The Face of Evil

Gloved hands ran over the smooth wood of the balcony's railing, feeling every miniscule flaw, every crack, every flake of peeling paint. His lip twitched, the closest thing he had to a smile, at all the flaws he could sense with just the tips of his fingers. He forced his hands to still, to stop looking for signs of decay and to rest on the wooden plank that kept him from tumbling a story to the ground. The garden was beginning to show the signs of the coming winter. Once green leaves were beginning to turn brown around the edges, the petals of flowers were serving as mulch and the birds and butterflies that had been present just a bright night ago were now gone.

He twitched his fingers on the railing and the garden came to life in his mind. Gas lights glowing brightly against the night. Attendants in their finest evening wear. Banders in uniform and official dress. The former Queen, Ba'at curse her soul, screaming at someone he had not seen before. He replayed every conversation in the smallest detail – except that one. His hands tightened on the railing in irritation. Why couldn't he hear that one? The one that seemed more important than the others, the one that had pulled the Alfar pretender out of her ball and into a verbal fight.

Perhaps he had underestimated her strength. He couldn't be blamed for that. After all, she was just a woman. He took another deep breath, whispered a prayer, and focused his attention again on that space of time. Again, he saw nothing but her enraged reactions, her equally angry conversation partner, and heard absolutely nothing.

“Did you dance with her?”

The voice came unbidden and he batted it away with a thought. Some other party goer, impressed by his company for at least a dance.

The sound of an open palmed slap stinging against someone's face.

He pushed that away, as well. It had nothing to do with...

“I know they're out there. I'm not an idiot. The servants of destruction must be stopped.”

He blinked and abandoned his attempts to hear what Veronda had been saying. He shifted his focus to that voice, to its origin. He saw a woman, dressed simply but with a thick leather apron, a small hammer in her hand and a white hot forge before her. Next to her was a man, dressed just as simply.

“I can feel it as surely as you can, Issan, but what can I do? I gave up my connection.” The woman's voice faltered at the end.

“I know. I still don't understand why you would...”

“He needs someone. Just... Let me focus on this, please.” She swung her hammer three times before the man grabbed her arm.

“No, I will not let you focus on this. He is not the one for you, Keralin. We all see it, even if you don't. His skin, his demeanor, his attitude...”

“I am only going to say this once,” she interrupted. “I have made my choice, as has my heart.” She looked up at the man who had grabbed her arm before wrenching it free. “I am a black-smith, nothing more.”

“Than keep yourself from our temple. And may Urdu have mercy on your soul, since the bed of Ba'at surely won't.”

The woman set her hammer down, slipped her apron off and hung it up, turned to face her accuser and smiled before pulling back her right arm and hitting him square in the jaw. He hit the dirt within a second and remained on his back. “May Urdu have mercy on your soul, should you ever be so brazen as to ban a loyal subject from her temple again. And may you think twice about your accusations and dismissive behavior, because the very thing I've been fighting for and dying for is to ensure that belligerent, ignorant people like you can't hold us all down in fear.” She moved then and put one foot on both his shoulders to keep him in place. “I am more a servant of Urdu than you will ever be.” Her lips puckered as if she were about to spit on her accuser, but then her entire body went rigid for just a few seconds before she collapsed.

“Interesting.” He stepped away from the railing and turned to look at ten women in fabric as black as an overcast night. “Prepare to move again, shades.”

A Light in the Darkness

Her Majesty, the newly crowned Queen of Kelindar, Keiran el a'Graeme, settled the silver crown on her perfectly curled and styled hair and stared at herself in the mirror. For a few seconds, she stared at the rubies and diamonds on the intricately patterned, delicate crown. She studied the way the jewels and the silver played into the shimmering gown, trimmed with red cording and lace, that Allan had created for her. She inspected the coal that had been used to line her eyes and bring them out, the bit of coloring on her cheeks and the stain on her lips. She was stunning, breathtaking if she could be so conceited. The servants behind her made an approving sound and she could see their pleased expressions behind her in the mirror's reflective surface; they had done good work.

“Bring me a wet cloth, please.” She said and met one of the servant's gaze in the mirror. The girl, who couldn't be much older than sixteen, scurried away. The others looked perplexed. When the servant came back, she handed the cloth over to Keiran with a quick curtsy before moving back to join the other servants. Keiran gave one last look at the perfect image staring back at her and scrubbed the warm, wet cloth over her face until every trace of makeup was removed. She quickly removed the crown, setting it on the vanity in front of her and nimbly removed every pin holding her hair in place, until her now curly locks fell loose around her shoulders. She reached for the crown again, but her fingers hovered over it for a few seconds before she just left it resting on the marble counter top. The women behind her gasped. She felt bad for them. They had worked so hard at making her look like a Queen and she had just destroyed hours of work. She turned to face them and they all dropped their gaze to the ground at her feet.

“Ladies, you perform miracles with hair and faces. Unfortunately, it wasn't until I looked at that miracle that it occurred to me it's the wrong sort. These people don't need an untouchable piece of perfection to reassure them. They need me, as I have always been and hopefully always will. Take heart. There will be many balls and galas for nobility in the coming weeks and I will want to outshine all of those puffed-up peacocks. You will get the chance again.” The youngest had to stifle a giggle at the peacock comment, but the veterans of the staff merely allowed her lips to twitch in a small smile. Keiran grinned at them and headed out of the chamber she had commandeered while Veronda's old chambers were redecorated to her taste. She moved easily through the palace and down into the lower levels, silently picking up first one member of the Elite, then another and another, until all of them were moving around her. She considered sending them away, but eventually allowed them to continue flanking her.

On the lower levels, the palace was a continuous flurry of movement. Servants, nobility, guards and a host of others who had not been allowed to set foot in this palace for years. The public corridors were teeming with casters, ranging in age from the very young to the very old, while the Head of Servants worked around the clock to find them lodgings until their family could be located or another home could be found for them. If not for the Elite, she might have been able to move through the crowd, relatively unnoticed, but the green-clad, determined looking guards gave away her identity as if she had screamed it. People moved out of her way, those who could bowed or curtsied. Despite the number of people in the area, everything quieted to a quiet murmur of motion and hushed speaking.

The Head of Servants rushed over to her and began explaining what had been taken care of and what had not, what still needed to be done. She looked out over the crowd, held still in the positions of deference, and interrupted him without hearing the first word he said. “As you were, please. There is much to be done. You all don't need to waste time trying to prove who can hold those poses the longest.” No one moved. Keiran made an exasperated noise. “Resume what you were doing or I will take offense at your lack of motion.”

That did the trick. There was suddenly a burst of movement in the room and Keiran smirked. The Head of Servants resumed his report as soon as she finished speaking. Keiran listened and gave directions as necessary, but the man was efficient and she had little to add to his current plan.

“I'm afraid I've no idea what to do about them.” he said and made a motion to a room off the main hallway. The door was open. Inside it, she could see twelve women in clothing that looked like a cousin to the assassin's outfit she'd grown accustomed to seeing. One of the women had separated slightly from the others, obviously standing in front of the remaining eleven. Keiran stepped into the room, followed by her continuous guards, who fanned out. The room bristled with an energy she couldn't quite place at first, but then she realized what it was: they were sizing one another up. The dark-haired woman standing separate from the others was most definitely eyeing Keiran as if expecting to find a scorpion.

“Who are you?” Keiran asked.

“Ailish. Who are you?” The woman in front responded.

“Keiran. Why are you here?”

“We have come to find a place. We can no longer stay in the Chancel and we have no other home,” Ailish said and looked over her shoulder at the others before looking back at Keiran.

“The Head of Servants is finding homes for all the casters...”

“We do not cast,” Ailish interrupted. “We are... Were guardians.”

Keiran lifted an eyebrow at being cut off mid-sentence, but let it go. “And what did you guard?”

“The Proctor,” Ailish answered simply. “We are Shadowdancers and are willing to pledge to you to help you find and kill the Proctor.”

Surprise drifted across Keiran's face. “You just explained that you were guardians. Why would you help us hunt him down?”

Ailish pulled back the edge of her tight clothing far enough to reveal the symbol for Justice tattooed just under her collarbone before releasing the fabric so it could settle back in place. “We were all taken and tortured, experimented on and forced into loyalty. We were tested repeatedly and replaced when we failed. We have endured more than any of us care to admit at the hands of the Proctor because we were doubly cursed, to be women and not to be casters. He believed us to be worth nothing more than a body to throw at his enemies or to test his up and comers. We want nothing to do with that son of a bitch and will be more than pleased to turn the tricks we were taught to ensuring that his blood runs cold on stone floors.”

Keiran studied the woman for a moment. Her jaw was firm, her eyes were cold, and underneath that she saw determination and a confidence obviously earned in battle. She finally nodded and glanced back over at the Head of Servants. “Fetch Kaithel and Torrance for me. They will make the best use of these women and their information. Find them quarters on my floor until more permanent homes can be found for them.”

“We stay together,” Ailish interrupted again, but her shoulders relaxed visibly at the directions given to house her and the others. “It's what we are accustomed to, even if there are two extras and we aren't a full set.” Ailish turned and looked back at the other women again and chuckled quietly. Some of them chuckled, a couple of them grinned at her. She looked back at Keiran. “You have our thanks, Your Majesty. Give us the choice to guard and we will do so. It is all we know anymore. Demand our loyalty, though, and you will find more than one blade at your throat. Am I clear?”

The members of the Elite straightened at the sudden threat. Keiran held one hand out, waist high and palm down, to tell them to relax. “I understand perfectly, Ailish. There are different types of chains and collars. Having worn one before, I promised myself to never do so again. You will have a home here, not a cage.”

Ailish narrowed her eyes slightly and stared at Keiran for a solid minute before her face relaxed and she smiled fully, held out her hand to the new Queen, who took it in her own, gave it a shake and added a smile.  "You will not regret this, Your Majesty."

Changing Tides

The sky was fading from dark blue to a pink and gold streaked morning, clouds soaking in the rays of a new day, when Kaithel stepped out of his tent and gave an abrupt nod to the guard standing just outside. 

"No one goes in until she comes out.  Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," the soldier answered and saluted him.  He was young and Kaithel didn't recognize him, but this morning was not the time to worry about learning names.  He simply marched away from the tent, straightening his uniform unnecessarily as he moved through the camp.  His single brief stop was to duck his head into Foedris' tent and explain his activity and to assure him that he would return if at all possible.  Foedris merely nodded in response.  He knew the strength of Kaithel's word.  

His sure strides carried him the rest of the way through camp, to the stepping stone he would use to travel today.  There, waiting beside it, stood Ava and Torrance, both women wearing nearly identical frowns.

"No," he said before either one of them could say anything.  

Ava opened her mouth to protest, but Torrance merely nodded at him.  Perhaps it was his nerves, but he thought he saw something very close to respect in the latter woman's eyes as he moved past them both and stepped onto the stone which would instantly transport him to the palace.  Ava shouted something at him, but the words were lost in the dispersal and collection of every tiny piece of him. 

He was still unaccustomed to the feeling of being somewhere else in a few seconds, still unsettled by the travel method they'd come to use so frequently in the last few months.  Here he was, hundreds of miles away, with the same sky overhead; the same streaks, similar clouds shining out the window to his right. 

He expected the guards to be there.  He expected the efficiency with which he was taken from his feet to the floor and bound tightly.  He expected the short trip down the hallway at a rough pace and he expected her to be waiting for him.  He was not expecting her to be in her dressing gown, with her eyes red-rimmed from crying, or the quiet conversation she was having with a young, scarred man in Elite green.  When the others shoved him into the room, he stumbled, cracking his forehead on the ground since he could not catch himself with his hands.

"Kaithel Haddas." Her voice was ice cold, a tone he was familiar with.  "You are either the largest fool on my soil or you want to die.  Which is it?"

He struggled to get to his feet, lifted his eyes to her and stared directly into her face.  "Neither.  I understand perfectly what I did wrong and have come to request that my punishment be reserved for me and me alone.  My family had nothing to do with it." 

Veronda regarded him coolly for a few moments before the young man with her turned her desk chair around so she could sit, but still face Kaithel.  "An attack on me is unforgivable, Kaithel, and I have stricken families from the Halls of Nobility for far less than your crime."  Kaithel opened his mouth to respond, but the Queen merely held up a finger to silence him and continued.  "However, at present time, it would be disadvantageous to the country of Kelindar to remove the social standing of your sister, given her recent marriage.  We would not want to tarnish the reputation of our nobility in other countries, in spite of her... Poorly chosen alliances."

Kaithel felt his eyes narrowing and he blinked to push a trickle of blood out of his vision.  If she had already decided not to kill him, nor to strip the title from his family, she had also already decided on a punishment equivalent to that.  He did not have to wait long. 

"You will retain the rank of Brigadier.  Your family will retain its noble standing.  Neither your mother nor your sister will be harmed in any fashion.  You, however... You must work off the debt you have incurred to me in asking for this favor.  You will be transferred forthwith to the Chancel where you will assume command of the troops within.  I am aware of your spies within the Chancel and will know if you begin passing messages to anyone with whom you previously associated.  You will actually command those forces or I will see to it that your mother, your sister, your entire battalion of troops and your little fiancée all die."  

Kaithel's fists tightened behind his back until he heard his knuckles cracking, harder still until the crack he heard was not his knuckles, but something deeper in his hand.  Veronda stared at him, her gaze hard and unforgiving, until he finally nodded in acceptance. 

"I agree to those terms, your majesty."

Veronda stood and moved across the room to him then and placed one finger tip on his forehead in order to heal the wounds he'd taken and delivered to himself.  "I thought you might agree to that."  She motions briefly to one of the other Elite, who produces a uniform of the Kelindar army, the front left chest panel stitched with the markings of a Brigadier, the right hand side bearing the mark of the Chancel's officers.  "Release his hands.  Allow him to change.  Take him straight to the stone which leads to the Chancel and accompany him then return to me."  Veronda gave the command briskly as she passed out of the room and into her private bed chamber. 

The young man with all the scars watched her go, his mouth in a tight line, before he came to Kaithel, untied his hands and allowed him the time to change his clothing.  They were silent until they reached the stone.  Just before allowing Kaithel to step onto it, the young man touched his arm and halted his progress.

"I will get a message to one of them, if you wish," he said.

Kaithel shook his head.  "No, but thank you.  Better that they think I've died then know that I am coming to kill them.  If they survive, it will be nice to surprise them when we are victorious."  There was no doubt that  the 'we' he referenced was not the Chancel and the young man merely nodded.  He stepped onto the stone.  His world shifted.  The young man followed quickly.  

For a few seconds, Kaithel did not move.  He merely stared at the bare stone walls and said a silent goodbye to his world.  The man waited with him, silent, until Kaithel looked over and nodded.  "My word is all I have left, sir.  I will find the troops.  I will not run.  You may return to your Queen."  Without waiting to see if the man complied, Kaithel turned on a heel and headed farther into the belly of the monster. 

The Long Surrender

Bright moonlight poured through the open window.  A breeze ruffled the simple white curtains hanging on either side of the window.  She'd been standing at the window sill for the last hour, feeling the air move, the occasional gust pulling strands of red hair out of their loose ponytail and across her face.  A glass of red wine was balanced to her right, half empty.  She glanced down at it, over at the bottle, and decided not to fill it again.  Instead, she let her gaze wander over to the bed, to the man asleep there.

She'd managed to get him here before he collapsed.  He'd barely stirred when she'd cut his shirt away and rolled him onto his stomach.  She'd been thankful he hadn't woken up in the middle of her cleaning the ragged wounds on his back.  Her fingers had hovered over the gashes, hesitant to touch the ink marring his skin, but she'd finally just taken a deep breath and done what she could for the wounds.  Now, the sheet was covering him from the hips down.  He was still on his stomach and she could see the cloths would need to be changed again soon.  Some of them had spots of red beginning to show on the white.

She looked back out the window, still feeling the occasional pang of terror and rage she felt before, her mind momentarily drifting to a place where she had failed so utterly, where she was the last Alfar because these humans had murdered them all.  Her thoughts turned dark again, her fingers gripping the window sill so tightly her knuckles turned white.

The Loktar had seen the hate and rage in her eyes.  They had smiled and let her pass without a word.  Into the Falls of Destruction, she went; the combination of rubies, black rock and water bringing a slaughter to mind, a massacre, the perfect backdrop for her mood. 

A scoop of water from the falls, a prayer whispered into the surface of the cup before she drank, and her eyes turned as red as the gems by which she was surrounded.  Her skin came alive, the feeling of ice cracking under the heat of a fire running through her veins.  She ordered one of the Loktar to bring her something alive.


It was a human that they brought her, a prisoner they'd taken when he'd tried to sneak into the caves and steal something. She walked all the way around him, regarding him the way one might look at an offensive insect or piece of particular disgusting trash.  When she once again stood in front of him, she lifted her hand, pressed one finger to the center of his chest and said only one word.

"Die."


Within seconds, his skin began to turn pale and shrink.  His hair turned white and fell out in clumps.  He gasped for air, but his chest refused to rise.  In less than a minute, a small pile of bone dust remained where he had been standing.  Aliset smiled, a ferocious expression that did very little to convey pleasure. 


"I will need more things," she commanded and gave them a list.  The Loktar set about collecting her supplies, their chattering growing more excited and expectant while they worked.  When everything had been found, she sat down in the middle of the island and began to work.  Crush the herbs and the gems, add a drop of blood from everyone in the room.  She worked quickly, taking no more time than absolutely necessary to do the tasks.  She'd seen something similar to this done once before, a little more than three hundred years ago, by a woman who had once been her closest friend.  But now, this time, she was not trying to trap someone or swallow their power.  The difference was a few words, and this same ritual could kill them all.  Every single human dirtying the face of the earth, gone in the blink of an eye.  Vengeance settled.  


With everything complete, she began to chant.  And that's when she heard her  screamed, the rustle and tear of swords and skin.  Red light poured from the falls, washed over her, found a focus in her rage and lust for blood, and shot straight up, disappearing into the rock that formed her roof.  She couldn't see it continue, but could feel it, climbing higher and higher, reaching for...


"Aliset!" He screamed again, directly in front of her. 


Disbelief painted across her face. "Kade?  You... I'm not alone?  I'm not the last of us?  We aren't all dead?" 


The rage drained suddenly, the light retracted and the rubies began to glow once more.  The Loktar made disappointed noises. 


She'd brought them back her, to the room she'd been in before the fear and hatred had taken over her mind, before she'd gone made and nearly removed an entire race from the face of this planet.  She took a sip from the wine and set the glass down.  That's when the first shock of pain ripped through her.  She clutched the sill to keep from falling over, remaining doubled until the feeling subsided, biting down on her bottom lip hard enough that she tasted the copper tang of blood on her tongue.  She'd just finally managed to stand when another wave hit and then another.  She fell, knocking the wine glass off the sill and onto the road below, where it broke into hundreds of tiny pieces.

She curled up in a ball on the floor, forcing herself to stay silent, to let him sleep as long as he needed to.  An hour later, she realized that tears were leaking out of her eyes, making small, muddy puddles on the floor, but the pain had stopped.  She moved, gingerly at first, then tried to stand.  It was then that she noticed the room was darker than it should have been in the middle of a light fortnight.

"You have asked for my help, and then abandoned me," a voice crashed into her thoughts, larger than it shoulder have been.  The sound of it made her think of flesh being dragged over gravel.  Terror shot through her like liquid fire and she froze, halfway to her feet.  "Intolerable."

One more wave of pain coursed through her body, starting at her head and moving straight down through her feet.  For a split second, in the relative dark of the room, she glowed a dark red and then it faded.  The moonshine poured back into the room.  She glanced up at Kade, still sleeping soundly through it all, and then rubbed her eye.  A piece of dirt must have gotten into it when she was laying on the floor.  On bare feet, she tiptoed across the room to the mirror to find the offensive mote.  One look at herself was all it took and she stepped back, shock on her face.

Her hair was a darker red than before, halfway between red and black.  And there, in her eye, what she thought was a piece of dirt, was a small red diamond.  She sat down on the floor, exactly where she'd been standing, and stared at nothing on the wall until she heard him stir again.  

The Weight of a Crown

Broken shards of a bottle, a bright red stain on white carpet, vomit near the end of the bed, candlelight dancing in the rubies and diamonds of a silver crown tossed carelessly to the floor.  The bed is disheveled, and its occupant even more so.  The physicians have come and, after explaining that they could not help her, have gone.  Isak Morrest, dressed in the green robes he'd worn for the last three years, stared down at the woman he'd sworn his life to protect and frowned.

She seemed to be sleeping fitfully.  Her legs twitched.  Her back arched.  She writhed and wept without waking.  He clenched his fists at his side as he watched the nightmare consume her, stood silently and helplessly by her side and inwardly cursed at his inability to keep his vow.  He cursed at her for shouldering all the burden.  He cursed at the monster that was doing this to her.  

The planes of his face were unchanged, stoic and hard, the scars making even his most peaceful expression seem fierce.  The expressions of the other two Elite in the room were just as impassive, just as sharp.  One of them watched the door to the hallway.  The other stared at the doors which led to her private balcony.  Silence sat heavy in the room, broken only by the cries of the woman buried in layers of blankets.  She screamed suddenly and Isak took a step forward before he stopped.  The other two looked first at their Queen and secondly at Isak.  Berel, the oldest among them, shook his head lightly, giving Isak the order to stay back from the bed.  Isak tightened his fists again.  

He'd had enough.  He'd seen her tears and her rage, given her tissues and helped clean up broken bottles and trinkets she'd thrown.  He'd silently wrapped her bleeding hand when she'd put her fist through a mirror.  He'd taken away untouched dinners and drawn water for a bath that was ignored while she worked.  He'd seen lovers come and go, but never seen her with a broken heart.  He didn't know what she'd done to bring this much guilt on herself, and had never asked.  It wasn't his place; he wasn't even supposed to speak, let alone question her.  He'd already gotten a stern look for his outburst to the man called Kade.  She screamed again, her back arching sharply away from the bed, and his resolve broke.  

"No more," he growled. Before either of the other two men in the room could stop him, Isak climbed into the bed, threw the covers back and scooped the woman up into his arms, cradling her like a child on his lap while he leaned back against the headboard.  Berel glared at him and then went back to staring at the door.  Vellin, the one watching the balcony doors, stared in disbelief, as Isak rocked softly back and forth and hummed a lullaby against her hair.  She still jerked.  She screamed.  Her tears ran down her cheeks and onto Isak's shirt, leaving dark streaks on the green fabric that never had the chance to dry.

Isak shifted around until he was as comfortable as possible and settled himself for a long night.  Berel and Vellin were replaced by Serranu and Ranim, who said nothing but did not have to; he could read the disapproval in their eyes.  He sang every song he knew, his voice as soft and rich as velvet, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath fluttered her dark hair.  Serranu and Ranim gave way to Ghavim and Sayon.  Ghavim bore the same expression as those who had been before him, and Sayon tried, but a flicker of jealousy in his eyes gave away the real reason for his disapproval.  Isak glared at him, his reaction all that was necessary to let Sayon know that he'd seen it, it had been noted.  

Dawn came, orange and pink lighting the sky and pouring through the windows.  Slowly, she relaxed.  Her muscles stopped spasming.  She hadn't screamed in an hour.  Isak shifted again, trying to find a way to sit which would allow feeling to come back into his legs, and when he moved, so did she.  He stopped moving abruptly, but she continued to stir, moving around until one arm was around his waist and one wrapped over his shoulder.  Her fingers twisted tightly in the hair at the back of his neck, her legs curled up against her chest.  Her eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on his face.  He stared straight ahead, not meeting her gaze. 

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice ragged from the screaming.  Isak took a deep breath and broke one more rule, turning his face to look down at her.

"Your pain is my pain, your joy is my joy, your life is my life."  He quietly spoke part of the vow he'd taken upon being admitted into the ranks of her Elite.  The corner of her lip twitched in the barest beginnings of a smile before it disappeared and she stretched up to kiss his cheek.  He blinked in surprise, heard a quiet gasp from near the balcony doors, and then his Queen nestled her cheek down onto his shoulder and closed her eyes again.  Isak waited until her breathing was even and quiet, a peaceful slumber rather than the horror of the last few hours, before he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of her head and fell asleep.  

Wing and a Prayer

"Of course, it's possible, Indalu.  Anything is possible.  Likely, however, is another story." Orawyn felt like she was lounging.  There was no room, no furniture to sit on, no roof overhead, but the feel of her thoughts was of a woman stretched on a dais, concerned only with the chilled wine and fresh fruit to her side.  

Indalu frowned at her.  "Do you not take anything seriously?"

"When was the last time you laughed?" Orawyn asked in return.  Her thoughts shifted and she felt like a woman forcing herself to stand up to deal with a problem that should never have made it to her attention.  "I'm flighty, Indalu.  What I decide to do one moment I will lament later, and laugh about almost as quickly as my tears have dried.  You already know the answer to the questions you have not asked.  Yes, I helped them.  Yes, I regret that decision now.  No, I cannot undo it all by myself.  I need them to help." In her mind, she turned her attention to the small cluster of people, huddled together near a campfire in the only dry spot as far as they eye could see. "Especially her."  Her vision narrowed to a blond girl who looked younger than she was, especially given the delightful laughter coming from her at that moment. 

"And what of my Chosen?"

Orawyn felt genuinely remorseful for a few seconds.  "I see all possibilities, Indalu, and she could surprise me.  However, were I prone to placing wagers, I would say that you have less than a week before she defies you in a way that you cannot simply ignore."

"I see," Indalu said and sighed.  "Will they succeed?"

"I don't know.  Each time I see it, it changes a little.  Half of the time, they succeed.  The other half..." Orawyn shook her head.  "Neither one of us can control the outcome.  We can only assist.  If it helps soothe your thoughts at all, I miss her terribly.  Now, let's have less talk about your missing wife and take a look at why I called you here." 

Below her, after a fashion, flying through the night sky was a monstrous, winged creature - as dark as a hole on The Dark Night, her father would have said.  Indalu stared down at the beast, his thoughts akin to a hiss from a cat at a dog.  

"That thing..."

"That thing hasn't been around for three hundred years and someone has discovered how to summon them again.  Too bad a strangely late blizzard will prevent this one from reaching its destination."  As she spoke, hail and snow began to fall from a cloud-covered sky.  She laughed as the monster tried to keep a steady course, only to be struck repeatedly with hail until finally it careened out of the sky and crashed into the ground about two days south of Peal.  

"Go, Indalu.  Tell your Devoted that the time for battle is now, that arms must be raised and spears must be sharpened.  Tell them that balance has been shattered and that it must be returned.  Tell them that they have luck on their side, because without you, I am meaningless, and I do not intend to be that ever again."

Indalu could see her as she saw herself: wearing the armor of a general, seated atop a warhorse, on the crest of a hill, staring down at the carcasses of undead creatures and those who would summon them.  Indalu left the presence of the former leader of an army that no longer existed.  As he brought his thoughts back to his own space, to the place where he was the most comfortable, he wished he could feel encouraged by her words.  

Orawyn might hate Ba'at, but she loved battle more.  Yes, she would help, but she would also hinder.  Strife left room for tragedy and heroism, and she looked at her task as challenging each and every creature to feel both of these things, and a slew of other emotions in between. 

Luck would be on their side, but she would also be on every other side.

Indalu sighed, focused his attention on the Servant at the Temple of Ara and began telling him to prepare for war.  He repeated the message to every Servant in every Temple to his name before he turned his thoughts to someone closer to him.

"Ba'at. We must speak."

A Movable Feast

A soft rain, more mist than solid drops, the kind that only falls in springtime, had soaked everyone to the bone with its steady downfall over the last few hours.  The group of soldiers were beginning to shift uncomfortably in the armor, clanging and jangling as they rode ever eastward, toward the rising moons.  They'd given up trying to flick away the mud that horses kicked up onto their legs, even at a slow trot.  Many of them had started scanning the skies, turning watchful gazes towards the cloud-covered expanse in the anticipation of seeing... whatever that thing had been. 

It had been three nights since they'd last seen one of the huge winged monsters flying so high over head that it cast a shadow on clouds beneath it.  They hadn't needed to the Devoteds of Balance, Creation and Destruction to tell them it was unnatural.  Nothing that large had ever flown in the skies of Kelindar.  It had flown directly overhead and eventually passed out of sight, continuing on its course due north along the coast line. 

Since then, everyone had been on edge.  Everyone except for Chail Foedris.  Seated on his warhorse at the head of the contingent of troops, Commander Foedris looked just as at ease as he did when having dinner in a nice quiet town.  The man's expression never seemed to change, especially not in the last few months.  He was young, by the standards usually applied to Commanders, but anyone in his battalion who mistook that youth for inexperience or weakness was quickly taught otherwise.  He was firm, but rarely raised his voicee, and if it did come to the Commander shouting at you, you deserved it and everyone knew it. 

 He brought the group to a halt with a single raised fist and they all stopped.  He wanted to look up at the sky as badly as the men behind him, but he could not let them see his fear, so he kept his gaze on the muddy road ahead of him.

"How much farther?"  He kept his voice low, so that only his second in command could hear him.  

Titur Osann, the second, edge his horse up alongside his Commander's.  What Foedris lacked in age was made up by Titur.  The grizzled old man was more scars than skin, with a voice that sounded just as scratched up.  But he was tougher than Bander nails and had a way of feeling danger coming that was downright uncanny.  

"Another two hours, at most.  Be full dark by then, though."

Foedris shifted on his saddle and looked back at the men before looking at Osann.  "Can they stand it if they know they'll be getting on a boat and out of this land, at least for a few days."

"I think so, if you talk to them, Commander.  They'd follow you into a Loktar den if you told them they'd come out alright."

It was true. Not a man in those ranks would question a decision made by their Commander, and they would follow him.  Foedris risked a glass up at the sky just as a few of the clouds parted to show the first few stars of the night.  He nodded and wheeled his horse around to face the men with him.

"We continue.  The docks at Oringi are only two hours away and the ship has been instructed to set sail the second we arrive.  We'll sleep on the water tonight, men.  Archers, to the sides and rear.  Shoot at anything that comes below the clouds, but do not waste your arrows.  Make them count.  Get the extra mounts in the center.  The package goes directly in the middle.  Keep your eyes sharp."

By the time Foedris turned his horse around, the archers were in position and the spare horses were being herded into the center.  That, in and of itself, was a testament to how many he had lost on the way from Mandin.  They'd had to leave forty-three behind after a blighter attack; setting that inn on fire with them inside had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made.  Another twenty-two had been lost to a canyon that suddenly opened beneath them and then closed as quickly as it had appeared.  Seventeen fell to an attack of the Risen Dead.  Sixty-eight men were left, himself included.

And all this, to deliver a box, to a woman on a ship, and to accompany her to an island that wasn't on a single map he'd ever seen.  And Foedris still couldn't rid his mind of the last thing Titur had said when they were leaving Mandin.

"This'll be trouble, Commander.  Mark my words, that box is trouble."

Foedris urged his horse forward and all the men followed into the coming night.