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[Introduction] The kingdom of Loresad is unique among the nations of the world for one main reason- this land, alone, sits astride the veil between the mortal world and the realms of the fey. Faries, elves, sprites, and all sorts of magickal creatures come and go freely here, whereas in all other human lands they may only be glimpsed in dreams and in the intuitive perepheral of men and women.

Yet not all fey are beautiful beings of dreams- some are of a darker nature, those who stalk hungrily in the gloom of nightmares, to leap out and awaken sleeping children to scream for their parents in the night. These are the death pixies, the dark dryads, and the most feared of all, the Havoc Wraiths.

Not content to slither like serpents in the minds of the sleeping, the Havoc Wraiths have crossed the veil at Loresad, and have begun a wanton campeign of chaos and death. Already, the capitol city of Cassy's Star has fallen into burning ruin, and the nightmare continues to spread. Who, if anyone, can stop it from devouring Loresad completely?

The Setup

Loresad is a human kingdom upon the northern continent of Heklos, sharing borders with Intodormidia to the East, Cheldana to the West, Anthasta to the North, and the Fey Wood through the invisible Veil that separates the human world from the world of dreams.

An aeon ago, when humanity was yet a young race, the young witch Cassandra led her people to this land where the Veil is thinnest. With the help of the faeries and elves she befriended on the other side, she inspired her people to form the first civilization founded upon magick, rather than might. A city was founded upon a hill where five ley lines intersect at a crystal-clear lake; the city was named Cassy's Star, in honor of the witch who had led the people here. It soon blossomed into the greatest and most prosperous city in its time, made up of five districts, each one controlled by a different alchemical element (earth, air, fire, water, spirit).This caused the city itself to be more or less star-shaped.

Ever since Cassandra and her people settled this land, Loresad has always been ruled by an Empress, chosen from among the greatest witches in the realm for their spiritual wisdom and magickal power. The Empress spoke with the authority of the Five Goddesses, and regularly met with delegates from the Faerie Court across the Veil.

It was during the reign of Empress Shestia that the trouble began. Without warning and with no apparent provocation, during the yearly Festival of the Chalice, strange and horrible creatures began appearing in the District of Spirit. At the temple of the goddess Eris, the Veil was ripped open and a swarm of nightmarish beings began to overrun the streets, slaughtering everyone they came across. The witches, the Knights of the Star, and the armies of Loresad all rushed to the city’s defense, but there was little that could be done. Of all the kingdom’s leaders, it was Empress Shestia alone who had the wisdom to let go of her pride and acknowledge that Cassy’s Star was doomed. She led a hurried evacuation of the city, but could only save a small percentage of its population from the massacre.

Within a span of just over seven hours, Cassy’s Star was utterly erased from the map.

Following the initial attack, the true enemy made herself known: Elza, High Commander of the Havoc Wraiths, most feared of the nightmare fey. She issued her purpose across the land, to all people. Humanity has grown too comfortable, she said, too complacent. Without strife and struggle and chaos, there is no purpose. She sent out an invitation to all the petty criminals and thugs, the violent and the deranged, to join her in her great campaign to shatter the status quo of human prosperity and plunge the world into anarchy. Mercenaries flocked to her call, all of them demented souls who were only too eager for an excuse to act on their sadistic compulsions.

What followed was a losing war of constant retreat and surrender, with the armies of Loresad losing more and more territory every day as Elza’s horde grew larger and stronger every day, swelling with mercenary recruits as well as corrupted faeries from beyond the Veil. It soon seemed as though there was no hope at all; Elza could not be stopped.

Yet Empress Shestia still fought valiantly, rallying her people by the eloquence and passion of her speeches and the noble heroism of her deeds. In her honor, the warriors of Loresad died gloriously, sacrificing themselves in the defense of Loresad.

Elza was displeased with this. In her mind, it wasn’t enough to simply slaughter the people of Loresad- she had to break their spirits, as well, and that was simply impossible with Empress Shestia inspiring themselves to lay down their lives gladly. And so, she sent Lourntav, her greatest assassin, to deal with her alone.

Lourntav, however, failed in his mission. After battling with the young and beautiful Empress and witnessing her determination and purity of spirit, his black heart broke, and he fell in love with her in spite of the malevolent nature of his kind. Lourntav defected and fought by the Empress’ side against Elza’s horde, and with his help, Loresad finally began to have a hope of victory.

Elza determined to quell this at once, taking it upon herself, alone, to do what Lourntav couldn’t. By means still unknown to either human or fey, Elza slipped into Empress Shestia’s tent one night and slit her throat wide open, and then vanished into the shadows without a trace.

Now, even as Loresad mourns for the loss of their greatest Empress, the war continues, and Elza’s legions continue to ravage the land. Can the heroes of Loresad seize their one chance at victory, or will the villains of Elza succeed in their agenda to plunge the land into a never-ending nightmare?

The Rules

Alright, before we begin, it’s time to lay down the law. I have a list of parameters by which I hope that every writer involved in this will abide.

-This is a medieval fantasy setting. This means, by the standards of Earth history, we’re talking about everything leading up to the advent of the printing press, astronomy, and chemistry. Any technology beyond that will be considered anachronistic. Gunpowder is acceptable, so long as you bear in mind that it’s a very new invention and keep it to crude cannons and awkward matchlock firearms (which, without rifling, are only really accurate to within a few feet).

-Magick is, obviously, a definite part of this story. But magick has limits. No one is a god, and any character that is too powerful is very likely to cheapen the story. For this setting, magickal ability should be based on a character’s willpower, focus, energy, and imagination. The more focused and energetic the character is, the greater their magickal aptitude will be.

-No killing off another writer’s character, unless I give my personal consent. Note that I will only give my consent if that character is no longer represented by a writer (i.e. the writer quit the campfire, or got kicked for misbehaving, or dropped off the face of the earth into a parallel dimension, etc.)

-This story is rated 18+, not GC or XGC. That means we can have blood, gore, sex, swearing, and all that good stuff, but I don’t want every detail. There seems to have been a trend lately of full sex scenes in campfires. If you must, then go write an erotica novelette or something, but I don’t want to read about it here.

-If it takes you a week or so to add, I really don’t care. If it takes you a month, you’ll get an email. And if people start to forget that this campfire ever existed because it’s taking you a geologic age to figure out if your half-fairy sorceress should cast a fireball at the dragon or attack it with her magic sword, then you will be kicked and I’ll go about emailing the other writers to try to get them interested in this story again.

-Let’s all have fun. Don’t try to out-do the person who wrote before you. Don’t worry if you think you’re addition sounds stupid or anything like that. To me, campfires are a form of practice, and help me become a better writer. If you don’t write that well here, then it means the next time you write, you’ll be a little bit better for having learned from this. This is a game. Don’t sweat over it too much; just relax and let the words flow, and know that there is no judgment here. I place no regulations on addition length, either, so in cases of extreme writers block, just a few sentences will do to move the story forward.

Characters

You will write from the perspective of either one or two characters, but no more. You may be either good or evil. I would rather have more heroes than villains, however, since villains should be rare and memorable. A large group of heroes is a motley band of adventurers, sharing their companionship and working together towards a common goal; a large group of villains, however, is just another band of goons and thugs. In other words, if you want to be a villain, I hope you can do it well.

If you write as two characters, then they can both be heroes, or one may be a villain, but don’t make both of them villains, please. Or, one or both of them can be neutral, having not (yet) chosen a side.

Your character can be of any race, so long as it could conceivably exist in a medieval fantasy setting. For example, you may be a centaur, angel, or troll, but you may not be a robot, cowboy, or Japanese soldier from WWII.

I, personally, will be writing in first-person from the perspective of two characters: the heroic knight Sir Jonas Veln, and the villainous Havoc Wraith named Lourntav. Jonas’ perspective will be written in blue and Lourntav’s perspective will be written in red. You may color-code as well, as you like, so long as you don’t mess it up and turn everyone else’s additions monkey vomit green for the rest of the story.

That said, let’s get this show on the road.

The Story Begins Here

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

My story begins at the decisive battle of Laxthorogh. My soldiers and I had been holding off a Havoc Wraith attack long enough for the army of Duke Borfeld to arrive and assist us, and now that he had come, we had begun our counter-attack. The Duke’s pikemen and archers held the lines while his mounted knights charged ahead through the enemy ranks, and my men and I were free to leave our fortified position and advance.
Less than fifty men strong and healthy of the original four-hundred members of the Laxthorogh militia, and we were outnumbered by the thousands. Death pixies and Elza’s mercenaries surrounded us at every term, and every time we struck one down, three more rushed forward to take its place. We killed about twenty or so of them for every one of us that fell, and continued this grim work for what seemed like hours with arms that ached from sword-swinging and shield-bearing, yet we barely seemed to have much effect at all. Slowly, and with maddening steadiness, the battle began to turn against us once again.
I can still remember how vividly the terrified screaming and weeping of the dying was drowned out by the din of battle- the enraged cries of warriors, the clashing of steel against steel, and the bizarre sounds of dread magicks weaving through the air in search of victims.
It was due to this deafening cacophony of pain and death that I didn’t hear the trumpets sound. By the time I did, it was too late. Duke Borfeld’s knights were fleeing in terror, his pikemen were dying by the hundreds over a half-mile away from where I stood with my men, and suddenly, the realization struck me that we had already lost.
“Dammit,” I muttered, unable to even hear myself speak. “Where is Lourntav!?” For, in my ignorance of the cur’s true nature, I yet still believed that he would save us if only I could find him.
I swung my mace full-force into the face of the man before me, splitting open his skull and dropping him to the ground. As I stopped a broad-axe with my shield, I shattered another man’s ribcage, and then busted open the axeman’s gut. By the time all three men lay slain at my feet, I looked around to see that my men had finished off another wave of mercenaries. “Good work, men,” I told them, “but it looks as though there’s no more we can do here. Retreat, all, retreat! We’ll continue this another day.”
And so, we began our retreat, far behind Duke Borfeld’s scattered army, but it soon became obvious to me that we would soon be surrounded and entangled once again in battle unless we found a way to outmaneuver the enemy. So I chose a narrow path behind some low, rocky hills, hoping to evade the main force, but this only brought us more trouble- a Havoc Wraith glided through the air towards us, blocking our path. Its sinister red eyes glowed with malice, and its tattered black cloak rustled in the breeze. It extended its hand towards us, and from its claws, a hail of black magickal barbs flew towards us. I had my shield raised to absorb most of them, but Lanik, the man behind me, caught several in the throat and dropped to his knees, gasping and grasping at his gushing wound. A few men rushed to try to help him, though we all knew there was nothing to be done.
“Lanik!” cried Orthian, his dearest companion. “Lanik, no! You monster!”
“Dammit!” I yelled, seeing yet another comrade fall in battle. “No more mistakes, men! We can afford no more losses!”
“You wretched maggots are all the same,” the Havoc Wraith said in a voice hollow of all emotion. “So fragile, so frail, so pathetic. I will destroy you all in an instant of exquisite suffering.” He raised his hands and began to cast a spell.
“NO!!” Orthian screamed, rushing forward with almost superhuman speed. He leapt in the air towards the Wraith and barely nicked it across the cheek with his broadsword as the Wraith moved aside, its spell disrupted. The wraith assumed a fighting stance, but Orthian was already on his feet and charging again.
“Lanik was the best of us, the best man I’ve ever known! You will pay, you and all your kind!” With those words, he caught the Wraith in the gut with the sword, and forced the blade all the way through with all his strength, as the Wraith’s face contorted with pain. The wraith tried to cast a spell, tried to escape, and in desperation, tried to fight back with claw and fist, but none of it was of any use against the enraged soldier. Its last sight before it died was of Orthian standing over it, his eyes ablaze in fury, his tabard stained with its blood.
“Go back to hell where you came from, demon,” Orthian whispered.
I can’t imagine the pain that poor Orthian must have felt at that moment. The only thing I could think to do was to walk over and place my hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright now,” I said. “Be calm.”
Anything more than that was interrupted by a sudden cry of “Arrows, incoming!”
I spun around to see a rain of razor-tipped arrows pouring down on us. “Shields!” I yelled with intense urgency in my voice. I barely lifted my own shield in time to catch the arrows before they struck me; many of my men weren’t so lucky. I took a glance over my shoulder; less than twenty of us were left now.
When I was sure the immediate danger had passed, I gave the order of “Recover!”, and I and my men stood to break off the arrows from our shields. The archers were a good distance away, across a scrubby field. I looked to the west, and saw a forested hill. I started towards it, and my men followed.
“Let us take cover amidst the trees!” I told them.
So we scrambled up the hill and hid among the tall trees, and watched, and waited. The archers seemed to have lost interest in us; they probably figured we were as good as dead either way.
After a while, I said to Ralph, one of my men, “What do you see?”
“The whole mass of them seems to be madly in pursuit of the fleeing Duke, sir” he answered, peeking around the wide trunks. “They still seem unable to catch up to him.”
“Well, at least we yet have a few blessings to count,” I answered him. “Thank the Five Goddesses for small miracles.”
“Wait, there’s something going on,” Ralph went on. “Oh, that almost look like…” He gasped suddenly.
“What is it? What do you see?”
“It’s Elza, sir!” he exclaimed. “She’s come herself! But what could be so important about Laxthorogh for that?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “If we can catch her by surprise, we have a chance to stop the invasion dead in its tracks. It will almost certainly cost us our lives, but if we can kill her here, it just might be enough to save Loresad.”
Without another word, not even an order to my men, I emerged from the woods and started down the hill to what I believed at the time was certainly my death. My men all knew at once what it meant. I hadn’t ordered them to follow me, because I wanted them to choose. They could have all escaped if they had wanted to. Instead, they all chose to follow me on my mad and spontaneous suicide mission, as I had hoped they would. I regret their deaths every moment of every day, but if it weren’t for them, I never would have had a chance.

From the eyes of Lourntav

I suppose if you really want to hear this story, then I should begin with my account of the now-legendary battle of Laxthorogh. Everything before that is just backstory, anyway, except for the bit about how Elza stripped me of most of my powers, and how I first joined up with Dia. Laxthorogh, after all, was the place where Elza at last broke my resolve, and in so doing set in motion the series of events that would lead me back to the wicked ways of my people. Judge me as you will, but only with full knowledge of my story as it actually happened.
The battle raged all around us, a whirlwind of glorious agony and torment, the screams of the dying a sweet music to fill my ears. I remember the thrill of it, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins as I casted my dark magick against Elza’s worthless little soldiers, burning them alive as they danced within my fire.
“Burn, you pathetic wastes of flesh!” I called over the sounds of battle, my voice booming with triumphant laughter. “You cannot stop me! Come to me, little ones, like cattle to the slaughterhouse!”
Yet even as I reveled in the bliss of the butcher’s work, my heart was far from being at ease. Behind me, I could sense Dia’s growing unease. Before me, she had never known war, or death, or violence, or any such thing. Whereas my kind were raised on pain and brutality, these things were completely alien to her, and I knew that she was not handling them well.
I glanced over my shoulder. She wept quietly, the tears soft on her cheeks, ebbing from her beautiful eyes, even as she drew back another arrow.
Dia and I are opposites in every way I can think of. Whereas I wield killing fire with my charred claws, she channels water of healing with her gentle hands. My kind are called demons, but she is the daughter of a god. She is everything I am not. And yet, the maddening thing is, the only time that I do not long for my lost Shestia is when I’m with her.
Seeing her pain, I found that I could no longer really enjoy the battle. I kept my silence, after that, even as I killed the enemy before me. I didn’t laugh as I incinerated a swarm of death pixies in a wave of intense heat. I didn’t even smile as I slashed a man’s stomach open with my claws.
Maybe, back then, there was still some goodness left in me. Maybe.
Looking over the fields of carnage, I could see that Duke Borfeld and his army was struggling. They were surrounded and terribly outnumbered. Knowing what had to be done, I ran back a ways and found Dia.
“Dia,” I said to her. “We have to turn this fight around. The humans are all dying, and we’re about to lose. You must call up a flood and drown the enemy.”
She looked at me, her eyes pained, and with great difficulty she answered me. “I… I can’t,” she said. “I’ve caused too much death already. I can’t go on, killing so many people.”
“I know,” I told her. “I know how hard this is for you. But you must! You can heal, I know you can kill, too. If you don’t, so many more will die. All Loresad will fall if you don’t use your powers now!”
“No!” she protested. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not like you, Lourntav. I don’t enjoy killing people. In fact, I hate it. I can’t bear it! I’ll go crazy under the weight of it.”
“Please, Dia!” I turned back, to see Duke Borfeld and his army beginning their retreat. “Elza's mercenaries must be stopped. Open a lake to swallow them. Sap the water from their bodies and make them wither to dust. Anything!”
And then, she looked me in the eyes with such desperate anger I’ve never seen before and never since. With absolute sternness, she said simply “No.”
I shouldn’t have been angry at her for that. I know I shouldn’t have. But even then, when my willpower was strong, I could never truly deny my nature. “Worthless whore,” I said to her. “I don’t know why I expected anything but weakness from you. Come on. We’ve lost, because of you, and there’s nothing more we can do here now. Let’s try to find the others, and get the hell out of here.”

The sounds of battle could be heard clearly from my spot on the hill, sounds of spells firing, swords clanging. And I wanted to help, join the battle, but I knew my skills and I was not about to get involved, there was nothing that I could do to help, and no way I could live through it, or the coming months. It was why I was on the hill a few miles away getting ready to perform the spell, so I could leave. The spell began and there was ripping noise, through the hole I could
see the other world...the mortal world. The air came through, smelling awful of fumes and weird smells but this is where I had to go. I steeped through to begin my new, mortal, life.

The sun peeked out around the roof of the house and shone directly into my window where the light landed on my sleeping face
and waking me up. Groaning slightly I rolled over onto my stomach hiding from the light I was just about to fall back asleep when Moonwing, my familiar, landed just in front of me and poked me,"Wake up Lillian" I groaned and opened my eyes. She was awake and happily fluttering around around me.
"You...are annoyingly...perky" She rolled back onto her back and sat up looking at the clock, 9 o'clock. She got up and walked to the bathroom and pulled a brush through her long red hair and went to brush her teeth, her tooth brush was not there..."MOON! Where did you put my toothbrush?" She heard a giggle from her bedroom."I can hear you!" She ran out into the bedroom and there is her toothbrush floating in the middle of the room. "Moon...you little..."She smiled as she saw the the little fairy hiding behind the curtains and lunged forward grabbing her and started to tickle her.
A little later after she had won the battle, I changed into my favorite outfit my emerald green skirt and cream shirt,Well i tried to, i couldn't find the shirt. After a few minutes of throwing clothing around, I found it stashed in the back of my closet and put it on. I turned to gather up Moonwing and be off on my errands but she was no where to be seen. I looked around and found her under a pile of clothes. When i let her out she was red faced and angry and started to yell at me in her tiny voice, it was funny, her small voice did not yell very well.
Suddenly there was a pull, it was not a physical pull. It was invisible...A pull at my gut. I knew what this meant. It had been becoming stronger and stronger over the last 6 months. Each time pulling harder and more forcefully. I knew that I had to return on my own soon, or it may not be my choice.

*Dia*

I had learned much since I first set foot on land. I had experienced emotions such as love and hate. I learned this with others, even as I learned to love and hate myself. I had loathed myself the day I refused to slaughter, and I despised Lourntav for trying to make me do it.
It was a long time before we were able to speak again, but I to this day could never make him understand. Lourntav knew the feel and taste of death, but he never died as I had in that battle. In those few minutes, darkness latched onto me, and I fight it constantly. To kill that many would have let it consume me, leaving nothing but raw power and anger. Dia would completely cease to exist.
Many nights, I still dream of dying, and the voices of the dead. Even what remained of my mother's magic could not cure these nightmares.
It was from one of these dreams I woke tonight, still cloaked in murky darkness. The sky looked strange to my eyes, and the stars wavered. For a second, I thought they were falling, then I realized that I was underwater.
I always slept in the river when Lourntav and I fought. It was my form of stopping it, as I could not say anything particularly regretful, even though those were the sorts of things that began our relationship. If he taught me anything, it was how to walk away, because he never did. Something tells me that if he grew hurt, the forest around us would erupt into flame.
I broke the surface of the water silently and watched as Lourntav toyed with the fire. Unlike me, he still had to keep warm on a night like this, though I doubted that the cold was what plagued his mind. He appeared to have calmed some, at least.
Still quiet, I made myself dry and sat beside him. He did not look up from the fire, and I guessed he expected me to make the first move. I noticed he was fingering the stone butterfly, which meant he was thinking about Sheista again. Another woman would probably have been jealous, but it never occurred to me. Perhaps I had not learned it yet. But I had learned, however, was that I could not interrupt him from it. He would come back in his own time.
So, in my form of apology, I surged a small amount of water over a nearby rock. I began to carve all of the good memories he’d shared with her. There was the butterfly, of course, the sun, and countless wildflowers. I did not make stars though, those belonged to us.
“You know, you still smell like wet dog.” he whispered to me.
“Better a wet dog than a singed one.” I retorted.
He smiled slightly, and I knew the fight was over.

------------

When the stars began to fade, we started to pack our things. It did not take long, as we never settled in one place for too long. We had no particular place to go, but we saw other travelers nearby, and Havoc Wraiths are not always a welcome sight, and I was too tired to put out another one of his fires.
Unfortunately, walking gives you an incredible amount of time to think. And as I had probably spent an unhealthy amount of time with Taki, I began to think about our relationship just as every other woman did.
Lourntav had made his own gestures, but neglected an important element. He never told me whether or not he loved me. Of course, I never said it to him, as it is hard to get over being called “whore”. Then again, he never outright used the word “love” when talking about Sheista.
I began to talk to him, so that these thoughts would disappear. But as usual, he is in one of those dark moods.
Loving a Havoc Wraith is incredibly trying.

Lonewolf

*Dante*

The battle was long and hard fought, and many lost there lives. I stand here tall and strong only slightly weakened by the wound I received at the last minute as I was trying to assist a fellow soldier down by a horrible beast of evil. I now go by the name Dante, but I fear that is not my name. I was found years ago roaming the forest to the south of here and it is strange that I find myself back here. Maybe I'll be able to finally find out who it is I really am.

The only thing that was left with me was the chain that I wear around my neck concealing a picture of a beautiful woman. I just remember bits and pieces of my old life from dreams, and I know that I was happy with this woman, she was the love of my life. Since being found I have lived a life of solitude, and only when I heard the war that was being fought would be this far did I give my skills over to the royal army.

Handling a sword in my hand seemed like second nature, so I'm thinking I was swordsman before all of this happened. I wonder what is to happen next there is more going on then just this war. I know as long as we follow Sir Jonas Veln we'll make it.

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

I have always found it interesting to watch young boys play war. They sword-fight with sticks, slashing and stabbing and yelling in mock battles, pretending to wound and kill one another. After the battle is fought, they will all laugh, and be called in to dinner by their mothers.
What is it in our nature that, from our earliest childhood, makes warfare and killing appeal to us? What makes the murder of our fellow man as natural to us as the instinct to seek food and shelter? Is war merely an inherent part of our behavior, like ducks migrating south for the winter? The Havoc Wraiths may be inhuman monsters, yes, but if not for them, I know that sooner or later we’d just go back to killing each other. People still remember two decades before all this, when Loresad tried and failed to invade the kingdom of Anthasta to the north, butchering innocents who had done nothing to us. I sometimes wonder truly how different from the Havoc Wraiths we actually are.
Children play war, and find it a thrilling sport. But there was nothing fun about what I did upon the battlefield of Laxthorogh. My heart beat heavily as I tightly gripped the handle of my flanged mace. The men behind me, courageous though they undoubtedly were, shook with dread and shifted nervously. Their lives weighed upon my shoulders, a yoke too terrible for any man to bear. To my right, Orthian was silently reciting prayers to the Five Goddesses. To my left, Dante stared straight ahead with both eagerness and trepidation for what was to come.
“Be ready, men,” I said softly, trying for their sake to keep the fear from my voice. “Elza passes near, and our moment of glory is upon us.
Elza’s voice reached my ears from less than a hundred yards away from where my men and I hid amidst the trees. She walked across the battlefield, four Havoc Wraith guards on either side of her, with the bearing of a woman of supreme confidence and authority. She was shouting commands to her army, and they rushed to obey, as though they were each stricken by threat of death, or worse, if they so much as hesitated.
Elza passed close enough, then, for us to make our move. I took a deep breath, and then shouted the command that my soldiers had been so eagerly waiting for.
“Charge, men! Take her out!”
We burst suddenly from our hiding place, all of our tension released at once like a canister of flammable fluid kept under pressure. We sprinted rapidly across the field, quickly closing the gap between us and the Wraiths. We had our weapons raised as we howled and hollered with all of the adrenaline pulsing through us.
By the time Elza and her guards saw us and realized what was happening, they barely had any time at all to react. The eight guards quickly formed a basic formation between me and Elza- four in front and four behind- and those behind waved their hands and caused a roaring wall of fire to erupt from the ground before me.
I did not hesitate. “For Loresad!” I yelled, leading with my shield as I rushed into the flames. “For Shestia!” The tongues of flame licked my armor and tasted my cloak, but caused no harm to me as my shield slammed into the bodies of Elza’s guards. They stumbled back awkwardly as I pushed my way right through their formation. I swung my mace mightily and caught one of them in the shoulder, causing his grunt of pain to be accompanied by an unhealthy cracking sound. Then, even as I continued my mad rush forward, my eyes settled upon Elza’s surprised face, and I smiled.
“Die, devil whore!” I yelled savagely as I struck the Havoc Wraith general with my shield, making her stumble back.
“Guards!” she cried, her voice shaking with fear (much to my satisfaction). “Guards, protect me!”
Two guards appeared at once to block me from her, swinging their blades and casting their dark magicks at me, but I blocked with my shield and deftly outmaneuvered there determined attacks. One of them snared me with a spell that coiled around my body and lifted me into the air. I unstrapped my shield from my arm and threw it at him, which struck him hard in the jaw and flung him back, releasing me to fall back to the ground. I landed in a crouched position, and a moment later, leapt forward to clamp my hand around Elza’s wrist even as she tried to flee.
“You will not escape me!” I shouted, raising my mace.
She muttered a word of evil power, and her arm was immediately surrounded by bright-hot blue flames, which severely burned my hand and caused me to shriek in sudden pain, pulling away from her. She ran a short distance, then called out to a troop of mercenaries which were coming to help.
“Mercenaries! Forget about Duke Borfeld and protect me!”
I winced with teary eyes and gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the incredible pain of my burned hand. I swung my mace at her, but I couldn’t focus at all, and missed her clumsily. I felt the presence of one of her guards near me, and saw the shadow of a massive axe coming downward at my neck. There was a loud clash and screech of steel striking steel, and I glanced up to see Dante standing over me, his sword held against the Wraith’s axe.
“I’ll handle this one, sir,” he said to me, staring at the Wraith with hard and determined eyes, pulling his sword back and assuming a fighting stance. “Go and finish this. Avenge the murder of our empress.”
I nodded to him gratefully, and then continued my pursuit of Elza. She turned in time to see me bull-rushing at her, and wasn’t quick enough to dodge aside as I tackled her to the ground. I got to my feet as she struggled to stand, and with a great two-handed swing of my mace, I bashed her in the side of the face, the sharp flanges slicing three terrible gashes in her skin as she was thrown backwards to land on her back in the dirt and dust. She groaned weakly, looking up at me, blood already streaming from the side of her face.
I was so close to finishing her off. If I had been just a few seconds quicker, I could have slain her then and there, and perhaps prevented much of the terrible suffering and death in the years that followed. But that moment of savage glory, the thrill of imminent victory, made my head swell with overconfidence, and I savored the moment, smiling down at my prone enemy as I stalked towards her.
It was as though I had completely forgotten about the guards that still fought and killed my soldiers behind me, and the army of mercenaries that were then closing in around me.
Before I even knew it had happened, three guards were before me blocking my path, and two more were at Elza’s side, helping her to her feet. I tried to get through, but the guards were ready this time, and would not let me past them; they paralleled my every movement and blocked each swing of my mace with a deadly sword-edge. Past them, I could see that the two Wraiths had helped Elza recover, and were now helping her escape. The other three guards turned and rain along with them, keeping their eyes on me and preventing me from following at all.
“Dammit, no!” I swore. “She can’t escape!”
Elza and her five remaining guards (the other three lay dead in the dirt) reached the army of mercenaries that had now come near, and the mercenaries surrounded my remaining soldiers and I. Elza had escaped. My heart sank and I felt vaguely sick. Elza had escaped.
By this time, only Orthian, Dante, and I were left alive of all the four-hundred soldiers of the Laxthorogh militia. The three of us, beaten and bruised, regrouped together to face the army that surrounded us.
“If we are to fall here, then let our deaths become legend,” said Orthian, panting. “Let us together kill so many of them that the mention of our names will make Elza’s soldiers shake with fear.”
Dante and I both nodded, and the three of us together proceeded to put down every man that came at us, three or four at a time, from all directions. Our muscles ached and our injuries stung terribly, but we neither slowed nor tired as we continued to slaughter them well into the late hours of the night. I couldn’t possibly keep track of all of those that fell at our feet, but the bodies piled around us, and still they came at us.
Finally, a man’s voice yelled “Stop! Stop killing us!”
Dante, Orthian, and I all looked to see a mercenary officer watching us, his eyes wide at the sight of so many of his men killed by only three.
All of the men around us stopped, and stepped back from us in a circle, looking from us to their commander. I looked up at him questioningly, holding a deep gash in my stomach with one hand and my blood-soaked mace with the other.
“Why should we?” I asked him. “You are all traitors to Loresad, and deserve no better.”
“Please,” he said, “the battle ended hours ago. Elza and her forces are returned to camp, and left us here to finish you, but here we still are! In Elza’s eyes we are expendable, and now expended. Let us surrender to you. Take us back to the city of Warden to be tried. We throw ourselves on the Regent-King’s mercy. Just, please, stop killing us in this horrible field!”
I stood and regarded him coolly even as I winced in the pain of my many wounds. “Very well,” I said to him. “We accept your surrender. We will take you to the city of Llyr, where you will be imprisoned until we can take you to Warden to be tried.”
“Oh, thank you,” the officer gasped, and I almost thought I saw tears come to his eyes. “Thank you. I have seen far too much death here today.”

The three of us led the captured enemies by the dozens. The road was long and hard, and we travelled into the early morning, exhausted as our injuries stung and burned persistently. I had lost a lot of blood, and for a time feared I wouldn’t make it, but Dante allowed me to lean on him. I felt barely conscious even as my legs continued to carry me further and further.
The sun had just barely begun to rise into the sky when we reached the walls of Llyr. The guards at the gate already stood in formation before us, their shields and bows raised against us. Evidently they thought they were facing an attack at the sight of so many of Elza’s mercenaries approaching the gates, before they saw me in my blood-soaked tabard bearing the imperial heraldry of Loresad. Their captain stepped forward and addressed me.
“Hold! You wear the colors of Imperial Loresad. Halt and identify yourself, before our arrows rain upon you!”
“I am Sir Jonas Veln,” I called back. “Knight of the Star and leader of the Laxthorogh militia. I come with prisoners of war to await trial in Warden.”
“By the Five!” the captain said in disbelief. “How many?”
I looked back at the dozens and dozens of despondent mercenaries that were still lining up behind me.
“I… I don’t really know,” I said. “I haven’t counted them all.”
“How in the hell…” the captain said. “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like… All right, guards, round them up and take them to the prison.” With that, Llyr’s city guards all sheathed their weapons and started forward to round up the prisoners. Their clapped their wrists in irons and led them in single-file lines in through the gates as Dante, Orthian, and I just stood and watched them. When he was done overseeing that, the captain came and stood before me.
“Please, my men and I are badly wounded,” I told him, still barely able to stand and leaning on Dante for support. “Do you have a healer in town?”
“Hmm, you should speak with Lady Lillian,” he said, looking me over. “She’s a witch who came here a few months ago, and she’s been tending to the sick here ever since. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you.”
“Where did she come from?” Dante asked.
“Well, it’s rather interesting,” the captain replied. “She said she came here from the faerie world. She says she was running from battles that had been taking place there, but I don’t know the details. I assume she was talking about battles between Havoc Wraiths and faeries. But then, maybe not.”
“Where can we find her?”
“Come with me,” the captain said. “I will take you to her. I’m sure she’ll be interested in meeting you.”

From the eyes of Lourntav

“Where will we go now, Lourntav?” Dia asked.
She sat leaning against me with my arm around her, as we both watched the sunrise on the morning after that terrible battle. A strange silence fell across the surrounding forest, as though the birds and animals themselves were paying their respects to those who had fallen.
Her question made me again think of the Shadowlights. Stories and rumors passed through the gloomy streets of Loonatyk, telling of the monastery of renegade Wraiths who had dedicated themselves to the defiance of the rest of their kind. If they existed, then perhaps I could find them. If I could find them, perhaps they could show me how to soothe and heal these demons of anger and sorrow that raged within my soul, and aid me in my quest to stop Elza and her armies.
I couldn’t have known it back then, but it was that very desire, that very search, that would lead to my downfall. The irony of it still tastes bitter in my mouth.
Abruptly, I disengaged from Dia and rose to my feet. “Come, woman,” I said. “We’ve rested long enough, and have a hard road ahead of us.”
“Where are we headed?” she asked, grabbing her bow and quiver and rising as well.
“Let’s get everything packed, and I’ll tell you once we’re moving again.”
Soon, the two of us were walking through the quiet forest. From the life I had lived, among the Havoc Wraiths, I still found such peaceful places to be… unnerving. Walking down the streets of Loonatyk, the city where I grew up, it was commonplace to hear shouts of anger, screams of pain, cries of sorrow, and the shrieking laughter of the insane. The things that most Havoc Wraiths see every day are things that would drive most humans completely mad. So it is that, to I and my kind, just walking through a quiet forest seems eerie and unnatural. This is not an excuse I make for the way I act or for what I am. I say this simply in the hope that you may understand my perspective even as you condemn me.
As we walked, I told Dia everything I had heard of the Shadowlights. All of it was merely rumor. According to the stories, the Shadowlight monastery was high in the mountains to the north of the now-ruined capitol city of Cassy’s Star. Their leader was a Havoc Wraith named Master Kiev, a wise old fey who had learned to consecrate the Wraith soul, cleansing its hatred and replacing it with love. The long and elaborate magickal ritual turned Havoc Wraiths into entirely new beings, the Shadowlights, who wielded the elemental magicks of love to nullify the powers of other Havoc Wraiths, and disintegrate demons entirely. They were said to be very few in number, but immensely powerful.
Once I had told her all of this, Dia smiled warmly at me. I had never seen her give me such an adoring look. I never did again. But from then on, the image of it stayed with me every day.
And so, the two of us headed east through the woods, to the ruins of Cassy’s Star. It was a perilous journey, we both knew, as it would take us directly into territory now held by Elza and her legions. But if we could reach the ruined capitol and then travel north through the mountains, then we could search for the Shadowlight monastery, and I would subject myself to their ritual to become one of them. I was certain that, if they existed, we would find them.

I finished getting ready in silence, all the laughter of earlier gone. The nagging feeling was still bothering me but I decided that it was time to open up shop. There where things to do, the list of orders was long and it would only get longer. I walked down the stairs, slight thumps echoing and a whisper of moons wings ahead of me. I sighed, I was not looking forward to the boring work of grinding the herbs, today was looking to be a boring day. I made my way to my store room pulling sprigs of each of the herbs I would need for the day. I had a few colds to treat...and I would bet Sarah would be back for her love charm, I had a good amount of work today. I started muttering as I grabbed the dried herbs..." Caraway...Dill...Lovage...Violet...where is that Violet? It should be here..." I heard a small voice from above me where Moon was sitting on the top shelf.
"You used the rest of it yesterday...don't you remember?" She smiled and flitted to my shoulder,"Lillian...you forget things to easily lately...maybe you should make yourself a memory charm." she giggled softly.
"Oh Moon, you know I don't need that", I sighed to myself. That meant I would have to go get some from the drying shed before I got started, which meant it would take that much longer to get started. I finished pulling what I had from my cupboard finding in the process that my hazel was low and I needed more.

I walked out of the cupboard, put my arm load on to the counter and walked outside. My garden was bursting with color, flowers in bloom, herbs spilling from the pots and beds and butterfly's everywhere. Moon flew ahead of me and flew around with the butterfly's. The beauty of the moment made me pause and watch her as she swooped and danced with them. They flocked to her from around the garden and even outside of it, they loved her. They danced through the air around her as if they where each hugging her in turn.I smiled and started to walk again towards the hut in the back of the garden. As soon as I opened the door a flood of smells reached my noise, mostly sweet, but laced with tang and even unpleasant smells. It was full of large boxes, each filled with a different herb drying. I found the violet, and hazel, they had to be at the bottom of two different stacks. I started unstacking boxes until I could get to each of the boxes. Twenty minutes later I sighed walking out with enough of each that I wouldn't have to go back for a month as long as Sarah didn't fall in love with too many young lads. I hummed as I walked inside, my dark mood from earlier over with. Moon was still playing with the butterfly's. She was so young...and acted it. "Moon! Lets go back inside." I opened the door and she zoomed in past me in a good mood, as she always was after playing with butterfly's.

Inside we worked. Grinding Anise for Lady Mya, she was ill with a cold and this sprinkled in her tea would help her. I grounded more herbs, for each ailment of the people, Basil for Lady Marie's stomach, Clove for Byron's never ending wounds, I also took Hazel and bound it together with red and gold thread for luck if it was carried with you, hops in a thin long flat bag to be put in a pillow for sound sleeping and of course Miss Sarah's love charm.

My front door opened and closed and I looked up, and as if she was physic Sarah walked in as I finished of her Love Charm. "Hello Sarah, here for your charm?" I held the small bag in my hand and her eyes lit up with a smile,"Who is the lucky boy today?" I couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Oh Byron is, he's the one Lady Lillian. He is my true love..."She let her sentence run off as she started thinking of him."He loves me and I love him, he just doesn't know yet."

I chuckled to myself," Well here you go hon I wish you luck." I handed her the bag and she handed me the coin."Blessed be." And with that Sarah ran out the door. And it continued, just as Lady Marie's young daughter was leaving, Moon pretending to leave with her because she loved her, two men appeared in my doorway. One leaning on the other. The one being leaned on looked around for a moment before spotting me, and in that moment I saw why he, who had obviously been in a battle and was injured, was supporting the other. The long gash in his stomach, his pale face explained it all, this man shouldn't even be able to stand...let alone walk. I dashed out from behind my counter as I started talking,"Oh my! Come in, Come in." I was on the other side of him helping to support his friend."This way...there are beds in the back...you both need to lay down."I pulled them around the counter to a back room with four beds, as we walked careful not to move or jostle the man between us, the other introduced himself, "Thank you Miss Lillian, I am Dante and this Sir Jonas Veln."He seemed unable to say more, exhaustion apparent on his face, and Sir Jonas was only holding onto consciousness by a thread.
"It looks as if you two where caught in the battle, please help me lay him down and then lay down yourself, you both could use some rest." We made it to the back room and I helped lay Sir Jonas down before leading Dante to the next bed. By the time I had Dante down I could here light snoring behind me coming from Sir Jonas."Now lay down I will be right back, you both need care." I rushed from Dante as soon as I saw that he was comfortable and had checked out his wounds...they where bad but not life threatening. But Jonas, his life was in danger if I did nothing. I flew to his side and using a small knife that I carried with me at all time, I cut his shirt open the rest of the way. The gash was larger then I expected it to be, but I inspected it and it showed no signs of poison in it but there was defiantly infection starting and the burn on his hand was sever. I rushed from the room and grabbed my kettle filled with water already and placed it on the stove to boil. I continued into the pantry where I grabbed Rosemary,Thyme and Lemon skins, and brought them back to the kitchen where I grabbed a grate and took the lemon to it producing a large pile of very small shavings and throwing them into a mortar adding the Thyme and Rosemary to it and grinding them together adding more of each until I had about a cup worth. The water still had not boiled so I ran back into the cupboard and grabbed some Clove to add to it. I also grabbed some Yarrow that i had already grounded along with some Aloe for the burn. As I ran to the kitchen the water was boiling so I took it off and set it aside. I still needed to add the Clove to my mixture that I had already ground before it was ready for the water. I quickly ground it into my mortar and grabbed the water and added it in by drops to create a paste. It came out perfectly, and I did the same to the yarrow. I brought both pastes with me into the room that Dante and Sir Jonas where. I sat the bowl of Thyme, Rosemary and Lemon and the bowl of Yarrow down next to Sir Jonas and checked on Dante. Moon was keeping a careful eye on him for me. He seemed fine and resting...although uneasily. I went back to the kitchen and poured the rest of the hot water into a bowl and grabbed a cloth. Back in the room I soaked the rag and ringed it out and carefully began to clean his smaller wounds, his stomach wound would take more time. I carefully cleaned his small cuts and then spread the yarrow paste on each to prevent infection. I then started on the larger wound on his stomach, carefully cleaning the dried blood, dirt and pus from it. The infection already bad, the wound was deep once the infection was gone it would need stitches and he would not be able to get up for many days. I carefully began to spread the Thyme mixture on it to help get rid of the infection. As soon as I finished I checked on Dante and cleaned any of the small wounds he had. He was fine otherwise just exhausted. Sleep would heal him in just a few shot days.

The day continued to pass as I cared for the men, I was worried about Sir Jonas, he had a fever, which I relived somewhat with a cloth soaked in Ginseng water and placed on his forehead. I decided to perform a healing spell. I gathered the blue candle and placed Eucalyptus around it.Moon sat sat on my shoulder and as I burned the paper with both Dante's and Sir Jonas name on it and started saying the spell I could hear Sir Jonas stirring behind me but I continued:

By full moon's light,
With helping hands,
I spread good health,
Throughout the lands.
Send energies far and near,
To heal this earth,
That I hold dear.
And all of those,
So dear to me,
With harm to none,
So mote it be.

I stayed still concentrating my energies and thought on the spells completion. As soon as I felt it complete I turned to look at Sir Jonas, Moon fluttering from my shoulder and landing on his. She had an unusual attachment to him, spending much of her time watching over him. He was awake, I could tell from the noises that he was in complete discomfort. Tea would help settle him,I walked to the kitchen where I had tea brewing, poured a glass to bring back to him and walked to the room. As soon as I walked in I saw him, his face was startlingly beautiful with his eyes open, they sparkled amazingly.When my eyes met his my word shifted..like all my ties to the world had changed, instead of being tied down to it by small threads...he was my gold thread holding me here. Anchoring me to this world. My heart belong to him. My life felt whole my already full heart expanding to encompass the immediate love I felt for him. My heart started to beat loudly and quickly, it was all I could hear and Sir Jonas, Jonas was all I could see.

I waited for Lourntav to fall to sleep that night. My heart beat strangely in my chest as I watched the fire cast light and shadow across his face. I knew that I needed to leave, but I could not tear my eyes from him. Why could no one else see in him what I did?

Finally, I forced myself to rise and walk to the river. The night was cool, and a soft breeze lifted my hair from my shoulders, tickling my skin. I smiled in spite of myself, more confident in my choice, though it might bring consequences.

I stepped gently into the water, which stilled at my presence. Before I submerged, I sucked in the land's air, my hands beginning to tremble with nerves. I looked back at Lourntav, allowing the sight of him to give me the strength I needed. Then I dove down without another thought.

"Good evening, daughter." I heard the faint whisper surround me. "It has been quite some time. I trust your journey went well?"

"Better than expected." I answered truthfully.

"You are quiet. Is there something wrong? I do apologize, but the venture to land is required by every god..."

"No... No, I found the experience quite enlightening." I chose my words carefully. "I was shown love and kindness, and..."

I swallowed harshly as I felt the embrace of water.

"I am so glad to have you back. The family will be so glad to see you."

"Yes, well, there is something you need to know." I closed my eyes, conjuring his face again. "I met someone."

"A mortal?" His voice was softer.

"Yes. He and I are... in love."

He was silent for a moment. "Are you certain that this is true?"

I nodded. "With all of my heart."

I heard him laugh. "Wonderful. I will gladly welcome him into the family. Bring him tomorrow morning for the first trial."

My heart felt sick and stuck in my throat. "He cannot join me here." I whispered.

"Why not? He has nothing to fear in the river. He will be well protected here."

"That is not why. He..." I closed my eyes tighter, all of my emotion ripping through my veins. "He is a Havoc Wraith."

At first the water was unusually still, then it felt like it exploded around me. I was pushed away, then shook by the shoulders, my limbs shaking helplessly.

"Foolish girl! How could you throw your life away for... that. They know nothing but hatred and destruction. You will be tossed away within the year, no, within the month."

"No. He is different. You have to understand."

"Understand this."

I could not breathe. Though I'd imagined the moment a thousand times, with me staring ahead with defiance, I could not help but put my hands to my throat in desparation. Tears began to fall. I loved him. I would do this for him.

"You will feel this every day if you remain with him. I cannot tie our people to such a disgraceful race."

I kept still, fighting for conciousness. Yet, somehow, I heard the faintest of sighs, and my breath was restored.

"I cannot take your powers. You have always used them so well."

I waited for the rest of it, afraid to breathe, now that I could.

"But you can never return to the city. You are no longer a goddess. You are no longer my daughter."

I was pushed back onto the bank, where I lay for a while, feeling the land air fill my lungs. My eyes would not cry, though my devastation was immense. I would never see my family again. I could not be immortal.

Before dawn came, I was at Lourntav's side, muting the coughs and sneezes of my first illness. He must never know what I have done.

dannoden

{Dannoden's addition}

In the eastern forrests of Cheldana, not far from the border with Loresad, lay the Temple of Kierun monastery. Few knew of its existence, for Kierun was the youngest of the gods who were worshipped in Cheldana, and while his four elder brother gods were actively worshipped by the populace, the number of Kierun's worshippers were few. The reason for this was that the four brothers were each representatives of the five elements that the populace could understand and make use of, while Kierun's focus was concerned with magick, mysticism and the realm of the spirit; something the people of Cheldana possessed little understanding of. and had little use for in their everyday lives. As far as the kingdom of Cheldana was concerned, magick was to be left to the devices of those in Loresad; a land which was based on the concept of magick. The ruler of Cheldana was more concerned with the more mundane facets of life, and though he was forced from time to time to acknowledge the existence of magick, he feared what he could not understand, and as a consequence of that fear he had no use for it.

Connor Brithairn stood before a set of massive doors within the monastery: readying his gi, adjusting his belt, and preparing for his final ritual testing. Today was his eighteenth birthday, and in mere moments he would walk through those doors to face the final tests that would lead to his achieving the status of a full Monk. He had come to the temple some thirteen years ago, at the age of five, and now all his training would finally result in the culmination of his greatest desire. He had worked hard all those years to try to master the intracacies of the human mind and spirit, and to study the specialized magick of the Monks of Kierun, and today he would see if he had done it well. Now that his ritual clothing was in order, he sank to the rataan mat and performed the calming rituals he had been taught. Taking deep calming breaths, he assumed the lotus position and sought to calm the nervousness that was only natural on the day of final testing. After several moments he was calm enough to begin the ritual prayer to Kierun that all acolytes were taught to ready themselves for a great challenge. When he finished, he rose lithely from the mat and moved to front the massive doors. He was ready.

Pushing the doors open, he walked some 50 feet to the center of the large square mat where the testing would take place. Taking his position in the center of the large symbol of Kierun on the mat, he placed his right fist against the flattened palm of his left hand and bowed respectfully to the 5 highest ranking monks who would judge him on this day. Master Doran, High Monk of the temple of Kierun stood then and faced Connor. "Today you come before us to attempt to be elevated to the status of full Monk. This will be your final test. Either you will succeed and be elevated to full rank, or you will fail and be cast back into the kingdom of Chaldera. Have you performed your rituals and prepared to meet this test?"

"Yes, master Doran, I have," he replied. "I am ready."

Master Doran eyed Connor speculatively, then after a long pause, spoke. "After all your years of training, the masters and I agree that you are perhaps the most promising acolyte we have ever had. You have passed through all the stages of training with an ease that has seldom been seen within the halls of this monastery. Today you will be tested as never before."

Connor gave another bow of respect. "Thank You Master"

"Now," the master continued, "it is time to make you aware of a change in the testing procedure. The final test for elevation to Monk has always been the performance of the 5th Kata, but for reasons that shall be revealed to you after the test is completed, this will not be the case for you. You will be facing a test today that will take you to the very limits of your ability. You will perform the 8th kata."

For a moment, Connor was stunned. "But Master," he nearly stammered, "you are the only Monk who has ever successfully completed the 8th Kata!"

Master Doran nodded. "This is so, but there is a reason for this, and as I said, all will be revealed follwing the completion of the test. We cannot force you to do this, it is your choice. We have decided that should you refuse, you will be granted full Monk status without having to perform the 5th Kata. You are now a full monk, no matter what you decide. I will give you a few moments to consider this, then you must make your decision. I will not attempt to influence you except to say that I hope you will accept this challenge."

Connor's mind raced with all the implications of facing the 8th Kata. In the 5th Kata he would be facing five opponents, but he would have to fight 8 monks to complete the 8th Kata. He had never even trained to fight 8 at once, and though he was confident in his abilities, a moment of doubt crept in. In the entire history of the monastery, only Master Doran had successfullly completed such a task. Could he do this? He also wondered what the reason might be for them wishing for him to attempt it. In the end, though he was uncertain he could do it, he knew that he must try. Otherwise he would always regret not making the attempt, not stretching himself to his full potential. Finally, after a full 3 minutes of consideration, he looked up at Master Doran. "Sensei...I will agree to perform the 8th Kata."

The moment he finished accepting the challenge, he sensed movement to his right. With a slight movement of his head, he glimpsed a figure moving toward him from behind one of the five columns on that side of the room. The test had begun! The next five minutes were a whirlwind of activity. He spun and jumped, attacked and defended, with no time for thought. They were eight full monks, and with this knowledge in mind, he went into action. As the masters watched, Connor performed as he never had before. Once the attacks began, all thought fled, and his instincts and training took over. He became a whirling dervish, using every bit of his training and skill to meet this task, and it was hard...the hardest thing he had ever done. Though the entire fight lasted only five minutes, it seemed like eons to Connor, and by the time it finished he was nearly ready to crumple from exhaustion. He was also amazed to suddenly find himself without an opponent. He looked around the room, counting the robed figures that lay upon the mat in various positions of defeat. He began to count them, and when he had finished he realized that it was done. He had completed the 8th Kata, and was still standing. Breathing rapidly, he faced the masters, and without a word, he made the ritual bow.

Master Doran stood, as did the other Masters. In turn each of them gave him the bow of respect due only to a master, then all but Master Doran turned and left the room. The doors behind him opened once again, and a flood of acolytes entered the room to remove and attend to the injuries of those Connor had defeated. Master Doran motioned for him to approach. Connor walked to the master, hardly believing that he had just become the second man ever to complete the 8th Kata. Doran motioned for him to take a seat beside him, the rose and stood before Connor. With quiet deliberation, he then removed the red belt that signified his rank. Folding it carefully, he bowed low to the seated youth, and handed Connor his Red Belt. Not only was Connor now a full Monk, but he was a Master!

Doran then seated himself beside the new Master. "You have done well, my son, very well. I knew this task was not beyond you. I want you to know that I am more proud now than I have ever been of one of my students."

Connor blushed. Master Doran's lavish praise was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, though some inner part of him still felt insecure and undeserving of it. "Thank You Master." Those words were all he could manage.

"Now, as I promised, it is time for the explanation of why you were asked to perform the 8th Kata." Connor remained silent, so overwhelmed by the days events that he could not speak, so Doran began. "I received a visitation last night in my sleeping chamber." He paused for a moment, then said, "It was Kierun himself." Connor's eyes widened visibly at this news. In all the years he had been there, such a thing had never happened. Doran continued. "He came to me to deliver a task, and it was you he had in mind for it my son."

Connor started visibly. "Me?"

"Yes Connor, you. You have long been watched over by Kierun, and I have spent that last 13 years preparing you for the task that he has prophesied for you. Today was the culmination of that preparation, and you are now ready to assume that task. Kierun has need of you. Will you help him?"

Connor took no time to consider the request, and immediately said, "Yes, of course. Kierun is my god, and if he needs me then I have no choice but to respond. He has been good to me, and I look forward to repaying his kindness."
Whatever task he has for me, I will do everything in my power to complete it."

Doran smiled. "I knew this would be your answer, my son, so now I will tell you of your task. Kierun's 5 sisters, the goddesses who watch over Loresad, have requested his help. You know of the veil between the lands of men, and that of the Fey. Well, this veil has been torn, and the Havoc Wraiths are loosed upon the land. Loresad is in dire straits, and if it falls, Cheldana may be next. Kierun wishes for you to travel to the city of Llyr in Loresad, where you will meet with a man by the name of Sir Jonas Veln. You are directed to help this man in the fight against the Havoc Wraiths, to help stem the tide of evil and destruction. You must use your abilites as best you can in this fight, for we cannot allow Loresad to fall to this tide of Evil. The resulting Chaos may well destroy the world."

Connor had great love for his god, and knew he could not refuse this task. He wasnt certain how only one man could do much to complete this task, but he would give it his all. "When shall I leave Master?"

"On this very day," was the reply. I horse has already been prepared for you, with all the supplies you will need. You may take the afternoon to rest and prepare yourself for the journey, and leave at twilight."

"I shall give it my all master."

Doran smiled. "I know you will my son. Kierun has great love for you, and has directed me to give you a gift to aid you in your task." The Master clapped his hands together, and small figure stepped from behind one of the columns and came to stand in front of Connor. The figure was humanoid, but unlike anything Connor had ever seen. It had the height and form of a five year old child, but of features there were none. The creature was solid black, with an oily sheen to its skin. It had no eyes or mouth, and just stood there motionless and silent before the now mystified Connor. "As you know," Doran explained, "we of the order of Kierun wear no armor. It is too cumbersome, and too restrictive to the movements we make in our martial style. In this fight against the Havoc Wraiths, you will need more protection than your Gi will give you. With this in mind, Kierun has created this creature specifically for you."

Connor wore a perplexed look upon his face. "How will this strange creature help me Master?"

"This being is a magical construct," Doran explained. "It was designed to provide you with the armor you need. Stand now, and do not be frightened by what happens. You must pick the creature up, as you would a child, and hold it to your chest. Hold still for a few moments, and you will see how this will help you."

Connor did as he was directed, and the second he had the creature in his arms, something very strange happened. Suddenly the creature, which was nearly weightless, began to flow and change shape. It flowed smoothly to conform to the shape of his body, covering him from head to toe with what felt like a second skin. When this process finished, he turned toward the full length mirror behind the stage, and saw that it covered him over every inch of his body, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed. With a sense of wonder, he stared at it. He now looked as if he wore a tight fitting suit of clothing, with the symbol of Kierun emlazoned in red upon his chest. The only things that were not black or red, were his eye, teeth and tongue. He had to admit that he had never seen anything like it.

Master Doran, when Connor turned to look at him, now held one of the staves that was one of the few weapons the Monks of Kierun were allowed to use. The Master swung it swiftly toward Connor, and before he could move, impacted against his chest. Connor felt a slight pressure where the stave struck him, but no pain, and the stave shattered into splinters against his chest. It was as if he wore a suit of full armor, but he found that it held no weight, and did not in any way restrict his movements. What a wondrous gift, he thought.

Master Doran explained further. "If you place your hand on your forehead, and make a movement as if you were slicking back your hair, you will find that the portions of this being which cover your head, will slide back in the form of a hood that rests on the back of your neck." He handed Connor a list of commands that would help him in the use of this wonderful armor, and the youth noted that one command would make the armour slide off of his body into a form that could be stored in his saddlebags. "As you can see this is a wondrous gift, and will be of great help in battle."

"Oh Master!" Connor exclaimed, "This is the greatest gift Ive ever received!"

Master Doran nodded. "Yes, and you must thank Kierun for it the next time you perform your ritual prayers." He placed his hand on Connor's shoulder. "There is one last directive I must give before you go to your rest. You know of the tenet of our religion which forbids you to use the magicks you have learned here for your own gain. This magick can only be used to assist others. Do not break this tenet, or there will certainly be disastrous consequences for you. Is that understood?"

Connor nodded. "Yes Master."

"Good, then go to your rest. Try to sleep a few hours if you can, for you must leave at twilight. You must travel to Llyr as quickly as you are able, for your help is desparately needed there. Good luck my son."

Quaddy

The first time I used my powers, I ended up leaving half of my body on one side of a wall, my head hanging into a common room and my feet ankle deep in the mud. It was an inauspicious beginning to the brilliant career of a master thief, which I can assure you I have become. I was only twelve at the time, waiting for my father to come out of the stable. A woman, if that garishly painted monkey puppet could be referred to as such, had already exited, thick fingers trying, and failing, to lace her bodice correctly over the sort of chest that 'magically' appeared as the corset got tighter. She had the pointed ears of an elf, but none of the grace; that was to be expected from a woman whose only talents were limber joints and the ability to moan on cue. As she passed, I grimaced, knowing exactly what she had just done- and with my own father. He was a wretch, whose fingers grew too nimble for my tastes when drink filled his blood and dulled his gaze; one too many night had ended in my narrow escape from his lecherous gaze. The woman had the audacity to smile at me and such a feeling of disgust overwhelmed me- a muddy, dirty feeling dripping down my entire body- that I spat in her face, recoiling from her poison. The wall should have stopped me. Instead, it gave way and I found myself tumbling into the common room of the inn. I screamed and the wall solidified, halfway through my body.

It must be said that Loresad is the only place in all of Heklos where I could have stopped the rain with a gesture and not ended up burned as a witch or laughed at in derision. Twelve is, after all, when I had gotten the monthly bleed and they say that womanhood is the key to unlocking a girl's power. But falling through a wall was indicative of a very rare power among the Light, and something that inspires distrust among the peoples of Loresad: teleportation. Shadow Walking, as it's called by the magicians up in their towers, was common enough in the Wraiths, whose lives were half shadow, but I was Fae and Fae are creatures of the Light. To be a Shadow Walker gave me the powers of the darkness: to be come invisible, to walk through walls, to teleport. Ultimately, it gave me the ability to take and never to give, to destroy and never create. And it destroyed my life. So I stole a new one, using what talents my powers and a quick mind had given me. Born of a daoine sídhe, a lady of the Spirit realm, and a human fire magician, their magic had somehow combined in me to become shadow; perhaps the bright fire of my father's passions had created the darkness and the spirit of my mother had opened the other realms for me. The wit and intelligence of both had fallen on my slim shoulders. Without them, I would have died. Without them, I could have lived.

The magic shapes the user. There are those who will argue the other way around; optimists and healers, whose view of life is so unbearably pristine and happy that I couldn't bear more than a bell or two around them without escaping into the midland realms that are my sanctuary. Their aura is too white, shaped too much by the naivete that is the core of their being; too much time around me might corrupt them, after all, send their soul down the paths of the unrighteous into the clutches of the crooked Elza and her deadly Wraiths. After I fell through that wall, my life as a hostler's daughter ended, leaving an unwanted girl standing in the cold rain, looking for some place to call home. The people took pity on me long enough to help me pull the rest of my body into the common room; their pity ended when they realized I had fallen through a solid wall by magic instead of rotten wood, as had often been the case in the small town I had made my home until that point. Imagine, for a second, that you are a twelve-year-old girl that has just found out she has magic and, all of a sudden, people that had always looked at you with softness in their eyes are screaming for your death. What would you do in a situation like that? Would you stay in the Light? Knowing that to do so would be your destruction?

Perhaps there are some who would say that it is the nature of the Light to be harsh and unforgiving, a bleaching white force of good, as it is the role of the Darkness to comfort you into suffocation; that only the weak allow their sufferings to break their will to serve Goodness. To those people, I say only this: to live is to suffer, but I mean to live nonetheless. Even if it means being the Left Hand of the Bright Goddess.

Thus, I live in the shadow. And I love the shadow. It is comforting to me. But it is I who controls the suffocation, not the Darkness. For I am Fae, and the Fae do not serve the Night.

*****

Logan leaned against a tree, her arms crossed and one foot pressed up against the trunk, watching the last vestiges of battle with a wry smile twisting her face. A series of scars lined the outer edge of her lips, evidence that someone had once sewn her lips together; a ritual intended to bind the darkness within a person. She sunk against the tree, relying on the spirit within to sustain the cloak of invisibility that she held tight over her slender form, eager as she was to remain unseen until the Wraiths and especially the Knights had disappeared. Her eyes, dark and full of suspicion, scanned the battlefield, watching each casualty as they fell to the blood-stained grass, noting which bodies were well-equipped. The metal from their swords would fetch a good price at any market, as long as she got there early enough to get the best of the pick. So she stayed close to the battle, ignoring the gorge that threatened to rise into her throat, and held herself in the shadow world, hoping that none of the Wraiths came in looking for her.

The scars along her mouth were only the beginning of the ritual tortures. Logan had endured far more in the months following the discovery of her magic, before she had finally escaped into the alleyways and taverns of the underground. One night, at the beginning of her next bleed, a hot poker had been pressed against her womanhood, an attempt to steal what the superstitious townsfolk thought of as her power source. The skin had fused together that night and Logan had nearly died, tossing and turning in a prison bed. Only an elf woman, a woman who plied her skills with any man with ready coin, took pity on her, remembering and forgiving the spit that had dribbled down her face. Her skills were weak, limited to the magic of women, but she had just enough to heal the girl's wounds. Logan was restored- that time. Later, when runes of blocking and destruction were carved into her skull, then she had patted the blood free and slept through the worst of the fever. It was when they tried to blind her, bringing the spike within an inch of her eye, that Logan finally broke. She cursed the town, giving them the horned hand, damning them to the fires of retribution. That night, as the town burned, Logan escaped into the shadows.

"Run, run, Knights of the Star, Elza will get you before you get far. Then you'll die and the grass run red, but I'll have coin to buy my bread," Logan whispered, picking at her dirty nails with a small shiv, unable to tear her eyes from the fighting in front of her. "When Elza's gone and you've all won, my path in darkness will be done." Logan's eye fell on one man, whose aura shone brighter than all the others despite the blood pouring down his face and body from multiple wounds; he hung himself on two of his men, who supported him as they limped toward the gates of Llyr. Behind him, a line of mercenaries stretched across the battlefield. Logan had never seen anything like it. "Oh bright Star Knight, you've created a wondrous sight, but an aura that's as bright as thine will break before it dulls its shine."

The man intrigued her. He was a tree that did not bend in the wind, whereas she was a willow bent over the stream to hide from the gale. But for the unfortunate manner of her magic, she might have been him. Instead, she stood under the shade of a tree, ready to become rich, and he bled to death. If he didn't reach a healer soon, the Crone would most certainly reach out for his soul. Even now, Logan thought she could see the fog, the bony fingers of that most fearsome aspect, reaching for him. "Stay Goddess Dark. I will take his wounds. You must see as well as I that his soul is not ready to leave with you. He must break before he can die. Like a pony, I will break him to your use, Mighty Goddess."

Logan slipped from the shadow world, eyes blinking against the suddenly bright gold of the sun, astonished as she always was by the color of life. Everyone had hidden behind the walls of the city, and already the rats were scurrying among the bodies. It was to be expected. There was good money to be made stealing from the dead, who wouldn't need it anyway. Like a wraith herself, Logan descended on the field, gleaning from the bodies. She could feel their souls, hanging so close to their bodies, waiting for the Crone. The Dark One had been stayed from the handsome warrior, but she would not ignore the souls of warriors dead in battle. "Oh poor warriors, dead and gone, your life and death are really one. But until you're back and all is good, I need your life to make my food."

A glinting of silver caught Logan's eye. One of the men had carried an amulet against evil, much good it had done him in the end. The steel of a Wraith would not stop at the behest of a warding against magic. Logan stooped and pulled the chain from around his neck, thinking that it would fetch her a fair half-talent of gold. Magically items went for huge sums, even in small towns. Holding the pendant in the palm of her hand, shaped in the circled star, Logan scanned it, listening to its whispers. The eye flashed, testing her magic, then went dead again. "Not evil, then. It seems we know something the others don't. Come on, amulet. I know for whom you are intended and it is not the market." Slipping the amulet into her pouch, Logan walked on.

One man in particular called to her. The stars in his neck alone would buy her food and supplies for a week, but his sword and his bow and the arrows sticking out of the fine quiver would fetch enough to outfit her for a month. And the dead didn't need them, while she did. "You're with the Crone now, but your death will let me eat." She removed everything from the man and, on a second thought, removed his food supplies. Soldiers' rations weren't the most delicate of foods, but they would do in a pinch. And it might take a little while for her to sell this items. She had a delivery for the Goddess first, and wounds to take.

Logan stood and stared at the gates of Llyr. They were warded against attack, but Logan did not mean to attack the city, just to enter it. Pushing through the layers of the shadow world, jumping deeper and deeper, Logan slid through the gates and into the city itself, past the guards and after the man she had seen earlier, the aura of pure light. A healer worked somewhere, and Logan followed her magic for several bells before finding a building glowing with white magick. She slipped from the Shadow, coming to stand inside a small room where a woman of the Fae realms stood. Her creature hissed, but Logan stopped it with a glance. "You're not going to be able to heal him. The wounds cannot be fixed, they must be destroyed. Let me do it."

The woman's eyes flared and, in that instant, Logan knew that the hapless Fae woman had allowed herself to fall in love with the injured man. What a silly little creature. Something like that will only end in sorrow. "And what would a creature of the Shadow know about healing? See, I have healed the wounds. He needs time to restore his equilibrium." Before Logan could answer, the man waved two fingers and three souls entered the room; his soldiers, each with an arrow aimed straight at her heart. One man, apparently recognizing the sword she held, growled.

"The bitch has Larik's sword!" His eyes were small and dark, but Logan saw the fire in his aura. "She's been stealing from the dead!"

Logan turned and shrugged. "They don't need it." She felt his ire, burning bright. And she felt the power that it brought her, the deep shadows created by the raging fire of his soul. "Think you the dead warrior misses his sword? Or the dead matron her dresses and fine silver? Memories and remembrances are for the living. Your Larik sits in the Otherworld, in the halls of never-ending mead, bright fires, in the company of his mighty ancestors. He learns from the Crone that Death is but the counter to Life and they are the same. That Shadow is Light's brother. And, thus, when he has learned his lesson, he will be born again. But think you he will want his sword from his life before? He won't even remember it."

"That is no excuse to defile the dead!" Bright Soul spoke this time. Logan felt the amulet in her pocket, felt it burn. Soon. I will give you to your master soon.

"I gave him the blessings of the Dark Goddess. Mayhap your souls are so bright that what I do is evil. But I need to eat to survive. And I am not so lucky as you that I can afford to be so choosy."

Bright Soul looked at her, mistrustfully, fingers held poised on the edge of signaling her death. He didn't need to move, he had control. "Only a creature of Shadow would steal from the dead."

"Oh, and I have so many other options? All I have to do is walk into a room and everyone wants to kill me. I offered to take your wounds and you had your men surround me. One move and I am shot through with arrows. I am no Wraith to be treated so. I am Sidhe!"

"You are Shadow," the Fae woman replied. "I feel it from here. Your magick is the magick of the Wraiths."

Logan tutted. "I am disappointed in you, Sister. That you have forgotten the way. The Wraiths have the magick of Shadow, but it is their intent that warps it to evil. Magick is merely magick. The Light may be used for Evil as easily as the Shadow may be used for Good. I do not fight for Evil and I am not Evil. I am Shadow. And I am Fae."

"Impossible."

"Not so. The libraries of Cassy's Star held tomes of magicians such as I. Children of Spirit and Fire, who enter the Realms and walk in the Shadows of the world created by the bright Light of Fire." Logan's tears watered. "The world lost so much the day Cassy's Star fell. Much that cannot be retrieved. We may but hope to stem the flow of Evil in this world." Logan turned to Bright Soul and pulled the amulet from her pocket. "I have something for you which might allay your fears of my magick. One of your men carried this. It is his soul's intent that you have it. The Witch may test it; naught but the original spell has touched this pendant. It wards against evil magick."

The man lowered their weapons at Bright Soul's nod.

Logan chuckled and handed Bright Star the amulet. "I know more about death than anyone in this room. The shadow of the Crone rests lightly on you; she watches, waiting, knowing there is a chance she might yet have you and your bright aura. Only I know how to destroy a wound from a Wraith weapon. So, as I said, let me do it. I do not know your name, soldier, but I know your aura and I See great things that would be undone if the Crone takes you before your time. Put it on and know that I am not evil. I can heal your wounds if you will trust a Fae with the power of Shadow. If not, you will die."

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

My body still ached, my wounds still burned, and my memory still whirled with the visions of feverish nightmares. But here in the company of these two Fae women, my mind was immediately and completely alert.
I regarded this ‘Fae of Shadow’ carefully. I wanted to trust her, but found that I couldn’t, at any rate not readily. “My injuries are not so severe,” I told her, trying to see things carefully. “Lady Lillian, here, tells me that even my stomach wound is just a flesh wound. I would trust a practiced healer to be more than capable of tending to-“

“Your flesh isn’t the only part of you that’s injured!” the Shadow Fae exclaimed, seeming agitated for only a moment before regaining her calm. “Wraith-crafted weapons bear curses. Hexes, to harm the spirit as well as the body. Only I know how to properly destroy such wounds.”

I studied the silver amulet in my hands, turning the shining pentagram over and over between by fingers as it glittered in the candlelight. “There have been… too many rumors, lately, of Wraith assassins posing as innocents in order to get close to Loresish officers and leaders. How can I be sure that you are not such an assassin?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me, but beyond that I could discern no expression to give away her thoughts. “Have your healer examine that amulet, and you will see that-“

“The amulet means nothing,” I interrupted her, holding up a hand. You brought it in here. As I understand it, a magickal item enchanted to mimic a reading of a person’s aura isn’t all that hard to make.”

“You’re accusing me of offering to heal you only to kill you?” She pointed to Lady Lillian. “Could not she be suspect to the same accusation?”

Lillian glared with eyes like steel. “How dare you. Get out of my home.”

“If Lady Lillian wanted to kill me, I would be dead,” I said simply. “She has been tending to me for a whole night. You, however, have just appeared, with all the signs of Wraith magicks about you, to interrupt her care and tell me that you must tend to me instead. I am sorry. But I cannot trust you.”

“If you do not allow me to heal your wounds,” the woman spoke very slowly, “then you will die. And you… you… cannot die before your time.”

“If you leave now, then I will let you go in peace, and forget the sword you stole from my fallen comrade.”

She just looked at me for a long moment. She didn’t seem angry or offended, just… disappointed? “You’re making a mistake,” was all she said, in a tone more sorrowful than I had expected. And then she was gone.

I slept through most of the rest of that day. I awoke only to eat or drink what was offered by Lady Lillian, or to converse briefly with her or Dante. Her care was gentle, soothing, and I felt comforted by her attentiveness. Still, each time she came to check up on my health, she seemed a little more worried, though she said nothing.

I can scarcely describe the horror of the vivid nightmares that ravaged my fevered mind the second day I spent in Lady Lillian’s care.
In my dreams, I found myself in a desolate, windswept field surrounded by the dead and dying as far as I could see, the arid breeze carrying with it the pungent stench of rotting carrion. My body was suspended several feet above the ground by a pike that impaled me through the stomach, and flames crackled and danced hideously around the wound, licking my flesh and causing it to run in streams like hot wax. I didn’t scream; I didn’t make a sound. The pain was far too great for any noise, any action, any thought. There was only the pain; it was everything. I was the pain, and the pain was me. I watched myself burn, and watched my own body slide slowly down the shaft of the pike, and I could not look away.
The field fell away to blackness, and as my body slid from the pike, the pike also slid from me, and fell too into the void. I was left alone in infinite darkness, crippled by the gaping hole through the center of my being, shivering from the intense cold of a place where the sun had died and the stars had all been swallowed in shadow. I was falling, faster and faster, spinning and nauseous from the vertigo.
In a blink, I found myself lying splayed on the polished marble floor of an ancient temple. The air was still and silent, and the place felt holy; it made me hesitant to even breathe, for fear that merely by exhaling I might defile the sanctity of this place.
From nearby, I heard a sound. Like a voice murmuring through a thick layer of cloth.
So weak and overcome with tremendous pain that I could barely move, I rolled over on my side to look in the direction of the strange noise. There, sitting propped against a wall, was a beautiful young woman with sea-blue eyes.
Or, rather, what was left of her.
Both of her arms had been cut off at the shoulder; both of her legs had been cut off at the knee. She looked at me with desperate, terror-filled eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to speak, but instead could only make pitiful moans and squeaks, for her tongue had been cut out.
When I saw her, frantically trying to call out to me, her eyes pleading for help, my heart broke. I wept, my salty tears falling softly onto the hard floor. “I am sorry…” I said to her, as I lay broken and bleeding on the temple floor. “I cannot help you.”

“Anansa!” I shouted the goddess’ name as I awoke.
Relieved that I had only been dreaming, I lay back in the bed and sighed deeply, my mind still delirious with weakness. And then, the thought occurred to me: why had I shouted the name of one of the Five?
The horrific images of the nightmare returned to my memory all at once. I gasped. Of course: I had seen the goddess Anansa, the Loresish goddess of elemental water. Something terrible was happening, and not merely in the realms of mortals.
Where was I? A house. More than that, my memory was too languid to discern. Who had brought me here? Whoever had was gone at the moment. I didn’t care. My exhaustion beckoned to me once more, and I fell back asleep.
No more dreams came, only morphing, nonsensical shapes and colors and sickening sensations as I tossed and turned.

On the third day, I awoke drenched in sweat, feeling as though all vitality and energy was completely drained from me and lost forever. Lillian, Dante, and Orthian all stood over me, looking worried, sorrowful, grave.
Perched atop the right bed-post at the foot of the bed was a large, mottled crow, staring at me with black eyes. I stared at it for a long while, and it stared back at me, silent, motionless. I felt my body shiver and sweat at the same time. Suddenly, the crow squawked, and I cried out with surprise. In the next moment, it was gone, vanished, as though it was never there.

“What? What’s wrong?!” Lady Lillian shouted, coming quickly to my side.

“The… the crow,” I said weakly, pointing to the bedpost where the crow had been.

“What? What crow? There’s nothing there.”

I just lay there for a short while, shivering, thinking. I was going to die, from wounds that physically were already healing. Maybe… maybe the Shadow woman had been right. I felt as though I was withering away from the spirit outward.

“Dante, Orthian,” I beckoned to my two loyal soldiers. The two of them came closer and nodded to me. “The woman that came here three days ago. The Shadow Fae. I need you to… go and seek her out. Bring her back. I shouldn’t have sent her away. Please, find her.”

Neither of them hesitated. “Yes sir,” they both said, and left at once.

I felt that I didn’t have much time left. The world was already growing dim.

From the eyes of Lourntav

Three days had passed since the battle at Laxthorogh.
Something was wrong with Dia. She wouldn’t talk about it. Every time I asked, she said that she was fine, and then made an excuse to move away from me. She was distant, and moved languorously, seeming lost in thought. She was much less affectionate, and it seemed that nothing I could do could coax her from her dejected demeanor. Inevitably, each time, I grew frustrated, insulted her, and walked away.

“Moody bitch…” I was mumbling to myself as I pointed a finger and caused the fire to erupt from the dry branches and twigs we had gathered. “I try to help and she pushes me away. Why do I even try with her?”

A moment later, I saw her moving towards me out of my peripheral. Then, I felt her presence, standing beside me. I could almost feel the hurt emanating from her, though I was still left in ignorance of its cause.

“I won’t apologize for what I said,” I told her without looking at her, adding more dry sticks to the fire. “You really are a pus-oozing hemorrhoid, and I really do think you should give oral pleasure to a stray dog.”

She said nothing, and I wondered if maybe she was thinking about leaving. Not just walking away, but leaving. And it was odd, because right then, I did want to apologize. But my pride wouldn’t let me contradict myself saying that I wasn’t going to apologize. So I stayed silent, and stayed angry with her.

Finally, she just sighed and sat down next to me. “Always with the name-calling. You’re so mature.” She didn’t even sound angry. Just… tired.

I turned and looked at her. I tried to glare, but somehow couldn’t. I was distracted by how beautiful her eyes looked in the firelight, and even as I thought about how much I hate her, I was also distracted from it by the thought of how much I love her. “So are you ready to talk to me?” I asked.

She just looked back at me, smiled weakly, and then closed her eyes.

I watched as the men left the room. I pulled into myself doubting myself for a moment because he called her back, "He doesn't belive in me. He doesn't think I can heal him, that my abilities are minimal and not enough to save him. I turned and frown at him without him seeing he seemed that he was deep in thought to oblivious to the world to see my frown. He doubt my abilities. She made him doubt me. She brought this on, but I will prove them wrong. I will do everything I possibly can to heal him. To make him whole. She will not be needed. Already I was in motion. I was going over things i could do. Spells...medicine...salves...I know a plethora of each...I would fix him.

Jonas was asleep when I exited my kitchen. It would make this easier, there would be no need to explain to him why I was trying so hard. I gently sat down the blue candle on my alter and lit it. Closing my eyes I imagined in my mind him and imagined him glowing in negative red energy and slowly a green healing energy covered him and when his body was completely lit up with the pure green of healing energy I spoke:

I hold you in my heart and wrap you in my love.
My circle of protection descends now from above.
And as I send this energy, all pain shall disappear.
And all the disease shall dissipate and shrivel up in fear.
The emptiness I now replace, with fresh vitality, so you shall thrive upon the earth in laughter, love and glee.
Brightest blessings and good health, my friend,
Encase you from now on.
I ask that They watch over you and keep you well and strong.

I sat silently allowing the spell to take, sending healing energies tword him. And when i felt it complete,"So Mote it be."

The next few hours was a whirl of medicines...herbs flying, brewing...the whole time Wings small fairy form flying behind me. Soon she would be here...and she would see that I could heal him with my white magic. She wouldn't be needed.

I could not tell him why I was so, for lack of a better term, mortal. There was no knowing how he would react, as it had only been a few months since we met. His anger would either be directed at me, or at the rest of the world, perhaps even both. But I could not go near him for some time. He would feel the fever on my usually cool skin and know, for he was not dumb to such things.

After a while, I heard him move restlessly. He did not understand my behavior, that I knew. It appeared to him that I was cold and unloving, but I could not help that without adding to our troubles.

"Lourntav." I whispered, listening to him turn toward me. "Do you remember the first day we met, by the wood? I thought you were going to kill me."

He laughed. "To be fair, I was only defending myself. Little did I know that you were holding back. I still do not understand why you chose to use your bow when you could have destroyed me with a flood."

"If I were not holding back, if that were the extent of my ability, do you think..." I opened my eyes, half hidden by my unruly hair. "Do you think we would have..."

He sat beside me. "What does it matter? What is this about?"

"I was only remembering easier times."

"Those times were anything but easy. Do you realize how frustrating you were?"

It was my turn to smile. "As opposed to now? Why, I must be getting lazy. I shall have to try harder to vex you. We would not want you to get a decent night's sleep, now would we?"

He watched me lean back and look at the sky. "The stars are so bright tonight. It makes me feel so close." I reached out, thinking for a second that I could touch them. But to my disappointment, my hand came away empty. I set in on my stomach, embarrassed at my child-like foolishness.

My heart fluttered as I looked at him. The moonlight turned his face silver, and accented his features so that everything seemed sculpted in stone. Yet it was none of these things that sent shivers over my skin. It was the look of pure love in his eyes that took away my fear.

For a second, my secret caught in my mouth. I could tell him now, he would understand. Yet in my heart I knew that he was not ready. What I had done would hurt him, and I did not wish to frighten him until I knew for sure where we stood.

My eyes closed for longer periods of time as my exhaustion got the better of me. Images of the fire and sky chased each other in my mind until I was no longer sure of my surroundings. Not that I cared, for I felt safe.

I lay against Lourntav's shoulder and closed my eyes one last time, humming softly my mother's lullaby. Perhaps somewhere she could see me, as she too had once taken a chance on her love.

Lonewolf

I watched on as my friend, my captain lay unconscious; he had awakened and asked that Orthian and I find that shadow woman. I didn’t care for the shadow woman at all because she had stolen from a fallen comrade; taken his sword as he lay dead. There was something about her that struck me as odd, yet familiar, but I just couldn’t grasp what that was just yet.

Upon leaving the house I felt this strange presence around me, and I just couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadow woman was near. The air was cold with the sun sinking slowly below the vast reaches of the desert, its light casting everything in a beautiful golden color.

“Where the hell is that shadow fae woman?” I asked no in-particular.

Walking around the city I checked all over for any sign of the fae woman, but there was none, and whenever I would ask about her people would have a blank stare with their eyes glazed over. On several occasions I saw Orthian, and each time he had not seen the woman either.

While walking down an alleyway I saw what looked like an old hag, and was going to pass her by, however the chain around my neck burned incredibly hot, so much so that I wanted to yelp from the pain it wrought on my skin. I went to pull it away when the woman turned in my direction. I could tell from the marks around her mouth that it was the fae woman. Immediately a rage built itself in the pit of my stomach knowing that she had stolen from Larik, but there was another reason it was there other than that.

“Jonas has sent me to find you.” I said to her in almost disgust.

“So, Jonas is his name Fire soul?”

“You can call me Dante as long as you heal him.”

“Dante is the name of a great warrior mage I heard about once, but he lived hundreds of years ago, yet I sense something strange with you. Your soul rages with a fire unlike any other, you are aren’t as bright as Jonas, yet there is something odd with you.”

Talking with her was odd because she did so as if she was measuring what she said to me. I grew tired of her jabber.

“We must get to Sir Jonas quickly, I fear he does not have time for all of-“

Before I had time to finish she had already started to melt into the shadows with a crooked smile on her face.

“Meet you there fire soul.”

I was left in the alley looking at the spot where it seemed she had melted into with my mouth agape, until something in the back of my mind fought its way to the forefront.

You can trust her Dante

“I must need more sleep; I’m starting to hear things.” I said once again to no one in-particular as I made my way to find Orthian and tell him of my discovery.

Quaddy

"So, your name is Jonas. Rather less magnificent than the Shadow's name for you, Bright Soul." Logan stepped from the shadows and into the pounding heat of the sickroom. The Fae woman had obviously burned the brazier throughout the night, tossing incense powders onto the flame with abandon; the pungent spice crawled through the air, its sickeningly sweet claws racking their way into Logan's nose and winding upward into her brain. "Goodness, did she think to frighten away the Soul Taint with smoke and spice?" A headache squirreled its way from behind her eyes upward into her forehead. "Ridiculous."

Logan walked further into the room, ignoring the force of the pungency, and toward the still-sleeping form of Bright Soul. She had divested herself of the sword and stars, the coin now chinking against one another in the pouch that slouched at her side. As her chestnut braid swung across her back, Logan came up beside Jonas' bed and dropped to her knees at his head, placing her hands on either side of the Knight's head and dropping into the Shadow realm.

It was clear that the witch had thrown every bit of white magick she possessed at the fallen Knight, intertwined and strengthened by her love for him. Whatever she had done, the Fae creature had done a good enough job to heal everything that could be healed by White magick. But, as so many in Loresad and, unfortunately, the Fae realms had forgotten, the magicks of the Crone alone could complete a soul healing. The Bright Goddess' power stretched almost into infinity, so long as there was light. But in the darkness and the shadow, her sister was supreme. And the soul, the body's shadow, lay within the realm of the Crone.

"Get away from him!" Logan snapped out of the Shadow, feeling the burn of the witch's power against her body. "I have done enough and you are no longer necessary!"

Logan spun, throwing her power into a shield and attack nearly simultaneously, throwing the woman into the wall with the force of her anger and surprise. She had not wanted to hurt the woman; Logan had nothing against her, merely a slight disdain for her ignorance of the Dark Sisters, but the witch had attacked her. "Desist, White One, or I will rip your soul from your body and feed it to the djinn and daemons who lurk between the realms! No one attacks me!" Logan stood and stared at the woman as she struggled to her feet, shield raised and aura glowing. "What code do you live by that you would attack a fellow Fae without provocation?"

The woman snarled. "You are not Fae! No Fae consorts with the Shadows. Again I say, you are not needed here."

"Wrong on both counts, White One. And your little creature may stop flitting behind me, too, or I will lock her in shadow! I am not evil, witch, but nor am I kind and I take no qualms in destroying those who would attack me, even if it means destroying an innocent." Logan stared, eyes the color of a midnight storm, the room growing darker around her. "I am Fae, or I could not cross the realms. I am Fae, or I could not enter through your defenses, which I felt as I entered. And you may look at your love for yourself to see that you have not healed everything." Logan pointed at the body. "Look at his soul, White One. Look at the shadow of his being. It is weak. It is full of holes. It bleeds."

"If his soul bleeds, it is because you stab it."

Logan laughed. "There are none so blind as those who will not see, White One. Shine your light and see the holes, then. I could have killed you, witch. I could have done everything I said. But I did not. Trust in that kindness and allow me to heal this man. If I do not, he will die. And I did not bargain with the Crone to lose him to her grasp."

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

There were no more nightmares. It was as though my mind was too tired to create them. Colors, shapes, and occasionally, coherent images would form, but then would recede back into the darkness of the infinitely strange and unfathomable subconscious.
I remember feeling, in sleep, the sickness and the dread. I knew that I was dying, I felt it, felt myself being drawn away from the living world and towards some frighteningly unknown but strangely comforting realm.
Once, though, I remember falling away. I was falling through darkness, through worlds it seemed. But then, I was caught and suspended by some unseen force. I heard the voice of an old woman speak to me, not in words but in the language of the innermost spirit, something that mortal words and even thoughts are simply insufficient to describe. She said “No. I will not take you.”

I slowly opened my eyes, and at once they watered and burned from the light, and something pungent that hung in the air.
I looked up expecting to see Lillian tending to me, but instead saw the mysterious shadow fae from before. I couldn’t help but smile at the hope this brought me. “You came back,” I said weakly.

“Oh, so now you’re glad to see me,” she said sarcastically. “Hold still.”

All of the others in the room watched in anxious tension as the sidhe woman held her hands above me. In the next moment, I felt the energies within me shift drastically, and my body went rigid for a moment, more from the surprise of it than anything else.

“Watch yourself, banshee,” Orthian said with a dangerous edge to his tone. “Any trickery from you, and I’ll send you to meet the Crone yourself.”

“Save your threats for an actual enemy, little soldier,” she replied dismissively, not even turning her head.

“Calmly, good Orthian,” I assured him. “She is doing no more than she said she would.”

“I don’t trust her, and I don’t see how you can!” Lillian exclaimed, clearly unable to keep her silence. “Can’t you see what she’s doing? It’s obvious that this curse was her doing, from the last time she was here. And now instead of curing it, she is poisoning you further! She is evil, and probably works for Elza!”

The sidhe shook her head, and I could see her anger smoldering like embers beneath a blanket of ash. She seemed about to make a retort, but I spoke first, my voice calm but stern.

“Lady Lillian, please. Allow her to help, if she is willing to do so. Is your pride so great that you would watch me die before turning to a dark one for help?”

Lillian looked embarrassed for only a brief second, but quickly regained herself. “No, it’s nothing to do with pride, it’s about her being a death-herald. Anyone can see that-“

I held up a hand as I gave her a reproachful look. “Perhaps you should reserve your verdict sans concrete evidence, o judge.”

The sidhe woman looked at me, and I almost thought I saw an amused smirk play across her lips, but if it was there, it was gone just as quickly.

Lillian said no more, and after a few more moments, stepped outside, clearly agitated.

I focused inward, to see if I could make sense of what my strange benefactor was doing. I could definitely tell that a healing was taking place. It felt as though very deep-rooted, subconscious wounds were healing, patched over and sewn closed by a shadowy power which felt of sleep, dreams, and rest. It felt completely different from Lillian’s magick. Lillian’s was bright, warm, and masculine; the sidhe’s was, by contrast, shady, cool, and feminine. In sensing this, I felt that I had a bit better understanding of what this woman was about. It was easy to fear her, for everything about her was mysterious and strange. And yet, she was not to be feared, no more so than one should fear sleep, or the moon, or one’s own shadow.
Once she was finished, I felt soothed, and my pain was gone. I felt very, very sleepy, though.
“Sleep now, Bright Soul,” she said softly. “When you next awake, you will be fully healed.”
So, I slept, and dreamed pleasantly. I dreamed that I was confined in a dark, damp prison cell, but the barred door before me was now unlocked. I opened it, and stepped out into a beautiful orchard full of every kind of tree, each one bearing ripe, fat fruits which hung and caused the branches to sag. Gladly, I picked, an apple, several figs, and a pomegranate, and ate them all; they were each juicy and delicious.

I awoke the next day feeling completely well and rested. I sat up to see Orthian sitting nearby, eating a shank of mutton and drinking a cup of mead.

“Finally, you’re awake,” Orthian said upon seeing me, speaking through a mouthful of meat. He swallowed. “I was beginning to fear that bean-sidhe bitch had put you to sleep for good.”

“Please, don’t speak so harshly of her,” I said. “She may be a crude and uncouth woman, but she also saved my life.”

“Saving a life doesn’t negate her disregard for the dead,” Orthian said with a shrug. “But, you are my captain, and so of course I will abide by your judgment.”

I sensed the word abide suggested a tone of mild disobedience, but I would let it stand… for now. Orthian had always been strong-willed, and I knew that his mood had significantly darkened since Lanik’s death. He would need his time to recover his morale.
“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around at the empty room.

“They are meeting with the newest arrivals to this village. I opted to abstain, and instead stay here in case you awoke. Lady Lillian said that she would return shortly.”

“New arrivals?”

“Yes, sir. Duke Borfeld and his army arrived just this morning.”

The words were very comforting. I was gladdened to hear that our sacrifice at Laxthorogh hadn’t been for nothing, and that we had allowed Duke Borfeld’s men a chance to escape that bloody field.

“I’m sure he would like to see you, sir,” Orthian said. “He’s been singing your praises ever since he got her, speaking of you as though you were some legendary hero.”

“Am I not?” I asked jokingly, smiling. “Come, my friend. I feel well enough now to fight an ogre. Let’s go meet with the Duke.”

Llyr was only exceptional so far as how average it was. It was too large to call a village yet too small to call a city. It was circled by an old wall that had been partially torn down so that the town could expand beyond it, yet Llyr had no hospital and still got all of its water from wells, not an aqueduct. The people all seemed to know each other by face, though seldom by name, and though they’d smile warmly to each other by day, at night their doors remained closed.
Most of the dwellings were composed of timber frames with walls of wattle and daub, with roofs of oak shingles. Some of the wealthier homes were built from shaped stones, with clay tiled roofs. Llyr had no sewer system, but someone was sent through the town with a wheelbarrow and a shovel every few hours, so the gutters remained fairly clean. At the center of the city was the Lady’s keep, which was only a stone tower with a walled courtyard.
The mid-morning air was cool as I limped out into the street. Near the village square, throngs of people were gathered around an army of armored soldiers, with a fat, bearded man on horseback at the very center of their attention.
As Orthian and I approached the throng, Lady Lillian turned her blue eyes upon me, which gleamed in the sunlight like the waters of the Middle Sea. She smiled warmly, if timidly, and I was glad to see that my words from the night before had left no lasting offense (for I meant none). I took my place beside her.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m glad to see you well.”

“Even if by hands other than your own?”

The smile disappeared from her lips, but she didn’t reply. Instead, we both turned to listen to what Duke Borfeld had to say to the people of his wife.

“-and furthermore, the Duchess pledges to do everything she can to protect all of her people, in every village and settlement,” Duke Borfeld was saying to the gathered peasants, his voice loud and gruff. “She has decreed that a new army of twenty-thousand soldiers is to be raised immediately, trained and armed, and ready to defend this realm by the first fall of Autumn’s leaves.
“Any boy or man fit to wield a blade is urged to join me when I return to the city Eathermae. There, you will be elevated from the status of peasant, and will join the ranks of Loresad’s proud men-at-arms. You will be granted a golden opportunity- to defend your country and your family from the monsters and demons that threaten it. Should you show valor sufficient to win the attention of the Duchess, you may even win from her hand the honor and glory of knighthood!
“Any and all who are interested should immediately come and speak to one of my knights, who wear the blue and violet tabards emblazoned with the Star of Loresad.”

“Such as I; I bear such a star,” I said loudly, limping forward.

Duke Borfeld looked around, apparently unprepared for such an interruption, until his eyes fell upon me. He grinned broadly. “Ah, good Sir Jonas, you’ve awoken! I am glad to see you recovered. Come to my side!”

The crowd of peasants all turned to me, and parted a path before me. Each of them kept their eyes downcast and did not look up, for if ever a serf made eye contact with a knight, the punishment could be brutal and severe. (I found the law distasteful, naturally, but I alone couldn’t argue against it)
I limped towards Duke Borfeld and his retinue, and when I reached him, I bowed before him, as was chivalrous custom. Orthian, beside me, did likewise, and Lady Lillian curtsied.

“Rise, my vassal, and speak freely,” said Duke Borfeld as he dismounted his horse and stood regally before us; and I complied. “Pray tell me, who is this… stunning beauty that you have with you?” He took Lady Lillian’s hand and kissed it lightly.

“This is Lady Lillian, My Liege,” I answered. “A witch due to high respect from us of the lesser gender, and the healer responsible for my swift recovery. She has cared and tended to me diligently, and I am in her debt.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Milord,” Lillian said.

“We are merrily met, indeed,” the Duke replied, “and I am grateful to you for tending to my faithful vassal.” Duke Borfeld turned his eyes back to me. “Indeed, when I heard that you had been wounded by a hexed weapon, I was most worried. Ah, but we must speak of such things later, in private!” He looked out over the crowd once again. “Again, good people of Llyr!” he announced. “I assure you that, in these frightening times, your safety is assured under the watch of the Duchy of Eathermae; for those who pay their dues in taxes and tithes, there is nothing to fear. And I urge you, all men of fighting age, to join us in your country’s defense! For the Duchess, the War Council of Warden, and for your families, come and seek the honor that you know in your heart beckons. For now, good subjects, please return to your homes, that I may speak in private with my knights concerning your protection.”

At their Duke’s command, the peasants slowly dispersed, returning to their homes. Many of the young boys played fighting, clearly wishing that they were old enough to join the army. As they did, I glimpsed the strange shadow woman, leaning against a small cottage. She and I watched each other for a while. I realized that I didn’t even know her name; I would have liked to. There were a few things I wanted to say to her, but I knew that they weren’t necessary, so they slipped my mind. Somehow, I knew that I would be seeing her again soon. Once that thought came to me, she turned and walked away, disappearing amidst the dissolving crowd.

Orthian, Lillian, and I followed Duke Borfeld and his knights to the top of a hill overlooking a shaded glen. On the way, we met up with Dante, who had been talking casually to the pretty young daughter of a merchant. She smiled at him warmly as he spoke.
At the top of the hill, the Duke had his soldiers make camp. As they did, we sat upon a circle of rocks and discussed the past and the future.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said to him. “I watched many of your men be struck by Havoc Wraith weapons, and yet I recognize many of those same men here, perfectly well. Why did they not suffer as I did?”

“Oh, they did,” Duke Borfeld replied. “Luckily, or head healer, Valara, discovered how to treat the curse. She is… ashamed of this, and will not speak of it, but she had to use what she calls ‘dark and shadowy means’ to heal them. Pfeh. I say, what does it matter what kind of magick is used? Light or dark, so long as it accomplishes what’s intended, matters not.”

Lady Lillian frowned. “I could argue that with you, Milord.”

“To be frank, I’d rather you didn’t,” Duke Borfeld replied. “Now, good Sir Jonas, there is business that I would like to discuss with you, a boon that I propose, which I know your honor demands you accept.”

The implication of his words was clear. He was about to assign me a difficult task, and my refusal would cost me my career. “Y-yes, My Liege?”

“You see, my lad, I find myself in a difficult position at present. The War Council and the Regent-King suspect that Elza is maneuvering her forces to lay siege to Warden itself. They have requested of me no less than a thousand soldiers to bolster the city’s defense. If you look around you, you will only count less than seven-hundred, hence my hasty retreat at Laxthorogh, where three-hundred of my men lay dead. I am ashamed that I will fall short of my quota.”

“I see. Please continue, Sire.”

“On the other hand, my wife, Duchess Borfeld who rules the Duchy of Eathermae and commands my life, has now decreed that I immediately return home to raise a new army from the serfs who work her fiefs. I must obey her, yet I must also obey the Council. Naturally, I can’t do both at once.”

“I see your predicament, Milord.”

“That is where you may help,” Duke Borfeld told me (and by ‘may’ he of course meant ‘must’). “Word has quickly spread throughout the Duchy of your deeds, and you are being hailed as the Hero of Laxthorogh. And well deserved, for you led nothing but a rabble of peasant militia to hold back Elza’s entire army until my knights and I could arrive. When the battle turned against us, you then sacrificed those peasants so that we could escape.”

At his words, my heart ached for the deaths that I caused. I saw the faces of young men- friends, companions all- staring lifelessly up at me from that goddess-damned field. Lanik… oh, poor, poor Lanik.

“So, you, Sir Jonas, my faithful vassal, would be the ideal choice to lead this army in my stead,” Duke Borfeld continued. “And I can think of no finer way to reward you for your noble service. These aren’t mere filthy peasants with pitchforks. These are the finest that my holdings have to offer, the most highly trained and skilled warriors in the realm. Please, I pray thee, take my place, and lead this army to Warden.”

It was a sham. It was a terrible thing for him to ask of me, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. He knew that for me to lead such a small force to Warden would humiliate me and soil my reputation. A thousand men was the barest minimum, and he knew it; any smaller number was an insult. And he had just elected me to be the messenger of that insult.

“I would be honored to accept this task, My Lord,” I said with a bow, “and I will fulfill this task by whatever means are needed.”

Duke Borfeld patted me on the shoulder and smiled. “Good. I knew that you wouldn’t let me down.”

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity. Still weak and in pain, I introduced myself to all of the soldiers as their new captain, and organized them according to their specialty: three-hundred swordsmen, two-hundred pikemen, and two-hundred archers. All of the knights and officers were heading back with Duke Borfeld, so these soldiers had no one to lead them.
I placed Orthian as leader of the swordsmen. He seemed to hesitate for only a moment, unsure of himself only briefly, but quickly fell into the role, taking firm reign of his soldiers with strict discipline and a loud, confident voice.
To lead the pikemen, I chose Dante. He seemed rather less sure of himself. He second-guessed me twice before I told him that it was my final decision. I knew that he would need help, but I believed in him fully, and knew he would not disappoint me. He had the makings of a great leader.
Finding someone to lead the archers was much, much harder. For a while, I even toyed with the idea of offering the role to Lillian, but that was ridiculous, like hiring a carpenter to be my personal blacksmith. The answer very much surprised me.

“You need someone to lead these men,” said a voice from behind me. I turned to see an armored, muscled woman walking towards me, with a sturdy longbow slung over her shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice that she only had one breast. “I am that someone.” She spit into her hand and offered it to me. I accepted it, and she squeezed tightly, almost crushing my fingers. I winced for a moment, and then with a small growl, I squeezed back just as tightly. She gasped in pain, and then let go, smiling deviously at me. “I am Ixylah, and I’ve been leading bands of archers like this my whole life.” She looked at the soldiers, and chuckled softly. “Well, maybe not exactly like this.”

“You’re an Amazon,” I said. “But I didn’t know any more of you were still alive.”

“We are few,” she consented, “and grow fewer as the filthy patriarchal dogs of this land continue on thinking that their savage sweating and grunting gives them claim to what’s rightfully belonged to I and my gender for centuries. Hmph. But… Loresish men are different. Loresish men know their place, and I see that in you, too, Jonas Veln. So. Allow me to do the two things I do best: controlling men and leading archers in battle.”

Of course, I didn’t know quite how to react to this. She had just appeared out of nowhere. Still, I decided she may be worth a chance.

“Allow me to keep you in my company, for now,” I told her. “I cannot make all of my decisions at once, and this is one I must think carefully upon.”

Ixylah studied me for a moment before speaking. “Granted, male. But you have three days to decide, or I move on.”

With that, Ixylah walked away, leaving me to shake my head in disbelief, wondering what had actually just happened. I should have just told her to go bother someone else. But my archers really did need a leader.

By the end of the day, I was absolutely exhausted. But I still knew that I had to talk to Lady Lillian. There were several questions I needed to ask. Mainly, I wanted to know if she would join me as my healer.

From the eyes of Lourntav

Dia was still asleep as I lay next to her in the early morning. I held her close to me, and the fire of my blood kept her warm. I enjoyed moments like this, moments of peace, when I wasn’t afraid of speaking in anger and hurting her. I just watched her listened to the slow rhythm of her breathing. She nestled against me and smiled faintly.
I was glad to have her close. When I awoke in the night from the nightmares, breathing heavily and terrified, I looked beside me, and there she was. With her there, I could slow my heart’s pounding, comforted by the thought that she knew me and loved me, accepting me in spite of who and what I was.
How was this real?

Shaking the buzzing swarm of questions from my head, I disengaged from her, arose, and dressed. I felt her eyes upon me, turned, and saw her watching me. She stretched and smiled.

“It’s already halfway through morning,” I told her. “Get up.”

She rolled her eyes, then just rolled over. Whatever. She’d get up in a few minutes, anyway, or I’d cause the ground to heat up under her ass.

With her back asleep, I went into the woods to hunt. It was easy; in the first few minutes, a flock of ducks flew overhead. I casted waves of fire and heat upwards, and the birds dropped to the ground, some of them aflame, quacking loudly and flapping frantically in the dirt. I picked up five of them, well-cooked and ready to eat, and brought them back to camp.

Dia was awake by the time I returned. She didn’t eat much, only half of one of the ducks. I suspect she didn’t like my cooking.

We packed up camp quickly, and set out again along the road by the time the sun was high in the sky. Less than an hour’s walk brought us to a craggy mountain range where the road wound its way precariously between sheer cliffs and steep mountain walls. We climbed upwards until the air was thin, and from that vantage point, we could see for miles in every direction.
Behind us was the Duchy of Eathermae, where Laxthorogh was left as a feast for the crows, and the city of Eathermae stood as a traditionally matriarchal Pagan city, now heavily influenced by new ideas of patriarchal feudalism.
To the north, I remembered that there was an abandoned Anthastan outpost, a remnant from a past war, which was no concern of mine.
To the south was the sprawling, arid plain that the Loresish called a ‘desert’, which stretched from a town called Llyr all the way to the border of monotheistic Intodormidia.
Before us stretched an open expanse of lush and fertile grassland, which I knew would be traversed easily and quickly. Beyond that, the ruins of Cassy’s Star could be seen on the edge of the horizon, a grim silhouette that arose like a great burial cairn.

“Beyond these mountains, there is no turning back,” I told Dia. “We cross into Elza’s territory, and from now on, we can expect hostility at every turn.”

Dia did not hesitate. “I am ready,” she said, nodding and readying her bow. “Come what may, I won’t turn back.”

So, we continued onward, into the territory of Elza’s wraiths. Around us, the land was green and bright and beautiful, with the flowers of summer fully in bloom. Ironic that the scenery appeared so peaceful.
Travel was quick through this land, and soon Cassy’s Star came into better view before us, dreadfully huge and foreboding.
There were figures up ahead. One was being chased by many. At the distance, I couldn’t make them out. Dia and I stopped and watched. I willed the hot and fiery energies to arise and grow within me, and behind me, she strung her bow.
The figures came into view as they approached us.

“Taki!” Dia gasped, rushing forward.

It was Taki, the half-faerie dryad who had accompanied us for so long in the past, and who had been Dia’s best friend and the leader of our party. She looked as though she had seen much trouble since last we saw her. Her skin was pale and bruised, and the leaves that clothed her were brown and withered. She was covered in cuts and scrapes. Her eyes were dark and sunken, haunted by much pain and fear. She had hooks pushed through the skin of her arms and legs; from them trailed ragged lengths of rope that looked as though they had been chewed through.
“Taki!” cried Dia again. She fired two arrows, killing two of the mercenaries that were chasing her. I burnt the other three alive with my fire.

“Dia! Dia, thank the Five! Oh… oh, Dia…”

Taki collapsed in Dia’s arms, shaking and sobbing.

“It’s okay, Taki,” Dia said soothingly. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you now.”

“Dia… you shouldn’t be here!” Taki said through her sobs, her voice urgently sounding of fear and warning. “It isn’t safe. Run while you can, please!”

Dia looked back at me. I watched her sympathetically. Then she turned back to Taki. “We can’t,” she said. “We have to go forward. We must reach Cassy’s Star.”

“No!” Taki exclaimed loudly. “No, please! Please, promise me you won’t go there. You… you don’t understand! They tortured me, Dia. They’ve been torturing me for days! Th-they… they are doing horrible things to people. To the elderly, and to children!”

Dia shivered in fear, but at the same time, nodded resolutely. “Then we will free them, if we can.”

I nodded. “And, ultimately, avenge them.”

“Please don’t,” Taki begged. “Please. Leave this horrible land. The havoc wraiths… they’re not what we thought they were. They’re not what they seem.”

“What do you mean, Taki?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am what I seem. I am what I’ve always been.”

“You, yes,” Taki said quickly. “But not Elza. No… I’ve seen her. She is only a servant of one… one far worse, and far more evil. The master she serves is… terrible, and far more powerful than anything we… No. Oh, no. No…”

Suddenly, the air grew very cold, and the morning sky grew as dark as midnight. It felt like a mid-winter night, and I shivered involuntarily. From all around us, the havoc wraiths appeared, more than I could count, hovering above us. So many of them…

“Taki,” one of them spoke, its voice flat and monotonous. “You have spoken too much of what you have seen. There is no escape for you. Not even death will release you now.”

“NO!!” Taki shrieked, burying her head in Dia’s chest.

Three of the wraiths extended their hands. From their palms flew chains topped with barbed hooks. These immediately struck Taki through the back, and began dragging her away, as she screamed and screamed. There was so much blood…

“Taki! No! Don’t let go!” Dia shouted, holding on to Taki’s arms. There was an unhealthy ripping sound. Taki screamed in such terrible pain and horror.

“Don’t… don’t let them… don’t let them take me back…” she pleaded between shrieks. And then, she went silent, passed out from the pain.

I sent fireballs towards the wraiths that had casted the chains, but it was futile. My energy was blocked by their magick shields, and they responded with a wave of force that knocked me flat on my back and pinned me down. I was paralyzed, powerless, unable to move.

“NOOOO!!!” Dia screamed as Taki’s hands slipped away from her grasp. Taki’s limp body was taken in the arms of one of the wraiths. And then, all at once, the wraiths disappeared. The energy that pinned me down was released, and I sat up. Once again, the sky was warm and bright, and the birds chirped merrily in the beautiful summer morning.

Thick groups of lavender and white sage slipped through my fingers as I braided it together into a long smudge stick. As I braided I thought of the purpose of this, what each of the herbs would do for the cleansing and dispelling of the negatives and evil in my home. Cleansing it of that women and her darkness. I tightly bound the end with a thick thread, and walked into the back door of my home. I lit the end of my smudge stick and let it burn a moment before blowing it out, it smoked, a sweet smell surrounded me as I began to cleanse each room that she had been in. And as I began I recited a cleansing spell asking each of the elements to help,

From the element of Fire,

Comes the smoke of Air,

Grown in Earth,

And nurtured with Water,

I ask the Elements and the blessing of Spirit,

To cleanes this space for all.

I repeated as I smudged the kitchen that she had barley passed through on the way to Jonas, the sick room, and the entrance/store to my home. I passed the smudge stick over every item in each room opening windows all along the way to allow some of the sweet smelling smoke to disperse. As I finished the last room, the store, I began to smudge myself to cleanse of any of the negative energy that had clung to me during the cleansing, the front door opened and closed behind me. I turned expecting one of my regulars, it was about time for a few to drop in, I smiled and began to say hello when I turned and saw Jonas standing there. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, but a deep anger snarled as well at the fact that he had allowed her to enter my home and heal him. I looked away from him as I finished to smudge myself, "Hello Sir Jonas." The attempt to cover my anger at him with lightness was shallow and wasn't even convincing to my own ears.

He stiffly nodded a shallow bow me,"M'lady." A look on his face showed me that he was fighting to find the right words to say to me and break the stiffness that had suddenly appeared between the two of us. It was almost a wall appearing between the two of us.

I avoided eye contact as I spoke, "Would you like me to cleanse you? I have just enough left to do so. Its a mix of White Sage and Lavender, it smells lovely and will allow the negative energies and evil from you that that women left on you. I can see the energies pulsing from you." I took a step twords him to begin when he stopped me.

"Why do you persist in her being evil? And not trusting her? She saved me from certain death. She is not ev.." He continued but I cut him off.

"Not Evil?,"My lip culed ever so sightly in disgust, "She admitted to being a Shadow Fae! They are the darkest and evil of all Fae. I will not allow her into my home again, and ask that you not consort with her anymore." I tossed the small bit of the smudge stick left into the fireplace as I spoke, it was obvious he didn't want the cleansing and it would allow the sweet smell to perfume my home for the next few days. "There is not a good bone in her body Jonas. I believe she saved you to use you. She did not do this because she is good."

Jonas released the anger that had been growing slowly but steady the whole time I spoke. "She saved me. She saved my soul from darkness. She did not save me to use me, she has asked nothing in return for what she has done for me. She offered to save my life because of the goodness in her! And you still call her evil and refuse to trust her. You cleanse your home of her evil."

I gave a small laugh of disbelief and snapped back at him. "Your suck a damn hypocrite!"

He gave me a look of complete confussion and anger and disbelife all rolled into one startled look,"What? A hypocrite? How do you figure that? How could you?"

"You sent her away, you called her dark. You would not allow her to come near you for the atrocitis that she performed. Stealing from the dead ring any bells? She is evil!" I closed my eyes and spoke sofly an atempt to stop yelling and the anger, "You...have absolutly no right, no right to tell me I should not like her. You can not hold it against me that I dislike her, you thought the same."I paused and looked at him, looked into his eyes, "You changed your mind about her, for reasons unknown to me, and trusted her to save your life, where...where...I failed."

The anger left his voice and his voice softened, "You did not fail, you did not have the ability to heal my soul. My reasons for calling her back are mine alone."He started to reach to comfort me but pulled back.

A moment of silence passed between us, neather of us spoke, or moved. We stood in my shop looking at one another, knowing that I could not ask why and he could not ask me to trust her. I looked into the fireplace where the smudge stick still burned, still allowing it's properties to cleanse and I imagine it cleansing us of this...fight. Was it a fight? I wasn't sure. "You came here for something didn't you? Not to fight with me I assume. What was your reason?"

"I wanted to ask you something. But im not sure if I should ask right now, not after...that." He shifted uncomfortably."But..."He sighed," I want to know if you will come along with me and be my healer? I have been asked to lead Duke Borfield's men to Warden, and I need a healer for myself and the men."

My mind rushed around, I would have to leave my home, the garden I have so diligently worked on, the store of herbs, I would only be able to carry a fraction of them and once they ran out I would be forced to settle with whatever I could find or buy. But I would be healing the army that may make the diffrence of keeping our country and loosing it. And I may heal the soldier thats actions decide that. And Jonas. I took a deep breath,"I will accompany you with your men to Warden."

I looked at the sky, shaking with anger. Strangely, though, it was not anger for the havoc wraiths that I felt, though I would surely make them suffer for what I just witnessed. No, what I felt was anger at myself. How could I possibly help Taki in my condition? Immortality was something that would have served her well, and I had thrown it away for...

Lourntav's still figure caught my eye and my anger was broken. I knew that I could not change what I did, and I would not if I had the chance. I could not stay with him if I was still bound to the life of the gods. But now that I no longer felt fury, a new emotion took its place. It gnawed at my stomach and tried to steal my hope. It was like sadness, only much worse. I searched for its name. Loss? That must be it. Was this what Lourntav felt every day? How naive I had been to his feelings!

I shook it off, knowing that this brooding would get me nowhere. Taki needed us with clear heads, so I slung my bow over my shoulder and walked over to Lourntav, kneeling at his side.

"Shall we continue?" I asked softly.

He nodded and struggled to his feet. I desperately wanted to help him, to hold his arm while he pushed off the ground, but I knew that his pride would not allow it, and that my aid would only aggravate him. So we began the first few steps of our journey, slowly at first as we were both consumed in thought. After a while, he glanced over at me and took my arm. It seemed he was going to say something. Perhaps being surrounded by death caused him to think about life. I am ashamed to say that my heart pounded in anticipation. Say anything to me, just let me hear your voice, tell me that there is still hope...

"Your arm is bleeding." he turned it over to reveal a long red mess where a hook must have cut my skin. Images flashed through my head. The deadly metal flashing in the sun, red with blood. It made me want to scream and run to a place where I would not have to remember.

I sent a flow of water over it, closing the wound without the slightest trace of a scar.

His fingers began to pull away from my wrist, but I set my hand over them to keep them there. I looked at them for a second, trying to draw my strength from the new sight.

"Please." I whispered.

We continued on in silence, and the emotion began to rip at me once more. Water fell quietly from my eyes, bringing the taste of salt to my mouth. How I hated this new wetness! There should be no tears! I did not wipe them away, though, for I knew that waterfalls only quit when they ran dry. So I let the memories of our friendship play through my mind, so that I would keep going forward, though my legs longed to give out in defeat. Taki had to be alive. She had to.

Then Lourntav did something very strange. He stopped and pulled me beneath the shade of a tree. For a moment, we stood dumbly with confusion, locked onto the other's eyes until the rest of the world fell away. He sighed, then wrapped his arms around my back and let my head rest against his chest. His warm body and scent broke my dam, and I began to cry harder, allowing him to support me as I shook with grief. He was comforting in his reality, and I struggled to keep it from slipping away into a dream.

"She will be okay. We have survived worse. We will find her, don't worry." his words slowly dried my tears. Perhaps all he wanted was to shut me up, but I suspect that it was love that took him so out of character.

"I know we will find her." I replied. "I just don't know how..."

"Alive. Healthy. Ready to go home, just like the rest of us."

I smiled and we broke apart so that we could move on. He knew to talk to me now, although I think he suspected that I was not listening. I did not have to, really, for his voice alone was enough to destroy my demons. It allowed me to think clearly, and I began to realize the several holes in our original plan. Did we really expect to storm the gates and take them all on, just the two of us? I did have faith in our power, but if I learned anything from Lourntav, it was to think about every side of the situation, and discern between hope and denial.

"Will there be rivers in Cassy's Star?" I asked, my mind already at work.

"There is a main one that passes the temple, and several branch throughout the city." he recited. "Why?"

"I assume my bow will be all but useless against them. I wish to give them a proper welcome."

He smiled. "Is the wet fish finally growing a vengeance?"

"No." I shook my head. "I only want to keep them distracted long enough..."

"For what?"

I closed my eyes, searching for the right words. This had to be approached carefully. "For you to find Taki."

"Are you insane, woman? Do you have any idea of their power?" He whipped me around, and I glimpsed the panic in his eyes. "If anyone should fight them, it-"

"It has to be me." I interrupted calmly. "You know the city best. If anyone can find her, it is you."

"No. We will find another way. I cannot...will not..."

I touched his cheek gently. "You will not lose me. I will be fine. You have to trust me as you did before."

"You are not strong enough."

I took offense at this, but did not let it show. "I was when we first decided to go. What makes this so different?"

He did not answer. He did not have to, for we both knew the reason. If I were in trouble, he would be too far away to rescue me this time. I would truly be alone.

"Never mind." I looked at the ground. "But there really is no other way. We could hope to defeat them, but we have to be realistic. Our only hope is to distract them. I may not be strong enough to kill them, Lourntav, but I am able to keep their eyes on me long enough for you to free the prisoners."

"That is the worst thing."

"What is?"

"Their eyes on you." he murmured, toying with the ends of my sandy hair. "I know what they will see when they look at you. I remember..."

I wrapped my hands around shoulders. "This is just another battle, another chapter in our story with many more to come. We will survive this... together. Please, she is my best friend."

He continued to twist my curls around his finger. "Just promise me... If they begin to hurt you in any way, you will dive into the river, swim away and never look back, not even for me."

We both knew that it was not in my nature to run, but I promised, then kissed him softly before we walked on, two shadows against an endless blue sky, on their way to a likely death, just like old times.

Quaddy

The sword glittered in the sunlight, stashed carelessly in a bin of rubbish like rabid meat. She'd made a mistake selling it to these people, she realized that now. They were scrappers...probably have the thing melted down for scrap by sundown. Hunger was a powerful motivator, Logan had found; it moved people to do horrible things. And she hadn't eaten for three days. She'd needed the money, needed the food. And now this man's sword, this Lanik's weapon, sat amidst refuge and broken pottery. A complete loss. Crone, how could she have been so stupid?

Great One...I have made a grave mistake. I thought that this sword's usefulness was for me. My mind was clouded by hunger, warped by greed. I missed your signs, ignored your whispers. Forgive me, Dark Sister, and bend me to your will once more.

A breeze tugged at her coal gray hair, pulling her into the Otherrealm. Logan took a step forward and raised her shadow. By the second, she had stepped into the darkness and come out on the other side. A place where, by all rights, only Havoc Wraiths should have gone. Gods, but it was difficult to convince others that she wasn't evil. Humans, witches, even Fae...they confused law for goodness, light for well-meaning. So she stole swords from the dead to feed herself. That must make her evil. Ignore the fact that she healed a man for no reason other than the world's well-being. No. She walked in shadows and stole swords.

So evil. Oh, so evil. Logan rolled her eyes, walking through the shadows. It was always interesting to walk through a town within the mists of its subconscious. She could see emotions burning like flaming rainbows, see intent like blankets of kindness or conceit. It was impossible to hide in the Shadows if you didn't know how to use them. Logan could render herself invisible. The average human was a veritable warning beacon. They could never understand why the Wraiths could find them so easily. Logan knew why and would have told them--she could even given them the secret to hiding one's soul--but they never asked. They always assumed she was there to kill them.

Like that bloody Lillian. If she were any more light, Logan would wonder if she were actually hiding something very...dark from the world. Something she didn't want anyone else to know. It was amusing, actually, that the woman failed to recognize the darkness lurking within. Fear, jealousy, now anger and mistrust...these were dark emotions. Dark spots on a bright aura. And evil did feed much more easily on shadow.

My Daughter.

Nanigha, Dark Goddess, was beautiful. Let no one say that the Crone was bound to that form always. She was the Dark Goddess and darkness, like night, was wondrous. It was a refuge as much as it was an end. Yes, evil found an in there, but goodness was found in denying evil entry while it was at its strength. Every step Logan took to serve the Goddesses was a step away from the evil threatening to engulf her. But each step felt like a thousand knives. It was hard. But necessary. And rewarding. If not amongst her fellow man...and Fae.

Stepping toward her patron, however, Logan felt strength in the Goddess' love. "My lady," Logan whispered, falling to one knee and bowing her head. "You have called me?"

The goddess dimmed the bright shadow around her and stepped to the silver grass beneath her, bare feet sinking into the gray dirt. She smiled softly, perfectly formed lips not parting in the slightest. "I am both pleased and displeased with you, Logan. Displeased that you used the sword improperly, pleased that you realized your mistake and are willing to make amends." Nanigha had a voice more seductive than any of her sisters, as befitted the Dark One. Funny, Logan thought. People feared her, feared what she represented, but no one thought her evil. Logan was her servant and everyone assumed she worked for Elza, who had denied the Gods and Goddesses to serve her own path.

"I feel now that the sword was meant for the man who lost his friend. His soul has taken a jarring blow, one that has blown him from the path laid out by the five sisters, you included. As I see it, his life now ends in madness and you will be forced to cut his thread long before it is time. I need to get that sword and return it to him."

The goddess nodded. "Indeed. Its usefulness is in helping that man heal the rifts in his soul. I will not lie to you, my servant, his is a soul but a breath away from chaos at its best. Now, he lies half sunk within its eddies and he will be lost if not much happens. I care not for the petty rules of humans, only their souls. He needs that sword."

"I will retrieve the sword and return it to him. That is my word to you, My Lady Nanigha." Logan nodded her head.

"And Logan, you will go with Jonas. You will be my eyes and ears among the humans. Keep the balance, Logan." Nanigha chuckled. "And your temper. Your annoyance with the Fae woman is amusing, but hardly helpful. Understandable, given her unwillingness to bend, but you'll just have to accept her for what she is. A Light Fae. Even if she will not accept you for what you are. There are those to whom you have proven your worth. And before you say anything, life isn't fair. Especially for those of you whom I have taken under my wing. You thwart centuries old wisdom, flaunt your difference daily. Do not expect them to trust you immediately. It must be enough that you are able to prove yourself to them and they can come to trust you."

Logan sighed. "I understand, My Goddess."

Nanigha reached forward and placed her hand on Logan's cheek. "You are only twenty-three, Logan. Twenty-three in a long life for your kind, a blip in my existence. Don't carry the world on your shoulders. You will crumble beneath the weight of it."

"Yes, Goddess. I will try."

"Go. Get that sword, and follow Jonas. I will walk with you as I may. Do what you think is best. I know it will not always be correct, but it will be right." Nanigha stepped backward then, into the darkness that only the dead can enter. Logan nodded at her exit, awestruck as she always was when the Dark Goddess deigned to actually speak to her instead of leaving impressions on her soul as it usually did. Then, rising to her feet, Logan stepped out of the Shadow and headed for the scrappers' bin. When a goddess told you to retrieve a sword, the mortal--even one who was half Fae--retrieved a sword.

Plus, it meant doing something outwardly good for a change. Something that people couldn't construe as selfish, dark, or even evil.

Something that even the Light couldn't ignore.

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

Two-hundred soldiers, in five rows of forty men each, looked at Lieutenant Dante with bored expressions. They didn’t so much hold their pikes ready at their sides, so much as they did lean on them as a weary traveler would lean on a walking-staff.
For his part, Dante paced back and forth before them, trying to keep a stern and dispassionate countenance, transparent though his uncertainty was. As he looked them over, I knew he could tell that they were a sloppy-looking lot, yet he seemed too timid to give the needed orders to remedy that.
But I had seen Dante on the battlefield. I have seen him save his comrades’ lives by taking control of a situation in the heat of the moment. He had a natural empathy, and that made him a great leader when lives were at stake. Now, if only he could find the confidence to bring that same leadership to commanding a formation at marching and sparring.

Well, I had seen enough, and could stay idle no longer. Setting my empty water cup down on the table beside me, I went back to the sentry tower overlooking the old walls, descended the staircase, and was in a few more moments striding purposefully across the field towards Dante’s squad.

“At attention, men!” I spoke loudly as I approached, my tone not overly commanding, merely confident in the expectation that I would be obeyed.
At once, all of the men stood stiffly, eyes staring straight ahead, faces expressionless, pikes ready at their sides.

I patted Dante on the shoulder and looked at him warmly. “These are fine men,” I told him, softly, that the soldiers may not hear “and require only a fine leader. You are their leader, Dante, though I suspect you may not yet know what that means. You will.”

I turned my attention back to the ranks of soldiers. “You there,” I said, pointing to a short, stocky man with an unkempt brown beard. “What is your name?”

“Sir, my name is Nigel,” the man replied at once, still staring straight ahead, “son of Frederick, a pig farmer.”

“A pig farmer, you say? I have heard that pigs are actually very clean animals by their nature. Is this true?

“Sir, it is true, sir,” Nigel replied with a slight smile, clearly glad that I knew something of his family’s humble trade.

“Then why, Nigel, is your tabard stained by mud and grease? Why does your chain mail show signs of rust, and fail to reflect the sun’s light? Do you not share the cleanly habits of your father’s swine? Are you more unclean than a pig?”

“Sir, I-“

“Wash your tabard, Nigel,” I told him, “and polish your mail. Remember that this army represents the Duchy of Eathermae to the War Council of Warden, and all of Loresad. I expect you all to look the part.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Nigel said sheepishly. He was humbled but not humiliated, convicted but not guilty, for I had used his name and looked him in the eyes when I spoke. I had showed him that he was valued as a human being, and was not some nameless drone sent to fight at my command.

“Pikemen play a unique role in this war,” I said, addressing all of the soldiers before me, making eye contact with each and every one of them as I spoke. “Most modern armies include cavalry, usually armored knights. Left unchecked, without spears or pikes to counter them, a successful cavalry charge can be devastating. It can cause more destruction to an army than nearly any other force, excepting the magickal or divine, of course. To stop cavalry, pikemen are deployed. A charging force of knights must stop very suddenly, or else be impaled to death on the pikes.
“The demented fae against whom we now commit ourselves do not use cavalry, however. They bear themselves aloft by means of their frightful sorcery, and so what use do they have of horses? And yet, their entirely different means of movement grants the pike an entirely new use. From the ground, it is nearly impossible for a man’s long-sword to reach a wraith that wishes to stay out of harm’s way. But the pike is a weapon designed to favor reach above all else. And as was learned at Laxthorogh and earlier battles, striking a demon out of the air is not as different as dismounting a knight from his steed as one might expect.
“However, although such intent requires the same weapon, it also requires an entirely different way of using it. A group of havoc wraiths cannot be expected to gallop headlong into an array of pikes; they would, instead, simply hex the soldiers from a safe distance away. Thus, the pikemen must go to the wraiths. What was formerly a defensive weapon has now become an offensive one. And so, you soldiers will learn to attack, in a way that no soldier of any army has ever attacked before.”

Having given that speech, I split the pikemen into small groups, to practice a new combat drill. Every man in each group would take turns sprinting at full speed, and then thrusting his pike upwards, with as much reach and force as possible. At first, they had trouble stopping suddenly, and had to slow down first, losing a great deal of their momentum. But it didn’t take long for them to realize that they needed to dig their heels into the dirt to stop at such a speed, and after that it was just a matter of repetitive practice. Seeing such progress, I smiled, pleased.

I turned back to Dante and took him aside, to speak in private to him. “Learn each one of their faces,” I told him, “and memorize their names. Learn as much as you can about each of them, but do not let any of them think of you as a friend, for if they do, they may cease to view you as an officer of authority. You can’t lead strangers- you can only bribe or intimidate them. Once you know each one of your men as a valued companion, they will trust you as their leader, and will follow you anywhere.”

I told all of the men that we would depart on our journey to Warden the day after the coming esbat, which was in three days. I told them, pressing as our mission was, we had an obligation to stay for the funeral service of those who fell at Laxthorogh, and to receive the blessings of the priestesses.
That gave us ample time to prepare. And I felt it was necessary- I wanted the soldiers all trained in new strategies before we left, so that we would be ready in case of another fight.

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Checking up on how everything was going in the village, I wasn’t at all surprised to find Ixylah sharing some drinks in the pub with some of the archers.
I found her at a table near the middle of the room, deeply embroiled in an arm-wrestling match with one of the younger and more muscular soldiers. They both seemed evenly matched.
“Give up yet, nancy boy?” Ixylah asked her competitor. Her amused smirk did a poor job of concealing her gritted teeth.
“Don’t bet on it, sugar lips,” the rough-looking soldier replied coolly, even as he sopped up sweat from his forehead with a damp rag.
Around the table, most of the other soldiers watched anxiously. I could tell by their worried glances that many of them had coins involved in this. I just stood back and watched.
Slowly, but steadily, the young man’s arm began to tire out. Though he made a heroic effort at postponing the inevitable, his arm was pushed further and further downwards, until finally Ixylah slammed his hand down onto the table with a decisive thud that rattled some bottles and blew a few cards off of the table.

The men all erupted in a roaring clamor, some of them clapping and some of them banging their fists in anger. I did, as expected, see stars-shaped coins exchanged from hand to hand.

“Ho-yeah!” Ixylah exclaimed triumphantly, standing and raising her arms. “I’m still the champion! Another dog neutered. So, what, do any more of you boys feel like being emasculated before your peers?”

“Bold words, Ixylah,” I said, stepping forward.

She turned to regard me. When she saw me, she seemed surprised at first, but then just smiled calmly, looking at me the way she would look at a challenging yet rewarding trial to overcome.

“Soldiers, stand at attention in the presence of your captain!” Ixylah barked harshly at the men around her. The soldiers all stood at once, looking at me, some of them knocking objects off of tables and one of them accidentally overturning a table itself.

“At ease, men,” I said, making an honest effort not to laugh. The men all sat back down, though they now seemed much more tense; they sat rigid in their chairs and stared attentively towards me.

“Ixylah, you are clearly a woman of strength,” I told her. “Yet in these times, strength is not enough. Endurance is also needed, for without it, strength is rendered useless as it gives out before the fight is through.”

“Enough poetic speeches, male,” Ixylah said with a derisive tone that I hoped she didn’t mean. “What’s your point?”

“How many men have you armed-wrestled with today, Ixylah?”

She smiled. “Men? I should say none. But as for boys? Three now.”

“And I wonder, how long can you keep it up before your strength falters?” I asked. “And how many arrows can you let fly before your arm grows weak and your eyes become dull?”

Now Ixylah was smiling broadly. “Oh, I could give you an answer that may satisfy you, but you sound more like you’re asking for a demonstration.”

“Indeed,” I took the seat before her, and she sat down as well, so that we looked across the table at each other, in the middle of the encircling archers. “I want you to show me, Ixylah, that your endurance matches your strength. Show me that you can finish what you start, and see a fight through to the end.”

Ixylah took the beer bottle next to her, lifted it to her lips, and drained it. Then she put her elbow on the table and offered her hand.

I too planted my elbow on the table and clasped her hand in mine.

“Alright, Captain, let’s see what she can do,” she said, and with stunning force, she pushed my arm down so that this contest was almost finished as quickly as begun. But I immediately tightened my muscles and seized her momentum, and after a brief struggle, made my arm again even with hers.
What followed was a back-and-forth battle of pushing with all my might against her likewise applied force. So far as I could tell, she didn’t seem fatigued by those she had beaten before me, and if she was, then she must be frighteningly strong at her full strength. The stalemate between us continued for several minutes, neither of us able to gain an advantage over the other.
Watching her, I couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated. After all, this woman was one of the last of the Amazons. Such a lineage meant that she had to be strong, hardy, and willing to devote her whole existence to warfare. Witnessing such indomitable might firsthand made me wonder if challenging her had been a mistake.
It was as this doubt crept into my mind that Ixylah claimed her advantage. She hooked her hand over mine and at the same time pulled down, so that my wrist was bent and made limp. She then pushed my arm down, and I was only able to stop her just short of pinning my hand to the table. I found myself able to resist, but I knew I couldn’t do so for long.
And then I saw her eyes soften. No one in the room saw it, but I felt her muscles deliberately go lax. She was still pushing against my arm, but barely. I didn’t know why she was throwing the match, but at the moment, I didn’t care. I reversed the momentum and then pulled her arm towards me and down, and with only a little effort, pinned her hand down to the table.
The men around the table all started clapping and chatting and laughing. Ixylah smiled at me like an opponent fairly beaten. “Well done, captain,” she said. “Come, let’s get our own table, that I may buy you a drink to your victory.”

She and I sat across from each other at a small table near the wall. The men around us seemed interested in us at first, but soon got distracted by their own conversations.

“You let me win,” I said. “Why?”

Ixylah took a sip of her ale and looked at me over the rim, as if appraising me. She set the mug down and sat back in her chair, then took a small dagger from her belt and began using it to dig dirt from beneath her fingernails.
“You are their Captain, Jonas,” she said, “their leader. So they shouldn’t see you beaten by a subordinate officer, especially within their first days of meeting you. That would be a bad first impression, wouldn’t it? You’d lose their respect before you ever had it. It was probably foolish of you to even challenge me, but I knew you had to make your point about endurance, or whatever.”

“I thought I had something to teach, but apparently, I should be learning from you.

“Oh, don’t do that. Anyway, you came here for a reason.”

“I did,” I said, taking a more serious tone. “I’ve been watching how you act with these men. It’s only been a day, and they already respect you. They look at you like you’re one of them. So, I’ve decided to give you a chance. For the time being at least, these soldiers are under your command. Teach them everything you know, and lead them in the name of the Regent-King. You are now the third of my lieutenants.”

Ixylah smirked coolly. “I knew you’d see things my way.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There hardly seemed to be enough hours in the day, for I felt I had hardly accomplished anything when evening again settled over the quiet village of Llyr. A twilight breeze stirred through the leaves, and above us, the almost-full moon shone beautifully.

“It is a beautiful evening, Lady Lillian,” I commented casually to the lovely young witch who walked leisurely beside me.

“Sir?” she asked, clearly sensing that my words intended more than just idle conversation.

I paused, searching for the words. “Of course, you must know that, if you join me on my journey to Warden, there will be few nights like this for you. There will be little opportunity to rest and savor the silence, for we will be always on the move, constantly marching, or working, or training, or fighting. So I need to know that you’re sure. Is this truly what you want?”

“I have already given you my answer, milord,” Lady Lillian replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I will go with you. It… will be very hard, to leave my home, but I know it’s worth it for the chance to protect it. If I don’t do what I can to help, then I might not have a home to return to. And you need a healer, and I’m the only qualified healer witch in this part of the Duchy.”

I nodded to her, pleased. “Tell me, have you ever been to Warden?”

“No, never.”

“You would love it there,” I told her. “It’s a beautiful city. It’s where my family lives, my beautiful wife Lucretia and my darling daughter Morgan.”

“You… have a wife and daughter?” she asked. I was startled to hear the sorrow in her voice, though she tried to hide it.

Quite abruptly, a man caught up to us at a hurried pace, and then fell in step beside us. It took me a moment to realize that it was Orthian.

“Oy, Jonas,” he said, catching his breath.

“’Oy, Jonas’” is how you greet me?” I said in a half-teasing tone. “What happened to ‘Sir’?”

“Why, I didn’t realize that our friendship required such formalities,” he said, smiling. “Shall I next call you ‘My Leige’?”

“Yes, that would be fitting. And don’t forget to bow when you say it. Now, what’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about logistics,” he said, “and I may have discovered something… unfortunate. It seems Duke Borfeld didn’t leave us with much of a treasury. Less than fifty stars, total. I’ve spoken to this company’s treasurer about the cost of feeding and supplying such a force as this, and he says that such a budget would only allow us to make the journey about halfway to Warden. And that’s assuming that we don’t need to replace a single weapon or buy a single quiver of arrows… and as it so happens, the archers are low on arrows.”

“Dammit,” I cursed under my breath. “Okay, then that means we need to find a way to make money? Or, failing that, we’ll need to stop and hunt, to replenish our food supplies?”

“The latter seems more likely,” Orthian said. “I doubt that the men would be up for hosting a craft sale. Though if we can find any way to make some extra coin, I’m sure it would be helpful. Doing good deeds for kindly villagers comes to mind, like slaying a troll to rescue a damsel in distress.”

“If it’s you doing the rescuing, I think the damsel would prefer the troll,” I jibed.

Lillian chuckled.

Suddenly, we were approached by six soldiers. Behind them, her wrists bound in chains, was a familiar bean sidhe woman.

“Sir,” said the soldier at the front, a handsome young man with flowing golden hair. “We captured this shadow fae sneaking about the village. She was fast and sneaky, and we had a hell of a time at it, but we finally managed to surround her. We believe she may be a spy for Elza.”

“These soldiers are quicker than I thought, Bright Soul,” the woman said with a half-grimace.

“What should we do with her, sir?”

“Release her,” I said. “She’s a friend.”

The soldier seemed uncertain for a moment, and then shrugged. “So be it. She was also carrying this.” He presented before me a sword with an expertly crafted hilt that resembled dragon wings. Pulling the sword from its leather sheath, I saw that the blade was razor-sharp without the slightest chip or blemish, cleaned and polished with care.

“Lanik’s sword,” Orthian said. “That, soldier, is stolen property. Hand it to me.”

“It is meant for you,” the sidhe woman said as the soldiers released her from her manacles. “I brought it back that you may have it… in remembrance of your fallen friend.”

“What, guilty conscience, banshee?” Lillian asked derisively. “Or could you not find a high enough bidder to sell it to?”

“Only a true thief would return something stolen and call it a gift,” Orthian said, taking the sword.

“Calm down, both of you,” I told them sternly. “This woman is here making an honest gesture of good will. Orthian, I think you should take this as an apology.”

“It is not an apology,” the woman said, rubbing her wrists.

“Aye, and we would not accept it even if it were,” Lillian said.

“Actually, I would,” Orthian said, looking down at the sword. Everyone turned towards him, mildly surprised. “This sword belonged to my best friend, Lanik. This shadow woman, a complete stranger, could have sold it, but somehow she must have realized what this means to me. And she had no idea what it meant for Lanik. It’s been in his family for seven generations, a priceless heirloom, one that I will see returned to his mother. So, yes, I think I could find it in myself to forgive her.”

I stepped towards the shadow woman and offered her my hand. “I fear that we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Call me Logan,” she said, shaking my hand in a grip firmer than I expected. “Only Logan. I need no other titles before my name.” I couldn’t tell, but I think she briefly glanced at Lady Lillian when she said that. “I would join you, Bright Soul, that you may benefit from my skill and experience.”

From the eyes of Lourntav

A dismal haze hung low over the silent, empty ruins of Cassy’s Star.

From our high vantage point, a stony crag infested with hardy weeds and dead trees, Dia and I could view the entirety of the vast necropolis spread below us. The city itself, like the corpses and refuse that littered its streets, was already in an advanced state of decay. In the distance, through the dusty air, could be seen the dark silhouette of the city’s central temple complex. Giant and foreboding, the main basilica arose high above the crumbling houses, looming like a terrible monster from some half-forgotten nightmare.

“Cassy’s Star,” I said quietly to Dia as she and I both took in the view. “At this time last year, it was one of the greatest cities in the world, home to over a million people. Now, it’s only a fit home for crows and rats.”

“Taki is down there somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Dia said. “They would have taken her there.” She pointed to the central temple complex, which rested on the border between the Central District and the District of Spirit.

I nodded. “Likely they’ve carved a labyrinth of tunnels underneath, where they’ve created a Pit of Desecration.”

“’Pit of Desecration’?” Dia asked. “What is that?”

I looked at Dia, regarding her carefully. “How much do you know about Havoc Wraiths?” I asked her. “About our life cycle and such, I mean.”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You, at least, know that we Wraiths are sterile, though?”

This seemed to catch her by surprise. “Err, no, I… sterile?”

I nodded. “Yes, we are sterile, our entire race. Male wraiths cannot impregnate a female, nor can female wraiths be pregnant. Our sexual appetites, though, remain undiminished. If anything, they are enhanced, and obviously we don’t have any difficulty… err, ‘preforming’.”

“Well, if there’s no pregnancy, then how do you…”

“The Pit of Desecration,” I said. “It is a horrible place, pumped full of the most unholy energies of hatred and despair that our warlocks can infect it with. Captured fae are brought there from our victories in the Faerie Realms. Elves, nymphs, dryads… all types. When their bodies and souls are surrounded and corrupted by the evil energies of the Pit, they are transformed into Havoc Wraiths.”

“And you think that’s what they will do with Taki?” she seemed horrified, and put a hand over her mouth.

I shrugged. “They would be foolish not to. She is a strong warrior, and would make a powerful Wraith.”

Then another thought seemed to occur to her. “If Wraiths are created, not born, then someone must have created them to begin with, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “We just call her the ‘High Castigator.’ None of us have ever seen her, except for Elza, who receives orders from her directly. She isn’t fae, and couldn’t be mortal. She’s most likely a demon, or a goddess.”

“So if Wraiths used to be fae, then you…”

“Again, yes,” I nodded. I was slow to speak of this, for such thoughts brought back painful memories. But I knew that I had to tell her. If this was our last day alive, or even our last day together, then she had to know everything. “My brother and I were just children, elves from the woodland city of Lihoen. We were playing in a meadow when three Wraiths came upon us. We… tried to get away, but we never had a chance. They captured us and took us back to Loonatyk, the Wraith city.”

“That’s… terrible,” Dia said with genuine empathy. Such tenderness made me want to cringe and recoil, but I resisted that natural urge… for now. Once, long ago, I was something else, something entirely different. Once, I would have found her love and affection beautiful, rather than repulsive. “You never told me that you have a brother.”

“It’s… very painful to think about,” I said. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. I promised him, when we were children, that I would always look after him. When I switched sides, I broke that promise, and abandoned him.”

“So why tell me this now?” she asked.

“Two reasons,” I said. “First, I honestly don’t believe that we’ll be alive much longer. Second, my brother is down there somewhere. I can sense his presence, and he can sense mine. He’s waiting for me.”

A feeling of stale dread hung in the air as Dia and I walked through the gloomy streets. It was surreally quiet, as though we were the last two people left in the entire world. The streets were littered with bones, and empty skulls that witnessed our passing with hollow eyes.

“It’s far too quiet,” Dia said. “Shouldn’t there be guards, or patrols, or… something?”

“Why should there be?” I asked. “We’re the only ones stupid enough to come here.”

We walked further and further through the dead city, until I felt numb by the silence and dreariness, and the sheer sense of doom that hung thick in the still air like a dense fog. Finally, though, as we neared the immense temple complex that loomed high above us, its central spire piercing the sky like a wicked sword, we saw three figures ahead of us. At first, we wondered if they were statues, until the one on the left shifted its weight. As soon as they came into view, though, I recognized them at once.

In the middle, clearly the group’s leader, was my brother Mournlev. He was staring at me with sharp eyes and a burning intensity that hid a deep and fiery loathing, waiting like a sleeping volcano. He was young and darkly handsome, yet his features were thin and gaunt, and his face had a sorrowful, sunken quality to it.

At his side was Zarra, who had been his lover at the time when I left him, and whom I guessed still was. She was the most powerful necromancer of all the Wraiths in Loresad, and was the most sadistic bitch I have ever met. Her face was permanently crossed by a malicious grin, a countenance which implied she would dissect a person alive and laugh gleefully all the while.

To their right was Sir Ansom. He was not a Wraith at all, but a human knight, one of Loresad’s finest traitors. The sound of gold enticed him to join the ‘winning side’, and it was because of his detailed knowledge of Loresad’s strengths and weaknesses that Elza was able to defeat the Empress again and again following the fall of the Star. He had traded his shining armor in for armor as black as night, and now rested his spiked gauntlets on the hilt of an enormous serrated claymore.

“Welcome, big brother,” said Mournlev, striding forward. His words echoed eerily through the empty streets. His tone of false civility hardly concealed the threat of his voice. “Welcome, to the magnificent city of Elza’s Star.”

“I’ll distract them, as we planned,” Dia said softly.

“No!” I exclaimed louder than I meant to. “No, I have to face him.”

“Yes, brother!” Mournlev shouted in his same voice of fake geniality. “Come and face me, and by my hand, face the fate you so richly deserve!”

“We need not fight, Mournlev,” I shouted back, stepping forward. “This need not come to bloodshed.”

“Oh, indeed, we must, my dear brother! You don’t understand what price I had to pay for Elza to allow me to meet you here, in lieu of her army. And now that my friends and I have won the chance to be your welcoming committee, I have no intention of squandering the opportunity.”

“I see. So you mean to kill me, then, brother? Is that it?”

“Oh, no!” Mournlev laughed, as though the thought were absurd. “Kill you? Perish the thought. No, Lourntav, death is too easy for you. Too quick. No, what I propose is a challenge, a wager if you will.”

“A wager?” I asked.

Mournlev nodded. “Indeed, dear brother. This matter is only between you and I, and so this fight will only between the two of us. No one else. My two comrades will stand back and do nothing more than observe, and whatever whore you’ve dragged along with you will do the same. If she interferes in any way, then the three of us will call for Elza’s army and crush you like an ant.”

I considered Mournlev’s words for a moment. He was undoubtedly evil, but he had always been honorable, and had never broken his word. To him, nothing meant more than a promise. “So be it,” I said. “Dia will not interfere.” I looked back at her to make sure she understood. She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. I turned again to Mournlev. “But if we are not fighting for our lives, then what will be the price of our contest?”

“Think of it as a bet,” Mournlev replied curtly, stepping towards me and looking me over appraisingly. “If we win, then I will personally present you before Elza as a gift.”

“And I get your whore!” yelled Sir Ansom gruffly, pointing his massive claymore at Dia.

“And,” Mournlev hung his head and chuckled softly, “Sir Ansom gets your whore.”

I growled and extended my claws in anger, but didn’t argue, knowing I was outmatched here. “And if I win?” I asked through gritted fangs.

“If you win,” Mournlev said, “then we will let you pass through this city unharmed. We will not touch you, nor will any of Elza’s minions, nor mercenaries, arisen dead, or summoned creatures.”

“Not good enough,” I said tersely. “We didn’t come here just to leave. We came here for a prisoner you took. A dryad, clothed in leaves. Where is she?”

Mournlev snorted. “You poor, sad fool. How could you have so forgotten the ways of our people, to care for the fate of such a lesser being? But if that’s what it takes to sate you, then so be it. If you defeat me, then I will see you to the holding cells where you may take one prisoner of your choice. But only one; try to free more, and you will join them.”

“And why should we trust you?” Dia asked forcefully.

I turned to her. “Because he is my brother,” I told her. “If you cannot trust him, than you cannot trust me.”

“Well put, brother,” Mournlev said. “And for the record, I’m the one who has never broken his word. What does that tell you?”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” I said, baring my fangs and calling up the elemental fire within me. “If this is the only way to settle things between us, then let it be done already.”

“Things will never be settled between us,” Mournlev replied, stepping forward and extending his claws. “But once I hand you over to Elza’s mercy, I will at least have the comfort that justice has been dealt to a traitor.”

“I love you, baby!” Zarra chirped in her perky, creepy voice. “Pull out his spine and beat him to death with it! Tear his soul apart!”

The two of them embraced and kissed passionately, their fangs drawing blood from each others’ lips, which their tongues licked away. When they parted, Zarra took Mournlev’s long black cloak and folded it over her arm.

I looked at Dia, staring into her eyes. “I need to do this,” I told her.

“I know,” she said softly, her expression somber. “I know you do. I won’t interfere.”

“He’s my brother,” I said. “I have to try to make amends with him, even if fighting him is the only way to do that.”

“I saw his eyes,” Dia replied, looking at the ground. “I understand, you can’t talk to him. There’s too much anger there. Anger and… and hurt. But maybe if you make him surrender, he’ll be willing to listen. I understand. Do what you need to do.”

“I… Dia, I…” I looked at her, trying to form the words.

She looked up at me. “What, Lourntav? What is it?”

Looking into her eyes, the words I had been fighting with spilled forward without effort. “I love you, Dia.”

“Oh, Lourntav…” she said, closing her eyes. “Don’t… Don’t tell me that. Not now, not when I might lose you.”

I didn’t know what else to say. Her words struck me deeply. I closed my eyes and touched my forehead to hers. We hung that way for a few moments, until I had to keep a tear from escaping my eye.

I turned around and faced my brother. I faced my destiny.

Mournlev and I circled each other, searching for weaknesses, wary of strengths. Claws ready, fangs bared, eyes keen, and senses heightened, the two of us locked eyes, and I felt my instincts take precedent of my mind.

Calling a sphere of fiery energy to my hand, I hurled it full-force at my opponent. He, in turn, formed a shield of crackling black energy out of the essence of his anger, which caught the fire and held it there harmlessly until it burned itself to ash.

He took the shield and spun it in his hands, forming from it five wicked blades of malice. He threw these at me one after the other. Two of them I quickly dodged, the next to I burned away in a wave of heat and power, and the last one carved through my bicep as it spun past. I growled in pain and held my hand to my arm to stem the flow of blood, and then I called a tongue of flame to lick the wound and sear it closed.

Mournlev was forming his dark magick in his hands, but I acted first, opening my palm and calling a stream of fire to shoot forth like dragon’s breath. His energy dissipated harmlessly in the air as he deftly rolled aside. I sent my flame against him again, but he leapt into the air and landed behind me. I turned, and as I did, he clawed me viciously across the face. He then ducked and tripped me with a swift kick to my legs. I fell to the ground and smacked my head hard against the cobblestones. A sharp ringing and a terrible ache came at once to my head.

Mournlev kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from my lungs. I gasped for breath, my body wracked with pain. Tentatively, not sure if I could even breathe, I arose to my feet.

“Surrender, Lourntav,” Mournlev said contemptuously. “You can’t win.”

Growling, I called fire to erupt at my fist, and threw a punch aimed for his face. He spun out of the way and deftly grabbed my arm. His grip was frigid, and chilled me to the bone. He threw me off-balance and then elbowed me hard in the face, causing me to fall onto my back.

Dia was calling out to me. Zarra was laughing hysterically.

I called up the fire and again arose. My brother growled and charged towards me. He dodged a bolt of fire sent from my hands, and then leapt through the air and struck me hard in the chin. I stumbled back, but somehow, regained my balance. I felt my jaw, and felt that it was severely dislocated. I wondered if I could still speak.

Mournlev came at me again, wielding a spinning blade of black force. I leapt aside, but I wasn’t fast enough; it made several shallow cuts along my chest as it passed. I landed a fist into his stomach, in turn, and raked my claws along his left forearm, but this wasn’t enough to slow his offensive. He punched me in the side of the face, and then again, and then slammed my head against a nearby column, cracking it with the force of the blow.

Exhausted, wracked by horrible pain, bleeding from several injuries, I slumped to the ground, defeated.

“That was… disappointing,” Mournlev said, looking at me in disgust. “I expected better from you. You’re even weaker than I remember, brother. You’re so filled with ‘love’ and ‘compassion,’ and it’s made you soft.” He spat on me, a wet blob that landed on my forehead and slowly slid down into my eye; I felt too weak, even, to wipe it away. “You have forgotten the ways of our people, Lourntav. You have forgotten what you are!”

I looked up at Dia. Tears were running down her cheeks. And then, she couldn’t bear to look at me, and turned away.

I closed my eyes, and an image appeared there unbidden. I saw Sir Ansom, gripping Dia by the throat, pinning her down. She was screaming and struggling vainly to push him away as he forced himself upon her.

I opened my eyes. Rage. My heart, my soul burned fiercely, bright and hot and powerful. I would not let him have his way with Dia. I would never let anyone hurt her. I would die before that happened. So long as I lived, I would fight to protect her. I wiped the spit from my eye, snapped my jaw back into place, and arose to my feet one last time.

Mournlev was walking away from me. “Take him,” he said to his companions. “He is Elza’s plaything now.”

“No!” I called after him, my voice loud and sharp. “This isn’t over, Mournlev!”

He turned, and his eyes went wide at the sight of the wave of fire and heat blasting its way towards him. He barely had time to call up a shield of crackling black energy around himself, and the fire passed above and around him. When the fire dissipated and he dropped his shield, I was at his throat, ready to fight to my last breath.

Mournlev tried to raise his guard, but was too slow. In the next moment, I had him pinned to a crumbling wall. “The dryad!” I roared. “The prisoner I came for! You will release her!”

“No, brother,” Mournlev said calmly. “I will release you, for you are the only real prisoner here.”

I was so intent on Lourntav’s battle that I did not see anything else, not the river on the other side, not even the wraith that slipped around behind me. I did not know her until I felt her hands push me forward, claws extended to pierce my shoulders. I stumbled, yet managed to regain my footing enough to face her. Her dark magic shot through the arm that held my bow, knocking it away as I fell to the ground.

“Are you disarmed so easily?” she smiled. “His taste seems to have grown worse over the years.”

I threw my arrows angrily after my bow and stood. “That was a mistake.”

She chuckled and crossed her arms. “The match is already forfeit. He cheated.”

“No. He merely took a second chance, something you may want to consider. But that was not the mistake I was talking about.” my eyes flashed as the river began to rise. “This is.”

A wave swept her feet away, leaving her on her back as it gathered to me, swirling at my legs. I was tempted to strike her again, but reminded myself with a glance at Lourntav to use it only as a defense. I would not endanger our mission by being accused of interfering, whether or not I was provoked.

Yet Zarra was not content to merely watch, and continued to assault me. She was angered that I would not fight, for it was not mine to win. But I could not endanger my love, so I did not drown her as I wanted to. Instead I created a whirlpool that surrounded me and absorbed her attacks.

I had forgotten the feeling of tranquility that came from wielding water, even when it is used in battle. It is like finding the missing piece of the soul that you had forgotten ever existed. I could no longer remember why I chose the bow as my instrument when I could harness such power. Then I remembered that it could rip at the soul when not used properly.

“You think you can save him now?” she yelled, throwing bolts that sizzled when I blocked them. “There is no cure for us. He is lost to you! As is your dryad friend!”

“It is not for me to save him. He has already redeemed himse-”

“He has redeemed nothing! All he has done is fool you into thinking that he has changed. We do not change, we do not love. We only DESTROY!”

With her last word, she pushed me back, entangling me with her dark energies. I shook with pain and fear, struggling to fight them off. I heard laughter and screaming, but no longer knew if they were real, nor where they came from. It took several eternal minutes to push it away, but once I did, I was able to stand with even more determination.

She laughed and clawed at my stomach. I jumped back and wrapped water around her wrists. They were jerked back, the shoulders dislocated, and buried in the dirt. She sat there, shocked, unable to move without her hands. If I were weaker or wiser, I would have killed her in that moment. But I left her disarmed and watched Lourntav battle his brother, wishing that there was something I could do, but I was as helpless as the bloodthirsty wraith.

The dark human who yearned to own my fate stared at me with an open mouth, apparently not expecting what he had just witnessed from me. Unfortunately, it appeared to impress him and my stomach went cold with his lustful gaze.

“She fights well.” Mournlev commented, trying to inspire Lourntav’s anger, inspire his hateful nature. “Perhaps when you are defeated, I would be willing to let her become a wraith. She would be much better suited for you then. But, then again, she could find a finer specimen than you to infect.”

“No!” Lourntav struck him with his fire, pushing him back with such determination that I had to step back to avoid the blaze. More of my tears fell, but I did not want him to be disheartened by my feminine weakness. So I picked up my bow and held my head high, my blue eyes trained on his every movement.

You fight for both of us, I thought. My fate is entwined with yours now. Please do not fail us.

The two were evenly matched, so much so that I was not sure of our success, though I believed in him with my last breath. Zarra must have felt the same way, for she finally broke free of the ground and ran towards me.

“Not today.” I whispered, grasping my power once more. I set my palms on the ground and dug my fingers into the dirt. The water pushed down and moved towards her, finally breaking the surface to grasp her ankles. She fell, but rose again with the darkest look that I had ever seen.

There was only one way I could fight her now, and that was to abstain from it. From what I had learned from Lourntav, the only way to truly defeat a wraith was through love. I had to allow my feelings for him to be my fuel. So I sat upon the ground and focused on a shield that grew from my heart and bonded with his. It would not reach him, though, for that was not my part and I was not sure that he would want it now.

The wraith fought hard, but I only reminded myself of my love for him and his for me. My hands clasped at my breast and shook with effort. I was remembering the ever familiar feeling of death, which I felt approaching like the darkness that it was. It came upon me, for I felt Lourntav weakening, returning to his old ways. I had to do something or we would both be lost, even if we were not dead. I had to give him the strength that he so often gave me.

“I love you.” I shouted. “I always have and always will.”

I heard him yell with pain and effort, heard something hit the ground hard. Please, no, not him. I opened my eyes and looked at the battle. As the dust settled, I saw him lying there, broken and defeated. Not since the last battle had I seen so much blood or bruising. He was barely breathing, but I saw him open his eyes to watch me with some clarity.

I ran towards him, my heart aching, and dropped at his side. Mournlev, to his credit, left us for a moment before gloating. I brushed his hair away from his face and leaned in closer. His eyes went in and out of focus, and I could not be sure if he could hear me. But I had to try. This might be the last time I ever saw him, alive at least.

“Listen to me.” I shook him softly until I knew by his gaze that he was attentive. “I will never leave you. Never. I will never love another. We will always be together, do you hear me?”

He closed his eyes and groaned, unable to speak. Crying, I kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then his bleeding lips. Then my emotion broke fully and I wept harder than I ever had. Who knew if I would see him again?

“That will be enough.” Zarra seemed to take special joy in taking me away. She had restored her arms by her dark magic, and used them to grab my elbows and yank me back. I fought to stand, never looking away from him.

“Now, Dia. My brother made a promise to me. What would it say of your people if you did not honor it? Although...” he looked me over. “Who are your people, exactly?”

He knew. I do not know how, but he did. I shook my head, silently pleading, but he had no such pity on me. He was going to crush us both, and he was going to do so thoroughly.

“You might find it interesting, brother, that your ‘love’ has been hiding something from you.” he smiled. “What do you suppose would happen now if I were to strike her, hm? Would she swat it away with her godly powers? Call upon her father to save you both? You must have become so weak as not to taste it on her skin.” he looked back to me. “She is mortal. She gave up her powers long ago, but for what?”

“I did it for him.” I spat. “It was the only way I could be with him. The laws of the gods would have never allowed it, otherwise. I did it because I loved him more than I loved my own life.”

“Precious. I only wish it had worked out. But, as it were, you are now bound to another.”

Zarra pushed me towards the human, and though I struggled, I knew there was nothing I could do without endangering Lourntav. I longed to call out to him, but no longer knew what I could say. He would not even look at me now. Did I disgust him? Had I hurt him? My vision blurred with questions and panic.

I felt Ansom’s fingers slide over my hip, and my anger got the best of me. Water coursed through my hands, pushing him onto his back, dazed. Lourntav finally looked up at that, but he did not say anything and I could no longer read his expression as I used to. What was I to him now? Perhaps only another mortal to be trod upon. I had ruined it, the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

“I will go with him.” I told Mournlev coldly. “But I will walk alone.”

“She is leaving you, brother. Just as you always feared.” he squatted at his side, a victorious grin on his face. “This is the reward for all that attempt to fight for good. There is no such thing, but you know that by now. You cannot escape what you have become. It is in your blood, as it is in mine. Love may have stilled it, but it will never disappear.”

“You are wrong.” I told him, for Lourntav did not argue with him. Ansom began to lead me away, but I turned so that I could see him one last time. “He is good. I have seen it.”

dannoden

Connor rode through the mountain pass, not yet wary of trouble, for he had not yet crossed the border into Loresad. As he rode, his mind was lost deeply in comtemplation. Was he truly worthy of this task? Was he worthy of Kieran? Even now, he marveled that his god would single him out. Yes, he was proud of his accomplishments; he was one of only two who had ever completed the eighth kata. He believed in himself, for he had worked hard to be what he had become, but his dreams had never reached as high as this. It was more than he had ever dreamed, to draw the direct attention of his deity. He also marveled at the magnificent gift that he had been given by Kieran. He had never heard of such a wonderful type of armor, and was amazed and awed by it. In truth, he was a simple man, not one given to great flights of fancy, and after all that had happened, he vowed that he would be worthy of the task he had been gifted to accomplish.

For most of that day, he progressed farther and farther into the foothills. He had seen much wildlife, but had yet to encounter anyone. He was quickly approaching the border, and would soon be in the flatlands of Loresad, so he began to give more thought to the task ahead, rather than continuing to marvel at his good fortune. He removed the magical armor from his saddle bags, and hung it at his waist; tucked into he belt, and now readily available at need. Reaching into the saddlebags he removed incense, and moved to sit in the lotus position. Clearing his mind, he focused, with the aid of the incense, and began using his mind to start the process for casting a spell used only by the monks of Kieran. A short time later, his intense focus resulted in his successful casting of spell. He could feel the energy of the spell surrounding his body, and aided by it, he would now become aware of the approach of any being within one mile of him. The spell would last eight hours, and aid him in his travels by warning him of a potential enemies approach. With this spell, he could travel without the tension of worrying about being ambushed or surprised by anyone, or anything.

He traveled for some four hours before the spell made him aware that he was no longer alone. He sensed that there were a group of beings up ahead, still a mile away. They seemed to be stationary, so eager to end the solace of his travels, he urged his steed into a steady canter that would quickly take him to what lay ahead. At about a quarter mile from running into them, he dismounted, and reaching to his waist, he removed the magic armor and donned it. He left the parts of it on his head, and let it lay across his back and shoulders like a hood. Moving quietly he went forward, and as he neared his destination, he could hear the sounds of conflict, just past a small copse of trees that lined the edge of the road.

As he got closer, he could see a group of perhaps five wagons on the other side of the trees, and the sounds of a fight drifted into his hearing. Moving quickly, but cautiously, he moved to the closest wagon which was next to a tree. He tied his horses reins to the tree, remaining aware of everything around him. The prospect of a battle sent a rush of adrenaline into his system, and before he moved further, he took several deep breaths to calm himself, as he had been taught at the monastery. Finally feeling ready, he moved forward and saw the frightened faces of children who were hidden in the wagons. There were quite a few of them, and he realized that this group were pilgrims of some sort. He arrived finally at a vantage point, where he could finally see what was transpiring.

Fronting the wagons was a group of ten to fifteen men, farmers by the look of them, holding an odd assortment of weapons that ranged from scythes and staves to small knives. They stood in a small group, obviously frightened, but determined to protect their children, and the goods on their wagons. Before them, floating at head height, was a large Havoc Wraith. The creature was laughing at them, taunting them at their ineffectiveness in attacking it. As he approached, the Wraith darted forward with inhuman speed, snatched the stave from the hand of one of the pilgrims, and with a quick motion, twisted the man's head around until his neck broke. His body dropped to the ground, as the creature back off a bit, laughing all the while. "Do you not see, human peasants, how useless your defenses are? I can kill you all at any time. You should be falling on your knees before me in worship." Once again it raised its fearsome head, and loosed an eerie, evil sounding laughter that made the hairs on Connors neck stand up.

Connor knew that the pilgrims were no match for a Havoc Wraith. They stood little chance of standing against it, and would surely lose their lives if he did not intervene. Moving boldly forward, Connor spoke loudly. "Does it strengthen your ego mightily to accost those who are not trained to fight you creature of the Fey?" he asked. "Surely a being of such might as yourself would prefer a worthier opponent?"

The head of the Havoc Wraith turned quickly toward him, becoming aware for the first time of this new addition to the fray. As its gaze fell upon him, Connor spoke again. "I will be happy to provide you with an opportunity for more worthy combat. Surely that will satisfy your lust for violence."

The Wraith froze for a moment, falling away from its laughter, then gave an evil smile. "What have we here? A Calderan monk? A follower of Kieran?" Once again it released an evil laugh. "Think you to challenge me monk? Would you match your puny skills against me?" Tilting back its head, it finished its laughter, and said, "Very Well then monk. We shall see what we shall see."

Raising up another ten feet into the air, it flashed toward Connor with stunning swiftness, swooping down to attack him from above. It was all Connor could do to deflect the attack, so swiftly did the creature dive, but he managed it. The Wraith swept past him, rising in preparation to attack from above once again. Again it swooped toward him, and again he deflected its attack. Four more times it swept toward him, and four more times was it deflected away, leaving Connor unharmed. With a howl of frustrated rage, it lowered itself to stand upon the ground, some ten feet from Connor. "Nicely done monk, but think not that you can defeat me. Prepare to die!"

With incredible swiftness it attacked, moving in toward Connor carrying a long knife in each hand, slashing at him with obvious skill. Connor had never encountered a being of such swiftness. Several times its blades were able to get past his defenses, but were deflected by his magical armor, leaving him unharmed. At first, all Connor could do was defend, but as time passed he became tuned completely into the conflict, and all his skills came to the fore. Slowly, he was able to insert attacks of his own, as the two battled savagely against each other. Once it nearly backed him into the lead wagon, but Connor feared that innocents within might get caught up in the struggle, and managed to sprint past the Wraith into the open, and away from the wagons.

They fought on for an interminable time, neither gaining an advantage, as Connors skill and armor deflected its attacks again and again. To the pilgrims watching the fight, it was like nothing they had ever seen. Half of the blows that were struck by both combatants were so fast that they could not see them. They stood there, watching in awe as the incredible conflict continued. Connor managed to blood the creatue twice, though the wounds inflicted were not serious, and the fight continued. Connor knew no fear, but began to realize that he faced an opponent that surpassed even the eighth kata in skill. He must do something soon, or it would wear him down until he was so exhausted he would make mistakes, for it was obvious the creatures vitality surpassed his own.

For a second time, it managed to back him up before the wagons, but this time, with an evil howl, the creature swooped into the wagon. Connor watched in horror as the creature snatched a baby out of the hands of a woman who had sheltered there. Her wail of despair was horrible to hear. For the first time, Connor felt anger, and though he knew it was something he should never do, he let that anger take him, and he launched himself with a howl at the Wraith. It came to ground several feet away from him, the babe tucked under one arm. "Would you continue this monk? Move any closer and I shall skewer this cub like a pig. I'll spill its guts to the ground for its mother to see. Would you like that?" The baby howled loudly as the Wraith handled it ungently. Connor skidded to a stop.

At that very moment, a voice spoke to him in his head; an unearthly voice. "Release your armor. Bring the armor in contact with the Wraith." Connor knew instantly that his god had just spoken to him, and acted without hesitation. He spoke the command to release the armor in his head, and it slid off his body like oil. It became a small humanoid, such as he had seen when the gift was first given him. Connor grabbed it and moved in swiftly to make contact with the Wraith.

At first the Wraith looked startled as the armor came in direct contact with its arm. Then, with a howl of pain, it dropped the baby and began to struggle with the magical creature that was Connor's armor. Connor dove into a roll, catching the babe before it could hit the ground, then moved quickly away from the Wraith. As he watched, the armor seemed to melt, attaching itself like an oily cloth to the Wraith, moving to cover more and more of the surface of its skin. Connor could actually see a steamy vapor arising from every area that was covered by the armor. The screams of the Wraith were horrible to hear, as it fought desperately to free itself from the enveloping creature. In moments it had covered all but the head of the Wraith, and it gave him a look of the most intense hatred he had ever seen, and then it was fully covered. Its struggling form fought feebly for a few moments, and then suddenly the armor slid to the ground, looking like nothing more than a pile of oily cloth. The Wraith was completely gone!

For a moment, there was stunned silence; both from the pilgrims and Connor himself. "My baby!" screamed the mother, as she ran toward Connor. He gladly handed the infant to its mother, and turned to find the group of men who had first confronted the Wraith moving toward him. A man who appeared to be the leader spoke. "Stranger, I know not who you are, or where you came from, but we are grateful for what you have done. You have saved us from a horrible fate, and we are eternally grateful."

Connor nodded. "Creatures of such evil must be stopped. It was my duty to use my skills to assist you, as it would be for any honorable man. You need not thank me sir, but I am glad that I could use my skills to save you from harm."

"Never have I seen a more valiant struggle. You are a mighty warrior sir, and whether you desire it or not, you have our gratitude. Come, you must be hungry after such a mighty struggle. Will you break bread with us?"

Before he could answer he found himself suddenly in the embrace of the grateful mother of the child he had saved. With tears in her eyes, she looked up at him. "How can I ever repay you for saving my beloved Chelsea? Bless, you sir, bless you!"

Connor was taken aback by this, his face grew flush. At a loss for words, he nodded and smiled. "A good meal would me more than enough."

Smiling, she held her baby tightly to her chest and headed toward her wagon, eager to prepare a meal for the valiant stranger who had saved her precious bairn. It was then that another sound intruded upon the scene, as the sound of many running horses approached at speed. Moving toward the road, Connor could see a large force of men riding toward them, and moved quickly to where his armor lay. Donning the armor, he readied himself once more to defend the pilgrims. He moved to place himself between the pilgrims and the arriving force, and waited, though he knew that there was no way he could defeat such a large force alone. Still, it had to be done, for there was no one else for the task.

The approaching force slowed to a halt just short of his position, and a man who appeared to be the leader, climbed off his horse and walked to where Connor stood. He was a well formed man of perhaps twenty years, yet he moved with an authority that belied his age. "Good day sir, I am Count Theras."

"Well met sir," was Connor's reply. "What brings such a large force of men this way?"

"We are from the northeastern corner of Loresad, near the borders of Anthasta and Caldera. We have heard of a great battle at Laxthorogh, and ride to join the fight. My militia is 340 strong, and we ride to join in the war against the Fey."

Connor relaxed as he realized that he was now confronted with an ally. "You are welcome sir. I am Connor Brithairn of Caldera. I am a Kieran monk, and came upon these pilgrims who were under attack by a Havoc Wraith. Just minutes ago I defeated the Wraith in single combat. These good pilgrims and i were just about to eat dinner. Would you care to join us sir?"

"Thanks to you for the invitation," replied the Count, " but we have our own provisions. This would, however, be a good place to rest our horses, as we have been riding all day."

Several of the elder pilgrims appoached, and the leader nodded to Connor and the Count. "Welcome, my lord. We would be glad to share this stretch of road with you and your men. To be honest, we could use the protection. We have just now been confronted by a horrible Havoc Wraith," he nodded toward Connor. "This young monk saved us. It was the most amazing feat I have ever witnessed. He completely destroyed the Wraith, saving my infant son from it in the process."

Count Theras raised one eyebrow, looking with interest at Connor. "Sorry I missed it. Not many men could defeat a Wraith in single combat. What brings a Calderan monk of Kieran into Loresad?"

Connor replied. "I, like you my lord, travel to join the fight. Kieran has given me the task of aiding Loresad against the Fey. I am traveling to Llyr, to join Sir Jonas Veln and aid him as I can."

"Ah," said the Count. "Then we must travel together, valiant monk, for we seek the same destination. I would hear more of your task. You are welcome to join us." Nodding toward the Pilgrim leader, the Count added, "Your wagons may not be able to match our pace, but you may also travel with us if you wish sir, for as long as you are able. I am sorry if we travel too fast, but I bring men and gold to aid the fight, and I must reach Llyr as soon as possible."

"Thank you my lord," replied the Pilgrim, "we will follow as best we can."

"Very well, we will rest here for an hour, and begin the journey to Llyr after."

Quaddy

Logan approached Orthian carefully, quietly, but not without signaling her arrival. He sat, cross-legged and alone, holding his friend's sword in both hands, staring at it with an unimaginable sorrow in his dark eyes. The man looked up at her as she approached, but said nothing as Logan dropped to the grass and mimicked his stance. "Your friend was a good man?"

Orthian was silent for a moment, and Logan was afraid that he would ignore her--many had before, after all--but he eventually opened his mouth to speak. "The best of us all. He loved Loresad. And he loved serving her. The rest of us...we just loved the action, the women, the booze...Not Lanik. He served for honor and loyalty. And without him...the world seems a little darker."

"Darkness is not a bad thing," Logan replied softly. "Lanik is happy in the Otherrealms, with his ancestors. He feasts on mutton and wine, listens to Bards, carouses with the Gods. And he is at peace."

"And how did you come by this information?" Orthian could not trust her. Not yet. But she had done a good thing in giving him his friend's sword, and now he would at least give her a chance. Which was more than anyone but Bright Soul had given. And that only because she'd saved him from death.

"My mistress, whom I serve faithfully." Logan smiled softly as Orthian stared askance at her. He was worried whether he could trust her. "Mistress?" he asked, finally, hedging his bets.

Logan picked a piece of grass and, deftly, began folding it into the shape of the Dark Goddess. "I will answer with a tale, soldier. Once, Cassy's Star was great. Not long ago, actually. I visited after I realized that my magick was unlike that of other fae, when I realized that people would judge me as evil through no fault of my own. The monks at the library--and the library at Cassy's Star rivaled that of any of the Kingdoms--took me in and taught me a few things about the ways of the Goddesses.

They told me that, like so many, I had grown up believing that the magick of the Wraiths was unique to them. That to have the same magick as they was to be as one of them--evil and unfeeling. This is not true. Havoc Wraiths are fae, too, you know. Fae born with the magick of the darkness, of the shadow. The Dark Goddess blessed them with immense power--her power--and wisdom."

"Wait," Orthian interrupted. "You're saying that the Goddess created Havoc Wraiths? You are a daft bitch, aren't you?"

"And your impatience will get you killed one day. I am not done with my tale, good sir, so keep your tongue to yourself and I will tell you what you need to know." Orthian grumbled, but said nothing, intrigued by Logan's story. The woman could weave a tale. Her voice, deep and throaty, was also melodious and she could really paint a picture when she spoke. "Anyway. The Dark Goddess blessed these Shadow Fae with her power. But, as you know, every creature has a choice with what to do with their gifts. The power of the Goddess is neither good or evil, but both and neither at the same time. It is we mortals and finite creatures that must choose which to fight for. And, as so many have reminded me throughout my twenty-three years...darkness is so much easier to turn to evil because it is, by its very nature, secretive and...well...dark."

Orthian's whole body had loosened and his eyes had softened. He believed her, even if he hadn't wanted to. Logan's words were simple, but sincere, and nothing bespoke of lies or deception. "So, these Shadow Fae continued to live in peace for a while until a leader--his name is lost to us now--of the Shadow Fae decided that they were becoming second-class citizens among their people. It's true, in a sense, that people with our powers are misunderstood and ostracized. And it can feel like you're second-class, unwanted, mistrusted...unloved. But, what he did..." Logan paused and shook her head, picking more grass and tying them in other, rune-like figures. "He convinced the Shadow Fae to rebel against the Goddess, whom he said had abandoned them, and take their rightful place as rulers of the Fae. The Shadow Fae flocked to him, transforming as they made their choice, into Havoc Wraiths."

"Did any choose not to turn? Any like you?" Logan looked up, shocked. "You're no Havoc Wraith. Anyone could tell that."

"Those who did gave up their powers and became mortal or they pleaded with the Goddess to save them. In her kindness, she transformed them into the creatures of the night. Still others kept their powers and continued on in their existence, some in the lands of the Fae and others in the mortal realm. But there are very few of them. As far as I know, I'm the only Shadow Fae still living. And I'm half-human." Logan gave a half chuckle. "So, the Havoc Wraiths abandoned the Realms of the Fae and created their own realm with their immense power. And their plans...well, I suppose we're in the middle of them right now."

Orthian nodded. "So...your mistress is Nanigha?"

Logan looked over at the man and nodded. "Indeed. And, believe me, it is difficult. Evil is very persuasive. It would feel so much better to just give in and become a Havoc Wraith...or whatever I would become with mortal blood flowing through my veins. Fighting against that pull--against giving in to the loneliness and the anger...the pain, the hatred--it so immensely painful that it's a wonder I'm not torn apart. Only when I'm with the Goddess is my soul truly peaceful. It is she who told me to bring you the sword...and she who told me Lanik is happy and at peace."

"How did you become a Shadow Fae, then, if you're half-human?"

"My father was a Fire Mage, my mother a Spirit Fae. I can only assume that my father created the Shadow with his bright flame and my mother opened the Spirit realms to me. The combination gave me the powers of Shadow. I discovered my power when I was twelve...I fell through a wall. The town...people I'd known my whole life, whom I'd counted as friends...turned on me." Logan ran her fingers along the ridge of her lips. "See these scars? They sewed my lips shut with a bone needle and nothing to dull the pain. To keep me from speaking evil. When I turned thirteen, the legal age of womanhood, they took a poker to my womanhood to keep me from bleeding again, which they thought was the source of my power. An elf woman healed me that time, taking pity on a small child...she sold her body, which I suppose made her dark like me."

Logan paused for a moment and parted her dark hair, revealing the puckered scars all along her skull. "They carved these into my skull. All of these are old remedies against evil, but the village couldn't understand why they didn't work on me. Couldn't--or wouldn't--figure out that I'm not evil. They thought I was just too powerful. So they decided to do the one thing they knew would bind me forever. They carved a stake of silver and held it in the flame until it began to melt, at which point they mixed it with my blood before holding it to my eye. Blinding a magician is...it works for anyone with magick. It keeps them from accessing it. I couldn't handle it anymore. I called on everything I had and lit the entire village on fire, making my escape. I assume that some of them died...and I didn't care. I couldn't. I was too angry, in too much pain...too frightened to care. But I am not evil. I never have been. But can you begrudge me my disdain for human laws?"

"You're not helping your cause, though, with humans. Doing bad things only makes people think you're bad."

"They think I'm...'bad' either way. No matter what I do."

Orthian grasped his friend's sword. "I don't. And all you did was give me my friend's sword. An act of kindness for someone else's benefit. At the cost of your freedom. Do good things and people will think you're good...no matter what kind of power you've got. As for people like Lillian..." Orthian sounded both amused and annoyed. "They've got a stick up their bum, so you definitely shouldn't worry about them."

Logan looked over at Orthian and smiled--truly smiled--for the first time in a long time. She was about to say something else when a horn sounded. "Sounds like someone's arriving. The Count probably," Orthian announced. "Come. Jonas would prefer it if we were there."

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

Dearest Jonas,

I was terribly sorry to learn of the loss at Laxthorough, both for your sake and for the sake of Loresad.
However, the pampered noblewomen of the Council received the news dismissively, as though it hardly affected them at all. They continue to bicker incessantly over trivial matters, and only seem to care for the war insofar as it affects the business of the Merchant League. They should be discussing the fortification of Warden in preparation for the coming siege, or means to conscript and support additional troops to fill the garrison. Instead, the most recent meeting centered around negotiations with Sultan Razim to open a new shipping route to sell our excess luxury goods in faraway Nara. In their eyes, this war is the responsibility of the vassals and their knights. These idiots don’t even seem to realize that their nation is being invaded.
It comforts my troubled heart to hear that you will be returning home soon. Surrounded as I am with the incompetent and the moronic, I could really appreciate your military authority backing my political voice. None of the dukes or barons pay me any mind when it comes to military matters, and I begin to doubt that even our old friend Sir Ganymede is on my side anymore. I find myself growing more frustrated with every Council meeting. Still, I continue to push these insufferable buffoons to act. I will approach the court tomorrow with a bill I have written up to renew the protection spells inscribed on the city gates… though I have little doubt that it will be overturned by the spoiled old hags who care more for furnishing their estates with Cheldanese silks and Anthastan hardwood furniture.
Well, enough of my own worries. I am sure that you would much rather hear news of your daughter. Little Morgan’s teacher speaks very highly of her, and constantly raves to me about how bright and gifted she is. However, I am a touch concerned for her. Every time I send her out to play with the other little girls, she leaves them all behind, and instead prefers to sit alone. Each time I check up on her, I find her either sitting beneath a tree reading a book, or upon its branches daydreaming. Granted, I have had little experience with children before she was born, but this hardly seems to be normal behavior for a seven-year-old girl. The other day, I found her speaking aloud, carrying on a conversation, even though she was alone. I understand that many children have imaginary friends, but from the way I overheard her bantering and laughing, she seems to have herself convinced that her friend is real. Still, she continues to be as polite and mild-mannered as ever, so I have found no reason at all to discipline her.
Please return safely home to us. Recent reports suggest that the Wraiths have been acting more opportunistic than usual.

With love,
Lady Lucretia Veln

I re-read the letter once more, and then folded it neatly and tucked it into a small pocket of my girdle. I entertained the thought of writing back to her immediately, telling her how much I loved her and missed her, but I rather doubted such tender words would hold much weight with her. I also wondered if I could still write such words to her and actually sound sincere. As the seasons had passed, somewhere along the way, our marriage had ceased to be a relationship of passion and romance, and had instead become simply an arrangement of mutual political convenience. Bitterly, I knew that when I did decide to write back to her, I would have very little to say aside from council advice and maybe a few more questions about Morgan.
Lady Lucretia Veln she had signed the letter, in exactly the same way she would have signed her name to any official document. Years ago, she would have signed the letter ”Cretia”and surround it with doodles of flowers and hearts, and the letter would have smelled of her perfume. Now, her words were all written in a neat and plainly legible script, with perfect spelling and punctuation.

“What the hell has happened to us?” I asked the mid-afternoon air with a sigh.

I was distracted by my lamentation by the sound of a signal horn. I gave a slight shiver, recognizing it as a battle signal given to herald the arrival of reinforcements to the field. I was puzzled for a moment, until I realized that it must mean Count Theras and his cavalry brigade was approaching the gates. Apparently, I would have to lecture someone about the proper use of signal horns later, but for now, I should meet with the Count and give him my account of the current state of affairs.
After donning my chain mail and collecting my mace and shield, I stepped out of my tent (as I had decided to no longer impose on Lady Lillian, now that I was healed) and into the bustling camp just within the village walls.
Dante’s pikemen were all milling about expectantly, while Orthian had his swordsmen already formed up in a tight and disciplined formation. Ixylah and her archers leaned against the granary wall, talking casually and watching the scene with cool indifference.
I came up beside Dante and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I know this is short notice,” I told him, “but from all accounts, Count Theras is a decent man. And cavalry support will be welcome protection.”

“May I speak freely, sir?” Dante asked.

“Of course. You know I would never deny you your opinion, though I may disagree with it.”

“Would a decent man have his first wife drowned so that he could claim her inheritance?”

“I suggest you don’t go around repeating that,” I chastised. “There has been no solid proof of foul play in the Countess’ death. By all accounts, she slipped into the moat and drowned.”

“Within sight of the watchtowers? When it was known that the Countess was a proficient swimmer?”

“Enough, Dante. Count Theras is my superior, and yours as well. I’ll not have you spreading such accusations about a man more experienced and qualified than the both of us.”

Dante lowered his head obediently. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt, but I shrugged it aside as Count Theras and his mounted yeomen trotted through the gates. The Count was not at all what I expected. He looked like a young boy of about 18 years of age, and certainly no older than 20. How could this boy have come into lordship of an entire county?
The answer was simple, of course: by marriage.
He carried himself haughtily, and deigned not even to look at the peasants and soldiers that had gathered around. He did, however, make eye contact with Orthian. Seeing the obedience and efficiency of his soldiers, the Count nodded to him approvingly, and Orthian nodded back with a small smile.
The Count’s armor appeared far more ornamental than functional, painstakingly engraved with elaborate floral patterns of gold, inlaid with rubies and emeralds. Trailing behind him was a cape of red velvet, and upon his head was a feathered beret. The hilt of his sword was inlaid with precious stones and dominated by a huge diamond. His well-groomed white horse was armored as well, and I was amused at the thought that the horse’s armor probably offered better protection than his own.

“Ah, Count Theras,” I said, bowing before him. “I humbly welcome you to the village of Llyr.”

“Yes, ‘humble’ is indeed the correct word,” the Count said derisively, looking around. “I’d go so far as to say that, in a place like this, a plague might be an improvement.”

I was momentarily disquieted by his words, and found myself at a loss of how to respond. I decided it best not to respond at all.

“Simple folk,” the count sighed. “When a noble of my status makes a joke, you laugh. But, I suppose, that is too much to ask of common farmers and men-at-arms.”

I cleared my throat. “Indeed. Well, my name is Sir Jonas Veln, knight of Duke Borfeld and leader of-“

“By the Five, who is that?” Count Theras interrupted, pointing at Logan, who for a moment looked like a startled deer. “Why, is that woman a shadow fey?”

“Err… yes, sir,” I answered him. “She is half-fey.”

The Count looked at me sternly, with anger flashing in his proud eyes. “What madness is this?” he asked. “Are you harboring enemies here, sir?”

I stared at him, puzzled. “I… beg your pardon, milord?”

“Look at her!” Count Theras waved his hand towards Logan. “Fey such as her are our enemies. Her entire countenance is roguish and unsavory. Even if she is not an agent in Wraith employ, she is certainly up to no good.”

“Sir, with all due respect-“

“No, no, do not try to defend her, Sir… Jacob, was it? I have dealt with her kind many times before, and I can assure you, the best thing to do is to deal with her before she has a chance to make trouble. Men, arrest that woman. We will hold her until we determine that she is not a threat.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that, sir,” I said, stepping forward. “This woman is in my employ, and is under my protection.”

The count’s eyes flared with indignant rage. “What? How dare you?! I am your superior, Sir Knight and I command you to step aside, or else face trial as a traitor to Loresad!”

“If we were within your holdings, good Count, I would assuredly be found guilty,” I replied calmly. “But I would remind Your Lordship that I am a vassal of Duke Borfeld, and you have no authority here in Eathermae. Under normal circumstances, the courts would favor you, but we are at war, and Warden is ruled by knights and soldiers. So before you come here trying to order everyone around, I suggest you just remember one thing. Duke Borfeld has a larger army than you do.”

The Count balked indignantly. “Fie, and a pox on you all! Had I known that Loresad has come to be populated by uncouth barbarians, I would have kept to my manor and left the outside world to rot. You’ll get no help from us! Find your own way to Warden, and may you all be ambushed and slain in the woods!”

“We don’t need you, you prissy bastard!” Ixylah yelled. “Likely you’d turn and run at the first sign of trouble, screamin’ like a little girl!”

“Haha! Aye!” laughed one of her archers. “Go home and admire your reflection in your golden chamber-pot, ye soddin’ twit!”

“Humph! Come, men, let us return home, where at least some decency and sanity may yet be found,” Count Theras and his horsemen turned and galloped from the village, just as they had come. Ixylah and her archers laughed and cheered.

One man stayed behind, however, and I hadn’t noticed him until now. He was a smaller man, wearing what appeared to be a suit of black leather armor, and he leaned on a simple wooden walking staff. Behind him, on the other side of the gates, a band of haggard travelers looked around nervously.

“You came with Count Theras, but were not with him,” I said to both the strange man and the travelers beyond.

“This is true,” the man said, coming forward. He spoke with a thick Cheldanese accent. “I am Connor Brithairn, of Caldera Province in eastern Cheldana. I am a monk of Keiran, and I have been sent here by my order to assist in the war against the fey. Yet… now I am confused. Did I hear correctly, that you are defending a fey woman?”

I nodded to him. “Welcome, good monk, and well met. I can understand your confusion, as from all I’ve heard, the Cheldanese do not have many dealings with the faerie folk. Not all fey are our enemies, and in fact, most races of fey remain quite friendly and helpful to us. It is only a specific type, called the Havoc Wraiths, that we harbor a quarrel with. They are incredibly dangerous, incredibly powerful, and undoubtedly evil. As for the woman in question,” I motioned to Logan, who approached us to stand by my side, “her name is Logan, and she is a friend. I was recently wounded and at anyone’s mercy, and she is responsible for saving my life.”

“Well met,” Logan said simply, with a slight wave.

Connor looked at Logan, and then returned his attention to me. “Ah. Then I am relieved. And you, I assume, would be Sir Jonas Veln?”

“I am,” I replied. “I am a humble vassal of my lord, Duke Borfeld, and now act as de facto general of the army you see around you.”

Connor gave a formal bow. “Then I would be honored to place myself at your disposal.”

I smiled at him. “And I would never think of disposing of you, but rather, I would welcome you as my comrade-at-arms. And… by the way, I feel I must apologize for the argument you witnessed when you arrived. Normally, I would never disobey a superior, but I couldn’t stand to see an innocent treated unjustly.”

“An honorable quality, and I would hope for no less from you. I found your courage impressive.”

“Come,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder and walking beside him. “We should speak more. I feel I know far too little of your homeland. Although, I once had the honor of meeting Lord Jergal, the younger brother of your king. He seemed a touch… eccentric.”

“’Eccentric’ is the word?” Connor asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm. I would not usually hear such a word used to describe a man who once ordered the massacre of hundreds of his own people. Although, that was decades ago, and he no longer seems to seek the extermination of those who follow the New Religion. Still, most Cheldanese continue to fear him.”
Speaking with Connor further, I learned many interesting things about the country of Cheldana. It is a very unique nation, a drastic mix of Western and Far-Eastern influinces. It is a place where bards and geishas will entertain an audience beneath the same roof, and valiant knights fight alongside honorable samurai. Like most Heklosian countries, it had recently converted to the New Religion, which outlawed witchcraft and most kinds of magick. However, the old gods are still venerated there, if only for tradition's sake.

Later that day, I found Lady Lillian sitting under the shade of a willow tree, seeming lost in thought. “Hi,” I said to her as I approached.
“Oh, hi,” she said, looking up at me.
“I haven’t heard much from you lately,” I told her. “Is something on your mind?”

An excerpt from The Solace of Despair, by Mournlev:

Why should I care for your suffering? It means nothing to me. All life suffers. Every thing that has ever lived has suffered, and every thing that will ever live will suffer. Your suffering does not make you special or unique in any way. In fact, your pain is one of the three common bonds that you share with all things (the other two being that you live, and that you will die).
To endure is noble. To endure is to grow strong. He who endures will conquer.
Comfort leads to complacency, and ultimately weakness.
Therefore, whatever torment you must endure, endure it with dignity and pride. Do not whine or complain, and do not flee or hide from the pain. It is a gift being offered you, the greatest kind of gift, that which will serve you best in the next phase of your eternal existence. Treasure it and savor it, for your agony is beautiful.

From the eyes of Lourntav

Despair.
It overcame me like icy water, pulling me deep beneath its chilling embrace. I felt frozen. I felt that there was nothing else to do except to lie down and die.
Loresad was doomed now, and had been for some time. If only I had seen it sooner. Dia had given up her powers, surrendered her godhood, when she was possibly the only one who could have challenged the Havoc Wraiths. It would certainly take a god to challenge their unimaginable power, and Dia was one, and had willingly thrown it away. Who could stop them now? The humans? The very thought was ridiculous.
She was crying out to me, bawling desperately, as they pulled her away to take her to whatever terrible fate they had in store for her. I couldn’t look at her now. She had doomed Loresad, and doomed us. Bitterly, a part of me hoped that they would just dispose of her now-useless husk and be done with it.
My mouth tasted of blood and dirt. Dia was gone now, taken by Zarra and Sir Ansom into the immense temple structure. I was left alone, lying broken and defeated at the feet of my younger brother.

“Fear has always been your weakness, Lourntav,” Mournlev said more softly than I expected. Did he still hold some love for me after all, after all these years of brooding anger? “You cling to all of these things that you’re absolutely terrified of losing. Your love. Your life. Your beloved Loresad. But I will remind you now of the truth you seem to have forgotten: someday, sooner or later, you will lose everything, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Death comes to us all, Lourntav.
“Let me tell you a little secret, big brother. This is just between you and me. I love Zarra, fully and truly, with all of my heart. It is my hope to always be with her. But I also know that I may lose her in an instant. One of us may die. But I understand and accept it. I am not afraid of loss, because I do not cling futilely to all of the things I could never own. Loss, like pain, is an illusion, Lourntav. Just one more lie our minds have created so that we can hold to our sanity in a world that’s beyond our capacity to comprehend. You are not losing this love of yours… Dia, was it? There is no such thing as loss, because there is no such thing as ownership. She was never yours, and never could have been. Do you understand?”

I groaned and wept, resting my head against the hard street as my tears fell to the dust. I wasn’t even listening to Mournlev’s stupid speech. My heart ached worse than I could ever describe, with such fierce, deep, relentless sorrow. I hadn’t felt such agony since Shestia died. How could I have lost Dia too?
“Dia…” I whispered. “Dia, no, I can’t…”
She had betrayed me. Betrayed all of Loresad. And I still loved her, and still hated her, as much as ever.
“Dia!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the empty streets. “Dia, may the Castigator damn you! You’ve doomed us all!!”

“Whenever you’re ready, brother,” Mournlev said calmly, walking away to go sit upon the stone steps of the great temple. “Once you feel you can stand, I’ll take you to Elza. And, of course, should you try to escape, I will show you new and previously unfathomed definitions of pain.”

I was somewhat surprised when Mournlev and I stepped into a rickety old wooden carriage, rather than into the temple. The vehicle was drawn by four stinking, rotting undead horses, their eyes blazing red with unholy light, and every neigh and whinny resounding as if from beyond the veil. The driver was a human skeleton in a torn and tattered robe, two cold lights gleaming deep within its empty eyes.

“Where are we going?” I asked, watching Mournlev clear the cobwebs from the inside of the carriage.

“North,” he replied, turning back to me with a wicked grin. “To the Shadowlight Monastary.”

I was taken aback by this. “What? To…”

Mournlev laughed, entering the carriage. I entered after him. “Go!” he shouted to the undead driver. “By the deepest dread magicks of the Unholy Lords, thou art bound, sorrowful soul, to forevermore obey! Go now, and take us swiftly to the monastery!”
The enslaved soul trapped within the skeleton complied, cracking its whip hard against the rotten backs of the zombie steeds. Black blood and green pus shot from the whip as the horses whined; the sound of it was unnerving even to me.
“The monastery was your destination, was it not?” Mournlev asked me as the carriage sped off through the streets. “You and Dia meant to go there, to enlist the help of the Shadowlights to fight us. Likely, you meant to become a Shadowlight yourself, correct?
“Oh, my brother, your ignorance astounds me. Do you really think that the Shadowlights would accept one as fearful and weak-willed as you? And even if they would, it matters not. They were dead before the invasion of Loresad even began. Elza knew that they would be the single greatest threat to our cause. She dealt with them four months before the Wraith armies crossed through the portal beneath the great temple and claimed the Star.
“Now, Elza’s Star is where the bulk of our operations take place, but the monastery is the throne of Elza’s power. It is far more protected and fortified than the city, and is warded against every kind of magick. Even better, most humans don’t even know it exists, let alone where it is hidden.”

“Some things never change,” I said gruffly. “You’re still a long-winded prick. Should you really be telling me all of this?”
Mournlev shrugged. “Why not? You’ll be one of us soon. It may take weeks and weeks of torture, but soon enough, you will again bow before Elza’s will.”
“Never,” I said sternly, looking at Mournlev with cold anger. “I would die first!”
Mournlev chuckled softly. “Silly fool. You’re already dead. But in my care, you will be born again. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to see you redeemed.”

We rode along in silence after that, with no sound other than the infernal steeds’ incessant hoofbeats and the occasional crack of the damned driver’s whip. The city gave way to an empty, barren plain, which in turn rose upwards into rocky hills and, shortly after, a range of craggy mountains. The road was winding and treacherous, with many sharp turns and jagged cracks; one slight mistake could have sent us plummeting over the edge to the sharp rocks below. Still, the horses dashed on with reckless abandon, never slowing or tiring in the least as the carriage careened dangerously on the narrow path.

“What will they do with Dia?” I remember asking at some point.

“Turn her into a Havoc Wraith, of course. She will be powerful.”

I didn’t ask any more questions after that. I didn’t want to know.

After a long while of gritting my teeth and bracing myself against the sharp turns of the carriage, the monastery at last came into view far below us. It was a complex of a dozen fortified, square towers of finely-hewn black stone, joined together by a web of narrow bridges. Looking up towards the sky, I saw that we were being watched by a patrol of Wraiths mounted upon the backs of fearsome black wyverns, circling like vultures. Seeing this, I understood one thing: the monastery was virtually unconquerable. Any invading army would be unable to cross over the treacherous mountains, as they would be constantly harassed by the wyvern riders and perhaps other flying creatures, and would be picked apart piece by piece long before they could even reach the monastery.
It still took a long while after that to travel downwards from the mountains, riding a spiraling road surrounding the monastery that went down and down as though we were circling a whirlpool.
Finally, when we arrived, my heart was filled with a deep sense of dread at the sight I beheld. Each of the twelve towers was very well fortified and rose up eight stories tall. The complex was surrounded by a deep, murky moat and a high wall, followed by a trench filled with sharpened spikes and another wall. Upon both walls, I could sense powerful magickal wards that would negate any kind of magick that passed through or over them. Mercenary archers looked out with their bows from every window, and javelin men patrolled along the walls. Occasionally, a Wraith could be seen looking outwards from one of the towers.
We rode onwards over the drawbridge, through the first gate, past a patrol of mercenary guards, past the spike-filled trench, through the second gate, and finally we stopped inside the central courtyard. We were immediately approached by a dark-humored Wraith woman, followed by a contingent of armored guards.

“Come, and bide your tongue if you wish to keep your head,” Mournlev said as he stepped out of the carriage. I followed.

“Ah, Mournlev,” the Wraith woman greeted my brother with a sneer. “I, for one, am displeased to see you return alive, but Elza will at least be relieved to see you’ve succeeded in apprehending the traitor.”

“Leeza,” Mournlev said the woman’s name distastefully. “Must you always come to me like a poor lost dog? I neither need nor desire your company, you steaming pile of rotting donkey entrails. Just tell me where I can find Elza, if you please, and then go back to grazing like the obese cow you are.”

For a moment, I thought I saw the woman’s eyes tear up, but she quickly turned away before I could be sure. “Go to hell, Mournlev!” she shouted bitterly, before turning and quickly striding away.

Mournlev groaned. “She used to be fine, until Zarra and I became intimate with each other. After that, her jealousy oozed out like pus from a swollen zit. Well, it seems we won’t be able to find Elza right away. Lucky you.” He smiled. “You’ll get to wait in the dungeons for a few hours.”

I expected a dank, lightless cell. I should have expected a torture rack, and if I had, then I wouldn’t have been surprised when they strapped me down to one. By now, the dread, sorrow, and fatigue had made me numb even to the prospect of having my arms and legs stretched until they were dislocated. I felt exhausted. And so, when the guards tightened the ropes binding my wrists and ankles and then left me there alone, I shortly after fell asleep.

“Wake up!” Elza shouted, her wicked whip cutting shallow gashes into my chest with rusty nails and shards of broken glass. She just as quickly pulled the whip back, ripping skin from my ribs.

I screamed from the sudden, sharp pain of it, gasping as my muscle and bone became exposed to the open air.

I looked up at Elza. She looked different than when last I saw her. Most noticeably, one side of her face looked as though it had been bashed in by a heavy object with several sharp edges. She had been deformed by a series of painful looking scars, and her eye had sealed itself closed, looking damaged beyond healing.

“Wha… wha… what the hell happened to your face?” I gasped for breath, trying to block out the intensity of the pain, even as I laughed.

Elza’s countenance contorted with sudden rage as she struck me hard again with the whip; the nails and glass fragments bit deeply into my flesh. She then pulled the whip out sharply, and I screamed so loudly that I made myself hoarse, and for a moment, everything went black.

“Hold your tongue, you fetid puddle of swine placenta!” Elza shouted at me hatefully, spitting into my new wounds. “Go hump a thorn-bush, you sticky blob of warm dog semen!”

I laughed bitterly, and coughed painfully, and laughed again. “What’s the matter, princess? No longer the fairest of them all?”

Elza threw down her whip, gripped the crank of the torture device, and turned it sharply. Immediately, my arms and legs were both stretched taut, my muscles pulled tightly. “Ooooaaaahhh! Dammit!” I exclaimed, wincing.

“I will enjoy your suffering, you stupid, shriveled monkey scrotum,” Elza said, sneering. “I will teach you respect!”

“Oh, yeah, baby!” I hollered. “Oh, you know exactly how to turn me on!”

“Enough!” she yelled. “Shut up, you rotten green wart on a pig’s ass!” she slapped me sharply across the cheek, then turned the crank further. My elbow joints popped out of place with a sickening clicking sound.

“Oh, yeah!” I yelled, using all of the pain to feign pleasure. “You know I like it rough. Give me more!”

“I… You… Go… Fuck you, Lourntav!”

“You… you promise?”

She punched me hard in the stomach. “I haven’t the time for this!” she exclaimed at last, seeming somewhat exasperated. “You make light of this now, perhaps because you don’t yet realize how tenuous your situation truly is. No matter. You will learn soon enough.

I somehow managed to smile sarcastically through my grimace of agony. “I look forward to it,” I murmured.

She turned and stalked off, her long black cape trailing behind her. Once again, I was left alone in the darkness and silence, with no company save the lingering ghosts of the tortured dead that surely infested this place like a plague of cockroaches.

At some point, in the deepest hours of the night, I felt a strange presence behind me. Strange and powerful, dreadful and yet somehow strangely comforting.
I turned my head to behold a darkly beautiful woman shrouded in a robe as black as midnight, speckled with tiny gemstones that sparkled like stars. She turned and looked at me. Her face was as pale as the moon, and when I met her eyes, I saw that they were dead black. Her lips were also black, turned upwards in a contented smile.
“Hello, Lourntav,” she said simply, in a deep yet hollow voice that I swear echoed down to the heart of the world, and then resounded back again, outwards to the infinite reaches of the heavens.

“Who… are you?” I croaked weakly, squinting at her through eyes caked with the residue of dried tears.

“I am known by several names,” she said, stretching out her arms. A very palpable aura of power surrounded her, and I was sure I could feel it physically pressing against me. “The humans of Loresad call me Eris, the goddess of Elemental Spirit, one of the Five Sisters. Your people, the Havoc Wraiths, call me the High Castigator. But you, Lourntav, and you alone, will call me Mother.”

“What do you want of me?” I asked, at the same time terrified to know.

She grinned at me, and the sight of it made my skin crawl. “I desire of you the same thing that you desire of yourself,” she told me. “I want you to kill Elza.”

*Lillian*

I shook my head and smoothed my dress, trying to cool the color from my cheeks before he could see it. “I am fine, just busy trying to get things ready.”

Why did I still love the way his eyes sparkled with concern? Those eyes would never belong to me, but that did not weaken their power. I had pictured him with his family several times, but neither the love nor pain ever lessened. I wondered if he was happy with them. Was his wife beautiful, his child bright? Yet he was near me now, and I could not help but hope that somehow he would come to love me.

“Lillian?”

“Yes?” I realized then that he had continued talking while I was thinking.

“I asked if there was anything you needed? I could spare a few of my men to run errands for you, if you would like.”

I thought about it for a moment. It might be nice to have a little help for a change, but I had my doubts. Men tended not to know much of herbs, and would probably only leave me with more work than before. Still, I could not deny him outright. He was only trying to make it easier for me, and I could not in good conscience throw it away.

“I will let you know.” I promised, wondering if there was any small chore a soldier might perform without complicating things.

He appeared to accept it, so I didn’t say anything more. Instead, we sat in strange silence, and I contemplated the days ahead. It was odd to think that in just a short time I would be taken from my home, which I knew and loved, to places of uncertainty. What would become of me then? Would I change? Would I even make it to the end of the battle?

“You are worried about something.” Jonas nudged my arm. “I can tell.”

I found myself surprisingly irritated by the remark. I did not particularly like people being able to see inside of my mind, even if it was one such as him. If I were to reveal anything about myself, it would be by my choice alone.

“I was just thinking...” I looked up at the sky and knit my brows together before hopping to my feet. “I need to collect chrysanthemum for oil before we leave.”

I knew that he was watching me as I walked, but I did not look back. My head was too full of questions, and I could not face him until I could come up with some answers. I could not let him see any weakness in me. He had to know that I was more capable than any other, especially certain dark magics.

I caught the form of the shadow fey out of the corner of my eye. She was staring at me as well, but to my relief did not try to come any closer. After the turn of the last few days, speaking to her was the last thing that I needed now. I did not need any more impurities cast on my soul while it was still in this state.

I reached my home at last. The door banged open when I went in, but I did not care. I merely grabbed my basket and marched back out.

My stock had run out, which meant I had to go out to the forest to collect them. It was nothing I feared, for I had done it a thousand times before. But I did not take the same joy from it that I usually did. I just tore up the stalks angrily, taking out my every frustration on the plants, hoping that somehow they might heal me too.

*Dia*

I could not tell where I was being led. I do not know how many buildings we passed, if we were in a forest or a city, if I was even still alive. All I knew was the feeling of complete hopelessness. Lourntav had looked at me like I had betrayed him, though I had never meant to. If only I had been able to explain myself! Perhaps things would have been different then. But what was I to him now?

My foot caught on a stone and I fell forward, suddenly aware of my surroundings. We had entered the temple, more fearsome and magnificent than I had imagined. I could see sculptures and paintings that spanned hundreds of years, all beautiful and terrifying. But I knew that I was not brought there for a history lesson.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, not completely sure that I even wanted an answer.

Zarra laughed, a sound that made my bones tingle. “Well, we cannot exactly allow you to escape, can we? You are rather lucky, you know. You are just powerful enough to become a wraith, which is a considerable alternative to death.”

She pulled me up by my hair, and I began to reconsider my earlier choice not to kill her. There were no consequences for it now, except for what might happen to me if I did not succeed. I could feel my blood within me, hot with fear and anger. But I could not afford to suppress it now, not with all that lay at stake.

I pushed her away and kicked her in the stomach, sending her reeling back. Her head snapped back, but she merely stood and cracked it back into place. She smiled at me and licked her teeth with her pointed tongue. I felt completely disgusted by her now, as well as the sorry excuse for a human warrior.

“Woken up now, have we?” she spat. “I was beginning to wonder at your lack of spirit.”

“Wonder no more.” I growled, gathering water from the river at my feet. “I will never be like you. If you want me, you will have to fish my broken, dead body from the depths.”

She shrugged. “If you would prefer to do it the easy way, then I have no problem with it.”

“Taking me may not be as easy as you think.”

I threw out my hand as if to hit her, watching as shards of ice flew from my fingers. They sparkled silver and blue in the sun, beautiful though deadly. She managed to block most of them, but one managed to pierce the side of her knee. Her jaw tightened and eyes widened with pain.

She cast her dark energy, which spun toward me like snakes. A wall of water kept them from hitting me, yet I could feel myself weakening slightly. If I were to defeat her, it had to be quickly. I could not afford to play any more games.

My feet planted firmly, I pushed my hands forward, drawing power from the water. It swirled around us like a watery tornado, destroying everything in its way. Sir Ansom was flung from the temple, and I heard nothing more from him.

Zarra, however, was not taken so easily. She stood with some difficulty, but was still not swept away. Tears traced the frame of my face, as much from exhaustion as from despair. Still, I was encouraged by the fear in her eyes, the uneasiness of her stance. I knew that she was defeated. What I did not know was if I would survive long enough to see it.

The whirlpool tore at her dress, finally driving her to her knees. She did not cry out or beg for life, but instead began to scream threats and obscenities at me. I did not want to kill her, I truly didn’t. Unfortunately I was left without a choice. I knew enough of her to know that she would kill me and many others if I did not end it here.

“I’m sorry.” I called out to her. “I wish that this could have ended differently.”

She simply gave me a chilling grin and walked to me until the waves finally swept her body away.

The water collapsed around me and I sank with it, sobbing with the pain of what I had just done. I could hear the screaming of my soul ripping me apart, destroying me. Perhaps it was not so different from becoming a wraith after all.

It suddenly occurred to me that the screams were real, and that they were not mine. I looked up to see the sky darkened and countless numbers of forms approaching. It was the rest of them, come to see that I was broken. I would not let them.

The first of them came to me silently and I rose to meet him. My skin was both hot and cold, my knees shook, my eyes blurred. I was gone, and I knew it, but I could not give up. If Lourntav could not fight, then I would for him.

Then I did something very stupid. I went to seize my power, though I had not the strength to wield it. But I had not my bow, and so no other options. The air around me became completely black and warm. I felt my body hit the stone floor, felt my skin break and blood flow out. But to my surprise I did not feel what I knew to be death.

Instead, I dreamt of him, what could have been. I dreamt of what was.

--------

When I finally woke, I was under the water once more. I could feel it healing me, not breaking me as it was before. I held my hand before my eyes, but it was the same as it ever was. I had not become a wraith, and I was restored. How could this be?

Strong hands smoothed back my hair and stroked my skin like a child’s. I began to cry once more, for I recognized the touch. My father had come for me. After all that had happened, he had come for me.

“Please, no.” I whispered.

“I could not let you die.” he told me, sitting at my side. “I could not let you go so easily, not without trying to save you.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to ignore how wonderful the soft, silk blankets felt. “I cannot stay here.”

“He is gone now. You have to come back.”

Despite the pain, I sat up and removed the circlet he’d placed on my head with the hopes of my return. “He is not the only reason I left. It was the humans as well.” I bit my lip and dared to look at him. “I could not stay here while they continue to fight. While many of them are strong, there is little chance for them against such forces. Even if I cannot be at his side, I must still try to save those that cannot save themselves. Their burden has become mine. I cannot simply leave them. It’s my duty to-”

“What about your duty to your people? Those that raised you? Would you leave us behind so easily?”

“I have fulfilled my purpose here. There is nothing more for me here but marriage and child bearing. Too long have we withdrawn ourselves from the affairs of the world. I plan to show the world that the gods have not forgotten, that we still care about their troubles. This may not affect us now, but it will in the future. Why will you not fight while we still have a chance?”

“I will not be spoken to that way!” he raised his hand to strike me, then caught himself. His breath came heavy from what he had nearly done to me.

“You have to let me go.” I told him gently. “Please.”

He sighed and embraced me. “All right. I see there is no swaying you. I will let you go after tonight’s dinner. Just, please, be careful.”

Quaddy

I am lost...

I've been wandering the streets for months, stealing a loaf of bread every week or so, hoping that I can ration it enough to get at least a bite a day. God, my scalp hurts. It healed ill and I'm afraid that it has become infected. Each rune feels like a block of fire beneath my fresh-grown hair. The villagers tried to kill me. They tried to stick a silver spike into my brain. They tried to destroy me. They hate me.

I try to hate them. But I can't. Something stops the black flow from covering my soul. As much as I grasp at it, invite it to wrap me in its cloistering embrace, it always slips away. And I am left to shiver. But it is without hate.

Every night, beside the small fire that I have never before needed tinder to create, I try to enter the shadow. If I am to be despised for something, I want to deserve the censure. I want to truly enter the mists that none but the Wraiths can walk through. If I am to be hated as a Wraith, I want to control what the Wraiths control.

It is many weeks since the fear subsided that I am truly a Havoc Wraith, that Elza is going to one day call for my soul and I will have no choice but to obey. I can't even grasp the hate that I so wish for. How can I be a creature whose blood is liquid hate? No, it isn't possible. I cannot be a Wraith. But the Shadows call to me, even if I cannot call back.

But then, what am I?

The road is dry at least and the nights are cool. I can run by the light of the moon, unseen for fear that people would recognize my still-twisted lips. It is only recently that I have finished removing all of the thread from the flesh and they often bleed. If anyone saw me, they would know me for anathema. And they might finish what my village could not.

My only sorrow is that my father died that night. He turned away from me, but I know he would have turned back once his shock subsided. A fire mage can do many things, but he is still burned by the fire of others. And the fire I created that night, a fire of fear and rage, took him along with the villagers who'd tried to kill me. He'd been rushing to my defense, I think. Why else would he be so close?

Maybe it's that which keeps the hate at bay. I never claimed to understand anything that is happening to me. I'm near fifteen, but that is still a child in the eyes of many. In the country, I would have been a mother two or three times over, but I have never had a man look at me in the town. We were all to concerned with our own lives to worry about marriage. Just as well. Any husband of mine would have been doomed to my fate.

I've been on the road since I ran that night, heading for Cassy's Star. If anyone can help me, it must be the scholars. It must be the priests of the Goddess. If anyone can help me. If I am right about myself.

If I'm not a monster.

Logan sat beside the water, fingers trailing beneath the surface, watching the waves undulate away from her fingertips. She'd been left alone for the most part. Most of the army was not willing to have her present at any meetings of any import and that left only Lillian free for companionship. Logan snorted. Even if she were willing to sit down with the buttercup, the witch would most likely try to turn her into butterflies.

"Logan! There you are." Orthian sounded out of breath. "Jonas has been calling for you. He needs to speak to you immediately."

Eyes darkening, Logan stood. "Immediately? He feels like he can order me around like one of his soldiers, does he?"

"It's a habit. He is just worried about the absence of Wraith activity in Loresad. They seem to have disappeared. He was wondering if there was a way that you could..." Orthian paused, looking for the correct words.

"If I could enter the Shadow Realm and look for Wraiths?" Logan sighed. "I can't find them. If they're not nearby, they're not nearby. I can't go to their palace, or anything. But I supposed I can see if I can scry for them. A dark bowl might help..."

Orthian nodded. Dark bowls, despite their name, were not uncommon among magick users. A healer like Lillian would not be familiar with it, but obviously Orthian had come across one in his lifetime. "That's what Jonas was hoping. Come. He'll be in his tent."

)O(I apologize for my prolonged absence. I have a new woman in my life, who has been very distracting in all the best ways. Still, I would like to get back to this story.)O(

An excerpt from The Solace of Despair, by Mournlev:

Make no effort to bring hope to those who have given themselves to despair, for to do so is cruelty. Those who wallow in hopelessness do so because they choose to; it is their comfort, their solace. Often, it is all that they have to hold onto, the last thread that keeps them from the vast abyss of madness. To bring color to the eyes of one who can see only grey, is to blind them with beauty which can only destroy them to behold.

From the eyes of Lourntav

“Awaken!” a harsh, raspy voice commanded from the darkness.

I blinked, but still couldn’t tell if my eyes were opened or closed; such was the depth of the darkness that surrounded me. The tiny, cramped cell was damp and cold, and was filled with the pungent stench of ancient mold and rotting meat. I lied in the fetal position upon the hard, cold stone floor, slick with stagnant water and my own blood. My whole body was still wracked with the pain of hours of torture, and my throat burned from the strain of screaming.

“Who… who’s there?” I asked hoarsely, sitting up.

“Awaken and rise, Chosen of Eris,” the voice said again. The old woman tapped her gnarled wooden staff thrice upon the stone floor in rapid succession, and at once, the small quartz gem that crowned it glowed brightly with magickal light, illuminating the whole dungeon in dazzling radiance.

I was blinded for a moment, and quickly turned away, tightly closing my eyes. “Who are you?” I asked, not bothering to hide my anger. “What the hell do you want?”

“My desires are irrelevant,” the woman replied without hesitation. “All that matters is what the Dread Mother wants. She wants now what she always wants. Chaos! Strife! Havoc! She wants us, her children, to fulfill the purpose for which she created us! To baptize the entire world in the blood and fire of glorious revolution!”

“Dammit, woman…” I groaned, rolling over and waving at her dismissively. “You sound like my self-righteous brother. Save your sermons for someone who gives a damn. Leave me alone.”

There was silence for a long moment, and I wondered if the woman actually would leave. Finally: “Hmph. Fine. You can rot in that cell then, and nothing will change. All will stay as it is, and happen as it will, if you haven’t the courage to take responsibility for the decision you are being offered.”

With that, the light dimmed to a mere flicker, and the old woman started away.

What decision? What was she talking about?

“Old woman, wait,” I said weakly, sighing. “What is it that you think I can do from this forsaken cell?”

“From there? Nothing,” the woman said, turning towards me once again. “But if I free you from there, you WILL follow me. And then, I will lead you to a throne, from which you will rule over our entire race, to direct as you will, for your selfish schemes or for the good of all. This much the Goddess has shown me; it is Her will that these decisions be yours alone.”

“Why? Why would She want that of me?” I asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand. Haven’t I made myself her enemy?”

“No!” the woman snapped. “Not hers. Never hers. You are Elza’s enemy.” The woman’s voice grew quieter, her tone more somber. She gave a small laugh, but there was no humor in it, only a deep sullenness. “Incidentally, Eris no longer speaks to Elza. She hasn’t for quite some time now. Elza tries to pretend otherwise to her people, but those of us who hear the voices of gods and demons are not fooled.”

“What? How can you-?”

“NO!” the woman interrupted me suddenly. “No more questions! The time has now come to make your first choice, Chosen One. You can stay there in that cell, and leave the world to stagnate in the status quo until entropy crumbles it to nothingness. Or you can follow me, and mold future history to suit your desires.”

I followed, and she led me to a far wall of the dungeon. The wall opened at her touch, revealing a long, dismal tunnel carved into the mountain’s belly. We entered, and the wall closed after us.

“I am called Hekubah,” the old hag told me, as I followed her through a series of twisting, winding tunnels hidden beneath the dungeons. She was a gaunt, stooped old Wraith woman with sickly yellow eyes and a black veil that hid her nose and mouth. Her fingers were like the talons of a crow, and she was so thin and frail that she looked almost skeletal. Around her neck she wore a large, heavy amulet of solid gold, depicting a storm cloud and three lightning bolts within the pupil of a reptilian eye. It was very detailed and expertly crafted, and she seemed to take great pride in wearing it even as it seemed a terrible strain on her neck.

“I have lived in these tunnels for most of my life. For most of that time, I hid from the Shadowlights, and now I hide from Elza’s army, as I would be seen as a hated pariah to them both. I am a powerful sorceress, Chosen; do not doubt that. But I draw my powers not from love nor hatred, but from a power neither of them have access to. They are two extremes; I am here to represent balance. You, yourself, are torn between love and hate, and so balance is what I can offer you. I would gift you the chance to understand, possess, and make use of both, yet be beholden and subservient to neither force.”

“You speak in riddles, hag, and you try my patience in trying to decipher them,” I said, annoyed that I had left my dungeon cell only to be led deeper into the gloomy underground. “Speak plainly, so that I may know what it is you expect of me.”

“Boy, you are as ungrateful as a begging dog,” she reprimanded harshly. “Given one meager table scrap, you thereafter look up expecting to be given the whole meal. Be patient, Chosen, and I might toss you a few more scraps to feed your incessant angst”

She led me deeper and deeper still, through damp caves, beside murky pools, and through a labyrinth of cramped passageways.

“Only the Goddess and I know how to navigate these caves,” she explained to me as we walked (and sometimes crawled). “Confusing as this maze is, the stone walls are also inscribed with symbols of power, given life by my own energy and intent. Any soul who comes down here without my own permission is doomed to wander lost in the darkness forever.”

As she said that, I noticed an ancient corpse laying at my feet, skull grinning morbidly up at me. They were Wraith bones.

Finally, the tunnel we traveled through ended abruptly in a small, round chamber. Here was a crude, smelly cot; an odd collection of bottles and pots arranged haphazardly on a stone slab; and a large, locked, iron-bound chest. The room was a mess of clothes, scrolls, rotting vegetables, books, broken glass, and small rocks with crude symbols painted upon them in blood.

The old woman moved about through her own garbage, oblivious to the stench that overpowered the tiny, stuffy room. Her head and hands darted about swiftly, picking out odd items here and there, and her movements reminded me of a crow pecking at a corpse.

“Why have you brought me here, hag?” I asked candidly.

“To elaborate on what the Goddess demands of you,” she replied, turning towards me and setting her vomit-yellow eyes upon me. “And to prepare you for the difficult choices ahead of you. The Goddess herself has appeared to you; she told me so in a vision. She has stopped speaking to Elza, and has now started speaking to you. This can only mean one thing. You are to replace Elza as the Castigator’s Favored.”

“But why?” I asked insistently. “I have made myself an enemy to my people. Why would she choose a… a traitor?”

“You expect me to know? I am just an old woman. If you don’t know the answer yourself, then I assume the Dread Mother will explain it to you in time. Although… if I may hazard a guess… it is likely for the same reason she speaks to me in dreams and visions. I am separate and apart from our kind, and so feel no need to conform to their idiotic, single-minded mob mentality. You are different, are you not? You question and challenge the ways of our people? If so, that makes you strong, and rare. This would doubtless warrant her interest, if nothing else.”

From the eyes of Sir Jonas Veln

I studied the crudely-drawn map, with Dante and Ixylah at my side.

“I don’t like this silence,” I said. “I was expecting to have to carefully choose our route to Warden, outmaneuvering and evading Wraith patrols. Instead, everything I’ve heard suggests we could just casually walk there as we please. It’s not in their nature to stay quiet and hidden- they are far too fond of loud boasting and wanton violence.”

“Aye, I was hoping for a good fight, not some stupid game of hide-and-seek,” Ixylah agreed, crossing her arms. “I certainly hope that they haven’t lost their taste for a good brawl before I’ve had my fun.”

Dante looked at her with wide eyes. “You must be absolutely mad!”

Ixylah smiled at him. “Oh, Sugar, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

A moment later, Orthian entered the large pavilion, with Logan striding gracefully behind him. “Sir,” he said, with the usual slight bow, “Logan is here, as you requested.”

“He’s not blind, Orthian,” Logan said quickly, taking her place beside him.

I nodded to Orthian, and then looked at the other officers gathered around me. “I would ask that you all leave Logan and I alone now,” I told them. “She and I have important matters to discuss in private.”

Logan seemed surprised by this, looking around a bit uncertainly as Ixylah, Dante, Connor, Lillian, and Orthian left the tent. With them gone, her eyes settled upon me questioningly. “I assume, then, that you need something more from me than tactical advice?”

I sighed. “Logan, I need your help. Something is happening; something that I can’t understand. Ever since my injury, I have felt… different.”

Logan nodded slowly. “If you’ve never experienced the effects of dark magick, I imagine you could find it… unsettling.”

“It’s more than that,” I told her, searching for the words. “Ever since then, I’ve been having these very strange dreams. Only… I think they may be more than dreams.”

“Dreams aren’t normally a part of my expertise,” she said. “Likely, you could interpret them better for yourself than I could.”

“But you do have visions, don’t you?” I asked quickly. “I mean… you sometimes can see the future?”

“That’s the nature of divination, of all kinds,” she said with a small shrug. “Such magick is very commonplace. Lady Lillian, or most any other witch, should be skilled in at least a few types of clairvoyance.”

I shook my head. “No. I get a different feeling from these dreams. They feel very… dark. And powerful. So vivid that a part of me wonders if they may have really happened, somehow. I doubt that Lady Lillian would understand.”

“What kinds of dreams do you mean?”

“Most nights I cannot make sense of them,” I told her. I was shivering by this point, hesitant, but my need of answers spurred me to speak on. “Yet always… I am standing within a very ancient temple. Upon the floor, there is a beautiful woman with no legs, no arms, and no tongue. She is crying, and trying to call out to me, but she has no voice. She… she wildly waves the small stumps that used to be her arms and legs, trying to move, but she is completely helpless there.”

Logan just stared at me for a short while, as though studying me. “You were right,” she said. “That is dark.”

“It’s worse,” I said. “I know who she is. She is the goddess Anansa. The goddess of Water.” As I spoke the words, I felt a shiver play down my spine.

“How unusual…” Logan brought her fingertips to her lips in thought. “Such harm being done to a deity is incredibly rare and improbable. But not impossible. There are some… very horrible… rituals which could be cast by those whose hearts lack conscience. Such things are incredibly hurtful to the natural balance.”

My eyes widened. “So… you think it’s possible that the dream could have been real?”

“By the Crone, I hope not,” Logan said at once. “But if so… well… the torture of a goddess could account for much of the chaos that plagues this land.”

*Dia*

I sat on the foot of the bed for the longest time, nursing a few broken ribs as well as a broken heart. Others may have passed before me but I did not see them. I did not see anything, really. My thoughts consumed me, dragging me into the depths of my mind, blinding me to my surroundings. The soft blankets that rested beneath my palms brought no pleasure in their touch, nor did the feeling of sanded wood against my feet. I tried to focus on these things, to bring me back, but only succeeded in driving myself deeper.

I vaguely remember being dressed, perhaps even talked to, but I had no idea what they said or what I was wearing. I caught glimpses of blue in between thoughts, though I never really got further than that.

My thoughts were far from coherent. They were really more flashes of different memories, melded together until I could no longer pick them apart. Lourntav's eyes became trails of blood, which in turn became the shore of the river, and so it continued.

Pain raced across my head, striking my forehead like lightning until the vision I retained blurred with effort. I attempted to heal myself, yet the water somehow resisted my pull. Not even the sweetest of coaxing could convince it to ease the suffering. I finally looked up, really looked, and brushed away before they had a chance to fall. It was not in me to sit here any longer, pining my situation when there was so much that could be done about it.

I stood and walked to the mirror, regarding myself carefully, for I had lost much of me these past few weeks. My dress was indeed blue, and reflected my eyes nicely. The brambles had been cut from my hair, leaving only silky curls in their stead. My skin was tanned, muscles defined, it was a wonder if anyone would recognize me now if I could not.

I pressed a hand against the shimmering glass and worked to memorize my appearance, not from vanity, but so that I could not be lost again so easily. A glimpse of sadness quivered at my mouth, but I quickly pushed it away and set my jaw with determination.

I would win him back. I would win all of them back.

----

I sat a few seats down from my father that evening, for despite my long absence, I had not yet claimed a place of honor at his side. I had not expected it, though I will admit it still stung as much as it always did.

It seemed that little had changed, not only by tradition, but by the way I was spoken to. I had grown used to arguing points, developing opinions, but here I was not even given that chance. So often I bit my tongue that I felt tender even in the grooves of my teeth. Once I made an unsolicited noise, and was immediately given a disapproving look. I could not wait to leave.

Without meaningful distraction, my mind wandered once more. And where was it to go but to Lourntav? My heart ached for him now more than ever, and it took everything in me not to cry right then. I had missed him before, when we had to separate for a few days at a time, but I always had the comfort of knowing I'd see him again. I no longer had that, and if I did see him, would he still be the same soul that I loved?

"Dia?" it was the annoyed voice my father used when he had called on me more than once. I looked up warily, expending a large amount of energy just to focus on his words.

"I thought you might sing for us one more time. Antius, in particular, was looking forward to it."

I glared at the man who sat by my father, a sniveling fool who had eyed the power I would one day hold. Well, used to anyway. Now he could easily seize the thrown at my father's demise without locking me into a loveless marriage as I knew he had planned.

But, despite my grievances, I rose from my seat and sang a rather pretty song. My voice was not very good, but my manipulation of the water perhaps hid that. There were no complaints, anyway. All that remained was my resentment of my station here.

*Lillian*

I had watched Jonas speak with the shadow fey, swallowing the hard feeling of anger and jealousy that plagued me. It was frustrating that I could not hear them from where I stood, but perhaps that was for the best. My heart was too fragile at the moment, and I needed to mend it before I could involve myself in matters such as this.

Thankfully, there was much to do, much to distract me. I pounded, mixed, and muttered incantations until sunset, and then continued into the night. I did not allow myself to think about anything outside my work, and every time my mind began to stray, I snapped it hack to the task at hand. I put myself back into my head, for my heart had done me little good.

That time was a relief, I will admit. I did not feel pain, hunger, or emotion while I prepared for the journey. That might frighten some, but it helped me to repel the negative energy that was in me. I needed to get back to myself, before these events triggered the changes I could feel coming.

Quaddy

"Sister," the shadows whispered.

Shivering in the darkness, Anansa turned and watched as the darkness coalesced around her, tears ripping their way from her eyes. She tried to whisper back, but her tongue was gone now, along with her arms and legs. Her lips moved, her throat worked, but nothing came out but a series of moans. The night hardened, shaping itself around the genesis of the voice that had spoken.

"Sister, it is time." Nanigha stepped from the deepness that was her home, dress snaking about her alabaster limbs. Her voice was light, but it was not without sorrow deepening its edges. One thing it lacked, however, was regret.

Anansa began to shake, racking sobs clawing out of her throat, the stubs of her limbs waving wildly as she tried to run from her elder sister. "Oooohhhh!" she cried, head tossing back and forth. Please Sister, she screamed into Nanigha's mind. No more of this! Please, no more.

"It must be done, sister," Nanigha replied, lips barely moving. But she met Anansa's eyes, black boldly meeting water blue. "Darkness must ascend!"

Nanigha, please! There must be another way. Please help me reascend! Please don't do this.

Nanigha shook her head. "It was your idea, sister. Yours and the Bright One."

Damn her. And damn you, Nanigha, for going though with it. Anansa tried to spit, but without a tongue the spit just dribbled down her chin. Nanigha reached over to wipe it away.

"I am here to finish it, sister. My little sister. I do as our elder bids. Everything will be alright, Anansa. And I will see you when this is all over. I'll make sure of it."

Anansa looked up and her sister, eyes swimming with tears. After a moment, her face hardened and she nodded. Do it.

Nanigha nodded in return and raised a knife. "I will miss you, sister."

I will miss you, too.

The blade sang as it fell.

*****

"I found you some feverfew," Logan whispered. "Please take it. Truly, it isn't poisoned or cursed." Lillian sniffed at it and turned away, sweat pouring from her in cups.

"No."

"Don't be stupid. It's exactly what you would give yourself in this situation. You think that taking it from me somehow makes it invalid? Or do you think it'll be like proving I'm a good guy?" Logan tossed the feverfew into a cup of tea. "Fine! Die for your pride, you stupid girl. That'll prove to everyone you were right. It's not like everyone knows I went to find it when you gave the last of your supply to the soldiers."

Logan paced back and forth. "I don't get you people. I will never get people whose hatred is so strong they'd break and kill themselves before thinking about it or admitting they were wrong."

Lillian flipped, face contorted with anger. "Hatred? If anyone here is consumed by hatred, it is you, dark thing. Hatred for all that is god and proper."

"I've never hated anyone before in my life," Logan replied. Then she reached up and parted her hair, revealing the binding spell on her head. "I don't even hate the people who gave me these scars, or the ones on my lips. Or even the ones who burned my womanhood to a crisp. You, though. You hate me. Which one of us hates? Take the damn feverfew and live."

Spinning on her heal, Logan marched out into the darkness.

The sun had never risen that morning. Even Logan, used to the shadows of the world, had found herself shaking with fear. She'd woken with the Dark Goddess' name on her lips and a stain on her soul. But she'd escaped the fever and the sickness that had taken most of the camp. She'd done what she could to help, but this was Lillian's realm. So she'd let the healer do her bit and then set off to help the healer. Of course, the moron was refusing the help, but there was nothing to be done for it. The camp needed a healer, though.

"She's not taking it," Logan snapped as she stormed into Jonas' tent. "The tart is too busy spiting me to take it. It's going to have to be you who makes her drink."

Jonas didn't reply, but that was more a testament to his weakness than acceptance of Logan's impertinence. He'd been hit worst of all that morning and been one of the few whose illness had been different enough for Logan to heal herself. He'd looked at her and whispered, "Anansa. She's gone." They hadn't even been able to discuss it yet.

"We will talk about her when it's done," Logan said into the darkness, knowing where Jonas' thoughts traveled. "She dies and we don't have a healer. Without her and nearly everyone would have died of fever already. Go. And then we will discuss Anansa."