Mistress Part [2/3]

AWOKEN by the chirping of the early birds and the morning suns’ light on his face, Thalon slipped out of his sleeping bag and into his shoes. He rolled up that sleeping bag, tying it and slipping it back into his pack, then pulling out a small package of breakfast food and placing it next to him on the cushioned bed roll. The fire had died overnight, the firestone crumbled into grey dust, so Thalon began building another, smaller blaze.

         As the fuel began to smoke, Thalon walked over to Faeya’s tent.

         Faeya! It’s morning now, about time we headed out,” he called through the thin green fabric. He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer so he peeled open the tents flap and poked his head inside.

         He froze.

         Faeya’s clothes were in a heap to the right, and to the left, the woman lay motionless, wrapped up tightly in a thick black blanket, the thing surrounding her like a cocoon. There was only a small opening in that cocoon, enough for her to breathe, and from that opening Thalon could hear muffled screams.

         Sleep paralysis? Thalon reasoned. He almost reached out to try and wake her but stopped himself. She must have gone through this before. She can take care of herself. She doesn’t need my help, and would probably be insulted if I thought she needed rescuing. He told himself.

         But most of all, he didn’t want a repeat of the previous morning.

         He extracted his head from the tent, sealing the flap behind him.

         By the time Faeya crawled out of the tent -bare-footed and hastily dressed in her button shirt and knee-length pants- Thalon had prepared tea for both of them. Noting Faeya’s dishevelled condition, Thalon immediately regretted not waking her.

         She looked miserable of course, but even more so than the previous day. Her eyes were red with dark bags beneath them as she squinted against the burning pain of the morning light. Her hair was stuck in clumps and there was an oily sheen to her skin. Thalon glanced down to see cuts on Faeya’s hands, where she had dug her own nails deep into the palms.

         She shut her eyes tightly then, dropping to her knees and bringing her hands up to clutch tightly at the sides of her forehead, a single tear streaming out of the corner of her eye. The woman was clearly in great pain and Thalon had to resist the urge to rush over to her. The moment passed shortly though, and she stood up.

         “Damn it!” she croaked. As she looked up she gave a faint, appreciative smile however, taking the cup of tea that Thalon wordlessly offered to her, then sitting down across from him. They sat there and sipped their tea in silence for a while, and when Faeya looked slightly less miserable,          Thalon spoke to her.

         “If you’re having a nightmare…do you want me to wake you?” he asked carefully.

         Faeya’s face shot up towards Thalon. The heat from the fire distorted the air between then, but Thalon could clearly see her eyes go wide, frozen open with shock. An uneasy feeling crept through him, and he began to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. He looked down at a patch of grass to his right, although he could still feel her eyes boring into him. Faeya made a short, high pitched note within her throat -like a whimper- and Thalon slowly lifted his gaze towards her.

         When their eyes met, Faeya quickly looked down, staring at the cup of tea in her hands.

         “I would appreciate that,” she said quietly.

         Thalon couldn’t help but smile, a feeling of warmth flowing through him.

         “Alright then,” he began, “As soon as we’re done drinking this tea, we are heading straight up to that farmhouse over there.”

         “Why?”

         “I am going to take a royal shit, and they are going to thank me.”

         Faeya was caught off guard by the prince’s brusque remark, her chest jerked as if suppressing a laugh. She didn’t laugh, but she did grin widely before bringing the cup of tea up to her face to hide it.

         Once they were finished their breakfasts, Faeya and Thalon repacked their things and lead the horses over to the nearby house. As they approached, a young man waved at them from out in the fields.

         “Hey! What’re you about?” asked the farmer.

         Thalon looked at him, smiling, then walked over slowly, chest out and chin thrust upwards. As the prince approached, the farmer’s eyes widened, and he bowed his head.

         “Forgive me, my Prince, I did not recognize you at first.”

         “No worries, good man, I would just like to ask a simple favour of you.”

         “Certainly, Lord,” said the farmer, lifting his gaze.

         “My companion and I would like to use your restroom.”

         “Of course, let me show you the way,” said the young man, beaming. He glanced nervously at Faeya -who grinned at him from beneath the rim of her hat- but said nothing as he swung open the door to his home and ushered them inside.

         Faeya and Thalon spent roughly twenty minutes between the both of them, using the toilet, and freshening up afterwards, then thanked the farmer kindly and were soon on their way. They picked up speed once they hit the cobblestone road and left the farmer’s house far behind them, following the route that Faeya had carefully laid out for them.

         To the sides of the road, trees grew thick around them, leaving the plains behind and riding deep into a forest some time around noon. The path began to narrow, leading up to a bridge crossing a gorge, a jagged crack in the earth before them. Thalon noticed something blocking their way however.

         “Looks like a tree fell down on the road up ahead,” he said. As they approached, his suspicion was confirmed, a large birch totally blocking the foot of the bridge.

         “Damn, we won’t be able to get the horses over this,” said Faeya. Thalon stood up in his saddle then, to get a better look.

         “Probably knocked down by the storm,” he said.

         Faeya was silent for a while -lost in thought- then shook her head slowly.

         “No, it looks deliberate,” she said.

         “How can you tell?” asked Thalon.

         “Probably bandits,” Faeya continued, ignoring him. She looked up then, the sunlight shining through the leaves of the trees overhead cast a shifting pattern on her weary, but alert features. Thalon watched her for a moment, but with no revelations forthcoming, he turned his gaze to the mud on the side of the road, hopping off of his mount to take a better look.

         Boot prints, a lot of them, Thalon thought. Looks like a large group turned right off of the trail, heading deeper into the woods.

         “Faeya!” he called, and her head snapped towards him. “Look at this, seems like people have been her recently.”

         “Shhhh!” she hissed. Thalon crossed his arms as he regarded Faeya. The prince wasn’t overly concerned, but he waited, and many moments passed with only the sound of the leaves rustling above them, pushed by a steady wind.

         Faeya stepped down from her mount then, stepping lightly and placing a finger to her lips as she signalled to remain silent. As she stepped off the road, to the right where Thalon had spotted the boot prints, Faeya crouched down low, carefully creeping through the woods. She would occasionally slow her pace to avoid stepping on a branch, or jostling a cluster of ferns. As a result, Thalon found himself stopping frequently as he followed her, walking casually with arms still crossed.

         She looks ridiculous, Thalon thought, and he had to suppress a snicker as Faeya lifted one leg up high, crab walking over a gnarled root. Her coat got snagged on a sharp piece of bark as she cleared that root, jerking her backwards as she tried to creep onwards. She twisted around, stretching out one hand to free her coat, but as she did so she stood up straight, inadvertently banging her head hard on a low branch. Faeya grumbled something then, rubbing her head and tugging her coat free before turning her back to Thalon once again.

         The prince easily hopped over that root then, sending dead leaves and other debris up into the air as he thudded down. Faeya spun on him, scowling at his grinning face, and Thalon grinned even wider at that scowl.

         Although the signs of recent activity were clear all around them, Thalon was not the least bit worried about being detected, for Yulius had taught him well.

         Before he had been the master of servants, Yulius had been Master of Spies. In his earlier years, Yulius had been the leader of Black Nimbus, the Thunder Empire’s secret intelligence organization. He had defended his homeland from the shadows, gleaning invaluable information through espionage or ruthless interrogation, and using that information to the Empire’s tactical advantage. As his years caught up on him however, Yulius had gladly given up that shady business -which was often distastefully violent- in order to become Thalon’s personal caregiver. Yulius had taught Thalon many things in order to protect the young prince from would-be assassins, a trade which he understood intimately. He had taught Thalon how to test for poisons, how to combat the effects of deadly venoms, how to remain unseen and unheard, and -probably most importantly- had helped him to develop an incredibly acute attention to detail.

         And so the prince knew that they were not in danger at the moment. He supposed it might be a good idea to pass some of that knowledge on to Faeya, but now was not the best time for a crash course in the art of stealth.

         He noted with amusement that the previously round top of Faeya’s hat was now creased by her most recent blunder.

         Eventually, Thalon did take care to move silently however, his senses picking up activity not too far ahead of them -the smells of a campsite, and the low buzz of conversations. There was a dense line of trees ahead of them, light shining through from a wide clearing where the ground dipped down sharply ahead of them. Faeya knelt there, peeking carefully through the concealing shrubbery, while Thalon stood leaning back against a tree, head turned to look across his right shoulder as he observed the people milling about below.

         The entirety of the group was armoured and armed, dressed in a wide assortment of hard leather, chain mail, and metal plates. They bristled with weaponry ranging from simple daggers, swords, axes, maces, and hammers, to throwing axes and knives, as well as advanced crossbows and other projectile launchers. From what Thalon could see between the numerous tents that had been set up, most of the rough looking group were men. Thalon could hear them chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they sat down to eat their meals.

         Bandits, eh? Thalon doubted Faeya’s earlier assumption, such a large group -at least two scores of them by Thalon’s estimation- would not go unnoticed, it was more likely that they were a licensed mercenary band. He crouched down next to Faeya so he could talk to her quietly.

         “They’re not doing anything,” he said, “Let’s try to find another way around so we can be on our way.”

         “No,” Faeya began slowly, “They’re planning something, probably a raid.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a random bunch of mercs that decided to set up camp here.”

         “I’m not being ridiculous.” Her voice was cold as she stared down at the throng murderously. “Think about it Thalon, why would they stop here -in the middle of the forest- so early in the day?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “There’s a village nearby, they are probably waiting for nightfall to begin their attack.”

         Thalon was shaking his head, still doubting it all, but Faeya had already convinced herself.

         “We have to stop them,” she said, standing.

         Before Thalon could say anything to dissuade her, the enraged scrollmaster had already leaped forward, skidding down the steep drop in a cloud of dirt, then running straight ahead into the middle of the gathering, her coat flying up behind her as she sped forward.

         Thalon’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold before him.

         Most of the people were sitting. Most of them hardly noticed her, with a few turning their heads, some calling out, and others simply staring curiously as Faeya approached.

         They didn’t see her carrying any weapons, so they didn’t reach for their own, but as she ran past the perimeter of the camp, everyone in her path was hit by a sudden blast of wind which kicked up dust and debris to sting their eyes. By the time Faeya reached the center of the camp, that gust had blown up a choking and disorienting cloud that had most of them squeezing their eyes shut or blinking as they tried to regain their bearings. Shouts of surprise came from all around, many of them standing up but not moving, unsure of how to react.

         The center of that dust cloud was so thick that Thalon couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard a sudden loud, low, boom, followed by a rapid flurry of even louder low-pitched whipping noises. That noise seemed to tear thin lines through the cloud, thinning it, and Thalon noticed several objects flying out of it to thud down and roll across the ground.

         They were severed heads.

         All of the fighters were up then, weapons in hand, and a few of them rushed into the thinning cloud, but as soon as they did those deadly noises sounded once again. Again came the whipping noises and one man screamed out in agony, and then there was a loud crack accompanied by a dim red glow. A woman sailed out of the cloud -half of one at least- her lower half lost somewhere in that cloud, her guts and blood splattering down in a gruesome trail along her flight path.

         Thalon’s gut clenched and he let out a gasp of air. He considered leaving the madwoman by herself, but then he noticed at least a dozen people levelling crossbows and disc guns at the dark figure in the cloud. A thought popped into his mind.

         Maybe they really are bandits… He didn’t know who these people were, but he knew who Faeya was, and he knew that he didn’t want her to die. He forced himself to discard his sense of reason and let instinct take over.

         Thalon cursed loudly, then he jumped out from his concealment and glided through the air, briefly calling upon Zarbree -the goddess of wind- to aid him. His feet skid across the ground as he landed, turning his falling momentum into a great push that sent him into a headlong run. A handful of fighters raised their weapons and shouted at him as he approached.

         “Look out! There’s another one coming!” one man shouted, before leading his nearby comrades in a charge.

         But Thalon paid them no heed, his mind centered on Faeya and the dangerous position she had placed herself in. The prince thrust an arm out, fingers splayed and palm upturned in the direction of the marksmen targeting the scrollmaster.

         He unleashed the gift of Thalos amongst them.

         A jagged streak of blinding white light arced through the air. It struck Thalon’s unfortunate target directly in the head, and the man’s muscles twisted into bone-crunching knots before he fell to the ground in a heap, the bolt of lightening also spread to his allies, jolting them painfully and causing several of them to drop their weapons.

         Those who had rushed up to attack the seemingly vulnerable un-armoured man, found themselves suddenly knocked away on to their backs, the breath blasted from their lungs as the deafening roar of thunder created a series of explosive, concussive waves that shook the entire camp, knocking down tents and warriors alike along the lightning’s path.

         Thalon didn’t wait for the men to scramble to their feet, grabbing his huge round golden shield in his left hand, and drawing the shining silver Sword of Thunder from it’s scabbard. That sword was soon bloodied as he thrust it downwards viciously, stabbing into a man’s throat and blasting through his feeble attempt to defend himself. A nearby bug-eyed man pushed himself up from the ground into a low headlong charge, stabbing with his spear as he stumbled forward, but Thalon swung his sword in an arc to his right, taking the head from that spear then swiftly bringing his blade the other way to slice across the man’s face. The sword hummed as it smashed through teeth, sending out a shocking jolt for good measure as it left the man’s jaw hanging by a strip of flesh.

         Thalon sidestepped that one as he tumbled towards the prince, then brought his shield up to deflect a mace swung by a woman to his left. It took him a split second to read her overbalanced posture, her swing had not carried any momentum so she retracted her arm to bash at him again, but Thalon rushed forward, his shield knocking her arm out to the side as he thrust his sword up into her heart, the impossibly sharp blade easily puncturing the woman’s leather armour. She dropped her mace and fell backwards, sliding off of the Sword of Thunder, down into the realm of death.

         Now only one man stood to challenge Thalon. He stared into that man’s eyes, daring him to make a move.

         The man took one look at his fallen comrades, then dropped his axe and ran towards the forest, screaming.

         In a sudden flash of rage, Thalon considered running the coward down, but he was out of the fight either way and he had more important things to concern himself with. The warrior prince rushed into the camp then, roaring as he charged at a trio of swordsmen, two dressed in chain mail shirts and one wearing an iron breastplate and helmet. He stopped himself short however, remembering that he didn’t have his armour on. The group looked at him, then rushed forward, splitting up to flank him.

         Naturally, Thalon turned and ran the other way.

         He bounded to the left, swerving around a tent to break their line of sight, then rapidly reversing and stabbing his sword out at one man who had been following him closely. The swordsman brought his own blade up desperately to parry, but the Thunder scraped by, barely shearing through the rings of his armour and digging into his armpit. The man managed to jump back and avoid the bulk of the potentially lethal thrust, but he clutched at the bleeding wound, his face locked in an agonized grimace. The man wouldn’t be able to raise an effective defence with that wound, Thalon knew, but before he could secure the kill, the prince was charged by another swordsman in chain, coming in from the other side of the tent.

         The swordsman thought to catch Thalon with a swift overhead swing, but the attack was met by a dull clang as the sword struck Thalon’s shield. The prince sought to counter then, but the swordsman swiftly struck out again and again, a rain of expertly timed blows that left Thalon no room to form an offence of his own. Thalon knew the attack wasn’t sustainable so he waited for an opening, but just then a sword suddenly appeared, stabbing at his right through the fabric of the tent! If Thalon had been standing just a little closer to that tent he would’ve been in serious trouble, but he had enough room to back away from the third swordsman as he tore through the side of the tent. Thalon tripped the man in the breast plate as he charged past, then stabbed ahead to force his other opponent to step backwards. Sensing a movement behind him, Thalon ducked, dodging the awkward left-handed swing of the swordsman he’d stabbed earlier. Thalon dropped lower than he needed too, his bottom almost touching the ground before he uncoiled, springing backwards and turning as he did to shove the first swordsman in the chest with his shield. The two tumbled to the ground together, the swordsman dropping his blade as Thalon crushed down on his chest hard, the prince rolling right over the other man and to his feet.

         Thalon was going to thrust his blade downwards to finally kill the stunned man, but his comrade in chain rushed forward, yelling, and the fight continued.



         Back near the center of the camp, one man who had been jolted by Thalon’s lightning bolt pushed himself to his feet. Hearing a groan he looked over to his left.

         “What the hell was that Hindo?” he said as the other man returned his startled look.

         “I don’t know, but it hurt like hell,” said Hindo. Both of them had been scorched badly, but as they looked around they decided it was a preferable fate to that of their comrades. The man who’d taken the initial blast had fallen in a crumpled and smouldering heap, while eight of their comrades lay sprawled across the ground -still- their hearts stopped. Regaining their senses, the two scrambled around for their weapons, Hindo picking up his disc gun, and the first man lifting himself to one knee as he levelled his heavy crossbow -taking aim and firing- at the dark figure that could now be seen within the thinning cloud of dust.

         That figure twirled around swiftly and gracefully then. There was a thud as the bolt hit something -the figures coat- before it turned right around in it’s flight path, speeding away from the dark figure and striking the crossbowman right between the eyes.

         Hindo took one stunned look at the dead man next to him -still kneeling as blood streamed down his face- then pulled the trigger on his gun. There was a loud mechanical whirring noise as it revved up -spinning a thin metal disc about the size of a man’s palm- then, thwuck, the disc slid out of the gun’s flat muzzle, speeding through the air only to swerve off it’s course and land to the side of the target’s feet. Hindo wasted no time firing again however, rapidly pulling a slider on the side of the gun so that another disc dropped down from the cylindrical ammo cartridge on its top. He held down the trigger, launching a barrage of discs at the deadly creature standing before him.

         Faeya was spinning about swiftly now, eyes closed, arms out to her sides and head thrown back in a glorious dance that summoned the wind to spin rapidly around her, the air rippling in streaks about her fingertips, as if she were dragging her hands through water. The speeding discs were torn off of their path to spin around Faeya, moving even faster as they tore through the air, forming a metallic tornado of slicing doom. The blades whipped about loudly, occasionally sending off sharp piercing screeches as they sheared against each other. Faeya suddenly bent forwards then, dropping her head down and throwing her arms straight out in front of her, then twisting back up as she pivoted around at the hip, thrusting her arms up above her and turning her face to the sky as she blew all that energy away from her in one violent motion.

         There was a deafening boom as the wind blasted away from Faeya, the air creasing in an expanding dome around her that pushed away the dust and sent the metal discs flying in all directions. Some of the people surrounding Faeya managed to brace themselves against the moving wall of air and dust, while some were fortunate enough to be knocked to the ground; fortunate because those warriors who still stood received the bulk of the damage caused by the flying blades. Hindo himself was decapitated by his own weaponry, many others had their skulls split or their limbs severed. Some of those discs moved at such incredible speed that they broke apart in their flight, the jagged shards piercing through armour and embedding themselves deep into the flesh of their victims.

         When the carnage ended, those still alive -just under ten fighters- brushed themselves off or pulled themselves to their feet, turning to the scrollmaster as she dropped her coat to the ground at her feet -one of the few places that was clean of corpses. Faeya’s hat had dipped low, covering her face, but all of the terrified warriors could clearly see her malicious smile as she clasped her hands together and cracked her knuckles.

A handful of them charged then, and Faeya whipped her hands about before her, cutting down two of them instantly, their blood flying up into the air as they toppled to the ground. A man who had come up behind Faeya, stabbed at the small of her back with his sword, but it suddenly stopped an inch away from her skin, humming and vibrating wildly, then glowing with heat and splitting apart backwards from the point, shredding the swordsman with a hundred splinters of red-hot iron.

         A series of runes on the brim of Faeya’s hat glowed bright white then vanished -the protective spell having served it’s purpose. Faeya wasn’t the least bit worried however, as she still had several other contingency spells inked onto that white hat.

         A bald headed man chopped down at Faeya with a large two-handed axe, but she shifted, the axe brushing past her harmlessly as she slid inside the man’s reach like a shadow. She seemed to wrap that man in a tender embrace -pulling him close with her left arm and resting her chin on his shoulder- but then her right arm snapped up, her hand suddenly grasping the man’s face like a raptor’s talons. Fingers dug into the side of that surprised face, and the Auzjere symbol of death seemed to stand out bolder on the back of Faeya’s grasping hand. The scrollmaster’s jaw stiffened as she ground her teeth together. The man’s eyes went wide then, seeming as if they were about to burst from his skull, and he let a low strangled sound from deep within his throat. The axe dropped from his hands as Faeya bent his head back, forcing him to stare upwards so that she could watch as the life left his eyes. The man went limp then, his knees buckling, and he seemed to dangle as if the only thing holding him up was Faeya’s grasp. He shuddered as he let out the last breath of his life, then Faeya released him and he crumpled to the ground. A woman screamed.

         “No! Dola-” she was cut off as Faeya turned to her, slicing her hands up, and slicing the woman’s arms clean from the shoulders. Those arms thudded to the ground -still clutching a pair of curved daggers- and the woman let out a gasp at the sudden surge of agony, soon dropping to her knees. As red liquid spurted from those wounds, Faeya rushed forward suddenly, grasping the woman’s face in the same manner as the dead man, but this time with her left.

         The hand marked with the symbol of blood.

         “Join him in hell,” Faeya sneered.

         The woman’s face paled then, mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back in her head so that only the whites showed. Veins popped out on her face, blackening as the corruption surged through them. After some time, a crackling, bubbling sound came from her throat, followed by a river of blackened blood that surged forth out of her mouth.

         Three fighters remained standing, frozen in fear as they watched the gruesome sight. When Faeya turned her gaze to them however, they turned their backs to her, running, trying to put as much distance between themselves and this monster.

         The Mistress of Death followed in their wake.



         Thalon wiped his blade clean on the pant-leg of one of the three swordsmen, who now lay dead around him. When he looked up he saw a tall red-headed woman wearing a full suit of shining plate-mail, simmering with rage as she raised her greatsword towards Thalon.

         “You bastard!” she yelled, “What is the reason for this? Why are you murdering my men?”

         You would be the leader then, Thalon thought. He replied to the woman’s questions by lifting his shield, raising his chin as he rapped that shield loudly with his silver sword.

         A grim smile crossed the leader’s face as she accepted his challenge, pulling down the visor of her helmet and rushing forward.

She began with a heavy overhead chop, Thalon could have blocked the blow, but he backed away instead, wanting to gauge his opponent before taking any risks. As the leader’s blade dipped down she continued to drive forward, bringing the blade up in a low thrust that Thalon quickly dodged, coming around on the woman’s flank. She pivoted on one foot, following the prince’s movements, and brought her blade across to intercept Thalon’s diagonal cut in a loud clang of metal against metal.

         Thalon continued to circle the armoured woman, chopping away at every angle to try and put her off balance, but she was keeping up with him, bringing that greatsword to position in-between each parry and even applying pressure of her own when Thalon let up his assault to try and outmanoeuvre her. Not hindered by armour, and wielding a much shorter blade, Thalon was definitely moving faster than the leader, but her greater range and her technique levelled the playing field.

         The two fought for some time, neither of them gaining any clear advantage, then Thalon heard a loud boom from deeper in the camp, and he remembered why he’d charged down into the clearing in the first place. He had to get to Faeya, but with how defensively he and his opponent were fighting, the duel could continue for many minutes.

         He could try to put some distance between them, enough to fire another bolt of lightning, but Thalon was always stingy when it came to using that power. Unlike his father -who was a direct conduit for the Thunder God’s power- Thalon had to summon his might from the Throne of Thalos, an act that drained his own energy and could leave him vulnerable if he used it overzealously. Fortunately however, the Sword of Thunder had some power of it’s own, and Thalon sent a spark of his energy into that sword, deciding it was time to end this fight.

         He attacked the leader a few more times, trying not to make his bait obvious, then when she used the move he’d been waiting for -a chest high stab- he dashed up inside of her reach. He tried to deflect the greatsword with his shield as he levelled his own blade, but rather than driving the blade down and trying to move aside as Thalon had expected, the woman brought her blade up close to her face -smacking the visor of her helmet with the crosspiece of the sword- then punched out sharply with both hands still firmly grasping the hilt. Unable to stop his forward momentum, Thalon nearly had his face cloven as the leader brought her blade down with the short chop, but he twisted at the hips and turned his face away at the last moment, the blade missing his head by a hair and painfully digging into his left shoulder. The Sword of Thunder barely missed it’s mark -a narrow gap between the top of the leader’s helmet and the neckline of her breastplate- but as it clanged against the top of that chest plate, the shining sword sent forth a surge of electricity that had the woman barrelling backwards, falling onto her back as the energy leaped wildly across the surface of her armour, jolting her in several places and singing her face with painful sparks.

         Growling through the throbbing pain in his shoulder, Thalon stomped down hard on the leader’s left wrist -the arm still holding the sword- then thrust his blade down at her face. It screeched through one of the metal slits of the visor, digging deeply into the flesh behind it, and the woman lay still.

         The fight done, Thalon tried to tug his sword free but it was stuck. As he wiggled it around to try and free it he heard a clicking sound, probably the rattle of loose teeth. By the time the sword was finally free, a pool of blood had formed around the head of the corpse.

         I have to find Faeya, the prince told himself; but he did stop then to sate his curiosity. He briefly rummaged through the pouch at the belt of the woman he’d just killed, pulling out an engraved blue rectangle that read:

GRISELDA'S GAUNTLETS

BLADES FOR HIRE

         Just a band of mercs after all, he mused. As a man not unused to death, he forced himself not to care at that moment, one thought urging him forward. I have to find Faeya. He dropped the card, stomping it into the dirt as he stormed deeper into the camp.

It was eerily silent, and there was nobody to be seen. Nobody alive, he corrected himself, stepping over one corpse that had it’s arms cut off. He observed the gruesome details as he walked across the field of death.

         So this is the power of an adept.

         Faeya had pumped so much raw magical energy into the air around her, that she had been able to shape it into fine, slicing blades, something Thalon had never realized was possible. The initial dust storm had helped her in more ways than one, not only obscuring vision, but also filling the air with enough debris to strengthen the cutting tendrils of energy. Like windblown sand wearing down a mountain, the dust carried within those blades of wind had cut clean through iron and steel. Not all of the fatal wounds were from cuts however. Thalon noticed that some of them had been crushed or smashed to bits -like the woman who had been blown apart at the waist near the start of the battle- where compressed knots of air, crackling with energy, had slammed into them. Thalon shook his head, thinking how ridiculous it now seemed to worry after Faeya.

         But then he saw her and his heart dropped.

         She lay amongst the dead, drenched in blood, her white hat lost somewhere in the chaos.

         “Faeya!” Thalon called desperately. He saw her move then -chest jerking upwards, once, and then a few more times in short succession- and hope surged through him as he realized that she was alive; but he could sense that something was terribly wrong.

         Thalon rushed towards Faeya, dropping his sword and shield as he ran, then stopped short when he drew near, hearing a sudden, shocking burst of sound from the woman.

         She was laughing.

         Short, gasping, terrifying bursts of laughter accompanying each violent jerk of the woman’s blood drenched chest.

         With a sickening feeling, Thalon realized what he had noticed amiss, but only now consciously registered. The corpses around Faeya had fallen in a circle, deliberately arranged so that their blood funnelled into a shallow depression, forming the red pool that Faeya now soaked in, the stench of that blood flowing over him like a foul spirit.

         “What the fucking hell,” Thalon gasped through a strangling feeling in his throat.

         The bloody woman’s eyes popped open wide then, focusing on Thalon, and the prince stumbled back a step at what he saw there.

         Madness…

         "You’re insane," he began quietly, then suddenly shouting, “You’re fucking crazy! Why, I don’t- I don’t understand.”

         As Faeya continued to stare at him, a manic grin crossed her face that had the prince backing away further, fleeing.

         “To you, I am Faeya Uul,” she began ominously, “But those who know me well, call me by a different name. They call me, Mortia, the Bloodbath Mistress.”

         Thalon shook his head as he stared at her. Madness…

         “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “Either way, we’re done.” And he turned away, unable to look at the madwoman any longer.

         I’ve seen so much war, so much violence in this life, and now this, Thalon thought, the gruesome scenery finally seeping through his defences. Maybe I should end her life right now and do the world a favour. But the thought passed quickly. No, no more bloodshed this day.

         Thalon heard Faeya mumble something then, but he was already walking away from her.

         “I didn’t choose this,” Faeya said, louder.

         He ignored her. Madness…

         “Thalon, wait!” she shouted desperately, pleadingly, and the prince did turn at the emotion in her voice. He watched as the woman sat up, a trickle of corpse blood running down her forehead, and her black hair dripping with the stuff.

         “Are you Faeya, or Mistress Mortia?” he asked, and the woman looked about as confused by the question as Thalon was surprised at his own words. With no answer forthcoming, the prince turned away once more.

         “Thalon, please,” Faeya began, but when the man kept on walking she rose to her feet and ran to catch him. “Don’t go, please, just try to understand, I didn’t choose this.” Thalon spun on her suddenly then, and Faeya jerked backwards defensively at his seething expression.

         “What the fuck is there for me to understand!” he screamed. “You didn’t choose this? What the hell are you talking about? You chose to run down here, you chose to kill without provocation, you chose to do…whatever the hell you just did. You’re disgusting.”

         “I-” Faeya’s voice quavered, “I mean, I don’t want to kill, but I-I must. Otherwise-”

         “If this is the secret to an adept’s power I want no part in it,” Thalon said, but her expression gave Thalon pause. The woman looked to be on the verge of tears, the madness having departed from her black eyes. Even as she stood there, drenched in blood, Thalon had never seen an expression so pitiful, so heart wrenchingly distraught.

         So this one must be Faeya then, he thought, Where did Mortia run off to? Is she gone? Or merely lurking beneath the surface? Thalon’s own thoughts sounded ridiculous to him, but thinking of Faeya and Mortia as two separate entities -rather than one person suffering from a severe mental illness- allowed him to view the woman as a fellow human being, rather than a blood ravening monster.

         “No, it’s not like that, not exactly,” Faeya began. She pulled up the reddened sleeve of her shirt then, revealing the spell tattoos drawn in bold black lines. “It’s these. You were right to be suspicious when you saw them, they’re the work of Nemesis.”

         Thalon suddenly stiffened, hands balling up into fists as if he was preparing to strike. Faeya sensed the dangerous energy radiating from the man and hastened to explain.

         “They are not the source of my power, these markings are part of a curse. Over time, the curse causes corruption -chaotic energy- to build up inside of me, and in order to purge that taint from my body, I need to do what I just did,” Faeya said, and to Thalon’s surprise she did start crying then, her tears cutting lines through the layer of red on her face. “I have to bathe in blood. I couldn‘t stand it at first, but eventually -in order to survive- I learned to love killing, and Mortia was born.”

         “And you think your life is worth all those others?”

         Faeya’s eyes darted away then, looking down and to the side.

         “If I defeat Nemesis, many more lives will be saved,” she said. Thalon slouched then, suddenly feeling drained of energy. Faeya’s depression was infectious.

         “Will his blood cure you?” he asked. Her eyes darted up, latching onto his, her expression one of surprise.

         “Maybe,” but then she shook her head, smiling sadly, “No, probably not, almost definitely not.” She looked down then, clutching one of the symbols on her exposed arm.

         They stood amongst the corpse strewn clearing for several minutes, the silence occasionally broken by a choked sob from Faeya.

         Now, oh mighty prince, where do we go from here? Thalon mused. He stepped passed Faeya then, and after several moments the woman lifted her head and turned to watch the man. She looked on as he knelt down besides a corpse, shifting the body and placing his hand over the face, before moving on to another body and repeating the process.

         “What are you doing?” Faeya croaked. She cleared her throat then, before walking up behind the man, “Thalon?” She looked over his shoulder as he placed one mans hands atop his torn chest, then lifted his hand to the man’s face, closing eyes that had stared open in horror as his life was viciously torn away from him. He placed the hilt of the man’s sword in his dead hands before standing up slowly, turning to meet Faeya’s questioning gaze.

         “On the field of war, we rarely have time to bury our dead,” Thalon began sombrely, “ When someone dies with their eyes open -especially if they don’t realize that they have died- they may end up as a lost spirit. Gazing out at the world of the living they rush out towards that familiar place, flying further and further away from their fate. But when the eyes are closed, they look inwards. We bless the ground beneath them so that they might see that guiding light, and follow it to the Golden Palace of Thalos, or towards the realm of whatever god they pray to.”

         “Oh, I see,” said Faeya. Thalon didn’t think she really saw. “Why do you place their weapons in their hands?” she continued. A grim smile crossed Thalon’s face.

         “If they’re a godless sinner, they’ll need to fight their way up through Hell.”

         “Ha!” Faeya burst out nervously.

         Thalon went back to his work then, blessing the bodies of those dead who were still relatively in tact, and Faeya surprised herself by joining him.



         It wasn’t until several hours later that they stood up and gazed down at the rows of corpses, their job complete. They had tried to wrap or cover as many of the corpses as they could, -using the fabric from the tents and other material they had found scattered about the camp- but the carrion eaters had already begun to gather, crows circling above them in the afternoon sky. Faeya turned to Thalon then.

         “Can you grab my coat please?” she asked. Thalon narrowed his eyes at her.

         “What am I, your butler now?”

         “No, it’s just that that book is in there, and well,” she motioned down at herself, still covered in blood. Thalon wrinkled his nose, but he did walk over to the dark bundle that Faeya had indicated, slinging the heavy coat over one shoulder, grunting through the pain there. Spotting Faeya’s hat, he picked that up to.

         Faeya had already turned away, walking towards the forest, and when Thalon caught up to her he pushed the hat down onto her head. It was a tighter fit than he had anticipated, so he pressed down harder, wincing at the loud squelch of blood being pressed from the woman’s hair.

         She looked over at him, frowning, and Thalon quickly looked away, staring up at the sky.

         They soon made their way back to the road, only to find their mounts were now long gone.

         “A few of the mercs escaped,” Thalon sighed.

         Faeya winced at the identifying word. Of course she’d only insisted that they were bandits so that she would have an excuse to sate her bloodlust, but no matter how many times she killed, a dreadful feeling of guilt followed. The dead haunted her.

         “They must’ve run off with the horses,” said Faeya.

         Stating the obvious, Thalon thought, but he said: “Well, there goes our food.”

         They exchanged glances. Thalon knew that if he could contact the Imperial Guard, they could work together to try and track down their mounts, but neither of them had the energy for such a task and it would likely slow them down anyways.

         “Don’t you have anything in your pack?” Faeya asked.

         “Just my sleeping bag and some spare clothes, toothbrush…” Thalon trailed off in contemplation, then looked up with a start, “Damn, they took my armour too! I’ll have to send a message back home to have them track it down. It takes ages to craft anything out of tantagium, and the palace forge is one of the few places that can even do it. I don’t want that suit to end up on the black market.”

         Faeya wasn’t listening, instead she was carefully picking her way through the tangle of branches in front of them, eventually getting over the fallen birch and moving on to the stone bridge ahead. Thalon hesitated.

         Why am I following her? he asked himself. He knew that Faeya needed his help, and Thalon could certainly use hers to try and defeat Nemesis, but he knew it couldn’t be the only way. He didn’t dislike Faeya, in fact, the thought of leaving her alone worried him; but Mortia frightened him. He didn’t want to see this woman turn into a monster again, but it was inevitable. She gorged herself on blood today, but how long will that last? How long will it be before Mortia has to feed again? And it’s not as if I can do anything to free her from that curse, I’m no mage. Not as powerful as Faeya, and certainly not strong enough to undo the work of Nemesis. But his thoughts flew back to that morning then, to the woman kneeling in the dirt under the tree, clutching her head in agony. He’d reached out to her tentatively then, and she’d accepted him. She wanted him to wake her from her nightmares, and only now did he begin to fathom the horror that awaited her in her sleep.

         Thalon followed her.