°And treat the wounded. Then, we march.¡± 156. Road鈥檚 End I have commanded that the ancient seal be broken, to reveal what lies beyond. As the governor of the province, I cannot be expected to make decisions in ignorance. ? 13th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 As the hooves of Cern¡¯s faerie steeds brought them further north, and closer to Vellatesia, Trist and Acrasia found that the very land had been twisted by the evil of the ruins. The roots of the trees grasped at the old Etalan road like the withered fingers of an old man, but with far greater strength. At first along the edges, the road had crumbled under the assault, and after the first day¡¯s riding, they lost the track entirely. ¡°Can you still feel it?¡± Trist asked Acrasia, looking back to where her horse had paused, swishing its tail against the flies. The motion was unconscious: even without eyes to see, he found himself constantly turning toward the sound of voices. ¡°Not even an itch,¡± the faerie lady admitted. They had been relying on her reaction to the ancient spells worked into the Etalan roads for the last stretch, but now even that was gone. ¡°Auberon said nothing of this - when he took your father here twenty years ago, the road was still intact.¡± Trist sighed. He had hoped to avoid using the Hunter¡¯s Boon, because he did not know how the corruption that had seeped into the area might impact him, but they could no longer put the attempt off. He took a moment to examine the forest all around them, seeing now as clearly as ever, but in a detached way that constantly felt like he was looking in on the world from the outside. He felt as if he were looking in the window of a home, instead of joining those within at the dinner table. Not only were the roots of the trees twisted and gnarled, but their trunks and boughs as well. In many places, the bark was split and weeping sap, as if the forest itself had been wounded. In others, the trees were obviously dead, without any greenery. Instead, there was such a proliferation of mushrooms up the side of the trunk and in the roots that Trist could think of it as nothing so much as a pack of hungry dogs gnawing at a carcass. In contrast to everywhere else in the world, here the temperature only seemed to rise as they moved closer to Vellatesia. While Trist caught glimpses of his wife in the frozen north, or Ismet shivering around a campfire under the desert stars, he found himself slick with sweat beneath his armor. The ground was muddy, and mosquitos and flies buzzed about them no matter how the horses flicked their tails. Trist might have expected the Will o¡¯ the Wisps, the faerie lights, to dance in the darkness of the Arden, now that there was no sunlight to chase them away: but here, at least, he found no trace of Auberon¡¯s court. ¡°The Gate of Horn,¡± Trist murmured to himself, casting out a glittering thread from his core into the forest. The strand sparked orange, then settled on something in the distance, ahead of them and to the right. A wave of nausea boiled up in Trist¡¯s stomach, leaving him gasping and hunched forward in his saddle. ¡°Trist?¡± Acrasia asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He had not noticed her ride up alongside him. ¡°Angelus,¡± Trist breathed, leaning his forehead against the warmth of his steed¡¯s mane. ¡°I can feel it, Acrasia. Nothing is right where we are going. No place should feel like this.¡± ¡°Do you need to rest?¡± she asked. ¡°Resting will not help.¡± He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. ¡°I will get used to it.¡± Trist pulled the horse¡¯s head around by the reins, correcting their path ahead, and pressed his heels in. Acrasia rode alongside him, half a step later. ¡°We had lost the track truly,¡± he explained. ¡°And our path was turning west. If we had kept on as we were, we would never have reached Vellatesia, and found ourselves at the western sea instead.¡± ¡°I no longer feel any of Auberon¡¯s power here,¡± Acrasia admitted. ¡°This part of the forest has become twisted against his will, to serve the purposes of another. I suspect this will only be the first attempt to keep us from the gate. To say nothing of the bindings laid down by Aurelius and his priests.¡± ¡°Can you be certain those bindings still hold?¡± Trist asked, as they picked their way forward without a path. The underbrush was dense, and the horses'' hooves sucked at the mud with every step. ¡°If they had broken completely, the king would not need you,¡± Acrasia pointed out. ¡°Your ancestors worked to seal out daemons and faeries alike, but not mortal men. Your father walked there, and so can you. But I could not enter on my own. I will need to take shelter inside the sword, when we arrive, until you have carried me through.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Trist nodded. ¡°A problem for when we get there. Let us see to the journey, first.¡± Without a sun to mark the passage of days, the bells of a nearby town¡¯s church, or the routines of an army on the march, time lost all meaning. They rode until the horses needed to rest, and they could not even see the white ring of the blotted sun for the thick foliage above their heads. While the horses recovered, Trist and Acrasia ate faerie fruits packed by Queen Nivi¨¨ne, and he found that a single apple or peach was enough to fill his belly until the next stop. The horses had bags of oats, but Trist worried about them nonetheless. They had yet to find any water that he could feel confident was clean. The parts of the Arden that he had known from boyhood were criss-crossed with shallow streams, fast running over stony beds. Trist had assumed this part of the forest would be the same, but found he was entirely wrong. Here, there was little but mud, and what water they did find was brackish, slicked with slime and algae, and buzzing with flies. He let the horses drink from it, because there was nothing else, even though he knew it was a mistake. Their progress slowed; the undergrowth grew so thick, and the footing so soggy and treacherous, that Trist had to dismount and pick them a path himself, trying to find earth that would hold the weight of the horses one step at a time. Acrasia, perched atop her mare, followed directly behind his horse in silence. It was during their fourth break to rest the horses that the effects of the brackish water became clear. The horses were sweating even after a rest, their eyes dull. When the mare released a load of dung onto the forest floor, it was wet and loose, and reeked of death. ¡°Unsaddle them,¡± Trist told Acrasia. ¡°It will slow us down to go on foot,¡± she protested. ¡°If we keep the horses with us,¡± he countered, ¡°they will die before we ever reach Vellatesia. If we let them go now, they may be able to find clean water, or make it back to your brother. Either way, we will walk the rest of this journey. They are no longer strong enough to carry us.¡± Trist set the saddles and the rest of the tack aside, leaving them beneath an old willow in a heap. The saddlebags, he slung over his shoulders, carrying their supplies himself. Then, he pressed his face to the forehead of each horse in turn. ¡°Find your master,¡± he told them. ¡°Find Cern.¡± Then, he slapped them each once on their haunches, to get them moving. They were faerie horses; perhaps they understood. Whether they did or not, neither seemed to feel any hesitation in getting out of this haunted, cursed land. As Trist had suspected it would, setting the horses loose actually improved their progress, for a time. No longer was he forced to seek a way for the massive animals, only for he and Acrasia, who were much smaller. She, at least, was lighter on her feet then him, and he had only to find ground that would support his own weight, knowing the faerie would be able to follow. The sick feeling never left his stomach, and Trist did not expect any relief until he released the strand that linked his core to the gate, somewhere in the distance. He forced himself to eat anyway, when they stopped to rest, because he knew his body needed the food. Every third rest, he slept as best he could. It might have been the second day of their travel, or perhaps the third, when the spirits first came. It began with moaning and coughing, so close and so like a sick child that Trist was instantly on his feet, casting about for the source. ¡°Hello?¡± he called out into the woods. ¡°Where are you?¡± There was no response at first, and then the moaning resumed. Trist let his vision expand, scanning the dark forest for any sign of a person other than he or Acrasia, but there was nothing. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± Acrasia asked. ¡°It smells like smoke.¡± Trist inhaled, and got a lungful of it. Not just woodsmoke, but the scent of fouler things burning, as well. He had at first thought the coughing that of a child afflicted by a winter fever, but when it came again he instantly recognized it for what it was: someone choking on smoke. ¡°A lightning strike?¡± he asked, turning to Acrasia. ¡°No,¡± she said, after a moment. ¡°It is too wet here for anything to catch fire. Do you recall what happened to Vellatesia, Trist?¡± ¡°It burned,¡± he answered. There was no child in the woods, and no fire, but when they moved again they were accompanied by the constant reek of smoke, and piteous moaning, coughing, and eventually wailing. The sounds made it impossible to hear any ambush or predator coming through the underbrush: worse, they grated on the soul so badly that Trist could no longer sleep. They had moved into a true swamp, now, though he had never read that the old provincial capitol was built in a marsh. Tussocks of strong earth could only be found where they were anchored by roots, and the rest of the terrain was a thick, dark sludge that sucked at any boot which slipped in. Trist could not have guessed how deep the briny swamp mud went, and he had no desire to find out whether he could touch the bottom. The trees around them were swamp trees, now, exclusively: willows of various sorts, hanging with moss, and the sort of reeds and shrubs he might have expected to see near the ocean. Before long, he was soaked in mud and sweat, with mosquito bites itching beneath his armor, and a stomach that still roiled with the sickening wrongness of what lay ahead. There was no point in even trying to sleep, but Trist comforted himself with the idea that the ruins could not possibly be far, now. When the trees finally broke, it happened so suddenly that Trist didn¡¯t even realize it at first. It was only when his boot scraped on an ancient stone that he looked aside from picking his way forward, and saw the blotted white sun and the pale moon above in the starry, open sky. The Ardenwood had never truly reclaimed Vellatesia, it seemed, for the ruins loomed ahead, painted by moonlight. They were in the Etalan style, white limestone with fallen pillars, the wreck of palaces and statues, long-dry fountains, and a great circular building of many stories which Trist could not even guess the purpose of. The moans and cries of the dead had ceased, and the first cool wind they had felt in days whistled through the ruins. Trist¡¯s orange thread stretched from his core into the center of the city, sparking in the night. ¡°We made it,¡± he said, with a sigh. ¡°Now comes the hardest part,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°And you will have to do it alone, Trist. I cannot pass the seals.¡± She stretched out a hand to the hilt of his sword, shimmered, and vanished, leaving Trist alone on the edge of the ancient ruins. He rolled his shoulders once, cracked his neck, and trudged forward out of the swamp and into the haunted city. 157. The Seal It is a gate that leads nowhere, though it is of surprisingly fine craft, and strange material. I am certain that no Etalan hand built this, but it cannot have been the Narvonni savages. ? 16th Day of High Summer¡¯s Moon, AC 297 The outer neighborhoods of Vellatesia had been nearly entirely consumed by the Ardenwood. Crumbled stone foundations were overgrown with moss and grasses, sinking into dark pits filled with scrub and young trees. Trist continued to move carefully, though now instead of being concerned that his boot would get stuck in the mud of the sucking swamp, he worried that a turned stone under his heel would lead to a collapse. The last thing he needed was to be dumped into a centuries old cellar, break his leg, and have to crawl the rest of the way. Perhaps a quarter mile in, he found a barrier far more intimidating. Acrasia had spoken of how the ancient priests of the Angelus had sealed the city, and so Trist had been picturing something like the seal of Veischax beneath the Cathedral of Saint Camiel in Lutetia. He should have known better: rather than the tomb of a single Angelus, here an entire city had been locked away. A circle of fire, raised up in a sheet higher than the tip of a mounted knight¡¯s lance, stretched to his right and left until it was lost amidst the ruins. The light cast by the wall of flame cast flickering shadows from the tumbled stones of the ancient city. Trist stepped forward and razed a single, gauntleted hand, but he could feel the heat of the blaze even from half a dozen paces away, and was forced to back off again. ¡°Acrasia,¡± he said, glancing down at the sword on his belt, into which the faerie had retreated. ¡°How do I pass this?¡± ¡°The seal was created to bar the passage of daemons,¡± Acrasia answered, ¡°above all others. We believe that Veischax would have left a means for Angelus and their Exarchs to find a way through, but the single time Auberon sent a knight, they were nearly destroyed by the flames.¡± ¡°Just the physical body?¡± Trist asked, pacing a ways to the right, to see whether there was any difference in the wall of fire. ¡°No,¡± Acrasia¡¯s voice came from just behind his ear. ¡°This fire is more real than most of your world. It will consume your soul utterly, if you let it.¡± ¡°Then how did my father pass through?¡± Trist asked. ¡°And come to think of it, how did my mother? If she was still Exarch to Agrat at the time, she was exactly the sort of person the barrier was designed to kill.¡± ¡°We believe they were judged worthy to pass,¡± Acrasia said. ¡°By who?¡± ¡°Recall the bindings on Adrammelech, and beneath the cathedral in Lutetia,¡± the faerie woman prodded him. ¡°Your priests renew most bindings yearly. But when the Angelus needed to be certain that a seal would last¡­¡± ¡°They used the corpse of an Angelus to fuel it,¡± Trist finished. ¡°Camiel in Lutetia. Abatur in Falais.¡± ¡°And there was one other Angelus who died during the Cataclysm,¡± Acrasia pointed out. ¡°Saint Madiel, Angelus of Fire,¡± Trist said, nodding. ¡°We lit bonfires to him every High Summer, to drive away witches and dragons. He died fighting the Sun Eater.¡± He couldn¡¯t see Acrasia nod, tucked away inside the sword as she was, but Trist could imagine it well enough. ¡°You must convince whatever remains of Madiel that you are worthy to enter,¡± she said. Trist sighed, lifted his wineskin and took a drink to wet his throat. Even at a safe distance, the wall of fire was making him sweat beneath his armor. Speak to a dead Angelus - of course. He stoppered the wineskin, noting that it was less than half full, drew his sword, and took a knee. He removed his helm out of respect, and set it down on the ancient stones of Vellatesia¡¯s outer streets at his side, then clasped his hands over the hilt of his sword, letting the point rest between two stones, and began to pray. ¡°Saint Madiel,¡± Trist said, ¡°Protect us and keep us in your warmth and in your light. I ask you to hear my words now, and to listen to my plea. Three hundred years gone, you sacrificed yourself fighting the Sun Eater. Now the monster has come again, and we must put an end to it. The world is dying in darkness. Please, let us pass.¡± ¡°Like your father before you,¡± a voice cracked and hissed from the flames, like a green log throne onto the fire. Weak at first, it strengthened and deepened until a burning form stepped forth from the seal. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Madiel - or whatever was left of him - was fashioned entirely of flame and smoke. Stones underfoot cracked with the heat of his passage, and sparks were carried aloft by a sudden gust of wind. As it approached, the Angelus spread six wings, three to each side, like the Caliphate legends of the phoenix. Trist braced himself against the staggering wave of heat that emanated from the Angelus, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his sword. ¡°My thanks, Honored Saint,¡± he said, ¡°for listening to my petition. It is true; my father came here while I still grew in my mother¡¯s womb.¡± ¡°But not alone,¡± Madiel intoned. ¡°Three mortals entered, one daemon dragged behind them in chains, and you, the tiniest seed within your mother¡¯s belly. I allowed you passage once, at the petition of your parents, and now you seek it again. Nor are you alone now.¡± ¡°It is true,¡± Trist said. ¡°The faerie Lady Acrasia bides within my blade, and would accompany me. And though they are dead, the ghost of my father is here, and his companion Sir Tor, who came to you once before. And my elder brother.¡± ¡°Nothing is new,¡± Madiel mused. ¡°Everything that passes, comes again.¡± The Angelus waved a hand, and three ghosts appeared in a line with Trist, each one a knight kneeling in their armor. ¡°Saint Madiel,¡± Rience du Camaret-¨¤-Arden said, ¡°we meet once again, as you said we would.¡± ¡°And here I thought,¡± Tor said with a laugh, ¡°when he claimed we would meet after death, he meant in some higher world. A world without pain. You could have been more clear.¡± ¡°Nothing is certain,¡± Madiel said. ¡°But even then, I saw that skulking thief, Auberon, at the edge of his forest, watching you. I surmised his goal. And so you have come before me again, no longer an infant, now a man grown,¡± the Angelus said, turning back to Trist, ¡°at the bidding of the King of Shadows. To cut this world from the others like a knife cuts the child free from the mother.¡± ¡°I come to keep an oath,¡± Trist said. ¡°And to end this long night. You sacrificed yourself once to stop Samm¨¡?¨¥l,¡± he pressed. ¡°Will you not help us this time, as well?¡± ¡°I am tired,¡± Madiel admitted. ¡°I have stood sentry here, little more than a shadow, through the long years. My fight did not end in death, but only continued. I would see it done. Perhaps,¡± the Angelus continued, looking over the ghosts that knelt beside Trist, ¡°Some of you now understand what that means.¡± He turned back to Trist, and knots of white flame locked onto Trist¡¯s core. ¡°When I go,¡± the Angelus of Fire said, ¡°the seal goes as well. I have no more strength to lower the wall, and then raise it - only to hold steady. The last of me will be spent doing what you seek.¡± ¡°Then go to your rest,¡± Trist said. ¡°Is it not well earned, by now?¡± ¡°You fail to understand, mortal child,¡± Madiel said. ¡°Without the seal, what will pass, will pass. I hope you are prepared to fight.¡± ¡°The daemons will be able to get into the city,¡± Trist realized. ¡°But it will take them time to get here.¡± ¡°Less time than you think,¡± Madiel warned. ¡°Where you struggle to take your first steps, they have long ago learned to run. And the seal does not hold only what is without - but also what was bound within.¡± ¡°The daemons that destroyed Vellatesia three hundred years ago,¡± Trist said, with a sigh. Of course. How many would there be? Two? Half a dozen? A score? ¡°And they will all be free to leave, to escape out into the world. But they will be weak, will they not? Starved by the years?¡± ¡°Like I was,¡± Acrasia whispered. ¡°Weak, but still a danger,¡± the Angelus agreed. ¡°If not to you, than to any mortal they encounter.¡± ¡°Then I will ensure that not a single one of them escapes this place,¡± Trist promised. ¡°Will you help me, Father?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Sir Rience agreed. ¡°I might as well,¡± Sir Tor echoed. ¡°Always, brother,¡± Percy spoke for the first time. ¡°Always.¡± Trist rose to his feet. ¡°Then we are prepared.¡± Madiel did not struggled to lower the seal; instead, it was as if the figure of fire let out a great sigh, relaxing its shoulders in great relief. The wall of flame guttered just as the Angelus itself did, and a moment later, both were gone. Now, the only light that spilled onto the ruins of Vellatesia was the light of the moon and stars, and close by Trist the feint glow of the ghosts who accompanied him. ¡°May you find the peace you deserve,¡± Trist said. Acrasia appeared next to him, now that the seal was gone, and the wind caught the fabric of her black dress and tossed it like a sail. ¡°Do you know what we must fight?¡± he asked, turning to his father and Sir Tor. ¡°Starved and shrivelled things,¡± the ghost of his father said. ¡°They were afraid of Cecilia, for the most part. She knew their names. Bael, the Cat that Hunts in the Clouds. Balan, the Three Headed Serpent. Gusion, the Great Ape. More, that I do not know.¡± ¡°We hunt them,¡± Trist said. ¡°Do not let a single one escape the city.¡± He lifted his sword and strode forward, into the ruins, with the three ghosts fanning out to his sides and the faerie behind them. It was Percy who found the first. ¡°There!¡± he cried, pointing to their left, where a shadow in the shape of a winged man dashed between one building in the next. Trist¡¯s Boon of Shadows served him in good stead, then, during that whole long fight into the heart of the city. Faster than a man could blink, he closed with his sword raised to strike. The daemon had the form of a nude man with feathered wings, and a crown of bone that rose from his skull to wicked, twisted points. The monster was emaciated, its eyes dull, and it raised a single thin arm to protect itself. ¡°Wait,¡± it croaked with a voice centuries unused. ¡°I can give you power, mortal,¡± it begged. Trist¡¯s sword rose and fell, splitting the daemon¡¯s core in half. The knot of dull red threads, long starved of Tithes, uncoiled and were sucked up into Trist¡¯s sword. His arm shuddered as his portion of the Tithes passed into him. ¡°Only three,¡± Acrasia complained. ¡°A poor meal, indeed, but one is yours.¡± ¡°There will be more,¡± Trist assured her. The clang of metal rang across from the other side of the street, where he saw his father, Tor and Percy now engaged with a beautiful woman, who desperately used a battered golden crown to knock aside their strikes as she tried to slip past them. ¡°Fools,¡± she shrieked. ¡°I will paint the moon with blood, and you will regret this-¡± Too distracted by the three ghosts to see Trist coming, she collapsed in on herself with her head split in half. Another surge of Tithes snaked up Trist¡¯s arm, and a golden crown clattered onto the old stones and rolled down the street. The knights and the faerie fought deeper into the ancient city, slaying daemons as they went, until a great shadow passed between them and the moon. Trist looked up, and recognized the shape of the great darkness in the sky, and gritted his teeth. Samm¨¡?¨¥l the Sun Eater had come.