The hem of my worn red cloak glided over twisting roots and undergrowth. I'd left the catacomb passage some time ago. It had gone very far, more than a quarter of a mile, and brought me out at the edge of the marshland just like the dead preoster had said. Beyond those flooded fields rose the shadowed forests which ringed Caelfall.

The air hung heavy and thick in the shadowed depths of the Irkwood, damp and smelling of rotting plants. My eyes kept wanting to track movement at the edges of my vision, flitting phantom shapes which might have been mist, or my nerves, or the wraiths I knew would haunt the trees.

Human shades had followed me out of the catacombs. I didn't fear them as much. They would weaken out here, and eventually retreat back to their crypts.

The forest spirits were made of sterner stuff. Those, I was well wary of.

I could hear whispering. There was no wind, no singing birds or insect sounds, so the murmuring voices in the near distance provided the only ambience besides my own crunching boots in the undergrowth.

I knew better than to try to listen to those voices. Elves don't die — immortal is immortal — but their flesh can still expire just as a human's can. Their souls are made of hardier stuff than a man's, though. Anywhere I'd find the Old Children, I'd find their shades lingering. Whispering.

Bitter.

So many of them had died during the Fall. The land was infested with fey ghosts, undying, refusing to forget. Or forgive.

"He's here," a voice muttered, louder than the rest.

"He's come!" Another answered, outrage and excitement melting together in the words.

"Which one is he?" A third asked.

"Doesn't matter, they're all oathbreakers. They let the towers burn, let the Archon die."

"Didn't just let him. They did it!"

"Betrayers!"

"Liars."

"Murderers."

I ignored the vague shapes in the deeper shadows and moved on, further into the wood. Emaciated claws and eerie faces with huge, lidless eyes watched me from the gaps between branches and roots.

"He bears the Axe. The Doomsman's Arm."

"The Headsman."

"Headsman!"

"The Headsman has come."

I stopped in a small clearing. Mist wrapped around the forest floor, curling around the trees and clinging to the hem of my cloak. I wore my hood up to shadow my features — not to disguise, but so the mild enchantments woven into the garment would help keep the wraiths and wild od from interfering with my senses. I'd had an ally, one of few left to me, weave it some years before.

I spotted something half lost amid the undergrowth and knelt. A saddlebag. It was old, worn, and — when I inspected it — empty. So innocuous. But I knew it must belong to Olliard. One of the packs he'd kept in the cart, or a saddlebag for Brume, his chimera.

They had come this way. And left this behind. Were they chased?

Something changed in the forest. The wraiths had stopped their constant murmuring, and its absence hit me like a scream. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I tightened my grip on my axe, resting its butt on the ground so I could use it to push to my feet.

A rustling in the surrounding trees. I narrowed my eyes to slits, focusing on the subtle impressions from the world around me. Every living thing has aura, even if not everything is aware of it. I am aware of mine, feel it always, and it lets me feel the world around me. The alien sensations were near constant, and I'd long learned to shut them out.

Only when something unnatural drew near, something that didn't belong, did my powers truly shout warning. The rest of the time, I was better off using my more natural senses.

I did now, sharpening my ears. Every muscle in my body clenched, an instinctive anticipation.

I heard the creaking of a taut string, quiet as a whisper.

I whirled and swung my axe in the very moment the crossbow fired. Something hurtled from the undergrowth, and the edge of my weapon caught it. The impact jarred my arms, set my teeth on edge — no mere bolt. Something heavier—

Hollow. Whatever I'd struck shattered, splattering me with a viscous warm liquid.

Glass?

A shape moved in the bushes. Not whoever had fired at me, but something bigger. I lunged, not to attack, but to get out of the way.

Too slow. An enormous thing, all gray and brown hair and snorting rage, with chomping teeth and goring tusks, exploded from the forest. It hit me at speed, barreling me straight out of the air. It bucked. I went flying, hit a tree hard enough to ring my bones like a struck bell. I fell.

The world split into fragments. My shoulder let out a screeching protest as I wrenched it. Damned stitches again.

Maybe a cracked bone too. Whatever had hit me had been huge and strong as a war chimera.

Not far off the mark, I realized as my brain caught up.

Brume.

I rolled, coming up to my feet, and flinched as another of those glass balls zipped by my ear. A near miss. It erupted against the tree at my back, splattering me with more of that odd liquid. This time, it scalded where it touched me.

Brume, the huge hog beast — more a warthog now — stamped one hoof and snorted. The sound was so deep it seemed to rumble in my chest. The mass of gray fur started another charge, not so placid now.

I heard iron mechanisms clack into place. Tracking the sound, I lunged out of Brume's path. The chimera hit the tree, cracking the trunk nearly in half.

I dashed into the woods in a flurry of red wool, taking my axe in a backhand grip. Didn't want to use it for this. A startled gasp met my ears, cut short as I struck the source without seeing it. We both went tumbling down a shallow slope. A whirl of confusion as we rolled, branches and thorny bushes catching and scratching, grunts, a half-formed curse.

The roll ended with me on top at the bottom of the slope. Snarling, I brought up my axe and planted a boot on the crook of an arm as I caught the flash of a blade, pinning it.

And looked straight into the aged face of Olliard of Kell.

"Doctor," I greeted him, once I'd managed to catch my breath.

The old physik had lost his glasses in the tumble. Half blind eyes blinked up at me, then widened. Olliard's thinning hair was in disarray, and his brown robes were covered in leaves and mud. He had pulled a knife, a thin, curved blade with the aspect of a scalpel, which I'd trapped under a boot.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

He'd lost his grip on the weapon he'd tried to shoot me with. It lay several feet away. That fancy crossbow of his, fitted with some new mechanism it hadn't had before — a long tube, like a very thin cannon.

"Alken?" Olliard asked, breathless and confused. "What are you—"

"Master!"

I turned just in time to see Lisette burst from the woods. Her hands moved in a complex series of patterns. She had a mesh of string held between her hands cats-cradle style, string wrapped around each finger. She pulled the strings taught between her outstretched fingers, revealing a pattern between.

A pattern, I realized, which formed a rune.

There was a flash of white-gold light, and suddenly I no longer crouched atop the old doctor. I was ripped into the air like a doll with barely a chance to shout. My back slammed against the trunk of a large tree, again, and all the wind went out of my lungs in a rush.

When I was next aware of anything, I lay on the ground. I blinked, getting my bearings, and found I couldn't move my arms or legs. They were held by something solid as good rope or iron links.

Looking down, I saw thin lines of pale golden light tying my legs together. I suspected the same bonded my arms behind my back.

A dramatic rustling disturbed the woods as Brume reappeared. I tensed, expecting the huge beast to stomp over and crush my skull, but she just moved to loom over me. She snuffled at my hair, and I almost gagged at the animal reek.

Lisette scurried to her master's side and helped the old man stand, all without letting the pattern of strings between her hands go slack. Her attention remained fixed on me, a bead of sweat forming on her brow. She murmured what sounded like a litany of prayer under her breath.

Olliard winced as he stood, favoring one leg. He didn't glance at me as he limped to his fallen weapon and picked it up, sheathing the blade he'd pulled in some pocket hidden beneath a fold of his robes. He took a moment to check the crossbow, then turned his attention to me with a weary sense of inevitability.

"So," the doctor said with a sigh. "We meet again, Alken."

I didn't reply at once, instead taking in a few details. I tested the magical bonds and found they had some slack. Lisette narrowed her eyes in concentration and they tightened, hard enough to make me wince in pain.

"Doctor," I greeted the old man through clenched teeth. "Nun."

Lisette scowled, but didn't stop her murmuring incantation.

I glanced down at myself, and found I was covered in some metallic, pale gray substance. The contents of whatever the doctor had shot at me, I realized. "What is this stuff?"

"Liquid mercury," Olliard said. "Quicksilver." He pursed his lips. "I suppose you're not one of the baron's creatures, or it would have set you afire. The substance is quite ungentle to the undead."

"Azsilver?" I asked.

Olliard let a tight smile flicker across his face. "Of course. I am no amateur."

"So that story about you just passing through Caelfall on your rounds as an itinerant healer was troll shit," I said. "You're hunters."

I could think of no other reason why the doctor would be packing weaponized moonsilver.

"Vampire hunters," Olliard confirmed. He loaded another missile into the strange crossbow. The weapon had four arms instead of the customary two, several strings, and what looked like an iron tube in the gap where a bolt would normally go. Instead of a bolt, he placed a small gray ball inside before pulling a latch, producing a solid ka-clank.

"The Baron isn't a vampire," I said. I felt certain of that, at least. I'd sensed no corruption in him even when we'd been face to face.

Then again, he'd been shielded by that skittering, whispering thing. Had it hid his true nature? Wouldn't be the first time you'd missed it, I reminded myself. My golden eyes were far from infallible.

"No," Olliard agreed, surprising me. "He isn't. But he does ally himself with such creatures, and he is responsible for Micah's death. I believe he plans much worse."

"Where is Edgar?" I asked. No sign of the young priest.

"I will be asking the questions," Olliard said, aiming the crossbow at me. I grit my teeth.

"Doctor—"

"After you left last night," he cut me off, "telling Brother Edgar nothing, I started to look at the facts. Orson is gathering allies to him. Sorcerers, undead things, killers of every stripe. He's even recruited the Culler Brothers, and they are truly depraved. It struck me as strange that we found you where we did, when we did."

I met his eyes. "I protected Edgar from the the baron's beasts."

"Indeed." Olliard nodded. "Which is why you are not dead right now. So I will have answers. Who are you? Why are you here?"

Lisette's murmuring had halted. Even still, the auratic bonds remained strong. She watched me with sad, thoughtful eyes, but made no move to jump to my defense. Brume snuffled, ready to leap into violent action at her master's command.

"Your apprentice knows what I am," I said tiredly.

"Some kind of holy knight?" Olliard lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Yes, that was quite the show with those forest spirits. But it gives me no facts, and I am a man who much prefers facts to poeticism."

"I'm not a knight," I said, almost reflexively. "Not anymore, anyway. I was, once. It left its mark."

I tried to straighten, so I could talk to them from my knees rather than face down in the wet grass, but Lisette's litany suddenly rose into a harsh onslaught of words and the golden bonds around my arms tightened. I gasped, fearing for a moment my arms would break, then slammed against the tree again as the auratic tethers dragged me to it like a magnet.

"I wouldn't move," Olliard suggested. "I've seen her use those to break bones. The same technique she used to stitch your wounds, you know. People never consider how easily the healing arts can be turned to the purpose of unmaking the body. The alchemists in the west know this fact well. They've made all sorts of tools just as potent as any elf magic in this land…"

He lifted his crossbow and aimed it at my skull. "What I shot at you before was just glass. This one is iron."

"I'm not your enemy!" I hissed.

"I am not so sure," Olliard disagreed. "I have been watching the village. I saw you with those undead soldiers. Those creatures, I have faced before. The Mistwalker Company. They are… evil."

His expression darkened. I didn't see any of the kindly, worried old man who'd tended to my wounds and told me stories on the long road to Caelfall. His eyes had a steely, merciless quality to them.

"I do know what you are," Lisette said.

She kept the binds taut, though it seemed she didn't need to pray to keep the magic up. I imagined the prayers were just a focus, like the string between her fingers. I turned my attention to her.

"Oathbreaker," she accused. I flinched, but the girl's face remained calm. "Those spirits in the woods, they said it themselves. I've heard the stories, that the Knights of the Alder Table turned against the elf king and slew him, betraying their vows. They are the worst of the Recusants, born of the land's most fabled order."

She stepped forward. Olliard started to protest, but she ignored him and focused on me. Her blue eyes were full of anger, which I had gotten used to facing, and pity, which was much worse.

"It has happened before," she told me. "When I was with the monastery, we studied this. When a True Knight, a paladin, breaks their vows, they don't lose their powers. They steal that fire, wielding it as a weapon even as it burns them. Just like what I saw happen to you, though I didn't understand it at the time."

She glanced at her master. "He is just as much a servant of darkness as those soldiers, or any of the Baron's other guests."

Olliard nodded. "I am no student of myth and legend, but it tracks. I have fought death knights, and other such horrors."

"He can become that," Lisette said darkly, turning her angry blue eyes back to me.

I opened my mouth to say more, to tell them they had me wrong and that I was Orson Falconer's enemy as much as they — but I stopped. They wouldn't trust anything I said while held prisoner with a weapon aimed at my skull, and the truth wasn't something they'd easily believe in any circumstance.

Better to show them. I gathered will for a Command, shaping my aura to freeze the doctor in place before he could shoot me. After, I'd break Lisette's auratic bonds and we would continue the conversation on more equitable ground. Her magic was good, clever, strong as steel cable, but no Art is stronger than its wielder's will.

Just as I started to gather strength, Lisette's eyes widened. In a flash her fingers danced through a series of complicated motions. The thin strings in her hands altered their pattern, and the quality of her murmured prayers changed.

Before I could speak a word, golden light shot through my lips. Down, then, up, and then repeating the process a dozen times in the blink of an eye. My lips slammed together and stayed there, neatly stitched.

Olliard frowned and glanced at his apprentice.

"He was about to use magic on us," she explained. "Not sure what kind."

"Ah. Good thinking then, my dear."

"What are we going to do with him, doctor?" Lisette asked, as I struggled futilely against the bonds. I tried to speak, but my words just came out as an incoherent mumble.

"We don't have time to interrogate him. We need to get back and check in on Brother Edgar, see if he managed to find those old maps for us. Our time is short, and our enemy watchful."

He pondered a moment before asking, "How long will your magic hold him, once we've departed?"

Lisette grimaced. "Not long."

Olliard nodded and lowered his weapon, then approached me. He pulled something from within the layered folds of his monkish robes — a metal syringe.

I struggled, but the small man was quick, decisive, and stronger than he seemed. He plunged the metal needle into my neck. Within the space of three breaths my eyes were growing heavy. My quickened heart pumped whatever he'd spiked me with through my veins at speed.

"Not a deadly concoction," Olliard muttered. "I just need to make certain you don't interfere. I don't know how you're involved in all of this, and I've no time or patience to sift your lies from truth. I should kill you, but you did save the girl's life, and Edgar's. I can't decide if you are an enemy or not, so this is my compromise. You will sleep for a while, and when you awake… well."

He shrugged. "I don't imagine we're likely to meet again. Get in my way, and I will not show mercy."

No, I thought through the spreading thickness in my blood. You don't know what's in the castle, how bad things are. You can't handle him alone, can't—

I couldn't say any of it aloud, not with my aura-stitched lips.

Lisette said something, but I didn't hear it through the spreading haze in my thoughts. I closed my eyes, and everything became dark.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.