CMK's Hideout Series: Against the Oriath

The duelist picked up another log, frowning at its soggy feel. With a sigh, he threw it in the fire pit — the wet logs did little to feed the flames, but a weak fire was better than none at all. But if this is the best we have, thought the duelist, it will starve within the hour, and we’ll soon follow.

He looked at each sullen face gathered around the fire. The pit’s glow shone in the dull eyes of the exiles; two men, two boys and two women, both of the last too old and homely for the duelist’s interest. Most were weak, one sick, and all hungry. They roasted the morsels of crab meat the duelist had scraped together, but there was barely enough to feed one, let alone the six of them. One had already perished, and another would go soon, victims of a malady that threatened them all unless the ailing were left behind. That thought had already been raised, and met with uniform resistance.

The exiles weren’t only weak of body, but will as well, or so the duelist felt. They pitied the boy because he was only five, much too young to be given up on. The duelist didn't know his name, nor any of theirs, for the matter. He had already given up on all of them.

Yet I stay, thought the duelist, watching the boy cough feebly at his mother’s breast. Sharing my meagre findings with them, making sure the wildlife leaves them be while they gather these sorry excuses for kindling. I must be a better man I thought… or far more foolish. He scoffed at himself. On the wane in the name of duty. Daresso would be proud.

“Master swordsman,” spoke one of the elders. They still wouldn't look him in the eyes, even after seeing what he did for them. Or, perhaps that was the reason: few men smiled while they reaped. The duelist turned to him, and the man said, “We've been thinking of making camp. This shore seems endless — we might as well stop here and live off the bounties of the sea.”

“A terrific plan!” said the duelist, standing up. He walked to where waves washed onto the barren beach, blending with the night as he stepped beyond the reach of light. His silhouette spread its arms towards stars. “I can already picture it! Yes, us merry few standing in line, sticks and twigs as fishing rods, hoping that a fish foolish enough to bite a line with neither bait nor hook would swim close. On this very shore, we will lay the foundation for a kingdom of fishermen that shall be remembered for a thousand years!” He spun, the tip of his rapier glinting in moonlight, and pretended to stab at shadows. “I shall be the sword of that kingdom, keeping us safe from the dead and the cannibals…” He let the sword fall. “That is, until hunger and sleepless nights leave me too weak to raise my sword.”

The elder shared a look with another beside him, frowning at the duelist. “We have little choice, master swordsman. The lad Tarris is too weak to go on. He needs rest, something you've denied him thus far.”

“I am not the one who denies his rest, elder,” the duelist said, picking up his sword and returning to the circle. “On the contrary, I recall being the only one to vouch for it.”

“Stop saying such things!” snapped the boy’s mother, gripping her son tighter. The duelist hummed, but said nothing further.

“If not stay, where should we go?” the elder went on when the silence turned uncomfortable.

The void for all I care, old man, thought the duelist. I would like to see Sarn before I die, those famed ruins and the fallen city. With so many mouths and so few hands capable of holding a weapon, we will all perish before long.

He started upon catching something moving in the murk. His rapier was out in a flash, making the crone beside her flinch as well. “Master swordsman! Be careful swinging that so-…”

“Quiet,” the duelist hissed. He heard it now: sand shuffling, someone breathing. Someone, not something, and that made it all the more troublesome. Cannibals. Lovely. “Go. Hide in the crags like you did before.”

“More savages?” said the elder, eyes filling with terror.

The duelist kicked sand on the fire, dousing the last of it, and dropped in the exiles’ midst. “Go now, as silent, as fast as you can,” he said, in a whisper almost inaudible. He then straightened himself and thundered, “Ah! There is more fight in you! Good. I've never turned down a challenge for a rematch, and I shan't begin now. Come out of hiding and face me!”

Even with his eyes adjusting to moonlight after losing the fire, the duelist could see his foe was not a barbarian. They were clad in metal, for one, the moon’s rays catching in the flat of a steel longsword. Further ahead, more swords left their sheaths.

Oh.

Well, this is no good.

The first enemy raised his weapon, charging at the duelist. He was down the next instant, throat flowing open onto sand: bellowing a war cry while charging blindly had been an ill-planned move.

The others, however, were smarter. The duelist cringed when torches came alight, and he found himself faced with a squad of twelve soldiers — all clad in the armour of Oriath’s Blackguard.

Clearly not their finest, he thought with a sideways glance at the soldier gurgling at his feet. But they are quite a few. I wonder if this is the time when I run from a fight.

The soldiers shared uneasy looks when the duelist burst into laughter. He then took a fighting pose and said, “Not the most pleasant of arenas, but it will have to do.”

The Blackguard attacked, with as much grace as the duelist had expected. Their tactics were crude, their technique more so; he danced in their midst with little trouble, using their numbers against them. They tried to swarm him, but in doing so ended up dodging more of each other’s swings than the duelist’s, who merely steered them away from himself and at other soldiers. Two went down without the duelist touching them, but the space in the ranks was immediately filled by one of those standing back.

“Stop it, you fools!” the sergeant snarled. “Remember your training! Attack in unison, not as you please!”

The duelist grunted when he took a cut in the shoulder. He parried the follow-up, spun and ducked under the swing coming from behind, escaping the ring. This isn't good, he thought. They’re dreadful, but I don’t have eyes on the back of my head, and the one block I miss will spell my doom.

He circled back, keeping himself from getting surrounded again, but the cut was deep and he was already fatigued from hunger. The soldiers were forcing him against a cliff, grinning as the duelist’s end became more imminent. I suppose Sarn must wait for another life.

Something swooped down the ledge, and a soldier cried out in agony. The duelist barely caught the movement when the daggers that had felled the first were buried in the throat of a second. Then, just as swiftly, a hooded man stood beside him.

“Who are you?” asked the duelist.

“An enemy,” answered the man.

“Not mine?”

“I've not decided yet.”

While the soldiers still gaped at their fallen comrades, a roar resounded from above. A Karui giant came flying down, crushing one more unfortunate soldier and scattering the rest.

“You do not fight alone, exile!” announced the Karui. “Haku will stand with anyone who faces the dogs of Oriath!”

“They're only three,” said the sergeant. “Back in formation! Take them out!”

The soldiers regrouped, but as soon as they had gathered, a circle of runes appeared below their feet. Surprised, they stopped, and the circle grew out to envelop them.

Then it exploded, flash burning the entire squad.

The sergeant dropped his sword in horror, watching the charred corpses of his men topple. He raised his eyes to the grey-bearded man and red-headed woman standing on the cliff, then at the warriors before him.

Then he spun and ran away.

“Coward! Your men spit on you in the spirit world!” Haku yelled after him, picking up one of the torches that still burned.

“That is a nasty cut, exile. Shall I tend to it?” said the woman, climbing down the cliff. Fair even by pre-Wraeclast standards, the duelist decided he already liked her.

“’Tis but a scratch,” said the duelist, “but if you have the supplies to spare, I won’t turn down triage from one was winsome as yourself.”

“We are running light in potions, Zana,” said the knife-wielding man.

“There is always one for a good man, Vorici,” Zana replied, offering the duelist a tincture.

“You say that only because he called you pretty,” said the bearded man. Zana returned a flat look.

“Do not tarnish the honour of a true warrior, Elreon,” Haku said, slapping the duelist on the back and knocking out his breath. “You have seen the people he protects. A lesser man would have left them to rely on their own luck.”

“Seen them?” the duelist said. “You've been following us?”

“No,” Vorici said, looking at the bodies. “We were following them. We caught sight of your band while scouting the area.”

“Their camp isn't far from here,” Zana said. “We were preparing to raid it for supplies.”

“And must now hasten the plan, or flee,” Elreon said. “Knowing that we’re after them, they will make to retaliate.”

“Your people need medicine,” Zana said to the duelist. “They are bound to have some at the camp. Food, too.”

“You would have me join your raid?” said the duelist.

“You fight well,” Haku said, bowing. “It would be an honour to call you an ally.”

The duelist rubbed his chin, considering the offer. “I’ll need to tell the others they’re safe, and have them wait for my return somewhere.”

“But you will join us?” Elreon said.

“Aye, I suppose I will. It would be a shame to see the lad waste away after I've gone through so much trouble keeping him alive the past days.”

Zana smiled. “A good man indeed.”

A hungry man, but I needn't spoil your praise with honesty.

“Then we must introduce ourselves,” Haku said. “Armourmaster Haku greets you.”

“Vorici,” said Vorici.

“I am Elreon, loremaster,” said Elreon, nodding.

“And I Zana, a cartographer.” She made a little shrug. “A talent of little use in battle, but I can hold my own with a sword.”

“That is a skill not to be taken lightly,” said the duelist, flourishing his blade.

“And what shall we call you, friend?” Haku asked.

The duelist spun the rapier, returning it to its sheath. “‘Duelist’ will do just fine.”

Out of the Night

Captain Aetius dipped his quill in ink, yawning as he reached for a new piece of parchment. His eyes were watery and only a stub remained of his candle, but he went on copying the scrolls into his journal despite the late hour. The men thought it was odd he had taken a scribe’s work for himself, but he didn’t care. It gave him something to do during the night. Sleep was out of question when the scar on his forearm itched.

It had first begun when the man who gave him the scar was captured, when Aetius was still a sergeant overseeing the dungeons. Every time he passed the cell and came under the cold, steely eyes of the assassin Vorici, he’d feel a prickle under his sleeve.

In all likelihood, the itch was only because of the surrounding dampness, both then and now… but Vorici had been exiled, and Aetius had never been comfortable with the night, even when it was dotted with the myriad lights of Oriath. Wraeclast was a dark land, truly dark, and he ordered more kindling to be brought to the fire pits in an effort to hamper its hold on him. He chose to believe the itch was a warning of the assassin’s presence, and being considered odd was a small price for not waking up with a dagger at his throat.

He looked up from his work when commotion came from outside. Taking the candle in one hand and his sword in the other, he left the tent. He found one of his sergeants running towards him, camp guards after the man.

“Captain!” said the sergeant. He stopped before Aetius, leaning on his knees to draw breath. “We found refugees nearby… Others appeared…”

“Others? What others?” Aetius said, feeling an irresistible urge to scratch his arm.

“One was the… the notorious duelist exiled recently—his name escapes me,” said the sergeant. “One called himself Haku, and there was a templar, and a man who moved as fast as a shadow…”

Aetius grunted, feeling his throat constrict. He glanced into the night around the camp, then forced himself to calm down. It was difficult enough to think with the little sleep of the past few days. Panic would do nothing to help. “Wake up the sleepers,” he said to the guards. “I want all men up and armed within the next two minutes.”

“Yessir,” said the guards and hurried off.

“Sergeant,” said Aetius, “did one of the men wield daggers? Cover his face with a hood?”

“Yes, captain. Cut down two of my men before I could blink.”

Only now Aetius realised the camp looked much too quiet for a squad to have returned. “Where are the rest?” he asked with apprehension.

“All dead,” said the sergeant.

—

Zana peered past the bushes surrounding the camp, watching the soldiers scurry awake like a nest of startled ants. They armed themselves in an efficient manner, but confusion soon settled in when they assumed battle stations and were faced with nothing.

“Hmh,” Vorici said, crouched beside her. “I remember the leader. He was posted in the city dungeon. Nervous type, seemed to wilt whenever we exchanged looks.”

A rustle came from nearby, and the duelist appeared. “There’s a supply wagon on the other side,” he whispered, “but a bunch of guards appeared before I could get close.”

“It’s going to be rough sneaking in with all the camp alerted,” Zana returned quietly. “We need a diversion. There’s too many of them to take head-on.”

“I could lay traps on the path and lure them out,” Vorici suggested. “You get what you can and head back to the exiles. I’ll meet up with you after I shake the Blackguard.”

“We shall do no such thing,” Haku said. He rested against a tree nearby, his mace propped between Elreon and himself.

“Keep your voice down!” Zana hissed.

Haku stood, lifting his mace on his shoulder. He walked in their midst, ignoring Zana’s scowl when he made no effort to hide. “Traps and deception are cowardly means. We will get what we need the Karui way, through conquest, and won’t do so quietly. They must know who slew them so they know whose name to curse when they meet their ancestors!”

“Don’t be foolish!” Zana said. “There’s thirty men, at least, and all fully armed! We can’t fight so many!”

Haku laughed, and the guards nearest started, peering into the darkness. “The dogs of Oriath are no match for us. You may be but a woman, Zana, but you are worth ten of them. A Karui warrior is worth a hundred!” He raised both his mace and his voice, bellowing, “For Kaom! For the Ancestors!” and ran towards the camp.

The duelist watched him smash down the surprised guards, turned to Zana, and shrugged. “I like his plan better.” Before she could object, he was halfway to the camp, sword flashing in the light of a campfire.

“I will take out the leader in the bedlam,” Vorici said. Zana’s head darted towards him, but the assassin was already gone.

Elreon strode to her and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “God will either see us victorious or welcome us with open arms.”

He, too, ran into the fray, channelling his flaming rune underfoot of the soldiers who dashed towards Haku and the duelist.

“I’d rather He send me a sane companion to join our band,” Zana muttered to herself, unsheathing her rapier.

—

Aetius spun at the sound of a thud and a cry, finding a giant barbarian breaking into the camp, mace swinging. “Stay with me!” he said, holding out a hand before his guards ran off. That is Haku, one of the exiles, he thought, wiping sweat from his brow. His arm itched unbearably. And if Vorici was seen in his company… “We must get my paperwork! It mustn’t fall into enemy hands, and this may be a diversion!”

The guards cast an uneasy look towards the massacre, but when an explosion went off and their comrades screamed, they followed the fleeting leader.

Aetius burst into his tent, hurriedly gathering the spread parchments. “Quickly!” he said, shoving some of the scrolls to the first guard in. “If the enemies are not repelled, we may need to retreat. The scrolls hold vital information—they must get back to Theopolis!”

It was, of course, a lie. Everything in the scrolls he collected was copies of copies of copies, and he had only copied them into the journal himself out of sheer boredom. The guards seemed as eager as he was to get them to safety, however, and he didn’t feel a need to dampen their sense of duty. He returned for his journal, and froze when a gasp and a muted gurgle came from the guards.

He turned to find one of his men toppling, throat slashed, and the other with a hand over his mouth, eyes bulging. The hand released him, and the guard fell, revealing a familiar face stepping inside the tent.

Aetius paled; Vorici smiled. “There’s that look again,” the assassin said, pointing at the captain with his reddened dagger. “I thought I knew you.”

—

The duelist danced in the middle of a melee, constantly moving so that when an opponent fell, he engaged another one. They weren’t much better than the ones on the beach, and he kept to picking off single enemies while helping Zana when it looked she was overwhelmed. Her lack of training showed, but she kept the Blackguard distracted with the duelist while Haku and Elreon handled the brunt of the killing.

The duelist slashed a blackguard between the helmet and chain mail, coating his back with blood in the fashion of the renowned Redmane. He stepped beside Zana, guarding her flank from an approaching enemy while she evaded an incoming attack and pierced her opponent’s lung.

“You fight well, for a cartographer,” the duelist said.

“And for a woman?” she added, with as much teasing in her tone as her heavy breathing allowed.

“I wouldn’t dare condone Haku’s remarks,” the duelist said with a laugh, disarming an enemy and kicking him in the way of Haku’s mace. “The only fights I’ve had to flee from have been outside the arena, against foes shorter and far fiercer than myself.”

“Hah. My father was a man of peace, and a firm believer in the might of the pen,” she said, pausing to feint and grazing the throat of another Blackguard. Panicking from the light wound, the man jumped out of her reach—and into Elreon’s flameblast. “A pen will do in a pinch, but I always found it easier to stab someone with a sword.”

“I wouldn’t have thought mapmaking a trade where one often needs to do so.”

“Not often,” Zana admitted, “but having to do so just once is reason enough to learn, don’t you agree?”

“In the forefathers’ name!” Haku growled, driving his mace down and crushing the helmet—and most of the upper body—of the last Blackguard who hadn’t run. He rested the great weapon on the ground and leaned against, letting out a sigh. “You two talk far too much when there’s killing to be done!”

“Only to distract ourselves from the grim business!” the duelist said, wiping his blade on a piece of cloth cut from a Blackguard’s tunic. “Detachment is the only way to carry the guilt of killing a man.”

“Hardly worth calling men, these,” Zana said. “Hunting the sick and the weak like scavengers. We put them down as befits the vermin they are.”

“You’ve grown harder, Zana,” said Elreon, joining them from the sideline. “I’m not sure I like it. Even the Blackguard deserve absolution when slain. They are beyond our judgement now. God will see to their fates as is just.”

“They’re also beyond the need for this,” Haku said, inspecting the wagon a distance away. “Your people could use this. I can pull the weak with the help of the strong.”

“There aren’t many of the latter left,” the duelist said, rubbing his chin as he joined Haku. The Karui gave a guffaw and slapped the duelist’s back.

“What are we if not two oxen, my brother?”

The duelist grimaced. “Well, where would you pull them? There aren’t many roads left for our sorry band.”

“Perhaps we should return to Lioneye’s Watch with this,” Elreon said, inspecting the contents of the wagon. “They could make use of medicine as well.”

“It’s too far. We would be through the supplies by the time we get there,” the duelist said.

“I agree. We should tend to our friend’s people first,” Haku said. “He earned it for them, like a true leader.”

Not to mention dragging the wagon through the sandy shore would leave my back crooked beyond its years, the duelist thought.

“We’re jumping ahead of ourselves,” Zana said, looking around. “Has anyone seen Vorici since the fight ended?”

“He said he would go after the leader,” Elreon said, pointing at the tent on the far side of the camp. At its mouth was a corpse, laying halfway inside.

Vorici sat on a stool inside the tent, a Blackguard lying face down at his feet and a journal open on his lap. He didn’t look up when the others entered.

“There you are,” Zana said. “You had us worried for a moment.”

“It was quiet, and I heard you talking,” he said, turning the page. “You sounded calm. I trusted there was no urgency to flee.”

“What is this?” she said, circling him to get a look at the journal.

“Blackguard dossiers. It appears the captain had collected various documents into an easily accessible form.”

“Anything of interest in there?” the duelist asked.

“Yes, in fact,” the assassin replied. At last, he took his eyes off the book and turned to Haku. “Did I hear you talking about a wagon?”

“You have the ears of a bat, my friend. We did indeed,” Haku said.

“Most of this is pointless bureaucracy,” Vorici said, laying the journal on the table, “but it also mentions a location inland, the Tower of God, and links Dominus to it.”

“Tower of God,” Zana muttered, frowning. “I’ve heard the name.”

“It’s a lead worth pursuing,” Vorici said, “particularly because there is another point of curiosity along the way. It would appear the Blackguard weren’t looking for us, but an old library of the Templars. Do you know anything about it, Elreon?”

“Hmm,” Elreon said, stroking his beard. “Little, I’m afraid. I have read about it, but only in passing in texts regarding other landmarks in the area. The library was lost countless years ago, and there was never a consensus amongst my brothers whether it was legend or not.”

“Says here that they’ve located the approximate whereabouts,” Vorici said, tapping the page. “They took interest because the higher-ups think it houses a power of some sort.”

At this, the duelist perked up. “A power? You mean a weapon?”

“Another matter dividing opinions,” Elreon said. “Of the few that know about the place, some argue the relic held within caused its destruction, while others blame natural reasons—a disease, perhaps, or simply the monsters of Wraeclast—for its downfall. Both arguments have their merits and faults, and neither offers a full explanation as to why its location was forgotten. Some even claim it was a conspiracy, and the library was intentionally wiped off maps…”

“Be that as it may,” Zana said, interrupting the elder before his rambling got in full swing, “we have the coordinates, and it would provide shelter for the exiles, however temporary.”

“Perhaps they could stay there, and make it a home like Lioneye’s?” the duelist suggested. Zana shook her head.

“If the Blackguard have taken interest in the library, they’ll surely find their way there eventually.”

I’m never getting rid of the wretched folk. “Oh, of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It sounds like we have a purpose, at last,” said Haku, slapping his hands together. “Come, my friends! We have mouths waiting to be fed.”

“You weren’t serious about us pulling the wagon, were you?” the duelist said hopefully. To his dismay, Haku only laughed, beckoning him to his side in front of the wagon. The duelist sighed, but acquiesced.

“At least we’re not going to pull it through sands,” he groaned.

“Actually, we’ll be following the shore for quite some time,” Zana said, flipping through the journal.

“No need to look so gloomy!” Haku said when the duelist’s face fell. “It is excellent training!”

Down Among the Dead Men

I.

A torch’s glow spread over a desert of dust, sending spiders caught in its glare scurrying towards the refuge of shadows. A Blackguard treaded between sprawling bookshelves, each crumbling tome around him carrying history effaced from everywhere else in the world—and from here as well, if one opened the book. The Blackguard picked one up as he passed, and its contents crumbled to join the dust covering the ground as soon as he spread the pages.

So much for preserving wisdom, he thought, coughing out the inhaled chronicle.

Banners of the templar order still hung around him, tattered and faded. He delved deeper into the halls, from where a musty scent pushed in. Vines had crept into the corridors and taken over the stone benches. The carpet on the steps ahead was covered in moss and rubble, parts of its edges missing like hungry vermin had nibbled on it but given up after the first taste.

The Blackguard removed his helmet, tossing it aside. This attire was more trouble than it was worth, he thought, unlatching the armour and discarding it as well. Beneath the suit was a black leather outfit rather than the standard issue garments. Instead of blending in with the dogs I only managed to agitate the bandits. I should’ve known they hadn’t a clue how to get here.

He started when a shout came from the way he’d come, followed by another one. The second sounded like a woman. He hadn’t noticed many in the bandit camps, but joining the army was one of the few professions tempting both sexes in Oriath.

Which meant the real Blackguard had arrived, and they had brought arcmages.

Not as useless as I thought. Damn it.

He grabbed the armour and glanced around, groaning when he failed to spot the helmet. Footsteps came towards the hall, and he followed the spiders’ suit.

II.

The duelist dropped the wagon’s harness, letting out heavy breaths. He ached all over after long days of travel. The wagon was small, and surprisingly easy to pull despite being loaded with several people and their supplies. Elreon had theorised it was likely meant to be pulled by men, given the tight fit of the harness and the lack of draught animals in the camp from where it was taken.

Still, the others had been largely of little help. Vorici had relieved him of pulling now and then, but Haku insisted the duelist bear the brunt of the load, “to toughen his resolve.” Zana had offered, but the Karui had taken it as an insult against the duelist’s manhood and been offended on his behalf, despite the duelist’s protests of having no issue with it. Elreon had merely pointed out he was no beast of burden when offered a turn.

“Be careful, my friends,” Haku said, noticing footsteps in the mud leading up to the path. They headed towards a secluded path, past shrubs and low branches concealing a pair of crumbled pillars around the mouth of a mountain cave. “Whether our enemy or an ally we’ve not met, this may be the trail of the one who massacred the bandits along the path.”

“I would like to shake their hand,” the duelist said, stretching his shoulder. “If I’d had to fight on top of pulling that thing, I might’ve murdered someone.”

Zana raised a brow at the notion, but decided not to say anything.

“The prints are deep,” Vorici said. “But there’s only one set. I doubt Blackguard would bother—or be clever enough—to hide their numbers. There is likely one man waiting inside. Maybe a scout, but with oddly heavy bearings if so.”

“Which means don’t get comfortable,” the duelist said to the exiles, elders helping the women and the sickly boy off the wagon. “We’re going to take a look inside and see if we can recover whatever power resides there. After that, we’re leaving.”

“And where shall we go then?” said Madrov, the oldest exile. “Why not stay here, master swordsman? The bandits have been dealt with, and I see no apes around. The place is hidden well—we could be safe here.”

“There are no apes because there hasn’t been anything to eat for generations,” the duelist said. “You stay here a few days and mark their sudden interest in this place. Bandits’, too; they might’ve not thought of looking into our little copse, but light a fire and watch how a long lost trove becomes common knowledge overnight.”

Madrov sighed. “You are right, of course. I apologise for my selfishness; these old bones would rather settle at the first apparent safe haven. We are fortunate to have you looking out for us, master swordsman.”

I have got to stop disagreeing about everything with him for no other reason besides arguing, the duelist thought, but before he could correct himself, Zana spoke up.

“I must agree,” she said. “If this really is the library of legends, I’m surprised it’s remained lost for so long. The location is remote, certainly, but not so well hidden a dedicated party wouldn’t find it with some searching.”

“I suspect the order’s interest has been mostly superficial,” Elreon said. “I have noted the lamentations of my former brothers, but have never heard of someone organising a proper group to find it. I suppose the Blackguard only took interest once emphasis was placed on the nebulous ‘power’ rather than the wisdom it holds.”

“And if they’re keen on looking for it, another party will be here sooner rather than later,” Vorici added. “We wasted a lot of time retrieving the others, and someone must’ve noticed our little excursion to the camp by now.”

Zana noticed a wave of consternation passing over the exiles, and said, “Perhaps not. They might’ve been the only squad looking for the library.”

The duelist scoffed. “Come now, Zana. The western forest was crawling with soldiers. It’s a miracle we made it this far without being spotted.”

“Come, friends!” Haku hollered from the entrance. He made no effort to keep his voice down, and even raised it as he went on. “If an enemy waits inside, I’m sure these halls have longed for bloodshed after the floors have run dry for so long.”

“This is a place of scholars, not executioners,” Elreon muttered, but Haku was already gone.

Vorici fashioned torches from the branches outside, like someone else had recently done. As they entered the forgotten templar sanctuary, they found more recent signs of disturbance. The discovery of footsteps in the dust evoked different feelings in each member of the group. Zana grew apprehensive and Vorici cautious, while Haku had his mace ready and eager for a fight. Elreon and the duelist were largely uncaring of the prospect of an ambush. The templar took in the decay with sorrow, while retaining a reverent air. He let his eyes rest long on the murals overhead, ran his hand along the cracked leather backs of books.

The duelist was apathetic simply for the fact that he walked last, and the corridors were narrow. If someone indeed lay waiting for them, one of the foremost was sure to draw stabs or trigger whatever traps were ahead.

“What a place,” Zana said quietly. “There must be a thousand years of writing stored here, and so much lost only for being left untended…”

“I wish I could have seen it in its glory,” Elreon said, stopping. “I will take a moment to wander. Call for me if needed—I shall wait at the entrance otherwise.”

“Is that wise?” Zana said. “There may be danger afoot.”

“I’ll be fine. Even in ruin, this is a place of God. No harm will come to me.”

“Stay vigilant,” Haku said. “Your god may need a hand to guide to ensure your safety.”

Elreon nodded, heading down a short flight of stairs and vanished into the corridors.

“So,” said the duelist, “where do we go looking for the weapon?”

“We don’t know if there is one,” Zana said. “I’m starting to wonder if the power referred to is knowledge.”

They ventured deep into the library, letting nature’s influence guide their path: the vines creeping everywhere had grown together and sealed some exits, while others had caved in. The duelist began to worry that, after running into another dead end, even if there was something of interest they might have already walked past it due to the blockage.

Eventually, they came to a wall carved flat, with runic symbols on each side of a ragged banner. The path forked, leading down to the left and right.

“Where first?” Zana said.

“We should part ways,” Vorici said. “The passages are easy enough to navigate. Return here and wait if you find nothing.”

“Is that smart? There hasn’t been a trail to follow for a while, but neither has there been anywhere for our mysterious vanguardist to vanish. They must’ve taken one of these ways.”

“If you’re scared, Zana, you may hold my hand,” Haku said. Zana narrowed her eyes, but the duelist loudly cleared his throat before she snapped back.

“Perhaps you should go with Vorici,” he suggested. “His eyes are keener than mine. If someone is waiting with knives drawn, he will spot them better than I would.”

Vorici snorted. “A sound excuse. And what if they stalk in your direction?”

The duelist glanced towards the shrouded path, and gave a weak smile. “I’ll go first.”

Haku nodded, then took a few steps towards the steps winding down. “AN AMBUSH IS A COWARD’S PLOT!”

“Don’t shout, you fool!” Zana shrieked, slapped a hand over her mouth and continued in a hiss. “Do you want them to know we’re here?”

Haku blinked. “Yes.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I have issued a challenge. If they are honourable, they will respect it.”

“And what if they’re not?” the duelist asked with amusement.

“Then I am glad to have keen eyes beside me!” Haku said, slapping a hand Vorici’s shoulder. The assassin simply rolled his eyes.

“Honour will get us killed one day if he keeps this up,” Zana muttered as she and the duelist descended the other way.

“Unless you get him first,” the duelist said, stifling a laugh. “You looked about ready to jump his throat.”

“Hmph. Typical luck that I would find myself a comrade to the one Karui unfamiliar with the legend of Hyrri. I’d stab him to drive in the point of the story, but I suppose violence should be reserved for our Blackguard problem.” She fumed in silence for a while, though her tenseness still showed in dropping a hand to her rapier every time a spider crossed their path. “Tell me,” she then said, “why’d you send Vorici off with him instead of going yourself?”

“Purely for selfish reasons.”

“Oh? What might those be?”

“Firstly,” he raised a finger, “you and Haku had to be separated, obviously. If you murder him, I will have to make even more of an effort to pull the cart. Secondly,” he raised another, “he has a penchant for physical shows of camaraderie, and my shoulder is already killing me. Lastly, have you noticed his smell?”

She gave a low chuckle. “The climb has left you in need of a bath as well, but fair enough. Could I ask something else?”

“Go on.”

“What’s your name?”

The duelist gave her a side glance, letting out a hum as he considered. “John.”

“John? What a strange name!”

The duelist merely arced his mouth.

“It’s not John,” she said, giving him a skeptical look. “No one’s called John.”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.”

“Aren’t you going to tell?”

“It would dispel all mystery about me.”

Around the corner waited a large chamber, roof carved in a dome. The rock here was oddly fertile, even more so than in the rest of the library. Ferns and grass pushed through the paved floor. The ever-present vines crawled up from a pool in the corner, stretching over a pile of bones behind a shrine in the centre of the room.

The shrine was a simple thing, a pillar surrounded by a half-moon stone plate. Were it not for a curious detail, it would’ve been inconspicuous, barely worth looking at twice; as it was, however, the duelist let out a squeak of glee and ran towards it, abandoning caution.

The shrine was glowing.

“Hold on! It could be dangerous!” Zana said. The duelist ignored her and opened the slot from where the glow came. Inside was a stone slate the size of his hand. The glow came from the panel under it.

“Look at this!” he urged. “There are etchings on the surface. Are they instructions? Is it magical?”

Zana approached the shrine warily, gave the duelist a disapproving look and peered into the slot. She let out a gasp, picking up the slate. “This is… incredible.”

“Well? Is it powerful?”

“It’s a map,” Zana said, brushing the surface.

“A map to riches?” the duelist said hopefully.

“Of a place I’ve never seen.” She frowned. “But… it’s odd. This is not a place that exists. I’m not sure a place like this could exist. It looks…”

The duelist yanked it from her, and, with a disappointed look, pressed it back down and sealed the slot.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with it!” Zana objected.

“What good is a map of a place that can’t be?” the duelist grumbled. “It can stay here and waste away with knowledge and all other non-powers for all I care. There’s nothing here. Let’s go find the others.”

“But—“

“The others!”

Zana’s brows shot up, descended, and she bristled with fury. She then took a deep breath and turned to leave, muttering, “The next person to patronise me is getting stabbed.”

She flinched when a zap sounded and spun to find the duelist missing. Her head whipped around, but the room was too small for him to hide somewhere. The glow in the slot had faded, and when she opened it, she found the map gone.

III.

The duelist was pulled through twisting shadows, torn apart before him like a smoky curtain. He fell onto muddy ground, and before he had properly registered where he was, a skeletal rhoa came charging at him. He rolled aside, and the rhoa slammed against a tree, shattering into a rain of bones.

He scrambled to his feet when more came at him, dodging one and kicking off the skull of the other. The skull flew around like a boomerang, reattaching itself, and in the murk ahead the duelist saw the towering shape and glowing hands of a necromancer.

He drew his sword and slashed, severing the vertebrae of the rhoa. It wouldn’t hold it down for long, but gave him a breather while the necromancer pieced the first one together and the second returned. He spun, slamming the flat of the blade down on the head of the charging rhoa, then jumped out of the way of the other and dashed for the necromancer. He slashed through its robes, and the raised bones fell in a pile as the creature perished.

That’s that, thought the duelist, wiping gelatinous blood off his blade. Now, where am I?

There was an odd darkness lingering over the swamp. The duelist could see his surroundings clear as day, but only a few steps away was an impenetrable night. The torch was left with Zana, but the night’s edge moved with him, like he carried a solitary star overhead.

He wandered around the desolate landscape for a while, until he came to a body of water. It was too clouded to see the bottom. He couldn’t see how far it stretched, but throwing a rock as far as he could still landed with a splash.

A place that cannot be, he thought. Aside from the lighting, it doesn’t seem that strange… if only I knew how I got here, and how to get back.

He arched a brow at a sound, coming from the open water. Something was moving. He hummed when a skeleton’s head broke the surface, shuffling towards him.

“Gone for a swim, have you?” he said, brandishing his sword. “I’ll send you back to the deeps soon…”

He trailed off when the sound amplified, and more skeletons emerged. Dozens, scores, and more kept coming. His head snapped to the side when necromancers growled, and in the distance he saw a legion of flashing hands.

“Enough,” he finished. He wrestled with internal conflict for a moment, then turned tail and fled.

He didn’t make it far before being blocked by another stretch. Here, too, skeletons were rising, but even more disconcerting was the giant rhoa resting by the shoreline. It squawked suddenly, and he prepared to be charged; instead, it had been startled by the skeletons and began knocking them down. The duelist decided not to pick a side and continued his flight.

Bones clacked all around him, but no matter which way he went, he only ended by water, with more skeletons, more necromancers joining the chase. It is my worst nightmares manifesting, he thought, gritting his teeth and spinning in place. Never have I run from a fight before… but there is no point to this! There are too many to even try taking down, and I will get overwhelmed long before I reach the first of those damned puppet-masters.

He felt an unfamiliar fear take hold. Not the pounding adrenaline preceding the opening of arena gates, but a crushing sense of helplessness.

“Oh, hello.”

The duelist started, finding a man standing to his left. As soon as the duelist’s eyes landed on him, the man winked out of existence, returned partially, then wholly… for only a few seconds. The cycle kept repeating as he tilted his head, inspecting the duelist.

“It has been some time since I’ve come across another… wanderer,” the man said. “Though I suspect we aren’t quite in the same place. You seem to have trouble staying still.” He gave an odd, high-pitched giggle.

“Who are you?” the duelist demanded.

His laughter died, and the man gave the duelist a scolding look. His tone, however, was playful. “What manners. Do you often come up to kings in their courts and accost them in such tones? You would be wiser to throw yourself prostrate before me.”

“Your court seems to have a problem with vermin,” the duelist said uneasily, clatter of an army approaching.

The man giggled again. “Perhaps in your eyes. My vision is quite splendid! Can you not see those golden statues, their magnificent bodies touching the sky? Indeed, I sell myself short, calling myself a mere king. What am I if not a god, the creator of this very realm?”

The duelist was startled into silence. He wondered if Elreon would envy or denounce him were he to share this meeting later. The man folded his hands behind his back, leaning his head as if he were looking at something very tall.

“You created this hell of mud and bone?”

The man focused again on the duelist, clapping his hands together. “Ah! So that is where you are. Curious! I haven’t ever conversed with someone in a completely different realm.” He stopped to scratch his beard. “I haven’t ever conversed with someone since I stepped into the nightmare, come to think of it. I saw a host of spectres some time ago, but they ignored me. Quite rude of them.” He smiled. “Well, they were justly rewarded, succumbing to their fears.”

Succumbing to their fears…? “Are you saying I’m facing a test of some kind?”

“Some kind, perhaps. It is all very real, however. I am unsure what manner of fiends hunt you, but I would avoid letting them get to you.”

“How do I get out?” the duelist said tensely. The skeletons weren’t far now.

“Again with the tone,” the man said, tutting. “I suppose you could conquer your fears. Or use a portal scroll. You did bring one, did you not?”

“Have you any idea how expensive they are?” the duelist growled.

“Hmm. Well, I am nothing if not generous. Simply return whence you came, and you may return whence you came.”

Skeletons surrounded the duelist, and he cried out, jumping and slashing at them. The bones chipped his blade, but he felled them easily—if only for a short while, when the necromancers reached him. “This isn’t the time for riddles!” he snapped.

“I speak no riddles,” the main said, visibly piqued. He threw his nose in the air. “I have tolerated your vulgarity quite long enough. You can rot for all I care!”

His spectre vanished, and did not return. Orbs of light flashed in the darkness, and the skeletons reanimated. But, as the blinks faded, the duelist saw something in the distance. Another orb, one that didn’t die with the rest.

It glowed blue.

The duelist slammed one skeleton with the pommel of his sword and slashed another through the ribcage. The dry bones snapped easily, and he rushed past the crumbling pair towards the portal. He cut one of the necromancers as he ran by, ducked and dodged the skeletons catching up. One nicked his shoulder, another drew blood from his shin, but the duelist ignored these and every other wound. He jumped through the portal just as a giant rhoa broke through the ranks like a loose cart coming downhill.

IV.

Zana shrieked when a portal suddenly opened and spat out the duelist. She glanced at it, then down at the duelist. When she looked up again, the portal was gone.

“What happened?” she said with worry, helping the disoriented duelist up.

“I… I genuinely haven’t the slightest clue,” he said, dusting himself off. “Suffice to say, I’m not about to touch glowing pedestals anytime soon.”

“The map disappeared with you,” Zana said, gesturing at the empty slot. “Do you think you triggered the device with it?”

“I don’t know—“ the duelist began, when Vorici and Haku rushed in.

“We heard you scream,” Vorici said. “Is something the matter? Did you find anything?”

Zana and the duelist shared a look, but both shook their heads.

“Neither did we, save for this,” Haku said, showing them a Blackguard scout’s helmet. “It lay between the bookshelves. We couldn’t find the owner.”

“The room it was in was quite large. It is possible he managed to evade us,” Vorici said. “If there is nothing of interest, I say we leave. He may try to attack Elreon or the exiles.”

“Good. Let’s go,” the duelist said, brushing past them. The assassin blinked, turning to Zana.

“Was that fright I saw on his face? Why is he in such a hurry out?”

Zana simply shook her head.

“There you are,” Elreon said, noticing the group coming down the hall. “Did you make grand discoveries inside?”

“There is no god here!” the duelist announced. Elreon looked after him with a frown, giving the others a questioning look. They simply shook their heads.

Evening was drawing near when they came outside, but the exiles had had the good sense not to make a fire. They had hidden the cart in the bushes and were asleep, Madrov keeping watch.

“Master swordsman!” he called quietly when the duelist came out. “Over here!”

“Gather your things. We’re leaving,” the duelist said. He undid the ties around the covering branches, letting them swing up.

“Is that wise?” Madrov said, pointing towards the horizon. “Look. A storm is brewing.”

“Oh,” Zana said as she joined them. “That doesn’t look good. Maybe we should stay here for shelter.”

“We are not staying!” the duelist shouted.

Zana grimaced at his outburst. “What happened to you in there?”

“I’d explain if I knew how,” the duelist muttered. He grunted, trying to pull the cart out. “Help me with this.”

“Where do you plan to go? We don’t have new clues of a destination,” Zana said.

The duelist paused. “Then we follow old leads. We head to Sarn.”

“Sarn? Why there?”

“Because that’s where the Sceptre of God is.” And purely for selfish reasons, but I’ve already cited those once today.

Zana hemmed, letting go of the harness as the others joined them. “Come to think of it, you’re right. That’s where I’d heard the name… It lies in the heart of the city.”

“So we make hunting Dominus our new quest?” Vorici said. “I’m game for that.”

“As am I!” Haku said, dropping his hammer on Elreon’s hands as he grabbed the harness of the wagon. The elder nearly toppled under its weight.

“We can follow the river for now, but once we part from it, it’ll be a long road ahead on difficult terrain.” She spun, tapping a finger on Haku’s chest. “Which means, I will help pull the cart.”

Haku made to object, but the duelist tapped a finger on his chest. “She will help pull the cart!”

Haku gave them each a disgruntled look, but folded his arms and muttered, “She will help pull the cart.”

“Should she really?” Madrov said, frowning. “She’s such a frail thing. If anything, she should be riding with us.”

Eyes as cold as the overcast horizon, Zana slowly turned, unsheathing her rapier.

Thunderstruck

The hurricane reached him at the edge of the village.

Rain fell in drops big as fists and beat just as hard. There was nothing natural about the storm. Lightning struck in the distance, closer every time, in far too straight a line to be random.

He had pushed on as long as he could, the pit of his stomach burning with exhaustion. The wind made his cloak flap and patter, wet cloth whipping around him. The settlement’s walls were poles struck in sand, and he feared they’d get ripped free as the storm gained strength. He hurried towards the buildings which grew as shadows in the dimming light.

The village was abandoned. That much was evident, even at a sweeping glance with little visibility. Doors lay off their hinges, shutters had fallen and roofs collapsed. The boats had toppled, sails tattered strips against waves.

One building, he found, still offered shelter: A house raised on stilts near the swelling shore. It had been the village chief’s house, perhaps, or a longhouse for the community to gather together. It had suffered, too, but was sturdy enough to leave the wind howling mad after him when he left its clutch and slumped against the door to force it shut.

Catching his breath, he lay there dripping, a puddle forming on the floor. His nose was runny, but through the snot pushed a musty scent. “Is anyone here?”

There came no answer. When he was certain the door would hold, he gained his feet to look further in. The small corridor opened to both sides. To the right were bed rolls a beast had used as a nest, visible in the ray of light through a crack in the ceiling. Water poured in, rattling the floorboards.

To the left were bodies. He couldn’t see them, but knew the smell well enough to recognise it with a clogged nose.

He found a lantern in the resting room. Lighting it with a flint and his knife, he found the mummified bodies of three men on the other side, laid down straight, arms folded over their chests. They had been chewed on. One missed a leg from the knee down, and he saw the signs of fisherman’s rot on their dry, pockmarked faces and scalps.

He bowed his head, curved his finger from heart to navel in the symbol of the god of fishermen. “Go safe to the shadow sea, sails full of fortune,” he whispered. “Arengeesus is your captain now.”

He started with a gasp at a shout outside, crossed to the barred windows and listened. His hand began to shake when the call repeated, and he grabbed it by the wrist to hold it still. He raised the plank sealing the windows, and they swung back with a clatter. Peering out, he saw a bobbing light approach.

He swallowed hard, throat the only part dry about him. The lightning struck ever closer.

Hands shaking as though electrocuted, he threw open the door and retreated into the storm.

***

Zana snarled with effort, trying to pry the cart loose with Vorici while Haku and the duelist lifted the rear. It had sunk deep into mud. Underneath had likely been a nest of burrowers. The sudden and strong rain had turned it into a grave for the creatures, and a vexing obstacle for the exiles.

“You’re lifting with your back!” Madrov shouted through the gales. “You’ll only hurt yourself! Use your legs!”

“It would be easier if you got down!” the duelist replied through gritted teeth. He let go with a puffing breath, staggered back a step and kicked the wheel. “Agh! It’s stuck for good. We have to leave it!”

“Come, old one,” Haku said, spreading his arms. “I will carry you.”

Madrov’s brows shot up. “I don’t need to be carried!”

“There’s no shame in it. I carried my father when he was too weak to walk, just as he carried me when I had yet to learn how.”

Madrov grumbled to himself, jumped down—and shrieked when he landed on his injured leg.

“Of all the humiliating… This is all because she stabbed me,” he moaned when they passed Zana.

“You have only yourself to blame,” Haku said sagely. “You insulted her strength. She was right to put you in your place.”

Zana regarded the Karui with a flat stare, but chose to accept the development with silent smugness.

“Are they still following, master swordsman?” Tamara said, helping the boy Tarris onto the duelist’s back.

The duelist’s shielded his eyes, turning back. “Yes,” he said, catching distant lights amidst the rain. “But a platoon that size will get slowed down by the storm. They won’t catch us even if we find shelter to weather it.”

“What sour luck to run into Blackguard,” she went on, helping others down. “And a group so large. Do you think they were after you and the other masters, master assassin?”

“No,” Vorici said, taking her hand as she jumped off the wagon. They went after Elreon, who led the band away with a lantern in hand. “We left none alive in the one unit who knew of our presence, but they were searching for something. They’re spread too wide to simply be on the move.”

“But,” she glanced over her shoulder, “they are giving us chase now?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The assassin gave a wry laugh. “They’ve noticed us, that’s for sure, but I suspect we’re only sharing a direction.”

“Then why must we run?”

“Even the lazy bear will eat a rabbit it finds sleeping along its path. We could hide, but given we don’t know what they seek, neither do we know if they’re searching the areas they pass. If this is a manhunt, it is best we keep fleeing. If not… Well, we’re headed the right away, and they help us keep the pace.”

“There’s a settlement ahead!” the duelist called. “Elreon wants us to stop there!”

***

“A fishing village,” Haku said as they entered the premises. “I didn’t know there still were any in the region.”

“There aren’t,” Elreon said. “Look around you. Not a soul has lived here for years.”

“Not a soul,” Zana muttered, dropping fingers to the pommel of her rapier, “but I’ve seen enough undead in places like this to keep wary in the face of abandonment.”

Elreon raised a finger, pointing at a longhouse lit by a flash. “There! A building large enough for us all!”

“Does the lightning bother anyone else?” Zana said, flinching when it struck again. “It seems… precise. Like it followed the road.”

“Maybe the Blackguard have a mobile lightning rod,” the duelist said, catching up. “Or fools who hung onto their weapons in a storm.”

Zana blinked, looked at her rapier and sucked her teeth. Haku patted her shoulder.

“Your strength has grown,” he said. “Your wisdom will catch up.”

“Where is your sword, then?” Zana asked, leering at the Karui.

“I gave it to Madrov for holding,” the duelist said. Haku’s eyes shot wide; he noticed the bundle in the old man’s arms only now.

“I am a loyal squire—“ Madrov began. Haku dropped him, taking a step back, and the elder bit his tongue.

“Here, squire,” Zana said, unlatching her sheathe and gave it to the elder, who climbed onto his feet, rubbing his back. “Stay near in case I need it.”

Haku let out a rumbling hum upon inhaling the scent of death in the longhouse. Elreon raised the lantern high to illuminate the scene of disease, and Vorici went to the plank by the window while the Karui pushed the shutters closed.

“Someone was here, just now,” said the assassin.

“Why do you think so?” Haku said, nudging him aside so he could pick the plank. He dropped it onto the holders on each side of the window.

Vorici placed a finger on the plank, at the spot where the shutters parted and a trickle of water pushed through. “It was already wet. Whoever was in here lifted it after it began to rain.”

“Did… did that someone kill these men?” came Tamara’s voice. The other exiles had settled in the other room, casting wary glances at the bodies.

“They’ve been dead a long time,” Elreon assured. “And their black breath is stilled. The infection in their blood is a threat to none of us.”

“Must we leave them like this?” said Madrov, frowning at Tarris, who’d grabbed onto his mother’s waist and shuddered with effort not to look. “They’re making the lad uneasy. Could we not cover them with something?”

“We are visitors in their house,” Haku said with a huff. “Do you often go throwing covers over the masters of—“

He cut himself off when the duelist opened the door, letting rain blast in. He raised an arm to protect his face from pellets of water, groaning, “I think we will hear once it calms!”

“I’m hearing something else entirely,” the duelist shouted over his shoulder. Thunder cracked so close Haku still barely understood him.

Outside, two figures approached the longhouse.

Lightning struck at the pair, and the duelist was briefly blinded by the flash. When he regained his sight, he didn’t find charred bodies tossed askew.

Electricity crackled along the bodies of the arriving women, and they laughed.

***

Huddled in the corner of a shack, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, shivering in his own grip.

The quaking of his body had prevented escape more than the hurricane, and so he watched from the shadows of a hut, storm melting away, yard blurring out, leaving only the two women—his sisters, in a way—standing in the gloom of a laboratory, the architect his memory. He blinked the lie away.

A current ran through him, too cold to be adrenaline, too hot to be of fear. His shoulders itched, and damp clothes pricked against his skin. A slight smell of burning tickled his nose.

The women explored the surroundings with their gazes, and one’s eyes landed on him before flicking back towards the longhouse. Breath hissing against gritted teeth, he wrapped his fingers around the grip of a glass dagger sheathed on his belt.

***

“Come out, Beren,” called one of the women. They were impossible to distinguish yet—both wore standard Blackguard arc witch uniforms and were too far for the duelist to notice separating features. He drew back against the wall.

There was something wrong with her voice. It was too tense, like she were trying to speak softly and scream at the same time.

“We know you’re here,” said the other. “Are these your friends? They can go. We only want you.”

She raised her hand. The duelist snarled, leaping aside when a bolt of lightning burst out of her fingertips.

“But if you test are patience…” she called. “Well, I’m sure the Lady won’t mind if we try out our talents.”

“Allow me,” Elreon said, stepping past the duelist. He pointed his sceptre towards the women, and the gem in its hilt began to glow.

The women glanced at their feet, shared a look over a growing fiery rune. Lightning struck four times in the span of a second, even as Elreon swung his mace. Once more, instead of charred bodies, the duelist found the women unharmed, standing just outside the edges of the rune as it exploded.

“They’re aching for a fight, Mirin!” cried the first, creating a chain of electricity between her fists.

“So they are, Seren. I, for one, am glad to oblige!” yelled the other, blasting an arc into the corridor. It struck Elreon in the chest, tossing him against the back wall.

“Elreon!” Zana shrieked. She swooped to his side, fingers fumbling to open one of her flasks. She pressed it onto the elder’s lips and let him drink deep. He coughed, breath cloying with the scent of the potion.

“Strong, that one. And good aim,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. “I’m afraid I’m still a little shocked, more physically than mentally. I’ll need to sit a moment.”

Haku nodded. “They are too quick for your magic.” He brandished his weapon, making the others step back in the narrow corridor. “But the wood of my mace doesn’t fear lightning. I will fight.”

“Give me a chair leg or another baton and I’ll join you,” the duelist said, glancing around. “My sword is more scared than I am.”

“I may have something you can use, master swordsman,” Tamara said, gently pushing Tarris aside and searching the pouch he’d been protecting. She found a pair of rings embedded with topazes and offered one to the duelist, the other to Vorici. “They are warded against lightning. You will be grounded, even holding steel.”

The duelist placed the ring on his finger, but Vorici said, “Give it to Zana.” He took one of his potions, gripped it by the bottle’s neck and smashed it against the wall. “I have no metal on me.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Zana said, eyeing the bottle shank as she slipped on the ring.

“Flesh doesn’t care what it’s cut by. It’ll bleed all the same,” the assassin said, going after Haku and the duelist to meet their foes.

“Is this your vanguard, Beren?” Seren laughed, too-shrill voice making the duelist cringe as they formed a line opposite the arc witches. “Are you not joining them?”

“I don’t know who you’re hoping to find,” the duelist said, “but we don’t have…” He trailed off, realising he still didn’t know the names of some of the exiles.

“You don’t, don’t you?” said Mirin. “Perhaps your tongues need a little jolt to spur them into speaking.”

Seren swung her arms in a circle, the charge between her fists taking the form of a ball she hurled at the exiles. Lightning struck, and she had moved off to the side, throwing another crackling orb at them. Sparks shot out of the ball, and the group scattered away from them.

Mirin chose the duelist as her target. Her fingers as a conductor, she gathered lightning onto her palm. It streaked out, seeking his blade—and ran through his body as only a mild discomfort. The gem seemed to glimmer as the sword glowed with heat.

Vorici was upon her in a blink, slashing with his shank. She sidestepped, knocked him off his feet with a bolt from the sky. He rolled up, vision swimming with stars, trying to locate her. They really are using the storm to move around. No wonder they caught up so quickly—

His thought was interrupted by an arc seeking him, dropping him to his knees. The duelist dashed over, yanking him up.

“Are you okay?” the duelist asked. Mirin fired another arc, and it caught them both—but Vorici only groaned, more vexed than in pain, with the duelist’s arm still on his.

“Should’ve taken the damn ring,” he grunted, and they parted from the way of rolling thunder.

Zana and Haku had Seren cornered—until she vanished in a flash once more, reappearing elsewhere in the boat-lined arena. Avoiding the rolling lightning was easy enough, but they were already fatigued with cold before having to chase the arc witch. Now and again, Mirin would throw arcs their way, adding another layer of difficulty to maintaining positions. Zana stayed between her and Haku, but also needed to be mindful of not getting too close to the Karui to keep the lightning from chaining.

Even with the ring, the little jolts here and there were starting to make her muscles spasm and her chest feel tight. The lustre of the topaz was dimming.

“We need to stop the warping!” Zana growled after stabbing only air. Haku swung at where Seren landed—but before the blow connected, she was gone again.

There was only a lightning ball, too close for Haku to avoid. Mirin shrieked with laughter, letting a thunderbolt fly his helpless way.

Haku roared with fury, wet skin burning from the sparks shooting from the ball. His head whipped to the side, catching the flash in the witch’s palm.

Three breaths caught in their throats. Only Haku breathed easy, grunting with surprise when the bolt and the orb fizzled against him.

“Beren!” Seren hissed.

Behind Haku stood a cloaked man, fingers reached towards the Karui. Haku looked at his arms in confusion. Over his skin was a thin layer of glowing blue.

“There is a gem in each witch’s shoulder,” the man said, lowering his hand. The glow faded, found a new place at his feet. “Dig them out and they can’t warp. The spells are socketed in the bodices.”

“Easier said than done,” Zana muttered. She dashed to Seren, but the witch warped away before she got close. She landed much farther away than before, and kept going.

“She’s running away!” the duelist yelled. Mirin snapped around, letting out a cry at the sight of her fleeing comrade.

“Seren! Come ba—“

Tendrils of lightning coiled around Beren’s outstretched arm. They launched at Mirin, startled her into staying still just enough for Vorici to reach her. He wrapped an arm around her throat, slashed her sleeve open. Lodged in the shoulder was a metal plate socketed with a blue gem the size of a dove’s egg. He dug the shank under the plate. It came loose with a scream.

The assassin grunted, grabbed her hand to narrowly avoid a bolt in the face. He cut the strap of her leather breastplate. It came loose, a number of gems hidden on the inside scattering on the ground. She writhed in his grip, yowling like a wildcat as the duelist jogged up to them and shattered the gems beneath his boot. Once the deed was done, Vorici let the woman go.

They surrounded her, and Mirin spun between each, face twisted into a grimace, one hand clasping the wound.

“SEREN!” she screamed, flailing a fist to the sky. “COME BACK!”

“You’re alone, Mirin,” Beren said, lowering his rain-battered hood to reveal a face half burnt. He shied away, covering the hurt side when she bared her teeth at him. “Wh-why do you insist on coming after me?”

“You made it this far,” she hissed. “The Lady needs to know why you’re different.”

“I’m not! I-I… I can’t sleep, can barely eat. I’m on the verge of losing my mind!” He wiped at his face, rubbed his eyes. “I’m just another miscreation, Mirin. Why can’t she see it?”

A wave of consternation passed over the exiles. The duelist flinched when the door slammed open and Elreon hobbled to them.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, coughing.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” the duelist replied.

Mirin spat at his feet. “And you. Do you even know who you’re helping? Has he told you anything worthwhile?”

“We’re meeting for the first time, actually,” the duelist said, glancing at Beren. “But so far, I like him. He hasn’t tried to electrocute any one of us.”

“And now she won’t either,” Zana said, folding her arms. “Perhaps we should take her with us, as a bargaining chip if we get in trouble with Blackguard.”

“We’re already low on food,” Vorici said.

“She fought bravely, for a flitting little bird,” Haku said. “We won’t tarnish her honour with imprisonment.”

“You plan to kill me?” Mirin snapped. Her wild eyes fixed on Beren. “You think that’ll save you? That Seren won’t find you and come back with more like us? We aren’t unique, Beren, not anymore! The Lady will lock you up and lodge a hundred—no, thousand more gems in you! She’ll—“

With a cry of anguish, Beren lunged forward, slashing his glass dagger across her throat. Her insult turned into a gurgle, eyes bulged in their sockets.

Beren dropped the dagger. His face was drained of colour when he caught her. He pressed her head against his shoulder, hands shaking when he wrapped them around her in an embrace.

“No! No! I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—“ he stuttered. Blood streamed onto his shoulder, dripped off his arm. The others watched solemnly; Zana dove to her, flipping the cork off a potion with her thumb.

“Quick! Drink this!” she urged, trying to open Mirin’s mouth. The arc witch only stared at the ground.

“No potion heals an open artery,” Elreon said. “And she was only last rites away from an execution.”

“I’m so sorry,” Beren stammered against Mirin’s neck. “When you said… I thought—I thought I was back—and that you were another monster…“

His voice waned into sobs, and Haku laid a hand on his shoulder. “To perish by the hand of someone who cares so deeply,” he said. “There is no better death.”

“She didn’t deserve to die at all,” Beren whispered. “She wasn’t like this. That damned woman—she made them this way!”

“Who did?” Zana said, lowering herself to one knee beside him.

“Piety. Dominus’ pet.” He lay Mirin down, gently pulled her hood over her eyes. “She… Mirin was a chambermaid, and I a valet in Dominus’ palace. Seren, too, served with us.” His face took a troubled twist. “I can’t remember what we were called then. These new names—Piety gave them to us.”

“Beren, Seren and Mirin,” Elreon said, nodding. “Figures in Vaal mythos. Children of a thunder spirit, if my memory serves me.”

“I-I don’t know, but it would sound right. Piety has a… penchant for lightning magic.” He raised the blood-drenched sleeve of his tunic, revealing a gem grafted onto the skin of his shoulder. “I have two of these. They make the magic much stronger than normal, but… but at a cost.” He groaned, pressed a palm against his eye.

“I still have the potion,” Zana offered. Beren shook his head.

“Potions do nothing. The gems are rotting my mind, but I need them now. One to protect, one to kill.” He let out a long sigh, stood up. “And one to give the spark of life, one to keep it contained. I’m lucky, in a way. A third gem attached directly on the body is deadly, if one is fortunate. Otherwise it makes you…” A shudder ran through him, and his voice died away.

The duelist blinked when a ray of sunlight landed in his eye. The storm had calmed during the discourse. War horns blew in the distance not a moment later, and Tamara came running out of the longhouse.

“Masters! The storm has ended!” she called. “Are we going to get the wagon? I noticed my journal is—o-oh no.” She slapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of Mirin. “Is she the enemy? Are you all unhurt?”

“More or less,” the duelist said, rubbing his hand to soothe its pins and needles. “You’ll have to abandon the journal. We ought to walk for the time being.”

“Run,” Beren said. “The army is vast. I am, unfortunately, a person of some importance to Piety’s research, and so the Blackguard will spare no expense getting me back.”

“Typical,” the duelist said in a quiet singsong tone, rolling his eyes. Zana gave him a glower. Beren either didn’t hear or chose to ignore him.

“You cannot get around the troop, but there is a passage through the mountains close by. That was my destination before the storm hit. Where are you headed?”

“Sarn,” Haku answered. “To hunt Dominus. You are welcome to join our quest, should you so wish. He has done you grave injustice.”

Beren’s mouth fell open and his lip quivered. He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, I want to go nowhere near that accursed city. I’m a shadow of a man, too weary to seek retribution.” The horns blew again. “It will be a detour, but I fear you have little in the way of alternatives.”

“A detour?” the duelist groused. “The pass is the exact opposite way! We’ll have to go around the whole damn mountain to get back!”

“Complain all you want, but he’s right,” Zana said, then turned to the others. “I’ll get the others ready to leave. Give us a minute.”

As she jogged off, the duelist stuck his fingers into his belt and sullenly kicked a seashell. “Detour after detour,” he muttered. “I’m never getting to Sarn at this rate.”

“Um, master swordsman,” Tamara said, pulling on his sleeve. “Could I have my rings back?”

“They took a bit of a beating,” the duelist said, rolling the ring off his finger. The gem had turned a dull brown.

“That’s all right. I’m glad they were of use.”

The duelist nodded. “Zana still has the other. I’ll get it for you.” He ran off, and Vorici joined her, inspecting the ring as she stashed it away.

“Those are powerful enchants,” he said. “Where did you get them?”

Tamara sealed the pouch, gave him a rueful smile. “Why are we exiled, master assassin? We have talents we oughtn’t have.”

“Your fingers don’t look nimble enough to be a thief’s, and one would think a gifted enchantress would be appreciated in a place like Oriath.”

“Yes,” Tamara said. “An enchantress would be.”

Vorici considered the answer, nodded slowly. “I see.”

She looked warily into the assassin’s eyes, but read no emotion in them. “Does that trouble you?”

Vorici hummed, shrugged. “No.” He nudged her to move when the horn blew, a little closer now.