Residua

by Cinis

Summary:

Love drives Malenia to the brink, and it calls her back again too.

Chapter 1: The Shaded Castle

“Open the gates! Open the gates!”

Finlay barely heard the shouting of the nightwatch for the thunder in her ears–the thunder of her galloping horse’s iron-shod hooves, the thunder of the violent storm pelting her with heavy rain, the thunder of her heart.

Blood dripped in her eyes, blurring her vision.

She clung to her horse with all the power in her legs, but still barely managed to stay mounted in the pouring rain. Her left arm, broken in many places, hung limp at her side. Her right arm curled around her horse’s other rider, a woman, slumped unconscious in the saddle in front of her. To her left and her right and behind her rode a dozen other knights, their steel armor scorched by dragonfire, all in similar states.

Not far now.

The heavy gates of the castle of the Marais swung open and sodden guards ran out. Other figures sprinted behind them, unarmored and half-dressed, roused from slumber by the alarm.

Finlay and her comrades barreled into the castle courtyard. Their horses slipped and slid on the stone pavement, trying to halt their momentum before they and their riders crashed into the wall of the keep at the other side of the yard. With a sudden crack, Finlay’s horse went down, leg broken. In the brief moment of fall, Finlay tucked herself around the unconscious woman, trying to protect her charge.

Finlay hit the ground hard. The back of her head slammed against stone. Her world went dark.

[] [] []

The chapel in the evening was quiet, empty, and dark. In the west, the sun was setting and no flame was allowed in this sacred place. Finlay’s every step echoed in the chamber. She had not come here in some time. She did not remember it being so lonely.

At the apse of the chapel, a shadowed statue of Marika, arms outstretched, towered over an empty grail. Behind her loomed her ring of runes, wrought in stone.

Finlay took a seat in one of the pews farthest from the statue.

Rather than bow her head, she looked up at the figure.

The Golden Order taught that Marika was a god.

If she was, then she was a cruel god. Or perhaps she was merely weak.

Some time passed before Finlay heard the door to the chapel open and then close behind her, and then soft footsteps, the sound of bare feet on stone. The newcomer sat next to Finlay. He was a boy, a boy of agonizing beauty, terrible to endure, with long hair the color of white-gold and pale blue eyes. His features were delicate, and he shone with some light unique to himself, casting long shadows in the gloom.

Finlay looked at the boy for a moment, then returned her attention to the statue. She knew some who when they saw him then had eyes only for him.  But she never could look at him long. Something about him unsettled her.  “My lord,” she murmured.

“Sir Finlay,” Miquella replied. Though he spoke softly, his voice carried the weight of dominion.

“Do you require something of me?” Finlay asked.

“I must return to Leyndell for a time,” Miquella said. “I leave in three days.”

Finlay shut her eyes. She shut one eye faster than the other–heavy scarring from an old infection slowed part of her face. It often made it difficult for others to read her expressions, and it forced her to form her words carefully when she spoke, lest she slur them. She took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “You would leave her? Now?”

“I leave her in good hands,” Miquella replied.

Opening her eyes once more, Finlay forced herself to look at Miquella and his glory. Balling her hands into fists in her lap, she forced herself to stare him down. “She needs you here.”

Miquella met Finlay’s gaze. Solemn, he pronounced, “I can help her little as I am.”

“I can’t help her at all,” Finlay spat.

“I must go,” Miquella said again. “So I must believe that you will support her in my absence.”

Having said his piece, Miquella stood and departed, leaving Finlay alone.

During their short conversation, the sun had finished its descent into night. Without Miquella, the chapel had gone truly dark now.

Lips pressed in a thin line, Finlay raised her right hand, open, fingers out, palm up. She thought of the Erdtree and the Golden Order and Marika, and she willed herself to believe. For a brief moment, a gold spark formed before her, quivering in the shadows.

Then, it went out.

[] [] []

Crashing waves on a tired shore resounded everywhere in the grim castle of the Marais. They could be heard loud from the ramparts, dull in the basements, and constant in the many courtyards of the fortress. Inescapable too, were salt, damp, and decay.

Seated on a bench at the edge of a drill yard, Finlay scowled as she checked her sword for spots of rust. It disconcerted her how quickly even metal went to pieces in this swamp by the sea. High above, the mid-morning sun beat down mercilessly. Though Finlay wore loose clothes, nevertheless sweat poured from her like she was in full armor. For autumn, this part of Marika’s lands burned terribly hot.

“If you scowl hard enough, the rust’ll be too scared to come back.”

Finlay looked up. A large, stocky man with graying hair and wearing a white tabard emblazoned with a golden crown of a tree stood over her, arms crossed, grinning. A sword with a plain, weathered hilt hung at his hip.

“Elphael,” Finlay said. The unscarred corner of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin of her own. Her disfigurement made her grin come across something like a grimace, but any who knew her understood her intent. The captain of Miquella’s lordsworn was ever possessed of humor and cheer, and it was as infectious as any disease. “If that were how it worked, I’d have stopped scowling long ago.”

Elphael took a step back and uncrossed his arms. Then, gesturing, he said, “Come on. Let’s walk.”

Finlay stood and slipped her blade into the sheath at her side. Although Elphael had already started towards a set of stairs up to the walls, as Finlay’s legs were quite long she pulled even with him in only a few steps.

“Miquella asked me to speak with you,” Elphael said, immediately making his intentions known.

That was one of the things Finlay liked about him. No tricks. No brooding. Just… Just the will of his lord. And some cheating at cards.

“He came to me,” Finlay said.

“Aye,” replied Elphael. “And you rebuffed him.”

Finlay shrugged. “That’s a strong word.”

As they neared the walkway along the top of the walls, a sea breeze whispered against Finlay’s skin, offering some relief from the relentless heat of the afternoon. The breeze smelled, however, of dead fish. Finlay wrinkled her nose.

“My lord is accustomed to having his way,” Elphael said. “And he does always have his way in the end.”

“Is that a threat, Elphael?” Finlay asked, tone too light for her words to be taken in any way except for how she meant them. She went to one of the wall’s merlons and leaned against it, setting her elbows on the stone and looking out towards the jagged canyon in the distance, past the patchwork of swamp and fields carved out from swamp, leading farther inland. Where Miquella would soon be headed, she supposed. “It sounds like a threat.”

“Ah, I know better than to threaten a Cleanrot,” Elphael replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You might tie my boots together when I’m not looking.” He joined Finlay at the edge of the wall, propping up his own elbows on an adjacent merlon, mimicking her posture.

“More likely to spew in them than tie them together,” Finlay said.

Elphael let out a bark of a laugh. “Hah! See? Don’t threaten a Cleanrot.”

“You don’t like our gifts?” Finlay asked mildly.

“Like cats, you are,” said Elphael.

“Cats?” Finlay tore her eyes away from the horizon to look at Elphael quizzically.

“I had a cat once when I was a boy,” Elphael replied. “Arrogant as anything, with sharp claws, and liked to leave dead songbirds and hairballs on our pillows. Mum used to say that only a cat that really loves you will puke on your pillow.”

Not quite understanding Elphael’s point, if he even had one, Finlay shook her head and then looked back out at the canyon. “Delightful. I’ve no interest in creeping into your rooms to puke on your pillow though.”

“Us liegemen of Miquella, we’re more like dogs,” Elphael mused. “Not good for much except loving him.”

“And warding off adoring crowds,” Finlay remarked.

She’d seen it before–Miquella trying to walk down a street and being thronged by masses who thought that just touching him would bring them all the blessings in the world and then some. His lordsworn were old hands at forming a cordon around him to stop him from being trampled by swooning mobs. This was something that the Cleanrots never had to do. Their lady inspired a very different reaction when she passed.

Elphael sighed. “He doesn’t believe in folks unless they’re worthy of it, you know.”

“He’s a son of Marika, not a god,” Finlay snapped. When she heard the sharp note in her words, she instantly regretted them. She did not, however, apologize. Softening her voice, somewhat, she continued, “They’re not omnipotent, and they’re not infallible.”

Elphael didn’t reply.

He waited, Finlay thought.

For her to become uncomfortable with silence.

It didn’t take long.

“It’s getting worse,” Finlay muttered. “Prayers do nothing. Bandages do less. They just rot too. And the wounds she took aren’t healing. They... very rarely do. And this is not one of those rare times.”

“You think Miquella being here will change that?” Elphael asked, not unkindly.

Finlay slumped forward, leaning bodily now on the stone battlements. “He is a child of Marika, and peerless in the faith arts. If he can’t help her, who can?” she asked.

Elphael set a hand on Finlay’s shoulder. Finlay startled. After the Cleanrot’s months-long stay, many in the castle had lost the reflex of backing away from the knights and averting their eyes, but, still, very few would willingly touch them.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Elphael, out of all those not sworn to her lady, would touch her though. He had served Miquella, and, by extension, his sister, since before Finlay had joined the Cleanrots.

“His prayers don’t work either,” Elphael said. “But he wouldn’t go if he didn’t have a reason, a plan. I’ve served him for a very long time. He always has a plan. And he loves her too.”

[] [] []

Matinal fog clung to autumn grass, silver on gold, when the small procession set out from the southern gate of the castle. Four mounted knights and three dozen mounted lordsworn, Elphael among them, accompanied the Lord Miquella on his way back to the capital. Behind the lord and his armored escort trailed a gaggle of squires with a small baggage train.

Mouth set in a half-frown, Finlay watched them go from a castle tower.

Even by horse, with such a great train it would be a two week journey to Leyndell in the best of times. These were not the best of times. After Gransax crashed through the walls of the capital however many years ago it had been now, the roads, even the well-patrolled highways, had been perilous. Not only were there dragons about, but brigands taking advantage of the chaos in Marika’s realm remained plentiful.

Brigands, at least, would know better than to attack a column of two score heavily armored soldiers.

Finlay’s frown deepened.

Dragons, on the other hand, might see the party as a valuable target.

There shouldn’t be many left in the area though.

Her left arm twinged. While it had been several months now since the arm had been mended, her body remembered still the impact of being hurled some thirty feet by the lash of a tail of stone that was thicker than a horse was tall. Eight of the dragons that had fallen upon their company in the dead of night were dead. Finlay and her comrades had seen to that, at great cost. More than four out of every five knights who had fought had fallen. The ninth dragon though, the biggest, the one with four legs instead of two, had escaped after her lady took one of its eyes and half its face.

If the dragon had any sense, after its retreat it curled up in a dank cave and died.

Finlay glanced up at the sky. It was gray with low clouds. Such was often the case in this area, at least in the morning. The sun would drive them back before long. But in the interim, the clouds made good cover for the approach of a monster.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Did she fear it now? The dragon that had killed so many of her friends? That had dealt blows to her lady that were as near to mortal as any Finlay had ever seen her suffer? Now that Finlay had touched fire and been burned?

No.

She did not fear the dragon returning. If it came, she would fight, and that would be that. But the reflex to cower shivered through her nonetheless. She was human, after all.

Finlay stayed on the tower long enough to see Miquella and his company fade out of sight. Then, with a sigh, she turned for the ladder down to the ramparts. She could not put off the inevitable any longer. The wood planks of the tower platform creaked under her step. Everything in this forsaken place was decaying. Everything.

The tower ladder led down inside the tower to a small, empty guardroom. Finlay passed out of the guardroom through a side door onto the ramparts, then descended a narrow set of stairs to the main courtyard of the castle. From there, she headed towards the central keep. A few castle inhabitants, soldiers, knights, servants, were idling in the yard. They bowed when they saw her come near. Lost in thought, she barely saw them and strode by without acknowledging their respect–a lapse of protocol that she’d have regretted, had she noticed it.

Miquella was departed.

The care of his sister now fell solely to her.

Finlay found the lower levels of the interior of the castle’s central keep to be dark and dank and generally unpleasant. Though it was not much better, she preferred the barracks in the far wing. Whatever mad architect had designed the fortress a hundred or more years ago had been far less concerned with the safety of common soldiers than the lords of the land and so the barracks were built more of wood than stone and had more windows. The air was still salty and often humid, but at least it was fresh.

The higher levels of the keep were less claustrophobic. As Finlay climbed stairway after stairway, she caught glimpses of natural light more and more often. At last, she reached a door that led to an open, sunlit courtyard near the very pinnacle of the building. At the center of this courtyard rose a small fountain, and around its edges ran an ornamental garden, though none of the plants in the garden were currently in bloom. Littered about the courtyard were a collection of statues of men and women, all in varying poses and of good quality. At the opposite end of the courtyard from the entrance that Finlay stepped through, there was a short flight of steps up and another door, this one guarded by two fully armored knights carrying swords and tall spears.

Finlay took her time in approaching the knights and the door.

Now that the sun was clearing the gray morning clouds, it was a not unpleasant day. And the courtyard soared so high above the swamp below that Finlay could almost imagine she couldn’t smell rancid fish. There was even a steady breeze here to tug at Finlay’s dark hair, which, as always, she wore in a practical braid.

The peace of the courtyard, however, was not why Finlay tarried.

As she drew near the knights, Finlay nodded to them. The knights nodded back. Though they wore their full armor, including closed helms, she knew them. She knew every knight in her company, and she handpicked those who would have the honor of guarding their lady.

Steeling herself, Finlay set a hand on the door and pushed it open.

On the other side of the door lay a well-appointed parlor, part of the personal chambers of the keep’s castellan and his family, should he have any. The current castellan, a mere boy, the last of his line, did not. Portraits of long-dead members of the Marais family hung on the walls. Here, unlike at the tower before, the wood floor stayed quiet when Finlay walked on it. 

Faint sounds of conversation, too faint for Finlay to discern words, were coming from a room adjoining the parlor. Finlay moved towards them. As she approached, the conversation quieted. She finally came to a halt by the open door to a small sitting room lit by sunlight streaming through an open window.

Inside the room, a very young child sat perched on a chair, too short for his legs to reach the floor, and a woman reclined on a couch.

The child, Castellan Maleigh Marais, was gaunt, unusual for one of his standing. His skin was pale in a manner that suggested infirmity and sickness, and his posture was somewhat bowed, shoulders slumped. Clad in a blue robe so ill-fitting that it threatened to swallow him, he looked as if he might collapse at any moment. Nevertheless, he had a carefree light in his gray eyes, full of life.

A strange child. More comfortable around the Cleanrots and their lady than any child should be.

The woman’s expression was not so carefree. Dressed in bronze-colored silks, she was possessed of a crushing solemnity that radiated from her and threatened to overtake the entire room, the entire castle even. Beautiful, although not in the manner of her twin brother, Malenia’s most striking features were her clear green eyes, red hair that she wore loose and flowing down almost to her waist, and the fact that she had but a single arm.

Unwillingly, Finlay’s eyes fell to the emptiness where her lady’s sword arm once was.

The decay had resisted all cures, all magics, all prayers. When the limb had finally become more hindrance than help, though they’d taken it with a clean cut, it still had taken every scrap of devotion in Finlay’s soul just to staunch the bleeding and bandage the stump. That was how she’d first come into her lady’s personal service. Not because of her prowess on the battlefield–though she was as good as any of her comrades, and her comrades were each and all superbly skilled at their arts–but because of her preeminent faith. If called upon to perform the feat again, however, Finlay doubted her courage to even try, much less succeed.

Finlay cleared her throat. She bowed low to Malenia. “My lady,” she greeted. Then, to Maleigh, she offered a shallower bow. “Castellan.”

Expression unreadable, Malenia nodded to Finlay. Then, to Maleigh, “Castellan, would you excuse us?”

Maleigh hesitated. Wide-eyed, he stared at Finlay.

“Why don’t you ask one of my knights outside to tell you the story of the blind swordsman?” Malenia suggested gently. “That is your favorite, is it not?”

Smile breaking across his face, Maleigh looked back to Malenia. Quickly, he pushed himself off his perch on his chair. He bowed very low to Malenia, lower than Finlay had, and so low it seemed for a moment that he might topple over. “Yes, Lady Malenia. Thank you!”

Finlay stepped aside so that the child could hurry past her, off to… be a child, Finlay supposed. After spending so many years in and out of Miquella’s company, she found Maleigh a bit odd–though surely he was not.

Once Maleigh had left the residence, gone out into the courtyard, Finlay stepped fully into the sitting room. She moved to stand at a loose attention, hands clasped behind her back as she faced her lady.

“Sir Finlay,” Malenia said. Her voice, strong and level, betrayed nothing of her thoughts or feelings. “I have not seen you in some time.”

“My apologies,” Finlay replied. Suddenly, she felt very far away from herself. Numb.

“I did not elevate you to command my knights so that you could hide from me.”

Finlay bowed her head at the rebuke.

Malenia pushed herself up on her couch into a seated position. Her back was straight, her posture impeccable. “You’ve come to report my brother’s departure?”

With eyes still downcast, Finlay replied simply. “Yes.”

“Is that all?”

“I do not intend to change much on account of his leaving,” Finlay said, speaking as much to the floor as she spoke to her lady. “We will continue to garrison this castle and patrol for the remaining dragon until you have recovered. However, without his men to bolster our forces, I will reduce the patrols. Do you approve of this?”

Malenia did not answer immediately. Then, she did not answer at all. “He told me that you desired that he remain.”

Finlay hesitated before replying. “I did.”

“Why?”

Finlay swallowed thickly. She would not deny her lady a true answer, but the truth was difficult to say. “I was…” Finlay started. She paused, knowing that she had not quite found the words. “I am afraid.”

“Of being in my presence?”

With a start, Finlay raised her head. “No.”

For a moment, something flickered in Malenia’s eyes. “I had not thought so,” she said, somewhat more softly than she’d been speaking before. “What is it that you fear, Finlay?”

Finlay pressed her lips together. What should she say? What could she say?

Malenia arched an eyebrow. “Dragons?”

Finlay’s face flushed. “Not dragons,” she said, vehement.

A touch of humor entered Malenia’s voice now, Finlay thought–though it was hard to tell. For a moment, Malenia showed a ghost of a smile, the barest shift of expression, so fleeting that it could have been a figment of Finlay’s imagination. “You’ve proved that often enough. You fought valiantly in the ambush.”

“Thank you,” Finlay said. “I am proud to do my duty.”

“We slew more dragons in a night than Radahn has defeated in his entire campaign thus far,” Malenia remarked. Then a shadow crossed her face. “Though we lost many.”

For a moment, Finlay thought of the comrades she would not see again. Then she pushed them from her mind. They were gone, as was always to be their fate, and, someday, hers. She had lost many friends in battle. In days to come, she would lose many more.

“Have you healed well?” Malenia asked.

“Yes,” Finlay answered.

Malenia offered a small nod. “I am glad.”

Finlay’s reply was stiff. “You have not.”

There was a pause now in the conversation as Malenia seemed to contemplate her response–or whether to respond at all. Her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts, only her mood.

She was sad, Finlay thought.

Not despairing.

Merely sad.

“I have been as I am since long before you came to be,” Malenia finally said.

Finlay’s heart ached. “And you will be as you are long after I am gone,” she replied.

Malenia nodded.

Finlay bowed. “I should return to my duties,” she said. “I will proceed as I have outlined. By your leave.”

“It is yours,” Malenia replied. “Do not reduce the patrols. If the dragon survived and flies still, I want it found.”

“By your will,” Finlay said. Straightening, she asked, “Shall I ask the child to return?”

Malenia shifted to lean against the back of her couch. She looked away from Finlay, towards the window and sun beyond. “No,” she said. “If he wishes to return, I will entertain him. But I do not require his presence, and his tutors will look for him soon.”

Finlay bowed again. “My lady,” she said. Then, she turned and she left.

[] [] []

In truth, there were few duties to occupy Finlay’s time in the castle. The knights that she commanded were well-disciplined, and they’d fought for one another so many times that they rarely quarreled. And as the castle watch was seen to by Castellan Maleigh’s men, there were not many posts for Finlay to assign by roster. While she did send out patrols of knights to search for any signs of the dragon, she herself could not join those patrols–as commander, she was bound to stay behind unless there was a true threat of battle.

All there really was to do around the castle–aside from stagnate–was train.

With the Cleanrots in residence, the castle’s practice yard was never empty–not in the early morning, not in the scorching heat of midday, not at vespers, not in the dark hours. Malenia’s Cleanrots were not the most famed of the liegemen hosts for lack of brutal dedication. Though their numbers were vanishingly few, especially when compared to the Radahn’s horde of Redmanes or even the Praetorians of Rykard, each one of them was worth at least a score of the lesser warriors who served the other children of Marika.

As Finlay moved through a drill, the steady reverberations of her blunted steel practice sword striking her comrade’s weighted training shield again and again and again lulled her thoughts to silence. With a blade in her hand, there was only movement. She flowed through her forms like a river running its course, forever forward, never ceasing. In this, there was peace.

When she’d pushed her partner, Dauricus, to the edge of the yard, she traded sword for shield and began the same drill in reverse.

Defending did not offer her the same calm. Though she moved with the same fluidity, holding a shield set her on edge. There was a sense of inevitability, a loss of control, in using a shield. A shield accepted that a blow would come that could not be met, only received and endured. Cleanrots fought without shields. Only for the sake of creating a way to train without needing to check a blow, and sometimes for practice fighting against them, did they use them in drills.

After each blow she took, Finlay took a step back, slowly leading Dauricus back across the yard. He was a big man, a head taller than Finlay and much broader. He hit hard, but his strikes were slow enough that Finlay could easily reckon their path, block, and brace. As they fell into a rhythm, her mind began to wander.

How far had Miquella traveled?

It had been four days since his departure. By now, he might be halfway along the winding road that ran along the bottom of the canyon between Altus and Gelmir. Along that shaded path, Finlay thought, he should be safe. The cliffs were too close, the way too narrow, for a large dragon to reach travelers there. And at the end of the canyon, there stood a well-fortified outpost of Leyndell guards.

Finlay had sent as many knights with Miquella as she felt she could spare. There were very few Cleanrots left, and Miquella was not their charge. Finlay had kept the great bulk of her remaining force at the castle. Her lady had never known defeat, but that meant only that she had yet to engage in a battle she could not win. And as her lady was, she was not fit to engage in battle at all–though Finlay would surely expire of shame before she uttered such notions aloud.

Thud .

Like instant retribution for impious thoughts, the unchecked blow from the left caught Finlay in the ribs, staggering her.

Thank the Tree she wore armor.

“Marika’s tits!” Dauricus shouted. “Are you alright?”

Clutching at her side, Finlay groaned. “Yes,” she hissed. Her chest felt horribly tight and she wanted to cough, but she suppressed the urge. It hurt so much to breathe, and coughing would be agony. “I was distracted.”

Dauricus laughed. “It happens to the best of us.” He gestured to her. “Clearly.”

Finlay tried to give an answering laugh, then promptly regretted it. “I hate shields.” Her ribs might be bruised, she thought. “I need a moment.”

“Of course,” Dauricus said. He removed his helm, revealing a grinning face. With short dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and an unremarkable face, he looked like any one of many men who originally hailed from the mountains north of Leyndell–except for his missing ear. During the dragon ambush, he’d lost it, and then in the chaotic aftermath of the battle, when there’d been little time to spare for cleaning and dressing wounds, rot set in. Now, he wore a bandage over the place where his ear used to be. It once was white, but at the moment it was soggy with sweat and stained yellow from the inexorable seeping of his unhealing injury.

Finlay returned Dauricus’ gesture, moving gingerly to remove her helm as well. Then she managed a half-bow. It sent a stabbing lance of pain through her torso, making her breath catch, which then triggered another wave of pain. The blow had definitely bruised her ribs–or worse. She preferred not to think of what worse may be. Most blunt injuries could be healed easily with a few words of faith, but there were some exceptions. “Well met.”

Dauricus gave a half-bow in response. “Well met.”

Going slowly in a vain attempt to avoid too much jostling, Finlay dragged herself over to a bench at the edge of the yard. Propping herself up as comfortably as she could, she set a hand against her armor, over the dent where she’d been hit. In her mind, she pictured the Erdtree, rising up above Leyndell as a golden pillar of light that branched into a luminous cloud of radiance. Though speaking made her chest feel afire, she whispered a prayer for grace to Marika.

Nothing.

Finlay grimaced.

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to stand next to the Erdtree, to reach out and touch it, feel its rough bark under her fingers. She summoned up the sound of a full choir singing with her as she prayed again. By Marika’s grace, she would be restored.

Again, nothing.

Shit.

[] [] []

Hunched over a bowl of steaming soup in a dark corner of the barracks mess, Finlay glared at anyone who looked like they might approach her.

It was unkind of her, but she wasn’t in the mood for camaraderie, and the other knights respected that. Over the years, from time to time, they all had experienced the urge to be in a mood. She’d been one of them for far longer than she’d been their commander, and though a tantrum was more unbecoming of her station now than then, it would hardly change their view of her.

Slurping down soup was agony.

So was breathing.

She could ask for help, she knew. Although, aside from Finlay, all the best healers among the Cleanrots had fallen in the ambush, a few of her remaining fellows had enough training to mend small injuries. While they specialized in offensive incantations, simple healing was a basic art. However, Finlay judged that asking for help with something that should have been trivial for her would be even more humiliating than being a recently risen commander sulking in a corner during dinner or even having been struck in the first place. She intended to rest, and to try to mend herself again tomorrow.

Maybe being miserable, with relief only one heartfelt prayer away, would remind her of the power of Marika.

The soup was something with fish in it.

Everything in this castle was salt, sea, rot, and fish.

Finlay was growing to despise fish.

Grim, she stabbed her spoon down into the liquid and braced herself for another horribly painful slurp.

When she finished her meal, Finlay pushed herself to her feet, then tottered off to her room, leaving her empty bowl behind for a squire to collect and avoiding everyone. When she reached her room, which she shared with no one on account of her rank, she gingerly undressed, then laid herself down in her bed. As exhausted as she felt though, she did not sleep. Her chest ached and every way she positioned herself felt worse than the last.

It was a terrible night.

[] [] []

The morning was no better.

Ill-slept, Finlay bit back a groan as light slipped through her shuttered window.

But perhaps the misery of her ribs would be motivation to try harder at healing them.

Hiding her eyes from the light in the crook of one elbow, she set her other hand on her ribs, then hissed at the bright flare of pain sparked by even that gentle contact.

Taking as deep a breath as she dared, Finlay tried to remember the Marikan church near the village where she’d been a child.

It had been a small stone hall, just a bit taller than the other buildings in the village. The interior hadn’t been decorated–there had been a bare stone floor and bare stone walls and wood pews hewn from local timber. A country chapel. Not at all like the urban cathedrals that dominated the skies of cities like Leyndell. At the apse, there’d been a stone statue of Marika rising about twice the height of an adult, though, as Finlay had been young, the statue had always seemed much larger.

The village priestess had been an elderly woman who worked double duty as the village wainwright. Her face had been a map of deep laugh lines, telling the story of a life well-lived. Finlay had liked her, even though she smelled a bit funny up close.

Every week, at dawn on the first day, all the village would go to the chapel and sit in the pews and their old priestess would say a sermon. Sometimes the sermon was a rousing story about how Marika and her consort Godfrey led the soldiers of the lands against the fell giants in the far north. Sometimes the sermon was about how children should not tease the miller’s donkey or else the death-wielding Godskins would crawl under their beds and torment them in their sleep.

At the end of the sermon, the priestess would take a grail filled with dew collected from the trees of the local forest and anoint each and every parishioner.

Finlay held the feel of the cool dew on her forehead and prayed.

Nothing again.

Not even a spark.

Finlay let out a growl.

What was wrong with her?

She flexed her fingers, pushing them into her bruised skin and sending a wave of pain shuddering through her.

The Tree! Gold! Gold leaves! Dew! Sap! Tree!

“Marika fucking help me,” Finlay snarled.

A sudden horrible coughing fit caught her, and she spat scarlet blood onto the sheet covering her rough field bed.

Withdrawing her arm from her eyes, Finlay stared at the bloodstains.

She hadn’t coughed blood in some time. When last it had happened–it had been years ago during an excruciating march through the frigid wastes north of Leyndell. They’d been hunting a dragon but, when they finally caught sight of their quarry in the distance, a blizzard overwhelmed their column. Though Malenia and a group of knights reached the dragon and slew it, Finlay and many others spent months lost in the wilds.

Finlay had been fortunate. She found a handful of comrades quickly, and together they fought their way back to the garrison at Rold. By the time they’d arrived though, she’d been hacking up blackened bits of lung, and she had open, weeping sores on most other parts of her body–weeping, at least, to the extent they hadn’t frozen over during the long trek. Lichens had taken root deep in half her face too, and they’d had to be cut free from her flesh, leading to the scarring that now made it difficult for her to pass as anything but a Cleanrot, or to show her emotions to any except those amply accustomed to her. Dragging herself back to health had taken months.

Others had not been so fortunate though. Alone, they’d succumbed to exposure, despair, and rot, leaving only armored husks behind for their fellows to find.

But this coughing now, Finlay assured herself, had nothing to do with that. It was a mere training injury, and it would heal as soon as she said enough prayers, drank enough dew, hugged enough trees, repented all her transgressions, vowed to be a better person. Marika always forgave–wasn’t that how Malenia herself and her brother had come to be?

With great effort, Finlay pushed herself into a sitting position.

“Hail Marika, full of power,” she muttered, “May Radagon plow you hard.”

The Marais castle was in a swamp on a beach. By Godfrey’s tarnished brazen balls, where was she going to find a fucking tree?

A crisp knock at Finlay’s door interrupted her increasingly blasphemous thoughts.

Biting back yet more profanity, she called, “A moment!”

When Finlay had pulled on a shirt and finally stumbled to the door and yanked it open, she found her second in command, Veitchi, on the other side. He was on the thin side for a Cleanrot, more of a dancer than a brute in his combat, and he kept himself, his shoulder-length brown hair, and his absurd mustache impeccably well-groomed always, even in the worst muck of marches. He was no less rotted than Malenia’s other knights, but he, at least, had avoided any injuries to the parts of him that passerby could see.

Finlay glared. Veitchi offered a sheepish smile.

“Yes?” Finlay asked.

“Lady Malenia has asked for you. She’s decided to go riding.”

Finlay blinked, owlish. “Riding? Where?” 

Veitchi shrugged expansively, twirling his hands a bit. “Out?” he hazarded.

Somewhat confused, Finlay said, plaintive, “But she’s not well. She’s supposed to rest. Miquella said so.”

Veitchi shrugged again. “Miquella isn’t here to talk sense into her, and I’m a mere messenger. And maybe she’s feeling better. You wouldn’t know–you’ve been hiding from her.”

“No I haven’t,” Finlay snapped. Immediately, her ribs protested and she choked back a groan.

Veitchi waved a hand dismissively. “None of that now,” he said. “I’m sure you can justify everything, but I haven’t enough days left in me to waste any dealing with your horseshit.” He paused, wrinkled his nose, then added, “And speaking of you and horseshit, you look like horseshit.”

Finlay ground her teeth as the realization sank in that not only did her lady intend to go out for what surely was an unwise adventure, but that Finlay herself was expected to accompany her as the commander of her guard. Which meant that Finlay needed to present herself, in full arms, immediately.

Veitchi pointed at Finlay’s face. “And you’ve got a bit of…” He reached out and wiped at her mouth. He then pulled his hand away and wiggled his fingers at her, showing that they were smudged with crimson.

Finlay sighed, then regretted sighing for the pain in her chest. “I’m having trouble praying,” she said. Presenting herself to Malenia half-crippled from a training error was perhaps the only thing she could imagine that might be more humiliating than asking for assistance with her predicament. “Could you help? Ribs. I think at least one is cracked. It’s worse than I thought it was yesterday.” She waved a hand to indicate the general spot where she’d been hit the day prior.

Veitchi cracked his knuckles. “Your wish is my command, madam,” he said. Then he added, “Though you know I’m horrid at this. Can’t do anything with the fiddly bits. Would you like to sit?”

“No,” Finlay said, resigned. She shifted to lean against the doorframe. “Just fix them. However much you can.”

Gently, Veitchi placed both his hands on Finlay’s chest. He closed his eyes, and then a soft golden light shone from his hands up to his elbows. Immediately, Finlay’s breathing eased. After a moment, Veitchi withdrew. “That’s the best I can do,” he said. “Maybe there’s someone with more of a knack among the Marais garrison.”

Finlay sagged. That was so much better. It wasn’t a full healing and she still had noticeable pain, but it was more than enough to restore her to a semblance of function. The difference between her state now and her state a few moments ago was so great that she felt drunk on relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Crisis of faith,” Veitchi said with a shrug. He spread his hands wide. “Maybe you’ve never had one, but for us mortals it’s like a seasonal cold. It will pass as soon as you forget about it. Or you’re having a midlife crisis. Take your pick.”

Finlay laughed–without having to double over in agony. She reached out and flicked his ear. “Mind your manners. I’m not that old.”

Veitchi rubbed his ear and grinned. “You’ve been rotting at dragons for–what? A decade? Longer? By Cleanrot standards, that’s ancient. Though you’re remarkably well-preserved. Barely a fungal growth on you these days. And you still have all your fingers and most of your toes.”

“I didn’t realize you loved latrine duty so much,” Finlay replied.

Veitchi snorted. “We’re not on the march. In this castle, we have toilets.”

Finlay straightened somewhat and shook her head, then took a step backwards into her room. “I need to armor up,” she said. “Get some horses ready, and an escort. Twelve knights, I think.”

Twelve was a full half of the garrison, not counting those knights out on patrols–but there was nothing better for them to be doing in the castle. Before the ambush, the Malenia and her knights had almost finished scouring the region of dragons, and now it seemed truly empty of foes.

As Veitchi started to bow, Finlay shut her door in his face.

[] [] []

When Finlay left the barracks clad in full armor and with her sword strapped to her belt, the stablehands had already led out a dozen horses and were at work checking that the horses’ tack was secure. One horse, a warhorse with a coppery coat and a blond mane, stood taller than the rest. No ordinary horse could carry Finlay’s lady to battle.

Finlay’s lady herself remained yet absent from the gathering, though several knights who would be her guard waited near the horses, talking amongst themselves. Finlay set out across the courtyard towards them. As she approached, they bowed, but then they straightened and went back to their conversation–about whether this ride was prudent. All seemed to agree that it was not.

Finlay frowned. She did not disagree. She’d indicated as much to Veitchi earlier in the barracks. Miquella himself had counseled his sister to rest. But all of this had been said privately. 

Clasping her hands behind her back, Finlay cleared her throat loudly to demand the knights’ attention. “Dauricus. Ostia. Jishanen,” she said, naming the three most senior members of the group. “If you wish your thoughts on our duties heard, you may speak with me about them somewhere other than this courtyard, surrounded by strangers,” she said. “Or you may air them with our lady directly. But this is not the proper forum.”

Dauricus and Jishanen looked properly rebuked. Dauricus in particular, with his missing ear and stained bandage, had the appearance of a true penitent. Ostia, however, persisted. A tall, well-built woman with light brown hair, Ostia had been with the Cleanrots longer than most, but not quite as long as Finlay. “Finlay,” she started, “She’ll listen to you. Do something.”

Finlay did her best to look imposing, though in attempting to make herself seem larger, she managed to provoke a jet of pain in her ribs again. She pushed it out of her mind. “Our duty is to serve,” Finlay said. “When our lady fights, we are her sword. When she speaks, we are her messengers. When she wishes to ride, we ride with her.”

The look Ostia gave Finlay was pitiable, and Finlay at once felt guilt for her tone.

Any further conversation was cut short, however, by Malenia’s entrance into the courtyard from the castle keep.

Dressed in her customary bronze silks, Malenia stood with as much poise as anyone could while leaning heavily on a crutch. Unusually, that crutch was a sheathed sword, wide, with a curving blade, and as long as a full-grown man stood tall. Were she to stand up straight, Malenia would, of course, be somewhat taller. With the exception of Miquella, all the family of Marika cut towering figures. Though Malenia’s clothing was court-weight, she wore heavy boots and closed greaves of steel plate.

Finlay and all the other knights turned to their lady and bowed. Then, Finlay stepped forward. “My lady,” she greeted.

“Sir Finlay,” Malenia replied. She briefly set her eyes on Finlay, then flicked her gaze to her other knights, to their horses, and then to her own horse. Her lips quirked upward into a hint of a grin. Now with eyes only for her horse, she began to hobble forward, relying on her sword-crutch and avoiding putting weight on her left leg. As she moved, her back remained straight and somehow she still projected such power that none could doubt that she was a child of Marika herself.

Perhaps Ostia, Finlay, and their comrades had been wrong.

When Malenia reached her horse, however, she paused, expression stony.

Realizing the problem, Finlay strode forward as quickly as she could without running. When she reached her lady’s side, she knelt and held out her hands, lacing her fingers together. She glanced up, expectantly.

Malenia’s features softened. She nodded to her commander. Then, leaning on her sword, she set her right foot in Finlay’s hands. With some difficulty–Malenia was solid muscle and weighed as much as that entailed, and Finlay’s chest was not at all healed enough for such effort–Finlay stood, boosting her lady up to the point she could swing her other leg around and climb into her saddle. “Thank you,” Malenia murmured, too softly for anyone but Finlay to hear.

Finlay bowed her head. “It is my honor,” she murmured in reply.

Mounted now, Malenia turned towards the other knights. She nodded to them. Voicing no dissent, they all quickly moved to mount horses of their own.

Finlay’s horse had been killed in the ambush that had taken so many of her other comrades. She found a dark bay that no one else was taking and climbed up into the saddle, ribs protesting all the while. Though this horse she trusted would serve her adequately, she missed the one she’d lost. He’d been a steady companion for nearly a year, and had never shied from battle. But the blow that had shattered Finlay’s arm had done worse to him.

Reaching out a gauntlet-clad hand, Finlay patted the neck of the horse she’d chosen.

With any luck, she could protect this one better than her last.

[] [] []

Surprisingly, except for the constant awful jostling of Finlay’s half-healed ribs, the ride was not unpleasant. Although Finlay would normally broil in her armor due to the sun, they took a road along the shore where a strong ocean breeze kept the weather bearable. And it was… nice, being outside the confines of the castle.

The road ran close enough to the beach that on Finlay’s left she could see the endless gray-green expanse of level ocean, and the occasional white-crested wave rolling in. However, the road was not so close that it was at great risk of being washed away, except in a particularly bad storm. Off to Finlay’s right were dunes that blocked her view inland. She knew that past the dunes were a break of scraggly shrubs too small and gnarled to be called trees, and beyond that a few scattered farms dotted the swamp that dominated the region. The land was not particularly suited for grain the way the plateau of Altus was. Most food in the area came instead from the sea.

Until mid-morning, the company rode in companionable silence. When the sun had run about a quarter of its daily course, they paused to rest. To give the horses some relief, all dismounted. Finlay herself slid from her saddle hastily so that she could get to her lady’s side to help her down. Given the difficulty she’d had getting into the saddle, it was clear that her legs wouldn’t support her weight unaided. As the other knights politely looked away, Malenia twisted so that both her legs were on one side of her horse, and then Finlay got an arm under them, and her other arm around her lady’s back, to half-catch, half-lift her in the dismount.

All the while, Finlay’s ribs screamed bloody murder–penance for her doubting ways.

Once Malenia stood on her own strength once more, Finlay offered a bow. “My lady.”

Malenia offered her a small smile. “Sir Finlay,” she said. “I chose you well.”

Finlay’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, my lady.”

They’d stopped on a sandy hilltop where only a thin cover of hardy grass held shifting earth in place. A few knights drew trail rations from saddlebags and passed the dry fare around to their comrades to share. As Finlay munched on hard biscuit, she looked up to the clear sky above. There was hardly a cloud in sight. And, importantly, there were no signs of dragons.

For months now, not a single one of Finlay’s patrols had reported so much as a whiff of dragon dung. But the beasts could cover in half a day a distance that would take a mounted rider half a week. While there were probably few, if any, left in the region after the Cleanrots and their lady killed so many, the four-limbed dragon that had fled from Malenia was still unaccounted for. There were no signs of it, whether alive or as a corpse.

Although Finlay hoped, dearly, that the dragon was dead, part of her would prefer to know that it were alive, and to know its whereabouts as well, rather than to stay in the limbo of uncertainty. If it were to be found, she suspected, it would not be found until it was recovered and ready for vengeance.

After a time, Malenia called for the party to ride once more. Finlay helped her lady mount again, and then they set off farther down the shore road.

Around midday they reached the village by the sea.

The settlement contained perhaps two or three dozen dwellings that Finlay could see, making it one of the larger outposts of civilization to dot the region. The road that the company traveled ran straight through the center of the village. As they approached, on either side of the road inhabitants of the village–mostly children and the elderly, for the rest would be out fishing–opened doors and windows to stare at the strangers. None, however, came out to greet them.

Though their armaments marked them as Marikans and their leader was instantly recognizable as a child of the goddess from the many tokens of her and her family that circulated in the lands, smallfolk rarely wanted anything to do with Malenia and her queer knights. 

Rather than advance along the road through the village, Malenia signaled her party to halt at its outskirts.

As the day was half over, should they go farther it would take them until after nightfall to return to the castle. And, Finlay knew, Malenia was not unaffected by the reactions her presence inspired in country settlements. Finlay herself was not unaffected by the reactions either, and the same could be said for many of her comrades.

Before they could turn to leave, however, a figure emerged from one of the village houses. They had a shock of white hair and walked bent with age, but still moved with alacrity towards the riders. To Finlay’s surprise, the figure’s robes marked them as a minor sage of Sellia–one of the few centers of sorcery not affiliated with Raya Lucaria. But the figure did not wear a glintstone crown, and, moreover, Sellia lay in Caelid, on the other side of the continent from the holdings of the Marais. Sorcerers rarely traveled far from their bastions of study.

Finlay set a hand on the hilt of her sword.

If he meant harm, Finlay would not allow it.

“Hail,” the figure shouted as soon as he had come close enough for his voice to carry. “Malenia, Goddess of Rot! Bless us! Bless this town! Bless us with your abundance!”

Malenia recoiled.

In the village, another door opened. An elderly woman came creaking from her home, holding a rolling pin. She advanced on the shouting man in sage’s robes, and a quarrel broke out. Several more elders emerged shortly thereafter to separate the two. In the chaos, a few children slipped out into the street as well. Two of them, a girl and what must have been her brother, made a sprinting beeline for the company, still watching from the village outskirts.

Finlay pushed her horse forward so that she blocked the way to her lady. She kept her sword sheathed, however. She would not draw on children without more cause than this. She turned to her lady. “We should leave,” Finlay urged. “Whatever this is, we should have no part in it.”

“Wait!” the girl shouted. With a child’s agility and reckless abandon, she and her brother darted under the legs of Finlay’s mount, causing it to rear. Finlay kept her seat, but in the moment of her distraction the children reached her lady.

“Bless us!” the boy demanded, reaching out. He was so short that he managed to clasp only Malenia’s armored knee. “Rot us!”

“Please!” added the girl.

Dauricus and Ostia surged forward, each seizing a child by the back of their shirt and hoisting, yanking them back from Malenia and holding them aloft so that they could not escape. The children didn’t struggle, they just let themselves hang, eyes wide with excitement and hope.

Malenia had to take a moment to compose herself, something that Finlay had seen her do on only a handful of occasions over the years. She was shaken.

“No,” Malenia said, voice tight. “Dauricus. Ostia. Set them down back at the village.”

Before her knights could carry out her order, Malenia wheeled her horse about, away from the village, and spurred it to a gallop. As Dauricus and Ostia headed back to the village to deposit the children, the rest of the knights turned about and followed her. Though after a time Malenia slowed her horse to a less demanding trot, and then a walk, she did not call for any rests on the way back to the castle. On the ride, no one spoke.

When the company reached the castle in the evening on exhausted horses, they were still beset by an acute sense of unease.

In silence, Finlay assisted her lady in dismounting. Having done this more than once now, it was a less awkward movement than before–though Finlay’s ribs felt no better than they had at the beginning of the day’s excursion. Indeed, they felt worse. Still, she strove to comport herself as if she were uninjured.

Before Finlay could turn to fully devote herself to overseeing the knights and squires leading the horses back to the stables, Malenia spoke. “Finlay, come with me.”

At once, Finlay fell in a half-pace behind Malenia as her lady began to walk towards the keep, leaning on her sword with every step. They did not exchange any further words until they reached the base of the first long flight of steps up within the structure.

Malenia paused, readying herself for the climb.

Finlay stepped forward. Knowing the gravity of her request, she went to one knee. She wet her lips, then, “My lady, there is no need for you to exert yourself here. By your leave, I would be your legs.”

For a very long time, Malenia said nothing, only looked down at Finlay.

Finlay bowed her head and stared at the stone floor. Her heart thundered in her ears.

At last–

“You may.”

Finlay rose once more. Steeling herself for her task, she rolled her shoulders, ensuring they would do as she required. Though she still wore her armor and Malenia, as she knew well, was not light, she was not one to ever fail a duty owed to her lady. As gracefully as she could manage, Finlay put one arm around her lady’s waist and the other under her legs to lift her up. Malenia wrapped her single arm around Finlay’s shoulders tightly, helping Finlay balance.

Confident, at least in her hold, Finlay started up the stairs.

Finlay’s ribs ached and her legs burned and more than once she worried she might slip on a step, sending them both tumbling. But, miraculously, she did not slip, and she did not falter. As best she could, she pushed her fears of exhaustion to the back of her mind and focused on the way Malenia’s head rested in the crook of her neck, warm breath tickling Finlay’s skin. She was strong enough for whatever her lady required.

When finally they reached the courtyard at the top of the keep, half Finlay’s body felt numb from exertion. But if she collapsed dead on the spot, at least she’d die knowing that the last thing she did had been in her lady’s service. Although her muscles protested at being asked for fine movements, she set Malenia down on the courtyard flagstones as gently as she could manage.

Across the courtyard, the knights tasked to guard the private residence where Malenia had been quartered all these long months were seated, as was the Castellan Marais. The sickly boy had the knights both involved in some kind of children’s game involving tapping hands together. Finlay quelled her first instinct, which was to reprimand the knights for not focusing on their watch. There was little danger in this, and Malenia liked for the child to be humored.

Upon seeing Finlay and their lady, however, the knights pushed themselves to their feet and bowed, as did Maleigh.

“Was your ride good, Lady Malenia?” the boy asked.

Finlay glanced at her lady in time to see a shadow briefly pass over Malenia’s face. “It was,” she said. “You hold lovely lands.”

The boy beamed. “My family holds them in your mother’s name, my lady,” he said. “As we have done for eleven generations.”

“You have my gratitude, Castellan,” Malenia replied. “I would ask you–there were some in a village today who… acted strangely at my presence. What do you know of this?”

Maleigh avoided looking at Malenia. “Uh,” he started. “It might be… not everyone here worships the Tree,” he said. “Some people worship the swamp. Which… you know… and they have, for a very long time. The swamp has always been here, as long as the sea has. And they’re… not Tree worshipers.”

“I see,” Malenia said. She forced a smile, though she had little skill in this and it looked more like a grimace. “Would you send for dinner? For myself, for you, and for my knight.”

A panicked guilt swept Maleigh’s face. “Ah, I already ate,” he said. “I was hungry. And I didn’t know when you were getting back.”

“A wise choice under the circumstances,” Malenia replied, gracefully. “Then for myself and my knight only then.”

Maleigh bowed. “At once, Lady Malenia.” With haste, he then trotted off, past Finlay and Malenia and down the stairs to the rest of the keep.

Malenia waited long enough for the boy to surely have passed out of earshot before she addressed the knights who had been posted on watch. “What is your sense of him?” she asked.

“He remains like any of us,” one of the knights said with a small shrug. “He is not well, but he grows no worse.”

“I don’t see how he’ll ever be able to fulfill the duties of his house,” the other knight said. “He’s too weak.”

“His duty is to serve to his best ability,” Malenia said. “And he will do so, I think.” She glanced at Finlay. “As we all do.”

[] [] []

The dining room of the castellan’s chambers was an affair of dark wood and thick carpets the color of congealed blood. Finlay was not one for aesthetics, but the decorations of the chamber were not of the kind she would have chosen had she been tasked with obtaining furnishings.

Malenia took a seat at the head of a long table–long enough to seat twenty, if not more–in the place of the head of the estate. She leaned her sword against the table to her left, within easy reach. Then, she gestured for Finlay to take the first seat at her right.

Although unaccustomed to sitting beside her lady in such a setting, Finlay felt grateful for a chance to rest, and she took her place quickly. The chair was cushioned so much that Finlay felt herself sink down into it–a somewhat disconcerting sensation. It was not unpleasant, but it was not altogether comfortable either.

Unsure for what purpose her lady had requested her presence, Finlay removed her gauntlets, placing them on the floor by her chair, and then sat as still as she could, trying not to fidget.

Neither one of them spoke.

Without anything else to do, Finlay stared at Malenia–though, as politely as she could, not directly.

Malenia was covered in grime and sweat from the day. It was not unusual for her, though it seemed out of place in the Marais dining room, in all its opulence. Finlay supposed that she herself was also grimy, also out of place, and, moreover, in her battered armor–entirely unfit for their surroundings. The two of them would go perfectly in a camp, but not here.

As if sensing Finlay’s staring, Malenia shifted, turning her head to stare back with her strikingly clear green eyes. Her face was impassive. Unreadable. Malenia’s beauty shone so differently from her brother’s, but it was radiant to no lesser degree. Miquella had the light of innocence, above and apart from the world. Malenia, however, had suffered and endured and survived no less for it–she was more, even. She was a mountain that stood firm and unbowed against the howling of the winds, for months, years, however many centuries she had seen and would see in the future ages.

“You have a question,” Malenia said.

Finlay swallowed nervously. Then, she ventured, “My lady, is there a reason you desire my presence?”

Malenia offered no immediate reply. Servants had come with food–fish, cooked better than what was served in the barracks mess, but still tasting strongly of fish–and they had both eaten when she finally gave her answer. “My brother has departed,” she said. “I tire of resting. And I tire of being alone.”

Whatever Finlay had expected, it hadn’t been that. She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed her mouth once more. After some thought, she tried again. “I offer my apologies again for my absence,” she said. “I have… I did not understand the extent of my failure.”

Malenia frowned. “You have not failed me. That was not my meaning.”

Finlay stiffened in her overly soft chair. “My duty is to serve you in all things. Whatever is in my power to provide, it is my duty to offer it.”

A flash of frustration crossed Malenia’s face. But at what? “Finlay, when you swore yourself to me, did you understand the consequences of joining my service?” she asked, sudden heat in her voice.

Confused by the abrupt change of topic, Finlay nodded. “Of course. It is part of our oath.”

“Your oath is to fight for me,” Malenia replied. “It is not to rot with me.”

Stubborn, Finlay shook her head. “Our oath to you is ours, not yours. Your knights decide the metes and bounds when we give it. You have no say in that.”

“And my payment for your oath is my protection,” Malenia snapped. “I should not command you to share my curse. My siblings do not ask their retainers to leave the cycle of the Tree for their gain.”

Finlay drew her shoulders back. “We did not choose to serve them,” she said. “We chose to serve you. That is a greater purpose than merely returning again and again for the sake of the return.”

Malenia shook her head slightly. “Is that what you truly believe?”

Finlay hesitated.

Malenia’s eyes narrowed.

Unwilling to give ground, Finlay pressed forward. “I have little understanding of the mysteries of the Tree,” she said. “But I don’t need to understand the Tree or drink its dew to be pledged to you, to fight for you, to serve you, and to someday go to nothing at your side.”

“You’ve been favoring your right side all day,” Malenia said, accusatory.

Finlay immediately put a hand on her side, covering her injured ribs. Heat rose in her cheeks. “I made a mistake in a drill yesterday,” she said. “It is nothing. It’s not…”

Malenia’s face darkened. “I have watched every one of my commanders before you decay,” she said. “And I have regretted that I did not tell them more plainly of their value and my gratitude for them. It would have cost me nothing to speak, but for them it would have meant everything.”

“This was but a common injury, my lady,” Finlay said. She briefly recalled the bloodstains on her sheets from her coughing. She shoved the memory as deeply down and away from her conscious thoughts as she could, lest she do something to betray her misgivings. Her lady had troubles enough. “I am sorry to have concerned you.”

Malenia’s green eyes found Finlay’s own and bored into her soul. “You have served me for many years. Longer than most. I have never seen you unable to attend to such an injury.”

“I had some difficulty with my healing,” Finlay said. Her face felt somewhat warm. “Only a small difficulty. It happens from time to time. To everyone.” Or, she thought, so Veitchi had told her.

Malenia’s expression finally softened somewhat. “You will tell me if you require rest,” she said. It was not a request.

“I shall, my lady,” Finlay replied, giving the only possible answer to such a command. She had no intention, however, of requiring rest.

Satisfied, Malenia offered a nod and then she at last looked away from Finlay, gaze going out towards something in the middle distance. “So go now,” she said. “Sleep. Recover your strength. The day you spend the last of yourself for me need not be today, nor need it be tomorrow.”

Dismissed, Finlay rose. She collected her steel gauntlets from where she’d set them on the floor earlier, then bowed, then left.

[] [] []

The next day, Finlay made a point of ascending the keep to the castellans’ quarters just after breakfast. Her ribs bothered her still, but no worse than the previous day. Since today she wore simple clothes and was unarmed and unarmored except for her sword, she moved much more easily.

She found Malenia sitting outside in the rooftop courtyard, perched on the side of the central fountain. Her lady was looking up at the sky, watching a dark bird circle high above. Probably a bird of prey, or a carrion bird, if it flew alone. It was too small to be a dragon.

Finlay went to her lady. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of her horrifically scarred reflection in the fountain’s waters. A woman she didn’t recognize. As soon as she saw it, she looked away. Wordlessly, she took a seat next to Malenia.

They passed most of the morning together in companionable silence.

When the sun started to near its apex, Malenia, still looking heavenward, spoke. “You need not bore yourself here, Sir Finlay,” she said. “Though I am… glad of your company.”

“My lady, I took the blow to my chest during training because I was bored of that,” Finlay replied. She turned to look at Malenia. Her lady’s hair blazed like fire in the direct light of the sun, and her skin shone with an echo of her brother’s radiance. “And I am bored of reviewing duty rosters as well. And I am bored of reading supply requisitions. And I am bored of dice, cards, gambling, and all the other ways soldiers pass time. I am not bored of you.”

“My convalescence has kept us from our purpose,” Malenia said. She brought her gaze down from the skies to rest on her knight.

Finlay’s reply was on her lips at once. “I am serving my purpose now,” she said.

Malenia frowned. At what though, Finlay could not guess.

Searching for what might improve her lady’s mood, Finlay tried, “Perhaps tomorrow you would like to ride again? The east road, I think, away from that village.”

Malenia’s frown softened. “Yes,” she said. “I would like that.”

Finlay found herself smiling. “By your will then,” she said. “I look forward to it.”

“It is not often that I have been so stagnant for so long,” Malenia remarked. “Not since I was a child, I think.”

Finlay let her head tilt to one side as she considered her lady. “It is hard to imagine you as a child,” she said at last.

This, finally, brought a bit of light to Malenia’s demeanor. “Think of Miquella,” she said. “But prettier.”

Finlay lost herself to spluttering as she attempted not to laugh.

“Inquire of him someday,” Malenia suggested. “He is too polite–he will not deny it.” She paused, then asked, “What of you, Finlay? Who were you when you were young?” Frowning slightly, she corrected her question. “Not young–merely, in the time before you joined me? I think that you were young when you came to my knights, as mortals reckon these things. And, in my eyes, you are young still.”

Finlay shrugged. “I wasn’t much of anyone,” she said. “My family was from Limgrave. We lived in a very small village. The most interesting thing anyone ever did was forget to close the gate on the sheep.”

“That sounds very peaceful,” Malenia said.

“It was,” Finlay replied.

“Your parents?” Malenia prompted.

Again, Finlay shrugged. “My mother ran off to follow some traveling priestess when I was too young to remember her,” Finlay said. “My father and brothers and I never agreed on anything except that she was probably happier wherever she’d gone. I left when I could. Drifted. I haven’t thought about them in years.”

Malenia spoke slowly when she replied. “When Radagon left Rennala for Marika, he…” She hesitated, seeming to go somewhere far away in her thoughts for a moment. Then she continued, speaking each word with great care, “I do not think that he is happier for his choice, if it was a choice. He suffered for it, Rennala suffered for it, and their children suffered for it as well. He should never have become Elden Lord.”

Finlay stared in horror. “That’s heresy,” she muttered. Then, realizing what she’d just said, and to whom she’d said it, she flushed. As quickly as she could, tripping over her words, “Forgive me–please, my apologies, I did not… I did not think before I spoke.” Belatedly, she slipped down from her perch on the edge of the fountain and knelt.

“Rise, Finlay,” Malenia said, sounding somewhat weary. She gestured to the spot at her side that Finlay had vacated. “Sit back down. You meant no offense, and I have taken none. Marika and Radagon are… complicated.”

Aggrieved at herself beyond what her lady could forgive, Finlay reluctantly retook her place. No wonder that her prayers had gone unfulfilled of late.

Malenia slumped forward somewhat to rest the elbow of her single arm on a knee. “I do not know how to explain them to you. Radagon loves Rennala still. I think he does not love Marika–not in the way he loves Rennala. But he cannot resist her. He cannot help himself.”

Unwilling to chance speaking out of turn again, Finlay said nothing.

“If you doubt Marika, it is only natural,” Malenia said. “She is imperfect.”

This drew a sharp response from Finlay. “I do not doubt her.”

Solemn, Malenia considered the liar seated next to her. “I think you are running out of blind faith, Finlay. I think you will not find it again in orthodoxy. I have never found any faith there.”

“We walk in Marika’s light,” Finlay recited. The words fell dull and lifeless from her lips. “She is blessed, and her children are blessed. We who are leaves in the wind, may she gather us up and return us to the Tree to become sap once more.”

“The world existed before Marika,” Malenia said. “And the world will exist still after her.”

Finlay shook her head. Her lady was right in all things. But not in this.

Malenia sighed. “Go back to my knights,” she said. “Attend to your duties. But consider what I’ve said.”

Finlay stood, face set in a grim mask. She gave Malenia a nod, then turned and left.

For the rest of the day, her lady’s words haunted her.

Distractedly, she signed her name on half a dozen supply orders having barely read them. She heard a patrol officer report that a villager far to the west of the castle had reported that another villager might have seen a dragon in the distance–but she didn’t listen. When Dauricus suggested that Veitchi’s mustache resembled a figure in one of the lewd pamphlets that circulated in Leyndell, Finlay stared blankly at the far wall of the mess.

It was one thing for someone like Finlay, a no one in the workings of the Greater Will, to wonder at Marika’s godhood. Mortals faltered. Often. For Malenia to make such insinuations was something else entirely. It disturbed Finlay, beyond what she had words to describe.

When she finally turned in for the night, Finlay lay in bed, unable to sleep.

[] [] []

When the sun rose, Finlay rose with it. She ate quickly, and when she saw that most of her fellows had also eaten, she ordered an escort to arm themselves and for horses to be made ready. She ordered too that a message go up to the castellan’s chambers. Despite all else, she had not forgotten that slight brightening in her lady’s face at the prospect of leaving the castle again.

In her own quarters, she donned her gambeson, mail shirt, and steel plate alone. It was not easy without a squire’s aid, but not impossible. The armor bore many dents and scratches from years on campaign. With the Cleanrot’s disdain for shields, Finlay’s cuirass had saved her life more times than she could count–most recently in the training yard.

Her ribs twinged, a reminder of her mistake, and of all her other failings.

With a shake of her head, Finlay dispelled the memory as she buckled her sword belt. The time had come to move, to act, to do something.

Out in the courtyard, Finlay was one of the first of the party to arrive. That said, Malenia was already standing by the entrance of the castle’s keep, watching the horses be led out from the stables. Upon seeing her lady, Finlay automatically strode towards her to stand at her side. They exchanged no words. When the horses and escort were ready, still silent, Finlay helped Malenia up into the saddle. The party then set out.

This ride went much like the last. They rode out for half a day, then turned back. Though the company passed two small villages, they gave each a wide berth. From time to time, a few of the knights sang old marching songs, the kind they would have sung when they were footmen in Marika’s armies traveling from one corner of her realm to another. Though the Cleanrots had a few songs of their own, most were redolent with gallows humor and no one could ever tell if their lady found them amusing or in very poor taste. Finlay wouldn't be surprised if it was a bit of both.

On the way back to the castle, when its dark walls were in sight, Malenia signaled a halt. She turned her mount towards the sea and simply… sat. Gazing out at the water. Finlay attempted to track her line of sight, but it seemed that all Malenia looked at were the grey-green waves lapping against the sandy shore.

Quiet, Finlay and the other knights waited.

Only when the sun had almost slipped away to leave the world in darkness did Malenia resume the ride. The torches of the nightwatch had already been lit by the time they reached the castle’s gates.

As Finlay assisted Malenia down from her horse in the castle courtyard, her lady asked, “Finlay, would you dine with me again?”

“I would be honored, my lady,” Finlay replied.

As they approached the keep together, Malenia spoke. “I appreciate your company.”

“It is yours whenever you wish it,” Finlay said. “You have only to ask.”

When they reached the castellan’s quarters, Malenia led them to the sitting room. Finlay was silently glad for this. Though the sitting room was furnished in the same manner as the rest of the Marais’ private rooms, it was less oppressively opulent than the dining hall. In the sitting room, Malenia went to her couch, and Finlay found a not uncomfortable wood great chair with armrests that reminded her somewhat of a miniature throne. No sooner had they settled in than a young page entered to ask them if they were ready to eat. Malenia nodded, and the page quickly departed.

“Have you thought about my words yesterday?” Malenia asked.

Finlay’s face tightened. “My lady, the way to restore my faith is not to stoke my doubts,” she said.

Malenia considered this for a while. Finally, she replied, “I see. I… nevermind.”

Before long, the page returned with several other castle staff. Together, they brought a large plate with a giant cooked fish of some sort, as well as bowls, utensils, and a small table to set it all on. Malenia thanked them and then sent them away.

On account of her continuing vendetta against the seafood provided at the castle, Finlay at first picked at the meal, but then she discovered that this particular fish was actually quite good. Having made that discovery, she tucked in with more enthusiasm than she’d shown for any food in months. Malenia too seemed to like the fish, and between the two of them they finished it quickly.

Contentedly full, Finlay allowed herself to relax in the chair she’d chosen for herself. For once, she mused, the constant beat of waves on the shore in the distance did not annoy her.

For a while, Malenia and Finlay simply sat together quietly, in peace.

Peace was an odd feeling–one Finlay did not feel often.

When the watch called the compline, Malenia rose, leaning on her sword as always. “I will retire now,” she said. “Thank you for spending this time with me.”

Shaking herself back to full wakefulness, Finlay reluctantly stood as well. She found that she did not want to leave.

Finlay gathered her courage. “My lady, may I attend you? As I once did?”

“No, I will…” Malenia started to refuse, but then she hesitated. She looked at Finlay, and something she saw made her change her mind. “Very well.”

Together, they left the sitting room and went deeper into the private chambers of the ancient castellans of the castle. When they reached the bedchamber given over to Malenia for her stay at the castle, Finlay helped her to a seat on a small couch. Like every other room in the castellans’ quarters, this room was wood-paneled and decorated in deep reds. Glintstones placed in sconces along the wall cast the room in a soft blue-violet glow.

“Where are the bandages?” Finlay asked.

Malenia used her head to indicate a dresser on the other side of the room. Finlay went to the dresser and from it took two rolls of white linen cloth of sturdy thickness and about a hand’s width across. She also took a clean rag and a metal basin that stood at the foot of the dresser, and with all of this she returned to Malenia on the couch.

“It has been some time,” Malenia remarked as Finlay took a seat on the floor before her.

“Yes,” Finlay replied. “Not since before you discarded your other arm.”

With a professional sureness of movement, Finlay unclasped Malenia’s steel greaves from her legs and set them aside, then set to work unlacing her tall boots before removing those as well. Beneath the boots, from Malenia’s knees down her legs were a mass of sodden bandages and putrefaction.

Her legs looked as her lost right arm once had. In the ambush by the dragons, she’d been thrown along a jagged face of a cliff, and she’d left most of the flesh of her legs behind on the rocks as she’d passed. Her wounds were always slow to heal. But in the days since the battle these had grown worse rather than better–they’d been so grievous that when they did not heal swiftly enough, necrosis set in.

Malenia’s left leg and foot were the worse, by far. Though the bandages currently covering it were surely barely a day old, they were already black with clotted blood and smelled overpoweringly rank. Hands steady, Finlay unwrapped the fetid linen as gently as she could. Sodden lumps of something came away with the cloth, but it was impossible to tell in the low light if it was thickened pus or sloughed-off flesh. In some places, the cloth itself had rotted and part of it came away in Finlay’s hand while the rest stayed stuck to what was left of Malenia’s skin. Careful, Finlay picked at the bits of cloth, trying to free all of it. All of the detritus that came away went into the metal basin she’d brought from the other side of the room.

Later, she would burn it all.

Whenever Finlay’s fingers brushed against what on her own foot would have been a knobby bone, she suppressed a flinch. The parts of Melania’s foot that should have been hard were soft, and the parts that were naturally soft had started to decay to a pulpous sludge.

Throughout, Malenia watched silently, face tight with unexpressed pain.

When Finlay had cleaned away as much rot as she could without fear of removing flesh that wasn’t yet too far gone, she dabbed at places that seemed to ooze more than others with her rag. Then, she set to work applying fresh bandages.

As Finlay worked, she murmured prayers–prayers that, even when she’d had faith to make them, had never amounted to anything. It was a habit though. A comfort, even now when her hands remained dark.

“Thank you, Finlay,” Malenia said.

Without looking up, Finlay replied, “Of course, my lady.”

For Malenia, anything.

Finlay was securing the last bandage when she heard… voices, coming towards them. They were soft, like the speakers were trying not to be heard.

Finlay stood and moved towards the door of the room, right hand drifting towards the hilt of her sword. Then she recognized the voices.

Veitchi and Jishanen.

Withdrawing her hand from her weapon, Finlay stepped out into the hall. The two of them, having been approaching, stopped in their tracks. Their faces were grim. While Veitchi wore a tunic and trousers, Jishanen wore muddy armor.

“Why are you here?” Finlay asked quietly.

Jishanen’s eyes flickered towards the open door behind Finlay.

Veitchi spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Jishanen’s patrol saw the dragon and tracked it,” he said. He too glanced at the open door. “It has a nest. Southwest, towards Gelmir. Four day’s ride.”

Finlay froze in place. Then, she grimaced. Now she understood why they were sneaking about–though, as Cleanrots, they were bad at it.

“We have to tell her,” Finlay said, keeping her voice as low as she could.

“Tell it to her gently,” Veitchi said. “Tell her we have it under control. She needn’t get involved.”

“Tell me you have what under control?” Malenia asked. She’d come up behind Finlay and leaned heavily against the doorframe, clear green eyes fixed on her knights with a predator’s focus.

Finlay turned. Whatever thoughts she may have entertained of handling the matter without their lady’s involvement were now fled. Bluntly, she said, “A patrol has found the dragon and its nest.”

“Where?” Malenia asked. Her tone carried an edge of anger and excitement intertwined.

Finlay glanced at Jishanen. “Jishanen?”

Jishanen stepped forward. A small woman–though anyone who voiced that sentiment would be made to regret it–she was one of the best riders among Finlay’s remaining knights. “Four days to the southwest of here, my lady,” she said curtly.

“Then in five days we will slay the beast,” Malenia said. “Prepare to move out the day after tomorrow.”

Jishanen and Veitchi shared a look. As the senior of the two of them, Veitchi spoke. “My lady, we must counsel that you remain here,” he said. He quickly knelt, as did Jishanen. They both bowed their heads.

Finlay bit her lower lip. Should she join them?

“My lady, it is not safe,” Veitchi said, beginning again. “Lord Miquella wished that you rest.”

“Everything is safer than battle,” Malenia replied, tone unreadable. She looked to Finlay. Her expression betrayed nothing. “Sir Finlay?”

Finlay swallowed. If she joined her comrades, their lady might listen. Their lady would listen.

“Finlay!” Jishanen hissed.

“You are Malenia, daughter of Marika,” Finlay began, speaking slowly as she assured herself of her own counsel. “You have never known defeat. The dragon cannot be allowed to fly while you do not. And it is yours to slay.”

[] [] []

The next day dragged by. As commander, there was precious little for Finlay to do to prepare for their march. The logistics of supply and camp were handled by her quartermaster. The actual communication of the orders were handled by Veitchi and the lower ranking officers. Though there were a few knights still out on patrol, a message would be left for them at the castle to ride swiftly to join the march after it departed. All that was left for Finlay to do was–

“Why didn’t you talk her out of this?” Dauricus demanded. Behind him, Ostia bristled as well. They were not the first knights to come to Finlay with this grievance, and she knew they would not be the last either.

“She can barely walk,” Ostia added. “How is she going to fight a dragon?”

“She can ride,” Finlay said mildly. She sat in the mess, holding court in her own way as every knight under her command came to her endlessly with the same concern.

Dauricus leaned forward and rapped his knuckles against Finlay’s table for emphasis. “And you could ride too. Last time. Right before the beast took your horse out from under you.”

Finlay scowled.

“Veitchi said she asked for your opinion,” Ostia pressed.

“We are her sword,” Finlay said. “A sword does not choose the battles that it fights.”

“No one asks a sword for its opinion,” Ostia muttered darkly.

“Finlay,” Dauricus started. He pulled back slightly, and spread his hands wide, beseeching. “You–

“Enough,” Finlay said. She was very tired of this argument. She stood. “Our lady will go forth. You may accompany her, or you may forsake your vow and remain here. I cannot make that decision for you.”

Having said her piece, Finlay left the mess, headed for her room. The march to reach the dragon would be exhausting, and then there would be the battle itself. Her ribs were not yet healed. She would not entertain more of these endless and endlessly repetitive complaints while she could be resting.

[] [] []

When the sun broke the horizon, Finlay had already eaten and had donned her full armor, as had all her comrades. All of them. The air hummed with a nervous energy. Swords, always well-cared for, were sharpened. Hafts of spears were checked for any sign of rot. Prayers were said to holy Marika and the Erdtree.

Finlay herself did not pray.

Her ribs twinged. For weeks her prayers had done nothing. This day would be no different. She would live or die by strength alone, Marika be damned.

At sunrise, Finlay and her comrades trooped out of their barracks. Horses were already waiting for them in the courtyard, brought there by the stablehands. Carrying packed saddlebags, each knight went to a horse and made their individual preparations.

Then they waited.

They did not have to wait long.

When Malenia strode out from the keep, she dressed in her own full armor–of a design similar to the armor worn by her knights, but somewhat less bulky, allowing for swifter movements at the cost of defense. Though she used her sword still as a crutch to walk, her limp was far less apparent when she was clad in steel. At her side, Maleigh accompanied her, carrying her winged helm.

Moving as one, all of the assembled knights–two score in total–bowed. Malenia gave them a nod in return and then went to the great coppery horse that was hers. Already in position, Finlay knelt to assist her into the saddle. They exchanged no words.

Maleigh handed Malenia’s helm up to Finlay, and then Finlay handed it to her lady, who donned it.

Finlay then went to the horse she’d claimed as her own, the same dark bay as before, and swung herself into the saddle. A squire passed her spear up to her, and she propped the butt of it on the top of her foot, leaning the shaft against her shoulder. She was the one who called for the company to mount, and then to depart. At once, the thunder of iron-shod hooves on stone filled the air as nearly two score knights began their procession of shimmering steel.

The Marais men opened the gates for the Cleanrots, and then closed the gates again behind them.

All day they rode, following Jishanen’s lead along the path her patrol had taken.

Unlike the previous days’ rides from the castle, they went inland, away from the shore, into the deeper swamps that the Marais lands were known for. They followed no road, and this made for difficult progress. The ground was muddy, and there were all sorts of flies swarming about.

Rather than push as far as they could, some time before the sun began to set they stopped when they found enough dry ground to pitch camp on. Always, they watched the skies.

When Finlay finished seeing to Malenia’s feet that night, she replaced her lady’s greaves.

Everyone slept in armor.

Dawn of the second day found the company on the move again, and it and the third day passed much the same as they trudged through the Marias swamps. Towards the end of the third day, at least, at least, the ground they traversed started to shift from swamp to gravel. They were nearing the slopes of Mt. Gelmir.

On the fourth and final day, tension lay thick in the air when they broke camp. They headed out when the sky was light but the sun had yet to break the horizon. Jishanen reckoned they would reach the nest in the mid afternoon and no one wanted the coming battle to drag into the night. Although against any humanoid enemy they might prefer to camp again somewhat closer and fight in the morning of the next day when they were most fresh, such a tactic could not be employed against a dragon. Every moment they tarried within its range, they risked turning from hunters to prey. They would break around midday, and then they would finish their trek.

When the sun had reached about a quarter of its way through its course in the sky, the gently sloping plain they traveled became a steeper climb of dry dirt and dark, blackish stone. Everywhere, boulders littered the ground. Though the day was cloudy, the air here weighed less humid than what they’d been traveling through, and it only became crisper as they ascended Gelmir. The slight change in their surroundings was welcome, as Finlay and her knights all rode with their helms closed.

The last stretch of the journey seemed to Finlay to be the longest. At the start of the ride, anticipation had coursed through her, making her tense and driving her heart to pound loud and fast in her ears. But as the ride went on, her nervous energy began to burn out, leaving her tired and leaden.

It was during the company’s midday rest, when some knights had dismounted to stretch their legs and rest their mounts that the dragon struck.

It came roaring down on the company from directly above, with the sun behind it, having flown up high enough that no one had seen its approach.

The knights who were mounted scattered across the plain to avoid the diving strike. The knights who weren’t mounted scrambled into their saddles, urging their horses to run even before they were seated. Two knights weren’t swift enough and were crushed when the dragon struck the ground, landing with such force that the ground shook and two more knights fell as their horses lost their footing.

Finlay was among the knights who successfully avoided the first blow of the battle by bolting away. When she heard the sound of the dragon making landfall, she wheeled her horse about from their flight and beheld it.

The dragon loomed massive.

Finlay had last seen it in the dead of night, and in the night she had been unable to comprehend its full size. Though it was not as large as Gransax, it was built to a similar scale. Its head alone was the size of a cottage, and every one of its teeth was like a broadsword. At the shoulder, the dragon’s arms seemed to each be as thick as a castle tower, and when it spread its grey, stony wings, those wings blotted out the sun.

Quickly, Finlay cast about, taking stock of her surviving knights, searching for her lady.

There.

A flash of red–Malenia, charging the dragon on her coppery warhorse, sword held out behind her as she readied her swing.

Finlay shouted for her knights to join the melee, though they’d know to do that without the order, then brought her spear around, tucking the butt end of it under her arm and leveling the point towards the dragon. A guttural warcry ripped its way from her throat and rang in her ears as she kicked her horse to a gallop.

Up close, the bulk of the dragon seemed even greater than from afar.

Finlay steered her horse towards one of the dragon’s rear legs–other than the dragon’s legs, nothing except the tail was in reach, and hacking at the dragon’s tail would do no good. The rear legs were a priority over the front legs, as the dragon would be unable to take flight and escape if it could not push off from the ground from its hindquarters. Nearing impact, Finlay grit her teeth, lowered her head, and braced for the moment when her spear would stab into the dragon’s stony flesh.

After the first pass, Finlay lost her spear. It stuck deep in the dragon’s leg, and she had no way to yank it free as her horse’s charge took her past. She let it go and drew her sword. Nearby, she saw two knights who were also completing a charge do likewise. One of them called on their faith to summon a holy imbuement for their blade, shrouding the steel with golden lightning. Though it was hard to tell with everyone in full armor, she thought it might be Dauricus based on the knight’s size.

Finlay turned her horse for another charge.

On this pass, Finlay did not fare so well. Though she landed a strong blow on the dragon’s leg, at the moment she struck, the dragon took a step back, catching her and her horse full on and sending them both to the ground.

Finlay hit the rocky plain hard and rolled.

Her horse did not.

As the horse screamed, shrill, the dragon’s foot came down, crushing it as easily as a child crushes an ant. Hot red blood splattered out, drenching Finlay in gore.

Hastily, Finlay scrambled to her feet, backing up, trying to find the best way to continue her assault without sharing her horse’s fate. She was somewhere beneath the dragon’s underside, but she was too dazed to determine quite where. The ground shook from every one of the dragon’s steps, and she could barely keep upright.

“Finlay!”

Finlay looked up to see the big knight–Dauricus–galloping towards her. He held out a hand.

Finlay locked her shoulder into place as best she could as she held out her own hand, hoping that what was about to happen wouldn’t rip her arm from its socket.

It did.

Finlay held on doggedly as Dauricus dragged her out from under the dragon. Her boots left deep furrows in the rocky dirt behind them.

When they’d gotten just barely out of range of the dragon’s feet, Dauricus let go. Finlay went skidding over hard ground. Dauricus himself turned his horse about and then went charging back towards their foe.

Finlay pushed herself up in time to see the dragon turn its head–its wounded head, it was missing an eye and a chunk of its upper jaw from its last fight with Malenia–and bite Dauricus’ torso from his legs.

Finlay swore.

Dauricus’ horse escaped, but there was no way she could corral the animal as it had charged off to the other side of the battlefield now, and would probably keep going out of fright. She looked all around, hoping and fearing that there would be other horses that had lost their riders.

She saw dead horses, and she saw dead riders, but she saw no live horses with dead riders.

With her left arm hanging limply at her side, having composed herself now, Finlay clutched her sword tightly in her right hand. If there were no horses to be had, she’d have to approach the dragon on foot once more.

Finlay had taken only a few steps, when a horse and rider surged past her in a blur of red and copper.

Malenia.

Peerless on horseback, Malenia urged her mount to weave this way and that, avoiding the dragon’s blows as she landed deep cuts on every part of it within reach.

Though all the wounds from Malenia and from her knights, numerous and deep, slowed the dragon, the beast did not falter. Doggedly, it snatched at Malenia again and again, trying to grab at her as she danced about beneath it. It swept its head around, lashed about with its tail, contorted itself in every way to get at her, all to no avail. She was too fast for so large a monster to catch.

Finlay broke into a run towards the dragon. She knew without looking that every one of her knights did the same, whether on horseback or on foot. A few battlecries rent the air, barely audible over the crashing of the dragon’s attempts to swat away the nuisance stinging its stony hide.

Upon reaching one of the dragon’s hind legs, Finlay landed a heavy slash against it, but then her blade caught in a stoney scale and she struggled to pull it free. As she wrestled with her weapon, the dragon kicked, catching her in the head and sending her flying. When she landed, on her back, briefly, the world went dark, then she came to, with only enough time to register the dragon’s tail at the edge of her vision before the world went dark again.

Finlay couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, could only feel the horrific weight on every part of her as the beast dragged its tail over her–an incidental blow to an enemy it likely didn’t realize was even there.

When Finlay finally saw light again, her world swam. Her ribs, half-healed before, were agony. Her plate cuirass had crumpled, and she could barely inhale against it. She turned on her side in time to vomit bile and blood through the flattened grill of her helm.

With her good arm, Finlay pushed off the ground, trying to stand again.

Somewhere nearby, the dragon roared, shaking the earth, sending Finlay sprawling once more.

Fighting desperately for every shallow breath, Finlay crawled to her knees. She couldn’t see through the filth coating her helm. She ripped it from her head, then looked over towards the monster they fought.

Malenia fought still.

No–

A sweep of one of the dragon’s clawed hands landed a lucky blow, slamming into Malenia and her horse, swatting them across the field. They landed heavily and skidded to a stop some ten feet from where they first hit. The coppery warhorse lay motionless. Malenia crawled upright, clutching her sword. With grim determination, she tried to regain her feet, using her sword as a lever.

Her movements were slow though.

Too slow.

The dragon reared back, licks of red-gold flame forming around its mouth as it prepared to scream fire down on the fallen child of Marika. Then, with a roar, the dragon unleashed its fury.

Finlay’s lady could not fall.

This she knew with an absolute certainty.

Her lady would never know defeat.

“Malenia!”

As the holy name left Finlay’s lips, a shield of brilliant gold, bright as the sun, burst into existence, forming a dome of protection around Finlay’s lady. 

The dragonfire collided with the shield with a thunderous crash. The flame skittered off the shield, scorching the ground all around the golden dome. Hardy mountain grass turned to ashy sand and then to glass in the heat. When the dragon at last finished its blast, it wailed in surprise and frustration, a shrill keening that rattled Finlay’s bones.

Then, the dragon turned with predatory intent back to its enemy.

Malenia still did not stand. She was on her knees, one of her rotted legs having given out beneath her. She held her sword in a guard position, for all the good it would do her.

Acting on instinct, Finlay raised a hand and screamed her prayer, scarlet blood spraying from her lips with every word.

Spears of gold, hundreds upon hundreds, blazed into existence in the space between Malenia and the dragon, and then they slammed forward, driving the dragon back one, two, three steps.

With eyes bleeding gold fire, Finlay clenched her outstretched hand.

In an instant, resplendent golden wings, the light of them blinding, with petals for feathers burst from Malenia’s back, lifting her up. Finlay could just make out that her sword was now poised for a strike. With a sense of certainty in her task, Finlay made a sweeping gesture, and Malenia went hurtling forward at the dragon.

The strike landed true.

The dragon roared in pain and fury as Malenia’s blade pierced its heart. It staggered, unsteady on its four legs, as blood poured from its wound.

It fell.

Finlay clung to consciousness long enough to bring Malenia softly to earth once more. Then, duty done, her world softly faded to black. She had gone before she hit the ground.

[] [] []

When Finlay regained her senses, she did not feel half as much pain as she rightfully might have expected. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She lay on her back on the ground, under the open sky. Someone had removed most of her armor, and her breathing was unencumbered. She ached, yes, dreadfully, and there was something distinctly wrong about her left shoulder, but she was alive and would likely stay that way for a while yet.

Finlay shifted, meaning to sit up, but her ribs screamed in protest. She relented with a groan.

“Oh, look who’s awake!”

Veitchi’s face came into Finlay’s vision. He was looking down at her and grinning ear to ear like some demented ghoul. Covered in dirt and blood, he seemed far too pleased with himself.

Finlay groaned again, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Report.”

“Dead dragon,” Veitchi said. “Alive liegelady. Alive commander. What more could a humble second ask for?” He paused, then added, “Oh, and I patched you up a bit, but as you recall, I’m shit at it.”

Finlay said nothing, waiting.

“We lost seven,” Veitchi finally said.

Seven.

To fell an ancient dragon, that was… acceptable.

“Who?” Finlay asked. She kept her eyes closed. She felt very tired.

Veitchi named them.

“They died as they lived,” Finlay mumbled.

“In service to our lady,” Veitchi finished.

“Pyre?” Finlay asked.

Cleanrots traditionally burned their dead–the only Marikan sect to do so. All others held to Erdtree burials for heroes and boneyard ceremonies for the rest, and they considered it sacrilege to allow the same rites for Malenia’s knights.

“Not enough fuel around here,” Veitchi replied. “But there’s enough stone about to raise cairns.”

Finlay took a very deep breath, then regretted it. Veitchi had done his best with her, but his best was terrible.

Moving very slowly, Finlay moved her good hand to rest on her chest.

In her mind, she pictured her lady, sitting on the fountain in the courtyard of the castle of the Marais, light in her face, suggesting that once upon a time she was prettier than her twin.

Gold dripped from Finlay’s fingers, seeping into her body. It knit torn muscle, and it mended broken bone–though it did nothing for the whispers of dark that were rooted deeper.

Finlay took another breath. For the first time in a week, she inhaled and then exhaled without pain. Moving a bit quicker, she touched her shoulder and again plied her heresy.

Doubly exhausted now, first from the battle and then from her prayer, Finlay fought to remain conscious. There was work to be done. Cairns to raise. She started to sit up, but Veitchi stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Rest,” he said. “I’ll take care of things. And when you’re ready, our lady asked for you–but she said not until you’ve rested. She said to be very firm about that.”

Finlay gave a shallow nod. Thankful. Then she slipped back into darkness.

[] [] []

That night, too spent to begin the long journey back to the castle, the company made camp near the stony corpse of the slain dragon.

Throughout the late hours, Finlay flitted in and out of wakefulness.

She did not dream.

When dawn came the next morning, Veitchi and the less injured knights were working on the cairns.

Finlay was still weary, but not too weary to rise. Stiff as a corpse, she stood. She found that though Veitchi had gotten her out of her steel plate, he’d left her in her arming jacket, still crusty with sweat, mud, and dried blood. Although over years of campaigning Finlay had developed a robust tolerance for living in her own filth and the filth of her comrades for weeks at a time, she still recognized that she and her jacket were absolutely disgusting. With tired fingers, she slowly unlaced the garment’s ties and then shrugged out of it, dropping it onto her pile of armor. The shirt she had on underneath was also sweaty and a bit bloody, but it was a distinct improvement.

Though part of Finlay felt obligated to go to the cairns, before she’d slipped away, Veitchi had told her that Malenia requested her presence. Her lady’s command came before all else.

She found Malenia sitting in the rocky dirt at the edge of the camp, watching the knights work. Her sword lay on the ground next to her. She was no less dirty and bloodstained than any of her knights.

On stiff legs, Finlay approached and, when she had come near enough, knelt.

Malenia glanced over at her. “Stop kneeling, Finlay,” she said. She sounded as tired as Finlay felt. “Sit.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Finlay moved to sit, legs crossed, at her lady’s side.

Malenia looked at her knight. Her clear green eyes seemed distant for a moment, then focused on Finlay. “You saved my life,” Malenia said.

Finlay bowed her head somewhat. “I did my duty.”

“You did your duty admirably,” Malenia replied. “I am in your debt.”

“I am your sword,” Finlay said. “And your shield. You can owe me no debt.”

Malenia shook her head slightly. “I am not like you. And I do not see the world as you do. I am in your debt.” She hesitated. “But because I am not like you, and because I do not see the world as you do, I do not know how to repay it.”

For a while, Finlay rolled Malenia’s words about in her head. She didn’t know what to make of them. Finally, she looked at her lady, gaze steady, “You can repay it by living.”

Malenia’s brow furrowed. “I…”

“You asked me before what I feared,” Finlay said. Her words, held within her for so long, tumbled out. “I fear that you will lose yourself. I fear that the rot will take you. That you will let the rot take you.”

The look in Malenia’s eyes–in anyone else’s eyes it would have been pity. In hers, it was compassion. “Finlay…” Malenia allowed herself to trail off. “Finlay, I will lose my legs soon,” Malenia said. “And I will lose more than my legs before my curse runs its course. You carry my rot. You know this.”

Finlay’s cheeks were wet. She was crying. Why?

Malenia reached out, gentle fingers brushing against Finlay’s heavily scarred face, wiping the tears away. “It is one thing to rot,” she said. “It is something worse to watch rot consume what you love. I vow to you that I will fight it even after I have no strength left to do so. Now. Sit with me.”

Finlay bawled then. Great heaving sobs shook her body, and they turned to violent coughs, and she spat scarlet blood onto the earth.

Malenia set her single arm around Finlay’s shoulders. Through it all, she held her knight.

[] [] []

Two days later, they began the long march back to the castle.

The journey went slowly. They had lost most of their horses and traveled at the pace of foot. Though they sent a rider off to the castle to report their victory and request aid, there would not be enough mounts left in the castle’s stables to send spares. Her armor having been damaged beyond use, Finlay walked in only her jacket, carrying what steel could likely be salvaged in her pack. Though she appreciated not broiling inside a metal shell, the weight of the unworn armor was ill-distributed, making marching with it quite tiring.

Malenia, of course, rode one of the few remaining horses. To lessen its burden, she too went unarmored. The various pieces of steel she normally wore had been passed amongst the knights so that no one carried more than their fair share–though any would have been honored to haul her entire armament if asked.

While they moved slowly and all carried burdens now that they could not shift to their horses, the heavy tension that had pervaded the march out to meet the dragon was gone.

They were not unscathed, but they were victorious.

When the castle sent out supplies and a few additional horses, it was decided that no one would go ahead without the rest. Not even Malenia. Especially not Malenia. Her place, she said, lay with her knights, despite her condition.

Dragon having been slain, none would gainsay her.

While it had taken merely four days of riding to reach the dragon, the long march by foot back to the castle took some sixteen.

When finally they heard the crash of waves and saw the hold of the Marais in the distance, a weary cheer rose up from the beleaguered knights.

That evening, Finlay thought she had never been so happy in her life to take a bath, even though the water was frigid, salty, and smelled a bit like fish.

[] [] []

It was some three weeks after Malenia and her knights returned to the castle that Miquella and his attendants returned as well.

Finlay lazed in the castellan’s quarters, in the sitting room, slouched in her wood greatchair, watching Malenia tell the young Maleigh about the land of distant Caelid. It was late afternoon and the sun streamed through the open window, warm, lulling Finlay to sleep.

What was it Elphael had said?

She and her knights were like cats?

A page came to the door of the room and bowed to all of them.

When Malenia heard of her brother’s approach, her smile lit the room, making the cozy sunlight pale in comparison. She tousled Maleigh’s hair affectionately, then turned to her knight. “Finlay, help me up.”

Finlay rose at once and crossed the room to her lady’s side. She her shoulder under Malenia’s armpit and wrapped her arm around her lady’s shoulders. Her lady returned the gesture. The rot had progressed to the point where Malenia could barely stand, even with assistance.

Once Finlay had gotten Malenia onto her feet, together they, and Maleigh, departed for the castle gate.

When they reached the castle grounds, Miquella and his company had not yet arrived. Malenia shifted her weight towards the stairs that led to the walkway along the castle walls, and Finlay understood her intent. Without exchanging words, they went to the stairs and Finlay carried her lady up.

From the battlements, it was clear that the travelers were still a ways off. Even from a distance though, and even in the light of day, Miquella shone, a beacon of empyreal grace at the head of his train.

When they finally arrived, Finlay took her lady back down the stairs to meet her twin.

Miquella looked as he always did–too beautiful to bear, and not entirely of the mortal plane. Astride a horse, when he saw his sister approach, he beamed. “Sister,” he greeted. He looked then at Finlay. “Sir Finlay.” Elegantly, he dismounted his horse, which a squire quickly collected and led away. When he embraced his sister, she did not remove her arm from Finlay’s shoulder to return the gesture. But she did smile down at him.

“I missed you,” Malenia said.

Face buried in his sister’s midsection, Miquella’s reply came muffled. “I missed you too. They told me that you did not heed my advice that you rest.”

Malenia’s smile shifted to become more of a smirk. “I found slaying another dragon very restful.”

Not far away, Maleigh watched them, wide-eyed at the two children of Marika together.

Finlay shot the child–the real child–a reassuring, though lopsided, grin.

When Miquella pulled away, he turned solemn. “I brought you something,” he said.

“Oh?” Malenia asked.

Miquella half-turned back, and Elphael was already there at his side, lugging a chest, which he set on the ground at his lord’s feet. While Miquella had turned solemn, Elphael seemed quite pleased with things. The lordsworn popped the latches of the chest and pulled back the lid.

Inside were…

One was a leg, from foot to knee, made of some golden material. Wood, Finlay thought. Wood from the Erdtree. The other was similar, but went only from foot to just past the ankle.

How had Miquella…?

Around Finlay’s shoulders, Malenia’s arm tightened.

“I hope you will find them suitable,” Miquella said.

For a while, Malenia said nothing. Eventually though, her grip relaxed. “I think I will,” she said. “With Finlay’s assistance.”

Miquella turned his pale blue eyes to Finlay, expectantly.

Finlay understood the request.

And she knew she could meet it.

She looked to Malenia.

“My lady, if this is your wish, then it would be my honor.”

Notes:

Eternal thanks to my friends Cherepashka and Krisslona for being my beta readers always.

I do realize that I've made some decisions that might clash with how some folks view the lore (like putting the war with the dragons during Radagon's lordship rather than Godfrey's). Please give me some grace on this? My goal here is to write a fix fic that stays true to the major lore beats (i.e., the Night of the Black Knives and the Shattering have to happen, Malenia has to go to Caelid and fight Radahn, etc.), but also carve out enough space to propose a way things could have gone better via OTP magic. I'm generally trying to limit my canon-meddling to only things that are less definite (e.g., the timing of the war with the dragons is fair game, but Marika is most definitely Radagon), and I hope that's acceptable. (Plus I have some of my own ideas about aspects of the lore, lol, like, i think when morgott calls miquella and malenia the "twin prodigies," there's a double meaning in that he's calling them very talented/gifted people but also calling them omens.)

Anyway, thank you for reading! I have the second chapter about half written, but I'm doing monster chapters that have their own beginning-middle-end arcs so that no chapter will ever end on a cliffhanger, so it could take me a while to get it done.

Chapter 2: Leyndell - Part One

Even in the southern swamps of Liurnia, there was no such thing as true night.

The Erdtree at the heart of Marika’s realm shone eternally brilliant, and when the moon rose high and the sun had gone the land only ever knew twilight.

During the darkest hour of twilight, the assassins struck.

Malenia woke to shouting and the ring of battle nearby. In an instant her sword was in her one hand and she was on her feet. Unarmored, in only her sleep clothes, she charged from her tent and out into the camp she shared with her brother and their retainers.

Outside, chaos reigned. Her few knights and her brother’s lordsworn swarmed about, all fighting with shadows that flickered and warped in and out of sight unnaturally. Of late, her eyes had been failing her, but her difficulty now, she thought, was no fault of her eyes. 

In the brief moment she stood gathering her bearings, she felt someone rushing at her from behind and on her weaker right side. On instinct, she whirled and lashed out with her long, curved blade in a broad cut to drive off whatever attacker came for her.

Steel met steel. Jarring vibrations shuddered up Malenia’s arm from the impact. Her assailant had caught her flashing strike on the fork of some strange, branched knife-like weapon that Malenia had no familiarity with. Shrouded in black armor and a black cloak, the enemy slipped between shadows, nearly invisible even when barely a sword-strike away.

Using the leverage her longer blade afforded her, Malenia shoved her sword down, seeking to force her opponent to either drop their weapon or be yanked off balance. A simple move, and one that the black-clad warrior had too much skill to fall to. Rather than fight the losing contest, the enemy disengaged and took a step back. Following the momentum of her sword, Malenia finished her swing, then followed it around in a full turn, building momentum into a sweeping strike. Again, rather than challenge Malenia’s power, the enemy faded out of reach.

No matter.

Lightning fast, Malenia dashed forward, blade dancing faster than a mortal eye could follow, carving a net-like pattern through the humid air so that even if her opponent dodged, she would catch them on her backstrike.

The enemy continued to retreat.

Growling, Malenia glanced around, surveying the rest of the camp as quickly as she could without losing focus on her battle. Her opponent was stalling. Why? Then, Malenia knew. As quickly as she had dashed forward, she changed course, disengaging now. Rather than follow, her enemy flickered entirely out of sight.

“My lady!”

Malenia turned.

Veitchi, the deputy commander of her knights, sprinted towards her. Also armed but unarmored, gore covered him. Behind him came another Cleanrot in a similar state.

“Where is Miquella?” Malenia demanded. As soon as the words left her lips, she knew their futility. Responsibility for Miquella did not lie with her knights.

Furious, she let out a wordless snarl.

Lulled by so many years of peace, she had grown complacent. She had allowed him to take this frolic out so far from the safety of the Leyndell, she had chosen not to travel with a full company of knights, and then she had slept so deeply she was taken unawares by the attack.

In moments that felt like an eternity, Malenia crossed the breadth of the camp to her brother’s tent, nestled amongst the white canvas shelters of his lordsworn.

Several of those lordsworn lay dead and dying. Unlike Malenia’s knights, Miquella’s followers were not known for their martial prowess. Nor was their lord.

From Miquella’s tent–a burst of golden light, and the dull whooshing sound of a blade skittering off an immaterial shield of faith.

Malenia sprinted towards her brother.

In a heartbeat, the two assailants attacking him were dead. Their backs had been turned. Malenia took both their heads in a single stroke of her blade.

Malenia flicked thick blood from her sword as she scanned the shadows of the tent for movement, for signs of other enemies. “Miquella, are you injured?”

Kneeling over the corpse of one of his lordsworn, Miqeualla looked up at his sister. His eyes were wide with fear and panic, and there were tears running down his cheeks. Even so, his ever-present radiance pushed insistently against Malenia’s being, demanding that she submit her will to his. With the ease of long practice, she swept it from her mind.

“He’s dead,” Miquella said hollowly.

Malenia took a step toward her brother and squinted, willing her vision to clarity. The dead lordsworn was, she thought, the commander of Miquella’s retainers.

“But you are unhurt?” Malenia asked.

Miquella nodded.

Malenia glanced at her two knights. They had formed a small perimeter just outside the tent, eyes out toward the rest of the camp, swords at the ready, backs to the twins. Elsewhere, the sounds of fighting continued. The enemy had power and skill. The battle needed her.

“Veitchi, guard Miquella,” Malenia ordered.

Then, she strode out of the tent to finish what she’d started.

[] [] []

They buried their dead in shallow graves, dug quickly in the dark Liurnian mud, so that they could depart before the sun rose, and then, by her orders, they broke camp and made for Leyndell. If they did not tarry, the journey would take them nearly a month. Even though they would travel most of their way along the grand highway that cut through the center of the Carian lands and Raya Lucaria itself, they were a great distance from the capital.

Every warrior in their band traveled in armor now–though light armor only. They had set out in a time of peace, planning to spend several months camping in a swamp. Not even Malenia and her knights had brought heavy steel with them.

She wished now though that they had, as impractical as it would have been.

Her thoughts went in circles.

Who had the attackers been?

Who had sent them?

She had no answers to these questions and, until they reached the capital, she had no way to seek answers either. Impotent, she brooded.

The assassins had not been remnants of the dragon wars. They did not use flame. They did not have any marks of the followers of dragons.

Some new enemy then? Who remained who did not rest beneath the bootheel of Marika’s sovereignty? An old enemy then? The old enemies had been vanquished. And what would striking at Malenia and her twin do for them? Who would benefit from such an attack?

Riding at her brother’s side in their column, Malenia shook her head and grimaced. Wild speculation would do her no good. She had no use for the unknown. That was Miquella’s domain.

Miquella though… Miquella had hardly spoken to her since the attack. As close as they were, she did not know what to make of his silence. There had never before been a time when he had held himself so distant. Not knowing what to say, she too said nothing.

They passed a full, taciturn week like this before Malenia could endure it no longer.

She found her brother at dusk, standing by a campfire, watching the flames dance. At first he was surrounded by a few of his remaining retainers–but at her approach, they fled. Malenia’s jaw tightened at their departure. They did not flee for her brother’s sake.

Miquella glanced over at his sister with his piercing blue eyes, acknowledging her presence, but he offered no greeting before returning his gaze to his contemplation of flame. His usual radiance shone dim, almost eclipsed by the firelight.

Malenia moved to stand beside him. Beneath her, her wooden legs pressed against unhealing  flesh, painful, a constant reminder that she would not always be there for him. A familiar pain. One that, with force of will, she could ignore. One that she did ignore.

Side by side, the top of her brother’s head came to just above her waist. 

How to start?

“You are troubled,” Malenia said. Though she meant to speak softly, to her own ears her voice sounded rough.

Miquella said nothing. The air quivered with the chirping of insects native to the swamps. A song, of a sort.

Malenia tried again. “I do not know how to help you, little butterfly.”

Finally, Miquella spoke. Softly, he said, “Sister, it is a fool’s errand to ask the grieving how to heal grief.”

Malenia tamped down her frustration. Her frustration was not for him or for his reply, but for her own failures. Her many failures. Gently, she set her one hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Then let me be a fool. Help me at least to understand.”

“You are more accustomed to loss than I am,” Miquella replied. He looked away from the fire and up at his twin. His voice rang dull and lifeless. “Why do they die for us?”

Malenia considered her answer carefully. “Because that is their choice, I think,” she said at last.

“They choose you,” Miquella said. “But does anyone ever really choose me?”

This time, Malenia’s reply came quickly. “You give yourself too much credit. And also too little.”

“I do not know how you endure this,” Miquella said. “I do not know how to endure this.”

A frown crossed Malenia’s face. “This?”

“This loss,” Miquella said. “This emptiness. This knowledge that my… that Elphael, my friend, is gone.”

Elphael–the name of his dead commander.

“I mourn,” Malenia answered. “And then I move on. Mortal lives are short. They are but dust and shadow.”

“I sought to bend the assailants to my will, but they resisted me,” Miquella began. “And I sought to strike them down, but they eluded each blow. And when I finally sought to protect him, I came to it too slowly. And now he is dead.”

Now, Malenia thought, she understood. “You feel that you failed him.”

“I failed myself,” Miquella replied, bitter and sharp.

“You are not a warrior,” Malenia started. At once realizing this line would do no good, she then quickly shifted to a different approach. “Grieving what has been done will not bring him back, nor will it push you forward. There will be others like him in days to come. Let your actions in the future make amends for the past.”

Miquella kicked at the damp ground beneath his feet. “I fail you every day. And I keep failing.”

Malenia shook her head. “You cannot blame yourself for falling short of the impossible.”

Heat, anger, sparked in Miquella’s tone. He clenched his hands into fists at his side. “Why should it be impossible? I will not accept that.” Looking away from Malenia, he stared into the fire again. “Just because I haven’t found a way yet, that doesn’t mean I must continue to fail.”

“Loss is the way of the world,” Malenia said. “Don’t dwell on what you can’t change.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Miquella snapped. He glared at his sister. Golden light shimmered in his piercing blue eyes. “All this power we have, and we have to just accept the world as it is?”

“We are not above the world,” Malenia replied. “Not even Marika is above the world.”

Miquella’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “The power she serves is.”

To this, Malenia simply shook her head.

Miquella continued, his whisper growing louder and harsher. “This land is stagnant. Trapped. When I was with the albinaurics in their village… there is so much suffering here, and the order of this land will not allow it an end. The order of this land demands we all suffer. And we have to accept that? Why do we have to accept that?” He paused, then, with a hate inimical to his nature dripping from each word, “Whoever killed Elphael didn’t accept that.”

“I killed the assassins who killed Elphael,” Malenia replied. “And I will kill whomever sent them.”

“If it was Marika who sent them?” Miquella challenged.

Malenia scowled. “She did not.” She hesitated a moment, then added, “Do not say such things.”

Miquella shook his head once. “I know she did not. I… I do not know who did. I have suspicions, but…”

“When we reach Leyndell, confirm your suspicions,” Malenia said. “And tell me your conclusions. I will avenge him.”

“Vengeance will advance no cause,” Miquella said.

“It is a matter of honor,” Malenia replied. “That is the cause it will advance.”

Miquella regarded his sister warily. “I see,” he said.

“What do you see?” Malenia asked.

“I see that, should I confirm my suspicions, I should not tell you.”

“But you will tell me,” Malenia said with certainty. “You hate it when I act on my own suspicions.”

“Do you have any now?”

Malenia shrugged. “I can be suspicious of anyone.”

To this, Miquella sighed. He crossed his arms, seeming to hug himself. “We are already trapped in so many cycles,” he said. “Why are you so eager to add another?”

“If there is no retribution, this will happen again, and again, and again,” Malenia said. “I do not create. I end. I have no desires except to do what must be done.”

“It so happens that whenever you are involved, whatever must be done always involves violence,” Miquella said quietly. Then, “Thank you, sister. For your concern. I’ve had enough of it for now though. Leave.”

Malenia inclined her head, then left him.

[] [] []

In Malenia’s dream, she could see her brother.

Then, slowly, she could not.

[] [] []

After another week of travel, their company reached the great lift of Dectus. As they neared the monumental stonework via the great road, however, a small squadron of riders came into view.

The overcast day tinged the world with grey, and Malenia could not make out the riders from a distance due to her failing eyes. She could tell, however, that they were growing nearer, and, from brief flashes of light as they moved, she could tell that they were armed. One of them near the front carried a banner, but she could not see the emblem. At Malenia’s side though, the nearest Cleanrot–Jishanen, a diminutive knight who was a veteran of the war with the dragons, and whom Malenia had fought beside many times–seemed unconcerned.

“Who are they?” Malenia murmured.

“Ours,” Jishanen said. “Cleanrots. Half a dozen. It looks like Ostia is leading them.” She paused before amending, with a touch of warmth, “It’s definitely Ostia.”

Malenia nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

Digging her heels into the sides of her horse, Malenia urged her mount to pick up speed. Breaking away from the rest of her company, with Jishanen trailing behind as a guard, she headed for the newcomers. From farther back, Veitchi also broke formation to come forward with them.

When they had reached an appropriate distance, Ostia and her knights bowed in their saddles. As one, they hailed her. “My lady.”

Malenia wasted no time with rituals. “Why are you here?”

The knights could not be reinforcements sent in response to the message they’d dispatched ahead of them–the newcomers had arrived far too quickly for that.

Ostia straightened. Like Jishanen, Ostia was a veteran of many years in Malenia’s service. While she had very nearly succumbed to rot on more than one occasion, in every case she had survived–though, after the last time, her nose had been left a mass of melted flesh, one nostril caved in and closed up and the other open to the air. Though far from the worst infirmity born by the knights in Malenia’s service, its prominence left a striking impression on all who saw it. “Finlay sent us to escort you home from Liurnia,” Ostia replied. “Godwyn and almost all the Golden Lineage, all his brothers and most of their scions, were murdered a fortnight ago.”

Malenia felt suddenly cold all over, and empty.

Godwyn had always been kinder than most.

“She attempted to come herself, and with a larger company, but Radagon intervened,” Ostia continued. “He forbade her to leave, and he limited the number of knights she could send from the city.”

“What?” Malenia snapped, seething fury breaking her out of her brief moment of stupor. “For what reason?”

Ostia shook her head. “If Radagon told his reason to Finlay, she did not repeat it to me.”

Malenia exhaled forcefully. Then she mellowed. She suspected she knew the reason for Radagon’s interference. Trust was scarce in Leyndell. Ostia was merely a messenger. Willing her tone even again, she replied, “I see.”

“Finlay was furious too,” Ostia said. Having understood Malenia’s reaction, she no longer bothered to hide judgment from her voice. Not at Finlay. At Radagon. Though Ostia was, of all the Cleanrot officers, always given to particularly unwise displays of pique, she nevertheless held herself steady, perfectly upright and steady in the saddle. “We counseled her though that we should not defy Radagon unless you direct it. If you find fault in this course, or in the number of knights here now, it does not lie solely with her.”

“I find no fault in her decision,” Malenia said, grudgingly. “The situation dictated it.”

She wished though that, regardless of Radagon, she spoke to Finlay rather than Ostia. Despite all the circumstances, or, even, under all the circumstances, Malenia would be glad to see her commander again. She did not doubt that Ostia knew this too. Malenia, Finlay, and all the senior officers of the Cleanrots were close.

Malenia looked over her shoulder. Miquella and the others were almost caught up to her. She turned back to Ostia and the additional Cleanrots. “Fall in,” she said. “Continue to apprise me as we ride. We must not tarry.”

Ostia nodded and did as Malenia bade.

[] [] []

All along the outer walls of Leyndell, black mourning shrouds had replaced the customary golden banners of Marika’s dominion and more guards than Malenia had seen since the war with the dragons patrolled the paved approach to the city.

Some of the guards, Malenia noted, appeared ill at ease with the arms they carried.

Radagon must have raised a new muster.

The war with the dragons had seen more men and women march to battle than the land could sustain, and their care and keeping had brought famine to many parts of the realm. As soon as Godwyn and Fortissax had brokered peace, Radagon had dismissed as great a portion of his forces as he could to return to the fields and to their families. Most of Marika’s children had done the same, though not all. Malenia had not. Her Cleanrots were always few and had no lives to return to and no way to sustain themselves except through her service. The Carians, Rykard and Radahn, had also clung to their forces, as had Godwyn.

As Miquella passed, many of the guards outside Leyndell bowed their heads and made the sign of the Tree. They did not, however, approach. Miquella’s remaining lordsworn had formed a tight perimeter around him to stop anyone from accosting him for a favor or a blessing.

The great statue-lined boulevard between the outer walls and the inner gates of Leyndell felt desolate. There were gaunt-faced commoners going about their business, but they did so in hushed tones and glanced all around anxiously. As with the walls, where golden banners usually flew, instead black mourning darkened what would otherwise be a bright, clear day.

Upper Leyndell was similarly cheerless. Here, amongst the residences of the realm’s elite, streets that ordinarily were usually at least lightly trafficked were instead deserted save for conspicuous guards. Every home they passed had put out some kind of marker of its participation in the public lamentations, from black shrouds hanging from windows to small plates of grave foods set out by thresholds. Even the vast residence that Malenia and Miquella shared had been draped in black in their absence so that it blended in as always with its neighbors.

By the main entrance to their home, two of Miquella’s lordsworn stood watch.

At this point, well over half of the twins’ escort peeled away, headed back to their respective lodgings elsewhere in the city for well-deserved rest. Large numbers of idle men and women under arms, especially Cleanrots, were unwelcome in the heart of the capital. Those of the escort who did not depart, however, followed Malenia and her brother into the spacious courtyard of the complex.

The courtyard, like so many other courtyards in large Leyndell houses, was a large, cloistered square. It differed, however, from other such spaces in that it had no grassy outskirts, no shrubs, no ornamental trees that might rot. Instead, its garth was a simple expanse of white stone pavement with a marble and gold statue of a scion of the Erdtree.

As soon as Malenia had gotten far enough into the courtyard that there was room for the rest of the company to enter behind her, she dismounted. Briefly, she looked for her brother. He was nearby, also dismounting, and still surrounded by his retainers. Several who had not been traveling with him had come out from the main house and were swarming about as if trying to assure themselves he was uninjured.

Satisfied of Miquella’s safety, Malenia then looked to her own knights. Veitchi and Ostia were coming towards her on foot, having given their horses to stablehands, but they were not whom Malenia sought. They were, however, the knights that Malenia could see, so she went to them. “Where is Finlay?” she asked.

Veitchi gave her a quick nod of respect, then pointed to the far end of the courtyard. “Over there,” he said.

Following the direction of Veitchi’s gesture, Malenia made out two blurry figures approaching swiftly from the direction of the main entrance to the residence proper. One was tall, poised, and had dark hair. Finlay. Malenia started to smile, but the expression quickly turned sour on her face as she recognized the other figure–also tall, but walking hunched over and with a distinctive halting gait.

Malenia looked back towards Miquella. Though she normally left dealing with family to him, and though he had begun to recompose himself in recent days, still, he seemed tired from their journey, and dispatching the Golden Lineage’s least favored son would not require his attention. “Veitchi, go convince my brother’s lordsworn to take him inside, by a back door.”

Without waiting for Veitchi to acknowledge her order, Malenia turned back towards Finlay and Godrick.

A few steps forward took Malenia to a distance where she could better see her commander. Though it had been some time since Finlay had first joined the ranks of the Cleanrots, her long dark hair, always worn in a braid, had only a few threads of silver, and her movements were still quick and strong. Her moods and mannerisms, though, had mellowed somewhat. While nearly half her face bore terrible scars from Malenia’s rot, and while she sometimes spat up dark clots of bloody flesh from somewhere deep in her chest, she had passed through many years in Malenia’s service with remarkable grace.

She did most things with remarkable grace.

In stark contrast to Finlay, the son of the Golden Lineage at her side conducted himself with a complete absence of grace–as if he aspired to his ancestor’s eure.

As they drew nearer, their conversation began to reach Malenia’s ears.

“It’s mine now,” Godrick was saying. “I’ve inherited it. Mine.”

“It was given to us,” Finlay replied, voice tight. Though she had set her face in a politely unreadable mask and she kept her voice even, Malenia could tell from the tension in the lines of her form that anger simmered beneath the facade. “By Godwyn,” Finlay continued.

“Well, now he’s dead,” Godrick whined. “And I’m his heir. I’m the heir of the whole lineage, all of Godfrey’s kin.”

Rather than continue on with Godrick, Finlay bowed to Malenia. “My lady.”

“Sir Finlay,” Malenia replied, nodding. She then turned to her noxious cousin. “Godrick.” Deciding she felt too weary from the road to treat him well, she asked, bluntly, “What are you doing here?”

Godrick straightened, slightly, which was not enough to overcome his habitual slouch. Acid dripped from his voice. “Your knights are squatting in my palace.”

Having at least gone through the motions of recognizing Godrick’s precedence, Malenia addressed her knight once more. “Finlay, explain.”

“He seeks to expel the Cleanrots from our lodgings in the fortress in the west of the city,” Finlay said. “He claims that it is his now and that he revokes Godwyn’s permission for us to billet there.”

Malenia scowled at Godrick.

Malenia’s knights were quartered in part of the old fortress along Leyndell’s western inner wall. In past days, before the land was calmed, Godfrey had hosted his warriors there. During the war with the dragons, it served as temporary lodgings for field troops when they rotated away from the front lines of the campaigns. Since the end of the war, however, there’d been little practical need for a fortress within the precincts of the capital. Godwyn claimed it as his birthright as the first son of Godfrey, and then in turn he offered Malenia use of some of it for her Cleanrots–over the protests of Commander Niall and Godwyn’s other retainers, who reckoned that whatever infection Malenia and her retainers bore might contaminate them if they were in close quarters together.

At Miquella’s urging, Malenia had accepted Godwyn’s offer.

Miquella had argued that there was no better place than a wing of the old fortress for her knights to idle sequestered from the crowds of the city. The arrangement was preferable by far, he’d contended, than quartering the Cleanrots outside Leyndell entirely in a semi-permanent camp beyond the walls–the only other option allowed to her by Marika. Like Godwyn’s lordsworn, the common citizens tended to fear her knights as bringers of pestilence. Except for when they had business with their lady, they were barred from traveling freely within the city proper.

Malenia let her hand settle on the well-worn hilt of her sword, strapped in its customary place at her side. Godrick paled. “Do you contest my claim to the fortress?” Malenia asked.

Godrick looked away from her. “No,” he mumbled.

“Then you have no business here,” Malenia said coldly. “Leave.”

Godrick shrugged. “I was about to go anyway,” he said. “Welcome home.” Then, with haste, he started to shuffle away. As he retreated, under his breath, but loud enough he surely knew he’d be heard, he added, “Rotten cunt.”

Finlay jolted forward, blade halfway unsheathed, but, in an instant, Malenia had a hand on her knight’s muscular shoulder to keep her in place. “Ignore that,” Malenia said.

The steel guard of Finlay’s sword made a dull thud when she slammed it back into its scabbard. She ground her teeth and remained tense, but she did not try to push past after Godrick.

Malenia shook her head. “It is no worse than what the common folk say, and his words are worth no more than theirs.”

“He’s come here every day since Godwyn passed to bully and to whine,” Finlay growled. “But he’s insulted you only now, when you are here to ensure he comes to no harm.”

As Godrick passed through the front gate of the residence to the street beyond, Finlay finally began to relax.

Even so, Malenia let her hand linger on her knight.

Unusual for a mortal, Finlay stood quite tall, almost as tall as Malenia, but still shorter by half a head. As they were not even an arm’s length apart now, Malenia was close enough to see her commander’s face quite well, and to see that something troubled her beyond the mere fact that Malenia had been insulted.

“I know that in my absence you did not allow any slights against me to go unanswered,” Malenia said. “You do not need to reassure me.”

For a fleeting moment, a grimace passed over the half of Finlay’s face that easily showed emotion. Then her expression shifted to a wry, lopsided grin. She set a warm, calloused hand over Malenia’s on her shoulder. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. Then, she added, “Though I confess, there were times I hoped that he would offer enough provocation to justify doing away with him.”

Despite the bleak mood of the last month, Malenia chuckled. “Perhaps next time I will pretend not to hear him,” she said. Despite some reluctance, she withdrew her hand, and Finlay did not stop her. “I apologize for my absence. I realize I am in a better position to deal with him, and with many other frustrations of Leyndell, than you.”

“I apologize for not riding out to accompany you on your return,” Finlay replied. With very little subtlety, she was now looking Malenia up and down, acting like one of the lordsworn who’d mobbed Miquella.

“You bear no fault for that,” Malenia said. “Ostia informed me of Radagon’s interference.” After a slight pause, with a touch of humor in her tone, she added, “I am uninjured.”

Finlay blushed and looked away. “I trust that you are,” she said. Then, slowly, her voice began to turn grim. “But… I have been very worried, my lady. I did not want to remain here while sending anyone else in my stead–not even Ostia.”

“You did what was responsible,” Malenia said. “I would expect nothing else of you.” She turned toward the steps leading up to the residence proper and gestured for Finlay to follow her. “Come. Tell me of Leyndell in our absence. And tell me what it is that Radagon has asked of my knights.”

As they crossed the courtyard, Finlay fell into step at Malenia’s side and half a pace behind her–a position quite ill-suited to conversation, but one Malenia had never succeeded in dissuading her commander from taking.

“Some weeks ago, Lord Radagon bade me tell Miquella upon his arrival that he is summoned to audience,” Finlay said.

Malenia had to twist slightly to look back at Finlay behind her. “And you tell this to me rather than my brother?”

“I do not serve Lord Radagon or Lord Miquella,” Finlay replied bluntly. “Do you wish me to tell your brother?”

Ah, Malenia had missed Finlay. She shook her head. “I will tell him. Treating with Radagon is never a simple matter.” At least, never for her. Miquella enjoyed some bond with their parent that Malenia did not. Perhaps he would take the summons well. Perhaps the opportunity to preen before Radagon would even lift his spirits.

Now approaching the main entrance of the residence, Finlay darted ahead of Malenia to open one side of the ornately wrought gold-washed doors. With a nod in return for Finlay’s courtesy, Malenia crossed the threshold into her house.

The house that Malenia shared with her brother was an immense structure full of high-ceilinged ballrooms, wide corridors, and many grand staircases. Lavishly decorated, it fully befit kin of Marika, though, as Malenia and her twin were Marika’s lastborn, it was the least of the houses of her children. They alone held no lands of their own outside the capital, and they owed their wealth chiefly to Marika’s generosity, and also to offerings from Miquella’s many admirers.

As Malenia and Finlay went through the house, they passed lordsworn bearing Miquella’s emblem, wandering the hallways, idling by doorways, and generally getting underfoot. Almost all of these shrank from them as they passed.

If Malenia could have her way, it would be Cleanrots guarding her brother in their house–but Marika’s interdict forbade anything more than a token honor guard of Malenia’s knights so deep in the heart of the city, and Miquella himself had little patience for Malenia’s complaints regarding the martial quality of those pledged to him. Thus, guardianship of the house fell to timorous men and women whom Malenia hardly trusted not to run should their services be needed.

“Finlay,” Malenia muttered as they passed yet another lordsworn who suddenly realized she had urgent business in the opposite direction from Malenia and her knight. “Find a way to assign more Cleanrots here without attracting attention.”

“By your command, my lady,” Finlay answered.

Malenia led them to her own chambers. 

Unlike the rest of the twins’ residence, Malenia’s rooms were sparsely decorated, and their furnishings were practical rather than ornamental. A few rooms were empty altogether because she had no use for them. Her anteroom contained only a coat rack and a bench made of a dull stone. Beyond her anteroom lay a large room that had a few more stone benches, as well as a handful of marginally comfortable wood chairs set around a great table, of the sort that a warlord would sit at with their captains, though Malenia had never used it for such purposes. Many of the furniture pieces in her chambers were coated in a fine layer of dust from disuse. A few of the wood chairs showed signs of slow rot.

Malenia took a seat in one of the chairs at the table. It creaked under her weight. There was a time when she rarely, if ever, sat when she could stand. But now… though she had grown accustomed to ignoring the constant ache of the unhealing stumps of her legs grinding against the hard sockets of her wooden limbs, it was not so easy to ignore that she did not appreciate the relief of rest. After seating herself, she gestured to the chair beside her, indicating that Finlay join her. For once needing no further prompting, Finlay took a seat as well.

Here in her own domain, Malenia suddenly felt very tired. “How is it that Godwyn is dead?” she asked, not sure if she expected an answer.

Finlay slouched forward to rest her elbows on the table. She looked up at Malenia and met her lady’s gaze. Though Malenia’s rot had taken half of Finlay’s face, it had left her two hazel eyes untouched. Grim now, Finlay said, “They had true death. All the assassins had it in their blades.”

The same coldness that overtook Malenia when Ostia reported that Godwyn and his kin were dead trickled through her again. The children of Marika feared their mother’s shadow not because of what he was; rather, they feared him for what he carried. When she ordered her brother’s lordsworn buried in shallow graves, she had the bodies of their assailants left to the carrion beasts. Perhaps they should have taken more care, at least with the strange weapons their enemies had carried.

“True death? Destined death?” She spoke slowly, attempting to understand all that she heard. True death. The only final end that could come to those of Marika’s line, or to Marika herself. Malenia’s skin prickled. “That is not possible. Malekith…”

Finlay shook her head. “It was stolen from him–some time ago, if what I hear is true.”

Malenia set her one hand palm down on her table, then curled it into a fist. “Marika did not tell us.”

To this, Finlay stayed silent.

“Is it known yet who they were?” Malenia asked.

“Dissidents from the old cities,” Finlay replied. She shrugged, then added, “Or so it is said.”

Malenia quirked an eyebrow at her knight. “You doubt that they were from the old cities or you doubt that they were dissidents?”

Finlay answered Malenia’s question with a question. “Will it matter?”

“No,” Malenia said. She knew Marika well enough, at least in this regard. She sighed. Shifting the conversation somewhat, she asked, “What news of Marika’s other children?”

“None by Godfrey remain,” Finlay replied. “Only Godrick and Godefroy carry on the Golden Lineage–so, really just Godrick. Of the Carians–Radahn and Rykard are here in the capital, for the funeral. Ranni is missing.”

Malenia shook her head slightly. “What do you mean by missing?”

“No one has seen her,” Finlay elaborated. “Not even Radahn and Rykard know where she is, or if she lives.”

“She lives,” Malenia said. “The assassins were strong, but they were not that strong.” Then she stared at Finlay intently. “What do you make of all this?”

Finlay’s brow furrowed. “My lady?”

“I value your counsel,” Malenia said. “Always, but more so now than usual. Miquella has withdrawn and says little to anyone–not even me.”

A long moment passed before Finlay replied, as if she had to come to some decision on whether she would speak at all. At last, “That is unlike him,” Finlay said.

Briefly, Malenia considered saying nothing more of her brother. His troubles were his, and they were hers, and they were no one else’s. Still though, she felt she needed–or perhaps merely wanted–to say something, to someone, and Finlay was one whom she could trust. “He has not coped well with Elphael’s loss. And I… I am too different to console him.”

This time, Finlay did not reply immediately, and then she did not reply at all. A darkness haunted her expression, though Malenia lacked the skill to understand it. She did not think that Finlay and her brother were close.

So she asked.

“You are troubled. What troubles you?”

Finlay looked away from Malenia, focusing her gaze on the doorway they had passed through to enter the room. “My thoughts are selfish, my lady. I would prefer not to share them.”

A command that Finlay speak regardless died a shameful death stuck in Malenia’s throat, caught barely before she gave it voice. Careful to hide her discomfort at herself, she replied, “Very well.”

“My apologies,” Finlay mumbled. A hint of red colored her cheeks.

“I would shoulder your troubles if you allow me,” Malenia said. “But you do not owe me them.”

Finlay inclined her head. “Thank you.” For a moment, the muscles of Finlay’s face tightened. Then, however, they relaxed into a polite mask.

Sensing that the conversation might again turn to precarious ground if she allowed it to continue, Malenia stood. “I will tell Miquella of Radagon’s summons tomorrow,” she said. “For now, he and I both should rest.”

Following Malenia’s lead, Finlay stood as well. “Of course,” she said. “Do you require anything of your knights?”

Malenia shook her head. “Not yet. Stay on your guard. And…”

Finlay waited patiently as Malenia considered her words.

“Finlay, the circumstances are grim, but I am glad that they have returned you to my side.”

Finlay bowed. “I feel the same, my lady.”

Malenia found herself smiling as Finlay departed.

[] [] []

Sometimes the person Malenia felt herself to be when she slept was whole, unmarred by the ravages of rot.

Both her arms.

Both her legs.

The echo of joy.

Sometimes.

[] [] []

At dawn the next morning, Malenia sought out her twin. Upon arriving at their residence, Miquella had receded deep into the depths of his quarters, and Malenia found him in his study.

The room was cozy. Dark wood bookshelves were built into each of the room’s four walls, and all of them were full to the point of sagging with Miquella’s collection of tomes. Still more books littered the floor, stacked in haphazard piles. The main furniture in the room was a desk and chair set, both built in the style of a scholar, but rising only to a height that their owner found comfortable. Near the desk was a large chair, far too big for Miquella, but just the right size for Malenia. Though scent was not one of Malenia’s stronger senses, and, as she’d been told by many, she had a fetid odor that preceded her, even she could smell paper, leather, and ink here.

Nestled behind his desk amidst stacks of papers, for a moment Miquella seemed to Malenia a bit like his old self as she entered the room. Lit by the light of early morning, the light of the Erdtree, and his own ever-present luster, he shone radiant. But then he looked up at her and his brilliant blue eyes were indescribably forlorn. “What is it, sister?”

Malenia settled into her seat across from him. As she sat before him, her skin tingled. In this room, Miquella had set layers upon layers of incantations to protect his books from her affliction, and she could feel them fighting against her presence. Should she stay long enough they would, of course, lose against her eventually. But there were enough wards, and they were strong enough, that brief stays did no harm.

“Radagon has requested you,” Malenia said.

Miquella’s brow furrowed. “We are summoned? Why?”

The corners of Malenia’s mouth tightened, a subtle frown. “The request was not for us. It was for you,” she said.

“Do you perceive a difference?” Miquella asked.

Malenia’s subtle frown turned to a full scowl. “You know that I do. What drives you to voice questions to which you know the answer?”

“We have not spoken of it in some time,” Miquella replied. He shrugged. “Thoughts can change.”

“My thoughts on this matter are immaterial. They asked for you.”

Miquella sighed. “If I am summoned, then I will go to them this afternoon,” he said. “But I hope that you will accompany me.”

“Without a summons? I would prefer not to,” Malenia replied with a shrug. She only rarely accompanied Miquella about Leyndell.  He might delight in the machinations of colubrine power, but she did not, and she found that the formalities of the capital chafed. She also did not like formal audiences with the throne. As well Miquella knew.

“I would prefer that you do,” Miquella said. “We must present a united front. Without Godwyn, our position is uncertain. We cannot afford any semblance of division or weakness before Marika or anyone else. We will also soon need to treat with others in Leyndell to secure ourselves in this time of uncertainty.”

Now it was Malenia’s turn to sigh. Over the previous month, although she had spent much time brooding over her brother and what vengeful war might soon come, she had spared almost no thought at all for the political ramifications of Godwyn’s death.

“We owed much to Godwyn and he no longer walks with us,” Miquella continued. “If we do not have Marika’s favor, our continued presence in this city may become precarious indeed. It is only by small grace that our birth was called a prodigy rather than an omen.”

Miquella said one thing, but Malenia understood another. Not their joint birth. Not his birth. Her birth. Her presence in Leyndell. And, really, her presence in Leyndell was already precarious and could hardly become more so. It was his ability to remain in the city that needed to be sheltered. She was a creature of the wilds. He was not.

“If you intend that this audience curry favor, it is better that I do not attend,” Malenia said flatly. “You know what they think of me.” Sinking back into her chair, Malenia considered her brother for a moment. Then, “My presence would also not show strength. I have only one limb left and my sight is fading,” she said. “Faster, of late. The world more than a few paces away from me blurs, and there is darkness at the edges of my vision. It is better that they not know.”

“It is better that they not know–but you did not tell me until now?” Miquella snapped, suddenly agitated. “When last we spoke of this, you said only that you needed to squint more to see the far distance.”

Malenia shrugged. “I did not wish to worry you then. I still do not wish to worry you now.”

“I cannot help you if you do not share your troubles with me,” Miquella reproached.

Malenia said nothing. She let her tetric silence speak for her.

Finally, Miquella said, “I assume that you have told your knights already.”

“Some time ago,” Malenia replied. “They needed to know. You did not.”

“You do not save me any worries,” Miquella said, sullen now. “You save only your pride. Do not fool yourself.”

Malenia noted the rebuke, then ignored it. “My pride means a great deal to me.”

“Then have the pride to face Radagon–and Marika–with me,” Miquella said. “Your sight may be failing, but you do not look infirm.”

Malenia pressed her lips into a tight line. Their parent never failed to find faults in her that neither she nor Miquella could ever have suspected. Miquella often forgot them quickly, but Malenia remembered. She stood from her seat. “No,” she said. “I take my leave.”

[] [] []

Malenia passed the rest of the morning by stalking the halls of their house, sometimes searching for guards whose attention had wandered, and sometimes lost in stormy thought herself.

She did not like losing herself in thought.

She preferred action to rumination.

And she preferred the company of her knights to being alone.

Decided on a course of action that was not endlessly prowling her home, Malenia set out for the fortress at the edge of the city. The one that Godwyn had gifted her a portion of, and the one that Godwyn’s lesser kin now sought to claim. Unwilling to let Malenia out of their sight, an escort of three armed Cleanrots, led by Jishanen, followed her through the streets of Leyndell. Though she did not feel that their presence made her any safer–for what enemy could she not defeat?–as the crowds scattered at the sight of her, she was comforted by her knights’ presence.

The walk to the fortress was a long one, and Malenia did not arrive there until well after midday.

Rather than approach from the front, which was manned by Godwyn’s men–or, rather, Godrick’s men now–Malenia and her escort went around to a sallyport set into the north wall of the fortress. Here, two Cleanrots stood at attention in full armor, though not helmed, both carrying tall spears. When she’d come about ten paces from them, both saluted in unison.

A tension Malenia had not realized she carried eased from her shoulders. “Ostia,” she greeted. “Emodium.”

As one, Ostia and Emodium bowed, straightened, then replied, “My lady.”

“Where is Finlay?” Malenia asked.

Emodium looked to Ostia. Emodium was new, Malenia thought, though she could not quite remember when it was they had joined her Cleanrots. Likely at the very end of the war. She had refused to allow any to pledge themselves to her once Godwyn brokered peace with the dragons. Most in her service lived only a fraction of the years enjoyed by those who followed her siblings, or who simply followed their own paths. Of Malenia’s first handful of retainers, none remained. Those who had not died by violence had died by rot instead.

As the senior of the two knights, Ostia replied, “If she’s not attending to something, then she and Veitchi tend to hang around the northern tower.”

Malenia nodded. “Thank you.” Then, with her escort still in tow, she headed through the sallyport and into the courtyard of the fortress.

From where they entered, on their right were stables and on their left and a bit ahead was the main entrance to the fortress keep. The courtyard itself, a large, oblong expanse of stone pavement, was mostly empty. Near the main entrance to the keep, a few lordsworn wearing gold coats milled about, warily watching a few Cleanrots at the far opposite end of the yard. The Cleanrots, all seated in a loose circle to play dice, often would twist about, keeping their eyes on Godwyn’s men in turn. As soon as they saw Malenia, however, they all stood and bowed.

At such a distance, Malenia could not make out the faces of her knights. She knew, of course, that they were hers, but their features were a blur to her. “Jishanen,” she muttered. “Are there any that I should greet personally?”

“No,” Jishanen replied, keeping her voice quiet. “None of them are officers.”

Malenia raised a hand to acknowledge her knights, then lowered it, gesturing that they should return to what they’d been doing. She then turned to her escort. “You may go,” she said. “I think I am amply safe here.”

The Cleanrots, however, did not immediately leave her. Instead, they all exchanged nervous looks. Jishanen spoke for them. “Our orders are to accompany you wherever you go outside the residence,” she said. “This is outside the residence.”

“Finlay’s orders?” Malenia asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, my lady,” Jishanen replied.

Malenia shook her head. Then she gestured to every knight except Jishanen. “You all, leave,” she said. “That is my command. Jishanen, you may stay, if you wish.” 

Knowing better than to allow anyone any further opportunity to protest, Malenia turned away from them and headed towards a staircase that led up to the battlements. Behind her, she heard only a single set of booted footsteps on flagstones.

From the top of the stairs, Finlay’s tower was not far at all. Built of the same ancient stone as the rest of the fortress, it rose some two tall stories above the stone walkway of the wall, providing anyone at its peak a commanding position overlooking the entire city. Inside the tower, rather than stairs to the top, there was a long steel ladder up to a hatch, which was closed.

Jishanen went up the ladder first. When she reached the hatch, she pushed it open and then scrambled onto the tower platform above. Malenia followed after. Having only one arm, navigating ladders was not a simple task for her–though over time she’d gained much experience dealing with it.

Miquella had tried several times now to carve a new arm for her, as he had carved her legs, but none of his attempts had worked well. Perhaps she had simply been without her right arm for too long, had grown too accustomed to its absence, for a replacement to ever be anything to her except ill-fitting dead weight. This thought did not bother as much as it might once have. For so long she had not hoped to be whole again, so she was untouched by disappointment with each new failure.

Up under the open sky, the tower platform was empty except for Jishanen. Though she should not have been surprised, nevertheless Malenia noted she felt a twinge of disappointment. By one of the crenels of the surrounding battlement, there were a pair of wood chairs and a small table with several empty bottles and a Raya Lucarian far-seeing contraption on it.

Jishanen looked to Malenia, tilting her head to the side in a silent question.

“I’ll wait,” Malenia replied. She went to one of the two chairs and took a seat in it. “You may sit,” she said.

“No thank you, my lady,” Jishanen said with a shake of her head. “I will stand.” She moved to one of the merlons to lean against it, crossing her arms, though she did not seem to relax.

Malenia gave a nod of acknowledgement, then looked away to consider the view through the crenel by the stairs. In contrast to the view from the balconies of the residence that she shared with her twin, the fortress looked out on a poorer section of Leyndell, where the white of the buildings was not so pristine, and gold embellishments were few. Being farther from Marika’s seat, the fortress also afforded a better view of the titanic stone corpse of Gransax that still lay against the citadel at the heart of the city.

Idly, Malenia picked up the Raya Lucarian contraption from the table by her chair. She had some familiarity with such devices–they used carefully cut and ensorcelled glass to magnify things at a distance to make them appear close. While most were meant to be pressed against a single eye while the other was closed, this particular version had lenses for two eyes at once. It also had a knob in its center that Malenia assumed was for focusing the view. Since she did not have two hands to hold the device and adjust it at the same time, it took her a while of fiddling to set it up properly. Once she had though, she could practically pick out the individual moss-covered scales of old Gransax’s hide, even from the other side of the city.

It was, all things considered, an entertaining way to pass time. Better, by far, than roaming about the palatial home she shared with her brother, looking for guards to admonish.

Eventually, voices floated up from the interior of the tower below.

“I thought we closed the hatch,” a man said. Malenia recognized the voice easily. Veitchi.

“I thought we did too,” Finlay replied. “Though you were quite drunk.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Veitchi asked. His words hitched slightly, leaving Malenia with the impression that he was speaking and climbing the ladder at the same time. “You were not terribly sober yourself. Calling that falcon red… Pah! Not even drunk would I ever mistake such a majestic russet for red .”

“Russet is red,” mumbled Finlay.

“By Radagon’s flaming dick, you’re a colorblind country bumpkin. Russet is an orange-tinged brown. Just look at–” Veitchi trailed off and froze as he poked his head up above the hatch and saw that he and Finlay had company. Sounding more than a little alarmed, “My lady!”

Somewhere farther down the ladder, Finlay swore, apparently not prepared for Veitchi to come to a sudden stop in his climb.

Having gotten over his surprise, Veitchi quickly scrambled up onto the tower platform and bowed. Finlay followed him in short order, bowing and also greeting Malenia with a soft, “My lady.” They then came to a relaxed attention. Both knights wore coats bearing Malenia’s scarlet and gold heraldry and simple trousers, though Veitchi had seen fit to modify his uniform with an eye-watering turquoise and orange sash.

“What was that about my father’s dick?” Malenia asked, tone politely curious.

“Ah,” Veitchi started, clearly mortified. “I’m sure it’s… impressive. Like the rest of him.”

“Let us hope none of us ever find out,” Malenia replied. “Jishanen, Veitchi, you may go.”

The two knights that she’d named bowed in unison. “My lady.” Having done so, first Veitchi and then Jishanen went back down the ladder. Jishanen pulled the hatch closed as they left.

After the other knights were gone, Malenia addressed her commander. “Jishanen would not sit with me. Will you?”

Needing no further prompting, Finlay settled into the other chair. She stretched out her long legs, crossing her ankles, and folded her hands in her lap. She looked out at the city rather than Malenia. “This is the best view in the fortress,” she said. “Better than all the other towers.”

“Ostia said you and Veitchi come here often,” Malenia said, trying to follow Finlay’s gaze. Without the aid of the Raya Lucarian device, unless she squinted she mostly saw only a sort of gold-white-brown blur of city rooftops, with the greyish blur of Gransax farther out. “What do you see out there?”

“Lots of city,” Finlay replied. “People. And birds.”

“Birds?”

“That’s why we got the binoculars,” Finlay said. “We’re competing to see who can find the most interesting birds.” She turned away from the city to look at Malenia. “My lady, what brings you here?”

“I wished to be with my knights,” Malenia said. “Is that strange?”

“No,” Finlay replied. “Not for you.” She then added, “If you wish to be with your knights, most of them are down in the banquet hall. There’s a darts tournament. My money is on Arietina.”

Malenia’s brow furrowed. She looked away from the city and back to Finlay. “Arietina only has one eye.”

Finlay chuckled. “It’s bad for morale if the commander wins.”

For a moment, the corners of Malenia’s lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. Then her smile faded and she sighed. Her bluff had been called, though Finlay had done it gently. “My mind is unsettled,” Malenia said. “I paced idle.”

Half of Finlay’s face frowned. The other half, so scarred as it was, barely moved. Malenia knew that Finlay was capable still of manipulating all of her features when she made a point of it, but she never bothered to except when forced to treat with those who found her appearance disconcerting–though she rarely undertook to do so. More often than not, she tasked Veitchi, who could almost pass for one still whole, with dealing with outsiders.

Malenia had some recollection of Finlay’s appearance when she’d first joined the Cleanrots, but time had dimmed the memory to almost nothing, an impression only, of someone young and lost and perhaps very lonely.

“The storm will come, my lady,” Finlay said. In the mouth of anyone else, the words may have sounded ominous. From Finlay, they were comforting.

“I regret that I was not prepared in the forest,” Malenia replied. She had meant to say more on this the previous day before she cut their conversation short to avoid allowing it to fall into something else, and now her unspoken words welled up again. She needed to unburden herself. “Elphael did not need to die. I could have saved my brother much grief, had I been better on my guard. Perhaps I am blind already.”

To this, Finlay said nothing. She gave Malenia space to organize her thoughts, and then to continue.

“Miquella told me that he felt that he failed Elphael. I believe that I failed as well,” Malenia said. “And I wonder if I will fail again. I do not like to doubt myself. A blade should have no doubts.”

Finlay shook her head. “You are more than a blade.” Her tone lacked anything of rebuke or judgment.

Malenia considered her knight for a moment. Finlay’s hazel eyes reminded Malenia of the Erdtree’s gold. Then she asked, “Have I ever thanked you, Finlay? For your faith in me?”

“Not in so many words,” Finlay answered.

“Then now I thank you,” Malenia said. “For your faith. I… I came here too because I wished for your company. You anchor me.”

Finlay gave her lady a small smile in return for the thanks. “It is my honor,” she said.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together in companionable silence, passing the binoculars between them, watching the city, its people, and birds.

[] [] []

That evening, Malenia took dinner with her knights before returning to the residence she shared with her brother. When she departed, she left not with Jishanen, whose shift had ended, but with another veteran knight, Maire, and a new escort.

Though the Erdtree shone ever-bright, Leyndell followed still, to some extent, the cycles of the sun. Fewer citizens wandered the streets of the city after dusk, and the sounds of their many lives rang softer than during day. A very, very long time ago, some said, when the Erdtree itself was but a sapling, there had been some in the lower reaches of Leyndell who followed truly ancient traditions that venerated powers that worked by night. As the Tree grew, however, it had extinguished all apostate remnants of the time before it. Such was the strength of its light.

Strange, Malenia thought, that her mind would turn now to such things.

Or–the assassins who had struck at herself and her brother and Godwyn and his kin had been cloaked in shadow. So perhaps not so strange.

Finlay had said that the storm would come.

And so it would come.

When Malenia stepped into the entrance hall of her home, she found her brother there, waiting. Although he sat still on a low bench by one wall, agitation rolled off him in heavy waves, clear in the way his innate radiance flickered bright in places, dim in others, unsteady.

At Malenia’s arrival, Miquella looked to her. “Sister. Where have you been?”

“Brother,” Malenia said in reply, tense. Her twin’s disquiet was infectious. She approached him on his bench. “What does it matter where I’ve been? What is it?”

“I spoke with Radagon,” Miquella said. “And with Marika.” He paused, then with an edge to his voice, he added, “Alone.”

“And?” Malenia prompted.

“They have plans,” Miquella said. His hands, resting in his lap, balled into fists.

“They always have plans,” Malenia said tersely.

“This time, I want nothing to do with their plans,” Miquella replied.

“And what are these plans?” Malenia asked.

“You would know if you’d accompanied me.”

“Or they would have spoken with you and left me to wait on the steps,” Malenia said. “It would not have been the first time.”

Miquella made an undignified noise, something between a growl of frustration and an angry grunt. “They would have given you an audience this time. I am sure of it.” He glanced at Malenia’s knights, standing somewhat behind her. “We must speak.”

“I trust my knights with my life,” Malenia said. “They are extensions of me. Speak.”

“Do you trust them with my life as well?” Miquella asked.

“Yes,” Malenia said. “As you know perfectly well.”

“I don’t,” Miquella said.

Malenia sighed. She looked over at her guards. “Please leave us,” she said. “And if you encounter any eavesdroppers as you depart, clear them as well.”

Miquella waited until Maire and the others had left the hall, headed to posts around the residence. Then he spoke. “Marika intends that I succeed Godwyn,” he hissed.

“That is what upsets you?” Malenia asked. “Then your position would be secure. Is that not what you desired?”

Miquella’s luminous face darkened. “That I become Marika and you become Radagon? That I become Radagon and you become Marika?”

“That is a great leap from merely succeeding Godwyn,” Malenia replied uneasily. Though Miquella’s conclusion did not follow from the proposition, it unsettled her nonetheless.

“I do not want to be trapped,” Miquella said. “I will not be trapped. I will not allow us to be trapped.”

Malenia shook her head. “Godwyn had the run of the lands. I would not say that he was trapped.”

“And now he’s dead,” Miquella responded. Then, suddenly, he stood. Saying nothing more, he swept out of the entrance hall in the direction of his own quarters. Malenia remained where she was, watching him go in silence.

[] [] []

That night, Malenia dreamed in vivid hues.

She stood in a dark tunnel.

Around her were enemies.

She advanced.

She cut them down.

Crimson blood.

Scarlet rot.

She did not advance fast enough.

For what?

The darkness closed on her.

[] [] []

When morning came, Malenia woke to a message from her twin. Rykard had requested Miquella visit him, and Miquella in turn requested that Malenia come as well. 

Briefly, Malenia considered refusing, but she decided against it. As much as she disliked social calls, she disliked even more the thought of Miquella being alone with Rykard. Though courtly, Rykard unsettled Malenia in a way that she could not entirely attribute to his virulent hate of her and Miquelal both on account of their birth. Malenia understood hate well enough. She did not begrudge Rykard his. Radagon and Marika had wronged Rennala. They should not have forsaken their vow, and Malenia and Miquella should not have been born. But Rykard festered with something that had nothing to do with Malenia, or with Miquella, or with their parentage.

Steeling herself for battle, though battle of a different sort than she excelled at, Malenia reluctantly emerged from her rooms and headed for the entrance hall of her home where Miquella and a small entourage of his lordsworn waited.

Malenia glanced at Miquella’s lordsworn only briefly, then focused on her brother. “What is this about?”

“I do not doubt it concerns what we discussed last night,” Miquella said. He concealed it well, but Malenia felt a tension in his words.

“In that case, I do not doubt that you don’t want to call on our brother,” Malenia replied.

“I don’t,” Miquella said. “But neither do I wish to refuse him. He is not a man who tolerates such slights.”

They went to Rykard’s residence on foot, the distance not being far enough to warrant horse or carriage, even for appearances’ sake.

The whole way there, Malenia sensed someone or something following them. Every time she glanced over her shoulder though, she saw only empty streets, blurred slightly, as her eyes continued to deteriorate. Without any confirmation of danger, she contented herself with putting her one hand on Miquella’s shoulder, and gently pulling him closer to her side.

He grumbled at her, but did not resist.

Perhaps, she mused, she was only anxious–and, in her anxiety, paranoid. Given Miquella’s mood, she could hardly be faulted for her own unease.

No stalker emerged.

No assailant attacked.

They reached Rykard’s mansion without incident.

Like Malenia and Miquella, Rykard kept an impressively large and opulent house near the foot of the Erdtree. Although built in the same architectural style as the rest of upper Leyndell, it differed from its neighbors in that many of the decorative flourishes that would usually be entirely golden in hue instead mingled gold with Carian blue. However, like every other building in the city, those decorative touches were presently overwhelmed by the black mourning shrouds hanging from every window and balcony, honoring Godwyn’s death.

Even before Malenia and Miquella had reached the residence, the two lordsworn standing guard stood aside and opened the gates for them.

Unlike their own house, Rykard’s house did not have a courtyard beyond its outer gates. Instead, following the fashion of Raya Lucaria, his gates led directly to a great hall. Here, a woman, of average height, well-built, and with perfect posture and classically beautiful features, waited for them.

Malenia recognized the woman.

Daedicar, the prefect of Rykard’s guard. When last Malenia had seen her, she’d been in armor and leading a charge of Praetorians to flank a company of dragon cultists as Malenia and her Cleanrots held the center of the Marikan line. Now dressed in a tunic and trousers made of some fine blue fabric edged with gold, she could easily have passed for one of the many high-born and soft-handed courtiers of the city, paragons of dull perfection all–except that she wore a gold pin on her right breast in the shape of an aquila, a badge of her allegiance and her station.

Smoothly, Daedicar offered the twins a full bow with all due formality. “Lord Miquella,” she said. After hesitating a half-beat, she added, “Lady Malenia.”

Miquella returned Daedicar’s bow with a nod. “Prefect,” he replied.

Malenia supposed that, having generally not accompanied her on her campaigns during the war with the dragons, he might not have met Daedicar before. She could not recall how long Daedicar had served with Rykard, and Miquella rarely left Leyndell while Rykard rarely left  Gelmir.

“Praetor Rykard is expecting you,” Daedicar said, straightening from her bow. “This way.” She gestured towards a side door and began to stride towards it. Without looking back to the twins, she added, “Your escort may wait here. They will be seen to.”

Miquella glanced at his lordsworn and inclined his head slightly, signaling that they should do as their host directed. Then, he and Malenia set off after their host.

As they traversed the corridors of Rykard’s residence, Malenia considered the prefect. She had acquitted herself well during the several battles that the Cleanrots had fought alongside Rykard’s forces–well enough that she might be counted among the most formidable of warriors who followed Marika’s various children. Malenia did not understand why a woman of her caliber would choose to swear herself to Rykard. Godwyn would have welcomed her into his service.

But she had chosen Rykard.

Though, if Daedicar had chosen to follow Godwyn, she’d be masterless now.

The three of them came to a halt outside a heavy wood door. Daedicar raised a hand and knocked sharply, twice, then opened the door without waiting for an answer from within.

Had she waited for an answer, she would have waited for some time–the parlour beyond the door stood empty.

Miquella stepped into the parlour and Malenia followed after him.

Daedicar remained in the hall, and when Malenia and Miquella both had entered the room, she closed the door behind them.

Unperturbed by Rykard’s tired show of power and position, Miquella made his way to a low couch and gracefully seated himself in its precise middle. He glanced over at Malenia. “Mind over matter, sister,” he said. “If you do not mind, this does not matter.” Then, ghost of a smirk on his face, he patted a couch cushion next to him, expectantly.

Rather than sit at Miquella’s side where he had indicated, Malenia moved to stand behind him. If she’d had two arms, she supposed she would have crossed them over her chest. Instead, she set her one hand on the back of the couch, near Miquella’s shoulder. “It gladdens me greatly that you are having a delightful morning, especially after how perturbed you seemed last night,” she muttered.

“Not as much as it gladdens me that you have chosen to share this morning with me,” Miquella replied. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands together on his knee.

They waited what seemed to Malenia to be hours but, in reality, she knew to be only a few minutes–an amount of time that communicated Rykard’s status in relation to theirs, but that could not be justly called an insult.

When Rykard arrived, he did not come alone.

Rykard himself was a muscular man, about Malenia’s height, with wavy ash-blond hair that fell almost to his shoulders and a full beard, well-groomed, of the same color. Having been raised in his mother’s court, he carried himself with a stony nobility reminiscent of the masks worn by Raya Lucarian sorcerers. His share of Radagon’s blood, however, lent him a spark of vitality not usually associated with Liurnians. Dressed in Carian blues edged with Marikan gold, he looked every inch a prince. The heavy force of presence he exuded filled the room.

Malenia wondered–if Miquella were able to grow from his perpetual childhood, would he look like Rykard? The thought unsettled her. She could not imagine Miquella grown.

Entering the parlour a step behind Rykard came a woman, fair of skin and dark of hair, possessed of a grace of movement and sureness of poise that any warrior would envy, though, to Malenia’s knowledge, she had no particular martial skill. Tanith. Malenia had met her, though only very briefly, and many years prior.  A dancer from somewhere beyond Marika’s realm. Not someone Malenia would have expected to encounter in Leyndell near the foot of the Erdtree. Side by side, Rykard stood a full head taller than her, but from the way she carried herself, it was difficult to see them as anything except equal in stature.

“Elder brother,” Miquella said. He rose to his feet and gave Rykard a shallow bow.

Though it would be polite, Malenia did not do the same. She only regarded Rykard and Tanith coolly. Over the centuries, she and her twin had developed an understanding regarding how best to proceed when dealing with their siblings. Miquella spoke. Malenia menaced.

“Miquella,” Rykard replied, returning Miquella’s bow with a measured nod of his head. After closing the parlour door, he gestured to his companion. “I believe you have not previously met Tanith, my consort.”

Consort?

There was no reason he could not so name her, Malenia supposed–though to her knowledge none of the other children of Marika had ever used that word to refer to any with whom they had taken up.

So Tanith was Rykard’s consort then.

What was he to her though?

“I have not previously had the honor,” Miquella replied to Rykard.

“Tanith, this is Miquella, my youngest brother,” Rykard said, gesturing towards Miquella. The jewel-set rings that Rykard wore on nearly every finger caught the light as he moved his hand, seeming to gleam with reflections of inner fire. He then glanced at Malenia, hesitated a moment, and added, “And you know his sister Malenia.”

“My lord,” Tanith said to Miquella, bowing. Then she bowed to Malenia as well. “My lady.”

As Rykard had done to him, Miquella nodded to Tanith. “Tanith,” he acknowledged.

Though only subtly touched, Malenia felt the push of her twin’s power, quietly asking for obeisance. Strange, she thought, that Miquella would seek to work himself on Rykard, a child of Marika who was surely possessed of enough strength and will to keep his mind his own. The attempt risked much should Rykard perceive it and take offense. But perhaps, she mused, she was overly wary. She had far greater experience than any other in noticing Miquella’s meddling habits.

Either unaware of Miquella’s exertions or shrewdly saying nothing of them, Rykard went to sit on a couch opposite Miquella and Malenia. Tanith followed, taking a place beside him. Once both were seated, Miquella too sat once more.

Rykard leaned back on his couch. “I have no interest in prolonging the pleasantries. You spoke with Marika.”

“I did,” Miquella said. He spoke slowly, taking his time with each word.

“She told you of her plans for the succession,” Rykard said.

This time, Miquella offered no reply.

As Rykard spoke, he watched Miquella intently. “You are not fit to succeed Godwyn.”

“I never claimed to be,” Miquella said. Though he kept tight control over his tone, Malenia perceived a tinge of anger in her sense of him.

“So back me before Marika. Name your price,” Rykard said.

Miquella shook his head once. “You presume much. Make an offer.”

Rykard did not hesitate. “Stormveil and Limgrave,” he said. “With full access to the libraries of Caria and Raya Lucaria–and the resources of both.”

“That is less than what we could have by refusing you,” Miquella said.

Reacting instinctively to the tension that suddenly filled the room, Malenia shifted her weight from one wooden foot to the other, uneasy. For someone who had only recently claimed an interest in avoiding slighting Rykard, Miquella had grown suddenly bold.

Rykard clenched his jaw tight and his shoulders tensed. The timbre of his voice dropped, dark and smooth. “Is that so?”

Seated beside Rykard, Tanith set a hand on his knee. For the first time since their introductions, she spoke. “Lady Malenia, what do you think?”

Malenia startled at being addressed, then quickly composed herself. “I am in accord with Miquella,” she replied tersely.

Tanith raised an eyebrow. “Your brother shines so brightly that he casts no shadow, but you still find one to stand in,” she said. “Curious.”

Miquella bristled. “Tanith, your words are unkind.”

Tanith seemed unfazed at this rebuke. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Malenia felt that she ought to say something, as it had been a comment about her that had sparked this, but she did not know what to say.

Rykard spoke again. “By refusing me, you could also find yourself with far less than what I offer now.”

To this, Miquella inclined his head slightly. “That is true.”

“What could I add to my offer that might sway you?” Rykard asked.

“If you could offer it, you would have done so already,” Miquella replied.

Rykard inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Then, tone calm, he said, “I consider my offer to you a courtesy. I cannot force you to accept it. But I would urge that you do.” He stood. A moment after him, Tanith stood as well. “I will see you at the funeral.”

Rykard turned and left, and Tanith followed him.

When both hosts had departed, Miquella also rose. He glanced at Malenia. Tone prickly, he said, “I believe we’ve been asked to show ourselves out.”

And so they did.

[] [] []

Later that day, seated on a bench next to her brother in a courtyard garden–a garden of carefully laid stones rather than any living thing that would swiftly rot, with a fountain of flowing water in its center–in their residence, Malenia narrowed her eyes at her twin. For a moment, she considered lifting him by the back of his coat and tossing him into the fountain. The splash, she was sure, would be satisfying. But she refrained.

“But you don’t want to inherit Godwyn’s position,” Malenia pointed out. “You’re being difficult.”

“That doesn’t mean I want Rykard to have it,” Miquella replied. The bench being too tall for his feet to touch the ground, he kicked them back and forth through the air. “And if he takes Godwyn’s place, that will complicate your intention to kill him. Not that I am encouraging that.”

Malenia raised an eyebrow. “I did not realize I intended to kill him.”

Miquella eyed Malenia. “Sister, I am always astonished how poorly suited for politics you are.  Have you wondered how it is that Godwyn is dead but Rykard and Radahn both live? They are no greater than he was. If you had not reached me that night, I might be dead as well. If I fell, how well would you survive my going? And who would have benefited most?”

Uncomfortable with her twin’s suggestions, Malenia shrugged. Against her will, she recalled the sense she’d had during the journey from their dwelling to Rykard’s mansion–the sense of being watched. “I had not wondered,” she said. “And I do not wish to wonder now. I leave that to you–but I think your musings will bear no fruit. I do not believe Rykard would move in such a way. His malice is bounded by reason. However… perhaps additional precautions should be taken here.”

Miquella shook his head and flicked a hand dismissively. “I have already taken them,” he said. “You may not feel it, but I have layered additional wards upon our home. I am not a swordsman and you are not a sorcerer, but Godwyn was half the swordsman you are, and half the sorcerer I am. We are safe here.”

“I am safe here,” Malenia muttered. She trusted her twin’s assurances not at all. She was not a woman of faith.

Miquella sighed impatiently. “Trust me. I was taken by surprise in the forest. That will not happen again. Now–I would have your counsel on another matter.”

Malenia allowed a touch of annoyance, though not in bad humor, to enter her voice. “I doubt you will like what I have to say or that you will listen.”

“I value your advice, even when I don’t heed it,” Miquella replied. Then, he began, “Tanith is from beyond Marika’s lands. It comes to me that–”

“I thought you had not met her before,” Malenia interjected.

“Many have taken note of her influence with Rykard,” Miquella replied. “You would have heard, if you had any inclination at all towards these sorts of matters.”

“And I do not,” Malenia said.

Miquella stood and meandered toward the fountain in the center of the courtyard, not bothering to look back to see if Malenia would follow him. She would. When they were both by the flowing waters, Miquella set both his hands on the stone rim of the fountain and looked at his rippling reflection. He spoke softly. “There are ways into this place from elsewhere,” Miquella said. “And there are also ways to leave.”

Malenia’s spine stiffened. She shook her head, as if by doing this she could dispel Miquella’s notion. “We have duties here,” she said. Though she spoke fiercely, she too kept her voice quiet, allowing her words to be heard by her twin and then to be subsumed in the babble of falling water.

“To Marika and Radagon?”

“If we leave… If we leave while Marika desires that you take Godwyn’s place, we would be in rebellion,” Malenia said. “Traitors, to be treated like traitors, to be hunted down like traitors.”

“To be treated like traitors and hunted down by whom?” Miquella responded. “By Marika? By Marika and what army? You and Godwyn were the only ones to keep forces under arms in Leyndell, and now Godwyn’s forces are commanded by Godrick. Can you imagine Godrick trying to march against you?”

“Godrick is a coward, but his men are veterans,” Malenia said. Then, continuing, “Our obligations do not run only to Marika and to Radagon. I cannot go to my Cleanrots and tell them that we are now in rebellion–that we are now in rebellion because my brother is too scared to serve the throne. My knights are sworn to fight and to die for me. I cannot go to them and say that I intend to spend their lives helping another shirk his own duty.”

“Do you think so little of me, that I would suggest this only for the sake of flight?” Miquella asked reproachfully. “We are a product of stagnation. When Marika meddled with the ring of runes, she broke the cycle of life and death. We are her only afterborn children. I cannot cross the threshold into full life, and you are held on the precipice out of it. But if we leave the ambit of the runes? What then?”

“The rot is older than Marika and the runes,” Malenia said.

“Is your curse the rot, or is your curse the susceptibility to it?” Miquella asked. 

Malenia grimaced. “It seems convenient that in the very moment you begin to worry about evading Marika’s intentions, you also decide that fleeing her might heal the thing that has plagued us since birth.”

“Convenient does not mean contrived,” Miquella said. With a touch of heat in his tone, he added, “And remember that the curse does not plague you alone. It plagues us. I am just as cursed as you.”

“A thing can be both convenient and contrived,” said Malenia, wearily. If she argued with Miquella about the meanings of words, she would not win–not even if she were correct. “But perhaps this is not contrived enough. You cannot just leave. From Leyndell, it would take months to reach the border, in any direction.”

“I do not often leave the city, but you have crossed the whole of the land, back and forth, again and again under Marika’s banner,” Miquella replied. “The distance would only be an impediment if I traveled alone.”

Standing beside her twin and above him, Malenia considered her own reflection in the fountain’s moving waters. She had not been so long without her right arm that its absence did not still sometimes startle her when she saw herself. What would she be when she lost her left arm as well? For now though, that arm was sound. Her eyes, however, would not last much longer. She supposed that when her vision finally failed her, she would never again have occasion to flinch from the sight of herself.

From time to time, she thought that it might be easier to simply accept the rot. As painful as it was to lose herself, it was more painful still to struggle and fail. It would be such a simple thing to subside in peace rather than to fall in battle.

But as her knights were sworn to her, she was sworn to them. And when darkness wore at the edges of her resolve, she recalled that she was vowed to rebuff it.

Waiting for her end was a form of surrender. But so was attempting to walk away.

“I take it you already have a destination in mind,” Malenia said.

Miquella looked up at his sister, solemn. He answered her question with a single word. “North.”

Malenia considered her brother. Radiant, but fragile. “North is dangerous, little butterfly,” she said. “Are you sure?”

Miquella nodded, once. “I am sure.”

“And when do you compass to depart?”

“After the funeral,” Miquella said. “I think we owe Godwyn that. But not too long after.”

Malenia sighed. “So you wish to know if I will defy the throne and leave with you.”

“Yes,” Miquella said, simply.

“I will think on this,” Malenia said. The world felt heavy upon her. “I think… if you leave, I will follow. But if I remain, you will not leave. Unless one of us yields, we are at an impasse. We cannot be except together.”

For a time, Miquella said nothing. Then, quietly, “For that is our curse.”

Notes:

Many thanks to Cherepashka for doing beta reader things.

So my original plan for this project was a five-chapter fic, with each chapter written as a complete self-contained arc, and the chapters alternating between Finlay's POV (more focus on characters and relationship bc her role in the lore is basically as a satellite character to Malenia) and Malenia's POV (more focus on plot). I wanted to do it that way because: (1) I find that I'm less likely to abandon fics when I work in larger chunks because not posting as soon as I have something to post gives me more ability to make edits to fix plot issues etc.; (2) these days I write super slowly due to, like, adulting; and (3) given that I wanted to work in larger chunks and go slowly, I didn't want to ever leave things on any kind of cliffhanger or downer feeling. Thaaaat said, Chapter Two clocked in at about 28k words, so I it split into two parts. The second part is fully written and I'll post it in like a week or something (assuming I remember... I've been known to forget to post chapters...). (also, the reason this chapter took me so long was trying to patch up plot holes while also staying mostly lore-compliant, and i completely scrapped several fairly developed drafts while trying to figure out how miquella and malenia should interact)

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this, there's somewhat more Malenia/Finlay in the second half of the chapter, and there will be a lot more of them together in Chapter Three. Cheers.

Chapter 3: Leyndell - Part Two

A full month passed between Malenia and Miquella’s return to Leyndell and Godwyn’s funeral.

Such ceremonies were not undertaken lightly.

On the morning of the funeral, Malenia dressed herself in a long black silk dress, embroidered at the hems with gold in patterns of leaves. Tailored for her, on the left side it had a full sleeve and on the right it had no sleeve at all. She’d not seen the dress before, and she assumed someone had made it for her in the days since Godwyn’s death. She did not keep many fine dresses lying about; the finer they were, the more quickly they rotted, and she had few occasions to wear them.

There had been a time, years ago, in the days after she’d lost her arm, when she had struggled to dress herself. She had relied then on her knights–for everything. In those days, recovering from the loss of the limb, she’d been weak and unsteady. Her knights had bathed her, dressed her, fed her, died in droves in battle as she taught herself to fight with her left hand. She knew every knight in her service, knew their faces and their names and their habits, but she had grown especially close to those who tended to her in that time.

Very few of them still remained.

And…

Though she’d known them all once, slowly they faded from her memory.

Fully dressed now, Malenia shook her head to stop her rumination–but to little effect.

Elphael.

Godwyn.

All the rest of the Golden Lineage.

What was death, except inevitable?

When Malenia reached the courtyard of her home, Miquella waited there already. He too dressed in mourning. He wore a black robe beneath a wide-sleeved black coat that reached his ankles, girded with a gold belt. Gold earrings set with amber hung from his ears, and his wrists were heavy with gold and amber as well.

Their retainers, a very small escort of both Cleanrots and Miquella’s lordsworn, all in impeccable dress coats bearing their liege’s crests rather than armor, idled nearby with horses for their lord and lady, and for themselves as well.

Out of long habit, Malenia scanned the escort and, though she could not see the faces of any of them, she recognized Finlay by her commander’s height and strong posture.

Quartered so far away in the fortress at the edge of the city, Finlay and the other Cleanrots must have risen especially early to be ready for the procession.

Malenia went to her horse–an enormous bay gelding with an even temperament that she used only for ceremonies in the city–and mounted. Miquella did likewise, climbing up to sit astride a much smaller white mare. As they started out from the courtyard and into the street, their escort quietly fell in around them, Miquella’s lordsworn in a column to the right and Malenia’s Cleanrots in a column to the left.

At the head of the Cleanrots rode Finlay, though she stayed a respectful half horse length behind her lady.

Unbidden, Malenia’s thoughts returned to their earlier course.

If Finlay were to die– when Finlay died–would Malenia mourn her as Miquella mourned Elphael? As Marika seemed to mourn Godwyn?

She did not think so. She had lost many knights before. She would lose many knights still. And she had forgotten so many. Malenia found her conclusion disquieting. Would Finlay not deserve to be mourned more and to be mourned better than that?

From the twin’s residence, they traveled to the main boulevard of the city. Here, in an area cordoned off by Leyndell guards, their siblings waited. They too wore black, and they too had their retainers about them. Malenia noted that Marika herself had not yet arrived, and, thankfully, neither had Godrick. Rykard and Radahn, however, were present.

Even at a distance and despite her failing eyes, Malenia recognized Radahn immediately. Sitting astride a black horse even larger than Malenia’s, the enormous crimson-haired warrior towered over his escort of Redmanes. Though all of Marika’s line stood taller than most mortals, Radahn had outstripped his siblings in terms of sheer size, and he continued to grow, though only slowly in recent centuries.

Malenia recognized Rykard because, with his retinue assembled near his towering brother’s, he could be no other.

Briefly, she recalled her twin’s ominous suggestion that Rykard was the hand behind Godwyn’s death, and meant more harm besides. Miquella knew much, but he did not know everything. For all his bitterness and spite, Malenia judged Rykard exceptionally dangerous–but not a fool.

To Malenia’s annoyance, upon noticing their arrival, Rykard took it upon himself to approach. He directed his horse towards the twins. With a practiced ease, Miquella nudged his own horse forward, positioning himself between Malenia and their brother.

“Miquella,” Rykard greeted. Like Miquella and Malenia, he wore sumptuous mourning, black silks embroidered with gold thread and ornaments of gold set with amber.

“Rykard,” Miquella replied. He bowed slightly in his saddle, then straightened. 

“It is strange to see so many of us in the same place,” Rykard said, solemn. “It has been several centuries.”

“And, still, we are not all here,” Miquella said. “Why did your sister not come?”

Rykard’s face, a stern mask, betrayed nothing. “As you know, she has not been seen since the night of the attacks.”

“Our condolences,” Miquella replied.

“I wondered if you had given any further thought to my offer,” Rykard said. A question, though not phrased as one.

Miquella shook his head. “Now is hardly the time to discuss such a matter. We have a brother to bury.”

“Time is a fleeting thing,” said Rykard. “This is the second time I have asked, and the second time you have rebuffed me. Do you think there will be time for a third?”

Miquella shrugged. “Whether you ask next or Marika asks next–I do not know and have no interest in speculating. I don’t have any answers that will please either of you.”

Rykard exhaled forcefully, making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort.

Before the conversation could continue, however, Godrick’s arrival interrupted it.

In clothes that shone with so much gold they hardly looked black, Godrick came astride a blond horse of a size to rival Malenia’s. Even if Malenia still had her full sight, she’d have struggled to make out much of him for the blaze of his adornments. To his right rode a warrior whom Malenia thought she recognized as Commander Niall, the leader of Godywn’s retainers before his death. The shape of him seemed right, though she could not recall Niall ever allowing his shoulders to slump. The man at Godricks’s side looked utterly defeated.

Rykard glanced at Godrick, and his lip curled. “Ah,” he said, tone noticeably souring. “I see Godfrey’s last heir has arrived. I assume Marika will join us soon. And she will bring the body. I should return to my place.”

Tension eased from Malenia’s shoulders as Rykard guided his horse back to join his retinue. As soon as he had passed out of easy earshot, Malenia moved up to her twin’s side. “And I suppose your answer to each of them depends on my answer to you,” she murmured.

“Astute,” Miquella replied, also murmuring. “Imagine the favor you’d be doing to the whole family if you made up your mind.” Then, changing the subject, and speaking loudly now, “We should go and take our places. Rykard was correct. Marika will be here soon.”

To this, Malenia nodded. Raising her left hand, she gestured for their retainers to follow them as they made their way to the back of the assembling procession. Marika and the carriage with Godwyn’s body would, of course, go first in the column. Then, in order of precedence, would be Godrick in his role as Godwyn’s heir, then the two Carians, and then, finally, Miquella and Malenia as the youngest of Marika’s children would go last.

When Marika did arrive, all the pieces for the exequial cortege were in their places.

Positioned at the rear of the train, Malenia could not see her parent, but she felt Marika’s presence even from a distance. She perceived it as a shift in the air that made the world crisper, somehow more real.

“She has an escort of knights, but Maliketh is not with her,” Miquella murmured as they began to ride forward along the great main boulevard of upper Leyndell. Their route would follow this road almost to its end, and then veer down into the maze of the lower city, twisting and turning along the streets broad enough to accommodate the procession, until finally they descended to the entrance of the great catacomb beneath the capital.

“Does this trouble you?” Malenia asked.

“Yes,” Miquella said, simply.

On their way down to the catacombs, great crowds of mourners thronged the streets to see them pass. Many of the mourners sobbed and wailed, creating a cacophony to rival the din of battle. The lamentations sent spikes of unease down Malenia’s spine, but she kept her face neutral and continued to ride at a steady pace behind the Carians and beside her brother.

Idly, she noted that while on most rides through the city Miquella’s lordsworn formed a barrier between her twin and all those who would rip him from his horse just to caress his feet, today that task had fallen to the city guard, who marched in columns on either side of the great train. They handled themselves well enough, but, unaccustomed to how common folk would suddenly try to lunge past them despite Malenia’s presence, the they jumped and startled constantly.

The lordsworn riding closest to Miquella–Iridollus, who’d been Elphael’s second–was edging closer and closer to his liege the longer the ride went on, as if he expected there would come a point where the city guard would fail and he himself would have to intervene.

Good.

He knew his duty and he attended to it.

By the time they reached the catacombs, however, there had been no disruptions to the procession, no failures of the city guard, no unanticipated misadventures.

The cavernous entrance to the catacombs lay deep in the bowels of lower Leyndell, where the buildings had stood for centuries, if not far longer. This was the oldest part of the city, older even than Marika. The road they traveled sloped down first gently, and then steeply, plunging quickly into darkness otherwise unknown in Leyndell’s precincts.

A whole company of gold-clad sentinels of the Tree stood guard at the cave mouth–not merely for this occasion, but always. For Marika and her kin, they stood aside, but they reformed their line as soon as the procession passed, preventing the Leyndell crowds from following.

The catacombs were sacred ground.

Here, all dismounted. Finlay took Malenia’s reins from her and then stood aside. Only Marika and her heirs would process on from this point.

Cradling Godwyn’s shrouded body in her arms, Marika advanced into the necial gloom. Godrick, then Rykard and Radahn, and then Miquella and Malenia followed her.

The procession finally came to a halt in a grotto so great that it could comfortably hold a dozen dragons with room for more. Thick roots wove in and about themselves, forming the distant walls of the underground expanse. Damp mist hung heavy in the dim air.

Marika continued her advance. Her heirs did not. Instead, they formed a loose line, standing and watching from a distance as she finished the rite.

None spoke.

Marika set her firstborn gently in a recess amongst the Erdtree’s roots, in its very heart.

Malenia clenched her jaw. Her knights were never allowed burial. Not in simple earth, and certainly not in the hallowed shelter of roots. They were burned, lest their rot spread. Had it been Malenia who’d fallen, would Marika have given this honor to her? She knew better than to pose questions to which she knew the answer, especially when the answer was one that she did not like. Shame that so often that knowledge did not stop her from folly.

When Marika had finished her work, she looked to her children and Godrick. She spared each of them a brief glance. Then, she spoke a single word, a word that reverberated in Malenia’s very bones. “Begone.”

Not waiting to see her command obeyed, Marika turned back to contemplate her firstborn.

With unseemly haste, Godrick rounded and started back up to the surface. As he walked, his gold adornments jangled loudly. Behind him, Rykard and Radahn followed with slightly more dignity, and behind them went Malenia and Miquella in turn. Of the five of them, none were inclined to remain long in the face of such a clear dismissal.

Up at the surface, their various retinues were all waiting for them.

Out of habit, Malenia sought out Finlay. Her commander stood near Daedicar, in conversation. At some remove from them, Miquella’s captain, Iridollus, was likewise speaking with Niall and one of Radahn’s knights. Distantly, Malenia thought she recalled the knight, and that his name might have been Ogha. Or Ohga. He hadn’t much impressed her when last they’d met. Archers never did.

As soon as the small group of Marika’s heirs stepped out from the cave mouth and into the afternoon light of the Erdtree, Finlay started towards Malenia, Iridollus trailing her by a few paces. 

Malenia did not see quite how it happened, but Finlay’s path towards Malenia crossed Godrick’s path towards his horse. Enmity of the past month not forgotten, Godrick’s elbow caught Finlay across the sternum.

Had Malenia’s sight not deteriorated, she might not have listened to the world around her so carefully. And had she not been listening so carefully, she might have missed Godrick’s hiss.

“Out of my way, ugly cur.”

In half a heartbeat, Malenia had crossed all the space between herself and Godrick, and the back of her one hand slammed into his jaw hard enough to knock him off his feet. Then, unsatisfied, she rounded on him, reaching for where her sword would be if she had carried it.

“Malenia!” Miquella shouted. Much more slowly than Malenia had moved, he nearly tripped himself in lunging forward, and he seized her wrist in both his hands. “Malenia!”

On the ground, eyes glassy with fear, Godrick scuttled backwards like an insect. 

Nearby, Marika’s golden sentinel knights, who, unlike Malenia, were armed, started to stride towards them.

Swordless, Malenia started to advance, but Miquella put all his weight into pulling her back. Though he weighed little, it was enough for Malenia to notice him. “Release me, brother.”

Red colored Miquella’s normally ethereally pale cheeks. “Calm yourself.”

Malenia tried to shake her brother loose, but Miquella held fast. “He insulted my knight,” she snarled. How dare he think to command her. “Let me go before you are hurt.”

The golden sentinels were close now, though they hesitated to come so close as to actually involve themselves, doubtless unsure how to intervene between the two heirs of Marika, or if they even should.

Finlay stepped forward. She bowed. “My lady. If an insult from him to your honor does not merit my sword, then an insult to my honor does not merit your hand.”

Malenia flexed the fingers of her one hand, clenching them into a fist and then unclenching them again. She looked down at Finlay. Still in her bow, Finlay did not return her gaze. To Miquella then, Malenia snapped, “Get off me, Miquella. I will not pursue this further. Here. Now.”

Wordlessly, Miquella released his sister. He looked furious. At her?

“You’ve made a scene,” Miquella said, quietly.

Indeed, Malenia now felt the eyes of all assembled on her. Rykard in particular watched with a focus that Malenia recognized as that of a predator. But that did not concern her. “The honor of my knight deserved a scene,” Malenia replied, not quietly at all. She glanced over at Godrick, who had receded behind Niall. The grizzled veteran’s expression, a tortured mask of shame, betrayed his disdain for his new lord and his new lord’s weakness. Malenia made no effort to conceal her sneer. “If that coward ever touches one of mine again, I will not stop at a scene.”

Miquella’s lips pressed into a tight line. Malenia could feel a storm brewing in him. He turned away from his sister. “You will regret this,” he said, tone clipped. He then gestured for her to follow him. “Come. It is time for us to depart.”

Veitchi appeared at Malenia’s elbow, holding the reins of her horse. “My lady,” he murmured.

Wordlessly, Malenia swung herself into her saddle. Around her, Miquella and their shared retinue did the same. Neither Rykard nor Radahn nor sniveling Godrick followed suit. The three remaining heirs of Marika stood back and watched the twins depart.

On the roads back to their residence, crowds still remained to watch them pass, though somewhat reduced from the morning procession.

With less need now for full formality, Malenia slowed her horse so that she drew even with Finlay riding somewhat behind her. Loudly enough for Finlay to hear her, but not so loud that her voice carried to anyone else, she said, “I hope that was as satisfying for you as it was for me.”

“My lady, I put up with him for weeks before your return,” Finlay replied. “Do not doubt that it was.”

“You are not ugly,” Malenia said.

Finlay’s breath left her in a whoosh that sounded almost like a cross between a laugh and a scoff. “My lady, I look like a Cleanrot.”

“You look like yourself, Finlay,” Malenia replied. “And if your face were the last thing I see before my eyes go dark, I would not regret it.”

[] [] []

By the time Malenia and her twin returned to their residence, the day was almost full over. Cognizant that barely enough time remained for her knights who had escorted her during the procession to return to their quarters at the edge of the city before dinner in their mess was done, Malenia quickly moved to dismiss them. Before she could give the order, however,  Miquella demanded her attention with a hand on her elbow.

“Sister,” Miquella said. Behind him, somewhat away from Malenia, stood Iridollus, Elphael’s replacement. “Wait. I would like to speak with Finlay.”

Malenia frowned. “What do you want with my knight?” Her frown turned to a scowl. “It was my decision to strike Godrick. I am not sorry for it. Do not involve her.”

“I would not dream of imputing fault for your rashness to anyone but you. I wish for a favor only,” Miquella answered, prickly. “Perhaps she could take dinner with us.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Iridollus as well.”

Slowly, Malenia nodded to her twin. It was plain enough he had some motive he refused to share, but she had no reason to oppose it yet–whatever it was. Turning back to her Cleanrots assembled by the gate of the residence, Malenia called for her commander while sending the rest away.

Finlay nodded to Malenia in acknowledgement. She exchanged a few brief words with the other knights, then guided her horse away from the gate and dismounted. She gave her horse a familiar pat on the neck. One of the squires of the house scampered over to take the reins and lead it away to rest.

When Finlay had come within a reasonable but respectful distance of the twins, she offered Miquella a bow–low, but not as low as the one she used with Malenia. “My lord,” she greeted.

“Sir Finlay,” Miquella replied. “I believe that you have met Iridollus before.” He gestured to his lordsworn, who took a small step forward and gave Finlay a shallow nod.

Though it was not a question, Finlay nevertheless answered. “I have, my lord,” she said, face a polite mask. She excelled at affecting the appearance of manners, perhaps because she was truly well-mannered, and perhaps also because her scars meant she only had to worry about keeping half her face under tight control. To Malenia’s ear however, Finlay’s tone sounded somewhat strained–though the note was so subtle that Malenia would have missed it had she not known her knight so well. “On a few occasions,” Finlay continued. “Not many.”

“I thought that the four of us should dine together,” Miquella said. “And I’d like a word with you as well.”

Malenia set a hand on her brother’s shoulder, even as she caught Finlay’s eyes with her own.

“Of course, my lord,” Finlay said, gracious. Malenia could still hear the trace of strain in her voice, though she’d hidden it even deeper now.

Miquella reached up and took Malenia’s hand. “Very good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Rather than use the house’s banquet hall, Miquella directed them to a small parlor that Malenia had only dimly remembered existed. Their house contained many, many useless rooms that she never frequented. Several servants quickly swarmed in to light candles in sconces along the walls and rearrange furniture so that, when they had finished, the room contained a round dining table and four stout wood chairs. Everything else the room had held before was either pushed up against a wall or removed entirely.

Like a solemn cloud, Miquella drifted to one of the chairs at the table and sat. Iridollus then took a seat at his lord’s right. Before Malenia could even move towards the chair across from her brother, Finlay was there, pulling it out for her. Malenia nodded her thanks and sat, then gestured to the last of the four chairs. “You may be seated,” she murmured.

Finlay had mellowed over time, but not in all respects.

“Sir Finlay,” Miquella began, “What did you think of today’s ceremonies?”

Finlay cleared her throat. “They were very grand, my lord,” she said, stiffly. As she spoke, she avoided looking directly at Miquella.

Malenia did not like to see her knight so plainly uncomfortable. “Brother,” she cut in. Then, with nothing else to say, she asked him his own question. “What did you think of the ceremonies?”

Miquella did not hesitate in answering. “It was good that the people of the city saw the family united,” he said. “I myself can barely recall the last time we all came together.” He looked over at his lordsworn. “Iridollus, had you previously seen my other siblings?”

Iridollus spoke with a rough, deep voice. Nothing like Elphael’s had been. “Radahn,” Iridollus said. He managed to sound even stiffer than Finlay had. “At a distance. Not the others.”

“He is the one who goes out most often,” Miquella remarked. “And he is hard to miss.”

A knock at the door of the parlor and the arrival of servants bearing dinner stopped any further conversation. The servants laid out bread with berries baked into it, a dark soup with vegetables and meat, and a large platter holding what looked to be half a roast boar. They also had several pitchers of wine for the table as well.

A wildly extravagant meal for only four, and Malenia knew from experience that her twin was far too slight to have more than a cup of wine and retain anything of his wits.

As soon as the food was set down and before the servants had finished departing, Miquella offered a smile and gestured towards the feast. “Let us eat.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Malenia saw Iridollus blanche. Ah. So that was why Finlay disliked him. Whether he deigned to break bread with Malenia and Finlay was no concern of hers though. If Iridollus could not bring himself to eat with the rot-blighted, he would go hungry, that was Miquella’s problem.

Following his own command and moving with all the alacrity of a hungry child, Miquella started to heap his plate with bread and boar.

Rather than reach for anything, Finlay glanced at Malenia.

Malenia nodded.

Wordlessly, Finlay took Malenia’s plate and used her two hands to fill it. She also cut the boar into manageable pieces and filled Malenia’s cup with wine from the pitcher the servants had left. Only after she’d served Malenia did she serve herself.

Malenia caught Finlay’s eye and offered her knight a smile. “Without you, I’d wither from hunger, rot away, and be burnt by dragons,” she said. “In no particular order, I think.”

Briefly, Finlay glanced at Iridollus, still horribly pale and with an empty plate. She hesitated. Then she returned Malenia’s smile with a lopsided smile of her own. “Then it’s a good thing I am here, my lady.”

“She left out that she’d also be insufferable,” Miquella chimed in. “She mopes less when you are here.”

Finlay took a bite of meat, chewed, swallowed, then, “My lord, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Miquella replied.

“My lady once told me that as a child, she was the prettier twin,” Finlay said. “Is this true?”

Miquella looked briefly stricken. He glanced at Malenia, eyes full of betrayal. Malenia smirked. Then, turning back to Finlay, Miquella spoke, pained, “My sister is not a liar, and I do not know why you would ask me to call her one.” He turned then to his lordsworn. “Iridollus, they’re mocking me,” he said. “Tell them to cease at once.”

Iridollus looked stricken. “My lord, I…”

“Please, Iridollus?” Miquella asked.

Iridollus cleared his throat. Staring at the far wall rather than looking directly at Malenia or Finlay, he declared, “My lord Miquella does not wish to be spoken to in this manner. Please cease.”

Malenia drained her cup of wine. It was good wine, and strong, though Malenia lacked the skill to describe it beyond that it was red and thick. Then, “Finlay, did you notice that he did not answer your question?” 

Without prompting, Finlay refilled Malenia’s cup. “I did notice, my lady,” she said. She sipped at her own wine. “But I thought that perhaps he was embarrassed, and to press further would evince a lack of manners.”

“He was very embarrassed,” Malenia replied. “Not being the prettiest one in the room cuts his pride.”

“I am sitting here, of course, you realize,” Miquella interrupted. “And I have ears to hear you.”

“Oh, we know,” Malenia said. She took another deep draw of wine. “If you weren’t here, we’d be talking of more important things.”

Miquella sniffed. “Do you really rate pointy pieces of metal more highly than your brother? Your twin?”

“My lord Miquella,” Finlay said. She swirled her wine in her cup once, twice, then drained it. “Surely you must know that our conversations involve more than simply arms. We also often speak of armor.”

“And how to make armor pointy,” Malenia added.

Miquella sighed like the wizened old man he was at heart. “Making armor pointy would be horrifically counterproductive,” he said.

“It would look intimidating,” Malenia replied. At her side, Finlay nodded.

Miquella looked to Finlay. “Finlay,” he began, “In all your conversations about pointy pieces of metal, has my sister broached the topic of a march north?”

Finlay hesitated.

“Brother,” Malenia cut in, “That is a matter between us only.” In an instant, she grasped Miquella’s intentions. He meant to use her commander to force her hand.

“Finlay,” Miquella said, ignoring Malenia, “Has she? Has she mentioned at all that I think there is a way to stop the rot beyond the borders of Marika’s power?”

Finlay looked from Miquella to Malenia. Then, carefully, “My lord, it is not my place to say what I do and do not speak of with your sister.”

“You willingly told me you speak of arms and armor,” Miquella said. “Why not this?”

“Miquella,” Malenia snapped. “Cease.”

Miquella let out a dramatic sigh. He looked then to his lordsworn. “Iridollus,” he began, “I have thought better of dining with my sister. Put some food on my plate and take some food for yourself, we are leaving.”

“Ah, of course, my lord,” Iridollus said. He quickly stood, spooned a ladle of soup into his bowl, and also took generous portions of boar and bread for Miquella.

Malenia frowned as she watched the two of them go. Her brother’s purpose had been achieved. The damage had been done. Malenia finished the wine in her cup, then passed it to Finlay to refill. When her twin and his lordsworn were both gone, Malenia started in on her third cup of wine. Finlay, she thought, might have been on a second, though perhaps still a first.

Ever conscious of their respective stations, Finlay stayed silent while Malenia drank and ate.

Malenia had half finished her fifth cup when she started, “There is nothing beyond the north,” she said.

Finlay inclined her head. “As you say, my lady.”

Malenia fixed her eyes on Finlay. “Is that all?” she asked. “As you say?”

“Do you wish for me to press you on this?” Finlay asked.

“My brother wishes that you do,” said Malenia.

“As I’ve told you before, I do not serve him. I serve you.”

Malenia sighed. “Marika intends to place Miquella in Godwyn’s throne,” she said. “He conjured up this idea of north to justify fleeing her.”

“He truly thinks that there is a cure for the rot in the north?” Finlay asked.

To this, Malenia shrugged. “Yes,” she answered. “My brother is a compulsive manipulator, but he does not lie. At least not to me.”

Finlay said nothing in reply. Malenia glanced at her. She appeared troubled.

“Is something wrong?” Malenia asked.

“No,” Finlay said, shaking her head. “I… It is nothing.”

Malenia’s brow furrowed. She took another draw from her cup, finishing yet another cup of wine. She asked, “It is not nothing. Will you tell me?”

Finlay herself finished her own cup of wine and poured herself another, then filled Malenia’s cup as well. “I have dark memories of our last venture north.”

“That was… some time ago,” Malenia said. The beginning of the war with the dragons, she thought. Or near to it. She had taken her Cleanrots north, and they had slain an ancient dragon and several of its lesser kin together. The march had not been easy, but it had ended in victory. “I do not remember that campaign well.”

“I remember it,” Finlay said. She looked away from Malenia. “Before your battle, my part of the column became separated during a storm. Many did not survive.”

Malenia did not doubt that events had transpired as Finlay said. And she would have been apprised of them at the time. The man who had served as her commander in those days–he had been a solemn personality, and so concerned with the minutiae of his duties that he had been difficult to converse with. A strong warrior, and an even stronger administrator. He would not have failed to report any part of her knights being lost to the march. But… She could not recall anything of a storm, of a separation, of any great casualties other than those in battle.

Even through the haze of strong wine, Malenia felt shame. Her knights had sacrificed for her, and she had forgotten not only their faces and names but their sacrifice as well.

Unaware of Malenia’s ruminations, Finlay continued. “In truth, I think that I fear the north. It is a desolate place, and it is easy there to fall into desolation.”

“I have no intention of taking the Cleanrots north again,” Malenia said firmly, her course now certain. “I will not subject you to that a second time. Not to chase a false dream. Miquella will have to content himself with other plots.” 

Clearly not as deep into her cups as Malenia, Finlay met Malenia’s fading green eyes with her piercing hazel-gold ones, attention focused to a sharp point. “My lady–you must.”

Malenia blinked. “What?”

“Even if it proves false, this is not a dream you can refuse to chase,” Finlay said. In what seemed to Malenia to have been a mere heartbeat, her tone had taken on the steel of conviction. “Are you really so weary you will not make an attempt?”

Malenia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wished that she shared Finlay’s conviction. How bright her fire was, to have sustained her for so long in Malenia’s service without succumbing to despair, and to have been able to still kindle in the blink of an eye to such ferocity. She took another swallow of wine. “I am not weary enough yet to abandon my duties here,” she said.

“You have no love for Leyndell,” Finlay pointed out.

“But I do have a place here,” Malenia said. “As do you. As do all my knights. And what sort of lord would I be to you, if I defied my own master?”

“My lady, we trust you,” Finlay said. Her face softened. “And our home is with one another and with you.”

“Having been in my service, there are few places you can now dwell except at my hearth,” Malenia replied.

“There are worse fates,” Finlay said with a shrug. “This is what we chose. We do not resent that we are bound by duty to follow you and to carry out your will. It is not a burden to us. Do not think that it is. And it will not become a burden to us, regardless of what you choose.”

“I do not think… I merely… I worry too, sometimes,” Malenia said, struggling to assemble her thoughts and struggling harder to put them to words. She shook her head. “How many of my knights came to me because of my prowess in the field? And now I am barely half who I was, and my eyes will fail soon. If I go out into the wilderness and then fall, unfulfilled, leaving you alone and unsworn, exiles–that is not the end I would have for myself or for you.”

Finlay reached out and took Malenia’s single hand. She set it on the table between them, and covered it with her own. Her touch was warm. “We will still love you.”

“Will you?” Malenia asked. Her voice, she mused, sounded very small.

“I will,” Finlay answered.

“The vows of a knight to a lord are of reverence and submission,” Malenia said. “They are not of love.”

“There are vows,” Finlay said, “And then there are the reasons vows are taken.”

For a while, Malenia simply sat saying nothing, thinking very little, just feeling the weight of Finlay’s hand on hers. After a long time, she finally withdrew her hand and reached for the wine pitcher to fill her cup again.

This time, rather than help her, Finlay pulled the pitcher out of her reach.

Malenia quirked an eyebrow at her knight. “What was that about carrying out my will?”

“This will be your will in the morning,” Finlay replied with her familiar lopsided grin.

Malenia chucked, and then she sighed. “It is late,” she said, grudgingly. “You should return to the fortress.”

“By your leave,” Finlay replied. “Do you require assistance reaching your quarters?”

“I will be fine,” Malenia answered. “It is not far.” A guilty weight settled in her chest. Although her own chambers were near, it was a long way back to the fortress at the outskirts of the city. Though the streets were as well lit as ever due to the Erdtree, Finlay would surely be tired.

Not wanting to worry Finlay by accidentally staggering or swaying as she rose, Malenia remained seated while Finlay stood to go. As Finlay was reaching the door, Malenia spoke one last time. “Finlay, when we reach Miquella’s promised land… I…” Trailing off, she shook her head. “Nevermind.”

Finlay paused her leaving to turn and meet Malenia’s eyes. She nodded. Then she left.

[] [] []

In the place beyond wakefulness, Malenia could remember all the knights who had served her and who had fallen serving her.

Rank upon rank of them, innumerable.

Heads bowed.

Kneeling.

All dead.

[] [] []

When Malenia woke with a dull headache, Miquella waited for her in a chair by her bedside. Groggy, Malenia eyed her twin. “I must have a word with my guards,” she muttered.

Miquella flashed a smug smile. “Don’t blame them,” he said. “You know I cannot be refused.”

“I refuse you all the time,” Malenia said.

Miquella’s smile widened. “I had my word with Finlay last night.”

“Stop gloating,” Malenia growled. “It’s unbecoming.” Then she grabbed her pillow and hurled it at his face.

[] [] []

Malenia threw herself into preparing for the journey north. As her knights assembled supplies for the long march, she poured endlessly over maps of the road that Miquella had chosen for them, drawn from centuries of his own studies and reports of men and women he had sent out over the years to mark the places where a traveler could slip in and out of the confines of Marika’s realm. 

It was some comfort, she supposed, to realize that he had been contemplating such an expedition for so long. Even so, she still suspected he would not have pushed to actually embark on it but for Godwyn’s death and all its consequences.

Despite Miquella’s assurances that Marika was in no position to oppose their leaving, neither Malenia nor her knights were willing to rely on such good fortune. They spent many late nights planning for every eventuality. As they planned, and planned, and planned, whatever doubts had once plagued Malenia slowly faded. She and her Cleanrots would not be stopped.

With so much of her attention devoted to a goal, it felt to Malenia that it took only the blink of an eye for the day of the departure to arrive.

As there was no room at the twins’ residence to stage a large convoy, they set out from the fortress at the western edge of the city. To Malenia’s mingled surprise and relief, Godrick, after whinging for so long at the Cleanrot’s presence there, did not deign to see them off. Indeed, almost none of his men were there to enjoy their final capture of the complex from their rivals. It seemed odd, but not so odd that Malenia dwelled much on it.

Idly, Malenia wondered if Godrick would decide that all the furniture and other trappings that the Cleanrots had used in the fortress would have to be burned and replaced before their rooms could be reoccupied.

Unlike most other marches that Malenia had undertaken, this one involved very few horses. Miquella, Malenia, and the Cleanrots were mounted, but most of Miquella’s lordsworn traveled on foot. Miquella did not maintain stables enough for his entire company of retainers to ride. In consideration of the terrain the march would be crossing, it had been decided that obtaining horses and teaching Miquella’s followers to ride would be of little profit. The going would be slow regardless, and forage in the north was scarce, even in full summer. They would be hard pressed as it was to feed the horses they had.

All through the city, Miquella, shining, led the column. Commonfolk stared at his passing, but his lordsworn formed their customary cordon to shield him from the grasping of any petitioners who were not sufficiently deterred by Malenia’s presence at her brother’s side. When they reached the eastern gate, the guards posted there, men and women of Radagon’s muster, stood aside for them, unwilling and unable to impede the advance of two of Marika’s children.

Beyond the gate, a broad stone road sloped steeply upward, then began to wend through tall hills, and, in the far distance, terminated in a monumental passage, beyond which, Malenia knew, lay a treacherous bridge that spanned the abyssal crevasse that separated Altus from the feet of the ancient mountains where the fell god of fire had once dwelt. And, even farther on, at the far side of the bridge, was the Rold lift–a relic of a time long before Marika, and the only passage up to the peaks.

Less than a week of travel would, with speed, take them to the near side of the bridge. They would camp there and then they would cross the bridge in a single day–though it would require them to march from before dawn to after dusk. They would not stop until they reached the far side. The bridge was no place to tarry.

Malenia was just starting to cross the boundary between the city and the lands beyond when she heard the clatter of hooves on stone behind her, coming near. She paused and turned.

Several riders, a leader and an escort, all at a canter, closing quickly.

“It’s Rykard, my lady,” Veitchi supplied. “With Daedicar and several lordsworn.”

Malenia pressed her lips into a tight line.

They had come so close to making a clean escape.

Unsurprisingly, Rykard headed straight for Miquella. “Hail, brother,” he called out. “Were you going to depart without saying your farewells?”

“Farewells are difficult,” Miquella replied, tone polite and unperturbed.

Rykard had come close now and stopped a mere horselength from Miquella. Behind him, Daedicar and seven Praetorians fanned out. Malenia noted that they were all armed and uneasy. “I come from Marika,” Rykard said. “She bids you stay.”

Miquella glanced at Malenia. To anyone but his twin, he might have appeared calm. He was not calm.

Malenia nudged her horse forward, putting herself between Miquella and Rykard. “Your message comes late,” she said. She felt Finlay and Veitchi move to either side of her, more fully screening Miquella.

“Not so late that you cannot obey,” Rykard replied.

“Tell Marika that we are leaving,” Malenia said. She inclined her head, only slightly, to Rykard. “Farewell, brother.”

Stone-faced, Rykard returned Malenia’s nod. Then, without any further words, he turned his mount about, signaled to his riders, and headed back into the city.

When Rykard was surely out of earshot, Malenia turned to Miquella. “It is done,” she said.

“It is,” Miquella echoed softly. “I… I think that a part of us has been waiting for this moment for… for a long time.”

“It is done,” Malenia said again. “Let’s go.”

[] [] []

At the end of the first day of the march, they made camp amongst the hills northeast of Leyndell.

Several Cleanrots pitched Malenia’s tent for her. Even if she still had both her hands, they would not have permitted her to do the task for herself, and, as she had only the one, she was grateful for their service. In the years since she had given up her right arm, she had never had to attempt to raise a tent for herself, and, while she did believe that she would be able to manage, it would certainly not be easy as she was now.

The lordsworn who had accompanied Miquella were in charge of preparing dinner for the company. While the Cleanrots would accept food from the lordsworn, many of the lordsworn would not accept food from a Cleanrot.

Elphael would have boxed all their ears, Malenia thought. But Elphael was dead. Truly dead.

Malenia ate with her knights. Miquella ate with her as well. And, to Malenia’s mild surprise, so did Iridollus.

The first night, the first time that it happened, Malenia’s thoughts must have been clear on her face because Iridollus looked at her and shrugged stiffly. “I go where my lord goes.”

“Even Elphael feared you at first,” Miquella said to his sister. “Though that was many years ago.”

Seated with the other Cleanrot officers in a loose circle around the campfire, Veitchi announced, “She’s not that scary. Watch this.”

Before Malenia was quite aware of what was going on, Veitchi had flicked a crust of bread at her, Jishanen had caught the bread, and Finlay had smacked Veitchi on the back of the head.

“Don’t waste good food,” Ostia scolded. Then she plucked the confiscated bread out of Jishanen’s hand and popped it into her own mouth.

Veitchi massaged the back of his head and winked at Iridollus. “It’s easier to deal with the knowledge of certain slow, agonizing death if you have a sense of humor.”

Iridollus’ expression was some strange cross between horrified and fascinated.

“Sister, your knights have terrible table manners,” Miquella said.

“Brother, I don’t care,” Malenia replied. She took a crust of bread of her own and flicked it at Veitchi. It hit him square in the nose.

“I apologize for her,” Miquella said to Iridollus. “She was raised in a barn.”

“If I was raised in a barn, then so were you,” Malenia pointed out.

Miquella sighed.

[] [] []

On the evening of the fourth day of travel, Malenia’s scouts reported they were being followed by a force large enough to be called an army.

Malenia summoned her officers and her brother.

“That can’t be correct,” Miquella protested. “Where could they have come from?”

“Leyndell,” Jishanen answered, tone flat.

Miquella shook his head. “But who commands them?”

“Radahn, Rykard, or Godrick,” Veitchi said. “In that order of probability.”

“We planned for this possibility,” Malenia said.

“You planned without including me?” Miquella asked.

“Your input was not necessary,” Malenia replied. “I’ve asked for your presence now only so that you understand our strategy.”

“How considerate,” Miquella mumbled. Then, more clearly, “And what is your strategy?”

“We continue to march,” said Finlay. “If they come close enough, we turn and draw up a line for battle. That is our preference. We are strongest fighting on an open field where we have room to maneuver and cannot be pinned down. But they surely know that and will avoid any major action until we reach the bridge. If we reach the bridge without battle, we will leave a rearguard to prevent them from charging after us while we’re vulnerable during the crossing. Then the rearguard retreats. When we’re all to the far side of the bridge, you will collapse the bridge.”

“If they don’t engage when we form a line, we retreat in waves to continue the march,” Jishanen said, beginning to explain the plan’s contingencies. “It will be slow, but that will be safest. If they do engage and it seems they will prevail, then a group of riders will escort you and Malenia on while the rest of us remain to fight. And if while we cross the bridge the rearguard falls, then you will collapse the bridge at the far side without waiting for them.”

Miquella looked aghast. “That bridge has stood since the time of the giants.”

“Do you doubt you can destroy it?” Finlay asked. Her tone was serious. It was an honest question of no small import.

“Of course I can destroy it,” Miquella said, somewhat offended. “I only meant…it is very old. A relic. Destroying it hardly seems necessary–surely they wouldn’t pursue us all the way to Rold.”

“The dragons were old,” Finlay said. “ Will you destroy it?”

“If I say that I will not?” Miquella asked.

Malenia snorted. He asked as if refusal were an option.

“We think that I have power enough to collapse it,” Finlay said. “But my skills are needed with the rearguard. Either I will have to travel with the main company, or, if I stay with the rearguard and we are attacked, then I will destroy the bridge from this side of the ravine. We would prefer that you not put us in that position.”

Miquella hesitated.

Suddenly, Malenia worried that he might refuse. But surely not.

Miquella glanced at his sister. “Why are you letting her stay with the rearguard?”

“What do you mean?” Malenia asked.

Briefly, Miquella’s crystalline blue eyes narrowed. Then he shook his head. “I will not question your judgment. If it must be done, then I will destroy the bridge for you. I wish that you had included me in your plans earlier.”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Malenia said.

“Like telling me about your fading sight wasn’t necessary,” Miquella said.

Malenia nodded. “Like telling you about my fading sight wasn’t necessary,” she echoed.

[] [] []

Snow filled Malenia’s dream.

The snow lay behind her.

She turned.

She looked back.

She saw only snow, falling fast.

She needed to see beyond the snow, but she could not.

Only snow.

Only darkness.

[] [] []

All the way to the bridge, the army behind them did not attempt to close in.

Tension filled the night before they began the crossing.

In the shadow of the monumental gate that marked the start of the bridge, Malenia sat with Finlay, Vietchi, Ostia, and Jishanen around a small fire. They all wore armor in case of a night attack. Miquella and Iridollus were not with them.

“It is more important to me that you live and retreat than that you scourge whomever it is following us,” Malenia said. As the days had dragged by without battle, it had become increasingly clear that the enemy meant to rush them while they attempted to cross the bridge–and they had all become increasingly restless. They had planned for this possibility, but having a plan was not at all the same thing as liking it.

Finlay nodded. “Of course, my lady,” she replied. “I will not allow any unnecessary casualties.”

“Apply a conservative definition of unnecessary,” Malenia said. “Once we have achieved the far side of the bridge, there will be no use in defending the near crossing. It is easier to stop a crossing from a far side than a near one.”

Finlay’s golden eyes flickered to Malenia. “Yes, my lady,” she said again. “We know this. But given how long it will take you to cross the bridge…”

Malenia started to grimace but then stopped herself. Her unease and annoyance were no fault of Finlay’s. “Of course,” Malenia said. “Of course you know. I do not question that. And I know that our crossing will take time. But the objective is to buy that time, not to defeat them.”

“My lady, trust us,” Finlay said. 

“I do trust you,” Malenia said. “But I… I would feel more comfort if Veitchi were with you.” Quickly, Malenia then added, “Not because… Only because… If Radahn or Rykard are leading that force and take the field…”

“It doesn’t make sense to commit both Finlay and Veitchi to the engagement,” Jishanen said firmly. “We don’t want to commit to this any more than we must. As you know. As you said. This is not ideal. But we have been over it countless times. We could think of nothing better.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “And we agreed that Finlay should lead because of her skill at raising shields and because it shows to the other knights, and to the enemy, that we expect to succeed.”

Ostia shifted and Jishanen, for a moment, appeared put out. However, whatever passed between them–they did not share it with anyone else.

“I won’t second guess you,” Malenia said, shaking her head and tamping down on the sense of foreboding that lay heavy in her chest. “We all agreed to this.” She stood abruptly. “I am going to sleep. You should as well.”

Finlay followed Malenia in standing. “Wait–my lady, please. I…” She glanced at the other three Cleanrots, then, after a brief hesitation, she shook her head. “Nevermind.”

From his seat, Veitchi snorted quietly. Then he too stood. He stretched and yawned. “Rest is a brilliant idea,” he said. “I’m turning in. So are Jishanen and Ostia.”

Jishanen quickly followed Veitchi’s lead. When Ostia didn’t immediately rise, Jishanen gave her an encouraging kick. As a group, the three of them departed, leaving Finlay and Malenia alone.

“What did you wish to say?” Malenia asked.

Finlay bowed her head slightly. “Only that I will not fail you.”

“If you do not return to me, I will consider that a failure,” Malenia replied. “You do understand that?”

“You have made that clear, my lady. But…”

Malenia set her gauntleted hand on Finlay’s armored shoulder. Then, after a moment’s pause, she pulled Finlay tight against her. “You’ve given your word. Do not fail me.”

Finlay rested her scarred forehead against the crook of Malenia’s neck. She murmured her reply. “My lady, I will not.”

[] [] []

Fire.

Malenia dreamed of fire.

[] [] []

The column began its march before the sun had even touched the horizon. It was light enough to travel though, for they remained near enough to the Erdtree to benefit from its perpetual radiance.

Unlike the road to this point, the bridge was an unpaved expanse, rough, natural stone, boulders stacked up by giant hands and fused with fire to form a massive arch, narrow, and slick with spring melt. Wind howled, threatening to rip the unwary from their feet and carry them off into the abyss on either side of the span.

Malenia did not allow her brother to lead the march. Nor did she allow him to proceed mounted. She trusted–well enough–that her brother would not step poorly in the crossing. She could not say the same of any horse. No one rode. Most of the horses had been left with Finlay and the rearguard, who would not have the luxury of a careful crossing.

The going went slowly.

The plan had accounted for this.

From the beginning, there had never been any thought that a company, burdened with supplies and moving soignously, could traverse the rift between Altus to the mountains in anything less than a full day. To move any more swiftly would be reckless. Although in other days Malenia would have led the column, the task fell to Veitchi instead. His mortal eyes could see farther than her divine ones.

Every time Malenia put one foot in front of the other, she doubted more the wisdom of their plan.

Again and again she looked back over her shoulder–though she saw nothing but the grey haze of the distance. If she were their enemy, she would have begun an assault by now. And if she were Finlay… she would not retreat. Not yet.

Only the knowledge that she could not be seen to falter kept her moving forward.

Several hours after midday, Veitchi raised a hand for a halt.

“What is it?” Malenia asked.

“I think there are soldiers on the far side,” he said. “I can see light reflecting off metal.”

“There are normally a few guards at the Rold lift,” Miquella said, striding over to force himself into the conversation.

Veitchi shook his head. “This is more than a few guards, my lord. Look.”

Miquella turned his head to look where Veitchi pointed, then he frowned. “I see,” he said.

“I don’t,” Malenia interjected, testy.

“It’s a large company of soldiers,” Miquella said. “They’ve raised fortifications at the end of the bridge.”

“What kind of fortifications?” Malenia demanded. “We didn’t plan for this.”

Miquella frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen their like before.”

“Describe them,” Malenia snapped.

“Solid barriers,” Miquella replied. “With… cylinders pointing out from them.”

“Flame cannons,” Veitchi concluded. “Shit. It’s a deathtrap. They probably have archers too, ringed around the end of the bridge, and, with our luck, casters. They’ll try to keep us pinned on the bridge until the army behind us drives off or fights through the rearguard and comes at us from that direction.”

“I don’t understand how there could be enemies there,” Miquella said. “How did they arrive there before us?”

“They must have left before us,” Veitchi said grimly. “We thought Marika would order a pursuit after we left, but we didn’t think she’d commit to anticipating our march like this. Assuming they are Marika’s. They might not be Marika’s.”

“It doesn’t matter who they are or where they came from,” Malenia said. “We’ll charge through where they are dug in, then establish a line on the ground beyond the bridge as quickly as possible. Miquella, we will require a shield. We will advance slowly to the extent of their range, then we will charge. For our charge, you must protect us.”

Miquella looked at Malenia incredulously.

“What is your objection?” Malenia asked, attempting to master a surge of annoyance.

“You want me to charge with you?” Miquella asked.

“No,” Malenia said. “I just need you to stay back and raise a shield for us while we charge. Finlay does this all the time.”

“She hangs back and shields you, or she charges and shields you?” Miquella asked dubiously.

Veitchi sighed. “The latter,” he said. “And she coordinates our casters. From the front.” He turned to Malenia. “My lady, doing this sort of casting at a distance is very tricky business–or so I’ve been told. I’ve never tried it.”

“Then get me every Cleanrot who can raise a shield at all,” Malenia said. “They all need to be at the lead of the charge.” There was no question in her mind that Miquella would not be joining them in a melee.

“Wait,” Miquella said. “I can do it. From here. I can. I was… simply taken aback at the request.” He glanced at Veitchi. Sounding slightly offended, he continued, “I am a child of Marika. And if they have no shields of their own, I believe I can dispose of the cannons.” He sniffed. “Even if they have shields of their own, I can dispose of the cannons.”

“Good,” Malenia said. “But prioritize the shield for us. If we can close the distance, we can handle the cannons ourselves. Once we establish a line on the open ground past the bridge, we need you to keep a shield over the rear of the line. Our own casters will cover the front.” She turned to Veitchi. “Get Ostia and Jishanen from wherever they are in the column. I want them leading the left and right wings, with you and I in the center. And find Iridollus too. The lordsworn will support us.”

Veitchi bowed, quickly. “Yes, my lady.”

The remaining plans did not take long to complete and the column was soon on its way once more.

It had been some time since Malenia had deliberately marched towards a battle.

She had forgotten the… excitement of it.

Her sword was loose in its sheath and she was about to undertake the only thing that she truly excelled at. She did not delight in killing. But she did delight in the rush of a struggle and the intense joy of victory at the end, however fleeting.

The setting sun cast the world in crimson hues as they closed the final distance, though, even here, the Erdtree cast enough light to see by.

“How close are we?” Malenia asked. She’d been asking this same question constantly for nearly half an hour.

At her right, Veitchi replied, “Almost within range. I think… a few more yards, maybe.”

“Miquella,” Malenia said. “Are you ready?”

At her left, Miquella said, “I am ready, sister. I will protect you. I will protect your knights.”

Malenia continued her advance, one foot in front of the other.

“Shield!” Veitchi suddenly shouted.

Malenia could not see it, but she could imagine the archers releasing their bolts, sending a blizzard of black arrows arcing up and towards the convoy on the bridge.

For a moment, Miquella did nothing, and, for a moment, Malenia doubted him. He was not a warrior. He had raw power, but he did not have a warrior’s instincts or a warrior’s reflexes.

Then, as Malenia’s moment of doubt stretched into an eternity, Miquella raised a hand and said a word, flicking his fingers. A brilliant golden sheet of pure light flashed into existence. The dark cloud of arrows splattered against the barrier, like rain against stone, doing no damage, then slid down, caught by gravity to clatter harmlessly on the bridge or fall into the abyss below.

Miquella raised his other hand and began a litany. Beads of sweat formed on his perfect brow. He bared his teeth, face contorting into an expression utterly unlike himself. Three golden disks formed above his head, circling him. When he finished his chant he pointed forward, towards the flame cannons, and the bright projectiles shot out, following his direction.

Before the disks could hit the cannons, blue sorcerous fire flared, sketching out the intricate designs of an astral ward.

When golden light met its sorcerous match, the resulting explosion, deafening, shook the precarious bridge beneath Malenia’s feet. Snow and dust fell into the abyss below.

The canons remained unharmed.

“Advance!” Veitchi shouted, and all behind Malenia her knights leaned forward and charged, spears leveled at the enemy, even as Miquella readied another barrage of divine light, this one tinged with the azure of his own blend of sorcery and faith.

Malenia did not immediately sprint forward. If she did, she would fast outpace her knights and would find herself alone amongst the enemy. She continued to walk at a steady, even pace as her Cleanrots streamed around her on her right and her left.

Soon.

Soon…

Soon .

Now.

When Malenia could bear waiting no longer, she unsheathed her sword and broke into a run. She darted around her knights who, even charging, seemed as if standing still to her. Above her head, Miquella’s golden shield held firm, repelling any nuisance that might break her headlong rush into the enemy.

She lived for this rush.

Malenia fell upon the first fortifications and flame cannons at almost the same moment that her first rank of knights did. Without room to maneuver around the obstacles, the knights set their armored shoulders forward and barreled into the wooden barricades, which were not strong enough to withstand them. Splinters flew in every direction, and soldiers went flying after them in sprays of crimson.

The second rank of barricades held slightly firmer than the first, but only slightly. There were men and women with heavy shields and spears, all standing together in a disciplined rank.

Flying forward, Malenia scythed through them. With the momentum of her charge, she leapt up and over the shield wall to fall like a bird of prey amongst the enemy. Her sword danced this way and that as she cut them all down.

Here, where Miquella could not raise a shield without also impeding the movements of his allies, Malenia was vulnerable to arrows and other such attacks. Her best defense against them was to keep moving.

She wove about, almost faster than mortal eyes could perceive. Some attacks she dodged and others she swatted away with the flat of her blade. Some arrows did land true, but her armor had been made well and, rather than pierce through to wound her, they glanced off of curving plates of steel. A few did stagger her, but this did nothing to slow her charge.

The third line crumpled as swiftly and as completely as the first and second lines had.

Then, it was time for the true battle.

In a moment, Malenia understood the enemy.

Godrick.

She saw his hunched form hiding behind several lines of lordsworn who had once pledged themselves to his grandfather and now found themselves serving a mere shadow of the lord they’d given fealty to. In their front stood Niall, in full armor.

Here in the place where the bridge melded with the ledge of the Rold lift there was just enough open ground for a full engagement–though the terrain still favored the enemy force.

With the remaining momentum from their charge, Malenia and her Cleanrots broke out from the narrow bridge to form a semicircle perimeter around the approach. As they quickly set their line, Miquella’s shield shifted to defend it. Behind them, lordsworn rushed into position, ready to reinforce any place where the line waivered.

By Malenia’s side, Veitchi shouted orders out to the knights. She registered them and their import, though they did not direct her own movements. Her knights had their role to play, and she had hers.

Before the Cleanrots had finished positioning themselves and bracing, across the field, the enemy, having recovered from the initial engagement, charged at them–an attempt to disrupt their formation while it was at its most vulnerable.

Coward that he was, Godrick hung back as Niall and his lordsworn stampeded across the open ground. As they came, they roared, a wordless battlecry that made the surrounding mountains tremble.

Steel and screams filled Malenia’s ears when the two forces collided.

Godrick was no warrior, but the soldiers he had inherited were no less veterans than Malenia’s knights. Before they served Godrick, they had served Godwyn.

Malenia spun and slashed and struck, and sometimes her blade found its target and sometimes it was turned away. While the outer barricades had fallen quickly, the melee now went as a slog. Malenia could not simply barrel forward ahead of her knights without leaving her flanks and her back exposed. And, skilled as she was, her powers did not allow her to simply cut through heavy steel shields and armor like a knife through water. No–she had to fight for every inch of ground just her knights did.

The Cleanrots beat back Godrick’s first charge. As Godrick’s front rank drew back, so did the exhausted Cleanrots who’d weathered the engagement. Both sides executed the maneuver with the disciplined coordination that came only from years and years of experience. For a few moments, a few yards separated the forces again. The ground was already muddy with gore.

Then the second ranks took their turns.

This was the rhythm of a clash of armies.

Evening went to dusk went to night. The battle continued, lit by the pale luminance of the distant Erdtree and explosions of blue and gold fire conjured by casters on both sides of the battle.

From time to time, Malenia caught sight of Godrick, flailing about, the strength of his blood allowing him to pose a stiff challenge to her Cleanrots despite his lack of skill. Whenever she gained a sense of where he was in the chaos, she tried to set her path towards him. If he fell, she had no doubt that his forces would crumple. As it was, she was sure that they fought only because of his claim to Godwyn’s legacy. That would not be enough to sustain them if he fell, or even if he retreated.

Catching sight of him and heading towards him were simple.

Reaching him was a different matter entirely.

As the melee dragged on and on, it became apparent that Godrick only ventured up to directly engage the Cleanrots when he was sure that Malenia was elsewhere. Otherwise, he stayed well behind his forces, shouting and gesturing wildly.

But, eventually, Malenia did catch him.

And when she caught him–

He blocked her first blow, barely, and her second, but her third cut deep into one of his arms, sending gold-tinged blood spraying out, and then he was stumbling backwards, putting several hapless men and women between himself and Malenia before turning tail and running headlong away.

With his flight, his forces quickly began a fighting retreat. It started out orderly, but as some moved slower than others, they either turned to join their lord in flight, or they dropped to their knees, laying down their arms and clutching at the knees of their betters.

And why not give up on a lord who had given up on himself?

Exhausted and covered in blood and muck and viscera, Malenia wiped her sword clean with the torn tabard of a lordsworn. The battle had drained her. But it was over now. A sort of calm, a peace, settled in her chest. They had won.

She looked back at the bridge, back at the direction whence they’d come.

She could not see clearly, especially at such a distance, but she could see that the sky was lit with red and orange hues.

Not the light of the Erdtree.

Fire.

“Veitchi!” Malenia shouted, all peace fled.

Answering her summons, Veitchi came limping towards her, over the many corpses of lordsworn and a few Cleanrots as well. One of his arms hung in an unnatural way. Probably broken. With his good hand, he removed his helmet. His face was covered in blood and grime. He looked utterly spent, near to collapse. His voice was hoarse from screaming to be heard in a pitched battle. “My lady.”

“The rearguard,” Malenia said. “What news?”

Veitchi shook his head. “No news that I have heard. But I have been here. Maybe Miquella?”

Even before he had finished speaking, Malenia was striding across the bloody field towards the bridge, where her twin should have been staying in safety for the past… she did not know how long it had been.

As expected, Miquella stood a ways back on the bridge, by the first barricade. He shimmered in the darkness. His clothes remained immaculately white. 

“Miquella,” Malenia said, walking over to him. “Have we heard anything from the other side of the bridge?”

“Nothing,” Miquella replied.

“I’m going back,” Malenia said.

Miquella startled. “What?” Then he reached out and grabbed Malenia’s wrist. “Malenia–no. No.”

Malenia paused. A pause, not a hesitation. She stared down at her twin. “No?”

Behind her, Veitchi, following after her, called out, panicked, “My lady! We cannot go back. We… you are in no state to go back.”

Malenia focused on Miquella. Again, she asked, “No?”

“I will destroy the bridge,” Miquella said. “And then we will keep going.”

Malenia wrenched her wrist out of her brother’s frail grasp. “You will do nothing,” she snarled. “This is a matter of strategy. This is for me to decide.”

“If anyone had survived behind us, we would have heard word by now,” Miquella said. “You’re exhausted and not thinking clearly. We won this battle. We must continue on. That was your plan. You’ve been fighting for hours. Even if you could reach the far side, what would you be able to do?”

“I am Malenia, lastborn of Marika. I have never known defeat,” Malenia snarled. “And it has not been so long.”

Miquella shook his head. “It has.” He turned his face towards the east. “Sister, it is nearly dawn."

“My lady,” Veitchi said. He spoke with his head bowed. Respectful. But he sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. “If Finlay were here, she would restrain you. Please do not do this.” He started to go down to one knee, then his legs failed him and he fell down on both. “Please.”

“Finlay is not here,” Malenia replied.

Veitchi sagged. “If she were here, she would restrain you, and you would allow yourself to be restrained because she would be here and it would be someone else across the bridge.” Behind him, Ostia and Jishanen approached, supporting one another.

“Enough,” Malenia snapped. She did not want to hear what Ostia and Jishanen had to say. She would not like it. “I am going.” She turned and started back across the bridge, past the remainder of the column–mostly Miquella’s lordsworn, horses, and baggage.

Miquella’s charisma hit Malenia with the force of a physical blow, staggering her. “Malenia,” he said, as much with his physical voice as with his power. “Stop, sister. You made your decision when you laid this plan. It is time to go forward, and, for that, I need you here. What is she but dust and shadow?”

Straightening, Malenia shoved Miquella from her mind. For a moment, she felt fury at his… at his presumption . She pushed her fury aside. She had no time for that. She looked to her brother. Before he could say anything more, she cut him off. “Miquella, you are not the only one whom I love.”

Then she kept walking.

“Malenia!” Miquella shouted. He sounded both angry and disbelieving. “Stop! Come back!”

As Malenia started back across the bridge, she caught a few final words from her knights.

“I told you so,” Ostia hissed.

[] [] []

Though before it had taken a full day to cross the bridge at the speed of mortals, Malenia flew across the expanse now at the speed of a god.

Wind howled in her ears and cut her skin.

She ignored it.

After a full battle, her failing body tired.

She ignored that too.

Perhaps a bit farther than halfway back across the bridge, Malenia met a handful of Cleanrots. All of them looked haggard. Those who could, walked. Several heavily wounded knights were slung over a pair of horses led by the others.

“Report,” Malenia demanded.

One of the walking Cleanrots–Emodium–spoke. Slowly. Horribly slowly. “We were overwhelmed,” they said. “We… Finlay… she ordered us back.”

“Where is she?” Malenia asked.

“Still there,” Emodium replied.

“Alive?” Malenia asked.

“I don’t know,” Emodium said.

Malenia nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

Then she pressed on.

[] [] []

In the part of Malenia’s mind that dreamed even when she was awake, she dreamed of fear.

Suffocating terror.

Beyond what words could describe.

[] [] []

At the bridgehead, Rykard sat atop a pile of corpses, all wearing the distinctive armor of Malenia’s Cleanrots, as if they were a throne. All around him, more bodies, of Cleanrots and of his own Praetorians, littered the ground.

Malenia slowed her headlong rush across the bridge to a walk and then, finally, to a stop. Without sparing a thought for the action, she drew her sword and held it loosely at her side, not in a guard, but nevertheless ready to dance at a half-heartbeat’s notice.

Daedicar, wearing full armor but no helm, stood next to Rykard. Two darker figures flanked him as well, both in black cloaks and carrying strange blades that Malenia recognized as the weapons that the assailants in the woods had carried. Blades imbued with true death.

Daedicar smiled wide. Smugly. Blood covered her face and her eyes gleamed with a manic fire. “I predicted that she would come,” she said to her lord. Lazily, she leaned on her spear. “And here she is.”

Rykard grinned ruefully as he stood from his throne and drew his own sword. As he drew it, fire sparked and grew about the reddish steel, wreathing it in flickering flames. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I won’t next time.” Then, to Malenia, he nodded. “Well met, Malenia.”

Malenia said nothing.

“Daedicar tells me you’re here for your knight.”

“Where is she?”

Rykard shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest. Not in my pile here–we checked. Probably out there somewhere.” He gestured with his blade to the field of corpses all around him. “You’ll have to come closer and find out.”

As soon as Malenia crossed from the bridge to the landing, she would be attacked on all sides by Rykard, by Daedicar, by the assassins, and by whatever other forces Rykard had lying in wait. She couldn’t see much farther than Rykard and his immediate companions, but she didn’t doubt that there were other enemies supporting them.

Malenia raised her blade and charged.

Even before she had closed the distance, she heard rather than saw projectiles flung at her. Reacting on instinct to blurs of motion she couldn’t clearly see, she scythed through them with her weapon. As she did, gouts of flame exploded around her–she’d cut down grenades.

She kept charging.

She fell on Daedicar first.

It was best to start by taking out the weak link, lest she be overwhelmed by numbers.

But Daedicar did not obligingly fall under Malenia’s onslaught. Acquitting herself well for a mortal, she parried the first several of Malenia’s strikes, holding out long enough for Rykard and the assassins to come around Malenia’s sides and close in.

Against four skilled and powerful opponents, Malenia found herself on the defensive. As fast as she was, she could not both defend herself from so many blows and lash out at the same time. And she was tired. Very tired. Grimly, she flowed from parry to parry, attempting to bide her time, looking for an opportunity to shift the flow of the battle.

For good or for ill, no one else, at least, joined the fray.

Malenia would not be able to fight off a fifth opponent, but neither would the four already engaged with her be able to continue without tripping over one of their allies.

Armed with a spear, Daedicar taxed Malenia’s ability to track the tempo of the battle. With her spear, the prefect could easily shift distances and either quicken or slow her strikes, making them difficult to account for with so many other blades to turn aside.

The assassins, meanwhile, darted in and out of Malenia’s range, attempting to bait out foolish commitments while constantly threatening to slip inside her guard.

Rykard himself had the most conventional technique, as far as his swordplay went. His sword, though wreathed in fire, was a common weapon and he fought with a textbook precision and lack of creativity born of long studies with dueling masters of the Carian court. However, he wielded his sword with only one hand. With his other hand, he spun sapphire sorceries, conjuring lances of blue fire that struck at Malenia from otherwise impossible angles.

Sweat poured down Malenia’s face.

She fought on with furious resolve.

Rykard and his minions would not stop her.

The five of them danced and danced and danced.

And then Malenia made a mistake.

Exhausted, she raised her blade to block a sweeping slash from Daedicar’s spear at too shallow an angle. Rather than slide harmlessly down into the dirt, the tip of the weapon slammed into Malenia’s temple, crunching through her steel helm, slicing into flesh, biting into bone.

Blood filled Malenia’s failing vision.

She stumbled backwards, then only barely managed to throw herself out of the way of the dagger of one of the assassins. At first backpedaling, she made a fast change of direction and lunged forward for a gap between Rykard and Daedicar. With the element of surprise, she managed to escape the brawl, darting out of reach and giving herself the barest moment of respite.

With the back of her one hand, she knocked off her helm and then attempted to quickly wipe away the blood dripping into her eyes before her enemies caught her again. No good. Too much. Her blood coated the back of her hand, but still it flowed, freely, unceasingly.

Victorious, Daedicar came rushing forward, her spear covered in crimson.

No, not crimson.

Scarlet.

Malenia’s darkened eyes narrowed.

Her blood.

Her blood, her curse.

Hers.

She whispered a command.

“Rot.”

The spear in Daedicar’s hands went to pieces, steel tip rusting away and wooden haft decaying to soft splinters and then dirt.

Daedicar swore and checked her charge, dropping the remains of her weapon and then scrambling away from it. As her gauntlet began to crumble as well, she hastily shucked it off, hurling it away from herself. Not fast enough. She screamed.

Rykard hesitated.

Only the two black-clad assassins continued to close.

Having gained a second wind, Malenia fought them off. With only the two of them to contend with, she could weave parries with strikes, and, slowly, shift the balance towards the latter. Her long curving sword gave her a much greater range than her opponents with their death-blessed knives, and she used that to her advantage, always keeping them at a distance such that she would have ample warning before they attempted a blow she would need to defend.

Malenia finally struck down first one and then the other.

She turned towards Rykard.

He was supporting Daedicar, who cradled the stump of her wrist. Rykard must have cut the rotting hand away. Together, they were retreating. Rykard’s lordsworn closed around them but did not advance.

“Take your knight,” Rykard called from across the field. Wrath fumed around his every word. “You foul bitch born of a bastard father and a whore mother. If you can find her. And I’ll take mine. We’re done here.”

Defiant though his words were, to Malenia, they were brittle with fear. It was a fear that she recognized. She did not try to stop his leaving.

Malenia let her heavy sword fall from her hand.

She was too tired to hold it, and she needed to find Finlay.

The field of bodies stretched as far as Malenia could see.

She looked down and, lying by one of the assassins, was a fallen Cleanrot. Malenia knelt down and removed the knight’s helm. It was Maire. Not Finlay. Malenia touched her knight’s cheek and murmured her thanks for his service. Then she moved on.

She picked her way from body to body. From time to time, she found survivors. For her Cleanrots, she would plant a spear in the ground, a marker to find them again. Rykard’s lordsworn, however, she ignored. She felt utterly, bone-achingly, tired, and had neither the inclination nor the strength to care for prisoners.

Her already failing vision swam. There were so many more bodies. Countless bodies.

Malenia sank to one knee. Not giving up. Just resting. Collecting herself against the enormity of her task. She let her eyes fall shut.

What use were they anyway?

How could she find anything, anyone, Finlay, when she could barely see?

When she tried to open her eyes once more, for a moment she felt resistance, caked grime and drying blood trying to seal them shut.

Her blood.

Her curse.

Her rot.

All her knights bore her rot.

Hers .

Malenia shut her eyes again and thought of the rot.

The rot had existed long before Marika.

It was as old as the world itself.

Everything eventually decayed.

Everything.

The strength of the rot lay in a deep cavern where it had accumulated over millennia, circled by flowing waters, far away. But the rot was everywhere. Malenia had once had a swordmaster who taught her to fight against the rot, but also that it could not ever be defeated. The rot came from life. As long as there was life, there would be rot.

Malenia allowed herself to feel the rot around her.

There was a great pool of it in the pile of Cleanrot corpses that Rykard had heaped up as a throne. And then there were small traces of it all across the field, a mycelial web of life and decay, with nodes wherever a body lay sprawled in the cold dirt. Malenia reached out across the lattice of rot, searching.

There.

She opened her eyes and stood and walked.

Malenia found Finlay near the heart of the field, where so much blood had spilled that the ground was a reddish mud. Some of that blood had been Finlay’s. Something had cut through her cuirass, ripping the metal apart and leaving a horrific gash in her torso. She wasn’t moving.

“Finlay?” Malenia asked.

Her knight did not respond.

Malenia knelt. She set her gloved palm on the curving steel of Finlay’s armored chest. She couldn’t heal. She had no faith to summon golden light like her brother could. But Finlay had skill at healing. She needed Finlay to wake up.

“Finlay?” Malenia asked again.

Again, her knight did not respond.

Was Finlay breathing? She could not tell through the leather and steel that separated them. As gently as she could manage, with a hand that shook, she worked Finlay’s helmet off. Her knight’s skin was pale from bloodloss. Biting down on her filthy glove, Malenia managed to rip it off her one hand. She set her hand then near Finlay’s nose and mouth, hoping to feel a trace of breath.

There.

Or was it her imagination?

“Finlay, I need you to get up.”

No response.

And what had Malenia expected?

“Finlay…”

Malenia knew better than to shake someone as injured as her knight. But she wanted to. As if it would wake her knight up. Somehow.

“Sister.”

Malenia startled. She looked over her shoulder and saw Miquella approaching. She could not see him well, but she recognized the soft glow that always haloed him. How long had it been that he had crossed the bridge back? Had he taken a horse? Surely not–that was too dangerous.

Miquella came over to Malenia and knelt beside her.

Distantly, Malenia noted that he was ruining his white robes with the muck of the battle.

“I am sorry for attempting to stop you,” Miquella said. He set a hand over hers. His skin was so soft. Her twin. Her comfort. “Allow me.”

Golden light, blindingly brilliant, burst from him, starlike.

As the light faded, Miquella stood. He tapped a shining finger against the bloody dent in Malenia’s brow, knitting the flesh together. He then glanced down at his dirty robes and sniffed in annoyance. “I will go attend to the others now,” he announced. “Don’t tarry too long.”

Ignoring her brother, Malenia stared at her knight.

“Finlay?”

At first, Finlay did not stir. But then her hazel-gold eyes opened slowly. Agonizingly slowly. “My lady,” she murmured, voice so soft that Malenia had to strain to hear it.

“You are well?” Malenia asked.

Finlay let her eyes close once more. With a gauntleted hand she touched the place where her steel cuirass was rent open. She took a deep breath and then, after a long moment, she let her hand fall to her side. “I will be,” she finally said.

“I feared…” Malenia started. Her words caught in her throat. She tried again. “I feared that you would not be.”

“I am sorry to have worried you.”

Malenia set her hand on Finlay’s scarred cheek. Finlay was cold, so very cold. “Do not apologize. You did your duty.”

“You came back,” Finlay said. Indescribable weariness suffused every one of her words. “This… could have been for nothing.”

Shaking her head, Malenia replied, “You are mine, Finlay. It was right that I returned.”

Then, because she wanted to, and because she lacked the strength to stop herself, Malenia leaned down and kissed her knight. She did not quite know what she was doing. Her kiss was light, the barest brush of her lips against Finlay’s.

Finlay’s eyes opened again. She stared up at Malenia.

Struck by the impropriety of her action, Malenia blushed. “I… I am sorry. For that. I was–”

Finlay interrupted Malenia’s apology by kissing her back.

Notes:

Thanks again to Cherepashka for being my beta reader.

Thanks to all y'all for sticking with me this far. Hope you're enjoying this. Chapter Three will be out in... ehhhh... maybe a few months or something like that. As I was doing my final read before posting this chapter, I sorta felt like events were progressing too fast and I needed more rest beats in here, but then I was like, no Cinis, stop, if things go any slower you'll never finish this fic.

P.S. My headcanon is that Rykard, Tanith, and Daedicar are a thruple.

Chapter 4: Halig - Part One

Finlay had never been so aware of herself. Every movement she made seemed utterly consequential, so much that she almost feared to move at all. Her breath caught in her throat.

Lying next to Finlay, Malenia had her hand resting lightly on her knight’s face. “What’s wrong?” They were so close in her bed that her breath brushed against Finlay’s lips.

“I’m nervous,” Finlay said softly.

“That’s unlike you,” Malenia said. “Why?”

Finlay lacked the cunning for anything except honesty. “You are not like anyone else I have been with.”

Malenia arched an eyebrow. Her sightless eyes were closed. Even if she cared to open them, she would not be able to. Black mold had grown in dense plaques over her eyelids, sealing them shut. She traced the curve of Finlay’s scarred jaw with the pad of her thumb. “Say more.” There was a hint of humor in her tone.

“You are… You are you… I am not sure that… I am not sure that I wish to see you vulnerable.”

“You cared for me when I could not care for myself. You carried me when I could not walk. You are my eyes now that my world is dark. You have held me as I decay. You have seen me vulnerable, Finlay.”

“This feels different, my lady. I… To me, you are more than the world. And I am your knight. I am sworn to you, and I serve you. It feels… improper.”

Gently, Malenia set her forehead against Finlay’s. “I do not like to be seen vulnerable by others. But I would have you see all of me. And I am as sworn to you as you are to me. Will you have me?”

[] [] []

In the seasons since Malenia and her brother had taken up residence in the place beyond the northernmost point of any map, their new domain had flourished.

The twins’ original retinue built a small settlement and, before long, pilgrims from across Marika’s realm had come to join them. It seemed that the lands beneath the Erdtree’s boughs had fallen into such chaos that no one cared to stop them fleeing. With the newcomers, the small settlement quickly grew such that it could properly be called a city now.

Miquella had named the city Elphael, after the man who had captained his lordsworn for so many years. Even so long after Elphael’s death, Finlay still missed her friend. But he was dead–and that was the way of things.

So far from the Erdtree, the world cycled between light and dark and light, slowing in the moments of transition for dusk and dawn.

Finlay started her forms under a black sky lit only by distant stars.

On the hard-packed earth of the training yard, there were a few others about who had risen before the sun, but they all kept respectful distances from one another. Those who wanted company came to the yard at more reasonable hours.

Starting slow, Finlay raised her sword before her. She took a deep breath in, a deep breath out. Gradually, a golden light grew around her hand, then swirled down along the length of the blade. At the same time, to Finlay’s perception, the yard grew a shade lighter. She saw it cast in the same gold that encased her weapon. Her eyes had begun to shine.

Finlay turned her hand that held her sword so that her palm faced down. The tip of her sword pointed forward, unwavering. She set her offside foot forward, stepping, and as she stepped, she drew her sword down and back in a diagonal slashing cut, aimed at some unseen enemy in the shadows of encroaching dawn.

Then she began in earnest.

Throughout it all, she continued to burn gold.

When Finlay had finished, she ached and her clothes were drenched in sweat. The brilliance of her focus receded. She sheathed her sword and turned toward the wash shed at the edge of the yard.

To her surprise, Miquella sat on a rickety wood bench by the shed. He stared at her intently.

Finlay approached to a respectful distance, then bowed. “My lord,” she greeted as she straightened again. “Do you have need of me?” She did not know what he might want of her, or why he would come to her and not one of his own retinue, but she could think of no other reason for his presence at the yard other than to make some request.

Miquella got up off the bench. The sun was touching the horizon now, casting him ethereal in matinal light. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Sir Finlay,” he began, tone flat. “You are having relations with my sister.”

Finlay blinked. “I…”

Miquella cleared his throat and raised a hand, cutting off whatever response Finlay was about to attempt to stammer her way through. “I understand from Iridollus that it is customary for a brother to say something about this. I, however, do not know what I am to say. I believe I am meant to make threats. That hardly seems necessary. Moreover, you are not mine to command or to coerce. Nevertheless, please consider yourself threatened.”

Grasping for some appropriate response, Finlay fell back on rote respect. “Of course, my lord,” she said. “I shall consider myself threatened.”

Still staring at Finlay, Miquella allowed his head to tilt to one side, contemplative. His blue eyes bored into Finlay, inspecting her for… something. Miquella frowned. “Sometimes I wonder whether you have any purpose, any existence, except to love my sister.”

Finlay lowered her head in deference. “My lord, I am sworn to your sister. I am sworn to serve her and no one else.”

“Not even yourself,” Miquella remarked. He shook his head. “I envy you. I pity you. You make me face my own inadequacies. It is not a comfortable thing.”

“No, it is not,” Finlay agreed. If Malenia were present, she thought, her lady would make a snide comment about her brother’s awful habit of speaking in riddles, and mostly to himself. Finlay herself, however, had no standing to say such things.

“Do you hold my sister as a god?” Miquella asked.

Finlay’s brow furrowed. “I do not take your meaning.”

“It is your meaning, not mine, that matters in this,” Miquella replied.

“I hold her as I hold her,” Finlay said. “I can give you no better answer.”

Miquella made a noncommittal humming sound. Then he offered Finlay a curt nod. “Well met then, Sir Finlay.” With that, he turned and drifted away.

Finlay did not bother standing still to watch Miquella go. She was still covered in sweat and grime, still needed to wash, still needed to get on with her day. As best she could, she put Miquella and his riddles out of her mind.

[] [] []

It was not an easy thing to do, to put Miquella and his riddles out of one’s mind. Finlay succeeded, for a few days, and then she failed. On and on, Miquella’s words rattled about in Finlay’s skull and then, finally, after no small amount of contemplation, she eventually determined that she might broach the subject with her lady.

Sitting with Malenia on a stone bench by the garden down the hill from the Cleanrots’ wing of the twins’ residence, Finlay began, “Miquella spoke with me last week.” Hunched over, she had her arms crossed with her elbows resting on her knees.

Malenia turned her sightless eyes away from the knights weeding amongst their peonies and towards Finlay. “He told me that he had,” she said. Her brow furrowed. After a pause, she added, “You have seemed uneasy of late. Is this the reason?”

“Yes,” Finlay said simply.

“Do not let it trouble you,” Malenia said. She paused again, then, “It is customary, is it not, for a brother to chase potential suitors away from his sister? Or for a father to do it? Perhaps you should simply be relieved to have spoken with Miquella rather than with Radagon.”

Finlay let out a surprised sound somewhere between a laugh and choking. The very thought…

Malenia smiled softly, chuckled, relaxed. “You had brothers. Did they ever make threats on your behalf?”

When Finlay had recovered, she shook her head. “No,” she said. She sighed. It had been so long since she’d left Limgrave that she could barely even recall their faces. “They… didn’t really care.”

Malenia’s smile faded. “Families are imperfect things.”

“I have the Cleanrots now,” Finlay said. “They’re all the family I need. I doubt anyone will take it upon themselves to threaten you in defense of my honor though.”

“Ostia might, if she fell deep enough in her cups,” Malenia suggested.

Finlay snorted. “That would be like her,” she agreed.

Finlay turned her eyes away from Malenia and toward the knights working in the garden. Ostia was there, as was Jishanen, and several others. The garden had been Veitchi’s idea. Without any enemies to go on campaign against, the proposal had seemed a good one–a way to pass the time. No one had foreseen what it meant to plant flowers in soil steeped in the twin influences of Miquella and Malenia both. Now, the labor of weeding and pruning had become a campaign of its own. But the effort was well-spent. The Cleanrots’ peonies were gorgeous in bloom. And, in this land beyond all borders, they were always in bloom.

“I wish that you could see the garden,” Finlay said quietly. “The flowers are all shades of red, from deep red to pinks so pale they could be white.”

“I wish I could as well,” Malenia replied, voice also soft. Wistful. “But it is better not to dwell on such wishes.”

Finlay shook her head once. “I… I cannot stop myself.” She hesitated, then continued. “Miquella asked me if I hold you as a god. What did he mean?”

For a very long time, Malenia did not respond. Even when she did respond, she did not respond with an answer. “Do you?”

Frustrated, Finlay dug her heel into the soft dirt under her foot, making a little crater. She did not have any better answer for Malenia than she’d had for Miquella. But Malenia was her lady, so she attempted to speak her thoughts regardless. “Marika is a god, but you are not Marika.” Unbidden, more words tumbled out of her. “If becoming a god would restore you though, I would make you a god.” She could not say from where the words had come. They felt reckless. They also felt true.

For the briefest moment, it seemed that Malenia might have flinched. Then the moment passed. Expression unreadable, Malenia replied, “It is not worth the cost. Marika may be great, but in the end she is little more than a vessel for power not her own. I am not a god and I have no desire to become one.”

At this, Finlay frowned. Did divinity not transcend the tolls of mortality?

Malenia tapped a finger against Finlay’s shoulder, demanding her knight’s attention. A smile touched the corners of her mouth now. “Stop brooding and kiss me, Finlay.”

With a lopsided grin, Finlay pushed all shadows from her thoughts and obliged.

[] [] []

It still felt strange to Finlay to wake in Malenia’s bed rather than her own. With Malenia beside her, rather than alone.

She had not been with anyone except Malenia since she entered her lady’s service. The Cleanrots did not judge it right to take up with anyone who did not carry the rot–if any such would even have them–and none of the other knights had interested her much.

As was their custom, Finlay woke first, long before the sun, and she woke restless. When Malenia slept, she slept deeply, and it was often difficult to wake her. Even knowing that Malenia could sleep through near anything, Finlay still took pains to rise carefully, and she did her best to move quietly about the room. It felt respectful.

Usually, Finlay filled the hours before the dawn with work–keeping up her skills in the training yard or attending to the rare problem concerning the other Cleanrots that Veitchi could not manage on his own authority. The rest of her days she spent with Malenia.

Ever since Malenia lost the use of her eyes, Finlay did not like to leave her side.

She did not want Malenia to ever be alone in the dark.

Today though, rather than leave to go about other business while Malenia slumbered, she simply waited.

Dawn had passed by the time Malenia stirred. When she did, Finally was sitting by the window making her way through a book.

Finlay had come to letters late in her life. There hadn’t been much use for such idles in the village in Limgrave where she’d been a child. During her years among the Cleanrots, she learned to handle reports and requisitions and all the other daily chores of steering a company of knights through Leyndell’s bureaucracy, but she still had difficulty with the tomes that Miquella and his lordsworn read for pleasure. At this point, she suspected that she always would. When she had time though, she liked to at least attempt them. It did gnaw at her, somewhat, that stodgy Iridollus was better than her at anything.

Over in the bed, Malenia rolled from her side onto her back. She didn’t get up. “Finlay?” Sleep still lay heavy in her voice.

“Here, my lady,” Finlay said. She marked her place in her book, set it down, and then rose.

“What are you doing over there?” Malenia asked.

“I was reading,” Finlay replied. “A book–a strange tale about a maiden and a dragon written by someone who, I think, had never encountered a dragon. But I do like the plot.”

Malenia snorted, undignified. “Most books about dragons are like that,” she said. “At least–as I remember them. I have not read anything in a long while.”

Finlay collected Malenia’s wooden legs from the table where she’d left them the night before, after cleaning and oiling them and cleaning them again. For all her care, over time decay had set in and was softening the wood. Coming north had slowed the progress of the rot, but it had not halted it.

Willing the passing cloud from her mind, Finlay moved to help Malenia secure her legs of wood to the stumps of the legs she’d been born with.

“My lady, you’ve slept in,” Finlay said. “We might be late.”

“To what?” Malenia asked.

Finlay brought Malenia one of her more formal dresses. It was a rich bronze color, with accents of scarlet and gold. “Miquella asked you to join him in greeting a group of pilgrims,” Finlay answered. Because they would be treating with newcomers, Finlay also brought a white cloth to wrap around Malenia’s rotted eyes. Her appearance did not faze her Cleanrots, but strangers, even those who bore no particular prejudice against the rot, had difficulty looking at her.

“Sometimes I think that Miquella insists I attend to matters that do not require me, simply for the sake of giving me things to do,” Malenia said.

“That would explain a lot, my lady.”

“We haven’t had many pilgrims arriving lately,” Malenia commented.

“Perhaps Marika’s lands are calming,” Finlay suggested. She hesitated, then, somewhat darkly, “Or the opposite.”

When they were ready to depart, Finlay offered Malenia her arm. Malenia set her one hand on Finlay’s shoulder. Together, they set out, Finlay leading, Malenia following.

The distance they went was not far, at least compared to what a similar journey would have been in Leyndell. They reached the field outside the city that held the gate back to Marika’s lands when the sun was still approaching its apex.

The gate was not a gate in the traditional sense–it had no posts, no lintel, no doors. Instead, it was a block of carved white granite that hummed with latent sorcery. The air about it had a sort of dark violet aura that made Finlay queasy to look at. Another gate, identical to the one in Elphael, sat across the sea in a small town, high in the mountains, at the northernmost point of Marika’s lands. The two gates were attuned, and a traveler could move between them, going hundreds of miles in a single step. The only other way to reach Elphael was by sea. From the castle of the Marais, the journey took over a month in good weather. Despite the perils of the mountains above Leyndell, most pilgrims preferred to come by gate.

For her part, Finlay was glad she only rarely was asked to travel away from Elphael. Travel by sea made her violently sick. So did the gate. The first several times that it had happened, her fellow Cleanrots had been sympathetic. Lately, they just laughed.

Around the gate lay a wide field of packed earth and scraggly grass. There were some plans afoot to build a monumental plaza for the gate, but, for now, there were other more important projects–like building homes for newcomers. The field, for the moment, would remain a field.

Unsurprisingly, Miquella had arrived long before Finlay and Malenia.

“Who is here?” Malenia asked quietly as they stepped into the field. “I can feel my brother. I assume he brought others.”

“Iridollus,” Finlay said. “Also a squadron of lordsworn.” Though no one was near, she lowered her voice before adding, “And Niall and his son.”

After Malenia defeated Godrick and his forces during their journey north, Niall had led a group of survivors in bending the knee to Miquella. Miquella accepted them–over Malenia’s objections. Though that had been some time ago, Malenia still did not easily endure their presence. In her estimation, they had failed two lords prior and had no honor.

Finlay did not fully agree with her lady on this. She had first known Niall as the grizzled commander of Godwyn’s men, and so he remained in her mind, despite his brief tenure with Godrick. He did have honor, and that was why he had pledged himself to Miquella.

But Finlay did not like Niall enough to argue this point with Malenia.

Across the field, standing near the gate, robed in white and glowing softly even in daylight, Miquella stood deep in conversation with Iridollus. Only when Finlay and Malenia had come quite near did he turn his attention to them.

“Sister,” Miquella greeted. “Sir Finlay.”

Briefly pushing Malenia’s hand away from where it rested on her shoulder, Finlay bowed to Miquella. “My lord,” she said. She then straightened and tapped her fingers against Malenia’s. Malenia settled her hand back on Finlay’s shoulder.

“They are almost here, I think,” Miquella said. “Had you arrived any later, you may have been late.”

“Late for what?” Malenia asked.

“Pilgrims,” answered Miquella. He now sounded somewhat excited. “The first we’ve had in some time. And they’re from Caria.”

Malenia frowned. Her grip on Finlay’s shoulder tightened, a twitch that Finlay had come to understand as a suppressed urge to reach for a sword that her lady no longer carried. “From Caria?” Malenia asked. “For what reason are you so interested in them?”

“Because we hardly ever get pilgrims from Caria,” Miquella replied, as if that were a useful answer. Before he could say anything more, the air around the gate began to crackle and the violet aura about it intensified.

Everyone turned towards the gate.

The first traveler to emerge was a woman wearing full plate armor of a quality that Finlay, for all her years as a knight in Malenia’s service, had rarely seen. The armor was burnished steel, engraved by a master, and, in places, accentuated with sapphire lacquer. The workmanship was exquisite. In a ceremonial parade or ballroom, it would be beautiful to behold. More importantly, in battle, it would protect from even mage-imbued blades.

And it seemed that the armor had done such work, recently.

One of the pauldrons bore a dent so severe that it must have restricted the woman’s range of motion. A deep gash marred the cuirass, running from the right shoulder to the left hip. The right tasset of the armor suit was a crumpled wreck over the woman’s upper leg; as she walked she used a long polearm, a heavy glaive of a quality to rival the armor, like a crutch to support her weight. All of it testified to a battle that likely nearly took the woman’s life.

The woman carried herself with a sort of solemnity that Finlay associated with procession and ritual.

Though Finlay had never met the woman before, she knew by her arms and armor and bearing that she was not merely a Carian and not merely a knight, rather, she was one of the sorcerer knights anointed by the Carian queen herself. There were fewer than twenty, it was said, and they were of the same esteem in the Carian court as the sentinel knights whom Marika tasked with guarding the Erdtree.

Miquella offered the woman a half-bow. “Sir Loretta,” he greeted, apparently recognizing her. Even recognizing her, he sounded slightly surprised.

The woman, Loretta, stepped forward, opening space for other travelers to arrive behind her, and then gave Miquella a full bow. “My lord Miquella,” she said. She sounded incomprehensibly exhausted. She turned then to Malenia and bowed deeply to her as well. “My lady Malenia.” After exchanging greetings, the woman slowly knelt. Given the injury to her leg, it surely caused her great trouble. When she was finally kneeling, she bowed her head. “We seek refuge and in turn offer our fealty.”

Miquella held out a hand to Loretta. “We will take your fealty and give you refuge,” he said.

Next to Finlay, Malenia shifted. She did not like how ready her brother always was to take in strays. She did not necessarily object to taking them in, only to the haste with which he made the decision. Malenia would not, however, ever undercut Miquella by protesting in the moment. It was a good thing that petitioners always asked Miquella for refuge and never Malenia.

While Miquella and Loretta conducted other formalities, Finlay turned her attention to the portal and the others that Miquella had now welcomed into Elphael.

The next travelers to appear were a group of ghostly pale women, all riding wolves. Many of the women and many of the wolves too were injured. Finlay could see field dressings, limps, and the askew ways that bodies in pain moved. They and the knight must have all had to fight to reach Elphael. Then, behind the women, came mules, carts, and wizened elders riding in the carts.

Finlay’s brow furrowed.

Malenia tilted her head so that her mouth was near to Finlay’s ear. “What is it?”

Finlay kept her voice as low as she could. “Albinaurics,” she said. “A royal knight of Caria with albinaurics.”

[] [] []

The night after the newcomer’s arrival, Miquella put on a feast in one of the city’s squares to welcome them.

Loretta, Miquella, Malenia, and Finlay sat at a high table overlooking the paved square. In the square itself, there were long tables heaped with food and benches. Anyone in the city could partake in the abundance; they came and went as they pleased. Between the tables, many stood and talked, some danced, and the sounds of revelry rose up into the night.

After making sure that Malenia had been served and there was nothing on her plate that would be too difficult to eat neatly with a single hand, Finlay served herself. The food was fish in every imaginable preparation. Like the castle of the Marais, the small city of Elphael sat by the sea and the culinary options reflected that. From time to time Miquella would go and bless the city’s fishers and their nets, and so Elphael never wanted for fish.

Having had more than enough fish for several lifetimes during the Cleanrots’ garrison of the castle of the Marais, Finlay desperately wished Miquella would occasionally bless a sow or a heifer instead. Anything really–just not the fishing nets.

Miquella himself sat down the table from Finlay, on the other side of Malenia. Then, on the far side of Miquella, sat Loretta. The two of them were in deep conversation, leaving Malenia and Finlay to their own devices.

“I imagine this is a great banquet,” Malenia said.

“It is,” Finlay replied. “I think there is enough to feed the entire city, and the entire city might be here.”

“The Cleanrots are here,” said Malenia. She pointed her face toward a large cluster of knights, all eating together. “I can feel them.” Malenia then turned towards Finlay. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

Finlay hesitated, unsure how to reply.

“You’ve barely left my side in weeks,” said Malenia. A flicker of some unreadable emotion passed over her face and the warmth in her voice faded. “I worry that I am detaining you unnecessarily. I imagine that you should like, at least on occasion, to indulge in diversions rather than watch me stumble blindly.”

To this, Finlay did not hesitate at all. “You are not detaining me unnecessarily,” she said. “My place is with you. And I enjoy that place.”

“But, regardless, I feel that I am,” Malenia said. She shrugged.

Finlay frowned–an expression she knew that Malenia would not be able to see. “If you will it, I will go, my lady,” she said. “But only if you will it. Not because I desire it.”

Malenia set her hand over Finlay’s on the table. In this gesture, she moved with unerring precision, even though she could not see. “It would ease my thoughts. If I need something tonight, I can bully Miquella for it,” she said.

Finlay did not know how to protest further, and so she did not. She cleared her throat once, searching for the correct response. Eventually, she settled on, “By your will then, my lady.” Slipping her hand away from Malenia’s, briefly, she touched Malenia’s shoulder to confirm that she was going. Then she took her plate and headed down towards where the other Cleanrots were gathered.

At Finlay’s arrival, an argument broke out over who would move to make room for her–after some pushing and shoving and cursing, a spot opened on a bench next to Veitchi and across from Ostia and Jishanen.

“So who’s the new face up there?” Ostia asked through a mouth full of food. Despite the food, and despite the fact that she was across the table, Finlay could smell alcohol thick on her breath.

“Sir Loretta of Caria,” Finlay said as she sat down with her plate. As she sat, someone shoved a goblet of wine at her. She took it without comment, but didn’t drink. “One of their royal knights–the queen’s own guard,” she continued.

“And what’s one of them doing out here?” Ostia asked.

Finlay shrugged. “It was something about how Rennala has locked herself away–like Marika–and Ranni doesn’t want to be found.”

No one had seen the only daughter of Rennala and Radagon since the night that the assassins had struck against so many of Marika’s children. But no one truly believed for even a moment that Ranni, the lunar princess of Caria, had died in the attack.

“They’re out of Carian royals then,” Jishanen commented. “No one left to serve. What’s a knight without a master?” She sounded a bit bored. She was doubtless either sober or mostly sober. That was her habit.

Next to Finlay, Veitchi, not sober at all, snorted. He raised his goblet high in a toast. “To never finding out!” All around, the other Cleanrots joined the toast, as did Finlay–though she joined somewhat slower than the others.

Ostia kicked Finlay’s shin under the table. “What’s the matter?”

Finlay startled. “Nothing,” she said. “What?”

Ostia leaned forward across the table, squinting at Finlay. “No, something’s definitely the matter.”

Finlay shook her head. “Nothing’s the matter,” she said again.

Jishanen reached out and pulled Ostia off by the back of her shirt. “Leave her alone,” Jishanen said. “She’s obviously moping.”

Finlay scowled. “I’m not–”

“Definitely moping,” Veitchi announced. “She’s been exiled down here with us drunk plebs when she’d rather be up there contemplating the romantic tragedy of our lives between snogging sessions with our lady.”

Finlay felt her cheeks go red hot. “That’s not–”

“It’s alright, Finlay,” Ostia said, grinning ear to ear, “You can be honest. You’ll only hurt our feelings a little.”

Understanding her predicament, Finlay drained her entire goblet of wine in a single draw. Then she set the cup aside and stared Ostia down. The best way to get her fellows’ attention off of her was to throw someone else to the wolves. “We were talking about you the other day,” Finlay said. She gave Ostia a winning smile. “Here’s the question–will you go up there and defend my honor?”

As it turned out, the answer was yes.

[] [] []

The morning after the feast, Finlay felt as if a mule had kicked her in the head–repeatedly. She woke late and when she woke, rather than rise, she pulled the bedsheet over her head and willed the late morning sunlight streaming into the room to become darkness.

Beside her, Malenia fared no better. With a grunt, she pawed at the bedsheet and made to yank it away from Finlay to cover her own face.

Finlay protested. “I need it more,” she grumbled. “You’re blind.”

“It will make me feel better though,” Malenia muttered. “I can still feel light on my skin.”

Relenting, somewhat, Finlay pried one eye open to survey the situation. Having the benefit of sight, she managed to untangle the bedsheet enough that it could cover both their heads. Then she squeezed her eyes shut again and went back to wallowing in her horrific headache.

The two of them stayed inert until a message from Miquella interrupted their convalescence.

“Why does your brother always want something?” Finlay asked as she oozed out of bed to fetch Malenia’s legs.

Still ensconced in bedding, Malenia mumbled, “Do you know how often he demands I fetch something off a high shelf for him?”

Together, Finlay and Malania managed to get dressed and stagger out onto the streets of Elphael, headed for Miquella’s residence. Normally Malenia could navigate the familiar way unaided, but, beset by the consequences of the prior night, she leaned heavily on Finlay–who was not in any better condition–the whole way there.

When they presented themselves to Miquella, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You stink of alcohol,” he said. “Did you bathe? You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to,” Malenia muttered. “Finlay, chair.”

Obligingly, Finlay helped Malenia to a low couch in Miquella’s parlour. She then took up a standing position behind her lady. Hopefully nothing about to transpire would require her attention and she could recede again into her misery undisturbed.

No sooner had that hopeful thought crossed Finlay’s mind than it was spoiled by Loretta’s entrance only a few moments after Finlay and Malenia had settled in.

Having not participated in the Cleanrots’ antics the night before, Loretta held herself perfectly poised and sober. Miquella’s ivory and gold heraldry did not quite suit her complexion, but she wore it well nonetheless. Darkly, Finlay pondered how awful it would be if she accidentally puked on it. Loretta had a solemn intensity about her that did not agree with Finlay’s vicious hangover in the least.

“Sir Loretta, thank you for joining us,” Miquella said, announcing the newcomer to his sister. He then turned his attention back to Malenia. “I have been speaking with Sir Loretta regarding the reason that few pilgrims have succeeded in reaching us these past months. It seems a dragon has taken up residence upon the path from Leyndell and is preying on travelers. It took several under her protection on their journey here.”

This announcement drew both Finlay and Malenia’s full attention.

Malenia shifted in her seat to lean forward, towards Miquella. Her one good hand twitched in her lap, as if she were restraining herself from reaching for a sword she did not carry. “A dragon? Under Godwyn’s truce there should be no more dragons roaming Marika’s lands. It must have been something else.”

Loretta stiffened. She spoke forcefully, but not with any disrespect. The precision with which she enunciated every syllable of her words evidenced her Carian origins. Only sorcerers who regularly spoke spells bothered with such exacting articulation. “I saw what I saw. I fought what I fought. A great reptilian beast, with scales of stone and a razor-toothed maw large enough for several horses at once. It could have been nothing else.”

“And we are to take your word for it?” Malenia asked. “You are a stranger.”

“I am a stranger with honor who has given fealty,” Loretta replied. Despite Malenia’s prodding, she maintained her dignity.

“The truce would have died with Godwyn,” Miquella said. “And there were always some dragons who scorned the deal that was struck. It makes sense that they might reemerge now.” 

Malenia grimaced. “Our strength is thin and we have few horses remaining. If this is a dragon of any great size, we cannot afford the strength it would take to put it down. But perhaps if Niall and his followers go out, that will be enough.”

That, Finlay mused, might solve Malenia’s Niall problem.

“Niall and his men will go, and I will go with them,” Miquella said solemnly.

Malenia’s head whipped around so she could glower at her brother. “What?”

“I will accompany Niall and his troop,” Miquella repeated.

Malenia scoffed. “You cannot be serious. In your whole life you’ve never hunted anything more dangerous than a lost book.”

“I am quite serious,” Miquella said with a trace of something that, in the voice of anyone of less noble bearing, would have been irritation. “I am as much a child of Marika as you, and I would protect pilgrims on their way to this land.”

“Niall and his men can slay a dragon without you,” Malenia replied. She glanced at Loretta. “If, indeed, there is a dragon.” Then, again to Miquella, “Niall has done it before, many times. Your presence adds nothing but danger.”

“You doubt me?” Miquella asked.

“You are no dragonslayer,” answered Malenia. “You have no place in the field.”

“Nor do you,” said Miquella.

Malenia pressed her lips into a thin line. She said nothing.

“I have given Sir Loretta my word that I will attend to this matter personally,” Miquella said. “And so I will.” Miquella looked to Finlay and then to Loretta. “Honorable knights, I would have a word with my sister alone.”

Loretta turned to leave. Finlay stayed where she was. She lightly touched Malenia’s shoulder, a silent question.

Malenia set her hand over Finlay’s for a moment. Then she withdrew it. “It seems I need to talk sense into my brother,” she said tightly. “I would spare him the indignity of witnesses.”

Finlay bowed. “Of course, my lady.” She followed Loretta out of the room.

In the hall outside, for good measure, the two knights took several steps away as well, far enough that there was no chance of overhearing the twins.

Left with only Loretta now for company, Finlay took stock of the newcomer.

Everything about Loretta seemed slightly larger than life. She was Finlay’s height, and Finlay was very tall by mortal measures. Unlike Finlay, she had enough dense muscle on her to perhaps rival even Niall. Finlay would readily admit to being impressed.

Could Loretta be trusted though? Finlay had no practice in judging such things. She thought Miquella too credent, but, in truth, she also thought Malenia too suspicious. If the truth lay between them, then Loretta was merely as she presented herself–an errant knight possessed of her own interests.

“Why did you bring the albinaurics here?” Finlay asked.

Loretta regarded Finlay with a steady gaze. “Because they deserve to live,” she answered.

Finlay acknowledged the answer with a nod and said no more. She supposed she could see why Miquella trusted Loretta so readily. Her values aligned with his. And, being as he was, why would he not trust?

Finlay bit the inside of her cheek. She knew the effect that Miquella had on mortals such as herself when he wanted something from them, be it devotion, action, or simple truth. Sometimes she wondered if he had that same effect on Malenia. She had never broached the issue with Malenia, however. It was not her place. Still, sometimes, she wondered.

Eventually, the door to Miquella’s parlour opened and Miquella himself emerged, with Malenia close on his heels. They both looked utterly disgruntled. Malenia, additionally, was clearly still hungover.

Finlay’s own hangover took that moment to return with a vengeance, afflicting her with a throbbing headache and a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“It is decided,” Miquella announced in a tone that brooked no dissent. “I will go with Niall, and I will bring also several of my lordsworn who served me before we came north. Sir Finlay, you will accompany us as well, as will as many Cleanrots as my sister sees fit to send. And Sir Loretta–if you choose, you may also join us. Regardless, you have our every assurance that we will put an end to this beast preying on travelers.”

Loretta inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord,” she said.

Miquella did not acknowledge her further, an impropriety that spoke to his degree of agitation. Saying nothing more, he turned and swept off down the hall.

Face clouded by a dark storm, Malenia lifted her hand. Finlay quickly moved to take it and set it on her shoulder. “The barracks,” Malenia growled. “Or–somewhere. Somewhere not here.”

Finlay gave Loretta a quick nod. “Good day, Sir Loretta, and well met,” she said.

Loretta returned the gesture. “Well met,” she echoed.

For the rest of the day, Malenia quietly brooded and seethed. She–and Finlay–paced all about the part of the city claimed by the Cleanrots as their own. Sensing their lady’s mood, the knights they passed moved out of the way quickly and did not attempt to hail them.

Of what had transpired with Miquella, Malenia said nothing. Finlay asked no questions. She had seen enough, and she knew the twins well enough, not to need to ask any questions. If Malenia wished to speak of it, she would.

It took until the evening for Malenia to break her silence.

“He usurps me,” Malenia muttered as she and Finlay walked towards the Cleanrots’ mess for the evening meal. As they walked, they cast long shadows along the dirt street.

Finlay chose her words with great care. “Are his ambitions what trouble you?”

Malenia gave no answer.

At dinner, it fell to Finlay to set out to Veitchi and the other officers what Miquella intended.

Unsurprisingly, Jishanen spoke the misgivings of all. “He’s never faced a dragon. He spent the entirety of the war in the safety of cities and citadels,” she said.

Next to Jishanen and across the table from Finlay and Malenia, Ostia, through a mouth full of fish and potatoes, chimed in brightly, “There’s a first time for everything.” After taking more than a few knocks the prior night, one of her eyes was a nasty purple-red color and had swollen shut. Her other eye was in a similar state, but not so bad that she couldn’t squint out of it. If the rot hadn’t taken her nose years ago, Finlay suspected it would have been broken several times over. Ostia swallowed her food, then added, “And there’s a last time for everything too.” 

“Pay Ostia no heed, my lady,” Veitchi said. “Everything will be fine. It seems the plan is that we take half the garrison here to deal with one leftover dragon. Finlay will keep an eye on your brother. And if Finlay tries to put herself in danger, I swear to you I will stuff her in a snowbank.”

“It’s late spring,” Jishanen remarked. “There are hardly any snowbanks left.”

“Do you think that would stop me?” Veitchi asked in reply. He sounded vaguely offended.

“I would prefer that you not,” Finlay said peevishly. “I am amply capable of taking care of myself.” She had no interest in being treated like Miquella.

Malenia shifted in her seat. Somewhat quiet, especially given the ambient noises of Cleanrots at dinner all around, she asked, “Would you prefer not to go on this expedition at all, Finlay?”

Finlay hesitated. “Would you prefer that I not, my lady?” she asked in reply. “I will go wherever you command.”

“That was not an answer to my question,” Malenia said.

“You can hardly blame her,” Ostia said loudly. “It was a trick question. You weren’t expecting a yes or a no.”

Jishanen sighed. She wrapped an arm around Ostia’s shoulders and gently but firmly pulled her comrade up, then away. Vietchi also rose and quickly excused himself. That left only Finlay and Malenia at the table together.

“You know that this is not how I would have had it,” said Malenia.

“I do,” Finlay replied.

“If I could, I would lead this hunt myself.”

“It would be my honor to ride with you again,” Finlay murmured.

If Malenia were still in her full prime, if she still had use of her eyes, there would be no question how matters would proceed. She would take Finlay and some number of Cleanrots out and clear the road herself. There would be no thought of entrusting Niall and his defectors, much less letting Miquella endanger himself. But Malenia did not have use of her eyes. She decayed, as she ever did.

“The honor would be mine,” Malenia replied. She grimaced. “Please look over my brother as I cannot,” she said. “He is fragile. Protect him. That is my charge to you. Do you accept it?”

Finlay bowed her head. “My lady, I will protect your brother as I would protect you. I swear it.”

Malenia sighed. She took one of Finlay’s hands in hers and squeezed gently. “And protect yourself as well. It would inconvenience me greatly to need to ride out to retrieve you again.”

A thought occurred to Finlay. “My lady, did you give Miquella a similar charge?”

The corners of Malenia’s lips curled upwards. “A charge that if he allowed any harm to come to you, that I would bar the gate to this realm and not let him return? Perhaps.” She sobered again. “We… we said much, including some things that I think in time we both should regret. But he prevailed upon me that this creature, be it dragon or something else, must be investigated and, if it is as Loretta says, then it must be dispatched. And it is better to strike with too much force than too little. I… I cannot go. So you must go in my stead.”

“We are your sword,” Finlay said.

“You are much more than that,” Malenia replied.

Finlay gave her lady a lopsided grin, though Malenia could not see it. “I know,” she said.

[] [] []

That night, Finlay did not sleep.

All through the dark hours she held Malenia.

She wondered how long it would be until she returned.

She wondered how long Malenia would sit, waiting for others to finish doing what she had once loved to do and could do no longer and could never do again.

She hoped that it would not be long.

[] [] []

On the other side of the gate to the mainland, there were no snowbanks. As Jishanen had observed, it was late spring, or perhaps even early summer, and the land had mostly thawed. Rather than an endless expanse of frozen white, the tundra was covered in short green grasses and colorful wildflowers. In the distance, a small herd of deer-like animals grazed.

Not that Finlay had time to appreciate any of it when she arrived.

No sooner had she stumbled through the gut-twisting portal that connected Elphael to the mainland than Finlay went to the side of the high stone bridge where the gate spat travelers out and promptly vomited up the contents of her stomach. It wasn’t much, mostly water and bile. She’d foregone breakfast knowing whatever she ate wouldn’t stay inside her long.

Behind her, Veitchi snickered but didn’t bother making any snide remarks. Everything that could be said about her unfortunate intolerance for travel by gate had been said before, many times.

It was not an auspicious beginning to the expedition.

[] [] []

Finlay would admit, grudgingly, that traveling in Miquella’s retinue was a far more comfortable undertaking than venturing out with Malenia. Under Malenia, meals on the march were often a grim affair. If the Cleanrots were unlucky in foraging then they were limited to whatever they brought with them, which was generally hardtack and meats so salted as to be more salt than meat. Most other foodstuffs rotted long before the knights had a chance to eat them.  With Miquella, however, while Finlay and the other knights and guards carried rations, Miquella used his gifts to provide an unnatural abundance of starchy roots, out-of-season berries, and other fruits of the land–but, to Finlay’s great relief, he did not conjure up any magical fish.

All of this luxury further confirmed to Finlay that Miquella’s lordsworn would be utterly unable to carry out any kind of action without him. For the sake of camaraderie though, she kept her opinions to herself. Ever since the march north, relations between the Cleanrots and Miquella’s retainers had been, if not friendly, at least tolerable. Finlay had no wish to undermine the tenuous truce. On the other hand though, she was uninterested in taking any steps to improve on the status quo.

In contrast, Veitchi seemed to have made ingratiating the Cleanrots with their comrades into a strange, misguided hobby.

Walking the long pilgrim’s path in a group with the other officers, Finlay’s second brought himself alongside Niall–the most taciturn man in the entire company. From what Finlay recalled of him from before Godwyn’s death, he had never been the loquacious sort even then. In the time since though, he had only grown more withdrawn. When he wore his armor, as he did while marching, he looked and performed as a stony statue.

Leave it to Veitchi, then, to have a try at drawing the man out of his steel shell.

Snacking on a handful of berries, Veitchi proffered a single red rowa to the mountain of a man. Veitchi, who had a lithe dancer’s build with only a little more muscle than Finlay, looked like a thin twig next to Niall. “Rowa for your thoughts?” Veitchi asked.

Silently, Niall stared at Veitchi.

After waiting a few beats, Veitchi shrugged. “Fine then,” he said. He popped the rowa into his mouth. When he finished chewing and swallowed, he went on, “I’d have offered a coin, but Malenia hasn’t paid any of us since we left Leyndell. It’s just room and board now. Not that we were ever in it for the money. Say, what drew you to Godwyn?”

Niall looked away from Veitchi and towards the muddy road ahead of them. Finlay imagined she could hear his head creaking on his neck, like a badly oiled hinge on an automaton. “He was a noble man,” Niall rumbled in a deep baritone. “He had honor, and he had the strength to keep it.”

Veitchi looked as if to say something more, but from a little behind them, Loretta suddenly asked, “If not for coin, why did you choose the rot?”

Away from the demands of protocol imposed by the presence of the twins, Loretta spoke surprisingly softly. Loretta seemed, even, to be shy–not a word Finlay ever would ever have associated with someone of Loretta’s station and rank.

To this, Veitchi shrugged. “No one chooses the rot,” he said, twisting around to look back at Loretta without breaking his steady trudge forward. “Well, except for some crazies that we don’t talk about. We choose our lady. The rot is just a consequence of our choice.”

At the mention of their lady, Finlay’s attention began to wander.

It had been nearly two weeks since the expedition set out from Elphael. They moved at the speed of foot. Very few horses had survived the first march from Leyndell. There simply weren’t enough mounts to spare, even for a dragon hunt. Only Miquella rode–otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the pace of full grown adults over such a long distance.

Finlay missed Malenia keenly.

Over the years Finlay had spent in Malenia’s service, there had of course been times when one or the other of them had spent months detached from the main force of the Cleanrots. But not recently. As Malenia had observed at the welcome feast what felt life a lifetime ago, Finlay had only rarely left Malenia’s side since the twins had reached what would become Elphael. She’d fallen out of the habit of being alone.

Not that she was actually alone.

Finlay had Cleanrots with her, after all. Veitchi and Jishanen were both among the marchers. Due to her various self-inflicted injuries, Ostia had been left behind with orders that she abstain from drinking at least until she recovered–though Finlay knew better than to hope Ostia would follow those orders. As the most senior officer left with Finlay and Veitchi away, Ostia had command of the Cleanrots in the city. A shudder ran down Finlay’s back. Ostia had not reached her position on account of any notable wisdom or forbearance, rather, she was the fourth most senior Cleanrot on account of good humor and pure tenacity. Finlay half expected to return to the barracks on fire, or burned down, or worse.

It struck Finlay then that she did not merely miss Malenia.

She missed being home.

She’d never had a true home before.

And now that she had one, she found she did not like leaving it.

Realizing that she was starting to dwell on what couldn’t be helped, Finlay forced herself to focus on the moment. Somehow, Loretta and the usually withdrawn Niall had fallen into a conversation. About what, Finlay hadn’t the faintest idea. 

“Why does that matter?” Niall rumbled.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Loretta said. “It’s just curious.”

“Sorcerers,” Niall said. He then let out a heavy snort that reminded Finlay of an irritated draft horse.

Loretta responded, not by taking offense, but by chuckling warmly. “We can’t help ourselves,” she said.

“Like the lord Miquella,” Niall muttered. “Absolutely compulsive.”

“I think that they are all compulsive,” Loretta replied, now sounding contemplative. “Ranni, Rykard, and Radahn certainly are, all in their own ways.”

“Rykard is a snake,” Niall said flatly. “An ignoble traitor who does not trust and cannot be trusted.”

“He is what he was made to be,” Loretta said. She sounded suddenly weary. “He can’t help it. Was golden Godwyn anything except Marika’s perfect heir?”

“What else should he have been?” Niall countered.

“It isn’t a matter of should,” Loretta replied. “It’s a matter of could.”

With a shake of his head, Niall responded, “Words. Lots of words. He’s dead now.” He sounded as weary as Loretta.

“You’re still grieving,” Loretta said softly.

Niall said nothing to this. He did not rebuff the attempt at comfort though. He had much in common with Loretta, Finlay thought. Both had served lords and lost them. And now both were pledged to Miquella. But their wounds had not healed.

With Niall choosing to say nothing more, the conversation turned to silence, and in silence they all continued their march.

[] [] []

Shy Loretta, to Finlay’s mild bemusement, often floated between the marching factions, sometimes going with Niall and his veterans, sometimes going with Miquella’s lordsworn, and sometimes even passing time with the Cleanrots. When she was with Finlay and her knights, Loretta expressed an uncommon interest in the rot–not the interest of a passerby avoiding it on the street or one of the strange fanatics whom Finlay had encountered from time to time, but a sort of academic interest involving many, many questions.

Some of Loretta’s questions had answers. Most did not. Finlay and her companions did not know where the rot had first come from. They did not know why it took some and not others. They did not know why the healing arts had so little effect on it.

Loretta peered at Finlay a little too intently for Finlay’s comfort.

“Are your scars the work of rot?” Loretta finally asked. “Your face does not appear to be rotting.”

“Rude,” Veitchi remarked without any bite in his tone.

“My face did rot,” Finlay said dispassionately. “The rot was cut away. We cauterized the wounds.” She did not mind entertaining Loretta’s curiosity, but, still, it felt strange to speak of the mechanics of her injury. Among the Cleanrots, there was no need to explain such things. 

“You should ask Veitchi why he still looks so handsome,” Jishanen volunteered.

Finlay snorted. “There’s no need to go below the belt,” she said.

Veitchi groaned. “Women are so indelicate,” he lamented. “Scoundrels. Barbarians. Savages.”

Loretta ignored the banter. “Why cautery?” she asked. “If you cut away the rot, could faith not have mended the skin? Even rebuilt it? My understanding is that it is that the rot resists healing arts, but if the rot were separated from the skin, would healing not take?”

“Perhaps,” Finlay replied. “Though the rot often runs deeper than it appears. But we were separated from our march. I was the only one with the skill to make the attempt, and I was indisposed.” With enough years having passed, she was able to manage a lopsided grin. “I would have preferred faith. It would have hurt less.”

“Yet the fire was effective, it seems,” Loretta said.

“Fire is always proof against the rot,” said Finlay.

“I heard once that you burn your fallen comrades. Is it true?”

“We do when it is feasible, to stop the rot from spreading from our corpses,” Finlay said. “Otherwise we build stone cairns above the ground. We do not inter our dead. It would not be good for the land.”

Loretta tilted her head to one side. “Does that not conflict with the belief that the dead should go to the soil to return to the Tree? Is that not a core tenet of Marikans?”

Finlay shrugged. “It does.” Suddenly finding herself curious, she asked a question of her own. “Do Carians think something else should happen to the dead?”

“There is no one thing that Carians think,” Loretta answered. “Liurnia is not like Leyndell.”

Loretta had not, Finlay noted, answered the question. But Finlay did not judge Loretta’s response to be evasive, merely honest. Loretta had an earnest air about her always. Still, Finlay wanted some answer. After all Loretta’s inquiries about the rot, it seemed only fair. “Well, what do you think?” Finlay asked. 

Loretta hummed thoughtfully. After a long moment, she said, “I suppose that we are drifts of stardust–for a moment we coalesce into these forms, and then the moment passes.”

Finlay frowned. “Can stardust rot?”

“Taken to the end, the rot is stardust as well,” Loretta replied.

Shaking her head, Finlay sighed. If everything was just stardust, what did anything matter?

“Your art requires that what exists is not all that is,” Loretta remarked. “Sorcery is quite different. It deals quite strictly with what can be reckoned. There are very few–the consort-lord Radagon being preeminent among them–who can work in both spheres, much less both at once. And there is some question whether they can ever achieve their full potential in either, proceeding as such.”

“I prefer my art,” Finlay said. “It makes more sense.”

Loretta, for some reason, laughed. “To each their own,” she replied.

[] [] []

One consequence of marching in luxury under Miquella’s aegis was even greater boredom than a usual campaign entailed. When the Cleanrots had to scrounge every night to supplement their rations, it kept them occupied. Marching with Miquella left Finlay far too much time to idle.

Inevitably, she found herself one night sitting with Miquella at a golden not-fire she had conjured for a bit of light and warmth while the company ate a meal and prepared to bed down for the night. Unlike the true fires of pyromancy, her conjuration consumed nothing. It needed no fuel but her will, burned no one, and, when it was time to sleep, it would vanish with a thought.

In hopes that she could avoid conversation with her lady’s brother, Finlay tried not to look at him.

This did not dissuade him.

“Have you given further thought to my question, Sir Finlay?” Miquella asked. Speaking as he did in the voice of a child, he managed to sound guileless–although Finlay knew better than to think him so.

Finlay chewed her roots and rowa berries quite thoroughly before swallowing and washing it all down with a hearty draw of water. “I have not, my lord,” she said. She did not bother pretending she did not know what question he meant. He’d asked her only one in recent memory.

“Why is that?”

“I still do not understand it,” Finlay replied. She shrugged. “Nor do I understand its import.”

“That is hardly a reason to disregard it,” Miquella said, disapproving.

Finlay did not agree. However, arguments involving Miquella never ended well for anyone except Miquella. So Finlay did not try to argue. Instead, wondering if she might throw him off, “What is a god, my lord?”

“That quite depends,” Miquella replied, not missing a single beat.

Before she could stop herself, Finlay took his bait. “On what?”

“Many things,” said Miquella.

“How I swing a sword depends on many things too,” Finlay said, not bothering to keep exasperation from her tone. “What is Marika then? What is it that makes her a god?”

“Marika is many things to many people,” Miquella said. “What it is that makes her a god–she is believed to be a god, and that is enough.”

“Were there gods before Marika?” Finlay asked.

“Of a sort,” answered Miquella. “But… You were raised in the church, were you not, Sir Finlay?”

Finlay tilted her head to one side, somewhat taken aback by Miquella’s apparent pivot. “I was, my lord,” she said.

“Then you know the consequences of Marika’s divinity,” Miquella concluded. “She is divine, and she is eternal. Eternity stretches in more than one direction.”

Finlay rubbed the heel of her hand against her temple. Supposing she might as well ask, she ventured, “My lady Malenia called Marika a vessel. What did she mean?”

“All of us who have been born are vessels,” Miquella replied. “We are all forms that hold souls. But there are some who hold somewhat more than simply a soul.”

At this, Finlay smiled a weary, lopsided smile. She really did know better than to expect useful answers from her lady’s brother. Still, she persisted. For what reason she could not say. “Why have you put your question to me?” she asked. “I have no response that will satisfy you. I think that you know that full well.”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” Miquella replied. “I do not entirely grasp your intentions with my sister, nor hers with you. You are only mortal. I wonder if you both forget that.”

“I am sworn to her,” Finlay said. “Whatever she wills, I will.”

“So you have no desires of your own?” Miquella asked in a tone that communicated he expected no answer. “Are you sharing my sister’s bed only because she wills it? Is that what you both think it means to be sworn to her?”

“My lord,” Finlay started carefully, “I do not think that it is proper that I converse about such things with you.”

Miquella grinned at Finlay, a mischievous spark in his blue eyes. “Because I have the form of a child? I am the older twin, you know.”

Finlay did know. Miquella wouldn’t let Malenia forget, and so Finlay never forgot either. “It is not proper because it is none of your business–my lord,” Finlay grumbled.

“My sister’s business is my business,” Miquella replied cheerfully.

Tone dry, Finlay responded, “I can assure you that your sister does not agree.”

“I am correct and whether she agrees is inconsequential,” said Miquella with a shrug. “Has it occurred to you, Finlay, that when you are gone, I will remain? And it will fall to me to pick up the pieces of what you have broken?”

To this, Finlay was silent.

Miquella stood up and acted as if he were dusting off his white robes. His white robes, as always, were already spotless and immaculate. “Well, I think that was a very pleasant conversation,” Miquella said, sounding obnoxiously smug but also weirdly sincere. “I think also that it is time that I took my rest. A good night to you.”

As Miquella floated away, Finlay ran a hand over her face and massaged her temples.

Notes:

Thanks as always to Cherepaskha for reading this for typos and plotholes despite not being in the Soulsborne fandom in the least.

I recall that a long while ago I announced that there would be a lot more of Malenia and Finlay together in this chapter. Uh, I guess I lied. But I've gotten started on the Caelid portion of the fic, and there'll be lots of them together there for sure! Probably! Maybe!

Speaking of the progression of this fic, I plan to post the second half of Halig next weekend. Then I'm hoping to get the first half (or first third--still figuring that out) of Caelid up... eh, if past is prologue, a few months after that. Halig got held up because I real-world moved to a new city, got a new job, etc. I'm about 10k into Caelid right now, so maybe it won't take as long. But it also might be the longest chapter yet. Time will tell, I guess. Many thanks to all y'all who are sticking with me despite the super long chapters and weird posting schedule!

Chapter 5: Halig - Part Two

They marched for three weeks before anyone found evidence of the dragon–or whatever it was–that they were hunting.

“Dragon’s don’t leave tracks like this,” Finlay said, staring down at the enormous footprints in the ground. Between the footprints and occasionally obscuring some of them, the soft earth had been pressed down into a sort of channel, like whatever left the tracks had been dragging its stomach along the ground as it moved, going in a side to side sway like a drunk. “The prints are correct, but whatever made this crawled. Dragons do not crawl.”

Next to Finlay in the circle of officers staring at the tracks, Niall crouched down to examine the impressions more closely. “Wyrms crawl,” he said. He looked up to Loretta. “Did you see it fly?”

Loretta shook her head. “I did not see it fly,” she said. Then, sounding defensive, she added, “It had wings though.”

“Small wings? Stunted?” Niall asked.

“One could describe them as such,” replied Loretta. Pride apparently having been injured due to perhaps mistaking a wyrm for a dragon, she went on, “But all dragons have disproportionately small wings compared to the bulk of their bodies. Given how much sorcery must be involved in their flight, the wings are practically vestigial organs. The size or condition of them hardly matters.”

“If it’s landbound, that makes the hunt much easier,” Finlay cut in, redirecting the focus. “These tracks aren’t fresh, but they’re not particularly old either. They’re recent enough, I think, that we should divert from the road and follow them.”

Staying the the road had, up until that point, been their best hope of finding their quarry in the expanse of the northern tundra without the aid of cavalry. They knew that the dragon, or, rather, the wyrm, preyed on travelers headed to Elphael from Marika’s realm, so a large group on the road would, they’d thought, attract its attention. Either it would see them as prey or it would see them as a challenge. Either way, it would come to them. Finding tracks and identifying their quarry as a wyrm rather than a dragon changed the strategic situation substantially.

So too did the size of the tracks. In the back of Finlay’s mind, a new worry gnawed. Whether the beast was dragon or wyrm, it was unusually large. 

As dragons grew in size, it became exponentially more difficult to inflict serious injuries on them. The scales of a small dragon might be no thicker than an inch. Even if they could not be easily pierced, blunt force would do just as well. But a very large dragon’s scales could be as thick as a foot, or thicker. A few dozen Cleanrots could slay a small or average sized dragon without any casualties, even if they fought on foot. For the truly great dragons though, if they hoped at all for victory, they needed horses, artillery, or Malenia. Preferably all three. 

“I’ll start relaying the order,” Veitchi said, interrupting Finlay’s troubled rumination. He started to turn to head back to where the column of the expedition force waited along the road, a bit farther than shouting distance.

“No,” said Niall. He rose from his crouch. “Lord Miquella leads this hunt,” he said. “If we leave the road to chase these tracks, it must be his decision.”

Veitchi looked quite put out. “He’d be daft not to take this opportunity.”

Niall regarded Veitchi. 

Veitchi regarded Niall.

Veitchi broke first. With a grimace, he waved a hand dismissively. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go give him the opportunity to be daft.”

Back at the road, Jishanen waited with Miquella, who sat mounted. Though Finlay knew him to be an excellent rider–he’d grown up expected to be able to manage horses–Jishanen had a hand on the horse’s bridle. No one wanted to even imagine what Malenia would do if they lost Miquella due to a rearing or bolting mount. Miquella often complained vociferously that he was quite capable of controlling his own horse, but the Cleanrots did not answer to him.

Except, apparently, in matters of strategy, perhaps the last place Finlay wanted Miquella to have any say.

Niall explained the situation to Miquella in his typical laconic manner.

For his part, Miquella looked positively disappointed at the revelation that they were probably not hunting a dragon. “There might be a wyrm and a dragon,” he suggested.

“We can’t rule it out,” Loretta added.

“Unlikely,” said Niall. “Dragons disdain wyrms. A dragon would have chased the wyrm off.”

“How do you know?” Loretta asked. “Wyrms are so rare, rarer than dragons–the scholarship on them is vanishingly scarce.”

“I served Godwyn,” Niall said.

It occurred to Finlay then that Loretta might never have seen a wyrm or even a dragon before except through the warped lenses of books. Finlay had assumed that Loretta was like the knights who served Malenia–a veteran of the last great war. However, she now distantly recalled that while Rykard and Radahn had both led forces against the dragons, Rennala herself had not offered Caria’s aid to Marika and Radagon. Loretta may have spent the war lounging in a Raya Lucarian library.

“Does this change anything?” Miquella asked. “If it’s a wyrm rather than a dragon?”

Niall looked to Finlay.

Finlay understood the gesture for what it was. She had taken the initiative at the tracks to suggest following them, and Niall did not want to claim her suggestion as his own. Finlay gave Miquella a brief, polite bow. “It changes how we hunt, my lord,” she said. “Dragons often must be baited, either by showing weakness or issuing a challenge that the dragon’s honor cannot ignore. Wyrms have no honor. But they cannot fly and therefore they can be tracked like common beasts. We have tracks already. We had planned to keep to the road where the dragon would come to us, but, for a wyrm, we should follow the tracks.”

“Then that is what we shall do,” Miquella said with a nod. “Let it be so.”

And so it was.

Later, impelled by curiosity, Finlay approached Niall. “Why did you insist on asking Miquella to make a military decision when we were already agreed on the path forward?” she asked. “He has no expertise.”

“He needs expertise,” Niall replied. “But even your lady coddles him. He can’t remain as he is forever.”

Finlay frowned. “Isn’t that the point of him?”

Niall shrugged. “Does it have to be?”

“You’ve been listening to Loretta,” Finlay remarked.

“She’s persuasive,” said Niall. He turned away and lumbered off to attend to his own business, leaving Finlay, somewhat bemused, to watch him go.

[] [] []

It took another two days before they found the wyrm’s lair–a cave near the eastern mountains, along the bank of a river that ran high and fast with spring melt. At its narrowest, the river stretched some twenty yards wide, and there was no telling how deep it fell.

Finlay paced impatiently while Niall carefully went through the plan to assault the wyrm’s cave with Loretta and the officers who served Miquella. She and the Cleanrots would not be joining the attack. They would hang back to guard Miquella. He had great power, more power than any other in their company by orders of magnitude, but no one, not even Niall, wanted him in the vanguard. Much could go wrong in the sort of close quarters combat that might ensue within a cave.

Finlay itched to seize a spear and a sword and storm into the wyrm’s den herself.

She recalled Malenia’s orders though. Protect Miquella. She restrained herself. She restrained herself even as she watched Niall, Loretta, and everyone except Miquella and the Cleanrots advance towards the dark cave mouth and then into it.

An hour passed.

Then two.

“Finlay, you’re giving me ulcers just looking at you,” Veitchi remarked. He had found a rock to sit on while they waited for the others to attend to the business of the wyrm. All around, many fellow Cleanrots had done something similar. Nearby, Miquella stood somewhat apart from his guards. A good distance away, almost out of sight even, a few of his least able lordsworn kept watch over the expedition’s supplies and Miquella’s horse.

Finlay grimaced. “I’m not that ugly.”

“Her words, not mine,” Veitchi announced to no one in particular.

“Think about something else, something other than how much fun we’re missing out on,” Veitchi suggested with a shrug. “Niall and Loretta. What do you think?”

Finlay let out a snort. “Niall and Loretta? I don’t think so.”

“Because you’re a bore,” Veitchi said. “What would they call the child? He already has an O’Neil.”

“It could be a girl,” Jishanen pointed out as she ambled over towards her comrades. “Or they could name after the mother in the Carian fashion.” 

“They could also just choose a new name,” Finlay said. “Let any child be their own person.”

Jishanen made a thoughtful noise. “Have you ever noticed that Malenia and Miquella were not named for their father?”

This point gave Finlay pause. She had not–or, at least, she had never stopped to think on it.

Veitchi opened his mouth to say something, likely some bitingly witty remark, but instead he paused. He tilted his head to one side. His brow furrowed. “Do you hear something?”

Finlay strained to listen to the world around them.

She did hear something–something more than just the quiet breeze blowing across the plain or the rushing of the nearby river. A rumbling, she thought. Moreover, she felt something. “The ground is shaking,” she said, puzzled. In a heartbeat she grasped the import of her own words. “Up! Draw weapons!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the river exploded, an enormous burst of dark muddy water and raging wyrm surging up.

Finlay threw up a hand and shouted. At her command, a great golden dome flashed into existence over herself, the other Cleanrots all up and down the riverbank, and, most importantly, Miquella. The small lord himself stood stiff and still, like a startled deer, staring up at the vast deluge above, his mouth slightly agape.

Water and wyrm both slammed down on the shield with such force that Finlay fell to her knees with the strain of maintaining her casting.

The water hit and flowed off. The wyrm hit and then immediately began attempting to sink its talons into the smooth surface of the shield to get its balance.

Black spots danced at the edge of Finlay’s vision. The damn beast was trying to walk on her shield . Her shield held though, and it would continue to hold for so long as she did not entertain the thought that it might not. Finlay squeezed her eyes shut, denying the impossibility of what she saw and what she intended. What she intended would come to be.

She balled her hands into fists and screamed.

Her shield exploded outwards.

Finlay opened her eyes once more, just in time to see the wyrm thrown back into the river, sending up a splash almost as great as the one that had accompanied its first emergence.

Still reeling from the effort of summoning such a large shield without the aid of any full prayer, Finlay did not raise another. It was not a simple thing, refusing reality on instinct. The water fell on Finlay, on Miquella, on the Cleanrots. But it was not such an impact as to crush them, and not so much water as to wash them away.

Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, Finlay beheld the wyrm as it crawled up from the river.

At around the size of a small cathedral, the wyrm was massive–so massive that Loretta could be forgiven for mistaking it for a dragon. Only its wings, shriveled and twisted, bony things, gave away its origins. Wyrms were remnants of mortals who had taken communion with dragons. Having lost the spark that tied them to the world but not having gained wings to traverse the currents of time, they were wretched beings, good only for being put down. Perhaps, once, this wyrm had been a troll, or even an ancient giant.

This wyrm, for all its size, had seen better days. Along one flank, several of its stone scales had been ripped away and raw flesh oozed ichor. Harpoons trailing thick steel chains still stuck out of a few remaining scales–the handiwork of Niall and his men. The wyrm was injured. Its injuries, however, were, for a creature of its bulk, minor.

Lumbering, the wyrm, turned to face Finlay and the Cleanrots. It opened its maw and white-orange flames danced between its enormous fangs. A deep rumbling in its chest shook the earth.

In that moment, Finlay had a choice.

She made her choice.

While forming another shield, smaller this time, and not quite as bright, at a dead sprint Finlay made for Miquella, who hadn’t moved at all from where he’d stood and how he’d stood when the wyrm exploded up from the waters. Behind her, Veitchi screamed orders to the other Cleanrots to get to cover.

Finlay tackled Miquella to the ground only just in time for a blast of fire to pass overhead, grazing against Finlay’s shield, so hot that the waterlogged grasses growing on the riverbank started to smolder. Damp smoke filled the air

Still in frozen shock, Miquella barely reacted.

Had Finlay the breath, she would have cursed.

Scrambling to her feet, Finlay got an arm around Miquella, pulling him up with her, and then pulling him after her, practically carrying him, as she started into a stumbling run back towards the distance where they’d left his horse. At least, she thought grimly, he weighed almost nothing.

Finlay made it no more than a dozen steps before the wyrm roared with such ferocity that the force of the sound alone knocked her down again. Twisting to avoid falling on Miquella, she landed awkwardly, sending a jolt of hot pain through her left shoulder–pain enough that she’d probably caused some injury. As she pushed herself back up, she took a chance and looked back towards the battle.

The wyrm had reared up on its hind legs and was about to bring its bulk down on a small group of Cleanrots.

Her Cleanrots.

Without thinking, Finlay flung out a hand, sending a lance of brilliant gold out as a spear. It flew faster than flame and it flew unerringly, slamming into the side of the wyrm’s head and exploding on impact.

The wyrm stumbled for a moment, giving the Cleanrots enough time to scatter out of the way.

But now she had its attention. 

Grim, Finlay stood, moving to put herself between the wyrm and Miquella, for whatever good that would do. Out of habit, she drew her sword. It would not help her, but it gave her comfort.

The wyrm shifted and tensed, readying itself to lunge forward.

Finlay took a deep breath. Another golden shield flickered into being. Her third in what felt like as many heartbeats. As she’d spent so much of herself on the first two, this shield formed more slowly and shone only barely. In the pit of her stomach, she knew it would not hold, and that knowledge in turn doomed her creation. Still, she willed her light brighter, stronger.

A flash by the water’s edge caught Finlay’s eye–the sun glinting off sapphire sorcery and polished steel. Clutching a chain attached to a harpoon lodged in the wyrm’s tail, Loretta emerged from the muddy waters of the river. Once on land, she let go of the chain and heaved herself to her feet, ripped off her full helm and hurled it aside, water pouring out. As soon as she found her footing, she raised both hands, sorcerous fire blooming between them. She then thrust one hand forward and drew one back, miming the motions of an archer with a greatbow.

The wyrm sprang, launching itself at Finlay and Miquella.

At that moment, a sapphire arrow caught it in the side, a glancing blow against stone scales that failed to harm the creature. Nevertheless, having been caught mid-leap, the wyrm was knocked from its intended path. Rather than crush Finlay and Miquella, it missed them by several yards–a small distance, given the size of the beast, but more than enough to save them.

When it hit the ground, the impact threw up massive clods of dirt. A stone large enough to be deemed a boulder hurtled towards Finlay and Miquella, but bounced harmlessly off her shield. 

As soon as it seemed marginally safe to do so, Finlay released the shield. She couldn’t afford to waste anything keeping up a casting she didn’t immediately need.

Gambling that the wyrm, too bestial for reason, would, at least for a moment, be distracted by Loretta, Finlay dropped her sword and grabbed Miquella by the shoulders. She pulled him behind the relative shelter of the boulder and shook him hard. “My lord! Come to yourself!”

Miquella still had the countenance of a terrified rabbit, but he at least managed words. “I… I can’t…”

What would Elphael, her old friend, her dead friend, have done with his idiotic, prideful, charge? Finlay hadn’t the faintest, and she had no inclination to ponder the question, and even less time. If Miquella meant to be useless, then let him be useless.

She let go of Miquella, picked her sword up from the ground, and turned towards the wyrm, which was charging again at the Cleanrots and Loretta by the riverbank. She wasted time. Her comrades needed her. “You can run or you can fight my lord,” she snarled, “But for fuck’s sake don’t just stand there.”

“Do not swear at me, Sir Finlay.”

Caught surprised by Miquella’s sudden change in manner, Finlay glanced back at him. At long, long last, finally, he seemed to be regaining his senses. Finlay could tell because, rather than scared witless, he looked positively peeved.

“I do not tolerate such treatment from my sister,” Miquella went on. “And so I see no reason I should tolerate it from you.” Scowling now, he started to stride forward, out from the scant cover of the boulder. With a flick of his fingers, he summoned up three blazing rings of gold, disks so bright Finlay couldn’t look at them directly, and, still, their brilliance grew. Each ring was the size of a warhorse. Another flick of his fingers sent them streaking out at the wyrm.

All three of Miquella’s rings slammed into the wyrm. But they hit stone scales. As powerful as they were, rather than wound the beast, they merely left deep scores in its hide as they skidded along the wyrm’s flank before going careening off.

Miquella growled in frustration.

He raised his hand again, summoning another barrage in less than a heartbeat. He let it loose. This salvo went wide and missed entirely. A third and a fourth volley, each a little less brilliant than its predecessor, went even wider–a spectacular feat, given the bulk of his target and his nearness to it.

The wyrm whipped its tail out, taking down three Cleanrots trying to circle around it. Then, the beast rounded on two more, flames already forming in its maw.

Still holding her sword in her right hand, Finlay put her left hand on Miquella’s shoulder. As calmly as she could, though she felt no calm, “My lord, take your time.”

Miquella gestured and another set of golden rings began to form. “First you swear at me, and now you presume to give me commands,” he muttered. He did not pull away from her though.

“The places where the scales have been torn away,” Finlay said. “See them.”

“I see them,” Miquella said. “They’re… the wyrm is moving. It’s not staying still. There’s no use trying to hit those targets. I just… If I throw enough, some will land.”

Finlay shook her head. “You are fast and powerful, but even you do not have time enough or power enough to proceed in such a fashion. The gaps in the scales–those are the places your rings will land.” She took a deep breath. Miquella was not his sister, but he had some of his sister in him. “I have faith,” Finlay continued, “If you doubt, let my faith be your faith.”

“That isn’t how it works,” Miquella said through gritted teeth.

Finlay said nothing. She gently squeezed Miquella’s shoulder. Speaking softly, she began an incantation of her own. The words spilled from deep within her. She was not pledged to him, and so she did not claim any faith in him. Instead, she named him Miquella, hope of Malenia, and she spoke of his devotion to his sister, who bound them together.

Miquella took a deep breath and let his second set of golden shots go, and they did land true. They did not merely cut the wyrm. Rather, they tore into it, driving deep, gashing its flank open down to bone.

The wyrm screeched in pain, emitting a sound so shrill it could hardly be thought to have come from a creature of its size and bulk. It did not, however, fall. Not yet. It would.

“Again,” Finlay said, voice tight with both terror and keen excitement.

Miquella took another steadying breath. This time the rings he called were so bright that Finlay could scarce describe them, even by comparison to the sun itself. She had to turn away and shield her eyes, even as she continued her prayer. Miquella pointed at the wyrm. The stars he’d willed into being streaked across the dark day. They drove deep into the same places his last volley had hit. Briefly, their light was hidden by the bulk of the wyrm.

Then, the wyrm burst into a conflagration of gold.

Gold streamed from its mouth, from its nostrils, from its eyes.

Gold poured out between the cracks between each of its scales.

Gold consumed the wyrm from the inside out.

For a heartbeat, a strange peace took the battlefield as the beauty of Miquella’s destruction settled over the scene.

Then, the wyrm screamed and screamed and screamed.

Finlay clapped her hands over her ears, but that did nothing to help her. She heard the wyrm’s screaming in every part of herself. It resounded inside her bones. The screams of an ancient nature erased by a younger lord.

When the screams subsided, they subsided because the wyrm was dead. It lay still on the riverbank. It did not move. It did not rise again.

Legs suddenly weak, Finlay dropped to her knees.

She was alive.

Miquella was alive.

The wyrm was dead.

[] [] []

That afternoon, no one felt inclined to begin the long march back to Elphael.

The remaining company retreated from the wyrm’s corpse and then made camp, even though the sun had only barely started its descent towards the western horizon.

Before the tents were even pitched, Finlay set to mending flesh, setting bones, and doing what she could for worse injuries. Though fatigue threatened to take her entirely, the work could not be put off. Among the Cleanrots, the longer a wound was left unattended, the more likely rot was to set in. Once rot set in firmly, often only fire could stop it from spreading. But not for nothing was she known as the greatest healer among Malenia’s knights.

Nearby, Miquella quietly applied himself to the same work as Finlay. While she focused on her knights, he gave comfort to his own followers. Having fought the wyrm in the initial engagement in the caverns beneath the river, they were far worse off. Many were dead.

Looking back, Finlay had given very little thought as to her expectations of him. She’d known that, as a factual matter, one could count the number of battles he’d seen on a single hand. And she had known that when he had seen battles, he had seen them only from a distance. But, still, he was, as he had so bluntly reminded Finlay barely a week prior, not mortal. He always held himself as though he and he alone were in control of all around him–it was part of what made dealing with him so consistently infuriating.

“Sir Finlay, consternation does not suit you,” Miquella said softly, cutting into Finlay’s ruminations. While she crouched over an unconscious knight with a grisly head injury, he had come to stand nearby, but not so close as to interfere with her work.

“My lord,” Finlay said, speaking by rote rather than with thought. She inclined her head towards him, then turned back to the knight under her care. He was the last of her Cleanrots who required her attention. She’d done what she could for him, closing up a set of ragged gashes marring his face and sealing the many fractures along the curve of his skull. He’d lost an eye, but she couldn’t replace eyes. If she could…

“You did a great deal for him,” Miquella remarked.

“I have a talent,” replied Finlay.

“I am aware,” said Miquella. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked not at Finlay but off into the distance. “I understand that is what first brought you to my sister’s attention. I wonder what first brought her to yours.”

Perhaps Miquella had meant to ask a question. Finlay chose to think he had not. Stiff from having spent so much time crouched over the knights she tended, Finlay slowly stood. Standing, she physically towered over Miquella. Only physically. They were close enough that she felt his charisma pressed against her, softly demanding obsequience.

“Sir Finlay,” Miquella started. He hesitated. Then he turned his piercing blue eyes directly on her. “I… I have not treated you as I should have. Even if your rank did not merit a considerable degree of respect, my sister’s esteem of you should have. But I have taken my sister’s esteem of you as cause to hold you suspect. For that I apologize.”

Unsure what to say in reply, Finlay said nothing at all.

Undeterred by silence, Miquella took a bracing breath and went on. “What you represent–I am not at ease with it. But it is not necessary that I be at ease with it. It is necessary that I recognize you for what you are.”

Miquella said nothing else, forcing Finlay to ask, “And what is that, my lord?”

“I do not know,” said Miquella. “And I suppose that is part of the problem. You are powerful, certainly.” He paused before adding, “I am a child of Marika. When I summon my light, it is my own light, and what I do is possible. What you do, at the scale that you do it–it is impossible.”

“But I do it,” Finlay said.

Miquella nodded once. “You do,” he agreed. “I think…” Trailing off, Miquella looked away from Finlay once more.

Finlay kept her expression and tone neutral. “My lord?”

Miquella shook his head. “It is nothing,” he said. “Go revel with your knights, Sir Finlay.”

Finlay started to bow, but even before she finished the motion, Miquella had turned and begun to stride off.

Later, as night fell and the distant stars emerged, Finlay sat with Vietchi and Jishanen around a conjured golden-not fire. Jishanen had a flask that smelled strongly of alcohol, which she passed to Veitchi. Veitchi took a long draught, coughed, then passed it to Finlay.

Finlay took a sip and immediately gagged. “This is wretched. Like raw chicken left out in the sun and then mixed with cow shit.”

Jishanen shrugged. “Ostia’s best. Don’t sip. Just swallow.”

Bracing herself, Finlay managed to get a few mouthfuls down, then shoved the flask back to Jishanen. “Ostia needs to find a new hobby. That’s–”

“Don’t be mean,” Jishanen said, cutting Finlay off. “She can’t help that she doesn’t have a nose.”

“She doesn’t have to inflict this on the rest of us,” Finlay replied.

The habitually sober Jishanen took an uncharacteristically long draw from the flask, as if to prove a point. When she lowered the flask, she smirked at Finlay. “More for me then.”

Veitchi held his hand out, demanding. “And me,” he said.

Shaking her head, Finlay sighed. “There’s nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Jishanen confirmed.

Finlay wasn’t surprised. Wine was too heavy to justify carrying on a month-long march when fresh water was plentiful along the road.

“We’ll be back to Elphael before you know it,” Veitchi said. “And then we’ll raid the lordsworn’s cellar where they’ve been hoarding the good stuff.”

At the mention of the city, Finlay frowned. They’d been gone so long. She hoped that Malenia…

Veitchi elbowed Finlay in the ribs. “We have company,” he murmured. With a tilt of his head, he indicated Loretta, who was making her way towards them.

Loretta offered the three of them a polite nod. “Don’t stop on my account,” she said. Then, still polite, “Sir Veitchi. Sir Jishanen. Sir Finlay. Well met.”

“Well met,” the Cleanrots echoed.

“Sir Finlay, I… I thought we could have a word,” Loretta said.

Finlay nodded. “Of course,” she said. She was not, in fact, inclined to have a word with Loretta. She’d had more than enough words for the day. She stood and brushed dirt off the seat of her trousers. “What can I do for you?”

Loretta led Finlay a little ways from Veitchi and Jishanen, then bowed. “I wished to thank you,” she said.

“Thank me?” Finlay repeated, confusion evident in her tone.

Loretta straightened. “I know that you did not wish to come on this expedition,” she said. “But it would not have been successful without you. And its success means much to me. The wyrm took several of my companions. They are now avenged.”

“I do my duty,” Finlay replied. Words she had said many, many times. Easy words that often got her that much closer to the end of an unwanted conversation.

“I am grateful then that your duty aligned with my goals,” Loretta said solemnly. She then sighed. After fiddling with something on her belt, she produced a flask. “Here,” she said. “Earlier, I tried some of what your comrades are passing around. It is disgusting. This is better. Carian. Keep it. As my thanks.”

After a brief hesitation, Finlay took Loretta’s flask, then took a tentative swallow. It was, as Loretta promised, better than Ostia’s swill. She offered Loretta a tentative lopsided grin. Before the night was over, Finlay polished off the entire flask.

[] [] []

Waiting one day to recover before beginning the journey home had been a matter of common sense. Miquella, however, was an uncommon lord. At his insistence, the company lingered another day, another day, then another day more while he picked over the corpse of the wyrm. For study, he said.

Finlay had no interest in the dead wyrm. It was not the first dead wyrm she’d seen, and, she supposed, if she survived long enough, it might not be her last. She did have interest though, a keen interest, in returning to Elphael–and to Malenia.

But for all her will, persuading Miquella into parting from his prize proved beyond her, even despite whatever rapport they’d found.

“You may return without me,” Miquella said, dismissive, from a perch high up on the wyrm’s left shoulder. Idly, he kicked his legs back and forth in the air. “The beast is dead. It is perfectly safe here now.”

Standing firmly on the ground like a reasonable person, Finlay shook her head. “My lord, our orders are to stay with you. Would you please consider the return journey?”

“I have considered it,” Miquella said. “But in my consideration, I divined no reason to rush. We are safe, we are well-supplied, and it is not every day that one gets to examine a wyrm.”

“My lord…”

“I expect my sister can spare you another few weeks, Sir Finlay,” said Miquella. He grinned mischievously. “And think of how positively pleased she probably is to be rid of me for so long.”

Finlay felt a headache coming on. “My lord Miquella,” she started again, “Perhaps if we removed the parts of the wyrm you were most interested and brought them back with us, then you would agree to leave?”

“The whole is far greater than its parts,” replied Miquella. “Unless you have a way to take the entire wyrm back to Elphael, I prefer to examine it in situ.”

Taking another tack, Finlay tried, “Lingering to poke a dead beast was not part of your agreement with your sister.”

“If she’d taken any time at all think on it, she’d have foreseen this would occur,” said Miquella. “It is her own fault for not insisting on terms against it.”

Finlay suppressed a groan. “What is it that you find so fascinating about this thing?”

The gleam in Miquella’s eye upon hearing Finlay’s question instantly made her regret asking.

“Dragons are not bound by time,” Miquella began. “But still they exist within our world. Wyrms, I think, may share this property with dragons. And what is time? Time is–”

The sound of a thunderous explosion swallowed Miquella’s next words.

Then the blast hit, staggering her, very nearly knocking her off her feet and leaving her dazed. Blinking back dark spots from her vision, Finlay looked around, but she saw no enemy–no enemy but the dead wyrm, still dead, motionless, not a threat, dead. Then, she looked up. The sky burned .

Across the southern horizon, enormous gouts of vibrant flame licked the heavens. Finlay could feel the radiance of the blaze against the skin of her face. Clouds of grey ash flecked with gold cinders swirled in the sky, spreading out from some distant cataclysm. The sight, for all its horror, did not lack beauty.

Belatedly, Finlay glanced at Miquella. Had he kept his perch? Had he fallen? Had he fallen and hurt himself?

He had not kept his perch, but he had not fallen either. Having been hit by the blast as well, he’d lost his footing but had caught hold of the edge of a stone scale on the dead wyrm’s shoulder, and there he hung, too weak to haul himself up and lacking kinesthetic instinct to safely drop.

Finlay swore and hurried over to stand beneath him. She hadn’t dragged him through the battle with the wyrm only for him to break a half dozen bones for want of coordination. Malenia would be both amused and furious. “Miquella!” she called up. “Let go, I’ll catch you.”

Miquella glanced down at her. Briefly, he looked like he might protest. Then he ground his teeth and let go of the scale. True to her word, Finlay caught him. Then, quickly so as not to further offend his dignity, she set him down. 

Scowling, Miquella straightened his robes. “It may be time to return to Elphael,” he said in a manner that reminded Finlay of an offended cat. “I concede your point. There are more important things than dead wyrms.”

“My lord, your wisdom astounds,” Finlay muttered. She glanced up at the blazing sky. The cloud of ash was darkening the light of the sun, but the flames lit the world well enough. She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t need to know what, exactly, it was. She did know that they had to return to Elphael, immediately. Finlay turned towards the camp. “Come.”

Miquella sniffed. “Sarcasm does not become you, Sir Finlay,” he said dryly. “It seems–” Abruptly, Miquella stopped speaking and turned his face up to inferno above. “Wait… There’s…”

Brow furrowed, Finlay turned back towards Miquella. Reflexively, she set her hand on the hilt of her sword, seeking the reassuring feel of a weapon in her hand. She asked, “My lord?”

Shaking his head, Miquella murmured, as if speaking to himself, “This is… it is not possible…”

“My lord?” Finlay asked again.

Miquella ignored Finlay.

As if entranced, he raised a hand, reaching up to the flames.

The gold in the air responded to him. It coalesced around his outstretched arm, creating a brilliant stream that connected him to the heavens.

Then, Miquella began to speak again.

But the voice that came from his lips was his, but not his. Finlay heard it not with her ears but with her whole being. It sounded like Miquella, but with another voice layered below him–a woman’s voice, maybe. “My children beloved,” the voice whispered. “Make of thyselves that which ye desire.”

Miquella gestured, pulling the light down and towards him–and then the light around him intensified beyond what Finlay could bear and she had to turn away. She drowned in gold. Effulgence consumed her entire world. The air itself turned to radiant fire. Barely able to breathe, Finlay stumbled, then fell to her knees. She drifted as a mote of dust in a sea of incomprehensible brilliance.

She did not know how long the light held her, only that, after some length of eternity, it finally began to fade.

At last, Finlay took a deep, shuddering breath of air that was merely warm rather than scalding. Without the overwhelming golden light, she perceived the world as so dark that for a moment she doubted that her eyes were open. Unsteadily, she pushed herself back up to her feet.

Miquella still stood with his face still upturned toward the burning sky. His blue eyes shone gold and overflowed with it; the gold dripped down his cheeks like tears. A thick carpet of flowering grasses surrounded him, sprouting up beneath his feet, lush as anything that grew in Liurnia, and expanding, slowly, inch by inch.

Unnerved, Finlay took a step back.

Miquella shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Moving carefully, he lowered himself down onto one knee, then both knees, then he sat fully on the ground. The circle of abundance around him continued to grow. Miquella set his head between his knees and his hands over his head. Then he roared.

His natural brilliance flared sun-bright, and the creep of vegetation around him turned to a tide of not only grasses but vines, bushes, small trees. A tree sprouted underneath Finlay and tipped her onto her ass. She swore.

“Miquella!” she shouted, and, for all the good it would do, “Stop this!”

Her words had no effect.

More shouting–Finlay turned and saw Niall and Loretta running towards her through waist-high greenery.

Niall didn’t bother stopping when he reached Finlay. He kept on towards his lord. “Miquella! Miquella!” he bellowed as he threw himself into Miquella’s aura of blinding light.

Loretta did pause to help Finlay to her feet. “What happened?” Loretta asked.

“Don’t know,” Finlay grunted. “There was… The sky exploded, he was fine, but then he took something from the sky. Then this.” She gestured to indicate the small jungle that had sprung up. “Whatever this is.”

“His power,” Loretta said. “His essence.”

The blood drained from Finlay’s face, leaving her pale and cold. If Miquella…

Finlay heard a heavy thud, then Miquella’s light dimmed. A moment later, Niall appeared, an unconscious Miquella thrown over his shoulder. He glared at Finlay, challenging her to challenge him.

Finlay declined Niall’s challenge.

Lips pressed in a tight line, she turned her back on Niall and Loretta both and made for their camp. The others wordlessly fell in with her.

Miquella awoke not long after they returned to the rest of the company. Vegetation continued to sprout around him, but not at the same rate as before. Subdued, he did not reprimand Niall. Instead, he instructed Niall and Finlay both to set a march for Elphael at a pace as quick as was reasonable. He said no more.

[] [] []

Though the whole company traveled by foot except Miquella, it was Miquella whose condition slowed their travel. Whatever had happened to him, it had left him even more fragile than usual. He simply could not sustain the pace that Finlay would have them keep. Though Miquella did not protest, Niall protested on his behalf.

Part of Finlay wished to simply demand that Miquella endure. Another part of her wished to commandeer his horse and ride off ahead of the column.

She had her orders though. She was to stay by Miquella’s side and keep him safe.

But she also had her duty, and her duty lay in Elphael.

Finlay chewed at her lower lip until it was raw, then until it bled, and then Jishanen handed her a strip of hard leather to chew on instead. Veitchi compared her to a dog, and Finlay couldn’t be bothered to take offense.

Surely Malenia had not been as daft as her twin, as daft as to grab the first glittering thing that passed her by. Surely…

Between Finlay’s drive to return to the city and Niall’s caution, and with neither holding rank enough to gainsay the other, the company traveled at an uncomfortably fluctuating pace, never quite a walk and never quite a run, that no one could ever find the rhythm for and that left the entire company in ill-temper. 

That the sky continued to burn and ash continued to fall helped the mood not at all. The ash made breathing a dry, painful matter, and everyone coughed near ceaselessly. A few marchers had the thought to cover their mouths with wet cloths, and the fashion caught on with the rest. The cloths though didn’t help with the constant stinging in their eyes.

No one said much as they traveled. On the march, they went too quickly to have breath to spare for chatter, and they marched from before sunrise until after the sun set. In camp, they had barely enough strength to pitch tents and crawl into them.

Throughout, Miquella kept his own counsel.

It took them less than two weeks to cover the same distance that, going the other way, had required more than three.

When the steep rooftops of Ordina, the small town that surrounded the gate to the twin’s domain, finally came into view, Miquella brought his horse over to Finlay’s side. “Sir Finlay,” he said, “We will make better time if we both ride.”

Finlay glanced at Niall, then turned her attention back to Miquella. “Are you well enough?”

“For this, I will make myself well enough,” Miquella replied.

It took them a moment to arrange themselves properly. Miquella’s saddle was not meant for two riders, so they did away with it. Then, Finlay swung herself up, and Miquella took a position behind her. Finlay did not think for a moment that she was a better rider than the small lord, but she was certainly the heavier of the two of them. As far and as fast as they intended to go, the ride would be hard–the least they could do for the horse was try to distribute their weight reasonably.

Once settled, Finlay nudged Miquella’s horse first into a walk, but then quickly into a canter.

In short order, Finlay and Miquella pulled ahead of the column.

“I confess I do not know what to expect,” Miquella said, speaking only barely loud enough for Finlay to hear him.

“Then what are your suspicions?” Finlay asked. Despite the importance of her question, she could give it only some of her attention. The bulk of her focus went to staying balanced astride their shared mount. Elphael having so few horses, it had been a very long time since she had ridden, much less without a saddle, and going quickly with Miquella clinging to her back only complicated the matter further.

“I received an inheritance,” Miquella said. “But it has always been that the gifts Marika has given to my sister and to myself have been equal in measure but not in kind.”

“The rot,” Finlay said.

“The rot,” Miquella said back.

“No one has come out to meet our return,” Finlay said.

“Perhaps we have no cause to fear then,” Miquella replied.

Grim, Finlay shook her head. “If Malenia had the ability, she would have sent someone to fetch you.”

When they reached the outskirts of Ordina, a few of the residents came out to watch them pass, but no one stepped forward to hail them. So near to their destination, Finlay at last pushed the horse faster. Though surely exhausted, well-trained and calmed by Miquella’s influence, it obeyed her.

Iridollus waited for them at the portal to Elphael. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. There were bags under the bags under his eyes.

Finlay and Miquella both dismounted. Attempting to ride through the gateway had never ended well for anyone. The animals tended to handle the experience about as well as Finlay did. Miquella had the presence of mind to give their horse a thankful pat on the neck.

“What news?” Finlay demanded of Iridollus.

He shook his head as he moved to take the reins of the horse. “Ill news. Ostia is on the far side–she can say better than I. It’s Malenia.”

Finlay gave Iriollus a polite nod, then, with Miquella at her side, she plunged into the vortex of violet energies that would take them home.

The transition from the world to in-between and then back to the world took less than a heartbeat, but it left Finlay incapacitated with disorientation. Stumbling, she doubled over and puked–not onto the ground, but into a bucket someone was holding out. Still queasy, Finlay blinked and looked up. Ostia held the bucket, and she had three saddled horses with her.

When last Finlay had seen her, Ostia had been missing the better part of her nose. She’d lost it to the rot years and years ago. Now, a chunk of her left cheek and lower jaw had been eaten away as well. Finlay could see Ostia’s teeth through the side of her face. She’d also lost her left ear, and there were black growths on her eyelid.

Unwilling to be slowed by her body’s failings, Finlay wiped her mouth with the back of her gauntleted hand and then staggered over to one of the horses–the largest of the three, a stallion with a light chestnut coat. Finlay jammed a foot into one stirrup and then, without any grace whatsoever, swung herself up into the saddle.

While the three of them rode from the gate to the city, Ostia gave her report.

“After the explosion, everything started to rot,” Ostia said. She mumbled her words, apparently a result of a struggle to keep her jaw together despite having lost so much of her face. Regardless of her injuries, she spoke with focus, with intent, and without any trace of her usual good humor. “The knights who were nearest to her in the moment are dead. We cannot approach. We’ve set a perimeter of fire, we keep it burning night and day, but we’re running short of fuel.”

“You cannot approach–have you seen her? Have you spoken with her?” Finlay demanded.

“No,” Ostia replied. “She is somewhere inside the… I don’t know what to call it anymore.”

Before Finlay could press Ostia for more, Miquella cut in. “She lives,” he said. “I would know if she did not.”

The thing that Ostia lacked words to describe was… The towering thing stood where once Malenia’s house and the Cleanrots’ barracks had been. It retained some suggestion of the shape of their walls. But it looked nothing like anything human hands had made. Everything made of wood had turned to rot. Everything that had once been steel had subsided to flakes of brown rust. The stone hosted dense pustules of putrid scarlet molds, low spherical growths pockmarked with black filth, tightly packed, the sight of which triggered in Finlay a deep, primal instinct to recoil in disgust.

And the stench–

The fetid odor urged Finlay to give up on whatever was left in her stomach after her journey through the gate. It was meat that had been left out in the sun, mixed with excrement, and covered in a layer of dead flies. Having spent so much time rotting themselves, Cleanrots only rarely even perceived the smell of decay, much less reacted to it. She knew therefore that the miasma must be unbearably oppressive to anyone not afflicted.

As soon as her mount got a whiff of it, the poor beast balked. Finlay dismounted quickly so as to get her feet on the ground before the horse bolted.

All around the moldering pile, Cleanrots and lordsworn had together established a ring of fire. Feeding the fire, they had broken chairs, bedding, wheels of wagons, the remains of the wagons themselves, everything they’d been able to lay hands on that would burn. Having kept the blaze going for two weeks, they had resorted even to throwing books into the flames–a pile of tomes ransacked from some fledgling library sat ready only a few yards from where Finlay and the others stood.

Upon seeing the books to be burnt, Miquella scowled. “Get those back where you found them at once,” he snapped. Then he raised a hand in the direction of the ring of fire. At his desire, the red-orange flames flared high and turned to gold.

At last relieved of their labor, several lordsworn and Cleanrots as well sagged down, then collapsed where they stood.

“A pity you were not here sooner,” Ostia murmured. Even despite the state of her face, she spoke sharply in a tone of reproach. “You might have saved a few more books.”

“We could come no more swiftly,” Miquella said, rejecting the censure. He took a step towards his flames, then looked to Finlay. “Sir Finlay, I have trust in myself, but I cannot give you the same assurances.”

“I do not need your assurances, respectfully, my lord.”

Side by side, they approached the wall of golden flames, which parted to allow their passing. The flames closed up again behind them.

On the other side of the flames, the stench of rot was, somehow, worse. It had a physical, wet, weight in the air. Finlay gagged. Even Miquella brought a hand up to his face, using his sleeve to get something between the air and his nose. Breathing through her mouth now, Finlay wheezed with every inhalation of decay. Her eyes watered.

Nevertheless, Finlay put one foot in front of the other, headed for a dark opening where the entrance to the compound had once been. Miquella trailed after her.

The interior of the building stood dark, but Finlay knew the way.

A few steps past the threshold, Finlay’s foot caught on something on the floor–so soft that it gave way easily, but not so soft that she did not notice. Finlay looked down at a heap of armor so rusted she barely recognized it as having once belonged to a Cleanrot. Under the armor, a moldering pile of rot, heaped in the shape of a man but so far gone as to be featureless. 

Finlay inhaled sharply, but this was unwise. The breath of fetid air caught in her throat and stuck there. A fit of coughing took her. By the end of it, she was spitting up blood. 

Finlay stared at the droplets of crimson splattered across the floor. As she watched, a slimy scarlet mold with smooth bumps in all the wrong places grew to cover them.

“Sir Finlay, are you coming?” Miquella asked from the end of the corridor. He’d advanced on without her. Though he stood poised as if he were merely taking an afternoon stroll, dark splotches of decay dappled his usually immaculate white robes.

Finlay nodded once. She willed herself forward again.

The path to Malenia’s rooms, positioned in the heart of the compound, took Miquella and Finlay up several flights of stairs that had not been built to withstand the rot. In retrospect, an oversight. Though light, Miquella more than once set his foot on a rotted-out tread that gave out under him. The first time, Finlay lunged forward and caught him before he could fall far. The second time, she was not fast enough and he had to catch himself–which he managed only barely. Though he got his hands on the edge of the next stair, that stair too threatened to give. Finlay pulled him up by the back of his robe. This passed without any exchange of words. For her part, Finlay had no breath to spare. For Miquella’s part–she didn’t know. From that point on they both went more slowly and kept as near to the wall as they could during their ascent.

When they finally reached the steel door to Malenia’s chambers, Finlay placed a hand on it and it collapsed into a cascade of rust, releasing a wave of air even more putrid than what Finlay had managed to become accustomed to on the approach. Finlay gagged, coughed, coughed more blood. When she raised a hand to cover her cough, she noted that splotches of rust now covered her gauntlet and the threads and wires binding the piece together seemed ready to give way.

Entering the rooms, she stepped over the remains of two more of her knights. Together, Finlay and Miquella, neither preceding the other, made their way through Malenia’s quarters, passing quickly towards Malenia’s bedchamber.

But the entrance to the bedchamber was blocked–

Gaping in awe, Finlay set her hand against a waxy, fibrous surface, scarlet in color and reeking of rot. It was not rot as she knew it though. This–this was beautiful.

“It’s a petal,” Miquella said. He ran a finger along its surface. A note of awe sounded in his tone. “A flower.” With a frown, he tapped his finger against the petal. Gold sparked but quickly extinguished.

Finlay withdrew her hand. Her gauntlet finally crumbled away. Rings of decay began to multiply across her bare skin. She reached for her sword. “It’s in the way,” she said.

Miquella nodded, backing away. “It is,” he agreed. “Remove it, Sir Finlay.”

“Let it be so, my lord,” Finlay replied quietly. And then she set about hacking at the flower before them, clearing a path forward.

The petals were thicker and stronger than they had any right to be. To make any headway, Finlay had to swing her sword like an ill-made axe, needing every bit of strength she had to drag enough shallow cuts into the petal surface to then pry a piece away. With every cut, more splotches of rust appeared on her once gleaming blade. When her sword broke, she drew her dagger. When her dagger crumbled, she clawed at the petals with her hands, ripping them down one by one. She peeled away layer after layer of bloom. Rot crept beneath her fingernails, turning them dark and soft.

But she’d be damned if she let a flower keep her from her lady.

When Finlay tore away the last petal, she found Malenia, curled up in the center of her creation, clutching herself with her one arm. That one arm, whole when Finlay had left a month ago, had black tendrils of infection climbing along it, following their host’s veins, like vines. And from the vines coursing through her flesh sprouted blooms of decay, petals, tiny scarlet blossoms.

Now, Finlay broke pace with Miquella. She fast stumbled to Malenia’s side. “My lady?” She set her rot-encrusted hand on Malenia’s bare shoulder. Whatever clothes Malenia had been wearing before, they’d rotted so thoroughly that no trace of them remained. “Malenia?”

Malenia stirred. She raised her head just enough to point her sightless eyes towards Finlay. Her voice was very weak. “Finlay?”

“My lady, I’m–”

The breath that Finlay had taken in order to speak had been too deep. She gagged, then her gagging turned to a hacking cough, and this time the coughing did not stop. At first she only hacked up thin only crimson blood mixed with spit, but then she nearly choked as a dark clot of worse came up as well. Unable to stay upright, Finlay went to her knees. She tried to take another breath, but it felt as if there were no room in her chest for it. There was only rot within her softening ribs.

Finlay doubled over. She vomited up a black syrup of blood and decay.

Malenia brushed the fingertips of her single hand against Finlay’s cheek, then set her hand over Finlay’s on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Grimly, Finlay wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand. With great difficulty, she lowered herself to the floor, so that she knelt before Malenia. “You shouldn’t be rotting,” Finlay managed. Kneeling rather than crouching, it was somewhat easier to breathe.

Malenia chuckled mirthlessly. “I am always rotting.”

Another coughing fit wracked Finlay’s body. Perhaps, somewhere within it, was some small answering laughter. When it subsided, she shook her head. “I will always be here.”

Moving quietly, Miquella knelt down next to Finlay. He folded his hands in his lap. “Malenia,” he started, sounding smaller than Finlay had ever heard him, “I… How do I help you?”

“We are children beloved, Miquella,” Malenia said. “But not by her. Her gift is… overwhelming. I am not what I was. And this is beyond what I can contain. And what I cannot contain, the rot eats.”

“The rot is eating you,” Finlay said. “Your arm…”

“I know. The rot is eating you faster. You should go.” Malenia did not match her actions to her words. She kept her hand over Finlay’s.

Finlay spat out a wad of decay. “Do you plan to sit here and wither?” she demanded.

Malenia did not reply.

“You vowed to fight it,” Finlay growled. Anger had kindled in her. Not at Malenia, for all that she intended surrender. At Marika, perhaps. At the rot. At her own impotence. That she had been away chasing not even a dragon, a mere wyrm, rather than by Malenia’s side.

Malenia turned away from her. “I am… very weary, Finlay,” she murmured. “Very weary.”

Finlay dug her fingers into Malenia’s shoulder with near bone-crushing force. “Let me help you then. At least… at least let me try. Do not deny me that.”

Malenia looked to Finlay again and smiled weakly. “You know I would deny you nothing.”

“Sir Finlay, what do you intend?” Miquella asked.

Finlay had no answer for him. If Malenia would not fight, Finlay would.

Closing her eyes, she thought only of Malenia. Not the rot, not her own frustrations. Malenia. Warmth. Safety. Devotion . A golden light sparked around Finlay’s fingers where they touched Malenia. But it did not grow beyond sparks. It did not become flames. The rot had always been inimical to faith. It resisted Finlay. Faith had never succeeded against the rot before. What made her think it would work now? Only the knowledge that she had nothing else.

“Miquella, my lord,” Finlay started.  “I have faith. Lend me your power.”

At first, Miquella did nothing. Finlay waited for him. She did not doubt that he would comply. Eventually, Miquella offered her his hand. She took it. Her other hand she moved to cup Malenia’s rotting cheek. Her fingertips brushed against the thick plaques sealing her lady’s eyes shut.

Finlay’s golden light flared–this time though, streaks of scarlet flickered beneath the gold, a heart to the flames. Finlay poured herself into those flames. All that she had ever been, all her will, all her faith, it was all kindling for her casting.

She had nothing else.

In the room around them, the petals of Malenia’s bloom caught fire.

True fire–but not pyromancy.

Only belief, pure and unadorned.

Fire consumed everything.

Cleansing.

She sought out the rot that preyed on the power seeping out from Malenia and she knew it to be purged, for, by Malenia’s desire, it must be.

Finlay turned her attention then to Malenia herself.

It was not so simple, extinguishing the rot in Malenia. The decay wound all through her, inextricably intertwined with her essence. If Finlay willed the rot away, she would will away all that she recognized as Malenia with it. But this did not mean she had to suffer the rot to take more than it had already. And it did not mean that she could do nothing for that part of her lady that the rot had not yet choked, the part that had not been enough to contain her inheritance.

“My lady,” Finlay breathed. “Would you shelter my devotion within you? Would you be a god?”

Malenia answered in a whisper. “I would be, Finlay–in whatever form, of whatever nature–as you will me.”

In Finlay’s heart, Malenia endured.

And so she would.

[] [] []

The sleep that consumed her after her casting was deep, peaceful, and complete.

Only once did she think that she woke–but perhaps it was only part of a dream.

Miquella stood over her, though he did not look quite himself. 

He looked down at her and shook his head.

Finlay fell back into darkness.

[] [] []

In the aftermath, with the stubbornness of mold, the Cleanrots set themselves to rebuilding their home exactly where it had stood. Some of the structure they had been able to save. Stone being less vulnerable to the rot than other materials, there remained something of a shell for them to return to–though they had to test every brick for soundness, and, should the wrong brick be found faulty, entire walls had to be torn down and then raised up again.

It had occurred to them all, more than once, that relocating to clear ground would require less work. But their home was their home, and, before the march north they had not had a home.

During a midday rest, Finlay stood at the edge of the charred remains of their garden. It had rotted, and so her flames had burnt it to cinders. Now it was soil and ash only. In time the Cleanrots would replant it. But only after they secured a roof of their heads once more.

Also ash were the Cleanrots who had been too close to their lady when the ring was shattered. No remains had survived Finlay’s purge, but it still seemed proper that there be some sort of memorial.

“Another fire doesn’t seem right,” Veitchi said wearily. He, Ostia, and Jishanen all stood with Finlay in the barren yard.

Ostia nodded in agreement. “I’ve had enough fire for a lifetime.” She spoke through gritted teeth–not because she was particularly moody, rather, Jishanen had tied a bandage around Ostia’s head to keep her decayed jaw in place, and the bandage rather limited her movement.

“But if we raise stones,” Veitchi continued, “We’ll be constantly reminded.”

Jishanen raised an eyebrow. “That’s the object of a memorial, isn’t it?”

Veitchi shrugged helplessly. “Will she want to be constantly reminded of what happened? Not that she’ll see it.”

“I don’t think this is something we should attempt to reckon by ourselves,” Jishanen said. She looked to Finlay, expectant.

Finlay cleared her throat, spitting out a clot of black rot onto the ashy ground. Her lungs had bothered her from time to time since the Cleanrots’ sojourn at the shaded castle of the Marais. Since her most recent return to Elphael, she had been coughing up putrid mucus mixed with blood far more often. A lingering effect of Malenia’s power. “I will ask her,” Finlay said. And that was all she said.

She’d had few words for anyone in the days since her casting.

Not even, she thought as she walked the city towards Miquella’s house, for her lady.

She found Malenia with Miquella in his study.

Miquella sat behind his desk–even as the Cleanrots and lordsworn had scoured the rest of Elphael for fuel for their barricade of fire, they had left his personal things untouched. He toyed with a golden bauble, a spherical thing, one of many that had drifted down from the sky in recent days.

Malenia stood by a window, her one hand held behind her back, her sightless eyes raised towards the sunlight streaming through the glass. She turned towards the door when Finlay entered.

Finlay bowed first to her lady and then to her lady’s brother. “My lady,” she murmured. “Lord Miquella.”

Miquella stood up from his seat. He offered Finlay a polite nod. “Sir Finlay,” he said. “I suspect you are not here for me. I will take my leave.” So saying, he stepped out around his desk, swiftly crossed the room, and then slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Only when the door had closed and enough time had passed for Miquella to go some distance did Malenia speak. “You are doing the thing that you do when you are upset.”

Finlay frowned. “I am?”

“You are avoiding me,” Malenia said. “Which you have not done in some time. Before you left with Miquella, you took pains to do the opposite.”

Shaking her head, Finlay sighed. She went and sat on the corner of Miquella’s desk. Near Malenia, but not too near. The desk stood so low that her feet touched the floor. “I am not at peace,” she admitted.

“For what reason?”

For a while, Finlay pondered her next words. At last, she said, “I don’t know what the cost will be. But you said, before, that it would not be worth it.”

Malenia moved towards Finlay. She gently set her over Finlay’s head, a lady charging her knight. “Do not think of that for now,” she said. “It has not yet come due.”

Finlay grimaced.

Malenia’s lips quirked up, a smile.

Finlay snorted. “Don’t give me impossible orders,” she mumbled. “Looking after Miquella was hard enough.”

“I know as much from experience,” Malenia replied. “But you rose to the occasion. And now he’s insufferably proud of killing one little wyrm.”

“It was a rather large wyrm,” Finlay corrected. It was not just Miquella’s honor that Malenia dismissed.

“Don’t say that in front of him,” Malenia warned. She withdrew her hand, moving it again behind her back. “Finlay…” 

As Malenia trailed off, Finlay said nothing.

After a while, Malenia spoke again. “You have spent most of your time of late with the other Cleanrots. Is there a reason you sought me out this afternoon?”

Finlay cleared her throat, buying a moment to collect her thoughts as to how to proceed. A bit of rot was coming up, but she swallowed it rather than spit it up Miquella’s study. Some things he would never forgive. “There is a question, my lady,” she began, “Of how to pay our respects.”

Though Finlay said no more, Malenia understood. A cloud passed over her features. She turned her sightless eyes away from Finlay. “To the Cleanrots I killed,” she said.

“They died as they lived,” said Finlay.

“Rotting,” said Malenia, bitterly.

“There are no bodies to burn,” Finlay said. “And so there is a thought that we might raise a memorial instead.”

“And for what reason would you not?” Malenia asked.

“Concern that the reminder would trouble you,” answered Finlay.

Malenia stiffened and then scoffed. “My sentiments have no place in this, of all things. Better, even, that I be reminded and that I be troubled.”

“My lady, the dead have no interest in the guilt of the living.”

Turning away, Malenia stepped back towards her window. Finlay slid from her perch on Miquella’s desk and went to stand beside Malenia. Acting half on intention and half out of habit, she took Malenia’s blackened hand and placed it on her own shoulder. For a very long time, they stood in silence–Malenia brooding and Finlay waiting.

“You will replant the garden, will you not?” Malenia asked.

“We will,” Finlay said. “When we have finished with more pressing matters.”

“Put a memorial there,” said Malenia. “In stone so that it will last.”

“Very good, my lady,” Finlay replied. And it was, she thought, good.

“I could have destroyed much more,” Malenia said quietly. “Despite… I was glad, when Marika made her choice, when I lost control of the rot, that you were not with me.”

“Fortunate then, that your brother’s ego rivals yours.”

Malenia chuckled, then once more sobered. “Divinity has only ever harmed my family, Finlay. But maybe that is not how it must be. It is hard, what has been set in motion. The path will be treacherous. But I will walk it by your side.”

Finlay shifted to rest her weight against Malenia. Being the shorter of the two of them, she set her scarred forehead against Malenia’s shoulder. “By your will, my lady.”

“By your will, Sir Finlay,” Malenia replied.

Forehead still pressed against Malenia, Finlay grinned.

Notes:

Thank you to Cherepashka for beta things.

Ok, as promised, here is the second half of chapter three (i still think of this fic as only going to have five chapters total since the original plan was for five standalone pieces). I ran into some interesting pacing issues with this part. i realized while I was doing my final pre-post read that I never fully fixed them, but c'est la vie i guess. My original plan was for this "Halig" chapter to just be a super short interlude of Finlay and Malenia making out under the Haligtree, as a breather before the Caelid campaign. But then I started going into how there came to be a Haligtree, and because I am of the opinion that the Haligtree was grown from one of the seeds that scattered from the Erdtree during the Shattering, that suddenly meant that I needed to cover the Shattering event. For a while I was trying to write the chapter set entirely in the region that becomes Elphael, Brace of the Haligtree (I had this scene in my head of Finlay sitting in bed watching Malenia on the balcony reaching up to the sky and wreathed in gold), but I figure that the seeds probably only scattered within the borders of the Erdtree's domain, so acquiring a seed would require going down to the continent. And then suddenly there needed to be a jaunt at least to Ordina, but since Finlay is the POV character it had to be something that would require her to be involved, and it all escalated into an encounter with Theodorix. Which all is to say--there are lingering pacing issues in this part because it was originally supposed to be super short and simple, but I kept cramming more things in and it ended up overstuffed.

Next up is the Caelid campaign! I've written the first 11k words so far annnnnddd... so far they're still in Limgrave lol. This could take me a while. Oh, also, I've probably decided to go with the "Malenia goes to Caelid to rescue Miquella" theory rather than the "Malenia was sent to Caelid to free the stars" theory. Tbh though, I think the latter may be more likely. It nicely explains how Mohg managed to nab Miquella: Malenia wasn't there at the time. (I'm not persuaded by the Miquella-is-plotting-with-Mohg theory. It's fascinating, but it seems to suffer from a lot of plotholes.) But "save Miquella!" works better for my arc.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me! Please keep sticking with me!

Chapter 6: Caelid - Part One

Malenia stood at the edge of the practice yard, listening to the rhythmic thuds of steel hitting wood and the occasional brighter sound of steel on steel. The air smelled of dust and oil and perspiration. The faint touch of the sun on her face, not hot, barely warm, told her the hour grew late.

“You could join them,” Miquella said. Unusually, he had come out to the yard, risking getting his robes dirty, rather than send a summons demanding that she attend him.

“I could do many things,” Malenia replied evenly. She affected disinterest.

“You could inquire why I’ve sought you out,” Miquella suggested, unsubtle.

“I could,” Malenia agreed. In truth, she did want to know why her twin had floated down into her domain. But just asking would spoil the game. She fought hard not to smirk at him. To resist that temptation, she turned towards where she knew Finlay to be, out on the yard. She could always find Finlay’s bright golden spark, veined with scarlet, in the riotous, swirling chaos of decay that was her world.

Malenia’s sense of those around her, even, to an extent, things she had once thought inanimate—it was a consequence either of her inheritance or Finlay’s intercession, or some combination of the two. Even her twin had not hazarded a guess as to its exact nature. It was not sight, not like she’d once had. But, for her purposes, it was close enough.

Miquella huffed. “I know that you are curious,” he complained. “Why do you pretend otherwise?”

“I never pretend anything,” Malenia replied.

Though she could not see her brother’s face, Malenia had seen him roll his eyes so many times in their shared childhood that she could picture it perfectly.

“I have made you a gift,” Miquella announced, giving up on baiting her to ask.

Malenia shifted. “Have you?”

Triumph laced Miquella’s tone. “Now you are interested?”

“I never said that I was not interested,” Malenia pointed out, unwilling to concede anything.

Miquella reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew something unfamiliar to Malenia’s senses. It was not made of any organic matter–that, Malenia felt sure of. There was no trace of the sort of decay that softened wood or ate at thread. But it was also not stone, for she could not hear any whisper of weathering on its surface. Nor was it any common metal, as it was devoid entirely of corrosion.

While Malenia felt the world as gradations of rot, this thing Miquella held was the absence of rot.

It seemed to her to be a thin preen or stylus, of the material that her twin had named unalloyed gold. A truly ridiculous name for the stuff. Gold was soft and heavy and came from mountains and streams. Miquella’s unalloyed gold was hard and light and made out of his magic and the sap of the tree he was growing in the back courtyard of his residence. Regardless of what he called it though, he could craft marvels with it. For Malenia, he had fashioned new legs, a working arm, armor strong and fine. And for many of her Cleanrots he had devised other marvels as well, replacing what they’d lost.

Giving in, Malenia asked, “What is that?”

“A needle,” Miquella said, as if he had explained everything.

Dubious, Malenia hazarded, “For sewing?”

“For fixing,” Miquella answered, now a bit offended. “Why would I give you a sewing needle? Even when you had two flesh and blood hands your threadwork was terrible.”

Malenia spent no effort defending her threadwork. She’d never liked it in the first place. Only on account of Miquella’s delight at it had she ever made any attempts. He had, naturally, excelled. “For fixing what?” Malenia asked.

“Time,” Miquella said. “It fixes time. You’ll see.”

[] [] []

Malenia strode through Stormveil castle. Her armored footsteps rang loud on the flagstones and echoed, telling her of the vastness of the hall she crossed, and that it held few soft furnishings. Stormveil had, after all, been a fortress before Godrick crept in and pretended at lordship.

At the thought of Godrick, Malenia’s lip curled. A lord, he called himself. The heir of the Golden Lineage. A demigod. If Godrick was a demigod, then Malenia was… She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She cared only that, by installing himself in Stormveil, he had occupied the one passage between Liurnia and Limgrave. The eastern bridge having been broken during the war with the dragons and never rebuilt, anyone traveling from one region to the other had to suffer his hospitality.

Someone shouted a warning–

Malenia twisted in time to avoid the sweep of something heavy, which instead crashed harmlessly into the floor, sending stone shrapnel flying. She felt rust on it, in such quantities that, even if those with sight called it a sword, she would insist it to be a cleaver. No warrior would allow their sword to suffer so.

The enemy–the pulse of life and decay seemed human, but the shape of it did not. Too large. Too many appendages. And seemingly all the appendages brandished bludgeons of rusting iron or rot-soft wood. Perish the thought that anything in Godrick’s demise would fight with grace.

Malenia flickered forward, sweeping her long, curved blade out to neatly bisect the misshapen beast.

Even as it fell, she had already set her step again towards the center of the hall.

When she reached her goal, she did not hesitate to sit on the empty throne of the lord of the castle. Once, it had been carved for Godfrey, first Elden Lord and first consort of Marika. But that was a very, very long time ago.

“Has Godrick been found?” Malenia asked.

“Not yet,” said a man with a deep baritone voice, reminiscent of a bear. O’Neil, son of Niall. The father having failed to defend Elphael, he remained there still in shame, keeping watch in the absence of nearly all remaining knights and lordsworn and other men and women at arms. It thus fell to the unproved son to lead that part of Malenia’s force who were not personally pledged to her.

Malenia grimaced. She had little patience at the best of times and, if she could, would always prefer to undertake her will herself. But she, of all people, could not personally search every nook and cranny of Stormveil for her dog of a cousin. She had no choice but to leave that to those who followed her. So she set her sword across her knee and waited.

Her sword…

Made of unalloyed gold. Miquella had forged it for her, and the arm that wielded it, from the sap of a tree he watered with his own blood. The same blood that he had been seized for.

Malenia started to grind her teeth, but then stopped herself. Of late, Finlay frequently reprimanded Malenia for the awful habit. It was all well and good, Finlay said, to lose two legs and an arm, but what would Malenia do when her teeth fell out? Also, it did not escape Malenia’s cognizance that she likely ground her teeth in her sleep as well. Unlike Malenia, Finlay slept very lightly.

Still restless, Malenia slumped back and settled for drumming the fingers of her one hand of flesh and blood against the armrest of Godfrey’s throne.

In her darkness, she waited.

A commotion at the entrance of the hall reached her ears. Malenia sat up. In her sense of the world, she recognized Finlay and, with her, the cold gleam of Loretta. And between them, Godrick. He was gold, yes, but gold as if beneath thick, dark oil. When they all three came near, Finlay kicked Godricks’ legs out from under him. He landed heavily on the stone floor. For once in his life, he remained silent.

“What do you know of the omen who calls himself the lord of blood?” Malenia asked. She spoke slowly, carefully, as much as she could, calmly. She needed to be understood. There would be a time for rage. Not yet.

Godrick spat.

This time the kick came from Loretta.

Malenia glowered. She had only wanted to pass through Stormveil and continue on to Limgrave. Out of jealousy or out of spite, Godrick had barred the way. The siege had taken a month. Now this. “Marika’s children, save me, have never rotted,” Malenia said softly. “You are not a child of Marika.”

An empty threat. But for all his disdain of her and hers, Godrick had no reason to call her bluff. He shrank back. Nevertheless, “I am Godfrey’s heir,” he muttered. “You sit on my throne.”

“Mine, I think,” Malenia replied. “Because I am here and you are not. I ask you again–what do you know of the so-styled lord of blood?”

Godrick sniffed. “Nothing,” he said. “Omen are beneath my notice. Much like prodigies.”

“I will not ask a third time,” said Malenia.

Now Godrick hesitated. Malenia gave him time to marinate in his doubts and terrors and failings. All around them both, the whole chamber was deathly silent as Malenia’s knights and followers watched.

Finally, Godrick, grudgingly, “In eastern Limgrave, springs and wells are bringing up blood. It’s the Siofra, they say. If you’re looking for a lord of blood, look there. Good luck finding a way down though.”

Malenia stood. With a twitch of her shoulder, she extended her sword.

Godrick yelped in surprise and attempted to scuttle backwards across the floor, crab-like, but Finlay and Loretta seized him and kept him in place. “What? I told you where to go!” he shouted.

“I never offered you your life,” Malenia snarled. Now that he’d told her what he knew, there was no reason for her to feign control. “You owe it to me many times over.”

Half of her Cleanrots had died on the march north from Leyndell.

She had not forgotten.

She would not forgive.

“I owe you nothing!” Godrick screamed, now fighting against Finlay and Loretta’s hold on him–for all the good it did. “I am a lord! I am an instrument of grace! I–”

Finlay slammed an armored elbow into the back of Godrick’s skull, stunning him a moment, long enough for Loretta to wrench one of his arms such that further struggle would rip it from its socket. At that point, a firm shove was all it took to force his head out, ready for a last blow.

Malenia hesitated for a moment. Not because of anything Godrick had screeched. Rather, she was not in the habit of executions such as this. But did Godrick deserve any better?

While Malenia hesitated, Godrick finally understood his predicament. He went limp and ceased to fight against Finlay and Loretta. “Please, lady Malenia, aunt Malenia,” he begged. “I am sorry–so sorry. You and Godwyn were close. I am his last free-living heir. For his sake. And–and, please, take my rune, I’ll give it freely, just leave my life to me.”

Malenia lowered her sword. “You think I want that bauble?” she asked, half-disbelieving. She stalked towards him, then, when she’d come to the right distance, kicked him hard in the gut. Finlay and Loretta let him go, and he slid several yards across the stone floor. “I am here for my brother!” Unsatisfied, Malenia approached him again and kicked him again, this time sending him crashing into a wall.

Godrick curled up into a ball, trying to make himself small. “O’Neil!” he screamed. “Do something! You–you swore to protect me! Your father swore to protect me!”

Still standing by the throne, O’Neil shifted. Physically, she recalled him as the spitting image of Niall in stature and build. In temperament though, they were nothing alike. Niall had the steadfast weariness of an old warrior. O’Neil still burned with the will to glory. In Malenia’s sense of the world, he had a ferocity about him, though, it was a ferocity yet unrealized. Where would that lead him now? For the sake of this question, Malenia paused.

O’Neil said nothing though. Whatever he felt, Malenia lacked the senses to read him.

It was Loretta who spoke. “My lady,” she started, “Please stay your hand.”

“For what reason?” Malenia asked. “You did not speak before. Do you now speak for O’Neil? It is not your honor at stake.”

“My lady, are you a kinslayer?” Loretta asked in reply. A more than experienced hand at disputation, she did not engage with Malenia’s questions. Speaking evenly, she went on, “I did not judge you such when I pledged to your brother.”

“Would it have mattered if you had?” asked Malenia.

“Yes,” Loretta said flatly.

Malenia scowled. But she did not renew her advance. Malenia had mistrusted Loretta when she first came to Elphael. Over time, however, the Carian had proven her usefulness. She was likely the strongest and most skilled warrior in Malenia’s company. And Finlay considered her a friend.

Was it kinslaying to strike Godrick down? Malenia searched her memory, attempting to recall how it was that he was her cousin. He was, she thought, descended from Godwyn rather than one of Godfrey’s lesser children. By how many generations? And what would it matter if she did kill him? Would it offend Marika? Marika, who had bade her children fight for scraps of favor?

If Godrick fell, Marika would not notice, would not care. Of that, Malenia felt sure.

If Godrick fell, would golden Godwyn have cared? He had sown his seed so freely. Malenia could not recollect how it was that Godrick descended from Godwyn, and she doubted that Godwyn himself would have been able to say. Still though, she and Miquella had both enjoyed Godwyn’s favor, and he theirs. Perhaps Loretta had a point. Perhaps, for the sake of the bonds of blood, she should not take Godrick’s head.

“My lady,” O’Neil finally said, interrupting Malenia’s thoughts. “Three score fell taking this fortress because he would not allow us to pass. Will there be no consequence for their lives?”

Loretta tensed.

Now, Malenia turned towards O’Neil, though she could not see him. “You would have me take his head?” she asked. “What of your oath to him?”

“He was not worthy of it,” O’Neil replied. “And he forsook it when he fled and left us to die.”

“O’Neil!” Godrick yelped. “I… I did not forsake you! I was forced from the field!”

A creative retelling, Malenia thought. Yet… “Was it not your duty to fight to the end to protect his retreat, O’Neil?”

“We’d have been slaughtered,” O’Neil replied heatedly, anger coloring his tone. “Would you have charged your knights thus?”

“If I had, they would have stood and fought to the last,” Malenia snapped. “As they proved in that battle.” She advanced once more now on Godrick. Again reminded of his part in Rykard’s machinations, she had no interest in further delay.

“My lady, a moment,” Finlay cut in.

Malenia paused. “You as well? Only a moment,” she said. But, if Finlay asked for many moments, Malenia would give her as many as she asked for, and more. And if Finlay asked for Godrick’s life… Malenia hoped she wouldn’t.

“O’Neil,” Finlay began. She paused as a hacking cough took her for a moment. Malenia heard her spit, and she heard something far too dense hit the stone floor. It was suffused with Malenia’s rot. Finlay continued, “Your honor is your own to protect or to cast aside as you see fit, but it is not your honor alone that has been invoked. Your father’s honor too is at issue. Will you not attempt to intervene here, even for his sake?”

O’Neil let out a frustrated grunt.

“Does it reflect well on you to clamor for your former liege’s death?” Finlay asked. “Is that how your father raised you? Knowing him, I think not.”

“I never wished to follow him,” O’Neil said, now petulant. “He’s a marrowless craven.”

“But you followed him nonetheless,” Loretta said. “Pledges given cannot be unmade.”

“Loretta, Finlay,” Malenia said, “Are you urging disloyalty to me?”

“My lady, though he follows you now, he is sworn to your brother,” Finlay said. “And I do not see how Godrick’s death would serve Miquella, nor do I reckon that he would wish it. He is… not as vengeful as you.”

As Finlay spoke, at last, O’Neil’s shame got the better of him. “Please, Lady Malenia,” he started. Slowly, he went down to one knee and bowed his head. “Pardon him.”

And then he was silent. Malenia waited for him to continue, but he did not. Malenia sighed. “Is that all you will say on his behalf, O’Neil?” she asked. “And what say you concerning the three score dead you invoked before? Is Godrick’s life worth more than theirs? Worth more than all my knights he conspired to kill?”

O’Neil hesitated and, though Malenia could not see him, she did not doubt that he was looking to both Loretta and Finlay for advice on what answer to give. Apparently receiving none, reluctantly he said, “I have no answer to your questions and I know no other words. Please pardon him.”

Malenia sighed again. She did not assign any particular value on artful words, but O’Neil’s poor entreaty nevertheless stirred some feeling of pity in her. To O’Neil, she said, “I hope that if ever you take a fourth lord, you will remember my brother better than you remember this avetrol.” Malenia turned then to Finlay. “Find some hole to lock him in,” she said, “We must finish cleaning the filth from this fortress and then attend to where we march next.”

[] [] []

Though Malenia could in many things make up for her lack of sight with sheer will and power, she remained unable to use the maps of paper and ink that her officers took for granted. As they clustered around a table together, she stood slightly back to give them room.

“I don’t see a Siofra on this map,” O’Neil rumbled. He sounded confused and, in his confusion, disgruntled. Surely too, he still smarted from the confrontation earlier.

“You wouldn’t,” Finlay replied. “It’s an underground river–or, that’s what’s said. There are stories about it, but they’re all from the age before Marika. I never thought it was real.”

“The Siofra is real,” Loretta said. “The old city of Nokron was built on its banks. Most of the paths there were shut when Marika came to power, but the sorcerers of Sellia in Caelid still have a way down, in the form of a deep well.” She gestured to the map on the table. “Around here.”

“You know this with certainty?” Finlay asked.

“As much certainty as one can know anything not seen with one’s own eyes,” Loretta replied. “Caria and Raya Lucaria both have made it their business to guard the remaining ways to the old cities. I have seen the well marked on maps, and I have spoken with followers of Hierodas who said they had visited it.”

Now Jishanen spoke. “I reckon that it would be a three month march, though we would follow a road, so perhaps we could move more swiftly,” she said. She then paused. “Caelid is controlled by Radahn. The road would take us past the Redmane. And there’s a sheer gorge running north south through Caelid, so there’s no way to avoid it.”

The whole council shifted uneasily.

Of all Marika’s get, only Radahn had come through the years of strife since the beginning of the Shattering with his strength and forces largely intact. And, before the Shattering, he had been the one lord most like Malenia in nature and power.

Finlay turned to Loretta. “Do you think he would interfere? You knew them, once.”

Loretta shook her head. “It is difficult to say. These times have changed them all.” She paused. “He was noble, but... he was terribly prideful. If he sees our passage as a challenge, I think he will answer.”

Loretta’s words hung heavy in the air. No one offered any reply to dislodge them.

When the silence had stretched unbearably, Malenia finally spoke. “Whether or not he may interfere, that cannot change our course,” she said. Her officers turned their attention to her; she felt the weight of their gazes. “If he attempts to interfere, we will face him just as we have faced every other challenge that has faced us on this long hunt. Godrick says that there is blood in the Siofra, and Loretta says that there is a way to the Siofra in Caelid. So we go to Caelid.”

“Lady Malenia,” O’Neil started slowly, “Will we really chase a rumor told to us by Godrick?”

“Yes,” Malenia replied. Following the whispers of rot–the softening of wood, the thinning of threads, the slow rusting of nails–Malenia went to a chair and sat heavily in it. “We have tracked them this far, but now Godrick’s rumor is all that we have left to go on. Go. Take whatever comfort you can find from this fortress. We will take a week of rest, and then march.”

Understanding that they were dismissed, Malenia’s officers filed out of the room. Jishanen, Ostia, Vietchi, Loretta, O’Neil–but not Finlay. Finlay, steadfast, remained.

When the others were well and truly gone, Malenia turned towards her knight. She lifted her hand, held it out, and Finlay moved forward and took it. “If I traveled alone, I would not wait to rest,” Malenia said.

“And you would be the worse for it,” Finlay replied wryly.

“For the going alone, or for the lack of rest?” Malenia asked.

“Both,” answered Finlay. “We’ve already covered the distance of three seasons of campaigning in a single march. A week may feel long, but it is, in truth, very short. Under less dire circumstances, it would be too short. The Cleanrots are... weary. O’Neil’s men are in some state beyond exhaustion. It’s a wonder that there have only been a handful of desertions.”

“I am worried that the trail grows cold,” said Malenia, shaking her head. “And I fear for my brother. I… I dream of him, sometimes, Finlay, and… they are dark dreams.”

Within Malenia’s chest, the needle that Miquella had given her felt heavy and cold. When pressed, he had explained what it was quite badly. It was, as best she understood it, some sort of sliver of his own essence. A connection to him.

“You will find him,” Finlay replied.

“Will I find him whole?” Malenia asked. She drew Finaly’s hand to rest against her own breast.

“I cannot say.”

Malenia grimaced. “A bit of your faith would hearten me, Finlay.”

“My faith is in you,” Finlay said. “For faith in your brother…” She hesitated. Then, “I did not ever expect to miss Iridollus. But I do.”

Iridollus, captain of Miquella’s lordsworn, had last been seen fighting to defend his lord. His body had not yet been identified among the piles of exsanguinated dead when Malenia and the rest had set out on their pursuit–a pursuit that first led them to a broken and dead waygate in the wilds of the northern mountains, and then on their long march south to find where the waygate once led.

“I suppose O’Neil will have to suffice,” said Malenia.

Finlay started, “He is…” Lacking either the words or the heart to say them, she let herself trail off.

“You and Loretta are both friends of his father,” Malenia observed.

Finlay answered with a self-conscious chuckle. “Yes,” she said. “And Niall asked us to watch over him.”

“In those words?”

“No,” replied Finlay. “His instruction was that,” and now she feigned a deep baritone badly, “O’Neil not be permitted to idiocy.” When she finished, she started to cough from the effort of using a voice not her own, but then managed to choke the coughing down.

Malenia snorted. “Niall chose able keepers. Though, I think someday we will all regret that I allowed Godrick his life.” She then sighed. “Was it right, what I did? Sparing him?”

“He is your cousin,” Finlay said. After a brief pause, she corrected herself. “Nephew, by half, I suppose–though I know not by what remove.”

“Neither do I,” Malenia admitted. “Godwyn had so many children. To think that Godrick is the last of that line… Godwyn is gone and the rest of us suffer his legacy.”

“Had you killed him, we would now be having this same conversation in reverse,” Finlay said. “I cannot say that what you did was right or wrong. I can only say that you did it and now it is done.”

Malenia frowned. Finlay spoke true, she knew. But it was difficult not to have regrets.

“Let’s go to dinner,” Finlay said. She tugged Malenia’s hand gently. “I am sure that by now Ostia has found Godrick’s wine cellar–and we’d best join the merrymaking before it’s all gone.”

Malenia allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Very well,” she said, some amusement in her tone. “Let us go and let us drink.”

[] [] []

Malenia dreamt she lay in a courtyard beneath a dark sky. The stones under her were slick with blood. She was slick with blood too. She tried to move, but the weight of the blood held her down. It felt like a knee in her gut, hands on her wrists, teeth against her neck. She tried to scream, but the blood poured into her mouth, down her throat, into her.

[] [] []

They set out from Stormveil on a cold, damp day. According to Finlay, most days in Limgrave were cold and damp. On this day, Malenia smelled coming rain. She imagined that the sky was gray and the Erdtree’s light diffuse among low clouds. Perhaps a few birds flew, going where the wind and their wills took them, dark spots crossing the heavens.

Malenia walked at the front of the column, as was proper. Finlay walked with her. Though Malenia had a sense of the road–she could feel the thick decay of living grasses on either side of her, and she could feel too beneath her feet the thinner decay of stone and dirt–she could not see the horizon. So Malenia kept a hand on Finlay’s shoulder and let Finlay lead them all.

They did not speak to one another. They had long ago run out of idle chatter to share. They simply proceeded in one another’s company.

In the evenings, Malenia’s tent was pitched for her. This, she could not do herself. Pitching even a soldier’s tent would be difficult, and her own tent was several times as large as those used by the rank and file of the company. Neither she nor Finlay had any personal need of the space, but their tent also served as meeting space when either weather or caution foreclosed speaking of strategy under open sky.

Once, she had hated how much she had to rely on her knights for simple tasks she’d formerly done herself. After so many years though, it felt natural.

Sitting by a campfire, Malenia took a bowl that Finlay offered her. With her one natural hand, she raised the bowl to her lips and sipped the soup that whoever was on cook duty had put together. Made by boiling local forage with hardtack, the soup was not the worst thing Malenia had eaten on a march. When she’d gotten as much as she could by drinking from the bowl, she balanced it on the palm of her golden hand and used her still-working fingers on her other hand to scrape up everything that was left.

“We’ll reach the outskirts of the forest of Stormhill tomorrow,” Finlay told her. “Traversing the forest may take several days. The forest has always been dark and dense, and the road has not been well maintained. Then we pass between cliffs, following an old gorge down to the Saintsbridge over the Murkwater.”

“It would be a good place for an ambush,” Jishanen said.

“The scouts report no forces in this area but bandits,” replied O’Neil. “Who would ambush us? Mere bandits will not harass a force like ours.”

Finlay shook her head. Though it had been years since Malenia had lost her eyes, she could still picture the grimace Finlay always wore when faced with a particularly dull suggestion–typically offered not by a Cleanrot but by some lordsworn of one of Malenia’s siblings. It was never an obvious grimace, for Finlay on account of her scars had to exert great effort to make any expression obvious. It was just a small pull of her lips. Nothing anyone not familiar with her would ever notice.

Veitchi saved Finlay the trouble of explaining O’Neil’s error. “Bandits are men and women with more desperation than sense,” he said, not unkindly. “And they can cause trouble even for a force like ours. But so long as we take care to guard our supplies, if the scouts have seen no force of note, then we should be able to proceed without too much trouble.”

Despite Veitchi’s patient tone, O’Neil still bristled. “If they attempt to cause trouble, they will regret it,” he muttered.

Moved, she suspected, by some sense of second-hand responsibility for O’Neil, Malenia spoke. “Our purpose is that nothing happens that we should regret,” she said. “O’Neil, if you wish, take your company and march the vanguard. And take Loretta with you as well. Under your protection, my Cleanrots and I will go with our baggage train.”

Malenia felt all of her Cleanrot officers, including Finlay, stiffen at her order. The vanguard was theirs. As well as they got along with O’Neil and Miquella’s other followers, they were ill-inclined to surrender their place. Knowing that little to no good could come of allowing a debate over the wisdom of her decision, Malenia stood, signaling an end to the conversation. Reluctant, Finlay rose as well.

Together, they departed the gathering.

Finlay waited until they had reached that privacy of Malenia’s tent to speak. “My lady, what is it that you intend?” she asked. She sounded sorely put out. “If something goes wrong, he doesn’t have the experience to command the march.”

“Despite how far we have come on this campaign, O’Neil still feels he needs to prove himself,” Malenia replied. “No words will heal that for him. And do you really want to leave him in charge of our supplies if there is a raid for them? Better he be in the vanguard where an error will do less harm to the rest of us. And Loretta will prevent him from committing too grievous a mistake.”

“He doesn’t need to prove himself,” Finlay said in response. While she spoke, she worked to peel off her plate armor, made mostly of the same unalloyed gold as Malenia’s prosthetic limbs and sword. It could, in particularly sorry times, be slept in, but not easily. For the moment, the situation did not call for such discomfort. “It’s only pride,” Finlay continued. “He’ll grow out of it.” Then, she added, “And I’m not to permit him to idiocy. This invites idiocy.”

“He has his rank through his father,” Malenia said. “Of course he needs to prove himself.” She herself wore little armor compared to her knights, only a mail coat, a cuirass, and a helm. Even with one dexterous hand only, she could remove it on her own.

“I’d have preferred his father’s company to his for this task,” Finlay remarked. Before Malenia could reply, Finlay added, “I know that you feel differently.”

Malenia sighed. “I have no interest in speaking further of O’Neil and Niall,” she said. She meandered towards the span of soft-rotting cloth laid out on the ground that served them as a bed on the march. With a smooth motion, she unlatched her golden right arm from her shoulder and set it down where it would be within reach. She then sat and removed her golden legs as well and laid them out next to the arm. Wearing her arm and legs day after day without rest, especially in the damp of Liurnia and Limgrave, chafed terribly. Months ago now, the skin of her stumps had worn raw and then worn away, and now the flesh constantly oozed pus.

Finlay crouched down next to Malenia. She set her fingertips to Malenia’s right shoulder and murmured a prayer. A gentle wash of cool relief radiated from her touch, soothing the badly abraded skin. “Once we cross the bridge, if the scouts see nothing on the plains beyond, would you consider marching for a time without the arm? I think the contact with the unalloyed gold is keeping the rot at bay, but if you do not give your skin some rest, this will get no better.”

“I will consider it,” Malenia said–a phrase she had learned from Miquella in their youth. Given their station, no one, save Marika or Radagon, had ever commanded them. Even requests had always come in a sort of indirect manner. A promise of future consideration was no promise at all, but it was done in such a way that made objection difficult.

“My lady,” Finlay said sternly. After a brief pause to clear her throat, she moved on to the remnants of Malenia’s legs. She reproached, “Do not take advantage of my poor phrasing.”

Despite the darkness of recent days, Malenia smiled slightly. Objection was difficult, but Finlay objected nevertheless. “You worry,” Malenia said.

“Of course I worry,” Finlay replied. Having done her best for Malenia’s unhealing skin, she sat back on her heels. Malenia knew her knight was frowning. She could picture the look of Finlay’s frown—the stiff, disapproving frown that she wore every time some injured Cleanrot ignored her instruction to stay off a recently mended leg—as clearly as if it had only been yesterday that she had last seen it.

Malenia held out her hand and Finlay took it. Malenia tugged her down to bed. “It is late and I am tired,” Malenia said. “Instead of speaking of wounds with no remedy, say rather–Limgrave was your home once; have you been this way before?”

With some shifting, Finlay arranged herself to curl around Malenia, getting one arm around Malenia’s side and burying her face in her lady’s shoulder. “No,” she said. “We lived in the southeast, on the far side of the Mistwood, near Fort Haight, a long way from here. I had never even seen Stormveil until I left Limgrave.”

“I am glad that you left Limgrave and found your way to my service,” Malenia murmured.

“As am I,” Finlay replied.

With Finlay holding her, Malenia drifted to sleep.

[] [] []

A whispered chant in a language Malenia did not know filled her sleep. Thorns bit into her flesh. As best she could, she tried to recede into herself, deeper into her dream, seeking some escape. There was no escape.

[] [] []

They made it a full two days traversing the forest of Stormhill until they came upon incident.

Bandits–as everyone except O’Neil had foreseen–preying on a small group of farandmen.

Marching halfway back in the column with the supply train, Malenia did not hear of it until after O’Neil put the bandits to rout and pledged protection for the travelers for so long as they journeyed along the same roads.

The former satisfied Malenia. The latter rather displeased her, though the offer having been made on her behalf by one under her banner, she could not undo it without consequence.

Finlay, to her credit, refrained from suggesting that things could have been handled better had O’Neil not been placed in command of the vanguard. Instead, she only said, “How very Miquella of him.”

Malenia did not have an opportunity to assess their new charges until that evening.

O’Neil presented the wayfarers–a woman and two men. The woman, whom her companions named Eleonora, did not speak. Finlay said that she wore the armor of a drake knight, one of the silent stalkers of dragons. The two men were also taciturn, though not to the same degree. The first, Nerijus, tended to hang back and go behind the second, Varre.

Considering the three of them, Malenia frowned. To Varre, she asked, “What is wrong with your face? Why is it rusting?”

“My lady,” Finlay murmured quietly at Malenia’s side. She felt tense. Suspicious. “He wears a mask. His entire face is hidden. Nerijus wears a mask as well.”

Varre bowed. “We are not all as comfortable in our skin as your knight, Lady Malenia.” His accent was difficult for Malenia to place. There was a subtle condescension in it that reminded her of the petty nobles of Leyndell, but his cadence was not quite that of one hailing from the city.

“Where are you destined?” Malenia asked. She was not entirely satisfied by Varre’s explanation for his mask, but she perceived no reason to press him on it. Outside the ranks of her knights, many who carried the rot eventually turned to hiding their disfigurements. Even among her knights—though Malenia rarely perceived evidence of it now, when she had still possessed sight she had sometimes noticed Finlay avoiding mirrors and pools of still water. Varre was not afflicted, but the rot was not the only thing that could make passerby turn away.

“We are pilgrims,” Varre said smoothly. “There is a place in southern Caelid that is sacred to our friend Eleonora’s order. We are going there.”

“You seem to be the sorts who don’t require any help on the road,” Veitchi said mildly. “I think you could have handled those bandits by yourselves.”

Varre shrugged. “Why take chances?”

Malenia inclined her head slightly towards O’Neil. “As my lieutenant has told you, we are also traveling east. He offered you a place alongside us while our paths align. So long as this costs us nothing, I will not gainsay him. But stay out of the way.”

“Thank you, Lady Malenia,” Varre said. “Your generosity is great.”

“My patience is not,” Malenia replied. “Do not test it.”

[] [] []

Over the next month, the travelers kept to themselves and the company progressed ever onward. Once they cleared the forest of Stormhill, Malenia and her Cleanrots retook their position at the front of the column. Shortly thereafter, they came upon a small fort manned by Godrick’s men, who all surrendered at the sight of their approach. They helped themselves to what supplies they could find, then proceeded on their way.

Beyond the fort lay the gorge that Malenia’s officers had previously spoken of.

It seemed to Malenia that cliffs sometimes decayed in a strange manner. Boulders in a field suffered to be worn by wind and rain, and ice would widen cracks, and lichens grew on them, and animals at times ground them under hoof, eroding them to smaller stones, then pebbles, then nothing. Boulders went to dust, but only slowly. Cliffs endured all that boulders did. On occasion though, rather than quietly endure until they faded, they would simply shudder and collapse. They were like mountains in that regard.

But the cliffs on either side of the company had long ago aged to quiescence. While it took a week of marching to navigate the twists and turns of the road, they reached the bridge over the Murkwater without any trouble.

Like so many roads in Marika’s lands, especially those distant from Leyndell, the bridge over the Murkwater had long ago fallen to disrepair. Still though—

“There are whole chunks missing,” Ostia said, in obvious awe. Her speech had a clumsy quality to it–she had lost a good deal of her face to the rot. Though a skin of unalloyed gold held her jaw in place, her articulation lacked finesse. “But it’s still standing,” she continued. “And you could still get a couple carts side by side across with no problems, even with the chunks missing.”

Loretta approached. “Do you see the statues lining the bridge, robed and holding swords? The bridge was built with sorcery in the early days of the old cities,” she said. “All the great highways come from that time before Marika. Unless someone does intentional violence to it, it will continue to stand long after all of us, save maybe the Lady Malenia, are dust.”

“How far to the other side?” Malenia asked. As she spoke, she turned her face towards the warmth of the sun. She could feel it, but only weakly. She thought then that there was not much daylight left. Ahead and far below she heard the fast rushing of a great river.

Ostia made a thoughtful noise. “It looked small on the map, but I can’t see to the other side.”

“Bridges always look small on maps,” Jishanen replied.

“I’ve spoken with the scouts,” Finlay started. “Though it’s almost dark, we can make the far side before night falls. There’s open ground there–easier to make camp than in this gorge.”

“Oh, I don’t think you want to do that.”

Everyone save Malenia startled. Though Varre had come up whisper-quiet, she had felt his rusting face approach. She had not, however, expected him to intrude.

Finlay turned to Varre. Scowl evident in her tone, she asked, “What do you know that we do not?”

“There’s a charnel on the far side,” Varre answered. “But perhaps bedding down for the night near those who live in death does not concern you, great warriors that you are.”

The mood among Malenia’s officers at once chilled.

In the days before he had retreated to slumber, Miquella had explained the unnatural risings to Malenia as a consequence of granting Godwyn burial within the roots of the Erdtree. Miquella had said that Godwyn’s body, having been touched not merely by death but by destined death, did not accord with Marika’s designs for her lands and now poisoned her order.

Malenia had asked her brother if Marika had known.

She asked, despite how many times she herself had told Miquella not harass others with questions for which he already had an answer.

“If what you say is true, then… But I do not think our scouts would have missed such a thing,” Finlay said warily. She made a rough noise deep in her throat, then coughed, then spat a wad of rot to the ground not far from Varre’s foot.

“If it weren’t true, I wouldn’t bother saying it,” Varre replied in his softly condescending way. He gestured across the river. “Most of the graves are unmarked. Your scouts wouldn’t have noticed from a distance.”

Finlay bristled at Varre’s tone. “And how do you know what lies across the river?”

“Because I’ve been this way before,” replied Varre, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Itinerants passing through usually go mounted or not at all. Now–I’ve offered you some advice based on my journeying. It’s up to you if you take it.”

Diplomatically, Veitchi stepped forward, placing himself somewhat between the two of them, and offered, “It’s late, and the bridge isn’t so large that waiting to cross in the morning will matter much. As it is, we’d probably be pitching tents in the dark if we press on now.”

“Fine,” Finlay said. She waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll camp here then.”

“As well you should,” Varre interjected.

“Thank you for your service, traveler,” said Malenia. “That will be all.”

Varre bowed, then, without another word, slunk away.

When it seemed that he had gone past earshot, Ostia muttered, “That jerk gives me the creeps. And if he was planning on coming this way regardless, where’s his horse?”

[] [] []

The next day, they proceeded cautiously.

Halfway across the bridge, Malenia began to feel the graveyard from a distance. To her senses, so many moldering bodies shone like a light in her darkness. She felt, too, movement. With a flick of her golden wrist, she snapped her long, curved blade into place.

At Malenia’s side, Finlay tensed. “So there is a charnel,” she said.

“It is large,” Malenia said. “Very, very large. I do not think we can avoid it.”

“Then we will fight our way through,” Finlay said grimly. At once she turned to Veitchi and the two began to discuss how it should be done. They spoke rapidly, often not fully finishing their thoughts, and making many gestures.

At the place where the bridge touched land on the far side of the Murkwater, Finlay drew up the Cleanrots to march ready for an attack. Veterans that they were, they obeyed the command in good order. It was slightly slower going now, as the knights advanced facing somewhat outward rather than forward, but that was the price of security.

When they reached the first grave, Malenia knew it.

An old, unmarked grave, she thought, as the detritus above it lay flat and she did not feel any slow-decaying stone. And there were many more unmarked graves after it–as Varre had said. Malenia felt bodies and bodies and bodies crammed up against other bodies in such a jumble that she judged this was less a graveyard and more a bonepit–the memory of a hole in the ground where so many dead from some great battle or other calamity had been dumped unceremoniously.

As the column marched on, Malenia perceived shambling corpses at a distance, keeping pace with them and, slowly, gathering fellows. But not until they reached a small cluster of what were surely true tomb markers did the ones who lived in death make themselves known to the rest of the company.

From several ranks behind Malenia, a man shouted in surprise. “It’s got my leg!”

Malenia whirled, casting her senses out, and at once she understood–a desiccated hand had thrust up from beneath the ground and seized one of her knights. He quickly kicked free of it, then stomped it down, breaking it easily.

“On guard!” Veitchi shouted.

“If they crawl up from beneath us, we will need to move more swiftly,” Finlay said tightly. “You said the yard is large? How large?”

Malenia grimaced. “This whole plain,” she replied. “It’s–”

The ground stirred beneath her feet and a rusty blade pierced up, narrowly missing Finlay’s knee.

Finlay swore.

Moving gracefully, Veitchi stepped forward and slammed the butt of his spear into the brittle skull that had followed the sword up into the open air. At once, skeletal fingers went limp and the sword fell to the ground.

“We need to keep moving,” Veitchi said, speaking quickly, tone clipped.

In the brief moment that dealing with the one corpse had taken, more and more bodies had started to crawl from under the earth now, and, finally, the corpses that had kept pace with the company closed in.

Finlay unsheathed her sword. Then, bellowing to be heard by every Cleanrot and by O’Neil and some of his as well, “Forward! Keep forward!” As the last word left her, so too did thick, rotten spittle. A deep, heaving cough took her, doubling her over as more decay forced itself out of her lungs.

In that moment, a corpse staggered at her, graceless, rusted axe swinging at her neck.

Malenia shouted.

Finlay immediately shoved herself to one side. The axe clipped her shoulder. Her armor held, but, off balance as she was, the force of the blow sent her to the ground.

Stepping forward, Malenia swept her sword out. With that single blow she parted the corpse’s shriveled head from its skeletal body. As Finlay regained her feet, Malenia stayed close, disposing of several more dead who tried to seize advantage during the brief opening. Only when she judged her knight suitably recovered did she fully shift her focus to destroying the things attacking her march.

As Finlay had said, the column could not stop moving. It needed to continue the advance, to clear the graveyard. At the head of the column, Malenia therefore set herself to cutting a path for others to follow. The ones who lived in death were slow and fragile. It took only a little of her power to traverse the field so quickly that, compared to her, they seemed to stand entirely still. She cleaved through a spine, and it offered so little resistance she would have thought she cut air were it not for the way the moldering bones collapsed as she moved on to the next corpse.

Inexorable, she strode forward and bodies fell around her.

But she was gradually moving farther and farther ahead of Finlay and the rest of the company. And for every one of the dead that she cut down, two or three more shambled forward to take its place. She knew, too, if they lingered long on the battlefield, the fallen would piece themselves back together and rise again. Thus, they had to keep moving.

Before long, Malenia had pulled so far forward that she had to turn and scythe her way back. When she reached the column again, grim, she lopped off the sword-arm of a corpse about to hack at Ostia. Then she slammed her fist–her flesh and blood hand–into the skeleton’s sternum, pulverizing it. The thing collapsed.

Ostia didn’t pause to acknowledge Malenia. Instead, she threw herself at another enemy. Malenia did the same.

If they did not fight their way free of the morass of death, attrition would set in and eventually overwhelm them. The corpses would get up again and again and again. Malenia’s Cleanrots would not.

Unlike living foes, they went to their second deaths silently. No screams. No howls. No whimpers. But there was screaming from farther back in the column now, living men and women, dragged down by desiccated carcasses.

“Finlay!” Malenia shouted. “Faster!”

As Malenia continued to fell body after body after body, Finlay relayed the command, calling out a cadence and ordering Veitchi with a squad back to assist O’Neil and the supply train, who would not well be able to accelerate. This left the head of the column precariously slender and resting greatly on Malenia’s singular ability to clear the road as she again pressed forward. Behind her, the Cleanrots broke into a trot, using armored momentum as much as swordwork to follow her advance. Heavy plate crashed into brittle bone and booted feet ground osseous splinters to dust.

The Cleanrots could only maintain the pace for so long–but they would keep it for as long as required.

Within her darkness and without opportunity to check the feel of the sun, Malenia had no sense of time passing. When the crush of the dead began to at last lighten, she thought it had been perhaps half an hour, but it could have been much less or much more. However much time had gone, her knights were plainly exhausted as they wheeled about to give cover to the rest of the march still trudging forward to relative safety. They moved almost as slowly as the corpses they fought.

While her officers shouted hoarse words of encouragement, Malenia herself said nothing. Even when she still had her sight, she had not overly excelled at moving troops about in large battles. The greatest benefit she could give to her knights had always been the speed and strength of her blade. Now, as the column retreated, Malenia remained to prevent any dead from following. Not until she heard Finlay calling for her did she recede back with the rest.

Utterly exhausted, they went on, gaining as much distance as they could from the charnel, before the sky darkened and they all collapsed into a shoddily pitched camp. Such weariness weighed them that no one lingered at the campfires for idle chatter. Finlay and the others with talent tended to the injuries of the company. When Finlay came to Malenia’s tent, she didn’t even remove her armor before collapsing into a deep sleep. Malenia joined her soon after.

[] [] []

“I do not like this arboreal notion of yours,” Malenia had said, though she knew even then the futility of her words. She would not dissuade him. “You are flesh and you are blood. You are not… soil.”

“Am I not?” Miquella had replied to her, in that maddeningly coy way of his.

To that, Malenia had scowled. “In doing this, you will leave me.”

“Only for a time,” Miquella had said. “I will return, when I have completed my purpose—I promise. And in my absence, you will hardly be alone. You have all your knights. You have Finlay. You will not notice that I have gone.”

“But I will,” Malenia had said.

And she did.

[] [] []

The next day, rather than continue the march, they rested. They needed time to collect themselves and tally their casualties–for there had been casualties. Not many. But enough to be missed. Since setting out from Elphael, about a quarter of the force had fallen. Every successive loss stung.

And—

Although little was ever said of it, sometimes there were not quite as many in the morning march as there had been the night before. During the trek across Limgrave, at least a few men and women had slipped away to follow their own paths. It was their right, though Malenia wished sorely that they would not exercise it.

The stragglers who replaced them hardly made up for the loss.

Despite his prior assistance, Varre remained strange to Malenia and her Cleanrots. O’Neil, however, took the previous day’s events as proof of his foresight in inviting the travelers to journey with the company. At O’Neil’s invitation, Varre joined the morning’s council–to Finlay’s clear annoyance. But Malenia did not send him away. He had, after all, proven useful.

“You shouldn’t expect any help from the folk of Summonwater,” Varre advised. “Of late, they’ve taken to disliking outsiders.”

“An ill-attitude for the only major town on the main road between Caelid and the Murkwater to take,” Loretta remarked. Ever the courtier, she stood tall with her hands clasped behind her back. “I have never heard anyone malign them before.”

“Nor have I,” Finlay added. Unlike Loretta, she had her arms crossed over her chest. Varre brought out the belligerent in her.

Varre shrugged. “Much has changed since the Shattering.”

“They don’t have to help us, as long as they don’t get in our way,” Finlay said.

“But it would be nice if they helped us,” said Ostia.

“The road goes straight through Summonwater,” said Jishanen. “There’s no way to avoid it.”

“Maybe if we explain ourselves?” O’Neil suggested. To Varre, he asked, “Why is it that they have become unfriendly?”

“With Godrick to their west, Radahn to their east, and a graveyard adjacent, why wouldn’t they become unfriendly?” Varre replied.

“A fair point,” said Loretta. “Tell us, traveler, what do you know of Radahn?”

“Less than you, I suspect,” Varre answered. “Only rumors.”

“And what do the rumors say?” Loretta prompted.

“That he has grown great, and so have his appetites for conquest,” said Varre. “Caelid was first, and Limgrave will be next.”

“With Godrick on the throne of Stormveil, there’s no doubt of that,” Veitchi said. “But if Radahn has designs on Limgrave, with luck he will be disinclined to waste strength on us.”

“If he did exert himself against you, could you withstand him?” Varre asked.

Before anyone could answer, Finlay cut in. “Such matters do not concern you,” she said sharply. “Our ways will part long before the road reaches the fortress of Redmane.”

Varre receded. “I mean no offense, good knight,” he said.

“Take better care then,” Finlay replied.

For a moment, Malenia felt many eyes on her. But she would not undermine Finlay, especially not for a stranger, even a useful one. Nor was there any profit in putting a finer point on the matter. “Finlay, is there anything else for us to discuss before we resume our march tomorrow?” she asked.

“No, my lady,” Finlay answered. “Our plans remain unchanged.”

“Then this council is concluded,” Malenia said.

All her officers bowed their heads, as did Varre, although a beat slower than the others. “Yes, my lady,” they murmured.

Saying nothing more, Malenia turned. As she turned, Finlay quickly stepped forward to join her. Malenia settled her flesh and blood hand on Finlay’s shoulder. Together, they left the gathering. Malenia waited for Finlay to lead them past the edge of the camp, a more than reasonable distance from any other members of the company, before speaking. “You do not trust Varre,” Malenia said quietly.

“I do not,” Finlay said. She brought them to a halt in shade beneath a thin, wind-wracked tree. “He, Nerijus, and Eleonora are no common travelers. And the mask–it does not inspire confidence.”

“You are having them watched,” Malenia said. No one had made any such report to her, but she knew Finlay well. And if Finlay had not given the order, Jishanen would have.

“They have done nothing suspicious,” said Finlay. “They do not speak to one another, and they do so little of note that their inaction is itself strange. Varre has only been helpful.”

Malenia squeezed Finlay’s shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. “If it would set your mind at ease, I will send them away. I trust your instincts.”

Finlay shook her head. “There is no cause,” she said, reluctance and frustration coloring her tone. “My unfounded qualms are no reason to sully your dignity. I have them under watch. They pose little threat.”

“Then let us worry about other things,” Malenia said. She withdrew her hand and clasped both her hands–the one of flesh and the one of gold–behind her back. It was a gesture she had been unable to perform for so many years, and she found it oddly satisfying. “Radahn.”

“It is as you said before,” said Finlay. She shifted to lean against the thin tree they stood under. “If he moves against us and our only course is through him, then we will go through him. But we would lose many men and women, and much time. Sieging Stormveil took a month–and Stormveil was only held by Godrick.”

“We had to siege Stormveil because it was in our way. And it took so long not because of who held it, but because its walls were raised well in Godfrey’s day. Marching to Sellia, there is no reason that we would divert to assault Redmane,” Malenia pointed out. “If we come to blows, it will be on the open road.”

“In earlier days, I would think we would defeat him, though I am not so prideful as to think we would do it easily,” said Finlay. “But now we are far from home, and…” She hesitated, then did not renew her thought.

“And I and you and all the others are more laced with rot than we ever were before,” Malenia finished. She turned her sightless eyes towards the tree. There was a patch of decay now softening its bark where Finlay leaned against it. Her tone softened. “Are you well?”

Finlay straightened at once. Now stiff, she spoke quite sharply. “I am as well as is reasonable.”

Malenia shook her head. She was the twin of Miquella. She knew an evasive answer when she heard one. Perhaps unwisely, she said, “When we were crossing the boneyard, you faltered.”

“It will not happen again,” Finlay snapped.

For a moment Malenia thought to respond. Guilt stayed her tongue.

Finlay turned slightly away from Malenia. Quietly, “My apologies, my lady. I… We have come a long way. I am tired.”

Malenia nodded, and, again, said nothing.

[] [] []

In the morning, they all continued their slow journey onward.

Unlike previous days, the silence between Malenia and Finlay sat uneasy. Beneath Malenia’s one living hand, Finlay felt tense, like she was expecting a sudden skirmish. But there were no reports suggesting any danger and they traveled open land now, where there were no holes in which an enemy could hide. A foe could not approach undetected.

Malenia waited until the afternoon march, until she had assured herself of her course, to speak. She kept her voice low, so that it would not carry. “I did not mean to question you. My words were careless. Please forgive me.”

Finlay spoke without turning towards Malenia. She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead and the horizon beyond as she led them. “I did falter,” she said, voice tight. “You merely spoke truth.”

“I have asked too much of all of you,” replied Malenia. “I know that. And I am sorry for it.”

“Nothing you ask can be too much. It is my duty and my honor to do as you require. If I cannot, the fault lies with me.”

“You are very stubborn, Sir Finlay,” Malenia said, shaking her head, with a tone not devoid of humor.

Finlay at last looked to Malenia. She chuckled. Malenia imagined she smiled too. “Would you have me otherwise?”

Despite the solemnity of all her cares, Malenia smirked. “There is no way I would not have you.”

A pebble hit the side of Malenia’s head. From several paces back, Ostia harrumphed, “Keep it decent or get a tent!” Next to Ostia, Jishanen snorted but didn’t say anything.

“I believe Ostia just volunteered to dig latrines this evening,” Malenia remarked.

“Yes, but not until she pitches a tent for us,” Finlay added. “At least, that’s what I heard her say.”

Idle threats.

Ostia would not, of course, be set to pitching tents or assigned to the latrines, even for a night. There were too few able to keep order and morale in the company during the idle hours when minds wandered. She could not be spared for work just as well done by one of the unskilled recruits who joined the company as it left Elphael, spurred by notions of crusade.

If Malenia were accompanied only by Cleanrots, things would be different. But not enough Cleanrots remained to her. Most of her force consisted of her brother’s followers. How the world had changed–that she now borrowed an army from him, rather than he from her.

“My lady, you have gone somewhere far,” Finlay said. “What troubles you?”

“That idiot should not have shut himself inside a tree,” Malenia replied.

“It is simple to say that now,” said Finlay. “But there is no way to know what would have passed had he not. And I trust that he had his reasons, obscure to the rest of us though they may have been.”

Malenia sighed. “Nevertheless, I can fault him for it. And I do. He should not have shut himself inside a tree.”

Finlay shook her head. “No,” she said, “He should not have.”

[] [] []

Malenia lay alone in darkness, the stench of stagnant blood filling her nostrils.

She was cold.

Very cold.

Where was her twin?

Notes:

How 'bout that Shadows of the Erdtree trailer?! Confession: I have not been following Elden Ring news, so when I saw the trailer, I thought Mesmer was Miquella and was like O_O

That said, even knowing that Mesmer is Mesmer, that trailer gave me this weird premonition that maybe the Mohg/Miquella contingent is going to have the last laugh...

Anywho, here's part one of the fourth chapter of this fic. This chapter ended up being about 30k words, so I've broken it into three parts this time. Due to IRL demands on my time and attention, I will probably space out posting by two or three weeks this time around rather than every week. Thanks for reading all this and still being here!

Chapter 7: Caelid - Part Two

When they reached Summonwater, they pitched camp on the outskirts of the town. Even if the residents had been hospitable, there was not enough room for the company within the bounds of the settlement. And, as Varre had predicted, the residents were not hospitable.

Following old customs, Malenia and a few of her officers–Finlay, Loretta, O’Neil, Ostia–set out apart from the rest of the march towards the town. Following the same old customs, the town’s headwoman, accompanied by a shoddily armed escort, met them on the road.

The headwoman was old. Her bones were old. Porous. Fragile. But she was more than just her bones. “We don’t want you here, daughter of Marika,” she said. She had unrusted steel in her core, though she leaned heavily on a cane. “We have enough trouble as it is. Pass by quickly.”

Still following the old customs, Malenia said nothing.

“We have no interest in your town,” Finlay said. Carrying her helm tucked under her arm, she stepped forward, taking up a position in front of Malenia. Finlay was her sword, and also, for the purposes of this meeting, her voice. “But tell us, elder, are you bringing up blood from your wells?”

The woman made a gesture with one hand, a folk-sign to ward off curses. “Dark times,” she muttered. “These are dark times. And you have dark curiosities. So what if we bring up blood from our wells? At least we don’t bring up rot.”

Answer enough.

“Where is your inn?” Finlay asked. “By law we have a right to hospitality there.”

“The law is gone to shit,” the old woman said, without even a shred of deference or respect. She then turned her back on Malenia and the others. Her escort milled about around her aimlessly. “Fifth wreck on the left,” she said, already beginning to walk away. “Can’t miss it. Unless you’re blind.”

Finlay twitched and exhaled sharply. She’d have made a poor noble, Malenia mused. Too quick to show when she felt unkindly.

Once the headwoman and her fellows had gone reasonably far, O’Neil asked, “Is it even worth going to the inn?”

“We won’t know until we’re there,” Ostia replied, mood bright despite the grey weather and chilly welcome. “And I for one am tired of damp hardtack suppers.”

In response, O’Neil snorted. “Everything will be damp until we get out of this blasted backwater,” he said. “No offense, Finlay—but this moorland is wretched. Almost as nasty as that Liurnian bog.”

Finlay shook her head. “None taken,” she said ruefully. She coughed, spat out a wad of rotting mucus, then added, “Limgrave isn’t for everyone.”

Together, Malenia and her officers continued down the road towards the town.

In many ways, Summonwater was no different from any other village that Malenia had visited in her years serving Marika’s order. In those earlier days, even traveling under the banner of Leyndell, she and her Cleanrots had been treated as pariahs. So too here. The townfolk watched them from a distance.

Things had been better in Elphael. While some would still flinch or turn away, they understood that the city belonged to Malenia and her knights as much as it belonged to anyone else–more, even, for the blood that had been spilled in its winning. Finlay said to Malenia once that Elphael was the home that the Cleanrots had never before had. But they were a long way from Elphael.

When they reached the inn, Ostia entered first. Only when she indicated that the room was safe did the others follow her.

The inn smelled of stale alcohol, old smoke, and the softening rot that often afflicted dead wood left in wet places. Malenia felt four presences in the room with them. One, presumably the innkeeper, sat at a bar by several large kegs. The other three, all armed with steel, sat together at a table in a corner near the back of the room.

“My lady,” Finlay murmured quietly–though, with the room so empty she could hardly avoid being heard by all. “It is dark, but I think that two of them in the corner are wearing Radahn’s heraldry.”

“And the third?” Malenia asked, not bothering to keep her voice low. There was no point.

“I have no idea what he’s wearing,” Finlay replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s… very colorful. Like a court jester.”

Loretta stepped forward, towards the three seated at the table. “Jerren?” She sounded surprised.

One of the three, presumably Jerren, sat up in his seat. He sounded equally surprised. “Loretta? By Rennala’s pointy cap, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!” He had a loud, gruff voice, the sort that inspired trust whether trust was warranted or not. No doubt he had a steady gaze and a firm handshake, and had to be watched hawkishly during games of cards or dice.

“Sir Loretta,” Finlay said warily. Rather than move to join Loretta, she remained by Malenia’s side. Guarded, she asked, “Would you make an introduction?”

Loretta nodded. “Of course,” she said. She gestured to Jerren. “This is Sir Jerren, a knight nomadic who stayed for a time in Carian court.” She then gestured towards Finlay, Ostia, and Malenia. “Jerren, I think you will recognize the lady Malenia, daughter of Marika. And with her are Sir Finlay and Sir Ostia, two knights in her service.” Loretta finally tilted her head towards O’Neil. “And this is O’Neil, son of Niall, who was once the commander of Godwyn’s lordsworn.”

“And these other two?” Finlay prompted.

Jerren stood. He indicated the other two still seated at the table, both of whom watched the entire exchange intently, their hands near their swords but not on them. “Sinhale and Melanoch,” he said. “Sworn to General Radahn and, for the moment, my companions.” Then, with his hands clasped behind his back, he approached and gave Malenia a bow, though not a low or long one. “I thought that the lady and lord dwelt far in the north now.”

“And are you now sworn to General Radahn as well?” Loretta asked. “I did not think you one to settle down and take a master.”

“Are you sworn to the Lady Malenia?” asked Jerren in reply, with a light and vaguely disinterested air that suggested he was speaking merely of the weather.

“She asked first,” O’Neil pointed out. Standing by his side, Ostia nodded in agreement.

Jerren snorted. “She did,” he agreed. Then he continued, “I’m no more sworn to anyone than I’ve ever been. But, to answer the inquiry you meant to make, in a fashion, yes. I’ve decided to wield my sword for General Radahn for as long as he needs it.”

“What business does General Radahn have in Summonwater?” Finlay asked.

“I think I’m still owed an answer to my question,” Jerren replied. He held out his empty hands, palms upturned. “It’s only fair.”

“I am pledged to Lord Miquella,” Loretta said. “I am here on his behalf.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to leave the libraries of Raya Lucaria, even with all that’s happened,” Jerren remarked.

“What business brings you to Summonwater, Sir Jerren?” Finlay repeated, metaphorically shouldering her way into the conversation without any regard for subtlety.

“I’m here to figure out what business you have in Summonwater,” Jerren said, demeanor suddenly sharpening. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, adopting a nonthreatening but solid posture. “It is not every day that one of the last surviving demigods marches an army to the border of Caelid and appears poised to cross it.”

“We are hunting an omen that calls itself a master of blood,” Finlay said. “Have you heard of such a beast?”

Jerren stiffened and did not answer immediately–a sign, Malenia judged, that he had indeed heard of their quarry. Also, at the edge of Malenia’s awareness, she felt the two Redmanes at the table stir. Instinctively, her golden hand drifted towards where her blade was sheathed at her side. Finlay and Ostia likewise shifted their weight, not quite reaching for their weapons, but readying themselves to draw at a moment’s notice.

“Your new friends are quick to violence,” Jerren said to Loretta. “Is that why they are so interested in blood?”

Malenia slowly drew her hand away from her blade, in a manner too deliberate for Jerren and his companions not to notice. “I have no interest in seizing Caelid,” Malenia said. “And I have no quarrel with Radahn–unless he moves against me. Will he move against me?”

Relaxing slightly now that Malenia had withdrawn her hand from her sword, Jerren sighed and shrugged. “Not if you remain in Limgrave,” he said.

“We will not remain in Limgrave,” Malenia said. “Unless you swear on your honor to us that our prey does not dwell in Caelid.”

This drew a grim chuckle from Jerren. “Ah,” he said, shaking his head. “Honor. What a strange concept of late. Alas, on my honor, I can’t swear such a thing. The omen you’re hunting is likely in Caelid–or under Caelid. I hear it goes by Mohg. General Radahn has no love for it, but, regardless, I doubt that he will allow you to pass unchallenged. It would wound his pride, and there are other plans afoot, you see.”

“What plans?” Finlay demanded.

“Sidereal matters,” Jerren replied. “Matters which will be disturbed by an army traipsing about Caelid unchecked, and which are weighty enough to come to mighty blows over. Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to say,” Jerren replied. He then added, “And that won’t change, even if you press me.”

Finlay seemed poised to try pressing him regardless, but Loretta spoke first. “Would you go back to him and seek passage on our behalf?” Loretta asked.

Jerren shook his head. “He hasn’t been in a well-willing mood of late.” He glanced back at his companions and paused for a moment. Then he shrugged, turned back to Loretta, and continued, “He’s not as he was before they burned the tree.”

“Your words do not readily convey your meaning, my friend,” Loretta replied slowly.

Jerren shrugged again. “I think your lady perhaps could explain better than I. For now, I will say only this—I will make an attempt to speak with our lord, for old time’s sake, but I think it would be better for us all if you found a different path to follow. He turned towards his two companions and gestured for them to stand and join him. “I think our business here is over,” he said. He bowed, this time a full bow. He straightened again. “Delightful as you are, I hope I will not see any of you again.”

“Even me?” Loretta asked, some warmth in her voice.

Jerren dipped his head slightly. “You’re always an exception, Sir Loretta.”

Loretta nodded to him. “Well met, Sir Jerren.”

“Well met,” Jerren echoed. Then, saying nothing more, he and the two Redmanes left the inn.

[] [] []

They returned to the camp in a somber mood, even despite the three large kegs of beer that they’d acquired from the inn. Malenia and Loretta, the only two not carrying their spoils, walked together at the head of the group.

“Before you inquire, I do not know what he meant,” Malenia said. Though they were not close, she had enough experience with Loretta know she always brimmed with questions.

“But could you explain it?” Loretta asked. Like a Carian, like Miquella, she found openings between words and wedged them open artfully.

Could she explain it? Carefully, Malenia hazarded, “Am I as I was before they burned the tree?”

“I hardly knew you before,” Loretta said. “Are you?”

“Then I do not think I can explain,” Malenia said.

“Jerren is shrewd,” Loretta replied. “He did mean something, and I think that, whatever he meant, it has some weight.”

“You think him trustworthy?” Malenia asked.

“Yes,” Loretta replied. “He is too strange to be a liar. Moreover, deception is not Radahn’s way, and Jerren and Radahn are… close.”

Malenia’s brow furrowed as her mind stuttered. “You mean…?”

Loretta chuckled. “Like you and Finlay? No, not quite.”

Suddenly feeling quite foolish, Malenia quickly returned the conversation to its proper course. “Do you think it likely that he will prevail upon Radahn?”

“On account of their closeness?” Loretta asked, sounding entirely too amused. Then, with more gravity, “It is possible, but any prediction would be mere speculation.”

“Am I to understand that you know nothing of the plans that Jerren alluded to?”

“Nothing at all,” Loretta replied. “Radahn... He was never much of a planner. Though I need not tell you this. You are his sister.”

Malenia shook her head. “Not in full. And we were raised in different courts.” When Marika begat Malenia and Miquella, Radahn, youngest of the Carians, had already long since made his way to Caelid for an education in the wilds. For years, Malenia had known Radahn only by reputation. By the time they met, they were too bound to their respective paths to ever be close.

“I think you and he would have gotten along well, had circumstances been otherwise,” said Loretta. “Despite his birth and upbringing, he was not particularly Carian.”

“Unlike yourself?” Malenia prompted.

“Aye,” Loretta answered. “Jerren was not far off the mark—I very nearly did not leave the Raya Lucarian libraries even when Rennala withdrew.”

“I have never heard the full account of what compelled you to seek us out in the north,” said Malenia.

“Hope for a better order,” Loretta said. “Miquella’s promise was a promise of change.”

“Though he himself could never change,” Malenia remarked.

“Undisturbed, he may have achieved it,” said Loretta. A touch of awe infusing her words now, she continued, “I studied his calculations. They were remarkable.”

By no fault of Loretta’s, Malenia tensed. “He did not account for my failure,” she spat.

“He accounted for many things,” Loretta said. “Perhaps he did.”

Malenia shook her head. “No,” she said sharply. “He would not so betray me.”

To this, Loretta had the sense not to reply.

[] [] []

The march from Summonwater to the border between Limgrave and Caelid took them nearly another week. Though they went uphill the whole way, it was not otherwise a difficult march. The road had been kept reasonably well and as they ascended the weather became drier—a welcome change for the company after having trudged first through the Liurnian swamps and then the constant mist and damp of Limgrave.

Caelid being a wilderness by any standard, the only thing that marked the border was a small church, long ago abandoned. Malenia felt it as a slow tumbling of mossy stones. Oddly, she could not sense even the echo of any weather-worn statue of Marika within, arms outstretched, ring of runes at her back. Where the icon would typically be, she felt only emptiness.

“It is strange to see a church in such waste,” Finlay commented as they passed. “When a storm came and tore homes apart, Marika’s house was always the first to be restored.”

“Your village cared that much for her?” Malenia asked.

“I do not think that it was a matter of affection,” Finlay replied. She paused to clear her throat, making a noise akin to something between choking and grunting. Then, continuing, “It was simply the way of things.”

“Do you even know when the last time she set foot in Limgrave was?” Malenia asked. “By my reckoning, it was when she divested Godfrey and his warriors of grace.”

“Before my time, my lady,” Finlay said. “And before yours as well, I think.”

“Indeed,” said Malenia. “But not so long before that either of us have escaped the consequences.”

“You would not have been born had Marika not sent Godfrey away,” Finlay remarked.

“I would not have been born as I was,” Malenia corrected.

“My lady, I have heard it once asked and I have once wondered, why is it that you are not named for your father?”

Caught off-guard Malenia had no ready response. She had heard the question before, of course, but never posed by one to whom she felt obliged to answer, and to answer truthfully.

When Malenia took too long in replying, Finlay hesitated. “I am sorry if my question was impertinent,” she said. “Please think nothing of it. It is withdrawn.”

Malenia shook her head. “Not impertinent,” she said. “Only… complicated. I will tell you—but not here. Not today.”

“Is there anything about your family that is not complicated?” Finlay asked.

“Godwyn was not terribly complicated,” Malenia replied, tone dry. “He liked wine, women, and swords.”

“You’re describing Godwyn?” Finlay asked mildly.

Malenia snorted. “That was an impertinent question, Sir Finlay,” she said.

“I hazard that whatever Godwyn did to maintain his hair was quite complicated,” said Finlay, ignoring the rebuke. “It flowed as well as Miquella’s. Better, even—though I’d never say that to Miquella’s face.”

At the mention of Miquella, the mood between them turned somber again. Briefly, Malenia thought of the thin needle of unalloyed gold nestled within her, the one piece of her twin that she carried, and that she carried close to her heart.

“I think that we are growing close now,” Finlay said. “Radahn will not stop us. And… We have seen no Redmanes on this road except for the two in Summonwater. Perhaps this bodes well.”

“But it is a distance yet to Sellia,” replied Malenia. “Much can change between here and there.”

[] [] []

She tried to move, but her body would not obey.

The blood in her veins was not hers.

She felt it inside her, an unwelcome thing, taking her for itself.

Her own blood?

She had nothing of her own.

She was not her own.

[] [] []

Malenia woke gasping, skin clammy with cold sweat.

And she woke alone. There was an indentation in the bedding beside her, but it was cool. Finlay had been gone for some time. Shaking her head to clear it of the remnants of her dream, Malenia frowned. The world seemed quiet, and so she judged it still night. Finlay did not often stray in the night.

Had some matter arisen that Finlay sought to attend to alone without rousing Malenia?

With a tired grunt, Malenia took her legs and fastened them into place, then did the same for her golden arm. The limbs chafed the raw skin of her stumps, painfully, but she shoved the sensation to the edge of her awareness. She was accustomed to it. Moving somewhat stiffly, she stood and trudged to the entrance of her tent. She doubted she would be able to return to sleep. Not without Finlay.

The camp at peace lay unstirring. In silence, Malenia passed by tent after tent, occupants all seizing upon whatever rest they could manage in the brief darkness between days.

She found her knight slumped on her knees somewhat beyond the border of the camp. Before her, a large puddle of wet decay seeped into the ground, poisoning the grass and the earth beneath it. Finlay had always coughed. The rot had found its way to her lungs years ago. Sometimes her cough was better, sometimes it was worse. This was different.

“Finlay?”

To Malenia’s own ears, her voice sounded small.

Finlay wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then looked towards Malenia. She did not rise. Resignation made weighted her words and made them slow. “My lady.”

Still standing a few paces away, Malenia turned her unseeing eyes down towards her knight. Had she still eyes that could see, she might not have believed them. Only so recently, only earlier that day… But she did not have eyes, and she could not deny her other senses. And the memory of the field rose again in her mind, unbidden. Finlay had faltered. But this, now, this was not merely faltering. Finlay had said though…

Fighting to keep her voice steady, Malenia asked, “How often? For how long?”

Finlay bowed her head, shoulders hunched, and set her hands on her knees. “More often of late, my lady.”

Malenia’s jaw tightened. The evasion was answer enough. “You… You can do nothing for it?” Malenia asked, pleaded, even knowing the futility of the question.

“I could burn away my lungs and viscera, but then I would have neither lungs nor viscera,” said Finlay wearily. Then she laughed, and her laugh rang hollow. “I can do nothing for it.”

Malenia knelt down. She wrapped her one arm of flesh and blood around Finlay’s shoulders and rested her forehead against Finlay’s temple.

Finlay allowed herself to lean into Malenia. “This rot in my chest—it began in doubt. Had I not doubted… Had I just…” Trailing off, Finlay cleared her throat roughly. It sounded like she might spit something up, like she might spit up more rot, but, instead, she swallowed it down.

Like finely kept daggers, every one of Finlay’s words pierced Malenia clean through. She shook her head. “No, Finlay,” she said. “That’s not…” Desperate, she searched for words, wracked her mind and clawed at her heart for something to say. At last, she settled on, quietly, “Faith cannot exist except in the face of doubt.”

“If…” Finlay started. But then she began to cough, an ugly sound, rough, and her coughing shook her entire body. When the fit subsided, she shook her head. “When I… I will regret that my service to you has ended.”

“I wish that you have no regrets, Finlay,” Malenia murmured. “Please, come back to bed.”

“Yes, my lady.”

They returned together to Malenia’s tent and lay themselves back down.

But Malenia did not sleep.

She did not think that Finlay slept either.

[] [] []

In the morning, the events of the night loomed dark.

They did not speak of them.

Malenia tried—

As Finlay moved to leave the tent, Malenia touched her hand, a silent question.

Finlay shook her head.

Malenia nodded and let her go.

[] [] []

Several days after passing by the dilapidated church at the edge of Limgrave, the company came upon an offshoot of the great Erdtree and there rested a while. The hour grew late and it was as good a place as any to make camp. Although by the standards of Leyndell they had all long ago given themselves to heresy, the nearness of the tree, minor as it was, yet brought some comfort. A memory of simpler times. Better days.

They did not, however, approach so close to the tree that its guardian might find offense. In no manner could they pass as pilgrims, and, even in the distant times of peace, only pilgrims seeking to do reverence had ever been allowed to approach the Erdtree’s progeny.

As the sun set that evening, Finlay and Malenia sat together outside Malenia’s tent, both quietly picking at the gruel that Finlay had retrieved for them from the camp kitchen. At least there were a few lumps of root in it, and a suggestion of meat as well. Caelid, being less traveled than Limgrave, had somewhat better forage.

Malenia, pretended, with all her might, that this was how things should be. She did not doubt that Finlay was doing the same. Nor did she doubt that Finlay had been pretending for some time, and Malenia, so absorbed in her own worries, had failed to notice. Malenia wanted, so much, to say something, to say anything, but, for all Malenia’s will to resolution, if Finlay did not feel likewise then any attempt would work only ill.

And so the both of them endeavored to go about as if...

As they ate, Malenia sensed several presences approach.

Leading the group, the cold gleam of Loretta. Beside her, Veitchi, who seemed to Malenia’s sense of the world to be a bright saffron fire, with such vitality that it danced. With them also were Ostia, Jishanen, and O’Neil. And, behind them, Varre trailed several paces behind—far enough behind that he did not seem to be with them. Rather, he was skulking.

Finlay set her bowl of gruel down and stood. She stepped forward, passing the group of officers, and blocked Varre’s path. “Have you business here?” she demanded, not bothering at all to disguise rank hostility.

“Business? No, merely curiosity, if you’ll indulge me,” Varre replied smoothly, unfazed by Finlay’s manner. Then, before Finlay could command that he leave, he added, “I wondered how much longer you think it will be to Sellia. Eleonora’s goal is about halfway between here and there—the place where the road turns from south to east. I saw you all together and thought I might ask.”

Finlay shifted, looking towards Jishanen for an answer.

“I think another two weeks to the place where the road curves,” Jishanen said. “Assuming we keep our present pace and there is no trouble.”

“There,” Finlay said to Varre. She made a painful noise in her throat, then spat out a clump of rot, which landed near Varre’s feet. “Your curiosity is sated. Leave.”

Varre inclined his head to her. “My thanks, good knight,” he said in a tone too polite to be anything other than slightly mocking. “I will leave you to your… business.”

As Varre departed, Ostia sighed. “He’s not that bad,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re being cranky.”

Finlay rounded on Ostia, and Malenia imagined that her knight glowered fiercely. “Do you defend him now?” she snapped.

“He loses a lot when he gambles,” Jishanen provided. “It’s making him quite popular in the camp.”

“Not that there’s much left to gamble with,” O’Neil muttered. He shook his head heavily.

“Not that you’ve much left to gamble with,” Loretta corrected. She let out a horribly self-satisfied chuckle that, for a moment, reminded Malenia of her brother. Was it inevitable that a lord should attract retainers similar in manner?

“You were being unnecessarily brusque, Finlay,” Jishanen said. “Are you—”

“I take it that Sir Loretta is quite unpopular in the camp,” Malenia remarked dryly, seizing the conversation and yanking it hard to easier ground. Finlay was in no mood for the scrutiny of her comrades. At least Malenia could do this one small thing for her.

Veitchi glanced, for a brief moment, to Malenia. Then he nodded and confirmed, “Exceedingly. She spells the dice when no one’s looking, and she lacks the decency to admit it when caught.”

Loretta scoffed. “I would never,” she said. “I don’t need to. I cheat as commonly as you do—I’m just better at it.”

“If you wish to continue cheating, you may soon need to redistribute some of your bounty,” Jishanen replied. Growing solemn, she added, “It would certainly aid morale.” She then moved to face Malenia and gave a quick bow. “My lady, O’Neil reports that there have been desertions—more than before.”

Finlay tensed. In a growl, she asked, “How many?”

O’Neil turned his head away so that he did not look at anyone in particular as he spoke. “More than before,” he said, repeating Jishanen’s words. Shifting his weight in discomfort, he added, “This time enough to be noticed.”

“How many is enough to be noticed?” Finlay pressed.

“Not enough to diminish our strength,” O’Neil half-answered.

“Not yet,” Loretta said. “But if there are more desertions, a few will turn to many, and we will be the worse for it when we are called again to battle.”

“Our numbers are not so great that we can well afford even a few,” Jishanen added. “We have come many miles from Elphael, and we’ve been bleeding strength all the way.”

“We should set more guards at night, so they can’t slip off,” Ostia said.

“No,” Malenia snapped. Feeling Ostia bristle at such an immediate dismissal of her idea, Malenia explained, with more reserve, “Any who follow of their own free will must be allowed to leave of their own free will.”

“And if that is the difference between your success and your failure?” Loretta asked mildly. She sounded genuinely curious as to Malenia’s answer.

Malenia would give her no answer. She turned to O’Neil. “O’Neil, the ones who left were under your command.” She paused, considering her next words. Then, “What do you advise?”

For a while, O’Neil did not answer, contemplating the question. At last though, he said, “Ostia’s plan is how any lord of Godwyn’s get would have kept order. But if you insist that they must remain of their own volition, then they must be persuaded. I think that you should walk among them, my lady.”

Ostia, for all her lack of a nose, snorted.

Defensive now, O’Neil crossed his arms over his chest. “It is what Lord Miquella would have done. They are here for him. And she is his sister.”

Veitchi shook his head. “Lad,” he started, “She’s not him.”

“She’s the leader of this crusade, isn’t she?” O’Neil argued back, heat rising in his voice. “But you Cleanrots are the only ones who ever see her. This is what a leader does.”

“Did your father teach you that?” Veitchi asked, not unkindly.

O’Neil bristled. “You may not respect him, but my father was man enough to rally us after you defeated Godrick the first time,” he said. “If you--”

Malenia cut in. “I will do it,” she said. At once, her Cleanrots startled. Malenia raised a hand to forestall any attempt to question her. “They are O’Neil’s command. This is what he advises.”

After a moment of surprise, O’Neil bowed. “Thank you, my lady,” he managed.

Finlay, sounding strained, “This is not our way. What, precisely, do you envision?”

“Dawn, from the rear of the assembling column to the front, so that we do not cause delay,” O’Neil said. “And—and I thought that, perhaps, if you could conjure light, the sort of light that Miquella has?”

“Yes, I can do that,” Finlay replied tightly.

Malenia, with more force than she’d meant, “Veitchi was not wrong, O’Neil—I am not my brother.” Then, more softly, “I suppose that is the problem.”

O’Neil inclined his head in deference. “My lady, you may not be your brother, but… if the roles were reversed, he would march in search of you, and he would make himself as warlike as the circumstances demanded in order that he succeed.”

“I know,” Malenia said. “And so I will make myself as much like him as I am able. But to be as him is not in my nature.”

“Thank you, my lady,” O’Neil replied. “That we make the attempt is all that I ask.”

[] [] []

Malenia sat on a high cliff overlooking a dark river of congealing blood. Above, motionless stars twinkled in a black sky. Around her, ruins, as ancient as any of the sunken cities .

A heavy hand with wickedly sharp claws settled on her shoulder.

Malenia’s heartbeat quickened.

“This land will be the playground of our children,” the omen rasped. “The birthplace of our dynasty.”

“My lord, there will be no children,” Malenia replied.

“There will be many children,” said the omen, condescending. His clawed hand curled inwards, slicing through the thin cloth of her robe and drawing blood from flesh. “Your nature will win out. It is but a matter of time.”

Malenia looked up into the omen’s bestial face. She caressed the horn stabbing into his right eye. “I have time,” she said. “Do you?”

[] [] []

At dawn, Malenia did as O’Neil had advised. As the column prepared to move out, she went to the rear of the column—where she had not been save for when she had allowed O’Neil to lead through the forest of Stormhill. And then she walked.

She recalled this sort of thing from her days in Leyndell. From time to time, Marika, in her unceasing pursuit of control, had demanded that her progeny be seen in their power by the smallfolk. Now, remembering those days, Malenia made herself tall and she measured her strides carefully, making sure not to go so slowly that any should think her purposeless, nor so quickly that she slip into unseemly haste.

She charted her path through the camp herself. O’Neil, Loretta, and Finlay walked behind her.

As Malenia walked, she felt a warmth cloak her. She could, in her own way, perceive both faith casting and sorcery. Both arts created flares of light, heat, motion, the stuff of fire and stars, but the flares then dwindled. Malenia felt their dissipation, and so she perceived them.

Rot, in its way, touched all things.

Malenia could not see the extent to which her passing was marked by those whom it was intended to bolster. She felt an assemblage shift as she went, but the fine details of their faces lay beyond her sight, such as it was. Did they, like so many before them, cringe to see her? If they did, Malenia was glad not to be able to see it.

How had Miquella felt when he did similar things?

She found that she had never asked herself this question, never wondered at his feelings. She supposed that she had simply assumed that he felt… at ease. Proud of himself, maybe. Self-satisfied, certainly. But he was a sort of perpetually self-satisfied person, with an unassailable confidence in himself. Truly obnoxious.

And how did he feel now?

Lest the bleakness of her thoughts show on her face, Malenia set them aside.

She instead tried to think only of her steps, one after another, taking her towards her goal.

Ahead, she felt her Cleanrots, waiting for her. And wasn’t that the nature of the rot? To wait, always, for the end. It had been some time since Malenia focused, really focused, on the webs of decay within all those in her service. She did so now. Her step nearly faltered. All of them—so much rot, so much more than there had been when they set out from Elphael.

Behind her, Finlay—

Malenia spent nearly her every waking moment with Finlay. Perhaps—no, not perhaps, surely that was why she had not noticed that scarlet had consumed nearly all of Finlay’s gold.

Now, though Finlay stood physically close, she felt very distant indeed.

Usually a deep sleeper, for night after night Malenia had slept poorly, always waiting for and dreading the moment that the rot would part Finlay from her.

And, still, Finlay resolutely acted as if nothing were amiss.

In silence, Malenia continued on to the front of the company. When she arrived there, she did not stop. In her wake, the Cleanrots assembled into their positions and began to follow, and, in their wake, O’Neil and his men fell in as well.

Malenia led them all.

[] [] []

For one day, then two days, it seemed that the desertions stopped.

Then, on the morning of the third day, O’Neil and Loretta approached Malenia as the company prepared to begin its march. The air was cool against Malenia’s skin and she did not think that she felt any sunlight yet. It was still somewhat before dawn.

“My lady,” O’Neil and Loretta greeted, both bowing.

“What is it?” Malenia asked.

“More desertions, my lady,” O’Neil mumbled. Frustration rolled off of him in palpable waves.

Malenia struggled to keep her emotions from her face. Of course—of course, she was not Miquella. She could not achieve with all her effort what he could accomplish with barely a thought. And perhaps that would be the difference between the success or the failure of their campaign.

“So be it then,” Finlay snapped. “If they lack the will to continue now, what use would they be later?”

O’Neil bristled, but Loretta replied first. Gently, she chided, “Finlay, you can think highly of your Cleanrots without diminishing others.”

Finlay, in the defensive tone of the guilty, “That’s not… I…”

Now O’Neil took his turn. Reluctant, he began, “My lady, I think it is past time to post more guards. We have tried the carrot, now—”

“O’Neil,” Malenia said, cutting in, “Do whatever you can to convince them to stay. But if they would go, then let them go. Do not use force to keep them. Post no more guards.”

“Lady Malenia...” Loretta started slowly, in the manner of one about to advise contrary to a command.

Malenia shook her head. Against her will, the heat of anger, rage even—rage at herself—seeped into her voice. “This road we walk is long and it is hard and it will take many lives,” she said. “I refuse to bind any to it against their will. That is all I have to say on this matter.”

For a moment, it seemed that either Loretta or O’Neil might continue the protest, but then the moment passed. Together, they bowed and, in unison, “As you command, my lady.”

As they departed, Finlay turned to Malenia.

But neither one of them spoke.

Even until late that evening, Malenia said nothing to Finlay and Finlay said nothing to Malenia.

Following their custom of so many months, Finlay removed her armor and set it out in good order, then turned her attention to Malenia, who had removed her golden limbs and sat brooding .

Then, at last, frown evident in her voice, Finlay said, “Your stumps look worse.”

In response, Malenia shrugged. “I cannot see them,” she said. “What do I care how they look?”

“At least let me carry the arm when you are not using it,” Finlay said. “Please.”

“To what end?” Malenia asked, suddenly vicious.

She was…

She was so very exhausted.

“You’re in pain,” Finlay said, patient.

“I should be in pain,” Malenia spat. “I am failing everyone around me.”

“My lady–”

“Stop, Finlay,” Malenia said. She shook her head and exhaled forcefully. “Allow me my shame.”

Finlay bowed her head. Quiet, she replied, “By your will, my lady.” She gently touched her fingers to Malenia’s right shoulder. The cool feeling of her casting rippled over the raw flesh, soothing. “But I will have this.”

When Finlay started to withdraw, Malenia caught her hand. “Finlay…We need… We can’t keep…”

Finlay began again to pull away.

Malenia tightened her grip.

After a moment of indecision, Finlay sighed. With her other hand, she gently freed her hand from Malenia’s grip. Rather than withdraw once more though, she sat down next to Malenia. She said nothing though. She waited.

For a while, as Malenia collected her thoughts, there was silence.

“You’ve said often enough that you find meaning in carrying my burdens,” Malenia said at last, voice quiet and small. “But I don’t want to burden you. You have burdens enough of your own. And I am disappointed in myself that I have not been more attentive to them.”

Finlay shook her head. “My lady, I did not wish you to concern yourself with…” She trailed off, leaving the rest understood but unsaid.

“I did notice, in the boneyard,” Malenia said, plaintive now, and louder. “You told me that you were as well as was reasonable. And I did not press you. I should have.”

“Cede to me some credit,” said Finlay. “I have spent so long at your side—I have not remained ignorant of what will draw your attention and what will deflect it.”

“Why now?” Malenia asked. “Why now, after all these years? Have you begun to doubt again?”

“No,” said Finlay, simply. “I do not doubt. But I am very, very tired. My strength wanes.”

“If it is this march, then—”

Finlay tensed. “I will not leave your side, my lady. My duty—”

“Don’t tell me that it’s your duty to suffer on my behalf,” Malenia said, cutting in. “It is not. Rather, I owe a duty of protection to you. The greater your pain, the greater my failure. Would you have me fail?”

“Suffering is incidental to life, my lady,” Finlay replied, some amusement in her tone now. Then she sighed. Amusement gone, she continued, “Miquella once asked me—he asked me if I had considered that I am mortal and you are not.”

“Had you?” Malenia asked. Softer, also, “Have you?”

“At the time, he meant principally to discourage me from pursuing you. I thought of it briefly, but I set the thoughts aside. It has never been open to me to love you less than I do. But I am what I am. My end has never been a question of whether, only of when. Then and now, my only conclusion is that what matters is that I am here, with you.”

“You would live longer if you lived in peace,” said Malenia. “I wish I could have given you that.”

“You did,” Finlay said. “It was a better peace than I had ever imagined I could have. It was good. I did not have a peaceful life before I joined your service. Had I not joined your service, it is not possible to say what may have befallen me.”

“Had you not joined my service, I think that I could not have come as far as I have,” Malenia replied slowly. “I…” Old memories surfaced, drawing Malenia away for a moment. The stump of her right arm twinged. She paused a moment before continuing. “When I lost my arm, you sealed the wound cleanly so that it could heal. Had you not been present, I would have lost more than an arm.”

“My path has brought me to this place by your side, and neither of us would prefer a world in which it had not,” Finlay said. She paused before continuing, “Still… I worry, sometimes, that my esteem of you has not always been to your benefit.”

Malenia frowned. “I do not take your meaning.”

Shaking her head, Finlay replied, “It is a difficult thought for me to put to words. I worry… I worry that you might deem yourself obliged beyond what is due.” She exhaled sharply, almost, in a way, angry.

“Finlay,” Malenia started. Now it was her turn to shake her head. “That’s…”

Finlay shrugged, apologetic. For what?

“Finlay,” Malenia started again. She set her single hand on Finlay’s scarred cheek. “I am obliged to you, yes. But I am no more obliged to you than I am to any of my knights. I am here with you now not out of obligation, but because I love you, as much and as fiercely as you love me.” Tired of the inadequacy of words, Malenia closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against Finlay’s.

Finlay kissed her back, fiercely, and she deepened the kiss. She tasted sweet—like rot. Like Malenia. When they parted, Finlay’s mortal breath had quickened. Her voice had heat in it now, unmistakable. “Show me, my lady.”

Not a question. Not a request. A command.

A shiver ran through Malenia. She moved her mouth close to Finlay’s ear and breathed out softly in reply, “As you will it, Sir Finlay.”

Malenia had lost the use of her eyes before she had ever lain with Finlay. She’d learned Finlay’s body by touch alone, tracing her fingers over soft curves, juts of bone, hard muscles, listening for a slight hitch of breath to tell her here.

Now, Malenia gently drew the pad of her thumb over the soft skin of Finlay’s neck, and Finlay responded by tilting her head to the side, exposing more of herself. Malenia kissed the hollow above Finlay’s sternum, and her knight wrapped both arms around her and held her. Head bowed, Malenia murmured, “May I worship you?”

Finlay kissed the crown of Malenia’s head. She answered—“Yes.”

[] [] []

In the morning, Malenia did not have the luxury of waking slowly. Even before she opened her eyes, she felt several presences waiting outside the tent. Finlay, as was her habit, was already up and dressed and armed and armored. She’d probably already spoken with whomever it was outside and waited only for Malenia.

As soon as she saw that Malenia had stirred, Finlay was in motion, collecting Malenia’s limbs and securing them to her stumps. As she went to set Malenia’s arm in place, however, Malenia shook her head. “You asked to carry it,” she said quietly.

“Thank you, my lady,” Finlay replied, speaking at a similar volume. She set the arm aside and instead handed Malenia her dress. While Malenia donned that, Finlay prepared her armor. As Finlay set the buckles of Malenia’s light cuirass, she said, disapproving, “Your hair is tangled.”

“Whose fault is that?” Malenia replied.

For a moment the gloom lifted. Finlay chuckled. Then, smirk evident in her voice, “There’s no time to deal with it now. I’ll put it in a braid.”

“You’re not very good at whispering!” Ostia shouted from just outside the tent.

“You told them to get a tent,” Jishanen replied, voice coming from a greater distance. “They’re in a tent. Get over here and leave them be.”

When Malenia and Finlay at last emerged, Jishanen had drawn Ostia back to a polite distance. Upon seeing Malenia, both Cleanrots bowed and spoke their greetings.

“Report,” Finlay ordered.

Jishanen spoke for the two of them. “The scouts report seeing a handful of riders in Redmane colors,” she said. “They’re on the road, coming towards us.”

Tension Malenia had not realized she carried eased from her. It was not a report of more desertions.

“How many is a handful?” Finlay pressed.

“Maybe half a dozen, at most,” Jishanen answered. Not enough for any engagement.”

“How far?” Finlay asked.

Jishanen hesitated. “Far, I think. The scouts who saw them had ranged several days ahead. But we are headed towards the riders and the riders are headed towards us, so the distance will close quickly.”

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” Finlay said. “Can you assign any scouts to keep a watch on these riders? I would not like them to slip past us on some mission.”

Jishanen nodded. “It is already done.”

“Good,” Finlay replied. “Keep us apprised of any further news of these riders. Is that all?”

“That is all,” Jishanen answered. “We’ll take our leave.”

[] [] []

After a long day marching, just before they would pitch camp for the night, they met the riders coming the other way. When they grew near, Finlay gestured for the column to halt. To a runner, she gave orders that Loretta was to come up from wherever she was in the march.

“Who are they?” Malenia asked Finlay. “The Redmanes?”

“Four Redmanes. One of them… I recognize the crest. I believe it’s Sir Ogha. And I think I also see Loretta’s acquaintance Jerren.”

“Ogha,” Malenia repeated slowly, frowning. She had not heard the name in some time. “The commander of the Redmanes?” Malenia did not well remember him from days long past—she thought she recalled a clean-shaven man of average height and sturdy build, though not as sturdy as the likes of O’Neil or his father.

“Yes, my lady,” Finlay said.

“I see,” Malenia said. “My arm, Finlay.”

At once, Finlay took Malenia’s golden arm, which she’d been carrying, and set to fastening it in place. When she was done, Malenia flexed the fingers of the prosthetic. She did not, however, reach for the blade at her side. Four riders were a parley, not a threat—at least, not until they proved themselves otherwise.

Loretta arrived in short order, coming up at a jog despite wearing her heavy silvered plate armor. At an appropriate distance she paused to give Malenia a shallow bow, then approached. She spared the riders a glance, but said nothing of them.

“Loretta—you know Ogha, I presume?” Finlay asked.

Loretta nodded. “Well enough. Wherever Radahn went in Caria and Raya Lucaria, Ogha went with him. And I presume you know him from Leyndell?”

“Our duties and our paths crossed on occasion,” Finlay answered. “An archer, abrasive and… bookish.”

“It’s not a bad word, Finlay,” Loretta said, amusement coloring her tone. Then, she grew serious once more. “Though he is an excellent shot with a bow, he is also sorcerer of no small prowess. He is a master of the same arts as Radahn—don’t ever try to out drink him. But he shares many of Radahn’s faults as well.”

“Like what?” Finlay asked.

Malenia shook her head. There was no time for that. “Loretta,” Malenia interjected, “What do you advise?”

Now, Loretta turned to the riders and focused her full attention on them. “Radahn would not send Ogha and Jerren both only to demand we leave Caelid,” she said. “He wants something.”

“We want something as well,” Finlay said, anticipation and urgency sharpening her words. “Is this an opportunity?”

“It could be,” Loretta replied. “Or it could be a trap, though I cannot guess to what end. Do not allow either of them to draw you in. They are both far more calculating than they let on.”

Malenia nodded. “Finlay and Loretta, with me,” she said. “No one else. Our three to their four.”

They met the riders a good ways in front of the column. As they drew near, the Redmanes all dismounted, removed their helms, and bowed. Around them, Malenia felt the subtle suggestions of rust that coated even the most well-cared for armor. They also wore cloaks, sturdy and resistant to weather and rot both—though not immune to either. Straightening, one of them, presumably Ogha, spoke. “Lady Malenia, greetings. And greetings to you, Sir Finlay, and to you, Sir Loretta.”

Though Malenia could not see him, she studied Ogha closely with what senses she did have. As she had recalled, he was not a particularly tall man, standing, Malenia judged, likely a head shorter than Finlay. He made up for his height, however, with compact muscle. His voice—he had the exacting prosody and enunciation of a highborn Carian, and a touch of highborn arrogance as well. Helm tucked under his left arm, he kept his right hand on the hilt of a knife at his hip. It was not a threatening stance, rather, it seemed a habit.

“Greetings to you, Sir Ogha,” Finlay responded. Unlike her counterpart, she kept both her hands clasped behind her back, well away from her weapons. She then addressed the two others in turn, “And to you, Sir Jerren, Sinhale, and Melanoch. Does your business lie with us or beyond us?”

“We are here with a message from General Radahn,” Ogha said crisply. “Jerren spoke well for you. Radahn is willing to allow you to make your case.”

Wary, Finlay asked, “On what terms? I do not see him here to listen.”

Jerren stepped forward now. “I will take responsibility for that. I thought that this conversation might go better by proxy, and I persuaded my comrades to see things my way.” Lowering his tone conspiratorially, he tilted his head to one side and added, “You know how they can be.”

Tone chill, Finlay replied, “I do not know what you mean, Sir Jerren.”

Not deterred in the least by Finlay’s demeanor, Jerren took her remark as an invitation to elaborate. “Stubborn,” he said cheerfully. “It’s easier on his pride if you go to great lengths to convince us, and then we go to great lengths convince him. It would look terrible if he came out here, talked to you, and then turned around and left.”

“We represent General Radahn,” Ogha said cooly. “Even now, you stand here conversing with us on behalf of your lady who is present only a few feet away. And you would find fault in General Radahn for following the same practices?”

Finlay cleared her throat. Rather than spit up any rot, she swallowed it down. “What is without fault is not always for the best.”

“Finlay, we will make camp here,” Malenia said sharply. “Invite them to supper with us. Or, if they would prefer, we can meet afterwards.” Then, having said her piece, Malenia turned her back to the Redmanes and headed back towards the rest of the company. She understood something of negotiations from watching her twin. If Radahn had sent Ogha and Jerren rather than treat with her himself—nothing productive would come of protesting that. But she would not sell her remaining advantages of status cheaply.

To the great surprise of all, that evening the Redmanes did accept the invitation to supper.

As the company carried no unnecessaries like chairs, a few spare canvases were spread to cover ground outside Malenia’s tent. On one side, Malenia sat with Finlay at her right, Loretta at her left, and Veitchi and O’Neil somewhat behind them. Across from them sat Ogha and Jerren. Melanoch and Sinhale stood sentinel some ways back. Even more distant, Jishanen, Ostia, and a handful of other Cleanrots formed a perimeter, keeping away any of the more curious of the company.

“Not many people are willing to break bread with us,” Veitchi remarked mildly. He cradled a bowl of hardtack boiled in water with whatever forage was on hand.

“Our time is short and your rot does not spread as easily as the illiterate masses believe,” Ogha replied, dismissive. He considered his soup, then sipped cautiously.

“And what do you know of our rot?” Finlay probed.

“Enough,” Ogha said. “Enough to know that, regardless of how easily it might spread, we do not want it in Caelid.”

“You don’t have much of a choice in that matter,” Loretta said. “As you well know.”

Ogha snorted. “As well I know,” he agreed. “The one choice that is in my hands is whether to recommend to Radahn that he allow you to march unchallenged on to Sellia.”

“What assurances do you require to make that recommendation?” Finlay asked.

Ogha shook his head, then, in one large swallow, he finished his soup. He put his bowl down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why are you in Caelid? Jerren says that you said that you hunt Mohg. Perhaps you do. But I doubt that hunting Mohg drew you all the way from that colony of yours in the north.”

“Mohg took something of ours,” Finlay said. “We are here to retrieve it.”

“Something?” Ogha asked. “It? Those are interesting ways of referring to the lord Miquella.”

Finlay tensed.

Jerren shrugged. “Inquiries were made,” he said. “It is common knowledge among your company, and it is desperately difficult to keep common knowledge a secret.”

“Does Radahn have any interest in inserting himself into this quarrel?” Loretta asked. “Jerren, you said before that Radahn has no love for the omen. Would he nevertheless protect it?”

“He would pursue glory,” Ogha answered. “And there would be much glory in defeating the undefeated. Though—she’s not exactly undefeated anymore, is she?”

Finlay clenched her hands, then, with great effort, opened them again. “We were caught unawares,” Finlay said, tightly restrained anger lending heat to her tone. “The omen was… powerful. And we did not understand his objective. But we protected our city and its people. That was our victory. We were not defeated.”

During the attack…

Malenia, Finlay, the Cleanrots, and everyone else—they had focused on protecting the city. The civilians. Those who could not fight back, and many of whom, even now, remained in Elphael. At the time, no one had thought that Miquella, so deep within his tree, could be reached, much less pried from it and stolen away. They had been victorious in battle, but the victory had been bitter ash in their mouths.

Had Malenia understood what saving the city would cost her, she would not have saved it. Miquella would not have forgiven her. So perhaps it was for the best that she had not known.

O’Neil, having been quiet for the whole of the exchange, now spoke. “Radahn would send his men to death for his own ego?” he rumbled. His deep baritone, inherited from his father, dripped with disdain.

“Pride has always been Radahn’s greatest vice,” Jerren said. The quality of his voice—Malenia could describe it only as wistful.

“So then what is the price of Radahn’s pride?” Finlay asked.

“Offer something,” Jerren replied with a shrug. “We’re open to suggestions.”

Loretta gestured to the canvas-covered ground. “As you can see, we carry no valuables with us,” she said. “But I think you would not have asked your question if you did not have something in mind. Will you make us guess?”

“I’d rather you propose something acceptable to you than ask what we’ve been instructed to ask,” Jerren replied.

“Just tell us,” O’Neil said.

Ogha spoke now. “When you have retrieved Miquella—whether he be here in Caelid or elsewhere—you will pledge your strength to Radahn for whatever purpose he sees fit and as long as he requires. That is the price.”

“That’s extortion,” Veitchi snapped.

“Radahn’s pride is costly,” Jerren replied. “He requires a victory, nothing more and nothing less.”

“And so we ask for your blades,” said Ogha. He sounded… tired. Sad, perhaps. “The terms are the terms. We will depart in the morning to take your answer to General Radahn. For now,” and, here, he stood and bowed, “We will take our leave.” A beat after him, Jerren stood and bowed as well. Then, saying nothing more, they departed.

“Godfrey’s tarnished brass balls,” Veitchi swore under his breath.

Though she could not see, Malenia felt the eyes of her officers on her.

“My lady, are you seriously considering this?” Veitchi asked. “You can’t. We will have to fight—we should start making plans. We…” He trailed off, uncertain of himself.

Hesitant, O’Neil started, “Lady Malenia…” He took a moment to compose himself, then continued, “You can of course pledge yourself, and I think you can pledge your Cleanrots as well, but...”

Malenia turned to O’Neil. “Would you be willing to serve Radahn?” she asked. She did not ask in a way that expected a particular answer, for she did not know what answer to expect.

While O’Neil considered his response, no one else spoke. Eventually he replied, “I have served too many lords already. If I served another, I would be a mere mercenary. That is not how my father raised me.” O’Neil looked to Finlay. “And you?” he asked. “What of you and the Cleanrots?”

Finlay shifted, preparing to speak. Malenia raised a hand, cutting her knight off. Whatever Finlay intended to say on the matter—it was better left unsaid. “At dawn, I will offer my own service and only my own service. If that is not deemed payment enough, then so be it.”

It was, in a way, a fair price. Her service for Miquella’s deliverance—or, at least, the opportunity for Miquella’s deliverance. If they were to succeed, it could be by no other way. They did not have the strength to fight through Radahn and then face Mohg as well. She was not so lost to her own ego that she could not see that. One or the other. Not both.

O’Neil tensed. “My lady—”

Malenia stood before O’Neil could finish his protest. “You are all tired,” she said, allowing her tone to go to steel. “Go. Rest. Now.”

Quickly, all but Finlay clambered to their feet, bowed, and obeyed.

Only Finlay remained seated on the canvas laid out over the dirt.

Quiet, Finlay looked up at Malenia.

Malenia, for all that she could not see, looked down at Finlay.

“We can…” Malenia started. She shook her head. “If we both reach the end of this journey, then I will hear you on this. Not before then.”

[] [] []

In her dream, Malenia sat with Miquella on the dark cliff over the river.

In the darkness, they were alone.

“I’m coming,” Malenia said quietly.

Miquella said nothing.

[ ] [] []

“My lady!”

Malenia woke to shouting, shaking, Finlay shaking her awake. Instinctively, Malenia seized her sword. In her haste, she gripped the blade—designed to lock into her golden arm, it was not like a usual sword and did not have a guard to protect the unwary. The coppery smell of her blood filled the tent.

Finlay swore. Moving swiftly, she grabbed Malenia’s legs and fastened them in place, then the arm as well. “There’s—it’s the Redmanes. Give me your hand.”

Malenia transferred her sword to her prosthetic hand, then held out the bleeding hand to Finlay. With a muttered prayer, Finlay knit the flesh back together. Guilt tugged at the back of Malenia’s mind, enough guilt that she noticed it despite the need for her to focus on the present around her. What had that small miracle cost Finlay?

“My lady, come,” Finlay said, jolting Malenia out of her rumination. Finlay stood by the entrance of the tent now, waiting.

Malenia nodded.

Outside, Finlay led them through the camp at a run. Shouts, indistinct, cut through the crisply chill night air.

Malenia felt the chaos before it would have come into sight. Several bodies locked in struggle, wielding steel, and bodies lying still on the ground, dead. Five or six dead, she thought. And, nearby, a whole gaggle of onlookers, weapons half drawn but doing nothing to stop the brawl.

At the edge of the affray, before throwing herself in, Malenia paused. “Finlay—who?”

For all her ability to sense positions and movements in the world around her, she remained blind. Of the combatants, she knew only that none bore her rot.

Finlay hesitated. “I don’t...”

Another combatant fell dead, throat cut by a long, curved knife, cut so deep that the head lolled as if it might come off entirely.

“The one with the curved knife and the one with the polearm—enemies,” Finlay snapped.

Malenia surged forward. Moving with speed and force, she barreled over two of the onlookers, knocking them aside with a sweep of her flesh and blood hand. Her golden hand, sword locked in its grasp, she thrust out. Her target, the fighter with the knife, threw himself aside. She only barely missed skewering him through.

Following her momentum, Malenia spun and brought her blade around and down. The man with the knife tried to block the blow with the flat of his weapon, but, though he’d had the agility to execute the parry, he hadn’t nearly the strength to enforce it. Not slowed in the least, Malenia’s sword crashed through his defense and split him, crown to gut.

Even before Malenia had finished the strike, the other enemy tried a broad sweeping blow at Malenia’s midsection with a wide-edged, double-ended polearm.

Malenia twisted, and the blade struck her golden arm, then skidded off harmlessly. The enemy let out a frustrated grunt, then, twirling, brought the other side of the polearm around at Malenia’s head. Flowing like water, Malenia slipped out of the way of the blow. She wrenched her sword free of the body on the ground and brought it up into a guard position.

Never before had Malenia encountered whatever weapon it was that her enemy wielded. Her sense of the world told her that it was formed by taking two thin, slightly curved swords and attaching them to either end of a short haft. It was not at all like a spear and it resembled a halberd only insofar as being long and sharp. She wished, sorely, that she could see it, study it with her eyes.

She could study it at length once she had dispatched its owner.

Flickering forward, Malenia stepped inside her opponent’s guard. With her left hand she caught the enemy by the neck, then tossed her up into the air, as if she weighed nothing at all. When she fell, she fell onto Malenia’s sword. Blood and viscera poured from the wound, down, fouling Malenia’s shirt.

The flourish had been unnecessary, she knew, and the shirt would be difficult to clean. After so many days of marching and waiting and brooding, however, she could not deny the violent satisfaction of running a body through.

Malenia lowered her arm, letting her opponent slip off her sword into a heap.

Instinctively, she turned to Finlay.

Finlay knelt next to another Cleanrot sitting slumped on the ground. The other knight clutched at their shoulder, clearly injured.

“What happened?” Finlay asked. “Let me see your arm.”

The Cleanrot, with difficulty, drew their hand away from a bone-deep gash through their bicep. “I wasn’t here when it started,” Emodium said. “The Redmanes were already dead when I got here.”

Finlay glanced over at the bodies lying strewn about.

Malenia too turned her sightless gaze to the bodies. She recognized none of the fallen. Among the living, she could distinguish individuals by the distinctive way that decay nipped at them. If she focused, no two people had quite the same way of sliding towards dust. But the dead were dead.

Someone, familiar, but not terribly so, approached from the other side of the circle of bystanders that had formed around the chaos.

“They attacked us,” Jerren growled. “For an army that claims to have no love for the bloody fingers of Mohg, you harbor an awful lot of them.”

Malenia spoke slowly. Deliberately. “Explain yourself.”

Jerren tilted his head toward the bodies. Then he spat on the ground. “They attacked us,” he said again, bristling. “We defended ourselves, but not well enough. Your men and women stood around watching—most of them. Some of them joined in.”

“They wouldn’t have known who to help,” Finlay muttered.

A commotion rose from behind Malenia somewhere as several more people approached. Among them, Malenia felt Loretta and Ostia.

When she was close enough to see, Ostia cursed loudly.

Loretta shouldered her way through the growing crowd to Jerren. “Jerren—are you well?” The concern in her voice—genuine concern—rang unmistakable.

“Aye,” Jerren said, anger now fading to utter weariness. “Ogha and Sinhale aren’t.”

Loretta looked to the corpses. Then, she too cursed. “Where’s Melanoch?”

“Don’t know,” said Jerren. He walked toward one of the bodies. He knelt. Head bowed, he touched the body’s cheek, then set his hand over the motionless chest. “He went after the last one.”

“Last one?” Loretta asked.

“There were three,” Jerren said, head still low. “Your ladyship killed two of them. The other one ran early though.”

Finlay, done with helping Emodium, stood. She joined the rest of the sighted in staring at the bodies that Malenia couldn’t see. “Did the last one have a white mask?” she asked.

“So you knew them,” Jerren concluded. He looked up at Finlay now.

“We found them on the road in Limgrave,” Finlay said quietly. Uncharacteristically, she shifted away from Jerren, avoiding his gaze. “They asked to travel with us.”

“I think…” Ostia started. She hesitated before continuing, “I think we’ve had fewer desertions than we thought.”

Jerren sighed heavily. “You needed Ogha. Even if I could find a way to explain this to Radahn, you needed Ogha. Radahn still listens to him. Listened. We… He… You needed him. We all needed him. He was not a man of peace, but in this matter he wanted peace. For our friend’s sake.”

Someone, a Cleanrot, came running forward, towards Malenia. “My lady,” the knight greeted, out of breath. He bowed quickly, then straightened even faster. “Veitchi sends word—Varre escaped with a horse. Melanoch is dead.”

Malenia fixed her blind stare on Jerren. “Tell Radahn that if he allows us passage, when all else is over, he will have my blade for as long as he requires.” She hesitated, doubt briefly gnawing at her, then, “And the blades of every one of my Cleanrots.”

Jerren snorted. “My lady, if you were Radahn, is there anything you would take as blood money for the life of your best friend and commander?” he asked, shaking his head. “Is there any offer you wouldn’t take as an insult?”

Malenia’s focus flickered, for a half heartbeat, to Finlay, grim and silent beside her.

“No,” Malenia said. “But it is everything that I am able to offer, and more still.”

“It will not be enough,” Jerren said. “I tell you this now so that I will not have to return to tell you it later. It will not be enough.”

Malenia exhaled slowly. She nodded. She could not begrudge Radahn his pride or his grief. “So be it.”

Notes:

hope you enjoyed!

i was going to post this yesterday, but then at the last minute i decided to rearrange the order of like half the sections, and then i had redo transitions and fix inconsistencies created by swapping things around in the chronology of the section and yeah. i considered hanging onto this for another week, but i just wanna keep everything moving (so that i can get on with my life lol). irl has been a serious bear lately, so it might take me a hot minute to finalize the last section of this arc.

thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter 8: Caelid - Part Three

When they reached the place where the great road bent from south to east, the scouts reported Redmanes in the distance, close enough to be seen, but not so close that they could be engaged. Soon the road would split—northwards lay Sellia, and south and east lay Radahn’s island fortress.

And so a decision lay ahead of them.

“If we push on to Sellia, they will launch an attack from the fortress behind us,” O’Neil rumbled. He knelt with the others around the map laid out on the ground in Malenia’s tent. “And there’s a fortified gateway at the entrance of this canyon here, blocking the road.” He tapped a finger, pointing out something that Malenia couldn’t see. “They’ll have it manned, certainly, and barred and ready to withstand a siege. If we follow the road, we trap ourselves.”

“We know,” Veitchi snapped. Though he was usually good-tempered, the stress of their inexorable march towards the Redmanes had eroded his control and his manners.

The days since Ogha’s murder while under their protection had gone very ill for them all.

“Caelid doesn’t have much in the way of forests or underbrush,” Finlay said tersely. “We can shift north of the road and march with this cliff on our flank here.” She pointed at something, then moved her hand to indicate a path.

“No,” Loretta said, dismissive. “There’s nowhere to retreat to except over the cliff’s edge. It’s a terrible idea.”

“If we are forced to a retreat, then we will have failed,” Finlay replied angrily. “Better to position ourselves best for victory than save an avenue for defeat. We—”

Whatever else Finlay had intended to say, it was lost in a fit of coughing.

Standing a few paces back from where her officers huddled, Malenia shifted, unsure if she should step forward. Her presence was neither needed nor wanted in discussions of movements and strategy. Even when she’d been sighted, she had heavily relied on her knights for these matters. Now, unable to see the drawings and figures they used to guide their arguments, her only purpose in attending meetings of this sort was to offer her approval to whatever the others agreed on. If she interposed now, she would only disrupt them. But…

Ostia jammed an elbow into Finlay’s ribs. “Don’t cough over the map, we only have the one,” she muttered.

Finlay let out a frustrated grunt, but obliged and turned away so that she wouldn’t accidentally spit rot onto the precious parchment.

Malenia remained back.

“The other option is to push for a battle closer to the Redmane’s fortress than the gate to Sellia,” Veitchi said. “Whoever they have defending Sellia, they won’t be prepared to sally out to reinforce a battle on the open road.”

“You don’t know that,” Loretta muttered.

Jishanen shook her head. She gestured to the map. “It wouldn’t be a battle on open road. If I were one of Radahn’s commanders positioning troops, I’d camp the force from the castle a few day’s southward march from the main road on this hill here. I’d fortify the hill too. We don’t want to be drawn into a battle there. Our objective is Sellia and beyond. There’s no profit in seeking to utterly defeat the Redmanes. If—”

“That wasn’t what I was proposing,” Veitchi cut in sharply. “We need only victory enough that the Redmanes cannot stop us from our progress. One battle is all it would take.”

“Pointless aggression will not win us that victory,” said Jishanen. Her normally even tone verged towards condescension.

Ostia sighed heavily. “There’s no good way to go about this,” she said. She waved a hand dismissively at her fellows. “Neither of you are being useful.”

Veitchi and Jishanen looked away from one another, then down at the map once more.

“What’s this?” O’Neil asked, pointing to something. “Here, just southeast of the gate.”

“More cliffs, I think,” Jishanen said. “Why?”

“Cliffs here, but it looks like hills too, maybe a way up,” O’Neil said. “Could we march north of the road to avoid that fortified hill, then cut across the road, go up the cliffs, come around the gate?”

“If we can go up a cliff there, we may as well go down the cliffs to our north, cut past Sellia entirely,” Veitchi mumbled. “But we’re not doing that because we can’t.”

Ostia shrugged. “We know what the cliffs to our north look like—we haven’t seen these cliffs here except on this map.”

“We’ll have to confirm what that feature is with the scouts,” Finlay said. “What it is, and how quickly they think we could scale it. We would have to get up before Radahn realizes that we’re not marching for the gate directly. Even if he does—it might draw him out into a disadvantageous position.” She paused. “Jishanen?”

“If the terrain is right, it could work,” Jishanen said. She looked to O’Neil. “It is not a good proposal,” she pronounced, “But it is the best we’ve had so far.”

“High praise,” Ostia drawled.

“Thank you, Sir Jishanen,” O’Neil said tightly.

Loretta sighed. “We’ll be very vulnerable for a long time,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Veitchi replied glumly with a shrug. “This is war. As Ostia so kindly reminded us, nothing is ever perfect in war.”

[] [] []

The terrible mood in the camp grew grimmer with every day. While Finlay still accompanied Malenia at the front of the column during marches, in the mornings and evenings she was constantly absent, having thrown herself, alongside O’Neil and Loretta, into the endless work of reassuring the company of their objective and their chances, such as they were.

At least the desertions—if that was what they had been—had stopped.

Sitting alone and idle outside her tent as the sun set on the horizon, Malenia absentmindedly ran her flesh and blood fingers along the smooth interior of her empty soup bowl.

She had nothing to contribute to Finlay’s task. For all that Malenia led them and they had to believe in her to follow her, Miquella’s followers felt more comfortable with his sister when she was at a distance. Even Malenia’s knights were preferable to her personal attention. And, regardless, she wasn’t much for speeches. She only ever offered her Cleanrots hardship—it worked for them, but Miquella’s followers were different.

There was little Malenia would not give to lighten Finlay’s burdens. Her knight was…

Finlay conducted herself as if...

But...

Malenia held up her empty bowl. A Cleanrot came and took it away. If she had nothing else to do, then she should sleep. Rest was hard to come by, and it would become ever more precious as they drew closer to confronting Radahn’s forces. She stood and withdrew to her tent.

Sitting down, by herself, and removing her limbs, she allowed herself to grimace as cool evening air touched flesh chafed raw. Raw—but not rotten.

Miquella’s gift, still nestled near her heart, had kept her whole for the full course of the march.

For what purpose?

Malenia lay on the ground but did not sleep.

Even when Finlay came, murmured a prayer to soothe Malenia’s stumps, and then crawled into unconsciousness, Malenia’s mind did not allow her peace.

[] [] []

According to the scouts, O’Neil’s plan had merit. The march left the road and they bent their way north. Malenia was told that, if one looked out to the left, one could see the edge of a cliff, beyond which lay a sheer drop. She, of course, could see nothing. She could feel, though, the way lichens lay in sharp patterns against the rocks in a near vertical alignment. And she could feel the potential to the quick decay of a collapse.

During the short breaks that the march would take for the company for a midday meal, Malenia paced restless among her Cleanrots. No one commented on it.

Jishanen reported that Radahn and his forces had yet to move from their fortified hill south of the main road. It was to be expected, she said. Assuming that they intended to trap the company against the fortified gate to Sellia, it was not yet time for them to commit to the maneuver. The Redmanes still had time—and so too then did Malenia and her company.

But the calm could not last forever.

As soon as the march turned east to make for the path up to the clifftop above the Sellian gate, the scouts reckoned that the Redmanes would react.

Huddled around the map that Malenia couldn’t see, her officers argued, constantly, whether they should change course.

Ultimately, they agreed to continue east. They had no better plan. And if they became distracted with complex maneuvers over rough terrain, they would only exhaust themselves. A single battle in the open, on as flat of ground as Caelid could offer, was the best they could hope for under the circumstances.

Thus, they advanced.

[] [] []

In the courtyard at the foot of the Erdtree sat six thrones carved of heartwood, one for each of the greatest of Marika’s children.

Three for the Carians.

Two for Miquella and Malenia.

One for Godwyn.

Between Godwyn’s throne and the thrones of the twins, an empty space.

Seated next to Malenia, Miquella regarded the emptiness.

“There are worse things than to be born with rot,” he said.

[] [] []

Unusually for movements of such large hostile forces, there were no skirmishes along the edges of the two companies. Neither cohort was inclined to waste lives in paltry battles that would not tip the scale in either side’s favor.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, they inched nearer to the enemy.

With every mile they came closer to battle.

The weight of expectation lay heavy on Malenia’s shoulders. If she took the field, Radahn would come out to meet her, surely. And if Radahn took the field, it would fall to her to meet him. If they met—when they met—at least one of them would not survive.

Once, Malenia had defeated Rykard, even as he fought with the aid of several others. But she’d had her eyes then, and Radahn was greater than his brother by far, at least in measures of strength. In earlier days, better days, it had been said that out of all of Marika’s children, Malenia and Radahn were the most alike in both demeanor and martial prowess. Now, finally, it would be determined which of them surpassed the other.

The scouts said that Radahn… that he did not look himself. He had always been large, taller and broader than any of his siblings, but they said that he had now grown even larger. That he stood as tall and as great as a hill, almost dragon-like in size.

Had Malenia erred, when she left Godrick his rune? Should she have taken it, for the sake of power? For the sake of Miquella?

“Three more days, my lady.”

Malenia dragged herself from her ruminations. She turned her head towards Finlay, walking alongside her. “What was that?”

“Three more days, as best we can reckon,” Finlay repeated. “There’s a plain that we prefer, and that we think the Redmanes will prefer as well.”

“Thank you,” Malenia said. “I would like to speak with Loretta. She will have seen Radahn fight more recently than any of us.”

Finlay nodded. “I will have her summoned. You will speak with her.”

Loretta could tell Malenia little she did not already know. He liked to carry a bow and two enormous curved blades, of such a proportion that no one, not even one of his siblings, could wield them effectively without the aid of sorcery. As for sorcery, while he was certainly skilled in the usual Carian arts, he was a true master of those spells of Caelid that concerned themselves with weight and mass and motion.

That Radahn fought with such sorceries… Malenia had no ability whatsoever in the realms of either sorcery or the faith arts. Her only defense against them was to move faster than an opponent could cast, to avoid being where the blow would land—something easier done with the advantage of sight. Would her blindness be the reason that she failed?

That night, Malenia sat disquiet in her tent, not even pretending to attempt to sleep.

“You will fight better if you sleep,” Finlay mumbled from where she lay on the ground by Malenia’s side. She had one arm flung out and the other draped over her eyes, a sure sign that, as weary as she was with the work of the day, she was even more weary with Malenia’s restlessness.

Malenia did not answer.

“I will fight better if you sleep,” Finlay tried.

“So much depends on my victory over Radahn,” Malenia said. She knew that her words would not help either of them rest. She spoke them regardless. It was not fair that she disturb Finlay with her disquiet—but it was also not fair to withhold it. How much grief had it caused her that Finlay kept her own troubles to herself for so long?

Finlay sighed, understanding that Malenia would not be coaxed to bed. With a heavy grunt, she pushed herself up into a sitting position beside Malenia. “What is it?”

A memory surfaced in the turbulence of Malenia’s thoughts. In her mind, she sprinted through the frigid air of the north, across the giant’s bridge to the mountains. Terror impelled her faster and faster and faster. Malenia shook her head to clear it. Then she answered, “I am not as I was.”

“As you were before the tree burned?” Finlay asked. “As you were before we went north? As you were before the war with the dragons?”

Malenia shrugged. “There was a time I had all of my limbs,” she said. “There was a time when I could still see.”

“You are not as you were, but that does not mean you are any less,” Finlay said. She set a calloused hand on Malenia’s stump of a right shoulder, careful not to touch the places so many times worn raw and then barely healed over only to be worn raw again. Though Finlay worked no arts, the touch soothed nonetheless and Malenia leaned into it.

“But am I not less?” Malenia asked quietly.

“To me, you shine as brightly as you ever have,” Finlay replied. She shifted her hand to rub along the plane of Malenia’s back, digging into a tight knot of muscle just under Malenia’s shoulder blade. “You are not less.”

“Even if I am not less, was I ever enough?”

“My lady, you—”

Malenia cut Finlay off, speaking now with force. “What accomplishments do I have? The dragons? What did they matter? I did not set myself against them. I did not slay them for myself. But what did matter—I meant to protect Miquella, who is me and who needed me, but I failed. And I meant to shelter you. But in that I failed as well. And now I will face and defeat Radahn? I presume much.”

Finlay exhaled slowly. She took her time in finding a reply. After a while, she said, “In this moment, you allow your doubts too much purchase. This rumination is not profitable.”

“If I could dispel my doubts, I would,” Malenia said.

“I cannot dispel them for you,” Finlay said quietly.

The conversation lapsed into silence.

In the silence, Malenia’s thoughts only darkened. It had been right to tell Finlay what troubled her, but it had done neither of them any good. Malenia now was no less burdened, and whatever rest Finlay might have eked out despite Malenia was ruined. Frustrated, Malenia clenched her jaw tight and started to grind her teeth.

“Stop grinding your teeth,” Finlay said, absentmindedly. “Those don’t grow back.”

Malenia grunted with annoyance, but stopped grinding her teeth. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Then, genuinely curious, “Can you not grow them back?”

“It is very unpleasant,” Finlay replied. “Better to keep all your teeth as best you can.”

Malenia flexed her jaw.

“Don’t,” Finlay warned. “Just because I can repair teeth doesn’t mean that I will.”

“I could order it,” Malenia pointed out.

“I suggest to you that, should you lose your teeth through your own folly, apologizing profusely for your stubbornness would be more to your benefit,” Finlay replied archly.

Malenia snorted. Then, she reached out and took one of Finlay’s hands in hers. “Do not leave me, Finlay,” she murmured. “Please.”

Finlay answered with a thoughtful hum. After a brief pause, she leaned close, and her warm breath tickled Malenia’s neck. Voice low, “I can’t dispel your doubts, but I can distract you, if you like, though then you must sleep, if only to humor me.” Lest her intentions be unclear, she set her free hand against Malenia’s thigh.

For all her gloom, Malenia chuckled as a shiver ran down her spine. The proposition was not unappealing, though she was unsure if it would, in fact, help her sleep. She suspected the opposite. While she mulled it over, she said, “I am not inclined to barter for your affection.”

“My lady, I am not bartering,” said Finlay, tone caught somewhere between humor and irritation. “You will sleep. I will sleep. This is not a negotiation.”

“You would command me, Finlay?” Malenia asked mildly, still considering.

“In this matter, I would,” Finlay replied, confident, without any hesitation. “The nights are short and rest is precious. Now—will you accept my offer?”

Malenia turned her face towards Finlay. She had decided now her own intent. Feigning disapproval as best she could, even while fighting back a smile, she replied, “You know that I hate when people ask questions to which they already know the answer. Why do you vex me?”

Finlay shook her head. Wry, she said, “Sometimes hearing the answer has as much value as knowing it—or more, even. Speak.”

Malenia gave up fighting the smile and let out a mock exasperated sigh. “I accept your bribe.”

“My bribe?” Finlay repeated, incredulously. She scoffed. Then Finlay, working with a speed that belied the exhaustion of the days, moved both of them so that she straddled Malenia’s lap.

Heatbeat quickening, Malenia tilted her face up towards Finlay.

In these moments—

The two of them were not equal. Finlay was a mortal. Malenia, even diminished, was more.

But in these moments, it was otherwise.

One hand Finlay slipped around the back of Malenia’s head, firmly, a clear direction that Malenia not move. Then, with her other hand, Finlay traced the edge of a nail up along the center line of Malenia’s neck, ghost-light, up until her finger touched just below Malenia’s bottom lip. “You did not sound terribly serious,” she said. She spoke calmly, but her tone sounded rough, like she was struggling for that calm. “Try again.”

Malenia swallowed. Her mind raced to find something to say that Finlay would accept, but it was very hard to think now.

Finlay rolled her hips against Malenia.

Reflexively, Malenia tried to rise up to kiss Finlay, but Finlay pulled back just out of reach. As she pulled back, she dropped her hand down to wrap, gently, around Malenia’s neck, redoubling her instruction that Malenia be still.

Malenia growled in frustration but settled. Nevertheless, she got her one arm around Finlay’s waist, lest her knight try to move any further away. She did not use any of her strength. She wanted to restrain. She did not want, in carelessness, to hurt.

“Well?” Finlay asked.

In the past few seconds, thinking had only gotten harder. The words Malenia managed to find were plain things—“Finlay, just fuck me, please.”

Though Malenia could not see Finlay’s smirk, she heard it rich in Finlay’s voice. “Of course, my lady.”

With what little leverage she had, Malenia, impatient, tried to buck up into Finlay.

Finlay chuckled, then kissed her, or, more rightly said, devoured her, open mouthed, forceful.

As they kissed, a familiar heat spread through Malenia’s body, anticipatory.

Somehow—Malenia could not see, could not see how, could not follow Finlay’s movements well when they were so close and so preoccupied—Finlay put Malenia down on her back, never once breaking their kiss. The heel of Finlay’s hand pressed against Malenia’s core, and Malenia ground herself into it, once, twice, starting to find a rhythm, then more movement that Malenia didn’t quite follow—

Whatever Malenia had been wearing, it was out of the way now.

She had a vague impression that Finlay might be kneeling between her legs, but whatever it was Finlay was doing was far less important than what Finlay wasn’t doing, and Finlay wasn’t touching any of her anymore.

Finlay just knelt there, doing absolutely nothing useful.

“What part of fuck me do you not understand, Sir Finlay?” Malenia snarled.

Finlay had the temerity to laugh, and still she did not move. Instead, she said, “You are beautiful, my lady.”

Malenia opened her mouth to snap at Finlay that she could squander time staring later, but a sudden, intrusive thought silenced her.

If Finlay did not…

Later might not...

If Finlay, who loved her, who never turned away from her rot, who would touch her for no reason save desire alone, who also consented to Malenia’s affections—

Fingers against Malenia’s center and fingers slipping into her cunt brought her back. Inhaling sharply, Malenia pushed into Finlay, seeking more. Finlay obliged, but not enough.

“Finlay,” Malenia breathed.

Her knight understood. She was no stranger to Malenia’s body. She shifted, flexed her fingers, gave Malenia what she wanted. At first she started languidly, but then she found a swifter cadence.

Malenia, sank into herself, luxuriating. With her single hand she grasped one of Finlay’s wrists, not tightly, only to feel more of Finlay moving.

Faster now, and the tip of Finlay’s tongue brushed against Malenia’s nipple, the lightest of touches, entirely unlike the hard and unrelenting movements lower. Malenia arched her back, chasing after Finlay’s mouth. But then Finlay’s mouth was near Malenia’s ear. “You are mine, Malenia. Glorious and mine, mine, mine.”

Malenia shuddered, came undone. The feeling of it shivered through phantom limbs she’d lost so long ago. Toes that she didn’t have curled.

Finlay slowed and then stopped but did not withdraw. After giving Malenia time to settle, “Will you go to sleep now?” she asked.

Content and relaxed, Malenia sighed. She took a while to respond, simply experiencing Finlay against her and in her. Eventually, she asked, “If I say no, will you keep going?”

To this, Finlay snorted. “I told you this was not a negotiation.”

“I am not negotiating,” Malenia replied. “It was a mere inquiry.”

Finlay shook her head. She pulled back. She raised her fingers up and licked them clean. Then, “What was it you said about asking questions one knows the answer to?”

An annoyed huff escaped Malenia. She answered, “It displeases me even more when people use my own words against me.” Still, she reached out and tugged at Finlay’s shoulder. “Sleep with me,” she said.

And she did now, at last, feel that she might sleep, so long as Finlay lay with her.

Finlay caressed Malenia’s face. “As you command it, my lady,” she murmured.

[] [] []

Malenia floated on her back in a pool of thick blood.

Above her, the starless black stretched out, infinite.

[] [] []

What little time remained to them passed too quickly.

“Describe the battlefield to me,” Malenia ordered.

Jishanen cleared her throat. “Largely flat,” she said. “It slopes upwards to the north, downwards to the south. The Redmanes are camped at the eastern edge of the plain, and we are in the west.”

“Do the Redmanes have a significant cavalry?” Malenia asked. She stood, some ways back, while her council crouched around their map on the ground in her tent. It was evening. The battle was close. Everyone wore their armor and the air smelled of oil and steel. The Redmanes were not the sort of army to strike unannounced in the night, but the chance could not be risked.

Jishanen shook her head. “They have enough to harry us, but not enough for a heavy charge—we think they must have the same troubles as everyone else keeping horses these days. So long as we keep pikes on our flanks and stay alert for any attempts to fully circle us tomorrow, they should not pose much of a problem.”

“We can expect a number of sorcerers supporting them, but not as many as Rykard fielded when we went north,” Finlay said. “The bigger issue will be the catapults, which will deploy behind their line, where we cannot reach them.” She jabbed a gauntlet-clad finger at the map on the ground.

Loretta spoke now, “Finlay, wherever you post to cast shields and tend to wounded, I will join you. Should they let their guard down, I will destroy the catapults. And if they do not, I can at least destroy any large stones they attempt to hurl at us.”

Those words uttered by anyone else would have been a boast beyond belief. Loretta, however, uttered them with the confidence of a Carian knight of the highest order.

Finlay nodded. “I will take position just behind the center of our line, along with the other Cleanrots who can cast.” She turned then to Veitchi. “Veitchi will have command of the Cleanrots in the center. Anything that he says should be treated as if I had said it. O’Neil, you and your men and women will take both wings. Jishanen and Ostia will help you.” She paused and looked to the two knights. “For this battle, O’Neil is your commander.”

With unusual solemnity and without protest, Ostia inclined her head. “Understood.” Jishanen echoed the acknowledgment a moment later.

“We think that the Redmanes will decide to charge when the armies are close enough,” Finlay said. “It’s part of their ethos. We will not counter-charge. We’ll set our position and brace.”

“O’Neil, does your force have the discipline for that?” Veitchi asked. He kept his tone polite, carefully avoiding any suggestion of a challenge. Despite all the friction of prior councils, he had the training and experience to operate with only professionalism in the final preparations before the battle.

“Yes,” O’Neil said. “They’ve come this far.” He then added, soft, “And they understand that there’s nowhere to run to.”

“Good,” said Finlay. “We must hold long enough that Radahn takes the field, and then we will spare no sacrifice to defeat him. If anyone breaks before then, we’ll be overrun. Are there any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads.

Malenia had questions, but they were not the kinds of questions she would ever give voice to, at least, not in front of so many. She had a part to play in the battle. She understood her part. She would play it. For the rest, she had to trust Finlay and the others, just as they trusted her.

“Then go,” Finlay said. “You know what needs to be done. Do it.”

The others rose, bowed, left.

Finlay carefully rolled the map, treating it gently. She placed it in its case and sealed the case. In the distant years of peace, a good map had been worth far more than its weight in gold. In the hard years of the Shattering, the same map was priceless.

“Are you afraid?” Malenia asked quietly.

Finlay finished packing away the map in its case, before turning to Malenia. “Yes,” she said, simply. She stretched, then, moving stiffly, as she had been seated for some time and was weighed down by plate, she shuffled towards the lamp that lit the interior of the tent. She blew it out.

“But you have faith,” Malenia said.

“Yes,” Finlay said. She turned to face Malenia and, voice wry, “My lady, have you ever known a soldier who wasn’t afraid before a battle?”

“No,” Malenia answered. “Perhaps the inveterate drunks. But… I suppose not.”

“We have done this many times before,” Finlay said.

“I think it is different, this time,” Malenia said. Then, rather than attempt to marshal her thoughts before speaking, she allowed them to spill out in a jumble of disconnected words. “Before… If ever I failed in prosecuting Marika’s wars, she would have been inconvenienced only, and only briefly. This time… Finlay… should… should I fall, for my sake, Miquella, but more than Miquella…”

“You require that I go on.”

Not a question.

Malenia nodded, once.

Not an answer—instead, a confirmation.

Rather than reply with words, in two steps, Finlay crossed the distance between them. With some effort, she shucked her heavy gauntlets off. When her hands were free, she clasped them around the back of Malenia’s head. Being shorter by half a head, Finlay pulled Malenia down into a kiss. She did not kiss gently. She kissed in a way that screamed that she was hungry, that she wanted, and that she feared.

Malenia followed Finlay’s lead.

Anywhere Finlay led, Malenia would follow.

Anything Finlay asked, Malenia would give.

Anywhere, anything, everything.

[] [] []

In the darkness and the stillness, her twin waited.

[] [] []

There was a chance, always, that an opponent expected to charge might delay or decline. Two armies could spend days lining up on a chosen field, waiting, each side daring the other to an inopportune charge while itself looking for the perfect moment.

Such was not the way of the Redmanes.

Each of the children of Marika who maintained forces under arms of any significant size had imparted certain qualities to those forces.

Malenia’s retinue had always been only few her Cleanrots, knights pledged to her and her to them. When on foot, they fought principally with swords, spears, and war scythes, and they did not carry shields. A sizable number of them had at least some competence in the faith arts, though only a few were notably skilled. Finlay alone could be considered a master of the craft—master enough that even Miquella, on the rare occasions when he was not being conceited, had acknowledged her ability.

Godwyn, in contrast, had employed many lordsworn, but also wandering blades of various sorts as well, perhaps a habit inherited from his sire. While Malenia and her knights were bound to one another by reciprocal oaths, Godwyn, called golden, had paid his sembly, and he had paid them with an open hand. It had availed him, and, as O’Neil and his father stood testament, there had been affection between Godwyn and his motley forces.

Radahn had taken a middle path. His Redmanes were comprised of a core of knights supported by a much larger troop of lordsworn. The combination of knights and lordsworn meant that the Redmanes could field a greater diversity of organized arms in battle, and could execute maneuvers requiring a great deal of discipline and training. Moreover, as the Redmanes were largely drawn from Carian and Caelid stock, many carried at least some glintstone talisman that, if pressed, they could use to sorcerous effect.

During the earliest days of the war with the dragons, before each of the children of Marika set out in separate directions to prosecute their own campaigns, on a handful of occasions the Cleanrots and the Redmanes fought supporting one another. In those battles, the Redmanes had earned Malenia’s respect.

She had also learned that, while they possessed great discipline in the heat of battle, they did not do well with patience.

Radahn, in his pride, ever sought greater glory.

Just after dawn, standing two ranks behind the front line of her Cleanrots, Malenia cast her senses out across the field.

Close by, she felt her knights in their ordered rows. Somewhat farther, to their left and their right, she felt Miquella’s followers under O’Neil’s command. They too had formed up in ranks, though theirs were not as well-set as those of the Cleanrots. That was to be expected. If the Cleanrots could not surpass their companion’s muster, then Malenia’s knights would be poor knights indeed.

Some ways behind Malenia, Finlay and a handful of other Cleanrots stood on a hastily raised mound of earth in an otherwise clear area. Responsible for raising shields across the entire line, and for doing whatever else was needed, they required the height to see from, and they required the cleared ground for when wounded were dragged to them to be patched up and sent forward once more. Loretta stood with them too, joining in the small advantage to visibility that the raised ground provided.

Then there was the field itself.

Though not as choked with rotting plant matter as Limgrave or Liurnia, Caelid’s drier soil still harbored thick decay. When grasses grew too parched to survive, they crumpled to fibrous dust. When wind howled over the rocky landscape, it scraped stones bare. Sand ground against sand, wearing itself away.

As Jishanen had said, the field lay mostly flat. At the start of the battle, it would hasten a charge. Then, for a time, it would provide good footing. Eventually, it would turn to a thick, bloody mud that sucked at feet, slowed already exhausted steps, and killed the unwary. By the end of the battle, it would be covered in corpses—unless Malenia or Radahn could end the other quickly.

Across the field stood the Redmanes.

Like Malenia’s force, they had formed themselves into ranks. Unlike Malenia’s force, they brought significant artillery and other ranged fire to the battle. Though the Redmanes lacked patience, artillery required time to set, and bowmen, for all their strength and valor, were not suited for charges.

Malenia rolled her shoulders.

One advantage, she’d noticed, to having a sword arm of unalloyed gold was that unalloyed gold did not sweat. Her hand never chafed from wielding her blade, and her grip never slipped. Her flesh and blood hand, however, betrayed her nerves. It worried at a bit of cloth, the edge of her cloak.

Were Finlay by her side, Finlay would say something terribly abstract about faith and trust. And Malenia, for all her doubts, would find comfort in it. But Finlay was not by Malenia’s side.

Malenia breathed deeply of the dry Caelid air. To regain her twin, she would seize victory in this battle. If that meant defeating Radahn, then so be it. She would do it.

Drawing Malenia from her ruminations, the earth beneath her feet trembled. With only that as warning, the air became heavy around her. She became heavy. Her hand, worrying the edge of her cloak, slowed. A few Cleanrots stumbled, and several swore loudly.

Weight.

Mass.

Motion.

Radahn made himself known.

As Veitchi shouted to form up the Cleanrots’ lines once more, Malenia quietly sank into herself.

It wasn’t time yet.

Soon.

Not yet…

From across the field, thousands of knights and lordsworn roared with a single voice, sending a wave of sound rolling across the field to break against their enemy’s line. Around Malenia, her knights tensed. Never before had it been so apparent how many the Redmanes were and how few had followed Malenia so far.

But, nevertheless, Radahn had shown them the respect of bringing forth his full strength.

A compliment that Malenia could have done without.

The ground shook beneath the force of Radahn’s might.

Malenia set her mind to the very edge of her perception. The Redmanes had started their advance. High above, boulders hurtled through the empty sky—then, bolts of sorcerous power shot out to meet them. Loretta’s work. The projectiles collided in great explosions, and the boulders were blown to shrapnel, creating a rain of rocky debris below.

Beyond the advance—

Though she could not see him, Malenia knew her kinsman.

She did not recognize him though.

The scouts had warned her, but, still…

He towered above the battlefield. At least as tall as six men standing each on another, with width to match, it beggared belief how he proceed among an army of mere mortals. And perhaps that was why he did not advance with his Redmanes. He remained sentinel far behind them, exerting the force of his will upon Malenia and her forces.

As the Redmanes crossed the field, the weight of Radahn’s will grew heavier.

“Veitchi!” Malenia shouted.

Finlay’s second in command appeared at her side immediately. “Here.”

“Send a message to Finlay,” Malenia said. “She must stop Radahn’s interference.”

Veitchi didn’t waste time bowing. He turned and found a Cleanrot from the third rank to run back to the casters’ position.

Malenia did not know what Finlay would do, or even what she could do, to disrupt whatever power Radahn had laid on the field. But she knew that Finlay would succeed. If she did not, the battle would be a rout within mere moments of a Redmane charge colliding with a sluggish, unsteady defensive line.

The Redmanes were near now, almost near enough to transition from their steady march to a jog that would then become an all-out run, building speed for an attempt to break their opponent’s ranks by sheer momentum. The tramp of their boots against the dry earth thundered in Malenia’s ears.

It had not been discussed what Malenia’s role would be until the moment that she must meet Radahn.

No doubt Finlay would have preferred that Malenia wait behind her knights, reserving her strength.

No doubt, too, Finlay would have known better than to expect that such a thing would suit her lady.

Moving sluggishly on account of Radahn’s manipulations of the field, Malenia shouldered her way through the ranks of her Cleanrots. To the front. At the front, she took several steps more, becoming the forward-most point of the formation. In her golden hand, her blade waited to be put to its purpose.

Perhaps fifteen yards, maybe as few as ten, the Redmanes as one leaned forward and started to run, a mass of steel bent towards violence stampeding forward.

Somewhere behind Malenia, Veitchi shouted for the lines to brace—though the Cleanrots, having fought such battles before, knew already what lay ahead and what to do.

Still, the weight of Radahn’s sorcery lay heavy on all of them.

Malenia ground her teeth.

The Redmanes had not yet reached them—

Five yards now.

Finlay needed to do something.

A handful of feet only…

A lightness swept through Malenia, raising her up, flooding a sense of easy grace through her muscles. All around, the ranks of Cleanrots shivered, then stiffened.

It was not relief from Radahn’s gravity—no, that remained still. Rather, bright faith bolstered Malenia’s company, infusing them with enough strength to resist Radahn’s heavy aura, though not shrug it off entirely.

A Redmane surged into Malenia’s range, carried by too much momentum to avoid her. She swept her blade out and decapitated them, then continued her swing, intending to sever the arm of another foe from their body. Her strike was met by a shield and a riposte that demanded she cede a half-step to avoid leaving herself exposed as, on either side of her, other Redmanes continued their charge, flowing around her and onwards.

The first rank of Redmanes crashed into the first rank of Cleanrots with a terrible crunch, immediately eclipsed by screams and the screech of metal on metal and the acrid stench of blood and viscera.

Driven by necessity, Malenia joined the line of her knights, needing allies to protect her flanks. The two armies had slammed together with such force that, for lack of room, very few could swing a sword. Instead, bodies clawed at one another, ripping weapons from hands, stamping booted heels into knees, stabbing fingers through gaps in helmets.

Malenia flickered further back. Her knights immediately moved to fill the gap in the line that she’d left. She went just far enough back to find a place with space enough that she could release her sword from her golden hand and fasten it to her belt. Then, grabbing her knife in her flesh and blood hand, she surged forward again, back into the chaotic melee.

She lay about her with the knife, and with her golden hand, using it sometimes to grab and punch, and other times as a club-like bludgeon. In the brawl, more than one blow slipped through her guard. Someone caught a fistful of her hair and pulled, someone else tried to tackle her bodily. When men knew they would die, they clung to her arms and legs, trying to drag her down so their fellows could perhaps succeed where they failed. She fought on. She did not falter.

Everywhere, screaming.

The earth, hard and dry before, turned to bloody mud and then vanished beneath corpses.

According to the cadence of battle, both the Cleanrots and the Redmanes rotated their front ranks back to be replaced with fresher blades, again and again and again as the armies ceaselessly ground against one another.

At the edge of Malenia’s awareness, arrows fell on the Cleanrots and their allies, so many that their shields if faith could not entirely protect them. Those shields, such as they were, did not come from Finlay’s hand. Finlay’s entire focus had been diverted to counteracting Radahn’s influence, and the shields had been left to the lesser casters. Meanwhile, Loretta’s bolts continued to streak through the skies of the field, meeting and destroying boulders flung by catapults and also the Carian arts employed by Radahn’s own core of sorcerers.

Malenia focused only on the Redmanes in front of her and around her, striking, parrying, killing, and surviving.

The longer she fought—her strength waxed great, but it was not limitless.

Should she too take a turn in the back of her knights’ formation?

Malenia, for a brief moment, turned her attention to the looming giant across the field.

Radahn had not moved. He continued to watch the battle from a distance. Waiting.

If he came forward now, he would be fresh and she would be weary.

But if she retreated to rest, if she left her Cleanrots to fight without her, more of her knights would die. Even now, she felt lives entwined with her rot flickering out.

A blow caught Malenia in the gut—Malenia glanced down, a Redmane had taken advantage of her wandering attention and lapsed defense to try to shove a dagger in her stomach. The weapon hadn’t pierced the cuirass of unalloyed gold she wore under her coat. Malenia formed her golden hand into a fist and brought it up, striking the Redmane under the chin and snapping their neck.

Malenia snarled.

Had the Redmane come from a different angle, the blade might have found some weakness, and she might have been seriously injured.

But she had now lost the rhythm of the battle. A Redmane threw themselves at her from the side, wrapping both arms around her torso while twisting a leg around in an attempt to sweep her legs out from under her. Malenia brought her golden elbow down on the crown of the Redmane’s head, caving in their skull, but her opponent’s inertia and weight brought her to ground regardless.

As soon as she fell, more Redmanes were on her, striking either with blades or booted feet. Though she wore a helm, it was designed to leave her lower face uncovered to avoid muffling any of her commands. A steel-capped toe of a boot slammed into her jaw and something cracked. Malenia’s head rang from the blow.

Raising her arm of gold up to protect her face, and trusting in her armor, she braced against the ground and, despite the force of the Redmanes battering her down, tried to stand again—to little success.

Moments later, moments that felt as hours, the nearest Cleanrots surged forward to drive the Redmanes back. Leading them, Veitchi bellowed a bestial warcry. He and a few others pushed ahead, clearing just enough space in the brawl for Malenia to regain her feet.

Still dazed, Malenia opened her mouth to order Veitchi and the Cleanrots to return to their places—

A spear exploded from Veitchi’s back, low, having pierced precisely the gap between the bottom of his cuirass and the top of the faulds protecting his waist and upper legs, then run through his gut and backplate. In a last screaming gasp of life, he stabbed a knife into the side of his killer’s throat, taking the Redmane with him to blackness.

Blinding rage, of a power Malenia had seldom ever experienced, incinerated every rational thought in her mind and drove her back into the melee.

In the absence of any command to withdraw and regroup, the Cleanrots attempted to hold position forward of the line, covering Malenia’s flanks.

Malenia lay about her in every direction, breaking the Redmanes, but, around her, more and more Cleanrots began to fall, and other knights from farther back in the formation then came to take their place and fall as well.

Then, from some distance down the field, an explosion shook the battle.

Still overcome by fury, Malenia turned towards the sound—a blast had blown over a dozen men of O’Neil’s force backwards, collapsing their line. From among the Redmanes there, one presence felt familiar, the one called Jerren.

Jerren, whom Radahn held dear.

Malenia broke into a sprint towards the new breach, leaving her knights behind.

She knew the moment she left the territory held by the Cleanrots and passed into that held by O’Neil’s force. The men and women who followed O’Neil did not carry her rot and she could not easily tell them apart from the Redmanes in a close melee. At best, she could sense the directions of their movements. Anyone driving towards Radahn was a friend. Anyone pushing back away from him was a foe.

As she ran, Malenia drew her sword once more and secured it in her hand. Then, when she felt close enough, like a bird of prey, she dove towards her quarry, though several Redmanes had now pressed forward in front of Jerren to take advantage of the opening he’d created. Having come at them charging and her allies having either fallen or fallen back from the breach, she had room to put her blade to work. She scythed the Redmanes down.

Moving as quickly as thought, her sword lashed out at Jerren—

He raised his own sword, a two-handed greatsword, and parried the blow. Unalloyed gold met bloody steel.

Undeterred, Malenia spun around for another attempt.

Jerren stepped back and made an arcane gesture with his blade. Sorcerous power sprang into life in the air above him in the form of some sigil that Malenia did not recognize. A searing blade of arcane energy lanced out from the sigil aimed at her chest.

Malenia shifted to avoid the attack.

In that brief moment she took the defensive, Jerren took the offensive, and, with him, several other Redmanes charged as well.

O’Neil’s forces had not yet returned to repair their line, and so Malenia, grinding her teeth, gave ground. If this were a duel, if she faced only Jerren, he would be dead in an instant. But it was not a duel.

Now surrounded on three sides by soldiers wielding shields and pikes and trained to fight alongside one another, Malenia gave more ground still. Slowly, they closed in on her—she lacked space for a strong sweeping cut to batter side their shields, and the constant jabbing of their polearms kept her too busy dodging and parrying to break free.

And, now, more Redmanes were circling around, trying to come at her from behind as well.

And Jerren, like his master Radahn but in miniature, stood safely back, out of reach.

The point of a pike jammed at Malenia’s chest, cutting her coat and skidding off her cuirass.

Malenia grabbed the weapon by the haft with her flesh and blood hand before it could pull back and wrenched it from its owner’s hands. Now armed with sword and pike, she was in a somewhat better position, but the other Redmanes had finished the entrapment.

Snarling, Malenia threw herself forward to batter her way out.

The disciplined Redmanes in front of her receded, avoiding the engagement, as their fellows on all other sides continued the assault.

Again, Malenia tried to escape, this time backwards rather than forwards—but to the same effect.

Distantly, very distantly, and through the haze of furious bloodlust, she was aware that she should not have hurled herself out alone. Not in a battle like this. It was this arrogance and impatience of hers that had before kept her in the thick of the Redmanes and then cost Veitchi his life. She had erred, again.

A roar to Malenia’s right rent the air.

With all the force of a charging warhorse, O’Neil slammed into the side of the Redmane’s formation. In heavy plate and wielding a halberd made more of steel than timber, he was an unstoppable force. The first Redmane he crashed into, O’Neil skewered the enemy on his polearm, and the next likewise, and then the third he trampled.

Malenia took no pause to evaluate the change in circumstances. At once, she started to lay about with her own blade, taking advantage of O’Neil’s charge to press an attack of her own against the now disorganized Redmanes.

As soon as Malenia and O’Neil had finished off the remainder, she turned her attention back to Jerren.

The enemy knight stood several yards away, sword held in a guard position. On either side of him, Redmanes had formed up into a protective line.

For a moment, Malenia felt a flicker of doubt. Before, she’d charged forward to get at Jerren, and she’d nearly paid for it. Should she do it again? Now that she had O’Neil with her?

Shoving all doubt aside, Malenia hurtled at the foe, sword extended, O’Neil charging alongside her.

If she killed Jerren, then, surely, Radahn would finally advance and the battle could be ended.

With O’Neil’s help, the Redmanes crumpled. Jerren survived Malenia’s initial onslaught, and two more strikes of her sword, but the next pierced his guard and cut deep into his shoulder. Blood sprayed.

Malenia twisted, bringing her blade around for a finishing blow.

Without warning, gravity slammed Malenia, Jerren, O’Neil, and everyone nearby into the ground. Such was the force of the sorcery that Malenia’s right arm slipped from its fastenings, coming loose entirely.

Across the field, Radahn stood with one hand outstretched.

With great effort, Malenia reached out and seized her golden arm, which still clutched her sword. Then, she pushed herself back up to her feet. Around her, the others were attempting to do the same. Still under Radahn’s influence, her movements were uncoordinated and sluggish. She took a step towards Jerren—and he scrambled backwards over the ground, able to move faster for having not stood up and not needing to balance on two feet against the oppressive weight of Radahn’s sorcery.

He was going to get away.

Enraged, Malenia screamed.

Jerren would get away.

Radahn would remain distant, safe.

The losses, all those who’d fallen under her command, all for nothing.

Gathering whatever wits she could about her, Malenia turned her head towards O’Neil, who had managed to stand, though he leaned heavily on his halberd. “O’Neil,” Malenia growled. “Retreat. Everyone retreat.”

O’Neil didn’t move. “My lady?”

“Retreat!” Malenia screamed. Then, without waiting for O’Neil to question her again, she turned back to Radahn, far across the field. She did not know if he would be able to hear her from so far away, but she called out all the same. “Radahn! Fight me, you coward! Brother, have you no honor? No pride?”

In the distance, Radahn stirred.

Behind Malenia, her force began to withdraw, only barely maintaining their formations, only barely managing not to fall into a rout as the Redmanes pursued them.

Shoulders heaving with fury and exhaustion and the exertion required to survive beneath Radahn’s suffocating power, Malenia marched forward.

And Radahn came forth to meet her.

It was so strange that at first Malenia did not notice it—but Radahn did not walk, instead, he rode. Strange, comical, even. He had grown to such as size that he dwarfed his steed, but, still, he rode. Or, perhaps, with his size, he could no longer walk unassisted. A parody of a lord, bloated on power and conceit. She would tear him from his horse and grind him into the dirt.

When they were still a ways apart, Radahn stopped. He took his two enormous blades and slammed them into the ground, one on either side of him. And so he issued a challenge of his own. In a voice so deep and resonant that it sounded in Malenia’s bones, he rumbled, “I am Radahn, who scourges the stars, who is general of the Redmanes. You defy me, youngest sister?”

Malenia grimaced. She still labored beneath Radahn’s influence, and, she thought, she felt even heavier now.

She opened her mouth to respond, but, first—

Malenia made a half turn back. Snarling, “I ordered a retreat, Finlay.”

Using her sword as a crutch to survive the weight of Radahn’s will, Finlay staggered forward, one step after another. “So you did, my lady,” she grunted.

Malenia started to order Finlay back again, but the command died in her chest. Instead, wordless, she nodded. Then, she turned back to Radahn. Pitching her voice to carry, she called, “I am Malenia, blade of Miquella, and I have never known defeat.”

Golden power, faith, filled her, lifting her up despite Radahn’s influence, driving away weariness and lending strength. Grimly, she locked her golden arm back into place and gripped her blade tightly.

Saying nothing more, Radahn took up his twin swords again. Rather than seize them in his hands and draw them, he set his hands over them and they rose of their own accord.

Malenia ignored the display of power. She set her stance, letting herself feel the solidity of the ground beneath her feet. Then she pushed forward, with every step driving against the earth to propel her body faster and faster.

Radahn brought one sword up, around, down at a slight angle, aiming to cleave Malenia in half.

His sword was so large that it would be difficult to evade the attack. Malenia made no such futile effort. A shield of faith sparked into existence over her, catching the blow and diverting it. Radahn’s blade cut a deep furrow in the dry Caelid ground.

Now within Radahn’s guard, Malenia put on a burst of speed, then jumped, hard, high, sword ready, aiming for Radahn’s chest.

Halfway through her leap, still ten paces from her foe, gravity caught Malenia and slammed her down into the dirt. Her nose broke. Some number of her ribs cracked. Pain, white hot, searing through all thought, swallowed her.

Radahn brought his other sword stabbing down, but this one too a golden shield turned aside.

Above, piercing spears of faith shot out, crashing into Radahn with force enough to nearly knock him from his saddle. Another wave of spears followed, and Radahn withdrew, falling back to evade their fury.

Gasping through the agony of her chest, Malenia struggled up to her feet. Finlay stood next to her, both hands outstretched, conjuring up wave after wave of golden missiles. Without looking at Malenia and without ceasing her assault, Finlay took one hand and shoved it against Malenia’s sternum. From that point of contact, warmth flooded through Malenia. Her ribs set themselves. Her nose healed crooked.

At the distance that he’d retreated to, Radahn had room to dodge Finlay’s volleys. Spurring his horse, he galloped first one way, then another. An expert at mounted combat, even as his horse went in the opposite direction, he twisted in the saddle towards Malenia and Finlay, then sent a furious blast of sorcery screaming towards them, a massive pillar of unnatural flame.

With a grunt, Finlay brought both her hands together before her.

Radahn’s sorcery washed over Finlay’s shield like a river crashing over boulder. The heat of inferno scorched Malenia’s skin, but the fire did not touch her. On and on it continued though, heating the air to the point it burned in her lungs.

A distant memory tugged at the edge of Malenia’s awareness—a memory of dragons and dragonfire.

The flames did not last forever. Eventually, they subsided.

All around, Malenia felt nothing—everything that lived and decayed had been utterly incinerated, except for herself and Finlay and a few scraps of stubborn grasses lucky enough to have been beneath their feet.

Finlay toppled forward, only barely catching herself by landing on her knees. Her breathing came ragged now. She started to cough, to hack, then vomited up thick bile, rot mixed with bits and pieces of herself. For a moment she stayed upright on her knees, then she keeled onto her side.

At once, Malenia felt the weight of Radahn’s gravity again, attempting to press her down so that she became one with the ground beneath her feet. Lest her golden arm again slip from its place, Malenia grabbed it with her flesh and blood hand.

“Finlay,” Malenia grunted. “I must be free of his interference—nothing else, nothing more, just give me that.”

Finlay did not respond.

Radahn, distant, rallied now. Without the barrages of faith to keep him at bay, he wheeled about to charge back into close quarters, where there was glory to be won.

“Finlay,” Malenia barked, “Now!”

Still, Finlay did not respond.

For a fatal moment, Malenia turned her attention away from Radahn’s renewed charge and towards her knight, unmoving in a pool of her own decaying viscera.

Malenia faltered.

Then, without time to think of acts or of consequences, Malenia touched her flesh and blood hand to her chest, above the sliver of her brother’s power that she carried. The needle answered her demand, shivering free of her flesh. Malenia knelt, heavily. So much rot, held back for years by the needle, writhed in her. In a moment, her entire left arm started to soften. But she could spare it no attention. She took Finlay’s limp hand, took the needle, wrapped Finlay’s hand around it.

“This is yours,” Malenia said, willing her knight to hear her. “Keep it. Do not be parted from it—by your oath to me, do not be parted from it.”

For a half-heartbeat, Malenia brushed her fingers against Finlay’s helm. Then she turned back to Radahn.

Malenia tested her grip on her sword. Despite the drag of Radahn’s immense gravity, it held firm. Satisfied, Malenia threw herself forward to meet Radahn’s charge with a charge of her own.

Even with Radahn’s will pressing down on the field and on Malenia, making every step cost her twice as much as it should, she still moved more swiftly than he did.

With both of them moving so fast towards one another, Malenia, being the smaller by far, had some advantage. She could turn more tightly than Radahn on his horse, and his blades were simply too large to wield with the precision necessary to catch her once she was close. Malenia darted through Radahn’s guard in an instant.

This time, rather than throw herself up at her opponent directly where she would be vulnerable for as long as she was parted from the ground, Malenia lashed out at Radahn’s horse. Too disciplined to rear or to flee or even to divert its course in a way not in accordance with Radahn’s guidance, and lacking the strategies of its master, the horse did not attempt any evasion. Malenia’s long sword pierced through its thick neck, and then she tore the blade free, very nearly decapitating the animal.

Radahn roared.

Beast and general toppled to the ground.

Malenia only narrowly avoided being crushed by Radahn’s falling bulk. Having avoided being crushed, she immediately struck, trying to take advantage of his temporary vulnerability. The closest part of him to her was his leg. She brought her sword down in a straight vertical cut. Her blade was not large enough to cut through the leg in one blow—it would have to be a defeat of a thousand cuts.

But Malenia’s sword cut into steel armor and stuck, going no further.

As large as he was, Radahn’s armor was far, far thicker than normal plate. She would have to find openings or try to pierce it. She could not cut through.

Grimly, Malenia wrenched her sword free and retreated a few steps. She did not go far. Given Radahn’s size, she was safest if she stayed near. And, near him, his sorcery did not weigh on her so much—as if he could not push her down and raise himself up in the same space.

Using his two swords for balance, Radahn staggered upright once more.

Now under his feet, Malenia danced behind him, forcing him to turn to find her.

They exchanged blows twice in this posture—him turning, bringing his blade about in a sweeping circle, unable to find his enemy, and her, sprinting to avoid him, but landing only glancing strikes against his armored legs.

After the second exchange, they both grew weary of this and changed tactics.

Malenia opened distance, hoping for just enough room to again try to leap up towards Radahn’s center where she might slip her blade through one of the gaps in his armor left for his arms.

But in the momentary pause in the rhythm of the battle, Radahn entirely turned his back on Malenia and instead rounded on Finlay, still prone on the ground.

Terror froze Malenia in place.

Not long though—

Dragging herself back into motion, Malenia threw herself at Radahn, forward, then up, launching again into the air, this time at his back. As she flew at him, she braced the butt of her blade against the bone of her left shoulder. She could not afford for her arm to break free again.

She hit her mark.

Her sword pierced Radahn’s armored backplate, impaling the meat of him above his heart. The other end of her sword ripped through her flesh and bone. Unable to go further into Radahn, it went through her instead.

Radahn staggered but did not fall, did not stop. Though no longer mounted, he covered an incredible distance with every gargantuan step.

Malenia snarled. Stuck to Radahn’s back by her own sword, and with her entire left shoulder mangled, Malenia set her golden right hand against Radahn’s armor and tried to push herself free. Pain exploded through every nerve in her body. To no effect. The blade was jammed tight through her joint. She remained held fast.

He raised his sword—

No.

He would not.

Malenia would not allow it.

Her blood dripped down, along the curve of her sword, mingling with his.

The power that was hers and hers alone unfurled in her chest.

“Radahn, my brother,” Malenia whispered. “Rot.”

Decay burst from Malenia’s form, devouring.

Like when she’d first touched the rune Marika had left her as inheritance, but on an unimaginably greater scale.

With Malenia at its epicenter, the rot flowered forth, covering Radahn in an instant and then spreading further across the field of dead and dying, rushing ravenous towards the survivors, Redmanes and Cleanrots both. Everything it touched, it consumed. The screams of those who'd thought to see the battle's end, even from a distance, split the air in cacophany, but the roar of her blooming drowned out Malenia's perception of anything else. It swamped her mind with a wave of scarlet, an eternity of scarlet, the only color in the darkness of her world. Ripped apart, splintering, by what she'd unleashed, she could not hold to herself. Everything the rot touched, it consumed, and she consumed it too, and the rot demanded she consume more and more.

Grasses, shrubs, trees, they all softened.

And living flesh rotting tasted so sweet.

She had not meant—

But she had meant, she had intended, she had willed, in herself she had chosen.

Piercing through the the call of the rot, cold terror.

Desperate for some anchor to cling to, Malenia groped in the tempest of her making—

Where?

Her last thought—

Her only thought—

[] [] []

For a while, Malenia floated in a place that did not exist.

There was too much peace for it to be real.

She floated there nonetheless.

She rested.

At long last, she rested.

The cares of the world faded.

Miquella…

Was he not as powerful as she, more even?

Could he not overcome whatever obstacles lay before him without her?

Did not all who saw him love him?

He would be safe.

Wherever he was, he would be safe.

And Finlay—

Finlay had the needle.

Finlay would live, and she would live a life beyond service to Malenia.

She was strong.

She would endure.

In the place beyond the world that did not exist, Malenia drifted.

It was time now to sleep, truly, finally, sleep.

To sleep for an age, and perhaps longer.

But…

That Finlay could endure, would endure, did that make just and right that Malenia break her vow?

She swore an oath to Finlay that she would not allow herself to subside.

Ah, but she was so tired.

Surely Finlay would not begrudge her rest.

How could Finlay, who loved her, begrudge her rest?

Was Finlay not the one who urged her always to sleep?

And when Malenia woke, Finlay would be there.

For Finlay had the needle now.

And…

And if Malenia now allowed herself to subside, when she woke, she would not deserve that Finlay have kept vigil for her.

Wearily, Malenia roused herself. Once before, Finlay had brought Malenia out from herself and from the embrace of the rot. Now, Finlay was not with her. But because of Finlay, Malenia knew the way.

[] [] []

Malenia returned to the world slowly. She lay on her back on soft ground. The ground… it had a certain quality to it, loamy, perhaps. After a moment’s thought, Malenia understood what it was. Rot. She lay on rot.

Above her, not open air, not sky, a bower of thick petals of decay.

Her shoulder…

Her mangled left shoulder seethed in agony with every breath she took. Her blade remained lodged in it. And her left arm, devoured by rot, felt like dead weight.

Clenching her teeth, Malenia rolled onto her right side, then struggled up to her knees. The pain of moving threatened to overwhelm her, but she resisted.

Exhausted, she extended her senses a bit farther than her own form. Not far enough to determine what had become of the rest of the battle. Only far enough to find that spark of gold veined with scarlet.

Pushing herself up by sheer force of will, Malenia rose to her feet. Waves and waves of excruciating fire wracked every fiber of her being.

She put one foot in front of the other.

Reaching the wall of floral rot that had sprung up around her, she commanded it to yield, and it obeyed her.

Then she walked out across the land that she had desecrated.

When she achieved her goal, she toppled over, only barely twisting enough to fall on her less injured side. Even so, her blade, still in her shoulder, hit the ground at an angle, grinding it deeper into where it had caught in cartilage and bone.

Unprepared for the fresh agony, Malenia screamed.

As Malenia’s scream faded to a whimper, Finlay remained motionless.

Fighting through pain that would, soon, overwhelm her, Malenia managed to put her hand over Finlay’s armored chest.

She did not feel the rise and fall of life.

But why would she, through the heavy plate?

She knew, knew with all her being, that Finlay was not gone.

For Finlay, Malenia would wait.

Not able to hold on any longer, Malenia slipped from consciousness.

[] [] []

In Elphael, when Malenia’s eyes had been dim but not dark—

Malenia, by custom not an early riser, had risen for the dawn at Finlay’s behest.

“I do not understand why you insist that I see dawn,” Malenia had said, voice heavy with slumber forsaken. “I have seen dawn before. This dawn will be no different from any other dawn.”

“Because it is beautiful,” Finlay had replied. “You will thank me for this, someday.”

[] [] []

When Malenia surfaced back into the waking world, her sword no longer impaled her.

Finlay sat slumped at her side, head down, one hand resting on the freshly mended flesh of Malenia’s shoulder.

At Malenia’s stirring, Finlay looked to her. “My lady.”

Malenia slowly moved her own flesh and blood hand to cover Finlay’s on her shoulder. Voice hoarse, Malenia answered, “Sir Finlay.”

For a while, neither of them said anything.

At last, Malenia asked, “Radahn?”

“Gone,” Finlay said. Every word she spoke hung heavy with exhaustion. “He escaped, headed east. The way to Sellia is clear.”

“And the others?”

“The Redmanes are fled as well,” Finlay said. Now, her voice broke. “But our losses are great.”

They both lapsed into silence once more.

Gentle, Malenia squeezed Finlay’s hand, still resting on her shoulder.

“But we are still here,” Malenia murmured.

Finlay echoed, softly, “We are still here.”

Notes:

i have been working on this fic for over a year and it is more than twice as long as i intended and it is still not done. halp.

anyway, i have been crushingly busy at work, so that's why this took so long to post and why it's going to also be a very long time before i get the last arc done. and depending on how i feel about the dlc, i might do an extra arc? idk.

thank you for reading, thank you for sticking with me, thank you for shipping this pairing like i do

Chapter 9: Siofra - Part One

Of the dead, nothing remained save empty husks of unalloyed gold.

[] [] []

Standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the dark Siofra, Finlay shivered. The chill cavern air, damp and smelling of settled detritus, seeped through her dented armor, clothes, flesh, into her very bones. Below her lay a drop of what she guessed must be at least a hundred feet or more. At the bottom of the drop, mist shrouded freezing river waters and their treacherous currents. Above, stars, embedded in whatever served the cavern as a sky, gave her shuddering vertigo.

Footsteps, only barely audible over the rushing of the river, made Finlay turn.

Malenia approached, hands clasped behind her back. She had discarded the coat that she usually wore over her light armor of unalloyed gold. The coat had been cut to bloody rags in their battle with Radahn. Like Finlay’s armor, Malenia’s had seen better days. Deep rents in her cuirass  spoke of blades that might have cut her in two but for her twin’s smithwork. Despite the state of her clothes and armor, still, she held herself with a regal bearing, poised, always. Her manner, combined with the way she tended to angle her unseeing eyes in always slightly the wrong direction, suggested she was not quite of the world that she walked in.

“My lady,” Finlay said, inclining her head with respect when Malenia was still several paces away. 

At Finlay’s greeting, Malenia slowed and stopped. Farther back, behind Malenia, the remainder of their force pitched camp. The remainder… Of every three-score of men and women who had set out with them from Elphael, only one or two still lived to follow Malenia in their quest. The battle with Radahn and his Redmanes had more than decimated their ranks. And then the rot had taken the rest. Enemy or friend, soldier or innocent, it had discriminated only between the weak and the strong, and it had found almost all wanting.

“Have you ever visited one of the old cities?” Malenia asked, tugging Finlay from her thoughts.

Finlay shrugged. Though Malenia had no sight, with her uncanny sense of the world, she would perceive the gesture all the same. Perhaps she would even perceive more. “No. I have never had any reason.” 

“I visited one, once, a very long time ago,” Malenia said. She turned her face towards the cliff and the darkness beyond. “Not this one–a city closer to Liurnia, along the banks of the Ainsel. It was a ruin, but it was a grand ruin, monumental, a rival to even Leyndell.”

“There are no grand ruins here,” Finlay said. She amended, “At least, not nearby, not that I can see.”

“What do you see then?”

“A cave and an unnatural sky,” Finlay said. “This entire place–it’s like being out in the wilderness on a clear night. There are so many stars here, maybe even more than light the darkness in the world above. It is the kind of light, though, that does not lessen the gloom, rather, it adds to it instead.”

Malenia nodded, once, seemingly satisfied. “That is as I remember of the other city as well,” she said. “Light in a place where there should be no light, and always the dark seeking to reclaim its realm.”

“What business did you have in that other city?” Finlay asked.

“These old cities,” Malenia began, speaking glacially slow, as if she chose her words with greatest care, “As they are now in this age, they are all places of decay. Do you feel it?”

A chill shivered down Finlay’s spine. Since the moment that Marika broke her ring of runes, Malenia’s connection to the rot had been changing. In that, to a degree, Finlay had played a part. But in the weeks since Malenia unleashed the rot on Caelid, her connection to it had changed more still. Deepend. “Not as you do, my lady,” Finlay said.

Malenia regarded her. “I suppose you would not,” she said. Briefly, indecision flickered across her features. Then, after a pause, “What is that you feel, Finlay?”

Within Finlay’s chest, the needle given to her by her lady stirred for a moment, then went quiescent once more. The needle that had warded off the rot and preserved her when so many others were consumed. The needle that no longer protected Malenia.

Finlay did not know if she did it on purpose, but when Malenia stood with her hands clasped behind her back, she hid the state of her one remaining arm. It moldered. Finlay had scrounged up scraps of unalloyed gold wire and stitched them into Malenia’s flesh, but, even so, she feared soon the limb would be lost. The last limb she’d been born with, sacrificed.

Malenia needn’t lose the arm if only she would take back the needle. But, for all Finlay’s pleading, she refused.

“I don’t know what to make of your question, my lady,” Finlay said.

Malenia shifted her weight to one foot, as if to take a step, but then settled again, maintaining the distance between them. “I wish to know how you fare,” she said. “If you would tell me.”

Finlay shut her eyes against the dark and the stars. 

Long years of wandering and then of service, first under the banner of Leyndell and then under the banner of her lady, had inured her to the grief of loss. Comrades came, and then they fell. Such was the way of things. But…

Protected at the rear of their force and perched slightly above the battlefield, Finlay had seen the flow and ebb of the armies. As best she could, she had watched Malenia, and she had watched those of her fellows she held as friends, though she could do nothing more for any of them than counteract Radahn’s immense gravity as best she could.

She watched, helpless, when Malenia had been caught off-guard, and then when…

“My lady, I do not think this is a proper time to speak of such things,” Finlay said. “We have come through many troubles, and more still lie ahead.”

“And if one of us should fall before we have found a proper time?” Malenia asked.

“Then the matter will be concluded,” Finlay answered.

“You are upset,” Malenia said.

Again, Finlay shrugged. She could not lie, only deflect. “It is of no moment,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” Malenia replied. “Please, Finlay, for my sake, do not hold this to yourself.”

Finlay let her breath out in a long exhalation. There was no profit in this. Still, she spoke. “I feel guilt,” she said.

“Why?” Malenia asked. Her blind stare bored into Finlay. “What have you to feel guilty of?”

“I am alive and so many of my friends are dead,” Finlay answered. “And they did not die by the sword.”  She clenched her hands into fists and shook her head, as if she could, with that physical act, cast out all her grim thoughts. Somewhere in this cavern of the Siofra beneath Caelid, somewhere in the dark, Miquella awaited them–and, with him, Mohg. Should they falter now, should Finlay fail now, all sacrifice would be for naught. If later ever came, then there would be time to grieve. Not now though.

“What was done was done by my hand,” Malenia said.

“You did it for my sake,” Finlay replied flatly.

“And I do not regret what I did,” Malenia said.

Finlay did not intend to sound bitter. But the words were bitter words. “So I regret for the both of us.”

When Malenia flinched, it was such a small movement that, had Finlay been anyone else, she would not have perceived it. Finlay, though, had spent so many years at Malenia’s side that little escaped her. She saw the flinch, and her guilt grew.

“I did not mean to fault you,” Finlay amended.

“I did what was necessary,” Malenia replied. “I cannot change the past–and I would not change it either.”

Finlay said nothing.

“You are alive,” Malenia pressed. Now her speech took on an edge. “I could not save you and also spare them. My decision was my own. You cannot take it from me.”

“No, I can’t,” Finlay conceded. “And I would not presume to. That, however, has no bearing on what I feel. I feel regret. I feel guilt. I feel the absence of my comrades.”

“They would have died regardless,” said Malenia, voice hard.

Finlay opened her mouth, then, realizing that her words would cut far more deeply than she would be able to later heal, she remained silent. She wished Malenia would do the same.

But Malenia filled the silence. “You would that I had done otherwise.”

“I did not say that,” Finlay corrected.

“You did not need to,” Malenia said.

“I know that you could not have done otherwise,” Finlay said. Against her will, heat seeped into her words. “But does that make it better, or does it make it worse? What weight does choice have on the scale of culpability?”

“It is what it is,” Malenia replied. “It is no better and no worse. Give me back this burden. It rests lighter on my shoulders than on yours.”

“And that is why I cannot relinquish it to you, my lady. It should be a weight.”

“But it need not be yours,” Malenia said, unwilling to concede.

“So what is it, then, that you feel?” Finlay demanded. “What of the memorial we raised in our garden in Elphael? You mourned them.”

Malenia did not retreat. “What did you tell me then? The dead have no interest in the guilt of the living. Will you not heed those same words now?”

Finlay struggled to keep her voice level. “You did not answer my question.”

“In Elphael, I made a mistake,” Malenia said tightly. “This time, I made no mistake. I made a choice. I am your liege. The lives of my knights are mine to spend, if I must. And so I spent.”

The control Finlay had maintained throughout broke. “And so you spent them on me?”

For a moment, Malenia seemed to soften. She took a half step forward, and she extended her flesh and blood hand–flesh almost black from rot, and blood oozing as pus–to caress Finlay’s heavily scarred cheek. Through the scars, Finlay could only barely feel Malenia’s touch.  “How could I not?”

“And do you not mourn them?” Finlay asked.

“I mourn them,” Malenia said. “I dream of them.” Then, stubborn, volume rising with every word, “But I did not err, and I do not regret anything that I did for your sake.”

Finlay held her ground. “Can you accept that I do?”

Turmoil played across Malenia’s face. For a while, jaw clenched, she said nothing. Eventually though, she nodded. “I cannot command that you feel other than you do,” she said. “Nor, I think, can I persuade you. And so I must. But you are in pain, Finlay. I cannot turn away from you. Do not ask that of me.”

Finlay sighed. In that exhalation, all her frustration and anger seeped from her, leaving only a sort of cold emptiness in their wake. “I will not ask you to turn away from me,” Finlay said. “Though your attention is better directed elsewhere. I will follow and I will fight, regardless. We still must find your brother, and contend with whatever battles that path presents. That is the more pressing matter.”

“I know that we still seek my brother,” Malenia replied, quietly. “But I would do nothing for his sake that would cost me you.”

Unwilling to give voice to the rest of Malenia’s intent, Finlay, saying nothing, covered Malenia’s hand with hers.

[] [] []

They had descended to the Siofra by way of a lift in an old well west of Sellia. The lift disgorged onto a stone platform at one end of the cavern–the northern end, if Finlay judged correctly. On three sides lay river, the platform having been built on some kind of peninsula jutting into the Siofra, or maybe an island. Improbably, despite the lack of sun in the subterranean world, at the bottom of the steps of the platform, pale grass grew, apparently nourished by the unnatural stars of the cavern’s sky. Standing atop the platform, which faced south, one could even make out the shapes of tall, dark trees in the distance.

Since descending, they had gone about two day’s travel south, and no further.

To Finlay’s great relief, Loretta had been among the survivors of the battle with Radahn. Only by her guidance had the remnants of the company even found the lift down to the cavern. And, now that they were in this twilight place, they relied upon her even more. Though she herself had never visited the Siofra, she had read much of it, and much also of the old city that she said lay ahead.

Ostia and Jishanen had also survived the battle, as had O’Neil. But not…

“Finlay?” Ostia asked pointedly. Her speech, clumsy ever since the rot took the skin that usually covered a jaw and necessitated replacement with gold, had grown even more difficult after the rot Malenia unleashed in Caelid got into the cartilage of her throat. Ever herself though, she persisted.

Finlay startled, drawn back to the affairs of the moment. She stood in a small huddle with Malenia and the other officers. They had been discussing… what had she been asked?

“My apologies,” Finlay muttered. “My mind wandered.”

“Jishanen said that the scouts report the path to Nokron goes south, but there is a large ruined structure west,” O’Neil supplied.  Strong of will and not already afflicted, he had fared as well as anyone, though rot scars were evident on his face and hands. His armor, however, having been made of steel rather than unalloyed gold, was much reduced. Rust had eaten entire chunks out of once thick plates, though the damage was not so extensive that the armor could no longer be used. “It is across a bridge,” O’Neil continued. “Do you think that we should investigate the ruins or press on to Nokron?”

Finlay looked to Loretta. “Do you know what the ruins are?”

“They were an aqueduct, once,” Loretta said. Clad in her silver and sorcery, out of all the survivors of Caelid, she was the least touched by the rot.

“Who needs an aqueduct in the middle of a river?” Ostia asked in a tone that bordered on contempt. Contempt was not usually her custom. But each of them handled their grief in their own way.

“It was a method of travel during the height of the old cities’ power,” Loretta said. “It went to Uhl or Nokstella, I think.”

Finlay nodded, to show she had heard, not that she understood or agreed. “Are there any signs of habitation in the ruins?”

“Some,” Jishanen answered. A bandage made of a torn strip of cloak wrapped around her head, covering where one of her eyes had liquified down to pus and decay. Finlay had closed up the flesh well enough, but the bandage helped to keep out dirt. “A few squatters and madmen. No signs of organization.”

“Then we go to Nokron,” Finlay said. She was not learned in letters and history, but, from speaking with Loretta, she knew that Uhl and Nokstella were somewhere beneath Liurnia, far from the Siofra. “We will not waste ourselves on the ruins.”

From her place somewhat back from the others, Malenia shifted. On account of that small movement, all attention went to her. “I can feel my brother here,” she said. “He is not close, but he is here. I agree that we should push on along the river.

O’Neil turned towards Jishanen. “Do you know how far it is to Nokron?” he asked.

Jishanen shook her head. “Out of sight,” she said. “Our scouts are on foot and this place is too strange to roam far.”

“The Siofra ends at the ass end of Limgrave,” Ostia mumbled. “It can’t be any farther than that.”

To this, O’Neil shrugged. “If we must march to the ass end of Limgrave to find Miquella, we will,” he said. “We’ve come more than that far already.”

“Our supplies?” Finlay asked.

“What supplies?” Ostia asked back.

Jishanen sighed. “Low,” she said. “But there’s reasonable forage here. I’ve even seen… deer.”

Finlay stared at the other Cleanrot. “Deer?” she repeated dumbly. “Underground?”

“Deer,” Jishanen said again. “Cave deer, I suppose. They’re plentiful near the edge of the forest. All the bows we had have been lost to rot, but a bolt of sorcery or faith would do the trick.”

Finlay sighed heavily. “We’ll remain camped here another day to acclimate to this place,” she said. “And Loretta and I will both take squads out to… hunt deer. Everyone else should seize as much rest as they can. I fear that, on this journey, we have yet to see the worst.”

“If we die before we get there, we have,” Ostia said.

Finlay looked to Jishanen.

Jishanen shrugged.

With a grimace, Finlay allowed the comment to pass. “Dismissed,” she said.

[] [] []

It had been at least a score of years since Finlay had gone hunting.

Now, it was just as excruciatingly frustrating as she remembered.

Having left the comforting weight of her armor behind in the camp, she felt soft and exposed as they crept through the brush at the edge of the forest. Since leaving Elphael in the far north, the gold plate had become a second skin, or even just her own skin. She did not like to go without it. Worse, since so much of their clothing had rotted to rags during the battle in Caelid, she was dressed in the tabard of a Redmane, pillaged from the garrison at the fortified gate near Sellia.

The others with her had all been chosen because they, unlike her, were skilled at tracking and generally skulking about. Valuable skills, certainly, but not ones that Finlay had any ease with. She accompanied the party only to shoot at whatever they told her to.

At the front of the group, the veteran lordsworn leading them held up a hand in a silent command to halt. He then continued to gesture, explaining in the language of signs that they’d come close to a small herd. The lordsworn then locked eyes with Finlay and beckoned her forward.

Moving as silently as she could, Finlay crept forward through the thick brush, even as it caught and pulled at her clothes. She focused intently on moving with stealth because under no circumstances did she want to track down any more deer if these fled.

When she reached the position of the leading lordsworn, Finlay saw the deer. Three in total, Finlay made them out to be a doe and two fawns. Unaware of the hunters, they munched peaceably on the cave’s strange vegetation.

Finlay narrowed her eyes in concentration. She needed delicacy–too great a strike would leave nothing for the hunters to carve up. And she needed precision as well. Usually, most faith casters hurled bolts of lightning belief from wherever they stood. This caused  great sound and fury and put wild prey to flight. It did not have to be so. Like bells and seals, the body was simply a convenient conduit for a work of faith. A strike could come from anywhere a sufficiently skilled caster willed, even next to or within the target. But it was not easily done.

Finlay raised one hand and began to mouth a prayer–

Behind her, a man screamed.

Spell stillborn, Finlay whirled in time to see a soldier with a bloody arrow protruding from his chest fall to the ground. He’d been shot from behind. Lacking time to think, Finlay dove towards the fallen man. So long as the arrow had missed his heart, she had time. All around, the others in the party were also reacting, drawing weapons, forming up to defend the ambush. The lordsworn leading the group shouted orders that Finlay ignored. 

The soldier who’d taken the arrow stared at her in utter terror as she knelt over him. The noises coming from him weren’t screams, just panicked gurgling. Blood bubbled out of his lips. He convulsively clutched for the shaft sticking out from between his ribs–it must have pierced a lung.

With a deft speed developed in countless battles, Finlay broke the head of the arrow, turned the man over, and ripped the rest of the arrow out the way it had gone in. She was not gentle. Still conscious, the man clawed at the ground, fool, trying to escape her at a dying crawl. Finlay slammed the flat of one hand down on the wound left by the arrow and commanded that it heal. When she’d been a novice at these arts, she would have had to focus on reknitting flesh starting from the inside and working out. It would have taken time, and a man as stricken as this probably would have died before she finished. Now, all she had to do was remember performing the same miracle a hundred times before and then it was so.

“Behind you!”

Finlay threw herself to the side.

An enormous hammer, wreathed in a pale ghostlight, split the space she’d been before, narrowly missing both her and her charge. When it hit the ground, clods of earth flew up.

In a single fluid movement, Finlay rose and drew her sword.

Her attacker loomed large, humanoid but with unnatural proportions. Its being seemed to be made of the same ghostly light as its hammer. Clad in the memories of furs and wearing animal horns as a sort of luminous crown, it looked like nothing she’d ever seen on the surface. Others like it were locked in combat with the rest of the party. This one though–this one was hers. Pent up frustration vented as fury. Giving it no time to recover, Finlay threw herself at it, sweeping her sword out to cut off its hands before it could lift its hammer back up.

She aimed her strike for just below the elbow, and she struck true. Though her opponent appeared spectral, she felt the brief resistance of bone as she dismembered it. The haft of the hammer hit the ground, with her enemy’s hands still clutching it. Then hammer and hands faded to nothing.

Smoothly, Finlay pivoted and raised her sword again to finish her work.

She expected her enemy to be reeling, in shock, defeated, on the verge of dissipating like the pieces she’d cut off. Not so. Finlay barely had time to realize her error. Mouth open in a soundless bellow that she nevertheless felt in her bones, her enemy rushed her, hands reforming as it charged.

Caught entirely off guard, Finlay took a stumbling step back and to the side, and barely got her sword between herself and the spirit. Rather than check itself, the thing came full on. Her sword sank deep into it, yes, skewering it through the chest, but nothing short of decapitation could have stopped it, and maybe not even that.

One of the horns on her opponent’s head slammed into the bridge of Finlay’s nose, which gave way. Pain exploded through her entire face, she fell backwards, and she hit the ground hard.

Acting on instinct, Finlay tried to get her arms over her head to protect herself from whatever blow would come next, but the next strike wasn’t a blow, it was hands wrapping around her neck, trying either to throttle her or simply crush her throat. She didn’t have any chance of prying her enemy’s hands loose, so she snatched her knife from her belt. Gripping the blade tightly, she rammed it up through the soft hollow beneath her opponent’s chin.

For a horrible moment, the hands on her neck tightened.

Then, with a convulsive shudder, the specter dissipated. Finlay’s knife and sword, having both been stuck deep in it and now with nothing to hold them up, fell on her.

Still with her throat partially crushed and fighting against a lack of air, Finlay grabbed her sword again and struggled to her feet. As she rose, with her free hand she touched two fingers to her neck and willed broken and compressed cartilage back into proper form. Her flesh twisted and popped as it obeyed. A horrible sharp suffocation briefly lanced up from the base of her neck to the roof of her mouth, blotting out her vision with white pain for two heartbeats’ time. Then, airway functional once more, she used her newly regained breath to snarl.

All around, the rest of her hunting party were still struggling against three more ambushers.

Finlay extended her left hand, open, palm up. With a furious curse ripping out of her battered throat, she clenched her hand into a fist.

Golden light blew out of the chest of the specters, ripping their ghostly bodies to nothing more than motes of gold-flecked blue light that faded then to shadow. Shockwaves from the explosions blanketed the field, tossing the surviving lordsworn about like dolls. Gold flames danced across the shrubs and grasses on the ground, blackening leaves before fading away.

Finlay opened her hand again.

Her opponent–the damn thing should have gone down before it got to her. And it wouldn’t have been able to knock her about so easily had she been in her armor. She should have just smote it with with gold as soon as she lay eyes on it rather than resort to her sword. In anger, she’d made a mistake. She could have died. A moment more and she might have. And then what would it all have been for?

She surveyed the field. Two lordsworn were dead. One of them was the man she’d torn the arrow out of. He hadn’t died from the wound that she’d healed. Instead, he’d been disemboweled by some bladed weapon, probably an axe. His torn intestines were pooled near him in the dirt. If she’d just ignored him at the start and focused on the rest of the attackers…

With a frustrated grunt, Finlay rounded on the nearest lordsworn. It happened to be the one who’d been leading the group.  “How did they sneak up on us?” she demanded.

The lordsworn shook his head. Then he spat. “Whatever they were, this is their land.”

Finlay suppressed a growl. “We go back to camp–now.”

[] [] []

Loretta had succeeded where Finlay failed.

While a few lordsworn worked to butcher and cook the game, Finlay and Malenia’s other officers huddled apart from the rest of the camp. Malenia, as was her custom in such councils, was nearby, but stood apart

“They came out of nowhere,” Finlay muttured. Her head ached horribly. She wanted to lay herself down, close her eyes, and just… rest.

O’Neil looked to Loretta. “Well?” he prompted, expectant.

“From Finlay’s description, they might be restless spirits,” Loretta said. “With the right spells, they can be banished. Without the right spells, even if destroyed, they will reform and attack again.”

“And do you have the right spells?” O’Neil asked.

“No,” Loretta said simply. “And, there being no library here, I have no way of obtaining them.”

“Then we’ll likely lose a few more before we reach the other side of the forest,” Jishanen said grimly.

What weight did a few more lives lost have?

Finlay sighed. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her temple, trying to quell the terrible pounding in her head. “We cannot change what is or where we must go,” she said. “Everyone eat. Sleep. We move out tomorrow at… at whatever time we wake in this sunless place. And we’ll be on our guard. There are no other preparations we’ll be able to make, and I’ll not waste our time with unnecessary worry.”

As the others dispersed to their own business, Malenia approached. “You were hurt,” she said. The worry in her steady voice would have been undetectable to anyone but Finlay. “Was it the rot? The needle should…”

“It was not the rot,” Finlay growled. She resisted the urge to turn away. “I made a mistake, an error of judgment. I was incautious.” The echo of her earlier fury during the ambush–she heard it in her voice, and, hearing it, she forced herself to take a deep breath.

Malenia’s brow furrowed. “That is not like you,” she said.

“Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think,” Finlay replied, attempting to force levity into her tone as a counterweight to anger. “I make the occasional mistake. I am only human.”

As soon as the words were said, Finlay knew she had erred. The quiet desperation on Malenia’s face felt like a knife in Finlay’s gut. Part of Finlay urged her to apologize, to beg forgiveness for her slip of the tongue. Another part though, some darker part that raged still as if she remained in Caelid, whispered that it was right that Malenia remember that some truths were immutable and some deaths were destined, even against the will of gods.

“My lady,” Finlay said slowly, wearily. “Let us go eat–with the others, before the others finish it all.”

For a while, Malenia gave no response, neither by word nor by action. She simply stood still, stood sad, stood alone. After a while though, she nodded. She extended her one rotting hand, palm up, a question.

Finlay took Malenia’s hand and led them both away.

[] [] []

In the forest, every breeze wending through leaves was the passing of an arrow, every snapped twig just out of sight was an enemy about to charge. In the perpetual dusk of the cavern, the tall trees all about them menaced unnaturally, casting shadows on every side. The land sloped downward, as if into a darker hell.

Grimly, Finlay noted that at least with their numbers so reduced it was a simple matter to keep an eye on the whole of their party. Unlike when they traversed the forest of Stormhill in Limgrave, they did not have a vanguard, a march, and a rearguard. They had only themselves.

Finlay could feel Malenia’s desire to speak growing over the course of several days. Malenia, walking with a hand on Finlay’s shoulder, would edge closer at times and then start to make some sound that might become a word–but then she’d think better of it and recede again. She did not recede far though, never far enough to break contact.

Constantly on edge and watching for an ambush, Finlay tolerated Malenia’s indecision as best she could.

During what served them as evenings in the perpetual twilight of the cave, Finlay would stand somewhat apart from the rest of the camp and watch Miquella’s followers gather in a small circle to pray. Over the course of the long journey from Elphael, their custom had become settled and their prayers rote. They bowed their heads and held hands with their fellows, and mostly they prayed to Miquella, but they never failed to murmur at least one or two words for Malenia as well.

They asked Miquella to share with them his abundance. 

They asked Malenia to withhold from them her decay.

Before Caelid, when their ranks had been more numerous, Finlay had taken little notice of the lordsworns’ prayers. The Cleanrots had not mixed much with others. Now, with their cohort so diminished, she could not avoid them. She took care, though, to keep her distance. She did not seek Miquella’s abundance. She had never followed Malenia in hopes of avoiding decay. Nevertheless–

“Can you imagine if we did that?” Ostia asked, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry far.

Finlay glanced at her comrade. Dirt and rust had obscured Ostia’s once bright armor, and her face was as bad as Finlay had ever seen it–not that Finlay’s own face was much to look at. “Held hands and asked Malenia not to rot us?” Finlay asked acerbically.

Despite her lack of nose and rotten throat, Ostia managed a sound that sounded like a wet snort. “It worked for you,” she said.

At once, Finlay stiffened. She said nothing though. Her silence spoke for her.

“You don’t have to be so precious about it,” Ostia said.

“You overstep, Ostia,” Finlay muttered. She took care to keep her tone soft. Her eyes flickered towards the lordsworn in their circle, then towards Malenia, seated alone some distance away, back against a tree, facing the lordsworn as if she could watch them with her unseeing eyes.

“Veitchi would have told you the same,” Ostia replied. “He’s not here, so I’m doing it.”

Finlay inhaled sharply. Then she let the breath out slow. “Does your needling have a purpose?” she asked. “I’ve never known you to be so barbed.”

“I’d say I’ve never known you to sulk so, but that would be a lie,” Ostia replied. She hesitated, then shrugged, then, less sharply, “He wouldn’t have said what I said. He’d have gotten the gist of it, but he’d have said it better, and then we’d all feel better. He took care of everyone.”

Turning away, Finlay walked over to a tall, dark tree. She leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. “He did,” she said. She opened her eyes once more and looked over to Ostia. “I miss him.”

Ostia came over and sat down near Finlay’s feet. “Me too,” she said. With her gloved fingers she prodded at the thick litterfall covering the ground. She piled it up into a little heap, then, with her palm, crushed it down. “So what’s crawled up your ass?”

Finlay shrugged, then slid her way down the tree to sit next to her friend. Briefly, she glanced towards Malenia, still on the other side of the camp, on the other side of the muttering prayer circle devoted to Miquella. If Malenia chose, she could hear Finlay and Ostia speaking to one another. She would probably so choose. Finlay pushed the thought from her mind–she had nothing to keep from Malenia.

“Everything,” Finlay said. To her own ears, she sounded so very tired.

“Can’t help you with that,” Ostia said. “Try again.”

“I should have died,” Finlay said, flatly.

Rather than speak, Ostia remained silent, waiting.

“We die for her,” Finlay continued. “No one should die for me. Caelid… Caelid was beautiful.”

“You’d do anything for her,” Ostia replied. “Why can’t she do the same for you?”

“She’s…” Finlay started. Then she shook her head. She couldn’t explain. Instead, she closed her eyes, remembering. “I was a medic for one of the levies during the war with the dragon. It was during one of the first battles. We were exhausted and breaking, but then she came storming across the field. She looked… it looked effortless for her, cutting everything around her down. She killed two dragons single handedly. And when it was over and I saw her with the Cleanrots…”

“She still shits, doesn’t she?” Ostia asked.

Aghast, Finlay stared.

Even in the dark of the forest, Finlay could see that Ostia grinned–a macabre grin, her rotting face held together only by the thin sheet of unalloyed gold that had replaced her left cheek. “I see her eat,” Ostia said. “So it must go somewhere.”

“I will not dignify your inquiry with any response,” Finlay muttered. And regardless, Ostia knew the answer. Ostia had been among the Cleanrots who’d tended to Malenia when their lady had lost her right arm.

“If she can shit, she can love,” Ostia said. “So why can’t she love you?”

Finlay glowered at the ground, trying to collect her thoughts. She rubbed her temples. “I’m mortal,” Finlay eventually said. “Even with this, this thing ,” she touched two fingers to her chest above where the needle lay buried, “I am mortal. Since before Stormveil, I felt myself dying. When my strength failed on the field in Caelid, I was ready to die. But then she intervened. She gave me her brother’s protection, taking it from herself, and she sacrificed our entire order and blighted all Caelid. How can I be worthy of that? What can I ever do to equal that? And I will still die. For all that, she only bought me extra time. How many thousands died so I could have a few more years? And when those years are gone, what will she do then?”

“You think your humanity is why you can’t balance the scale?” Ostia asked. “And I don’t believe that with all your miracle working and healing arts you wouldn’t be able to find another hundred years for yourself if you put your mind to it.”

“I remember Caelid and I feel very small,” Finlay replied.

“So what if you can’t match her power and eternity?” Ostia asked, dogged. “And if that’s the standard, who does that leave her with? Another Marikan? That family’s a bunch of nutters. Even Miquella’s a nutter, it’s just that we all forget it as soon as he smiles at us.”

Finlay’s lip curled. “I would never suggest that. That was your thought, not mine.”

“If she told you she’d done it for Miquella instead of for you, would you feel better?” Ostia asked. Before Finlay could answer, she rolled her eyes and held up a hand to forestall the reply. “I’m not going to listen to you string platitudes together until you’ve worked your way up to justifying Caelid for Miquella’s sake so long as it was Malenia doing it. It bores me.”

“Then why did you ask?” Finlay mumbled.

Ostia ignored her. “They wouldn’t begrudge you this, you know,” she said. “The other Cleanrots, I mean. The ones still with us and the ones who aren’t. I would die for you as soon as I would die for our lady.”

“And I would die for you,” Finlay said, resolute. “That is what it means to be comrades.”

With a sigh, Ostia replied, “But you shouldn’t.”

Finlay bristled. “It would be my honor, Ostia.”

“I’d die for you because you’re my comrade,” Ostia said. “But I’d also die for you because you’re an extension of her. Her brother made her those fancy toys, but, really, you’re her limbs. And you’re her sword. And you’re her eyes. You’re probably more than that too. It’s too bad neither of you are the brains.”

“I’m still myself though,” Finlay murmured. “Only myself.”

Ostia scoffed. “Alright then,” she said. “I’m not saying you’re not. But I am saying that who you are is more complicated than just being a mortal knight in her service. I’m just a mortal knight in her service. You’re something else, Finlay.” She let out a frustrated grunt. “Veitchi was better at this. He was a sweetroll, too good for this sinful world.”

“He practiced more often,” Finlay said. Fumbling for the right words, she tried to go on, “But… I appreciate… I know that… I…” After a while, she gave up. Rather than keep struggling with words, she shrugged.

Ostia made an exasperated noise somewhere in the back of her decaying throat. Then she patted Finlay on the back. “You don’t need to hide it,” she said, “I already know you have the emotional vocabulary of a gadfly.”

“My emotional vocabulary is fine,” Finlay mumbled.

“It’s not good enough for what you need to do with it,” Ostia countered.

“Still bigger than a gadfly’s,” Finlay said, defensive.

“What are we talking about again?” Ostia asked.

Finlay whacked Ostia across the back of her head.

[] [] []

The first ambush, when it finally came, they fought off without much difficulty.  Though the hostile spirits appeared among them without warning, there were only half a dozen of them. Malenia, with Finlay, Loretta, and O’Neil assisting her, destroyed them in moments. They lost no one.

The second ambush went much the same way. There were a handful more spirits, but, still, they were dispatched easily enough–so easily that Finlay dared to hope.

She should have known better.

At first, the rats seemed more nuisance than menace. And, at first, there were not many of them. Enormous, coming up nearly to Finlay’s knee, and smelling so terribly foul that even the Cleanrots noticed, they seemed to be just an unpleasant part of the forest fauna, and unpleasantly bold.

“Uhg,” Ostia whined. “And I don’t even have a nose!”

“Imagine how bad it must be for the rest of us,” Jishanen deadpanned as she kicked at a flea-bitten rodent that had gotten a bit too close. Then she pulled the visor of her helm down.

Completely unreasonably, Loretta scooped up one of the rats and held it up, albeit at arm’s length, to examine it. Squeaking and squealing, it thrashed about and scratched uselessly at her silvered gauntlets, but she kept a firm hold of it as she manipulated it this way and that, scrutinizing it from every angle. Everyone else in the company gave Loretta a wide berth as they continued their slow march through the trees. When Loretta seemed to have finished her examination, rather than put her captive down, she tucked the struggling rodent under her arm.

“You’re… taking that with you?” O’Neil ventured. “Like a… pet?”

“Sorcerers have familiars, not pets,” Ostia volunteered.

“These rats are not behaving as they should,” Loretta said. “This requires further observation.”

“Rats are rats are rats,” Ostia said, dubious. She tilted her head to one side. “What’s so strange?”

“They’re of an unusual size,” O’Neil commented.

Ostia made a rude noise. It sounded especially wet due to the state of her mouth and throat. “Never seen a rat before, O’Neil?” she asked. “Too busy living in the nice parts of camps?”

“Does it seem like… there are more of them here?” Jishanen asked. “More than a few minutes ago?”

Finlay looked down. She’d been walking forward, mostly ignoring the rodents, but now that Jishanen mentioned it, there did seem to be rather more of them suddenly, so many she couldn’t help but bump into them as she walked. They were everywhere now. Finlay’s hand started to drift towards the hilt of her sword. Something wasn’t right. Finlay glanced at Malenia just behind her, resting her hand on Finlay’s shoulder. “My lady, do you sense anything?”

Malenia turned her blind eyes away from the way forward and towards Finlay. “Yes,” she said. “There are–”

“Ow!”

Finlay jerked, half-unsheathing her sword as she searched for an enemy.

But it was just Ostia, shaking her hand rapidly. “It bit me!” Ostia complained. “Jumped up and bit me! Unprovoked!”

“You’re wearing plate,” Jishanen pointed out. “It can’t have hurt that much.” Even as she dismissed Ostia’s complaint with words, she too was reaching for her sword. Around her, the others in the company were doing the same. Once one person drew a weapon, everyone else always followed suit.

“It surprised me, that’s all,” Ostia mumbled. She eyed one of the rats, perhaps the one that had snapped at her. The rat eyed her back, in a very un-ratlike way. All of the rats had stopped scurrying about and were staying unnaturally still.

From far away, the song of a pipe filtered through the trees.

“Kill the rats,” Finlay shouted. “Now!”

Before anyone could follow her order though, as if the vermin had heard Finlay’s command, the rats attacked first. Hissing and spitting, they swarmed up legs and torsos, tried to bite necks. With a horrified scream, a lordsworn was overborn and vanished under a heap of rank fur and diseased fang.

One rat jumped at Finlay’s face. She flinched backwards just in time for a dirty claw to miss her left eye and instead rip into her cheek. Idiot that she was, she hadn’t closed her visor while they were walking. Finlay grabbed a handful of matted fur and tore the foul thing off her, then hurled it bodily into a tree. It crunched when it hit, then slid down, motionless.

She looked around, wildly, but in the dark it was hard to make out where the rats were, other than everywhere. Finlay raised a hand and golden light burst forth, flooding the area. Rats and mortals alike were briefly stunned by the sudden brilliance.

Malenia, blind, wasn’t slowed at all.  But she was not well-suited to exterminating vermin.  She excelled at dueling opponents who would stand and fight; mobs of scurrying creatures that barely came to her knee were something else entirely. Nevertheless, sweeping her long sword low, she bisected one rat, then spun and stabbed down, splitting the skull of a second. In the time it took her to kill two though, three more leapt at her.

Also not slowed by the light–the ghostly hunters, perhaps two dozen.

An arrow slammed into Finlay’s armored chest, almost precisely over her heart. It left a dent in the already severely dented plate and sent her staggering backward. Then she heard the air shift to her right, and she threw herself left just in time to avoid the sweep of an axe.

Not a spectral axe.

Finlay’s attacker looked much the same as the specters, but it was, dark, a creature of flesh and blood rather than mere memory. With an animal grunt of effort, it followed the momentum of its missed swing, turning, then came again at her.

Finlay had learned her lesson from her first encounter with these beasts of the woods. A whisper of intent was all it took to send a great golden bolt hurtling from her fingers. It happened so fast that the thing had no time to avoid the strike. Hitting true, the bolt incinerated her adversary’s head entirely, leaving not even ash behind. It crumpled to the ground.

Meanwhile, all around Finlay, a full melee raged. Their company struggled to cope both with the rats, an uncountable swarm surging fast over the ground and hard to hit, and the hunters, ghostly and otherwise, at the same time. Trying to deal with one invited the other to seize the opening. The woods resounded with thuds and grunts and screams, chaotic.

O’Neil made a charging break for the outskirts of the battle to at least avoid being surrounded. Around Loretta, a whirl of sapphire orbs spun about, exploding on contact with an opponent, and giving her similar reprieve. A few of the lordsworn and Finlay’s remaining Cleanrots were not so lucky–they were being overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety of foes. Before Finlay’s eyes, another lordsworn and one of her Cleanrots were both pulled to the ground by rats.

Malenia–the enemy were leaving a wide berth around her, and scrambling away whenever she darted forward. She caught some of them, but not enough and not quickly enough.

Malenia would survive. O’Neil and Loretta might survive. The rest might not.

Finlay ground her teeth. Quickly, she backpedaled, trying to put distance between herself and the battle, the same kind of distance that O’Neil and Loretta had both carved out for themselves. Two rats leapt at her, but she batted them away with her sword. There was no way she’d be able to retreat far enough but still remain close enough for what she intended.

She needed–

“My lady!” Finlay shouted. From across the battle, Malenia turned to her. Finlay slammed her blade down point first into the ground, sticking it deep. She let go. Again she shouted, “Protect me!”

Without waiting to see that Malenia would come, without hesitation, Finlay slammed her eyes shut. She fell down to her knees. With gauntleted hands clenched tight before her, she sank into the all-enveloping certainty of her faith.

She knew–

Her comrades, all of them in the woods, she knew them all. Even the lordsworn with whom she was not close, she had marched with them all this way from Elphael. She knew them. And everyone else, everything else, was an enemy that she knew she would smite. The jagged prayer that spilled from Finlay’s lips resonated with both succor and violence, building in power with every syllable, syllable after syllable, word after word.

Finlay unclenched her fists. She opened her eyes. Golden light surged out of her in an enormous crackling arc that sliced through the brawl. Wherever it touched a lordsworn or a Cleanrot it healed wounds and filled them with renewed vigor. Wherever it touched a rat or a hunter, it burned.

It lasted only a moment, but a moment was all that was required.

Though a number of rats and hunters both survived at the farthest part of the battle from Finlay, the tide of the battle had turned. The renewed lordsworn and Cleanrots fell on them.

Finlay slumped, exhausted. Her head pounded as if she had a terrible hangover and her world spun. Immediately around her lay the gutted corpses of a dozen rats and five hunters. Her casting must have taken a long time.

At the gentle pressure of a hand on her shoulder, she looked up at Malenia.

Finlay opened her mouth to speak, but found her throat too dry. She swallowed, trying to get enough moisture to produce more than a croak. At last, she managed, “Thank you, my lady.”

Malenia’s features tensed, as if she intended to speak. Then her face smoothed. She only nodded.

[] [] []

They’d lost six in the ambush.

Regardless of which twin the fallen had served in life, Finlay gave them all the last rites of Cleanrots. Though it slowed the company down, they took the time to build pyres and reduce the remains to ash, that they not be bound to the soil. It might not have been what the lordsworn would have chosen for themselves, but if they were left in shallow graves then the rats would surely return for them.

And then the rest, now barely a score of bedraggled survivors, continued on.

At least, though, they were not attacked again.

When they cleared the forest, beyond the trees, by starlight Finlay could make out impossibly tall structures wreathed in gloom. They resembled piers of a bridge, like the one that spanned the Murkwater in Limgrave,  but on an impossibly large scale. She knew them immediately for what they were–the remnants of an old city, the outskirts of Nokron. They could be nothing else.

“Breathtaking, are they not?” Loretta asked.

Finlay shrugged. “They are not unimpressive.”

Hand on Finlay’s shoulder, Malenia turned her blind eyes towards the dark horizon. “Describe it to me,” she ordered.

Finlay glanced at Loretta and inclined her head slightly, indicating that the other knight, who so admired the ruins, should speak. Loretta, ever ready and willing to discuss matters of history and the arts, needed no further prompting. And, while Loretta waxed rhapsodic about the architectural mastery of the builders of the old cities, Finlay let her mind drift.

Finlay had never given much thought to the old cities. Even when rumors had swirled that it had been blades from the old cities who had slaughtered Godwyn and his line, she spared little attention for what that might mean. Politics were not her concern.

Now though, confronted by the dark shell of Nokron, something deep in her shuddered, whether in awe or fear she did not know.

The old cities were called such because they were such. It was said that they had been old before Marika’s coming, and, before Marika’s coming, they had thrived. But as she built her empire based in Leyndell, through force and through attrition she had worn them away to deserted husks. At least, so it was said–and what was said could not be trusted. Legends purporting to be from a time when Marika’s dominion was young, or even from a time before Marika, were as more likely to be fabrications of later eras than truth.

Finlay placed a hand over Malenia’s on her shoulder.

Malenia, daughter of Marika.

Finlay knew Malenia held no sentiment regarding the kingdoms that Marika had crushed, the foes that Marika had trampled in her many wars. Malenia had fought for Marika for so many years, but she had never despised those she destroyed in Marika’s name. They had been Marika’s enemies, not hers. But did those kingdoms crushed and foes trampled hold the same?

[] [] []

They camped in a low area along the road to Nokron–a proper paved road now, rather than a trail through the forest–next to a marsh lit by spectral wisps that reminded Finlay too much of the ghosts of hunters in the forest. The songs of frogs and crickets and who knew what else filled the air.

In the evening, after having passed so many days brooding and intending to speak but never speaking, Malenia at last made her attempt. As she sat with Finlay kneeling next to her, dabbing the pus leaking from her left arm with a cloth, she made a throat clearing noise so soft that Finlay, mere inches away, nearly didn’t hear it over the competing sounds of the nearby swamp.

“My lady?” Finlay asked, equally softly.

The tents having been consumed by rot in Caelid, they could not even use the cover of canvas to pretend that they were not surrounded by their fellows at every waking and every slumbering moment. There was no privacy in the camp.

Malenia stood, and Finlay quickly rose with her. Together, they made their way away from the others. Muck sucked at their boots as they strayed farther from the paved road. They went some distance, but not so far as to go out of sight of their company. At a place where the land rose slightly and was firm enough that they weren’t sinking where they stood, Malenia turned to face Finlay.

Finlay waited. Malenia had wished to speak. And so she would speak, in her own time. As Finlay waited, she listened to the unsteady murmur of life all around them.

After a while, Malenia said quietly, “I listened, when you spoke with Ostia. I… I apologize if this intruded upon your privacy. I wanted to understand.”

“I knew that you might,” Finlay replied. She shrugged. “I keep no secrets from you.”

Uncertainty played across Malenia’s features–the slightest furrowing of her brow, a subtle tightening of her lips. “Does your mortality, your humanity, weigh so heavily on you, Finlay?”

Though unmentioned, the ghost of Caelid still hung heavy in the air between them.

“I am who I am, my lady,” Finlay said. “I am what I am. I do not weigh on myself.”

“You think yourself less than me? As deserving less?” Malenia asked. “Because I am as I am, and you are as you are?”

The intensity of Malenia’s blind stare pierced Finlay through. As Finlay had said mere moments ago, she kept no secrets from Malenia. Reluctant, she muttered, “Yes. It… it is only natural. It is only proper.”

Malenia shifted, started to raise her rotting hand, hesitated, then continued, caressing Finlay’s cheek with decay-soft fingers. “Finlay, you are powerful beyond measure in your own right. As my power has grown since we first went north, so has yours. And regardless of that, you are entitled to every gift I can give you, and every honor that I can bestow upon you. If we stood still in Leyndell, I would name you my consort so that others too would recognize you as invested with everything of me.”

Finlay shook her head. Gently, she covered Malenia’s hand on her cheek with her own. “My lady… It is not a matter of rights. It is… it is a matter of what is. And…” Her next words stuck in her throat. She swallowed, then tried again. “And we do not stand in Leyndell.” 

Malenia took Finlay’s hand in hers. She took a step back. She knelt down on the sodden ground, and she clasped Finlay’s hand now with both her rotting and her golden hand before her. “Finlay, we do not stand in Leyndell, but, nevertheless, here in this place I would name you my consort so that you recognize yourself as invested with everything of me.”

Having no reply, Finlay stood utterly still, rooted to the spot. She felt she should reply, that she must say something, but… What could she say that was both right and true? At last, she said, in a tone carefully measured, “I do not think that is my place.”

Subtly, Malenia flinched. It was only the smallest tensing of the muscles around her ruined eyes. “Finlay, I would merely name what you already are.”

“I am your knight, my lady. I should wear no other mantle unless I set that one aside, which I shall not do.”

Malenia bowed her head and touched her forehead to Finlay’s hand. “You are very stubborn, Sir Finlay.”

Weary, Finlay sighed. “My lady, please stand. I do not like to see you kneeling.”

Obliging, Malenia stood. Still, with a soft hint of a smile, leaned forward and murmured into Finlay’s ear, “There are times when you have said otherwise.”

Finlay smirked, then shook her head. “My lady, this is not one of those times,” she said dryly.

Malenia withdrew somewhat. More serious now, she asked, “Joining me in my bed is not one of your knightly duties,” she said. “Yet you do it happily. Why should accepting the title of consort be any different?”

Now that Malenia was back on her feet, Finlay had to look up to meet her blind gaze. “I am not a Godfrey or a Radagon,” Finlay said. “And I do not think that I could be.”

Malenia suddenly stiffened. Still holding Finlay’s hand, her grip went tight. Heat, bordering on anger, touched her next words. “I would never wish you to be a Godfrey or a Radagon. I…”

Sensing that Malenia, despite her long pause, intended to continue, Finlay remained silent.

Eventually, Malenia, somewhat calmer, asked, “Do you remember when you asked me why I was not named for my father?”

Finlay’s brow furrowed. She had asked, what felt like years ago, when they were crossing from foggy Limgrave to rugged Caelid. It had been a mere curiosity. A question to pass the time on the long road. “Yes, my lady,” she said. “I do remember.”

“Marika did not treat with her consorts fairly,” Malenia said. “Godfrey was her warlord for as long as there were conquests remaining, and then she kept him for a while to sire children, and then, Godfrey, when he’d served his purpose, she divested him of grace and cast him aside. Radagon she created and then she consumed. For a while he had agency of his own, but then, so that he would be the lord to her divinity, she caused him to renounce himself. He left Rennala, whom he did love, to be nothing at all. Miquella and I are named for Marika, for Marika alone created us, twisted and cursed as we are.”

Over the course of years, Finlay had come to understand that Malenia did not cherish any of her family save Miquella. When she set out her reasons though, she often spoke obliquely–either because she wished to hold some knowledge only to herself, as was her right, or because she knew no other way to explain the workings of Marika. Only rarely did she proceed as directly as she did now.

“And Godwyn,” Malenia continued, building momentum, “He was kind and he was noble and he was golden, and he and his kin plowed so many fields no one could remember from whom the offspring descended, only that they were part of the lineage of Godfrey. Rykard–I do not know what he does with Tanith in that manor of theirs, but I do not doubt that it is depraved. I spoke once of all of this to Miquella, and even my brother has strange notions about power and will. I would not–I do not–ask any of that from you. I would not be as Marika. I would not cast you aside. I would not ask you to be other than yourself. And I would not stray, and I would not insult your honor, and I would not bend your being to suit my own ends. I want… I want a future with you, not for myself alone, but for both of us.”

Only ever in the midst of battle did Finlay feel as present as she did now. The world had slowed. Malenia held her entire attention, so completely that she did not notice the way her heart beat frantically or how her breathing had become fast and shallow. “My lady,” she said, words meant less to convey any meaning and more to buy time, “I do not think that you would ever do any of those things.”

As if she hadn’t heard, Malenia started again, “You asked me to become as a god. And I assented, for I would do anything that you ask, and I would follow anywhere that you lead, and if you would that I be a god as anchor for your faith then without hesitation I am such a god. But I do not want to be a god alone, with no one beside me, and there is no one save you that I would have as lord to my divinity. I have accepted your devotion. Will you not accept mine?”

All coherent thoughts had fled Finlay’s mind now. She had only raw emotion, tempestuous and trembling, and it did not lend itself to words. She did not want Malenia ever to be alone. With all her being she loved Malenia, and she would do anything at all to shield Malenia from desolation. She would allow her life to end for that purpose, and she already gave her life for it. Should it matter that she give her life in one way rather than another?

Finlay’s throat seized, and she had to choke out her words. “My lady, I am human. You are ageless. In what will feel like only a moment in your existence, I will leave you, though against my wishes. I will die and… I am selfish. I would take part of you with me. But I… I love you, my lady, and I would not take so much of you now that you could not again be whole when I am gone. Before Caelid, I thought that I had made my peace with this but… I did not… Caelid grieved me, but even more it scared me. It scares me still, what losing me would do to you. I may not weigh on myself merely on account of my own being, but this…” 

Malenia shook her head. “Finlay… Finlay, had I lost you years ago, I would not have survived to this point. Why then should it matter now that I be so bound to you that your loss would cripple me? Every day that I draw breath is borrowed from your account. And should you ever cease, I have no interest in lingering whether whole or not–and I would not be whole. Wherever you go, I will follow. That is what I want. That is my decision for myself. Grant that I may make it.”

“My lady…” Finlay started slowly. “I love you, completely. In so loving you, I could not ever deny you any choice which you make for yourself. If I did, I would love you less.”

Malenia knelt again. She tilted her face up, and her blind eyes found Finlay’s seeing ones. “Finlay, will you be my consort?”

Finlay did not respond immediately. She needed–she needed her heart to calm, so that her answer would be steady and sure.

For Finlay, Malenia waited.

Gently, Finlay set her free hand on the crown of Malenia’s head. Her hand still shook slightly. But her words came unfaltering. “Yes, Malenia. I will.”

Notes:

Hi. Thanks for reading! Thanks for sticking with me!

So the total chapter projection is up to 13. Because I guess I will probably be doing a segment covering the DLC too. I'm really not impressed this whole "promised consort" business. Malenia went to Caelid to kill Radahn so that Miquella could take Radahn's soul and stuff it in Mohg's body in order to get himself a consort? Ehhhhh. Further proof that Malenia was mind-controlled all along, I suppose.

Next chapter should be up in a week or two!

Chapter 10: Siofra - Part Two

They followed the road through the swamp for three days before coming to firmer ground. More and more frequently they passed beneath the monumental arches that dotted the lands once ruled by Nokron. Eventually the road rose sharply up a ridge. The sight from the top of the ridge stopped Finlay in her tracks.

In a valley below lay a city, as vast and magnificent as Leyndell. But unlike glittering Leyndell, this city was dark and still. There were no signs of life, only heavy silence.  It sprawled as far as the eye could see, and, at the limits of vision, it receded into shadow. It was a dead place.

“What do you see?” Malenia asked. As ever, she was a step behind Finlay with a hand on Finlay’s shoulder. In the past days, they had changed little, if anything at all, of their manner together. What had passed between them–as Malenia had said, it was a title only, to name and confirm what was rather than to shape it. In Finlay’s mind, the evening felt distant and surreal.

“Nokron,” Finlay said. Into that single word she tried to push all the awe and horror that filled her–for she would not be able to express it in any other way.

“I feel my brother,” Malenia said. “He is… closer than he has been for a long time. He haunts my dreams, my dreams and nightmares both. But I cannot tell in what direction he may be.”

“Onwards to Nokron then,” Finlay said grimly. She had no desire to enter the sepulchral maze of the ancient city. If there lay the path, however, she would.

Malenia nodded.

And so they continued on.

[] [] []

Lacking the numbers to employ scouting parties and unwilling to risk sending anyone out alone, they proceeded cautiously through the ruins of the city. Cobbling together what they could see and what Loretta could tell them, they had a general sense that the city straddled two sides of a deep gorge, with the gorge running perpendicular to the main road that they followed. On the far side of the city, a string of ancient bridges ran out over the Siofra to islands shrouded in the mists.

The streets of the city had seen better days. Worn cobbles were loose, uprooted by plants that had grown, lived, died. Ragged and pale, cave grasses thrust up from every bit of clear ground. Creeping vines covered ancient stone facades, securing the edifices even as their roots slowly broke the enormous structures to pieces.

The company chose not to spend much effort investigating every building that they passed. After finding that the first dozen or so they entered were dark, empty, and still, they decided it would be better to move swiftly than to spend more time that necessary creeping through the ruins. Unless they found some evidence of their quarry in the city, based on Malenia’s sense of her brother, it was agreed their next goal was likely the bridges and the islands of the Siofra.

Malenia said that she sensed no motive life in this place, but that did not mean that there was no danger.

The end of the first day in the city saw them camped in an area that would have once been a wide civic square, paved, and with a great ornate fountain at its center. Now it was less a paved square and more a wild park. They pitched down at one end of the area, among tall grasses. At the far end, a skeletal giant, long dead, sat perched on a throne hewn from the living rock of the cave. Loretta and Malenia had conferred and agreed that the corpse posed no threat, but no one, not even Loretta and Malenia, quite seemed to believe it.

They had chosen to camp in the old square rather than inside a building because, despite leaving them open and under the eyes of the still giant, they did not want to risk being forced to fight any engagement in unfamiliar confines where they might become trapped.

As few as they were now, and with those who had survived generally being the more experienced and senior of those who had first set out, watch duties were shared by everyone. Finlay took the second watch. Jishanen took the second watch as well, though she had only one eye to watch with. They did not have so many left in their party as to pick and choose who was best suited to which routine tasks.

In darkness, they sat on top of the old fountain. It had once been decorated so lavishly, studded with carved gargoyles of every imagination, that they seemed to be just another part of the baroque ornamentation rather than living sentries.

After perhaps an hour of silence, Jishanen asked, “What did she say to you in the swamp?”

Finlay shifted her perch. There was a bit of rock digging into just the wrong place in her back, and her legs were threatening to cramp. “It’s more Ostia’s manner to pry,” she said dryly.

Jishanen shrugged. “Time is short, and the opportunity has come to me first.” She continued, speaking bluntly, “Ostia and I will not live to see Elphael again. Before our end, it would be good to know that you and our lady have settled matters.”

Finlay held her face perfectly still. Not that she much needed to. In the shadows, her scars gave her all the cover she needed. “You don’t know that,” she said, “You are not so far gone. I think you have years left, at least.”

“Ostia is falling apart,” Jishanen said. “And we are a matched set.”

“Should Ostia fall, your vow requires you to continue in service,” Finlay said sharply. She was not angry, rather… 

Malenia’s gift had warded Finlay when most other Cleanrots had subsided to mould. The explosion of rot had devastated those who already carried it. Ostia and Jishanen still lived, as did a handful of others whose wills had seen them through. But now, she knew Jishanen spoke truly of Ostia’s condition. Why did she have to lose even more?

“I will continue as long as I can,” Jishanen said. “But it will not be long before I succumb.”

Finlay touched two fingers to where the needle lay near to her heart. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Then she answered. “She asked me to be her consort,” Finlay said. “I accepted.”

Jishanen sighed. Though Finlay was unsure, it sounded like relief. “I’m glad,” said Jishanen. “I think it was a very long time coming.”

“I did not expect it,” Finlay said. Briefly, though she was on watch, her eyes unfocused as her mind drifted. “It is… I told her that it’s not my place.”

“The honor belongs to whomever she’s inclined to grant it to, and she may act on whatever reason strikes her as proper,” Jishanen replied. “That’s how it works. How do you feel?”

“I… I don’t know,” Finlay said. “I feel no different. What should I feel?”

“Proud, perhaps?” Jishanen suggested. She shrugged. “I suppose you should feel whatever you feel.”

“I don’t know,” Finlay said again. “In the moment it felt like everything. But now it’s strange to think about. I don’t know what meaning this should carry.”

“You’ve been acting as her consort for years,” Jishanen said. “And it didn’t happen all at once.”

“She said something very similar,” said Finlay.

“Maybe you’d feel differently if you’d been raised in Leyndell,” Jishanen suggested. “The folk there put stock in titles.”

“Maybe,” Finlay echoed. Then she sighed. “I still regret Caelid. And I still don’t know how this journey will end.”

“You can regret Caelid without the regret ruling you, and without feeling like you should have died,” Jishanen said. “And what will come–no one knows how anything will end, except that, someday, it will.”

Briefly, though she was still sentry, Finlay shut her eyes. “I will miss you and Ostia both.”

“I’m glad we’ll be missed,” Jishanen said. “But I hope that you don’t let our memories burden you.”

“I swear to you that I will do my best,” Finlay said. She hesitated, then added, “I know that you will tell all of this to Ostia. Perhaps though, you might remind her that discretion is a virtue.”

“I won’t just remind her,” Jishanen said, tone warm. “I’ll tell her to keep her mouth shut. But you know, she’s missing most of the muscles for that.”

Finlay groaned.

[] [] []

Finlay could not say how, could not chart who had told what to whom, but by the time they reached one of the large bridges spanning the gorge to the other side of Nokron, she could feel almost everyone in the company staring at her.

When they stopped for a midday rest–whatever midday meant in the twilight of the cavern–O’Neil siddled towards Finlay. As large as he was, he wasn’t very good at being inconspicuous. Just behind him trailed Loretta, apparently too well-mannered for the direct approach but not well-mannered enough to resist eavesdropping.

A few yards from where Finlay and Malenia sat together, O’Neil paused and, from the look on his face, realized that he hadn’t put enough thought into what he was going to say. He started to retreat, but Malenia caught him first. “O’Neil,” she said. “Do you have something to report?” She sounded mostly serious and somber, but Finlay detected a trace of amusement in the way she dragged every word out slightly longer than necessary.

O’Neil cleared his throat twice to buy time, then settled on, “Nothing of consequence, my lady. I should not have disturbed you. I will take my leave.” His face was quickly turning bright red with embarrassment and regret.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Malenia said, still toying with her prey. “Make your report.”

Very briefly, Finlay considered whether she should intervene. She decided against it.

O’Neil cleared his throat a third time. He started, “Ostia has been saying…”

“Did you come all this way to report gossip, O’Neil?” Malenia asked.

Now Loretta inched forward. “Is it gossip if it is true, my lady?” she asked.

“I said it was of no consequence,” O’Neil mumbled.

“If Ostia is saying it, then it’s gossip regardless of whether it’s true,” Finlay interjected.

Malenia stood. Taken by surprise, Finlay scrambled to do the same. With the company so diminished in number, everyone saw them rise, and now all attention lay on them.

“I have named Finlay my consort and lord,” Malenia said. She spoke in the voice she used on battlefields, a voice that could carry her words over the clash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying. Here in the quiet of the old city, every syllable rang clear. “Every oath made to me, I deem made to her as well. Whatever she wills, it is my will that it be so. Everything in my name is in her name. Every possession and honor of mine is her right.” Now Malenia paused, and she swept her blind gaze over the whole group. “Am I understood?”

For a moment there was silence, but then Ostia, somewhere near the back, jumped up and let out a celebratory whoop. The few remaining Cleanrots laughed, then cheered as well. Miquella’s lordsworn edged away from their companions. Rather than cheer, the lordsworn knelt solemnly.

More than a little disoriented, Finlay looked to Malenia, who was smirking.

“You enjoyed that, I think,” Finlay said.

“I did,” Malenia replied smugly. Finlay could not recall Malenia having sounded so entirely pleased with herself in a very long time. “Did you?” Malenia asked.

There was a warmth in Finlay’s chest that felt very much like the golden light of her faith, except that it had not sprung from any conscious direction. “Yes,” Finlay said. “Yes, I did.”

[] [] []

On the far side of the city, they went from traversing mostly flat streets to climbing an endless series of stairs that had been built for beings with longer legs than humans. Malenia ascended easily. Everyone else struggled, and their progress slowed to a crawl.

Unable to reach any better place, they settled down for the night on a landing between flights of stairs. At this point they had reached such a height that looking over the side of the stairs–which could be done easily as there was no rail–gave Finlay terrible vertigo. Thankfully though, wind was not much of a problem in the cavern of the Siofra.

Thankfully too, they remained alone in the ruined city. But nothing so good could last forever.

After the second day of climbing, Malenia gathered her officers. “There are movements at the top of the cliff, or near it,” she said. “It feels human in form, but there is something unnatural about it. I think it is not just one creature. I think there are many.”

Jishanen grimaced. “Can you say anything more of it?”

Malenia shook her head.

“Then we’ll need to send someone ahead,” Jishanen said. “It is a gamble, but if the risk is walking into an ambush blind, then it is a gamble we must take. I’ll go.”

“Not alone,” Finlay said immediately. Finlay would not contest Jishanen’s decision that scouts were required. Nor would Finlay contest Jishanen’s decision to go herself. Such matters were Jishanen’s prerogative. But Finlay could insist that at least this step be taken to ensure a safe return.

“I’ll take Ostia,” Jishanen said. “We’ll set out first thing tomorrow, before the rest of you. We are almost to the end of these stairs. If fortune is kind, we’ll be back quickly.”

“You are both relieved of watch duties tonight,” Finlay said. “And any other duties. I will see that they are covered.

Respectfully, Jishanen inclined her head to Finlay. “Thank you, commander.” She paused, only very briefly, then amended, “My lord commander.”

The words sounded very strange to Finlay, and she only barely restrained herself from objecting. It had taken her time to become accustomed to being addressed as a knight. And then it had taken her time to become accustomed to being addressed as the commander of the Cleanrots. She would become accustomed to this too, but it would take time.

“This council is dismissed,” Finlay said. She glanced to Malenia, “My lady, excuse me while I attend to the work assignments.”

Malenia nodded. “You are excused.”

Attending to the work assignments ultimately meant that Finlay took the third watch with O’Neil. They stood together at the top of the stairs above the camp, leaning against the cliff face. Another pair of sentries were posted at the bottom of the stairs below the camp.

Unlike Jishanen, O’Neil was not content to pass much time at all in companionable silence.

Finlay could feel him staring at her rather than keeping watch for enemies in the night. A veteran like his father Niall would have found a way to do both at once, but O’Neil, Finlay had to remember, although he loomed enormous and although he had risen to most occasions in their march from Elphael, he was still young. “Is there something you wish to say, O’Neil?” she asked.

O’Neil coughed quietly. “May I ask a personal question?”

Without taking her eyes off the shadows farther up the cliff, Finlay replied, “You may ask whatever you like, but know that if I would like to push you down the stairs, it is doubtful that you could stop me. Niall asked that I watch over you, but lessons in good sense can be painful.” O’Neil was young, and also he had spent much time in Ostia’s company in their journey. A free pass to ask whatever personal questions he liked would not end well.

Undeterred, O’Neil ventured, “Did you… did you always feel how you do about her?”

This caught Finlay off guard. She had been expecting something worse, but also easier to answer. “In some way, yes,” she said.

“Why her? Why not any of the others?”

“The others?” Finlay asked, puzzled.

O’Neil waved a hand, making a vague gesture. “Godwyn,” he said. “Radahn. Miquella, even, but not like...”

“Because I loved her and I did not love any of the others,” Finlay said with a shrug. “And Miquella… I suppose I loved her before I met him, and then I had nothing left for Miquella. She is steadfast and uncomplicated. Against everything, she endures. When I lost faith in Marika and the Erdtree, faith in my lady filled the void in me.”

“You weren’t born into this,” O’Neil said. “Serving them, I mean.”

“No,” Finlay confirmed. “I was born in the hinterland of Limgrave. It was only by chance that I arrived in Leyndell, and only by chance that I first saw her.”

O’Neil shook his head. He spoke with iron conviction. “The great lords are all fated. There is no chance.”

“I don’t feel much like a great lord,” Finlay admitted. “I am only my lady Malenia’s lord. All that I have and all that I am comes from her.”

“She is a daughter of Marika,” said O’Neil. “If you are her lord, then you are a candidate for the throne in Leyndell. She has as much right to the realm as any of the rest of them.”

“We have no interest in Leyndell,” Finlay said. “We left Leyndell.”

“What if you would be better for Marika’s lands than any of the other contenders?” O’Neil asked.

Finlay’s scarred face tightened. “We have no responsibilities to Marika’s lands. They shunned my lady, they shunned the Cleanrots, they shunned every one of us afflicted by the rot. We owe them nothing.”

“The lord Miquella thinks differently,” O’Neil said.

Still leaning against the cliff, still watching the shadows, Finlay crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you know of Miquella’s thoughts?” she asked. “He is inscrutable. And it is difficult to be near him and believe that your mind is your own.”

O’Neil shifted uncomfortably. Finlay shook her head, feeling twinges of regret. She had spoken too freely and said too much. O’Neil was pledged to Miquella. She had no right to voice her doubts to him.

O’Neil cleared his throat, a sign, surely, of a bad idea coming. “You and the lady Malenia… you and she… you are… but you and she are both…”

Now Finlay sighed heavily. She would count Niall as a friend, and Niall had asked her to look after his son as he himself would. What would Niall do? Likely cuff his idiot son about the ears.

For a moment, O’Neil seemed to have lost his nerve.

But then the fool started to continue, “How does…”

“O’Neil,” Finlay cut in. “Think very carefully before you suggest anything that I am honor-bound to make you regret.”

This seemed to have made the point well enough. O’Neil finally shut up and turned his attention back to the watch.

[] [] []

Jishanen and Ostia set out before most of the rest of the camp had woken. Chasing what little sleep she could get after taking third watch, Finlay did not see them go.

When the group again made camp with the end of the stairs in sight, Jishanen and Ostia still had not returned. And when they decamped the next day, they were still missing.

“My lady, can you feel them?” Finlay asked as they neared the top of the cliff. Her voice was tight with worry. They had been gone too long now.

Malenia took a while to respond. “Yes,” she said eventually. “They are far. They are moving quickly, as if they are chasing or fleeing something.”

Immediately, Finlay started to climb the remaining stairs faster, though her legs protested. It wasn’t… It was too soon. She would not lose them as well. Not yet.

At the top of the cliff, they came onto a grassy yard, twice as wide as a mature dragon was long, and at going back at least four times that length. The edges of the yard were defined by tall cathedral-like buildings, much better preserved than the structures farther down in the city, as if there had been attention paid to maintaining them over the centuries. Some buildings even still had unbroken windows. That said, the pale grass in the yard had grown tall, and there were woody shrubs all about as well.

“On your guard,” Finlay ordered, though she hardly needed to say anything. Everyone was already tense, expecting… something. They had sent out scouts expecting trouble, and the scouts had not returned. Only one conclusion could be drawn. “My lady, what direction?”

Malenia pointed across the yard, not directly down the length but off towards the left somewhat.

Rather than attempt to take cover along the outskirts, Finlay took the company through the center, where they could best see anything that might come for them.

They were at least halfway to the corner that Malenia had indicated when a keen-eyed lordsworn noticed the first body, a pale grey corpse, upright, shambling aimlessly near the edge of the yard.

Finlay held up a hand for the troop to stop. Quickly, she took stock of her force, then selected one of the handful of remaining Cleanrots and one also of the lordsworn. She addressed both by name–the company was too few for her not to know ever member. “Emodium and Lancifo,” she said, “Cross the field and kill it. I’ll not pass by anything that might come behind us.”

Cleanrot and lordsworn both acknowledged her order and then wordlessly drew their blades and began to stalk towards the corpse. As they did, all the others remaining behind likewise drew steel, should anything react to the two going before them.

The corpse went down without a fight. Emodium cut its head from its shoulders in a single clean blow, and then it collapsed. To be sure it was felled, Lancifo and Emodium then hacked it limb from limb before returning. Upon their return, Finlay turned to Emodium, the Cleanrot, whom she knew better and trusted more. Though they had long been one of the most junior of the order, and had always remained so as Malenia tended to refuse to let the ranks grow, they had survived when others had not. “What was it?”

“It used to be human, I think,” Emodium said. “It was dead already. Completely bloodless. There was some… silver, I think, but it looked liquid. We didn’t want to touch it.”

Finlay glanced at Loretta, clad in silver herself. “Silver is a sorcerer’s metal,” she said. “But bloodless–we are on the correct trail.” Surveying the yard, she did not see any more of the corpses. She sheathed her sword. She would not allow this pause to delay them from reaching Ostia and Jishanen, wherever they were. “Onwards.”

When they reached the place where Malenia first directed them, they found a medium sized building, built into the cliff so that it was deeper on the inside than it appeared from the front. Finlay gestured to the doors, made, it seemed, of some very heavy wood gilt with silver so tarnished it was entirely black. The doors stood ajar. “In here?” Finlay asked.

Malenia nodded.

“Finlay,” Loretta said, stepping forward. She hesitated, then amended, “My lord. I think this is not wise.”

“What do you mean?” Finlay snapped.

“The purpose of scouts is to look and to report, not to lead their comrades into danger,” Loretta said. She gestured off towards the river, where the ancient bridges stretched out to the islands. “We are here for Miquella.”

Finlay’s first reaction was to reject the counsel out of hand. Her years of experience in command, however, restrained her. She bit her lip, hard. Quietly, so that only those closest would hear, she asked, “You would have me leave them?”

Loretta nodded, once.

To Finlay’s surprise, O’Neil cut in. “Miquella may be out there,” he said, also gesturing towards the river, “But our friends are here.” On the last word, he stabbed a finger towards the dark building. “If it is too dangerous for us all to go, I’ll go alone.”

Finlay sighed. “If it was too dangerous for Jishanen and Ostia together, it is certainly too dangerous for you by yourself,” she said. “Either no one goes or we all go.” She turned to Malenia, seeking some indication which she favored.

Malenia gave no such indication. “This is your command, Finlay,” she said. “What is your decision?”

Finlay drummed her fingers along the worn hilt of her sword, once, twice, three times. What value did two more lives have, when they’d lost so many? She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her blade tightly. “Loretta, I respect your counsel and I thank you for it,” she said. “I have considered it. We must retrieve them, if we can.”

Loretta inclined her head to Finlay. “Yes, my lord,” she said, in a manner entirely devoid of emotion. Did she disapprove? Did she approve? In the end, it didn’t matter. She fell in with all the rest behind Finlay and Malenia as they entered the dark building.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, Finlay raised a hand and conjured a light. A few others who could did the same. Most of the lights shone with the soft gold of faith. Loretta’s light had the cold sapphirine tinge of sorcery.

They stood in a long hall, maybe once a grand entryway of some sort. Remnants of furniture lay in small piles here and there. Relentless vegetation poked up through cracks in the bare stone floor. At the end of the hall were several doors, leading deeper into the cliff. Of the doors, three were closed, and one alone stood open.

Finlay unsheathed her sword as she advanced on the open door.

No enemies leapt out.

Beyond the door lay a dark corridor, wide enough for four to walk comfortably side by side. For the first few yards or so the walls were of masonry, but beyond that they had been hewn directly from the cliff. Here and there statues of a robed figure had been carved as well, stretching from floor to ceiling as if they added extra support to the construction the way a column might.

“Finlay,” Malenia said softly as they advanced down the corridor. With her hand on Finlay’s shoulder, she pulled closer. “I think that one of them…”

“How far?” Finlay demanded.

Malenia shook her head, uncertain. “Half a mile, perhaps, if it is a direct line. There are many tunnels, all deep and twisting. I cannot be sure of the way.”

The air here was damp and still. Small noises echoed loud–the tramp of soldier’s boots sounded like an avalanche rumbling through a narrow valley. Despite the width of the corridors that they traversed, the entire place felt claustrophobic. Though their faith-conjured lights shone steady, dark shadows flickered just out of view. Several times they crossed thresholds into large rooms meant for some long-lost purpose, or into new corridors that turned unexpectedly. A few of the more seasoned venturers started scratching trail signs into the stone so that they would all be able to find their way out again.

Having made her decision and now unwilling to be deterred from it, Finlay continued forward.

From time to time they came across a few of the bloodless corpses. They sat here and there on the stone floor, so still that they might have been mistaken for the truly dead. Knowing better than to be lulled by the seeming complacency, Finlay had them all dismembered. Loretta examined one and declared that the substance that leaked from them was quicksilver, and that no one should touch it–as if anyone save Loretta herself needed to be told.

Eventually, Finlay spotted a few splotches of dried brown blood splattered against one wall. Heart pounding in her ears, she followed the trail. The moments stretched long now.

When they found them–it was without any pitched battle and against all fears.

The bloodstains went to a small storage room connected to a large round room that might have once been used for gatherings or perhaps some ritual use.

Finlay knew as soon as she saw them that Jishanen was dead.

Her armor had been pierced through, near her heart but not close enough to give a swift death. Whatever blade did it must have caught a lung. Congealed blood was thick around her mouth and all down her front. She had drowned of it.

Finlay knelt down next to Ostia, who sat still cradling her friend. She was in poor condition, a fractured shoulder, a few broken ribs, a shattered wrist. Finlay mended it all with a thought. But as her power straightened bone and reknit muscle, she felt the rot even then spreading, a darkness that resisted her.

Ostia didn’t look up. “You could have done it,” she mumbled. “Why couldn’t I?”

Finlay did not want to press Ostia, not now, but she needed to know–“Ostia, what happened?”

Ostia shook her head. “We saw Varre,” she said. “And we followed him here. In the dark he got behind us, and the corpses started… I… Jishanen said we should turn back. I wanted to keep going. He… If he hadn’t… in Caelid… Everything could have been…”

“Where did he go?” Finlay asked.

“Don’t know,” Ostia said. She touched her forehead to Jishanen’s. Her words were no louder than a whisper. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to gut him slowly while he’s still alive to watch me do it.”

[] [] []

By the time they returned to the yard, it was felt that enough twilit time had passed to be called a day. The stress of venturing into the dark had exhausted everyone. They made camp. No one spoke much.

The meal was meager. Since leaving the wilderness and entering the city, they had been able to forage very little, only clumps of mushrooms here and there. Mushrooms were the only plant that grew well in Malenia’s presence. They still had enough food for several more days, but not if they ate carelessly.

As they arranged where they would sleep, Finlay made sure that Ostia was at the center of the group, very near to Finlay and Malenia. Finlay trusted Ostia, but… On the ascent back out of the tunnels, at times she had stopped and seemed about to go back into the dark. Eventually, O’Neil had gotten an arm around her shoulders to keep her steady, and that had addressed the immediate concern. Now there were others.

Finlay’s caution was borne out sometime very late into the night. Ostia stirred, and Finlay, a light sleeper, woke as well. Malenia did not wake, and for that Finlay was glad. Though a very heavy sleeper, Malenia had not slept well for weeks. Sometimes at night, Finlay thought she heard an animal noise in the back of Malenia’s throat, like a suppressed scream. She needed whatever rest she could get.

Ostia shifted and stood, then picked her way out of the circle of sleepers.

Finlay extracted herself from Malenia’s embrace and followed her comrade. Her movements were stiff and slow at first. Sleeping in full armor with her sword belt on was not how she preferred to camp, but it was necessary in the shadowy cavern.

Trailing Ostia took Finlay to the edge of their small camp, then beyond it. The sentries, both lordsworn, nodded to Finlay as she passed. Ostia didn’t stop until she’d reached the dark threshold of the building that guarded the entrance to the warren of corridors in the cliff. And perhaps she only stopped because Finlay demanded it.

“Ostia, you can’t.”

Ostia looked over her shoulder back at Finlay. Her gold jaw, angular like a skull peeled free of flesh, gleamed in the twilight. The holes left behind when the rot took her nose gave her face an inhuman cast. Bloodshot eyes challenged her commander, her lord. “Why not?”

Finlay met Ostia’s gaze as levelly as she could. About two yards stood between them, and Finlay let the distance remain. Ostia had given her an opening, and she would not squander it. “She’s not there anymore,” Finlay said.

“Maybe he is though,” Ostia growled back, the decay in her throat making every word sound like it cost her. Every word probably did. Her hands twitched, then clenched into fists.

Jishanen had been Ostia’s anchor, her voice of reason to balance her tendency to impulse. So Finlay tried reason, blunt and simple. “He’s not. And even if you found him down there, you’re not able to kill him by yourself.”

If she were, he would be dead, several times over.

Ostia took a forceful step towards Finlay. “So come with me then,” Ostia said. She held out a hand, at once beseeching and demanding. “You could do it.”

“No,” Finlay said, shaking her head. “This isn’t the time or the place. Come back to camp.”

“Why?” Ostia hissed. “Why do anything? What’s the point of all this? All this losing the people we care about? Just for the sake of Miquella? I never swore to him. Why do we have to die for him?”

Finlay shifted her weight, tensing. She did not want this to escalate beyond words. “Ostia, listen to me. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I don’t care,” Ostia spat. “I’m not the thinker. That was–”

“She would tell you to come back to camp,” Finlay cut in. She tried her best to keep her tone even, to speak with the self-assurance of command. “I’m telling you to come back to camp. I order you to come back to camp.”

“Finlay, I’m glad that Malenia did what she did in Caelid for you,” Ostia snapped. “If she’d done it for her brother–then, as much as we love her, we’d have just been pawns. I…” Unexpectedly, Ostia paused. She looked away from Finlay and off to the side, towards a pile of rubble near the edge of the yard. “Did you hear something?”

Finlay hadn’t heard anything, but she reached for her sword regardless. She didn’t doubt any fellow Cleanrot’s sense for danger, even one as distraught as Ostia. As quietly as she could, she drew her blade. With her offhand, she gestured for Ostia to approach the rubble from one side while she approached from the other. Together, they stalked forward.

The rubble rose to about the height of Finlay’s chest. It was mostly broken masonry and similar debris, a collection of architectural bits that had separated from the looming edifices all around and then heaped up out of the way.

Circling around the rubble, ready to strike or defend, Finlay found… nothing. No enemy, no curiosity, just empty ground with a few clumps of pale cave grass. Not yet willing to let down her guard, Finlay cast about for something, anything, that might pose some threat. She saw no such threats. She also did not see Ostia.

Finlay swore and rounded about, lunged back around the rubble to catch up. She hadn’t thought Ostia would…

But Ostia wasn’t headed for the tree-forsaken building. She was sprinting headlong off along the edge of the yard, away from both the building and the camp, towards an area they hadn’t explored yet.

Finlay jammed her sword back into its sheath and took off after her friend. They were both going at such a speed, and in full plate, that Finlay’s breathing immediately became labored. Still, she managed to shout for Ostia to stop.

Ostia ignored her.

Finlay threw out a hand, about to raise a shield that would make Ostia stop, but then Ostia vanished down a flight of stairs. To follow, Finlay put on a burst of speed and practically leapt down the stairs wholesale rather than run them–she only managed to see Ostia turn around a ruined building and slip out of sight again.

Charging after Ostia took Finlay through a maze of alleys, down several more flights of steps, and then out onto a wide, paved plaza that overlooked the Siofra. Ostia had already reached the other side of the plaza and a monumental stone bridge out over the river. Now, here on the plaza with view unobstructed, Finlay glimpsed Ostia’s quarry in the distance.

White robes swirling to give the effect of a fluttering bird, Varre traversed the bridge at just the right speed to keep Ostia ever only slightly out of reach.

Even as Finlay made it to the bottom of the stairs down to the plaza, Ostia and Varre both disappeared into the mists rising up from the Siofra below.

Having seen Varre as well now, Finlay found a second wind. The snake had traveled with them, had shared their camp, had eaten their food, and then had struck in just the way to force them into a battle they could have avoided and couldn’t win, not without… 

She flew across the plaza in moments and then onto the bridge.

Here, the ground became treacherous. The stones underfoot had been worn smooth by use in bygone days, and then, when unused, moss had grown on them and made them slick. And the mists of the river made it difficult to see more than a few yards. Once or twice Finlay nearly fell, but she always caught herself and kept running. The sharp clash of steel on steel cut through the damp air. As she ran, Finlay drew her sword, careful to hold it out so that, if she did lose her footing, it would not be a fatal mistake.

When Finlay at last reached the end of the bridge and the mists–

Too late.

Ostia, sword running her clean through, and holding the sword, also Ostia, but an Ostia made of silver rather than gold.

Behind them both, Varre.

Cold rage coursed through Finlay’s veins.

The silver Ostia tore its blade free, letting Finlay’s friend fall.

Finlay raised a hand–

The faith arts did not concern themselves with what was or what could be. They did not do anything so mundane as the possible.

Finlay could not reach Ostia to save her, but she did not need to. She whispered her will and her need, and the needle in her chest resonated in answer. A surge of gold arrested Ostia’s fall, wrapping around her and suspending her before she could hit the ground, and ripping her wholly out of time itself. Like a fly in amber, she would be preserved until Finlay could attend to her later.

Now, Varre.

Varre turned on his heel and ran once more. Down a great gallery boulevard flanked by arcades on either side, he made for another bridge at the farthest end, practically flying in his haste to escape.

Finlay gestured with her sword and sent a bolt of gold screaming after the treacherous swike.

The bolt missed. Rather than strike Varre, it struck stone pavement just to his side. But it struck hard enough to throw up blast and shrapnel, and this brought him down. Scrambling to get back up to his feet, he looked back at Finlay. Voice dripping with condescension even now, he hissed, “Do you think you’ve got me, you lowborn swine, mongrel of a rotten whore?”

Though she knew better, surely, Finlay could not resist the provocation. She opened her mouth to snarl back at him–

But Varre was not Finlay’s only enemy here.

Movement in the corner of Finlay’s eye made her whirl about in time to see the silver Ostia rippled, twist in on itself, and reform.

Its new form was like looking into a mirror.

Finlay stared at… herself.

As tall as her, in plate in the style of the Cleanrots, with a sword in one hand and light in the other, and with a face scarred, mangled, difficult to look at.

Varre was on his feet now, and backing away. “See what your lady, a daughter of Marika no less, debases herself with?” he jeered. “Was it because no one else would deign to touch her? But you, her knight, couldn’t refuse her?”

The mirror of Finlay raised its sword and lunged.

Finlay parried the blow cleanly, then transitioned to a thrust that would pierce her opponent’s gut. As smoothly as Finlay had parried its blow, the mirror parried the thrust. As it did so it reached out with its free hand, shooting gold from its fingertips at Finlay’s head. In less than a heartbeat’s time though, Finlay shielded herself with gold as well. Perfectly matched, both missile and shield shattered.

Together, Finlay and her mirror began to dance, violently, up and down the collonaded boulevard. They clashed and spun and chased, flurries of steel. Everything that Finlay did, the mirror met with equal power and skill. And everything the mirror did, so too did Finlay respond.

As they danced, Varre, having not added any blade to their struggle, slipped from focus and then from the arena. Finlay wouldn’t have been able to chase him even if she’d seen him go–and she hadn’t seen him go because every ounce of her attention was bent on both defeating the thing wearing her face and also surviving it.

Nothing Finlay did worked, and with every step she tired. Her breathing came heavy and ragged. The silver mimic didn’t seem to breathe at all. It was utterly silent, eerily so. Did it tire? Did it feel?

In a stupid attempt at brute force, Finlay slammed her sword down in a chop that, if unblocked, would cut her foe from crown to floor. Of course, her mirror blocked. Blades now crossed, Finlay tried to bear down, force the thing into submission. But she had no particular advantage in leverage, so a crossing of blades was all she could achieve.

For a moment, their eyes met.

The mirror’s eyes were black pits, complete voids.

With a grunt of effort, Finlay disengaged, opening the distance to perhaps a yard. Like beasts they circled one another, each watching for the barest movement that would betray intent. Following intuition built up over decades of battles, Finlay feinted to her right. At the same instant her mirror mimicked her and feinted as well, also to its right. And so they maintained their respective positions, still circling.

A few times they each tested the other’s defenses, probing for weaknesses.

Finlay did have weaknesses, and she knew them. Being taller than many opponents, her high guard was not as practiced as it could be because she used it less often. Likewise, she tended to put more attention to watching for attempts to sweep her legs or otherwise foul her footing. Overall, her swordsmanship was somewhat mediocre among the Cleanrots, and she fought with an awareness of this–she did not attempt complex maneuvers even when openings presented themselves, and she took care not to overextend. She was better than many by virtue of experience, but she could lay no claim to any higher accolade. Not that any of the truly great blademasters, save Malenia, had survived Caelid.

Because she knew her weaknesses, so did her doppelganger. And every counter that she knew, it knew. Again and again they clashed, circled, and clashed again, and circled again, neither breaking the stalemate.

But then the mirror took a faster cross step and darted not forward but to the side, towards Ostia, still suspended in Finlay’s casting.

Finlay hurled herself forward after her opponent. With the slim advantage of having started the sprint from a forward angle rather than a cross-step, she covered just enough distance just fast enough to throw herself forward and tackle the mimic’s legs, dragging them both to the ground.

They went down in a clatter, a thrashing heap of plate and fury.

Finlay hadn’t taken her helm with her when she’d left camp, and so she had nothing to protect her face when the mirror let go of its sword and attempted to claw her eyes. She turned away just in time to save her sight; blunt fingernails scraped over the thick scars covering her face. She tried to respond in kind, going for the mirror’s eyes as well, but the mirror grabbed her wrist and twisted, trying to lever her arm around and snap her elbow.

Rather than resist, Finlay rolled, following her wrist around and jamming her armored shoulder into the mirror’s unprotected mouth.

Unnervingly, even as teeth scraped against plate steel and plate steel crushed into gums, the mirror didn’t make even the slightest whisper of protest. It didn’t scream. It didn’t grunt. It wasn’t a breathing thing, so there wasn’t even a sharp inhale of pained breath. It hardly reacted at all.

Agony ripped up Finlay’s arm as her elbow gave way, tendons and ligaments pulling apart. Unlike the mirror, Finlay did scream, as much in rage as in pain. For a moment, she saw white.

In that opening, the mirror freed itself from her, grabbed its blade from the ground nearby, and shot back up onto its feet. Then it lunged back at Finlay.

For Finlay, the world slowed.

Finlay looked up at the swordpoint descending, on its way to skewering her clean through.

She looked further up, into the mirror’s abyssal eyes.

Finlay rarely looked at her own reflection.

She did not like to see it.

Were her eyes–?

No.

The eyes were set in her face, but they were not hers.

There was nothing in the mirror’s eyes.

Finlay’s own eyes held faith.

Her lady, Malenia, had chosen her.

Gold pulsed in Finlay’s veins, while the mimic had only shadowed silver.

Finlay snarled, and light exploded from her, blasting the mimic off of its feet and sending it flying backwards. Still celestine, Finlay rose. With her good hand, she picked up her sword from where she’d dropped it.

On the ground, the mimic writhed. At the edges, it was losing clarity of shape in Finlay’s radiance. Gauntleted fingers melted into pools of formless silver. Plate armor dripped like tears of melting wax. But it retained, still, Finlay’s face, staring at her without any emotion and without any light of its own.

Finlay raised her sword, steel and unalloyed gold both shining brilliant.

The thing before her had her face, but it was no lord.

Finlay swept her sword out, cutting the mirror’s head from its disintegrating body. Liquid, the thing finally collapsed to quicksilver that spilled out over the paved ground and then seeped away through the cracks between stones.

Finlay sheathed her sword. She let out a long breath and her elbow popped back into place with a sickening crack and a sharp but short burst of pain. She turned back towards Ostia, still suspended in time, and the bridge back to their fellows.

Malenia stood by the bridge, leaning against one of the colossal stone columns that framed the boulevard. Her arms were crossed. Her sword was at her side.

“How long have you been here?” Finlay asked.

“A while,” Malenia replied. “But this was your battle. And you did not need me.”

Finlay approached Ostia. She gestured, releasing her comrade and at the same time mending flesh and bone. Ostia collapsed on the paved ground, heaving. She fumbled at her cuirass, hands seizing over the gash in the plate where the mirror’s sword had split her. She stared at Finlay with both horror and awe.

Slowly, the gold around Finlay faded. She offered Ostia her hand.

Ostia took the hand, took the help getting back to her feet.

Once she was on her feet again though, Ostia knelt, head bowed.

Finlay didn’t see. She was already walking to Malenia, who remained leaning against a column. Finlay stopped when she was less than a pace away from Malenia. She met Malenia’s blind stare. “My lady,” she said. “Malenia.”

The edges of Malenia’s mouths quirked upwards. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Finlay’s scarred forehead. “My lord, Finlay.”

Notes:

As always, thank you so much for staying with me all the way to this point!

I think I can get the next chapter up in about two weeks or so. And I've made some progress on the last segment of the fic covering the DLC, but that'll be a while later coming, I think. There's a lot of ground to cover there. But, like, I'm on a mission to get this fic done so I can finally move on to something else. This project got so out of control.

Chapter 11: Siofra - Part Three

They traversed the bridges as far as the bridges went. Eventually though, the masonry that had lasted ages had given out. Moss grew thick on the breakages. The collapse occurred a long time ago.

Malenia stood at the precipice, facing out towards a distant river island with cliffs that rose high above the dark waters. It lay perhaps a mile, if not farther, away from their position. “He is there,” she murmured. “I feel him.”

“If he’s there, then he had to get there somehow,” O’Neil reasoned. “So there’s a way, somewhere.”

“Or there was a way, at some point,” Loretta said.

As her comrades chattered, Finlay had her eyes fixed on the emptiness between the bridge’s end and their goal, a question forming in her mind. When she had it, she interrupted, “Loretta–the gate between Elphael and the mountains uses sorcery to traverse a great distance, does it not? Could you create something like that here?”

“I am a master of my craft,” Loretta said, shaking her head. “But the sorcery that twines with the gates is… the gates are anchors, set during the lauds of the world by the first astrologers. The sorcery does not work without an anchor already set. It is not possible.”

Disappointed, Finlay said nothing in reply, lapsing back into thought.

While the conversation of the others wandered in circles, never finding a solution to their problem, Finlay sat down, letting her legs dangle off the broken edge of the bridge. Eventually, Loretta and O’Neil meandered back to where the rest of the company had set camp. Only Finlay and Malenia remained, Finlay seated and Malenia standing.

The quiet between them, broken only by the rumble of the Siofra far below, was comfortable. They did not speak to one another because they had nothing to say. They had nothing to say because there was nothing that needed to be said.

After a while, Finlay leaned backwards until she lay down sprawled on the ancient stones of the bridge. Above, the starry sky of the cavern glittered in hues of blue and violet. Too bright. Finlay covered her eyes with one hand. She had a pounding headache from all the arguing about the river. How would they reach the isle?

By the next morning–or, what served them as morning–Finlay still had no plan. Sitting next to Malenia by a small conjured fire of faith, Finlay picked at her meager breakfast, which consisted in the main of boiled white mushrooms. Fleetingly, she recalled traveling with Miquella, for whom the land always yielded an abundance of every imaginable fruit, grain, and anything else the stomach desired. For Malenia, only mushrooms. But at least she wasn’t eating fish.

Were there fish, down in the Siofra, the river that separated them from the end of their journey? Should they go back and build rafts?

“My lord Finlay.”

Finlay looked up at Loretta. The Carian was not wearing her silver helm. She looked vaguely… smug. Her eyes glinted sapphire in a way that reminded Finlay a little too much of Miquella when an idea had bit him hard in the ass. Loretta really could not have found a more fitting liege for herself.

“Sir Loretta,” Finlay answered cautiously.

“After consultation with Ostia, I have solved our dilemma,” Loretta pronounced.

Finlay arched an eyebrow and waited. She mistrusted ideas that stemmed from consultations with Ostia, even when Ostia was well. And Ostia was not well–but Finlay could do nothing for her.

“I will build a bridge of sorcery,” Loretta said. “But it will require that you believe that it will work.”

Finlay’s eyes narrowed. A bridge? A bridge spanning such a distance, made only of sorcery?

“A low bridge of sorcery over a short and shallow span is eminently possible,” Loretta continued. “A bridge of sorcery high over the full Siofra is not. But your faith arts bend the strictures of the world. The lords Radagon and Miquella both found ways to combine the arts. Why can we not do the same?”

Having no good answer to the question, Finlay weighed the proposition. Could it hurt to try? Only if they failed. If they failed, they would all drown.

Finlay glanced at Malenia, watching, in her blind way. Malenia did not involve herself in the details of how a goal would be accomplished; she relied upon Finlay for that work. Now, Malenia needed to cross the river. If a bridge would serve Malenia’s ends, then it would not fail.

Slowly, Finlay nodded. “O’Neil!” she called. O’Neil, who had not been far, approached. “Get everyone ready to move,” she said. Then she stood. “Loretta, tell me of your bridge.”

The concept was simple enough.

The execution, however–

Finlay was glad that she would have no part in the work of piers, arches, buttresses, and the like. She did not have the learning for such things. But Loretta did, and it would be Loretta’s work. All Finlay had to do was lend Loretta conviction. 

Standing next to Loretta at the brink, the place where the ancient stone bridge had broken, Finlay did not look down to the dark waters swirling far below them. Those waters, as distant as the stars, were of no consequence, for the bridge would carry them far above it.

Behind Finlay, O’Neil, with one arm wrapped protectively around Ostia’s shoulders, led the ragged remainder of the once-great march. And, behind them, Malenia waited.

Perhaps to steady Loretta, but just as much to steady herself, Finlay clasped a hand on Loretta’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Rather than answer Finlay with words, Loretta raised both hands, empty, palms up. Under her breath, she muttered not prayers but calculations, a stream of consciousness related to angles and weights and distances. Before her, sparks of sapphire blue danced, gradually coalescing into thin ghostly images of bricks and mortar, arches supporting a causeway that might be walked on.

It was working.

It would work.

Of that, Finlay could have no doubt.

Finlay closed her own eyes briefly. She prayed. She prayed that the bridge would span as far as required, the whole of the Siofra even, if that was what was needed. She prayed that it would hold firm. She prayed that it would carry them to their goal. And she knew that her prayers were true prayers.

Opening her eyes, Finlay beheld what lay ahead. Casting with Loretta, she pushed her will through Loretta’s work. The bridge, at first a construct purely of sapphire light, became flecked with reinforcing gold and solidified. The whole of it stretched out over the waters of the Siofra, spanning the distance between where the ancient stone bridge gave out all the way to the isle that Malenia had said they must reach.

Trusting in the work, Finlay let her hand fall from Loretta’s shoulder and stepped forward.

As Finlay knew it would, the bridge held.

Loretta followed Finlay out onto their creation, and then the others followed, with Malenia coming at the last–for the bridge would last as long as she required it and only as long as she required it.

Beneath the glittering twilight, they crossed over the dark Siofra.

[] [] []

The far isle stank so badly that even Finlay smelled it. She and the few remaining Cleanrots, accustomed to their own miasma of rot, gagged when the rank odor hit them. The lordsworn, even after spending so much time with Malenia and her followers, did not cope even half as well. One of them vomited. Generally, Malenia’s decay smelled overly sweet, cloying rather than sharp. The reek that hung about the isle was entrails spilled and then left unburied in the sun.

It could not be doubted that they were on the trail of their quarry.

The bridge of sorcery and faith took them to a wide ledge of rock that protruded from a cliff. Other similar ledges dotted the cliff face, and a careful climber could traverse from one to another, gradually ascending towards what was hopefully a plateau some distance above.

The ledge was large enough, and their company small enough, that they were all able to rest once they made landfall. Loretta, ashen-faced, sat down heavily and cradled her head in her hands. Finlay felt much the same. She was not physically exhausted, but keeping her focus only on her conviction that the bridge would hold for the entire passage left her utterly drained. The effort had pulverized her mind into a coarse mush. Finlay leaned up against the cliff. She pressed her cheek against its cold stone, seeking some relief from the pounding between her temples.

Malenia settled next to Finlay, leaning against the cliff as well. With her golden hand, but gently, she caressed the side of Finlay’s face not pressed against the stones. Like the stones, her hand was cool, soothing.

“Thank you,” Malenia said.

“I do my duty,” Finlay mumbled.

Finlay could not see Malenia’s face, but she heard the smile in her lady’s voice. “You do it very well.”

[] [] []

It took roughly the rest of the day for them to navigate the cliff to a place where the terrain became easier.

Easier–but only in the sense of no longer so vertical.

Before them now stretched a wide lake of blood. There was so much blood that it congealed into a gorey slime rather than ever dry. Farther back, closer to the center of the isle, more cliffs. And, atop the cliffs, more structures left behind by the old cities loomed dark.

Though they were tired by the long climb, there was no going back and no one was willing, even as weary as they were, to lay down to rest in the mire.

Summoning every shred of leadership that she had, Finlay adjusted her posture so as not to overly betray her disgust at the task ahead of them, and set a course to wade through the blood swamp, headed for the next set of cliffs–for that, surely, was where they needed to go. Once they reached the base of the cliffs, they could either look for a way up there or follow the base of the cliffs for a better way.

With every step that Finlay took, the thick viscera underfoot, rising over her ankles by a good measure, sucked at her armored boots. Sometimes the congealing gore came up even to her knees. The blood made it impossible to see if she was about to step into shallows or into deeps. The stench of the place forced her to take only shallow breaths through her mouth.

Progress was slow.

They had been pushing on through the bloody swamp for a long time before Finlay started to sense eyes on them. She looked to Malenia beside her. “Is someone watching us?” she asked.

Malenia frowned. “I feel nothing alive nearby,” she said.

“That does not comfort me,” Finlay muttered.

“I did not know you were seeking comfort,” Malenia replied.

Finlay released her breath in a short huff. “I don’t think that I was, but it would have been appreciated.” Squinting, she cast her gaze about, searching for whatever was making her so uneasy. Just as Malenia felt nothing, Finlay saw nothing. Just bloody swamp for as far as she could see, and the cliffs that were their present goal. A shiver ran down her spine. Though she saw nothing, something was wrong.

Trusting her instincts, Finlay lowered the visor on her helm and signaled for the company to be ready for combat. Finlay trusted her instincts, but she wished that she had Jishanen’s counsel regarding the territory they crossed.

Perhaps the thing that worried her was the… lack of sound. It seemed that nothing lived in the bloody muck. While the other side of the river had supported a full spectrum of life and the swamp there had hummed with the noises of reptiles and insects, this swamp was silent save for soft sloshing as Finlay and the others trudged through it.

A few times, Finlay thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but every time she turned her head to follow it, she saw nothing.

Malenia was blind, so Finlay turned to O’Neil, whom she judged might be the most grounded of the officers remaining to her. “O’Neil, keep your eyes on our flanks. We are not alone here.”

O’Neil grunted an acknowledgment.

It took only a few minutes of focused vigilance for O’Neil to see it–or, rather, them.

“Weird fish,” O’Neil said. “Big eyes, slimy. I think they’re albinaurics, but covered in blood.”

“Everything is covered in blood here,” Loretta offered. “Albinaurics are not aggressive. They would only watch us in case we are dangerous.”

“We are dangerous,” Ostia grunted sourly. Back in Nokron it had been easy to dispatch the corpses that lurked about. Here in the swamp, movement was difficult. They could not hunt the albinaurics O’Neil had seen; they would only be able to fight them if the albinaurics, if that was what they were, came to them.

Against all Finlay’s fears, the albinaurics did not approach and the group reached the base of the cliffs without having to fight through any enemies. There was just enough dry ground by the cliff to sit down. Though Finlay still did not trust the albinaurics to remain passive, she also doubted that they would find a better place to rest before they started dropping from exhaustion. Reluctantly, she set watch shifts and commanded everyone not on a watch to chase whatever sleep they could.

Malenia, not assigned to any watch, did not heed Finlay’s instruction. Arms crossed, gold covering rot, she stood a bit back from the cliff, somewhat in the bloody muck, face pointed up at the looming structures built far above.

“My lady, you too must rest,” Finlay said.

“My brother is near,” Malenia replied.

Finlay sighed. “My lady, please rest,” she tried.

“He needs me.”

“We’ll get there,” Finlay said. “But not yet. Will you make me ask a third time?”

Malenia looked down from the cliff to Finlay. She tried to smile, but the result was more a grimace. “To hear your voice? Perhaps.”

“I will care for you no matter how charming you are,” Finlay said, dryly. She put a hand on Malenia’s golden elbow. “Rest with me.”

Now at last Malenia obliged. She trailed Finlay to a patch of dry soil right against the cliff. Together, they sat down with their backs against the stones. Both being tall, they had to tuck their legs close to avoid the bloody swamp just a few feet away. They’d spent so long walking through it that it shouldn’t matter if their feet soaked in it a while longer, but base instincts demanded the muck be avoided.

There was so much blood pooled here.

Finlay knew only one place whence blood might come.

Their prey would not succumb easily.

[] [] []

When the company set out again, Finlay determined they should follow the base of the cliff rather than attempt to scale it. Unlike the cliff they’d climbed after crossing the Siofra, the cliff here was sheer. Moreover, there was no telling what kind of dangers waited at the top. For now, Finlay was willing to spend time and effort both looking for a better way to their goal.

They headed in a direction that Finlay suspected might be east, though she would bet nothing on it. The cardinal points had very little meaning in the cavern of the Siofra. She’d chosen this direction because the land seemed to slope up, and up was ultimately where they sought to go.

After approximately half a day of walking, they came to a place where the bloody swamp gradually gave way to more conventional ground. There were even a few clumps of trees here, though, still, Finlay heard none of the usual sounds of life that she’d expect from wilderness.

Everyone was relieved as they put more and more distance between themselves and the nightmare they’d just traversed.

A few times someone glimpsed an albinauric at a distance, but the longer the albinaurics kept their distance and refrained from causing trouble, the less concerned Finlay became. Perhaps Loretta had been correct in her assessment that they were not aggressive and would not attack.

By the time that Finlay’s body had begun to whisper to her that, despite the lack of day and night in the cavern, the day was done, they had reached a paved road that led to age-worn stairs, and, beyond the stairs, a plaza and then more stairs. 

Here, Finlay called another halt. Looking up, she could see that the ancient structures at the top of the isle were much closer now. If the stairs were the start of a road to the summit, then they might be only a day from their final goal.

Out of respect for the sacrifices of the Cleanrots and lordsworn who’d followed for so long, so far, Finlay assigned herself to the first watch. To her surprise, Malenia joined her.

Together, they sat at the edge of the plaza where the company laid down to rest. They had their backs to a natural rock wall, so that they only needed to watch one direction. Or, so that Finlay only needed to watch one direction. Malenia, blind, did not perceive the world in such a narrow fashion.

The land being so lifeless and silent, it was a strange vigil.

A while after the last of their comrades seemed to have drifted to sleep, Malenia said quietly, “Finlay, tell me that we will succeed.”

At first, Finlay did not reply. Malenia asked her for more than words. She asked for conviction. Finlay had conviction, but having conviction and speaking conviction were not the same. Only after Finlay had charted out what she would say did she begin, “You were born of grace, my lady. It has led us all here. We will prevail, by your grace, by your brother’s grace–or by my grace. I have faith in you. I believe that you will win us victory.” Now, Finlay, who had been serving proper sentinel and watching the plaza, turned briefly to look at Malenia. “And if that is not enough to give you succor, then have faith in me that I will carry you to whatever victory you desire.”

Malenia inclined her head, a wordless acknowledgment. Then she took Finlay’s right hand, clad in its heavy gauntlet, in her own left hand, rotting. She raised Finlay’s hand to her lips and kissed Finlay’s knuckles. “Someday, Finlay, I will give you peace,” she murmured.

One corner of Finlay’s mouth quirked upwards, a lopsided grin on a scarred face. “I look forward to it, my lady.”

[] [] []

When the company rose again, everyone took special care that their armor was in order and that their blades would draw smoothly. The usual fears that preyed on soldiers before battle were largely absent. They were so desperately close now. They alone, out of all those who had set out together from Elphael, might see the journey’s end.

Finlay and Malenia took the lead up the narrow stairs, cut into the cliff itself, that led from the plaza towards the high clifftop. There was only just enough room for them to walk side by side. For the most part the stairs were cut so that spires of rock separated the climbers from the edge. In some places though, to Finlay’s left lay a dizzying drop. She did not bother to reckon how far it might be to land below. It was far enough to kill, and that was all she needed to know.

The stairs were very, very old. Every one of them had been worn smooth in the center. If there were a fight on them, then it would be very difficult to maintain footing and balance. Finlay felt in her gut that there would be a fight on the stairs. Nothing had attempted to waylay them since they reached the isle. It was only a matter of time, and time was now short indeed.

About an hour into their ascent, Malenia confirmed Finlay’s instinct. “There is movement ahead,” she said. “It has a human quality, but it is not human.”

Finlay nodded and drew her sword.

Two bends in the stairs later, they came to an open place, a sort of large ledge.

Finlay tightened her grip on her sword. The forty or so bodies aimlessly shuffling about the ledge before her looked to have been flayed and then afflicted with some disease that made their bare muscles blister up into horrific welts. In places, fragments of putrid skin still hung from them. And, in places, greyish bone protruded out at terrible broken angles. All over, they continuously oozed blood. The entire ledge dripped with the stuff.

Just from looking at them, Finlay knew they should be dealt with at a distance only. Whatever afflicted them, it was different and far worse than mere rot.

Stepping just far enough out onto the ledge to make room for the others behind her to come up, Finlay turned back and looked for Loretta. The Carian knight was not difficult to spot, clad as she was in gleaming silver. Finlay gestured for Loretta to come to her, then explained her assessment of the situation, and her plan. She would take the corpses on the left. Loretta would take the corpses on the right.

Acting in concert, Loretta summoned a bow of deep blue light while Finlay formed crackling halos of gold. Loretta glanced at Finlay. Finlay nodded. Together, they flooded the ledge with sorcery and faith, annihilating the corpses.

Only the blood splattered all over the stoney ground remained.

From that point on, the progress of the climb slowed. The putrid corpses were everywhere, on the stairs, on the occasional ledges between stairs, crouched in the shadows by the path, clinging to the cliffside above and below. For a while, Finlay alternated places with Loretta, shooting down the enemies from range. When she realized she was having to blink sweat from her eyes and her breathing had become labored, she allowed O’Neil forward as well to use the reach of his halberd in taking a turn at clearing their way. Individual bolts of faith cost her very little, but conjuring them again and again, for a slightly different target at a different distance every time, slowly exhausted her focus.

About halfway through the length of a day, the stairs terminated at the mouth of a cave. All around the cave, a great mass of corpses seemed to be… paying homage. Finlay did not devote overly much attention to what the corpses were doing though. She again called on Loretta and they again purged the area.

Here, Finlay ordered a brief rest. Everyone’s legs were cramping from so many stairs, and before them the cave was pitch dark. There was no question that they would have to traverse it. But they would not begin until they had fortified themselves for whatever lay within.

While the others rested, Malenia stood at the mouth of the cave, attention fixed on the black ahead. Finlay, preoccupied with checking the condition of their comrades, let her lady be.

When Finlay started to bring the company together to resume their trek though, Malenia held up her empty rotting hand, an order to stop. In her golden hand, she held her sword unsheathed. “Wait here,” she said. Then, not leaving time for anyone to question her, alone, she prowled forward into the cave.

Gnawing her bottom lip, Finlay did as Malenia commanded and waited.

Long minutes passed.

After what surely had been an eternity, Malenia reemerged, splattered with blood. Her sword dripped crimson. There were several more deep gashes in her armor, and a bruise blossomed across her jaw. Flatly, she pronounced, “The way is clear now.”

Inside the cave, all along the path, the flickering lights of faith and sorcery lit a massacre. Tall, humanoid figures dressed in fine cloaks adorned with gold lay strewn about, beheaded, gutted, hacked to pieces. 

“Someone’s frustrated,” Ostia mumbled softly to herself. Despite how quietly she’d spoken words echoed off the stones around them. After a moment, loud this time, taking full advantage of the acoustics she’d discovered, Ostia went on, “The lord-consort must not be attending her duties.”

Finlay glared backwards just in time to see O’Neil ram an elbow into Ostia’s side. Ostia staggered, then looked directly at Finlay and snickered. Finlay found she couldn’t be angry. It was good to hear Ostia laugh, even if it sounded bitter and was directed at her.

The cave let out on a very broad ledge. Stairs made of quarried and fit stones led down to a paved boulevard so wide that at least twenty could walk comfortably abreast. Some ways off, what looked like the remains of a shrine loomed monumental. All along the boulevard and surrounding the distant shrine, the bloody albinaurics from the gorey swamp far below sat undiscurrent. There were at least a hundred of them, likely more. Here away from the obscuring mire, Finlay could see that these albinaurics carried terribly spiked maces and flails, savage weapons better suited for inflicting horrible wounds than inflicting death.

Loretta shook her head when Finlay looked to her. “They are not naturally violent,” she said. “They’ve only ever wanted lives of their own.”

“Look at what they’re holding,” Finlay responded. “They’re holding violence. Will you help me or not?”

Finlay could not see Loretta’s expression through her silver helm, but Loretta’s posture spoke volumes.

“We are too close to the end for this, Loretta,” Finlay said.

“Are we too close to the end for mercy?” Loretta replied.

“Killing them will be a mercy,” said Finlay.

Sapphire light was already forming around Loretta’s hands as she summoned her bow. “Let’s just get this done with then.”

Unlike the corpses on the stairs, the albinaurics wailed as they were extinguished, sorcery and faith puncturing their bulbous bodies like knives through waterskins, reducing them to deflated lumps of reddish slime that oozed copiously over the pavement of the boulevard. Their screaming, high pitched, felt like fingernails dragged across slate.

Loretta’s gaze lingered on the corpses as the company pressed on. “Miquella would have found a different way,” she said grimly. Accusingly.

“You do not march with Miquella,” Finlay answered.

He would have found a different way, she knew. But it would have been a way only open to him and his uncanny charms. Those who were not Miquella had to content themselves with the base realities, unpleasant, caked in grime, and riddled with regrets.

After walking for so long through blood, Finlay didn’t notice at first that this blood, spilled from the bodies of the albinaurics, was different. It was darker, thicker, and it moved of its own accord. No one noticed until they were almost to the shine, and by then it was far too late. They stood in blood, were surrounded by blood, and the blood was rising.

Finlay tried to step forward, but her foot felt suddenly heavy. She looked down–the blood had flowed up and over her armored boot and was trying to hold her fast. Swearing, she ripped her foot up and away, but there was nowhere to go that wasn’t drowned in crimson. When she stepped down again, she stepped back into it. Even knowing there would be nowhere to go, still, she screamed the order, “Get out of the blood!”

As the words left Finlay’s mouth, the very ground, coated in gore, seemed to shiver. In places, the blood started to coalesce and rise higher, taking on the shapes of albinaurics, hunters, corpses, the strange humanoid creatures Malenia had slaughtered in the cave–all sorts, and all surging towards the few survivors of the company.

Finlay, already close to Malenia, whose rotting hand remained still on Finlay’s shoulder, pushed herself closer. There was nowhere to go to get out of the blood, to get away from the horde.

How?

Before–when they’d crossed the Siofra, Loretta had built a bridge of sorcery reinforced with belief. Could Finlay do the same now, with faith alone? Of course she could. It did not have to be an architectural masterpiece. It only had to serve Malenia’s ends. Pushing her will out and swearing viciously, Finlay conjured a shield, not against any blow, but across the ground, something to stand on. With her shoulder, she shoved Malenia hard, up onto the shield, then followed as well.

Casting her eyes about, Finlay saw the closest ally was O’Neil. In a voice to be heard over battle, she shouted, “O’Neil! Here!”

The mountain of a warrior glanced at her, understood, and quickly clambered onto Finlay’s now expanding pool of golden succor.

A flash of red in the corner of her eye was all the warning Finlay, but it was enough. She dodged aside and raised her sword, parrying the sweep of a wicked sickle wielded by an albinauric made entirely of blood. The sickle though–it was wood and steel, one of the weapons the albinauric had carried before Finlay ordered it exterminated.

Sweat poured from Finlay’s brow. Actively pushing her shield out towards her remaining comrades and while also fighting the albinauric, now joined by two fellows, took every ounce of her power and skill.

Almost faster than the eye could see, Malenia surged forward at the bloody creatures attacking Finlay. Her sword cleaved all three in half in a heartbeat. But they did not fall. It was as if she’d tried to cut water. Her blade passed through them, and they reformed in its wake. All over the golden ground Finlay had created for them, more blood now dripped and pooled.

At least though there wasn’t so much blood atop the shield that it could grab them and pull them down.

Finlay threw out her left hand towards the end of the boulevard, where there was some dark structure built up against another cliffrise. They could not remain where they were; the only way to go was forward. By her will, her shield stretched out, forming a narrow path of gold. “Go!” she screamed to the company. “Run!”

As they could, the Cleanrots and lordsworn who were still upright made for the small safety of Finlay’s protection, fending off attacks of their enemies as they dragged themselves up out of the muck and onto Finlay’s makeshift safety.

A few though had been smothered by the writhing sea of viscera. Finding them by their thrashing as the blood took them, Finlay stretched her concentration to its limits, holding her bridge, batting away attacks with her sword, and, now, sending her power out across the field to scrape the blood off of them as best she could. She saved two. Another two had already suffocated by the time she clawed them free.

Now everyone who could escape was charging forward over Finlay’s path–everyone except Loretta.

“Loretta!” O’Neil boomed, in the voice of a commander, his words ringing clear through the chaos of melee.

Loretta, surrounded on all sides by crimson ghosts, turned her head towards O’Neil, Finlay, and the rest. She shook her head once. Then she returned her attention to her fight.

Finlay’s hand ached from how tightly she clenched her blade. Loretta was the most powerful warrior they had, other than Malenia herself. She was still needed. Her pride could go fuck itself. “Loretta!” Finlay screamed. “Retreat!”

Loretta did not answer and did not look back again.

Furious, Finlay turned and started to sprint ownards down her path. Most of the others had made good distance already, and Malenia led them. Though every time they cut down one of the bloody things attacking them more blood spilled, at least with the path they could keep moving away from the terrible lake of gore that massacring the albinaurics had created.

Finlay had gotten about ten steps when an enormous shockwave took her from behind and flung her forward. Sapphire light filled her vision. Picking herself up, she glanced over her shoulder. Loretta still fought, but now she was wreathed in sorcery, blue fires circling her in a destructive cage, slowly expanding, vaporizing the blood around her. It was a display of magnificent brute force, and had any allies been left in her vicinity they might not have survived it.

Finlay understood Loretta’s calculation now and, for the might that Loretta had unleashed on their enemies, Finlay could forgive her pride.

But Loretta was behind them, and they had to go on.

Shoving Loretta to the back of her mind, Finlay charged forward, past her struggling comrades, up to the front of their dash away from the mire. Here, Malenia and Ostia fought side by side, both whirlwinds of gold, cleaving through every bloody form that tried to rise up before them.

Ahead, Finlay saw an outcrop of boulders that were mostly dry. She bent her path towards them. The mental strain of sustaining the way while also participating in the melee was taking its toll on her; her world was narrowing down to only two objectives–a path to safety, and Malenia.

And the boulders were surely part of the way to their destination. Why else would they be guarded by six hulking omen, all carrying weapons so massive and crude that they could only be described as butchers’ blades? Their horns, all wild and overgrown, erupted up from their flesh and then stabbed back in again. Thick blood, fresh, congealing, and dry, covered their forms. All as tall as two mortal men standing one on top of the other, the beasts loomed over their challengers.

As Finlay and the others advanced off the shield and onto dry ground, Malenia and Ostia broke apart, Malenia taking three omen to the left and Ostia three to the right. As more comrades followed, they tended to join Ostia. Against three of the beasts, Malenia might not win immediately, but she would win. It was Ostia who more needed assistance.

But Ostia had no interest in assistance.

With a wordless shriek of a battlecry, she threw herself not at the omen but past them.

In Finlay’s gut, she knew.

Three omen posed no real danger to Malenia. Three omen could be vanquished by the rest of the company. Finlay bypassed them all to chase her friend one last time. Behind her, she allowed her bridge to flicker to nothingness. The company had crossed and its purpose was done.

Ostia and Finlay both went down a tumble of boulders at a dead sprint. Only their momentum kept them from falling to their faces down the steep slope.

At the bottom of the slope and some distance back, Varre stood calmly. In his left hand he held a long slender dagger. In his right hand he held a mace covered in slips of razer. It would crush a skull as well as any blunt instrument, but it would also cut flesh to ribbons.

Sensing that she had only one opportunity to end the fight early, Finlay sent a bolt of lightning gold blazing forth. She hoped to either kill Varre in a single stroke or at least knock him off guard so that Ostia could quickly finish him.

Varre flicked his mace, sending droplets of blood flying forward, and then the blood spun in the air into a crimson shield. When the bolt hit the shield, the blood fizzled away but so did the bolt. “Did you think it would be so easy?” Varre jeered, taking a few steps back.

Screaming in fury, Ostia leveled her sword at him and flew forward, with Finlay fast on her heels.

Their mad charge took them out onto a paved square, and no sooner were they both on it than the ground beneath their feet started to quake, nearly knocking Finlay from her feet.

An elevator. They were on an elevator.

The platform built up momentum fast, hurtling up the side of the nearby cliff, towards a colossal structure of ancient stone.

Varre had by now danced his way to the far side of the platform, safely away from the Cleanrots pursuing him. He held both his weapons in front of him in a defensive position. 

Ostia prowled from side to side, seeking an opening, and Finlay moved to her flank so that between them they would cover more angles. Varre had formal training, this much was clear to Finlay from the way he moved, but he did not fight like a soldier. No, he fought like a duelist trained in one of the noble houses of Leyndell. His guard was immaculate. They could not approach him slowly, he’d rebuff any conventional attack. And they could not rush him; if they did, they might go hurtling over the side of the ascending platform.

“Both so angry,” Varre cooed at them. “Like followers of frenzy rather than followers of rot.”

Ostia snarled.

The elevator came to a shuddering halt, taking Finlay and Ostia both by surprise. Varre though, prepared, took the brief opening to dart away, off the elevator and onto the solid ground at the top of the cliff.

With a glance, Finlay took it all in. They were at the highest point on the isle now, within the structure they’d seen in the distance at the very beginning of their long march up the stairs. On all sides of this plateau area, ancient columns towered up and supported lintels, forming arcades.  Enormous standing stones littered the grounds between the arcades, carved intricately with images that Finlay had no interest in examining. At the far end of the area, something huge and wreathed in shadow sat on an altar. Otherwise, the place was empty.

Or was it?

“Careful,” Finlay growled at Ostia. They had made a mistake in chasing so far, Finlay knew. Varre had surely led them into a trap, though she could not yet say of what kind. They should both be back on the ground, with their other comrades, and with their lady. But, together, they both advanced off the elevator and towards Varre.

Varre backed farther into the sanctum. He seemed about to hurl some other barbed remark, but before he could, Ostia broke with Finlay’s order and launched herself at him.

Against the flurry of blows, Varre could parry and otherwise deflect and avoid them, but he had no opportunity to retaliate. Ostia kicked out a leg to sweep his feet, and he dodged back. He did not dodge straight back though; she hadn’t made things so easy for him. He had to go to the side, and now she was pressing him towards the edge of the plateau rather than towards the altar.

One of his heels knocked into a raised step that marked the edge of the arcade, and, realizing what Ostia was doing, Varre fixed to hold his ground.

Finlay now came at him from the side, picking at his flank wherever she saw an opening, even as Ostia continued her forward assault. Ostia threw herself at Varre in so many ways that there was hardly room for Finlay to strike as well.

After only a few seconds of this, Ostia landed a deep cut across Varre’s upper left arm. He screamed, more in surprise than pain, Finlay thought. Crimson blossomed up through the white fabric of his robes–and then it surged straight out at Finlay’s face, a living coil of blood hurtling at her like an arrow. She reacted fast and managed to turn aside just in time, the blood merely scoring a deep wound in her cheek rather than impaling her head. Even as she did this, Ostia landed another cut, this one a mortal wound through Varre’s stomach.

Varre stumbled backwards, but retained his feet and did not go so far as to fall over the edge. Still holding his mace in his right hand, he dropped the dagger from his left and touched his hand to the horrific gash in his gut. The hand came away absolutely covered in blood. Varre wobbled on his feet.

Finlay thought she heard him speak–he spoke so softly and with so much halting shock that she could barely discern words. The only word she did hear–“Mohg…”

Suddenly, the blood pouring from Varre’s wounds redoubled. Some of it rose into the air, swirling, malevolent. Then it exploded outwards, a hail of gorey violence coming at Finlay and Ostia both. 

Finlay raised a hand and a shield formed in an instant, defending them both. The droplets of blood hitting the shield sounded like rain.

Opposite them, Varre was not done. In front of him, more blood in the air twisted and–

With a horrific roar, Ostia threw herself at Varre bodily. But he been near the edge of the cliff. As if in slow motion, Finlay saw it. She screamed for Ostia to stop. But when had she ever stopped for anyone but Jishanen? Ostia slammed into him, a full tackle, and together they careened back, back, back, over–

Over.

Numbly, Finlay walked to the edge of the cliff. Below, there was a sheer drop all the way down to the marshes. Her head spun. It was so far. Too far.

So that was it then.

The last of her close friends.

The last person who had known her before…

For a while, Finlay couldn’t move. She stood still, staring down at the long fall.

After a while though, dazed, holding her sword loosely, Finlay turned and started to amble back to the elevator. She should return to the battle. She needed to return to Malenia.

But the elevator was gone.

Finlay froze.

Behind her, she heard the distinct gurgle of a great deal of liquid flowing through a channel. Fast, she turned, already knowing in her gut what she would see.

Blood, blood, more blood, forming a lake, and out of it, rising slowly, an omen, head covered in crownlike horns, wearing black robes edged with crimson and heavy with gold. In his right hand he held a great ornate trident with wickedly sharp tines. Finlay had seen him before, in Elphael, but only at a distance. Mohg. The so-called lord of blood.

Cold sweat ran down Finlays face. This enemy–this enemy was not hers to defeat, not alone. She tightened her grip on her sword again and raised it, defensive. This was not how this should have been. Malenia–Malenia should be here. She should be with Malenia.

The omen, when it had finished taking form, did not advance. It regarded her coldly–with only one eye. The other eye was a gorey mess. One of its coronal horns had grown back on itself and stabbed deep into the socket. “You are the kept mortal?” it rumbled.

Finlay did not reply. Even if she had wanted to, she found she had begun to tremble and her mind raced too quickly for clear thoughts. 

“Come here.”

Finlay would have refused, but the choice was taken from her. Blood welled up from the cracks between the stones she stood on, wrapped around her lower legs, and dragged her forward, across the sanctuary, until she was on her knees before the monster.

Now, closer to the altar, she saw the shadowed shape on the stone pedestal for what it was. A broken cocoon. Miquella’s. From it, a long, twisted arm hung limply. On a single finger, a ring of unalloyed gold glittered in the twilight of the cavern.

Furious, Finlay found it in herself to dispel the blood from her feet with a pulse of gold. She stood. “I don’t kneel to you,” she growled.

Mohg considered this for a while. “No, you do not,” he finally rasped. “We are alike, you and I,” he said. “Both consorts to our own god.”

Finlay’s eyes flickered to the broken cocoon on the altar. Bile rose in her throat. “We are nothing alike. You are no consort of Miquella’s,” she said. Her instincts raged that she should charge him, cut him down for his insult. But she held back. Malenia would come, soon. Finlay trusted, believed, that she would. Soon.

“That is not for you to decide,” Mohg replied.

Finlay shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “It is for him to decide. And he is indisposed.”

Mohg set a clawed hand on the cocoon, grotesquely gentle. “For now he sleeps,” Mohg said, crooning. “But when he wakes, he will acknowledge what I have done for him.”

“What you have done to him,” Finlay corrected.

Mohg snorted. “I have done nothing he did not desire,” he said. “He required a consort, and so I came for him.”

“You have no right to that title,” Finlay hissed. “You are unworthy of him, omen.”

Mohg slammed the butt of his trident down into the stones, shattering them. He leaned forward, looming over Finlay. “I am a child of Marika,” Mohg roared. “I am an heir of her blood. She plucked a rune from the ring for me. And what are you? A rotting carcass, destined to die?”

Finlay’s mind reeled. “Marika birthed no omen,” she muttered.

This drew a scoff from Mohg. “Marika birthed many monsters,” he sneered. “Your lady is only one of them. Or didn’t she tell you?”

“My lady is no monster,” Finlay snapped back.

“Then what was Caelid?” Mohg asked. Predatory, he began to circle. Finlay turned to keep her eyes on him. “Why did she choose you, little corpse?” he asked. “What made you so special that she would rip your mortality from you?”

Understanding slowly formed in Finlay’s mind. Illegitimate, he scorned Finlay’s birth. Lacking Miquella’s love, he belittled Malenia’s. “Miquella does not love you,” she said quietly, and recklessly. “You may love him, but he does not love you.”

The back of Mohg’s hand slammed into Finlay so fast that she had no time to brace herself, and so hard that she was flung halfway back down the sanctuary, landing hard in a heap on the stones. She had just enough presence of mind to raise a shield before Mohg’s trident came down on her. The weapon crashed into her golden barrier and then skidded off with such force that it pierced deeply into the stone pavement.

Hurriedly, Finlay scrambled to her feet and backed away, sword raised, as Mohg tore the trident free. For something so large, he moved so terribly quickly.

Mohg launched a salvo of blows, every one powerful enough to shatter bone even through plate armor if it connected, and all so fast that Finlay could only barely defend herself with a combination of steel and faith. In only a few heartbeats, she was overwhelmed. Mohg spun his trident about and brought the haft down. Finlay parried, but she lacked the strength to turn the blow aside. Her parry collapsed and the weapon descended. Then blunt force crashed down into her shoulder. Finlay screamed as her entire shoulder gave way, her sword slipped from numb fingers, and she went to the ground.

But Mohg did not follow up with a killing strike. He resumed his predatory circling.

Fighting through a haze of agony, Finlay summoned a wave of gold to set her shoulder, reform bone, and reknit severed muscle, tendon, and ligament. Then, shaking from pain and exhaustion, Finlay took her blade again and climbed up onto her feet once more.

“Persistent,” Mohg muttered. Then, louder and clearer, “Did you weave a web over years? Is that how you gained her affections?”

“She chose me,” Finlay growled.

Mohg circled closer now, confident in his ability to swat away any attack Finlay might attempt. His growl was so low and deep that Finlay felt it in her bones. “Why?”

From down the sanctuary, there was a heavy thud of stone on stone.

Finlay looked over and saw Malenia, standing tall and drenched in gore. Her sword dripped crimson. “Get away from her,” Malenia said, tone even, expecting to be obeyed.

Mohg, to Finlay’s surprise, withdrew. “Sister,” he greeted.

Malenia strode forward until she stood at Finlay’s side. “I do not recognize you,” she said. “Even if I did, I have but one brother and you are not him. Give me Miquella.”

Mohg pounded the butt of his trident against the pavement. “He is mine,” he roared. “I have shared his bedchamber, giving him my devotion and my blood. He will be a god, and I am his consort. He is mine!”

Malenia’s reply dripped with disgust. “You have done what?”

Opposite Malenia, Mohg raised his trident. “You will not take him from me.”

In response, Malenia raised her long, curving sword of unalloyed gold.

Finlay stepped back, giving Malenia more room. She pushed back against her weariness and let her mind settle into the steady faith that animated her.

Both Malenia and Mohg lunged forward at the same time, and the force of their weapons colliding rang like a peal of thunder, shaking the entire isle. Each of them moved lightning fast, so fast that the eye could barely follow their movements. When Mohg claimed to be a child of Marika, it had been no empty boast.

Though Finlay could not track each and every one of the blows, she felt always Malenia’s presence in the chaos. She took several steps farther back from the storm and lifted her sword, holding it in both hands with the tip down. She only rarely used a focus for her casting; she did not carry any seal at all. When her mind was fresh, handling a seal was more of a distraction than a help, and in the heat of battle taking the time to use a totem could get her killed. Now though, she could not err.

The words of prayer and praise that spilled from Finlay’s lips came from deep within her. She gave no thought to what they were, only let them well up and then spoke them. As she chanted, her sword flashed brilliant gold. But her sword was only the conduit, not the object.

As Finlay’s sword blazed, so did Malenia. Aflame with gold, her sword flashed quicker, her every strike landed with greater power. Were she dueling anyone but one of the last remaining demigods, the battle would have been over in less than a heartbeat.

Malenia landed a glancing blow across Mohg’s thigh and blood sprayed out, burning. Every drop of Mohg’s blood was like a hot coal surrounded by dark fire. Where it struck the stone pavement, it scorched the ground black. A few drops hit Malenia and burned holes through her cloak and even melted spots of her armor before sizzling out.

Each of them breathing heavily, Malenia and Mohg broke apart and began to circle one another, plotting out their next moves and trying to anticipate their opponent’s.

Malenia struck first. She darted forward, sword outstretched, seeking to impale her enemy.

Mogh was ready. He backstepped fast and raised his trident high over his head then slammed the butt down into the pavement. Above him, a vortex of crimson spun into being, spewing out more fiery blood as it twisted and churned.

Undeterred, Malenia dove into the maelstrom.

An overwhelming smell of burning hair and flesh filled Finlay’s nostrils. For a few moments Malenia and Mohg both were obscured in the rain of blood, but then Malenia, still blazing with Finlay’s faith, forced Mohg backwards and out of its protection. Everywhere the blood had touched her, she had burned. Her gold limbs were each pocked with rippled indentations where they had melted during her brief charge into the inferno.

Finlay adjusted her grip on her sword. She knew Malenia, knew every inch of her body. She found the burns. She willed them whole.

Mohg roared as his work was undone, and he glowered baleful at Finlay. He spun about, sweeping his trident out wide to keep Malenia at bay, and then black wings exploded from his back. The wings were a gruesome mix of feathers and scales and horns, and, though enormous, should not have ever allowed flight. But fly Mohg did.

He launched himself up and for a moment hovered above the scene, out of Malenia’s reach, surveying. Then, as an eagle he dove for Finlay, trident wreathed in blood flame and outstretched like talons.

Finlay summoned a shield of gold, thick as the width of her hand.

Mohg crashed into the shield and shattered it, but in the impact he slowed. And then Malenia was on him again, knocking him back and demanding his full attention lest she take his head. As he parried Malenia’s strikes with his burning trident, Mohg whirled, sweeping one of his wings out. Malenia, taken by surprise, did not avoid the attack. By design or by simple luck, one of the horns protruding from the wing hit Malenia’s side point first and punctured deep through her cuirass. 

More blood spilled, this time Malenia’s.

Malenia’s hand shot out to call on it at the same time that Mohg did the same.

For a moment they stood, frozen.

Then Mohg laughed. “The rot is yours, but the blood is mine,” he snarled. Then Malenia’s blood, pouring from her side, caught fire. At least, though, the fire seared the wound closed.

Malenia grunted in pain and threw herself at Mohg once more.

Once again safe from Mohg’s attention, Finlay reached out and repaired the hole in Maleina’s side, pulled new skin over the places where the burns had scorched deep.

Mohg managed to disengage from Malenia and take several steps back. He was breathing heavily now, his entire body rising and falling as he heaved for air. “Will you not fight me fair, sister?” he snarled. “Fight me as a warrior should. Tell your pet to leave us be.”

Also in need of a brief moment to recompose herself, Malenia adjusted her stance and raised her sword up into an aggressive guard. “No,” she said. “Finlay is as much a part of me as my blade or my heart. I do not fight without her.”

“Then I see no reason to fight you alone either,” Mohg snarled. He raised a clawed hand, palm up. “You have not lost so much flesh as to be bloodless. Nihil !”

Malenia screamed. Fire poured from her nose and mouth. Her flesh melted. She fell to her knees, her rotting hand, blazing, clawing at her throat.

Mohg rounded on Finlay again and charged.

Knowing a shield would not save her, Finlay dove forward and down. Unlike Malenia, she was not as strong as him, she was not as fast as him. Her one advantage against Mohg was being so much smaller. And any effort she wasted engaging with him, she needed for Malenia.

Mohg, borne by his chimeric wings, passed over Finlay harmlessly.

Finlay dashed to Malenia’s side. Malenia burned from the inside out. Blood. Her blood was on fire. Finlay slammed her open hand into the center of Malenia’s chest. Finlay whispered her prayer to Malenia. “Let my faith animate you as it does me.”

Finlay shoved gold tinged with scarlet into Malenia’s heart, not in the form of anything so base as a needle, but as pure devotion to flood through Malenia’s veins. The flames died and Malenia took a shuddering gasp.

Then Mohg was on them both again.

Malenia shoved herself up to meet him and again they traded blows each of which could have pulverized boulders. Up and down the sanctuary they raged, hacking and slicing and hewing at one another, neither ever quite gaining a clear advantage. Briefly, they fought close to the broken cocoon on the far altar, their strikes threatening to smash it from its place, but then, by unspoken agreement between enemies, they shifted away. By this time, both of them were slowing, their movements becoming sluggish with exhaustion.

Too tired for the same lightning-fast dance that they’d begun with, more and more often they simply crossed blades and tried to shove hard enough to force the other into submission.

In one of these contests of brute force, Malenia slammed her sword down in a vertical slash, and Mohg caught it between the trines of his trident. Reacting to the opportunity, Mohg twisted, trying to yank Malenia’s blade from her hand. But her blade was locked into her unalloyed gold grip. Malenia followed the momentum, followed her sword down, then slipped it free and spun around with a horizontal sweep. He parried, only barely, interposing the haft of his trident between Malenia’s blade and his chest.

And there they stayed, both straining, Malenia to get just a few more inches and dig her sword into Mohg’s flesh, and Mohg to push Malenia away.

“Finlay!” Malenia roared. “Give me more!”

Finlay obliged.

Digging deeper and deeper into her faith, Finlay poured more of herself into her casting. Every time she had seen Malenia raise her blade with preternatural grace, every time she had watched Malenia overcome the inevitability of her curse, every quiet moment between them, every nuance of Finlay’s love for her–such did she call and channel now.

For Finlay was Malenia’s knight and chosen consort, and in her rested all of the strength of them both together.

Bit by bit, Malenia pushed and Mohg gave way, until the edge of her blade bit into first his thick robes and then his flesh. With a furious grunt, she leaned forward, shifting her leverage, and her sword finally cut deep. Mohg tried to pull away, but Malenia took advantage of this attempt to fade back and jammed her blade deeper still, fatally deep.

Mohg staggered. Blood flowed freely from his wound. He grabbed a handful of it and hurled it, burning like coals, at Malenia.

She swept the burning blood aside with a stroke of her sword.

She advanced.

Mohg stumbled back.

She raised her sword.

Mohg raised his trident.

She brought her sword down.

Mohg’s severed head, crowned with horns, hit the ground.

Finlay fell to her knees, utterly spent. Then she tilted over onto her side. Her muscles would no longer obey her. The stone against her cheek was so soothingly cool. She had lasted so long only because she could do nothing else. Now, desperation abated, she was, all at once, very done.

By Mohg’s body, Malenia was in a similar state. On one knee, she leaned on her sword like a crutch. Then she shifted to support herself on both knees rather than one.

Finlay’s eyes closed.

They stayed closed for longer than a moment, but she did not know how long.

Still, when she opened them again, Malenia remained kneeling, too weary to have moved.

Finlay dipped in and out of consciousness several times, sliping between complete exhaustion and blissful black.

After a time, at the far end of the sanctuary, the ground shuddered and the elevator clunked into place. On it stood Loretta, O’Neil, and two lordsworn. The survivors.

O’Neil looked around. Then his already tired form sagged further.

Wearily, the four of them advanced towards the cocoon on the altar, towards the object of their own worship. They exchanged some words with Malenia, but Finlay did not hear them.

As Loretta, O’Neil, and the rest continued on to Miquella’s shell, Malenia lurched to her feet. Moving very slowly, she unlocked her sword from her hand and sheathed it. Then she staggered to Finlay, still lying on the ground

Barely able to keep her eyes open, Finlay looked up at Malenia. “I need to rest awhile,” Finlay mumbled.

Malenia nodded once, then sat down heavily.

By the altar, Loretta, O’Neil, and the lordsworn were doing something with Miquella’s cocoon.

Finlay slipped back into peaceful unconsciousness for a while.

She woke again though when Malenia stirred beside her.

Dimly, she perceived that Loretta, O’Neil, and the others were moving Miquella’s cocoon to the platform that would carry them all back down the cliffs. Loretta had created some sort of sorcerous cart and they were all pushing it. It looked… funny.

Finlay was far too tired to laugh.

Malenia stood stiffly.

Summoning up whatever strength remained in her, Finlay started to roll to get in a better position to rise as well.

“No, Finlay,” Malenia murmured, shaking her head. She bent down and pulled Finlay towards her, then lifted her up, cradling Finlay to her chest. Her voice was soft. “Rest. I will carry you as you’ve carried me. It’s time to go home.”

Notes:

So this is basically how I originally planned for this fic to end--Malenia carrying Finlay home instead of Finlay carrying Malenia home (except some of the earlier plans had this happening at the end of Aeonia rather than after Miquella retrieval on account of using the "free the stars" explanation for Caelid). But I guess there's one last segment of this fic to address the DLC. I'm already 18k words into that segment, but my god is there a lot of material to cover. Can't do Messmer without Rellana. Gotta hit on Moore and Romina. Must have Leda because she's the poster character. Etc. Which is to say, probably gonna be at least a month or two before I start updating again. But we're almost done! Yay!

(Oh, something to note--in Finlay's little speech to Malenia before they start climbing the stairs, she is using the word "grace" in the sense of "fate," which is an older meaning of "grace." The OED classifies this meaning as obsolete and pegs it as in use only between c1325-1616.)

Thank you so much to all y'all who're reading this! And especially y'all who're stopping by to say hi in the comments, even though I don't always get around to replying sometimes. You know who you are :)

Chapter 12: The Land of Shadow - Part One

Their home was not as they remembered.

Only six of them now–Malenia, Finlay, Loretta, O’Neil, and a single of Miquella’s lordsworn. And, of course, Miquella, quiescent.

Loretta and O’Neil and the lordsworn carried Miquella between them to the gate in Ordina and then through it, a few townsfolk looking on. In the absence of the twins, the fortune of those who’d remained in the north had dwindled. All the best and strongest had left on crusade. Those who remained behind had fended for themselves as best they could, waiting for the return. The years had been long. The winters had been hard.

But they had returned.

[] [] []

Malenia stood among the roots of her brother’s tree, her one rotting hand on the broken edge of his cocoon. She knew that his body lay within. But she could not see him. Nor could she feel him. Not for a long time had she felt him. She had thought him close when she killed Mohg and finally won his… remains. On the long trek back to Elphael, however, she had started to sense something changing. She would sit next to his cocoon and he would feel farther than ever. And then, one day, she had not felt him at all.

Around her, silence.

Since they had brought Miquella’s body back, many, many pilgrims had traveled from far places to see him. Some days there would be so many of them that a long line formed just to enter the chamber that was his resting place. But when Malenia was with her brother, they were all barred. It was not on Malenia’s order. Finlay had ordered it. And not because Malenia had made any request, merely, Finlay had, in her way, known what Malenia required and made it so. Finlay made many things so, now, in Elphael. She was, after all, its lord.

In Miquella’s absence, every duty that he had once performed had fallen to Finlay as his sister’s consort. Although Finlay was terribly scarred by the rot, she was less pariah than Malenia, who was not merely scarred by the rot but herself exuded it. And, thus, the common folk avoided Malenia while demanding that Finlay right all things that they felt were wrong.

Things were often wrong.

The lands north of Marika’s domain had been left desolate in the prior age for a reason. Not enough vegetation grew to supply a steady source of fuel for fires. The thin, rocky soil did not lend itself to farming. Rough seas often stopped fishing boats from setting sail, and, when the fishermen did go out, they did not always return. When Miquella had inhabited Elphael, his abundance had eased these problems. Trees had grown tall and thick in mere days, and food had never run scarce. Without him, the city, its population swollen with pilgrims and also refugees, struggled from one day to the next.

And Malenia’s rot gnawed at the edges of the fragile order, poisoning the already poor soil, spoiling what food was put away for harder times.

But the city did not fail.

Finlay, supported by Niall, Loretta, and O’Neil, poured herself into the work of lordship. By her unceasing efforts, the city had a guard to keep order, a rations dole to keep folk from starving, and some small hope for the future.

For Finlay’s efforts–

The city did not treat her well. She was the city’s lord, but she remained also, still, a Cleanrot. And Miquella was not present to enforce his will that his sister those afflicted by his sister’s curse not be scorned.

Nevertheless, Finlay labored on the city’s behalf. Her nature demanded it.

Once, Malenia had argued that Finlay not exhaust herself on ingrates.

But Finlay resisted.

This was their home.

And they had nowhere else to go, no one else to be.

If any army marched on Elphael, Malenia would fight in its defense. But there were no great armies left. Rykard and the forces of Leyndell had exhausted one another utterly. After the fall of the Carian dynasty and Raya Lucaria’s decision to seal itself from the lands, no one held Liurnia. Bands of mercenaries roved there now, preying on anyone foolish enough to attempt to traverse the sunken roads, but those mercenaries were, by and large, leaderless. In Limgrave, no one recognized Godrick’s paltry authority, not even the soldiers he called his own. And in Caelid…

Once, Malenia had gone to war for Marika. Malenia could give no tally of what she had destroyed in Marika’s name. But then destined death was stolen. Black knives cut down golden Godwyn, Marika’s chosen heir. Ranni, the foremost of the Carian princesses, vanished.  Rykard, the oldest of Marika and Rennala’s children, sought to fill the vacuum left in their wake. Marika, however, looked to Miquella. And Miquella had refused her. And so Miquella and Malenia both withdrew from Leyndell, taking along all who chose to follow them, and went north.

For a while, they had peace in the north. Miquella called the place Elphael, after the man who had commanded his lordsworn for decades and then died defending him. Even when Marika broke her ring of runes and began what became known as the Shattering, it seemed that the twins and their city might continue on undisturbed. Miquella had confidently ensconced himself in a tree in pursuit of… something.

Then Mohg attacked without warning and Malenia and her Cleanrots defended the city and its people rather than Miquella’s tree. A terrible mistake.

Then the march.

Then Caelid.

And when Malenia finally retrieved her twin, as she carried him back to Elphael, he slipped his corporeal bonds without deigning to give his sister any warning or explanation. She assumed he had wandered of his own volition because the alternative… she would have felt it. She had felt his torment as she marched to find him. She had dreamed him. When he left… he simply left.

Now the Shattering drew to a close, having burnt itself out. Only dying embers of Marika’s empire remained. Embers and ash.

If Malenia now had a purpose, it was merely to wait.

She waited for Miquella to return.

She even waited, sometimes, like so many others, for a moment of Finlay’s attention–Finlay, her consort, her knight, the commander of her Cleanrots.

But there were no more Cleanrots.

In past years, Malenia had always been among her knights. They alone had never recoiled in disgust from her presence. After the march to return Miquella, however, of all the Cleanrots, only Finlay remained. The rest were dead.

Malenia had no intention of reviving the order. When she served in Marika’s wars, the Cleanrots had been a necessity. Malenia had needed companions because, though she was powerful and a supremely skilled duelist, she could not alone overcome large numbers of enemies. But any who chose her close company would, after a while, become afflicted. Without any threat of war, Malenia would not allow anyone to willingly take the rot.

But that left her, in a way, alone.

She did not want to spend her every waking moment with Finlay, and she did not want Finlay to cleave to her constantly. Malenia did not want to walk in Marika’s footsteps. Malenia had sworn that she would never render Finlay down to merely a Radagon. If Malenia asked for all of Finlay’s time, all of Finlay’s attention, she did not doubt that Finlay would give it to her. But Malenia would not ask.

In her separate existence Malenia had…

She had only longing.

Malenia rested her forehead against the shell of her brother’s shelter.

Where had he gone?

[] [] []

Even in Malenia’s dreams, she could not find her brother .

That part of him which had always been a constant in sleep had absented itself.

Her dreams were empty.

[] [] []

As evening fell, Malenia sat with Finlay on a bench in the garden of the Cleanrot’s empty barracks. It was overgrown now, not with the flowers that the Cleanrots had planted years ago, but with all kinds of molds and other decay. In Malenia’s sense of the world, it was not unlovely. And Finlay did not seem inclined to burn it and start anew.

“Your arm is getting worse,” Finlay said quietly.

“I will not take the needle back,” Malenia replied, somewhat distant, only half paying attention. As the sun set, the air cooled. She settled into the gentle sensation of shadow slowly creeping over her skin. Insects, things that feasted on the molds in the garden, chirped and sang.

“Miquella isn’t here to craft a second arm for you,” Finlay said. She sat slightly hunched, with her elbows on her knees. Malenia imagined that Finlay was glowering. “It’s the last limb you were born with. You should take better care of it.”

It was an old argument, but Finlay still pursued it doggedly. Fearfully. The balance between them had shifted. Before, Finlay had decayed faster. Now, it was Malenia.

Malenia raised her left arm. She hardly felt any pain. The nerves in the arm had mostly gone. She could barely control the fingers. Wire of unalloyed gold held the limb together, but only in the places where the flesh remained firm enough for the wire to take. Where there wasn’t wire, there was only putrefaction. “It is only an arm,” Malenia said. “And it is not even my sword arm.”

Finlay grunted in frustration. “It is not only an arm,” she said. “It is your arm. And it would take very little for infection to spread up your shoulder, into your torso. And what then?”

“Decay has been in my blood for as long as I have had blood. But the needle is keeping the rot quiescent in your lungs,” Malenia said, lowering her arm again. She set it down out of the way so that it would not be unnecessarily jostled.  “You cannot afford for me to take it back. I do not need the arm if I still have you. I need you regardless of the arm.”

The needle, Malenia suspected, might be doing more for Finlay than merely holding off the rot. Slowly, gradually, Niall and Loretta were growing old, and O’Neil was coming into his own. It was only when comparing Finlay to the others that it was noticeable–the years did not weigh on her as they did on her fellows. As Miquella had once told Malenia, the needle fixed time.

Now Finlay shook her head. They had been through all these paces before. She had no good rejoinder.

“Miquella will return,” Malenia said. “And then perhaps he’ll craft a second needle, or a second arm, or some other device. But you will be there to see it.”

Finlay shifted, tensing. “You should not have to depend on him. And he should be here now,” she growled. Her relationship with Malenia’s twin had never gone smoothly. Though they had eventually reached an understanding, there had been times when Miquella attempted to dissuade her from pursuing Malenia, and some of the things he had said–it would have been better if he’d kept certain thoughts to himself. When Malenia told Finlay and their other companions during the long journey home from the Siofra that Miquella had left the body they had sacrificed so much to save, Finlay had taken it very badly. She took it very badly too that, for all her own efforts, if Miquella did not return and do something, do anything, Malenia would continue to subside.

“He would not have departed without some reason, even if he did not share it.” Malenia spoke with a conviction that… She turned to caress Finlay’s cheek with her golden right hand. “I am sorry that I brought him up,” Malenia said. “I would rather not speak of him. I would rather just sit here with you.”

Finlay leaned into Malenia’s touch. She sighed, and the tension in her eased. “As would I,” she mumbled in reply.

[] [] []

In the mornings, Finlay, an inveterate early riser, would wake first and work. All the care she’d once had for the Cleanrots under her command, she gave now to the city. But no matter where her work took her in the dawn hours, she would ensure she returned by late morning to help Malenia from bed and with her prosthetics, and then they would go on with their days.

Finlay spent most of her time in the city’s great hall, surrounded by folk who came with problems and left, if not with answers, then at least feeling heard.

All of Elphael rested on Finlay’s shoulders.

A while ago, O’Neil, a traditionalist despite being too young to have any real sense of any traditions, had wanted to place a throne there. Finlay roundly rejected the idea. She herself held no particular notions about what Elphael ought to be except safe and peaceful. Grand designs for the city had been Miquella’s province. But Finlay did know that she did not want any expectation that she sit for all her days. So there was no throne in the hall. Instead, Loretta had dragged in an enormous desk to the place where a throne would usually be, and she, Finlay, and the others had slowly buried it in the detritus of their efforts to handle the city’s business.

Though Malenia had spent precious little of her time in Leyndell paying attention to affairs of court, she had a sense that the city and, further, Marika’s empire had been run not by Marika but by a legion of nobles and the like, all divided up into areas of purported responsibility. Elphael did not have a small army of administrators to keep streets clean and ensure there was food for hungry mouths. Elphael had, in the main, Finlay and the handful of comrades she had learned to trust primarily due to their skill in battle. Of them, Loretta alone had a formal education. But Finlay and Niall had both accumulated decades of experience with the unending struggle of keeping fighting men and women fed, equipped, and able to march. And O’Neil–he was learning from all of them in a trial by fire.

Without anything else to occupy her attention, Malenia lurked in the back of the hall, lost in thoughts she’d had many times before.

When Loretta and Niall, and, someday, O’Neil as well, slipped away on account of the passing of time, would others step forward to serve as they had? Would Finlay accept those others into her confidence? Or would she become even more like Malenia?

Would Malenia then need to be for Finlay who Finlay was for Malenia?

So lost in her idle musings, Malenia at first did not notice the small commotion by the grand doors into the chamber. Not until the room went silent did Malenia turn her attention outward.

Finlay, a steady gold entangled with scarlet in Malenia’s sense of the world, looked up from whatever papers laid out on the table had most recently caught her attention. Next to her, Loretta, all cold silver and gleaming sapphire, did the same.

Every eye now turned to a newcomer, someone Malenia did not recognize, walking with a measured pace through the hall, towards the far end where Finlay and Loretta worked. The newcomer wore plate armor, covered by a long cloak, and had a sword at their side. They had a helm tucked under their elbow. There was something familiar about the newcomer. A gentle gold. The touch of Miquella. 

In the dark of the hall, Malenia stirred.

The newcomer bowed to Finlay, according Finlay her proper due. “Lord Finlay,” the newcomer greeted.  She spoke softly and enunciated well, like a lady of court. “I am Leda, a knight sworn to Lord Miquella. Kindly Miquella has sent me with a message for his sister.”

Finlay tensed. She looked over her shoulder, back at Malenia. Malenia nodded, slowly.  Could she hope? Dare she hope?

Finlay raised a hand and pointed at the main doors at the other end of the hall. “Everyone else out,” she said tightly.

Though it took some encouragement from the city guard to dispel the now ravenously curious onlookers, the hall cleared in short order and the doors were closed. Only Finlay, Loretta, Leda, and Malenia remained. 

Now Malenia stepped forward. To Malenia, Leda bowed more deeply than she had to Finlay.

Finlay crossed her arms over her chest. “What is your message then?” she asked, wary.

Leda straightened from her bow. Hesitating, she glanced at Finlay and Loretta. To her credit though, she overcame her hesitation without prompting. She turned back to Malenia. “Kindly Miquella has need of you, and he has sent me to bring you to him.”

Finlay’s hands clenched into fists.

“Miquella is beneath our feet in the roots of the tree,” Loretta said, calculating. “Lady Malenia goes to see him nearly every day.” Loretta knew well Miquella had absented himself, though many common folk thought he merely slept. Her remark aimed to gauge Leda.

Leda turned to Loretta. “He is not,” she said. Leda’s voice rang with self-assured conviction in a way that both reminded Malenia of her twin, and also unsettled her. “He has cast off that withered form and ventured to the land of shadow as a spirit unburdened by flesh.”

Loretta shifted, leaning forward slightly. “That land is sealed,” she said.

“Nothing is beyond Miquella,” Leda said. “He found a way, and I am here to guide the Lady Malenia in his footsteps.” She reached towards her belt, and Finlay, Loretta, and Malenia all reached for their swords. Some instincts never faded. But Leda did not draw a weapon. Instead, she opened a pouch and withdrew some small item. Malenia, blind, could not see it. She felt from the contours of its decay that it might be a cutting of a plant.

“Let me see that,” Loretta said, holding out her hand. Leda gave it to her. Loretta scrutinized it closely, then sniffed it. She immediately yawned.

“Finlay,” Malenia said. “Describe it.”

“A flower, my lady,” Finlay said tightly. “I’m not sure what kind. The bloom is shaped like a long bell or a trumpet. It is a very deep purple.”

Loretta handed the bloom back to Leda. “It’s a lily,” Loretta said. “A very old variety. They only grew on a particular stretch of coast in the south of the lands that were closed off from the Erdtree. There are pressings in the library in Raya Lucaria. But this specimen is fresh, and potent.”

“So you are from those lands. But how do we know that you are from Miquella?” Finlay asked.

Malenia raised her golden hand, forestalling any answer. She did not, however, speak immediately. Miquella’s grace was on Leda. But as soon as Malenia acknowledged that Leda had truly come on behalf of Miquella…

If Malenia acknowledged Leda, then the matter would be settled. Malenia would go out to find Miquella, wherever he had hidden himself, and Finlay would go with her, and together they would once again leave the home that Finlay had carved out for them. For Miquella.

But what else could Malenia do? She could never deny him, and she certainly could not do so now when he needed her. And she needed him.

“She speaks for Miquella,” Malenia said at last. “His power is on her.”

Leda bowed again to Malenia. “We should set off soon, my lady,” she said. “How long will you need to prepare?”

“You presume much,” Finlay said sharply. The gold and scarlet of her flared. “Miquella presumes much. He is the one who left. I am not inclined to abandon this city like he did. He should come here. Why is he not here?”

Leda tilted her head to one side, considering Finlay. “My lord…” she started. She sounded confused. “Lord Miquella does not ask you to abandon anything. His request is for his sister. If you wish to remain–”

Malenia cut in now. “If Miquella wishes something of me, he should come and ask himself.” She angled her face towards Loretta. “Sir Loretta, please find Leda accommodation somewhere in the city. I would like to speak with Finlay.”

Rather than back down, Leda took a step towards Malenia. “My lady, Miquella, your brother, requires–”

Lorretta moved forwards, positioning herself between Leda and the others.Though a scholar and burdened by years, Loretta was very physically imposing; she stood about as tall as Finlay, but she was broader. “Sir Leda,” she said. “Please come with me.”

For a moment, it seemed that Leda might refuse. But then she thought better of it. She went without further complaint.

As soon as the doors closed on them, Finlay let out a frustrated growl. She sat down on the edge of the enormous desk on the dias. She dropped her head into her hands. “So she is from Miquella? You believe her?”

“She is from Miquella,” Malenia confirmed again.

“Can he do nothing for himself?” Finlay demanded. The heat of anger filled her voice and her volume rose. She raised her head and threw out her arms. “We tracked him across all the lands, all the way to the Siofra, lost so many… And has he been collecting flowers this entire time? And he sends a stranger with a summons rather than return himself?”

Malenia stayed silent. Finlay needed this.

Finlay continued, viciously, “The city needs us. His city. Does he not care?” She lowered her arms and with both hands gripped the edge of the table tightly. She made a rough growling noise in the back of her throat, but she said no more.

Malenia stepped forward now. With her golden hand, she pushed aside a pile of slates and ledgers on the desk next to Finlay. She sat down at Finlay’s side.

A long moment passed.

“You have needed him,” Finlay said quietly. Her shoulders sagged. “It will take a few days to get as many affairs in order as I can. The city is… There is so much…” Trailing off, she shook her head.

“Thank you, Finlay,” Malenia said. She caressed Finlay’s scarred cheek, kissed Finlay’s forehead.

“I remind you,” Finlay mumbled, “He has had some fabulously bad ideas in the past.”

Malenia withdrew with a chuckle. “I know.”

[] [] []

The emptiness of Malenia’s dreams was all wrong.

Her entire life, even in nightmares, she had not felt such a void as she felt now.

[] [] []

Before they left, Malenia and Finlay met with Loretta, Niall, and O’Neil. The five of them sat around a circular table together in what had once been the Cleanrot’s barracks. On the table stood several pitchers of wine. The group of them had already emptied at least three. Late afternoon light spilled through open windows, giving the room a warm glow.

Despite being the largest of them, O’Neil had already slumped forward on the table. Or, perhaps it was because he was the largest of them that he’d failed to stop himself from one more cup. He drifted in and out of the world as the others ignored him.

“Hardly anything was ever said of Messmer in church,” Finlay said. She leaned back in her chair and swirled the wine in her cup thoughtfully. It was still her first cup. She’d said she didn’t want to be too inebriated or hungover to enjoy what peaceful time she had left before the departure.

“He committed atrocities on such a scale that Marika severed the whole battlefield from her lands,” Loretta said. “He was not one whom your church wanted to remember.” She glanced at Malenia. “Did you know him? I think you would not–he went on his crusade when Radagon was still with Rennala. You would not have yet come to be.”

“I did not know him,” Malenia said. “The family did not often speak of him.”

Of Messmer, Malenia knew only what she’d been told. He had taken his retainers, two orders of knights, and a great battalion of soldiers drawn from the prisons on a holy war against a people who had rejected grace. In many ways it had been nothing more and nothing less than one of Marika’s many wars of conquest. But he did not stop with mere war. And so Marika had cast him out–it was said. 

But Marika had cast out Godfrey for less and tolerated Rykard’s sins without comment.

“Godwyn spoke of him, sometimes,” Niall said in his deep rumbling baritone. Unlike his son, he had paced his drinking. In the morning, he would probably do something truly awful to O’Neil, like order him to go ring the town bells. Although for a long time Malenia had thought poorly of Niall because he had served and failed no fewer than three lords, gradually, she had revised her estimation of him. He tried to be a good man, a good soldier, and a good father. He did not always succeed, but he always tried.

“And what did he say?” Loretta asked.

Niall shrugged. “A great lord,” he said. “Godwyn never spoke ill of him. I’m not sure that Godwyn even believed Messmer had done anything wrong.”

“Godwyn was not the cleverest of Marika’s children,” Malenia remarked, without rancor. She bore no ill will towards Godwyn. Despite the twins’ curses, he had been good to them.

“The title of cleverest belongs to your brother,” Loretta said.

“If Miquella were so clever, he wouldn’t have put himself in a tree, been kidnapped, and then wandered into a sealed realm of shadows,” Finlay muttered darkly.

“Sometimes genius is more evident in retrospect,” Loretta replied. “There is time yet.”

Niall snorted. “That’s not genius. You’re describing blind luck and good publicity.”

“Miquella the Bloody Lucky does have a good ring to it,” said Loretta.

“Do you remember that time with the saltpetre?” Finlay said, a hint of gleeful nastiness lurking in her tone. Of course they all remembered that time with the saltpetre.

“When he lit his hair on fire?” Niall asked. “And he wasn’t tall enough to properly use the fountain?”

Malenia raised her own cup of wine in an attempt to hide her snicker, but then decided it was a lost cause and she didn’t want to spill wine on herself while laughing at her brother’s mistakes. She would never hear the end of it. So she snickered, finished snickering, then drank her wine.

“A genius never stops learning,” Loretta said dryly. “And that day, Miquella learned a lot.”

“He learned not to set his hair on fire,” Niall said, though by his tone he seemed uncertain.

Finlay sighed. Then she raised her cup of wine up. “To Miquella,” she said.

The others joined. “To Miquella,” they echoed. Then, together, they all drank.

[] [] []

Leda met them in Miquella’s chamber at the base of the Haligtree.

She bowed when Malenia and Finlay approached, accompanied by Loretta, Niall, and O’Neil.

Over the past several days as they prepared, in deference to Finlay’s frustrations, Malenia had declined to speak with Leda. They had relied on Loretta to gather what information they could from Leda about what lay ahead and what Miquella intended. Leda had been remarkably unforthcoming. Loretta thought that it was not out of obstinance. According to Loretta, Leda actually seemed not to know the details of why she had been sent. Leda knew only that she was to bring Miquella’s twin to him.

Leda’s ignorance of Miquella’s designs further proved the authenticity of the request. Were she a fraudster or some other species of cheat, she’d have come with some explanation. But it was ever Miquella’s way to offer only, at best, cryptic hints with an unsubtle suggestion that someone with an intellect of his caliber would think that he had spoken plainly.

Leda moved her head in a way that suggested she was looking at each of them in turn. “Will you all walk in Miquella’s footsteps?” she asked.

“Only Finlay and I are accompanying you,” Malenia answered.

They would take no other companions. While the city could survive without Finlay for a time–indeed, it had done so before–it could not afford to lose Finlay as well as her advisors all at once. And Malenia would not summon any guard, much less an army, to march for her brother, though many would be willing. Not again.

“Ah,” Leda replied. She focused her attention on Malenia only now. “Are you ready? We should not tarry any longer.”

Malenia rolled her shoulders, adjusting the way her knapsack sat on her back. Loretta had tinkered with it so that it used only a single strap and otherwise avoided rubbing against Malenia’s decaying left side. Finlay had, briefly, tried to suggest that she alone carry everything, but Malenia and the others swiftly put an end to that notion. After so many years of relative peace in Elphael, Finlay’s habit of turning good intentions into self-destructive sacrifice had long slept dormant. No longer, it seemed.

“We are ready,” said Finlay, answering Leda.

Leda nodded to them. “Then I will open the way,” she said. She turned away from them and towards Miquella’s cocoon. She strode up to it, until she was barely a yard away, then knelt and bowed her head, with her hands clasped before her. Malenia recognized the pose as one of prayer.

Next to Malenia, Finlay leaned forward, watching Leda with the intensity of a bird of prey.

Slowly, a power formed around Leda. To Malenia, it felt similar to one of Finlay’s castings, though… brighter. Malenia perceived Finlay and her works as gold and scarlet, both deep and bold and steady. Leda’s prayer called up a gold so mixed with shining white that it felt less substantial than what Finlay did.

In front of Leda, something happened that Malenia had no frame of reference for.

“Finlay, what do you see?” Malenia asked.

“I see somewhere else,” Finlay said. “It’s like looking through a window, except that the glass is warped and curved and blurry, and whatever is on the other side is… it’s somewhere I’ve never seen. The colors are all wrong.”

“It’s an unanchored rift,” Loretta supplied. “Like the stones that connect Elphael to the mainland. A single person creating something like this, and so quickly, should be impossible–except through miracle. Still, I think it would be highly unstable and it will not last long after she lets go of the casting.”

Leda stood on slightly unsteady feet. She held one hand out to balance herself. She looked back over her shoulder at Malenia and Finlay. “I have opened the way,” she said. “Come.” Waiting no longer, she stepped forward and vanished.

Malenia held her golden hand out, and Finlay took it.

Then, with Finlay’s hand in hers, Malenia followed Leda into the rift.

[] [] []

The land on the other side of the rift, the land of shadow–

The air smelled like death. It smelled like the freshly dead covered in their own shit, but mixed also with the stale stink of catacombs filled with ancient, desiccated corpses. Beneath everything, rot lurked, just below the surface. And over everything, fire and ash.

When they stepped out from the rift, they arrived on a sweeping plain of tall grasses. Finlay, after taking a moment to recover from her violent discomfort with rift travel, said they were the yellow-brown of drought. Their brittle blades crumbled between the fingers of Malenia’s golden hand.

There were two travelers waiting near where the rift deposited them. Leda introduced them as Freyja and Ansbach, both followers of Miquella, who had waited to escort them onwards.

Malenia could tell from the rust sitting all about Freyja’s form that she wore very thick plate armor, and a full helm that concealed her face. She carried a curved greatsword, as long as she was tall and with a wide blade.

Ansbach, in contrast, dressed in robes. He too, however, had a helm to hide behind. He had a longbow, unstrung, across his back and leaned on a farmer’s scythe. The effect was rustic.

All of this Malenia sensed from the whispers of decay that sounded from all things, animate and inanimate. But she could not see the strangers, and she could not perceive whatever it was that made Finlay grab the hilt of her sword, even start to pull it from its sheath before Leda called the strangers friends. And even after that, Finlay did not let go of her weapon and did not relax.

The thought of waiting until she had a moment to speak with Finlay privately crossed Malenia’s mind, and then she dismissed it. “Finlay,” she said, “What do I need to know?”

“Freyja’s armor bears Radahn’s crest,” Finlay replied tersely. “She’s a Redmane.”

Malenia inhaled sharply. She turned her face towards Freyja. Like Finlay, she started to reach for her sword, even without any fully formed decision what she would do with it. She just liked to have a weapon in her hand in moments of uncertainty.

Ansbach dropped his scythe to throw up his hands in a placating gesture. “Peace!” he shouted. His voice was thin with age, but he moved with the speed and sureness of a warrior. When Malenia did not draw, he said again, calmer, “Peace. We are all here together for Kindly Miquella. We intend no harm.”

Making no move to violence, Freyja inclined her head to Malenia. “I did serve Radahn,” she said. “I fought in Caelid. I watched your duel.” Face hidden behind her helm, she seemed to look askance at Finlay. “Though it was not a true duel,” she amended. “I was stricken like all the others by your rot, but Miquella came to me and drained the poison from my flesh. I serve him now.”

“I had thought the loyalty of the Redmanes ran deeper than that,” Finlay said.

Leda shook her head at Finlay. “The charm of Miquella, a living god, overcomes all other, lesser loves,” she said. She gestured with an open hand towards Ansbach. “My compatriot Ansbach was once pledged to Mohg, but Miquella has touched him as well. We all follow Miquella together.”

Leda’s attempt to calm went far wide of the mark.

Furious, Finlay turned her attention to Ansbach. “I should strike you down where you stand,” she growled. “For what your master did to us–to Elphael and to Miquella.”

Ansbach made no move to defend himself from Finlay’s violence. “Lord Mohg was as enthralled by Miquella’s beauty and kindness to as great a degree as any of us here,” he said patiently. “He too served Miquella.”

“That,” Finlay spat, “Is a lie. Mohg was twisted, depraved, and he had no leave to take Miquella as he did. The allure of a victim is no excuse for a crime. The very suggestion is foul.” Finlay’s grip on the hilt of her sword tightened and she glanced towards Malenia, seeking her assent.

With her own hand also on her sword and of the same mind as Finlay, Malenia would have given that assent, but the approach of a new presence caught her attention.

She felt a layer of thick rust–not the sort of rust that attended steel, rather, the verdigris of oxidizing bronze–forming a shell around rot. The verdigris had the shape of a man, but the thing inside it was not human. It called to her, called her kin. She was not its kin.

“Another one of yours, Leda?” Finlay asked tightly.

“This is Moore,” Leda said. “Yes, he too follows Miquella. I expect he’s brought supplies for our journey–he’s good friends with the forager folk.”

The problems of Freyja and Ansbach forgotten, Malenia focused now entirely on Moore. Tone low and warry, “What is he?”

Leda hesitated. “I do not understand your question.”

Moore was only a few yards away now. His helm was tilted to the side, as if its inhabitant stared at her curiously. A human gesture, for something that was not human. “Hello,” Moore said in the voice of a young man. He continued on, pausing strangely between syllables as he spoke, “We are here to help. We have brought food for tonight.”

Malenia suppressed a shudder of revulsion. She did not want Moore’s food. She wanted to be as far from him as she could get. There was nothing inside his armor except decay.

“My lady?” Finlay asked.

Shaking herself, Malenia let go of her sword. She turned to Leda. “Well? Where is my brother?”

Leda looked up towards the sky. “There’s still good daylight left, or, what passes for daylight in this land. We should at least go a few miles before making camp. It’s over a week to Ensis from here.”

“You couldn’t bring us any closer to the destination?” Finlay asked pointedly.

“No,” Leda said, in a tone that suggested she wasn’t fully aware of Finlay’s mood. “Are you ready to head out?”

[] [] []

As soon as they found a place to rest for the night, Malenia drew Finlay away from the others, out into the tall, dry grass.

The very moment they had gone far enough to speak softly without being heard, Finlay growled, “Ansbach and Freyja are swikes.”

Malenia flexed the fingers of her golden hand, needing to do something but not knowing what. “Moore should not exist.”

Finlay paused. “What do you mean?”

“He… it…” Malenia shook her head, grasping for words. She paced a few steps in one direction, then a few steps back. The soil, parched, crunched under her feet. “It is not human. It never was. It never was anything. It is rot only, wearing a borrowed shape.”

“Rot?” Finlay asked.

“Rot,” Malenia echoed. She spoke urgently, needing to be understood but knowing she said nothing intelligible. “The same rot that afflicts me and afflicts you. But you and I existed before we were afflicted, and we exist even afflicted. Moore is only rot, and has only ever been rot. It is a perversion of life.”

Finlay shook her head, not because she rejected Malenia’s words, rather, she still did not comprehend. She did not feel the rot as Malenia did. “Do you… do you want him gone?”

Malenia clenched her jaw tight, starting to grind her teeth, then remembered to stop herself before Finlay could complain. She forcibly relaxed. “I do not need him gone entirely,” Malenia said. “But I will not tolerate him near me.”

Finlay nodded. This, she could understand. This, she could do. “You are opposed to Moore,” she said, “And I do not want to be in the company of Ansbach or Freyja.”

“Leda is as trustworthy as Miquella,” Malenia said.

“Whom you trust completely,” Finlay remarked.

Malenia shrugged. “He is my brother. He is my twin. For as long as I have been, he has been with me.”

“Except for in these past years.”

Malenia frowned. “Except for in these past years,” she agreed. Then she shook her head. “Ansbach and Freyja… My brother has a habit of sweeping up those the rest of our family have cast aside. Were you not the one who prevailed on me to forgive Niall’s mistakes?”

“I knew Niall when he still served Godwyn,” Finlay replied. She crossed her arms. “I knew that he had honor.”

“Radahn did not abide perfidy,” Malenia said. “She must have had honor once.”

“And Ansbach?” Finlay asked warily. “Will you defend him as well?”

“No,” Malenia said. “If he served Mohg, he should be struck down. But I think only after we have had opportunity to question Miquella as to his purpose.”

Incredulous, Finlay asked, “You think that your brother has a purpose for Ansbach? That he had a purpose for Mohg? You believe that?”

“I think that I would prefer to hear my brother deny it–and he will–than to speak denials on his behalf,” Malenia replied.

[] [] []

From that point on, Finlay kept herself physically between Malenia and Moore. Whenever Moore went one way or another, Finlay shifted position accordingly. This did not much ease the oppressive horror that Malenia felt in Moore’s presence, but she appreciated the gesture.

If Moore perceived Malenia’s revulsion, he said nothing of it. To all appearances, he was a friendly young man who only wanted to assist his comrades–in the name of Miquella.

Never before had Malenia heard her brother’s name said so often. Leda, Moore, Freyja, and Ansbach obsessed over him, using his name as a talisman of their own identities. Malenia couldn’t imagine Loretta, Niall, or O’Neil, also followers of Miquella, acting in such a manner–they’d have been utterly useless in their duties in Elphael.

Malenia had always known that her brother could compel the kind of affection that drove Leda and the others. As far as she was aware though, he had done it only rarely. Miquella had always preferred more subtle methods of getting his way. Like when he’d put it in Finlay’s head to ask Malenia to leave Leyndell for the north. The memory of that course of events, in juxtaposition now with Leda and the rest, discomfited Malenia. Finlay was hers. Miquella could do as he would with his own followers, but, as surely as Miquella would not impose his will on Malenia, he should not impose on Malenia’s chosen consort.

After a week’s trek, they reached an outpost manned by armed guards. Finlay told Malenia that the outpost had a banner of dull green, red, and gold.  Finlay described the sigil on the banner as a ring, bisected vertically by a spear, with serpents entwined around the spear. On the field, flames, and another ring.

“That’s Messmer’s flag,” Leda provided. “Now that we’re close, his battalions guard this stretch of the road to Ensis.”

“Are they enemies?” Finlay asked cautiously. They remained a good way off from the outpost.

“No,” Leda said, confident. “We follow Miquella, and he has no enemies. Indeed, he and Messmer have terms.”

“And what are those terms?” asked Malenia.

Leda raised and then dropped her shoulders in a shrug. “I do not know,” she said. By her tone, her ignorance did not concern her. But, then, ignorance rarely caused a zealot to lose any sleep. “You would need to ask them.”

True to Leda’s word, the guards did not attack them as they approached the outpost, and the gates were opened for them. Malenia’s sense of the world told her that the outpost was made of timber; she felt slowly rotting wood in the shape of sharpened stakes raised in a palisade wall. The gate was also timber in the main, but it was fit with steel, evidencing some permanence to the operation. There were maybe two dozen soldiers in the outpost. There were also three horses waiting for them, two saddled but unmounted and the third bearing a rider.

The rider wore plate armor with a heavy robe draped over it. Though the surface of the armor was in pristine condition, there was just enough of a whisper of tarnish on it for Malenia to perceive that it was steel and silver. It was the same kind of armor that Loretta used. The rider did not wear a helm; their helm was strapped to their saddle. Two sheathed swords hung from the rider’s belt, one on either side.

Malenia scraped through her distant memories of history lessons mostly ignored when she was very young. There had been something about Messmer leaving on his crusade with a contingent of Carians. Malenia could not recall anything more than that.

Leda bowed to the rider. “Lady Rellana,” she greeted.

Rellana… Upon hearing the name, Malenia gradually started to remember. Rellana, the younger sister of Rennala, had left Caria to follow Messmer. She’d been called his sword. Before Messmer’s disgrace, there had been rumors the houses of Leyndell and Caria might have a second union. But then Marika abandoned her son, Rennala did not recall her sister, and the names of both faded in the lands beneath the Erdtree.

“Sir Leda,” Rellana replied. She spoke in the over-enunciated manner of a sorcerer. “I am glad to see that you and your companions are well.”

“Miquella’s light guides our way,” Leda replied smoothly. 

Rellana turned her attention to Malenia and Finlay. She nodded to Malenia. “Well met, Lady Malenia.” She gestured to the two riderless horses nearby. “I brought mounts for the rest of the journey to Ensis–though I did not realize there would be additional company. Ansbach and the others can guide your retainer the rest of the way.”

Malenia glowered. “Sir Leda, I think, already knows the way and needs no guidance. Lord-Consort Finlay, get on the horse.”

This ghastly breach of all manners probably horrified Finlay. Nevertheless, she did not hesitate. She strode towards the horses. At first, they shied away from her miasma of rot–a common reaction from horses that weren’t acclimated to Cleanrots. Finlay got hold of both their reins quickly though, preventing them from bolting. Rather than mount one, she turned back to Malenia. “My lady?” she asked, expectant.

Malenia stalked over to join her, and swung herself up into the saddle of one of the horses as Finlay held it steady for her. Mounting a horse had been easier when she’d had two hands. Only after Malenia was mounted did Finlay also climb onto the other horse.

Everyone else stayed silent and motionless as this all played out.

With her good hand, her golden hand, Malenia tugged the reins of her horse, bringing it around, towards where she thought the road continued on. While she could generally walk about quite easily, even without holding onto Finlay as her guide, riding a horse was a bit different. Unless someone else held the reins for her, she had to rely, in large part, on the horse to be well-trained and to find a reasonable way towards whatever destination someone else set.

Copying Malenia’s motion, Finlay guided her own horse in a turn, and then a few steps forward of Malenia, ensuring that Malenia would have someone to follow.

Rellana let out an unladylike snort. “I see,” she said. “The family resemblance really is striking.” She seemed simultaneously offended and amused. “Sir Leda, it seems there are not enough horses after all. My sincerest apologies,” she said, not sounding sincere at all. “You’ll have to walk. In any event, I think that once Miquella has his sister, he won’t have much need for you anymore.” She tapped her heels into her mount’s flanks, urging it into a walk and then a quick trot.

Finlay and then Malenia behind her followed after Rellana, leaving Leda behind.

Though Malenia would admit it to no one–save maybe Finlay, if Finlay asked–she was relieved to have a horse now. Resting in Elphael for so long, she had not had not been on a long trek in years. The friction of the stumps of her legs against her gold prostheses had started to wear her skin raw from so much walking. She could bear it, of course. She had gone from Elphael to the Siofra and back for Miquella. But she did not like it. Soon, she knew, she would have to ask Finlay for help. But then Finlay would fret.

After they’d gone a distance that Malenia judged to be out of sight from the outpost, Rellana slowed their pace back to a walk. She looked over her shoulder back to Finlay. “We do not get much news here, and Miquella did not say that anyone would come with his sister–or that she had taken any consort.” She still sounded amused.

“Is there something you find funny?” Malenia asked sharply. 

“Yes,” Rellana replied without hesitation. “Miquella’s plans are not as well-laid as he thinks.”

“Miquella’s plans are never as well-laid as he thinks,” Finlay muttered, and, at the very same time, Malenia, “My brother’s intellect has no equal.”

At this, Rellana scoffed. “If only his intellect came with wisdom,” she said.

“Do you speak down to everyone, or is that simply your voice?” Malenia asked, acerbic.

Rellana turned her attention back to the road ahead and shrugged. “I speak down to everyone and this is simply my voice,” she said archly. “I cannot help it. Though exiled, I remain a Carian.”

Finlay made a coughing sound, a badly suppressed laugh.

[] [] []

After a while riding with Rellana, Malenia concluded that she was not actually bad company. She did have a tendency to condescend, but there was no malice behind it. She seemed to act haughtier than she ever really felt. Most importantly, she did not question Finlay’s entitlement to be at Malenia’s side.

But she did have many, many other questions.

“So you have been with her since the war with the dragons?” Rellana asked Finlay as they all rode along the long road towards Ensis.

“Yes,” Finlay said.

Rellana leaned over in her saddle, intent. “You do not look so old. Your face has certainly seen better days, and you have grey hair, but not so much grey.”

Had Finlay had grey hair when Malenia lost the use of her eyes? It had been so long. Malenia knew every inch of Finlay’s face by touch, the roughness of her scars, the turn of her nose, broken several times. But what did she look like now?

“I have aged well,” Finlay replied dryly. Then, for she had at this point found the rhythm of conversing with Rellana, “You do not look so old yourself.”

“The blood of the royal house of Caria is an excellent preservative,” Rellana said smugly.

A shiver ran down Malenia’s spine. Rellana’s phrasing was… vivid.

“And how long ago was it that she named you her consort?” Rellana asked. “I assume it must have happened recently–after Miquella’s unfortunate frolic, otherwise he surely would have mentioned you.”

“Miquella has been absent many years,” Malenia cut in sharply. “It is not so recent.”

Rellana snorted. “I meant no offense, and you should have taken none,” she said. From her tone of voice, Malenia would not be surprised if she were rolling her eyes. Then, to Finlay, she said, “Prickly.”

Finlay’s horse shook its head forcefully and snorted, probably reacting to its rider’s sudden stiffness. “I ask that you not demean my lady in my presence,” Finlay said coolly.

Rellana fell quiet for a moment. Then, “I see,” she said. She nodded once to Finlay and then to Malenia. “My manners have atrophied in the years we have resided here. I am a stranger of only a day and should not have presumed to speak as one who has been familiar to you for years. My words and demeanor were rude. Please accept my apologies.”

Malenia had not taken any real offense, but, still, she hesitated–she did not often hear such a complete apology. “Accepted,” Malenia eventually said.

Rellana sighed. “So then, how do you find the weather here?”

[] [] []

From the outpost, it took only two days on horseback to reach Ensis, which turned out to be an enormous fortress.

The guards hailed Rellana and colossal iron gates swung open for the three riders, allowing them to pass under stone walls several yards thick and into an open courtyard.

A tall figure stood in the center of the yard, hands clasped behind its back. Malenia heard whispers of rot from its clothes, a simple tunic and cloak. But the figure itself did not decay. Instead, it burned, steady, constant, unceasing. In places, the fire coiled and writhed, serpentine. And, in Malenia’s sense of things, a bead of brilliant grace sat lodged in the figure’s head, where its right eye should be.

Though Malenia had never met Messmer, she knew him without introduction.

Rellana dismounted and approached Messmer, striding confidently across the paved courtyard. She held a hand out to him, and he took it. He kissed her knuckles, then kissed her cheek as well. “I see you retrieved Miquella’s sister,” he said, bemused. “But that’s not Leda.”

“She brought a consort,” Rellana replied. She moved to stand next to Messmer, both of them facing Malenia and Finlay, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh?” Messmer said, drawing out the single syllable far longer than necessary. He turned his head towards Finlay. Around him, his snaking tendrils of fire turned towards Finlay as well, like they were studying her. He offered a bow. Smoothly, he said, “Pardon my manners. It has been so long since I needed to use them for anything. I am Messmer. This is my castle, Ensis. Welcome.” He straightened from his bow, turned, beckoned that they follow him. “Please, come in. This courtyard is terribly drafty.”

Finlay glanced at Malenia. Malenia nodded to Finlay. Together they dismounted. Squires scurried forward to take the reins of their horses. Together, they followed Mesmer and Rellana into the castle.

Ensis resembled every other fortress that Malenia had ever been in–except almost every room, walkway, and hall had been lined with weapons racks containing row after row of spears, enough to equip several armies and have some left to spare. Through the haze of years, Malenia thought she recalled Messmer had been given a grisly epithet during his crusade. Impaler. Since arriving in the land of shadow, however, she hadn’t noticed anyone or anything impaled. Perhaps it had merely been an exaggeration, or some other propaganda. Or, in the many years since Marika severed this realm from her own, he’d run out of victims.

Messmer took them all to a drawing room. Malenia felt a layer of dust coating everything except the low couch near the center of the room and a few cushioned chairs. Even those pieces of furniture had bits of dust on them, and the patterns of dust on the floor around them suggested someone had only recently, and hastily, tried to get them moderately clean. No one had used this drawing room for a very long time. The upholstery on the couch and chairs was threadbare in some places, motheaten in others. It was not often, Malenia supposed, that Ensis had visitors.

As they entered, Messmer stepped aside and gestured for Malenia to take her pick of where to sit.

In Leyndell, there’d been layers upon layers of stratagems involved in seating arrangements. From what Malenia had seen of the castle and its lord, however, she doubted any such games were being played here.

Malenia chose one of the chairs. Finlay moved to stand behind her rather than take a seat, as she had done so many times before. Messmer and Rellana sat down together on the couch. When seated, Rellana’s posture was immaculate, like a queen on a throne. Messmer slouched.

Messmer looked at Malenia. “You, I know,” he drawled. Then he looked to Finlay. “You–I have not had the pleasure.”

“I am Finlay, consort of the Lady Malenia,” Finlay said stiffly.

“Is that so?” Messmer asked, in a way that didn’t expect an answer. He pointed to one of the empty chairs in the room, the one closest to Malenia. “If that is so, then sit,” he said, in a tone of command. “Servants stand. Family sits.”

Finlay hesitated.

Rellana set a hand on Messmer’s knee. “As family, you are welcome to sit, at your option,” speaking with a deliberate slowness to make it clear that she was countermanding Messmer.

Finlay nodded to Rellana. “I prefer to stand,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” Messmer said dismissively. “Let the record show that I offered.”

Rellana crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Messmer coolly. “This is a place unrecorded,” she said. “That was your mother’s will.”

Messmer scoffed. “True enough, that we ourselves are unrecorded,” he said. “Is that why you and the others were so keen to keep all the records of everything else up in the storehouse?” He spared Malenia a glance. “That’s where Miquella is usually holed up–a few days north of here. Now that you’ve arrived, he ought to be on his way back, though he may be a while yet. As ever, the world waits upon him.”

“How long has my brother been here?” Malenia asked.

“Which brother?” Rellana replied, amused.

Heat rose in Malenia’s cheeks. It had been a very long time since she had last spoken with any of her kin save for Miquella. And, she supposed, Godrick, though he hardly counted.

“Oh leave her alone, dear,” Messmer said. He waved a hand dismissively. He turned his attention back to Malenia. “Miquella’s been haunting about for a few years now, although time passes in funny ways here.”

“Years?” Malenia repeated. On some level she had known that Miquella had delayed summoning her. That he had been content to pursue his goals without her. Still, she did not like having it laid out so plain.

In reply, Messmer shrugged.

“Is he well?” Malenia asked. Perhaps that was why…

“No,” Rellana said bluntly.

Malenia tensed. “What–”

Mesmer shook his head and held up a hand. “Are you well, Malenia?” he asked.

This gave Malenia pause.

“None of us are well,” Messmer said. “Whether he is better or worse than you think he ought to be–you can judge that for yourself when he arrives.” Having said that, Messmer stood. “I assume that before dinner you will want to rest and,” here, he sniffed loudly, “ clean up . Come. We’ve laid out a room for you.”

[] [] []

Like the parlour, the room that Messmer took Malenia and Finlay to had the feel of a place long unused and only haphazardly cleaned. A very, very long time ago it might have been a grand chamber. Malenia could feel places where furniture had moldered, collapsed, and then very recently been dragged out, probably to be turned to mulch or burned. The ancient bed that dominated the center of the room should have been dragged out as well, but, then, Malenia supposed, that would have left the room entirely empty.

Castle Ensis did not often receive guests.

“He said to clean up, but there are no washbasins,” Finlay remarked, looking around.

“I cannot smell us,” Malenia said. “Can you?”

Finlay shrugged. “Generally, no,” she replied.

Malenia, Finlay, the other Cleanrots–when there had been other Cleanrots, all stank of rot. So said the unafflicted. But they themselves had become so accustomed to rotting that they could no longer smell it. They could no longer smell much of anything.

Finlay went to sit, gingerly, on the edge of the bed. It groaned ominously under her weight. The years had eaten away at the wood, severely weakening it. “Lord Messmer acts very differently from your other siblings,” Finlay said.

Even if the bed hadn’t given out when Finlay sat on it, the old, brittle frame surely could not survive contact with Malenia. Rather than sit with Finlay, she went to stand leaning against a wall. “He does,” she agreed. She was still unsure what to make of Messmer. She did not dislike him, but she did not trust him. She felt similarly regarding Rellana. The exiles had an agenda, surely. What was it? And how great was Miquella’s hold on them? Not as great, Malenia thought, as his hold on Leda and her companions.

“And the snakes are… odd,” Finlay added.

“The snakes?” Malenia questioned.

“He has large red snakes hanging around him,” Finlay said. “You did not feel them?”

“I… I felt something, but I did not think that what I felt were true snakes,” Malenia replied.

“Strange,” Finlay mused. Then, turning the subject, she asked, “You have no inkling what your brother is planning? Or why he isn’t here?”

“None at all,” Malenia murmured. “So we wait.”

Finlay sighed.

Malenia shook her head to dispel her thoughts. “The road was long,” she said. “I would like to rest a while, as time permits.”

“Of course, my lady,” Finlay answered. She stood up from the ancient bed and, by unspoken agreement, they both laid out their bedrolls on the floor. 

[] [] []

Dinner with Mesmer and Rellana took place on a high balcony overlooking the plain below. The balcony was only barely large enough for the table and the four of them. At such a height, the air smelled only faintly of ash. 

Messmer’s guards–for apparently his castle was home to soldiers only, with no other ranks–set out wine, some kind of plant-based dish, and a roasted animal. Unable to see the meal and having only one working hand, Malenia let Finlay fill her plate and cut the meat into reasonable bites.

No one said much until after they were done eating and all that remained to do was drink.

“The dining room has not been used for its original purpose in years and is not fit for guests,” Rellana remarked, tone strained. “And I saw no way of making it so in time for your arrival. We do not spend as much time in Ensis as we do in the northern fort, and Messmer is a slob.”

Messmer chuckled. Then he reached out to pour himself another cup of wine. “The wine, I’m afraid, is not very good here,” Messmer said. “There is not enough clear light for vines. A real pity, because the soil is so rich from the ash.” He tilted his head to fix his gaze on Malenia. “Say, little sister, what do you do for fun?”

The question gave Malenia pause. She did not know how to answer it.

After the pause had stretched on far too long, Rellana scoffed.

Finlay bristled. “What do you do for fun?” she asked Messmer.

Though Malenia could not see Messmer’s face, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I impale the graceless,” he said. He sipped his wine. “And also insects–I’m building a wonderful collection. There are ever so many insects in the ruins west of here.”

The way Messmer said the word insects made Malenia’s skin crawl.

“After so many years, do you even have any enemies left in this land?” Finlay asked.

“Only their ghosts,” Messmer replied. He set his cup of wine down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Rellana thrust a cloth napkin at him, but he ignored it. “Have you ever tried to impale a ghost? It is markedly unsatisfying.”

“I can imagine no reason for impaling ghosts,” Malenia replied. “They are ghosts.”

“Boredom,” Messmer replied. “Exile is so very tedious.”

“Why did Marika exile you?” asked Malenia.

Messmer hesitated.

When Messmer hesitated, Rellana answered for him. Tone flat, “Because she’s a heartless bitch.”

Messmer laid both his hands palm down on the table before him. The snakes of fire in his aura writhed. “I will not hear my mother slandered so,” he growled. His fingers twitched, as if he were resisting clenching his hands into fists. He spoke slowly. Though he sounded calm, that calm might break at any moment. Violence, true violence, lurked behind his words. 

Rellana took a long pull of wine from her cup, entirely unbothered by Messmer’s display. Then she set it down and, unlike Messmer, used the napkin to wipe her mouth. “It is not slander if it is true,” she said coolly. She then turned her attention to Malenia. “Marika sent him here to forever torment the native folk of these lands. She cut these lands off when she grew tired of hearing the screaming. She did not want the atrocities to stop, she only wanted them to happen where she didn’t have to see them.”

Messmer stood suddenly, forcefully. He turned and left.

When Messmer had gone, Rellana finished the wine in her cup, then poured herself another. “Bad wine tastes better after the first few rounds,” she announced. She looked to Malenia. “How is Marika of late?” she asked. “I asked Miquella, but nothing he said on the subject made sense.”

Malenia shrugged. She too had heard Miquella’s attempts at explaining what had become of their parent, and she too did not entirely understand. “She is missing,” Malenia said. “She has left.”

“Radagon always was good at leaving,” Rellana said, bitterness lending a sharp edge to her words.

Because Malenia felt that she should, she said, “I am sorry for that. I know that it hurt your sister gravely. He took her hand in marriage, and he should not have let go.”

Malenia sensed then Rellana’s eyes on her. But, blind, Malenia could not see Rellana’s expression. Malenia turned her face towards Finlay, asking a silent question.

Finlay understood Malenia’s request. “Lady Rellana, does something amuse you?”

Now Rellana audibly chuckled. “Yes,” she said. Then, to Malenia, “You would not exist but for Radagon’s betrayal, daughter of Marika.”

“That does not prevent me from condemning what he did,” Malenia replied.

“What Marika did,” Rellana corrected. She spoke to Malenia, but she glanced at Finlay. The movement was so small that Malenia almost missed it.

“What Marika did,” Malenia echoed. “I have no secrets from Finlay.”

Rellana hummed–a neutral tone that did not suggest whether she approved or disapproved. 

“Do you carry a grudge for it?” Malenia asked.

Rellana leaned back in her chair and took a long draw of her wine. “Of course,” she answered. “What sort of sister would I be if I did not? But you are not the object of that enmity. If I scorned for the sake of family alone, I might scorn myself as well–but I have no patience for such wallowing. Life is too short.”

“Your life has been long,” Finlay remarked. “By the royal blood of Caria.”

This drew a scoff from Rellana. “But still too short. Lives are always too short. Except the life of Marika the Eternal. She outlived her vision, to our shared misfortune.”

“I think that you did not give a true account of the exile,” Malenia said.

“I gave a true account,” Rellana said. “But not a full one.”

“And you will not give a full one,” Malenia concluded.

“Clever,” Rellana drawled. She flapped a hand in Finlay’s direction. “Save your offense and your posturing,” she said. “I am in my cups and not worth your ire.”

To Malenia’s mild surprise, Finlay seemed mollified by this. “Who were the native folk of these lands?” Finlay asked, diverting the subject. “The ones whom Messmer tormented?”

“The hornsent?” Rellana replied. She shook her head. “They were only abominations like the rest of us. They looked like omen, with horns and feathers and scales, but smaller. They were one of the peoples who were great when Marika was young.” Rellana then stood. “I’ve had enough of this idle chatter,” she said. “I’ll take my leave for the night.  If you have more questions about things better forgotten, you can find someone else to ask.”

Malenia nodded. “Thank you for indulging our curiosities,” she said.

Rellana hesitated a moment longer before leaving. “You are not so bad, little Malenia. I hope that things do not end badly for you. And… I would have you know that Messmer and I are not immune to your twin’s charms. Remember that.” And then she followed Messmer back into the castle, leaving Finlay and Malenia alone on the balcony.

For a while, neither Malenia nor Finlay said anything to one another.

After a time though, Finlay broke the silence first. “They know something that we need to know,” she said.

Malenia scowled. “All I need to know is where my brother is,” she said. “And then we are will take him and leave this place.”

Finlay nodded. She rose and offered Malenia her hand. Malenia took Finlay’s hand, stood, and followed Finlay back to their room.

[] [] []

For the first time in years, Malenia felt Miquella in her dream.

They sat together in Leyndell, on the steps leading up to the Erdtree.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her temple.

The pain that haunted her life dissipated.

[] [] []

Malenia woke to light.

It was not light that she could see–she remained blind. She felt it all around her, everywhere, suffusing her. She had a dim sense of Finlay’s scarlet and gold nearby, over by the door, she thought. But the light nearly blotted out her sense of Finlay.

Malenia rose. She hadn’t felt safe enough in this place to remove her prosthetic limbs to sleep. Given the deterioration of her left arm, if she removed her right arm and legs all, she was entirely dependent on Finlay to piece her back together.

So surrounded by light, Malenia had difficulty orienting herself. She lurched towards where she thought Finlay stood, her right arm extended seeking Finlay’s shoulder. Finlay shifted, helping Malenia find her. Once Malenia had hold of Finlay, she turned her head in the direction she thought the light was strongest. To her own ears, she sounded so small, so hopeful. “Miquella?”

“Sister,” Miquella said. “I missed you.”

Her brother’s voice was just as she remembered, a bit playful, a bit condescending, warm. It wrapped around her, told her she was safe, that all would be well. Oddly, Malenia felt that she wasn’t hearing his voice with her ears. It was more like she was hearing him only in her head. Perhaps it was only a trick of the overwhelming light he had drawn about himself. 

Malenia started to grimace, but stopped herself. Here was Miquella. She was happy, joyous. She felt more complete than she had in so long. Still, reproachfully, “You would not have missed me had you not wandered.”

“Malenia, what is wrong with your left arm?” Miquella asked, ignoring her verbal jab, and suddenly sounding worried. “It is beyond saving. The needle should have…”

“I gave the needle to Finlay,” Malenia said with a shrug.

Miquella’s once warm tone turned frosty. “I made the needle for you. What did she–”

“And so it was mine, and mine to give,” Malenia said sharply, speaking the words she had so often spoken to Finlay. How dare he absent himself so long and then question what she had done in his absence?

“Sir Finlay, I would like to speak with my sister alone,” Miquella said, voice still frigid. “Leave us.”

Malenia bristled and her words turned angry. “You wander for years, and now you return only to revive this argument?” She tightened her grip on Finlay’s shoulder, demanding that Finlay go nowhere. And where would Finlay go? Miquella proposed to eject her from her own room.

“You are being mulish only because you are cross with me,” Miquella said, dismissive. “I wish to speak with you and only you, as you are my twin and I am yours.”

Before Malenia could snap at Miquella again, Finlay got in first. “My lady… I need not leave by his command, or by yours. I would willingly give you both privacy.” Finlay reached up and covered Malenia’s hand with hers. Belatedly, Malenia realized that she was holding Finlay’s shoulder far more tightly than she should. The feeling that she had in her prosthetic hand was enough that she could do many tasks easily, but it was not as delicate as flesh and she had been distracted. She relaxed her hold, somewhat, but did not let go entirely.

“Thank you, Sir Finlay,” Miquella said. “Sister, is that acceptable to you?”

“Fine,” Malenia grunted. Reluctantly, she let go of Finlay’s shoulder.

Finlay stepped back from both Malenia and Miquella. She nodded. “My lady, I will not be far should you need me.” Gracefully, Finlay left the room and closed the door behind her.

Malenia rounded back on Miquella. If she’d had two working arms, she’d have crossed them. Having only the one that still functioned, she contented herself with resting it in her hip. “Well?” she prompted.

“I apologize for leaving you,” Miquella said.

Some of Malenia’s annoyance abated. Softly, she asked, “What cause did you have?”

“After what Mohg did, that body was dead to me,” Miquella said. He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. “I could no longer abide in it. So I came here, where many spirits come when the flesh gives way. I had no chance to explain to you. I know that could not have been easy for you. And I am sorry for that.”

Malenia mellowed further. It was good, so good, to be near her twin again. In his presence, she felt right. She had been so long without him, she had hardly remembered that she could feel this way. “And I am… I am sorry that I failed to stop Mohg from taking you,” she said.

“I know that you protected the city instead of running to my chamber,” Miquella said. “And that is what I would have told you to do, had I been there.”

Malenia shrugged. “And had you told me to do so, I should have liked to defy you.”

“I know, sister,” Miquella replied gently. “I know.”

With a sigh, Malenia reached out towards him. But her hand passed through only empty light where she thought he ought to be. She frowned, confused.

“I remain incorporeal,” Miquella said.

Malenia withdrew her hand. “You have no body?”

“I abandoned my body,” Miquella replied. “I abandoned much in coming here.”

Malenia asked, slowly, “So did you call me here to obtain for you a new form? And when that is done, we can go home?” The path forward took shape in her mind, how she would find a new body for her brother, and then they would return to Elphael. He would retake his place as lord of the city. Finlay would be free to idle with Malenia. They would have the peace they had sought for so long.

Miquella laughed, as if he were delighted by her question. “No, I plan something better,” he said. “I abandoned it all willingly. I freed myself. Sister, I cannot tell you what it feels like, to be rid of the flesh that was cursed,” Miquella said, awe suffusing his voice. “It is like… This is my birthright. Our birthright. I found what for so long we have searched for. I found a way to transcend the circumstances of our birth.”

Malenia froze.

“There is a gate at the peak of Enir-Ilim, the old citadel of the hornsent,” Miquella continued. “Our mother once walked through it to become a god. I intend to follow in her footsteps. But I need a consort. I need you.”

Notes:

hi. hope you enjoyed. the last two chapters of this fic are written, but i'm still working on editing. uh, they're gonna be kinda long. i also need to go back and clean up a few things in earlier chapters (i realized a few weeks ago as i was picking up some missed items that, uh, whoops, i messed up a couple points about caelid geography)

i sorta picture messmer as, like, the cool older brother who smokes a lot of pot and that's why he doesn't get invited to thanksgiving.

anyway, thank you for sticking with me!

Chapter 13: The Land of Shadow - Part Two

Malenia laughed. How could she not laugh? The words coming out of her brother’s mouth made no sense, and to hear one as eloquent as Miquella–

“Sister, I am serious,” Miquella said, annoyed.

Malenia shook her head. “You are not,” she said bluntly.

“The rite requires a god that is whole,” Miquella said, far too earnestly. “Thus I require that you join me. We were once one being. I will make us right again, and then I will make our world a better place, a softer place.”

Malenia continued to shake her head, but her laughter faded. “We have never been one being,” she said. “We are bound, but we are not the same.”

“We were,” Miquella countered, firmly.

“No,” Malenia said, just as firm. “We were not.”

“We were,” Miquella said. “And we will be again, when you join me.”

In her darkness, Malenia scowled at the light. “Maybe we were, but what we will be is not for you to decide alone. I am myself, and I will be myself. And that you presume–” At the edge of her awareness, Malenia felt a gentle calm brushing against her. Had she not spent most of her life in his presence, and had she not already been angry and on guard, she might not have noticed it. Fury surged in her chest. “Stop that,” she snarled, taking a forceful step forwards.

Miquella receded, dimmed. “I meant no harm,” he said, defensive. “Only–you alarmed me.”

Guilt cooled Malenia’s fury.  “I know you meant no harm,” she mumbled. “I am sorry for alarming you.” Miquella was her twin. He would never mean her harm. All their lives, he had always cared for her and bent his prodigious mind and talents to her preservation, though there had been so much else he could have done. And she, the stronger of the two of them, had made to threaten him.

“Sister, I found it, I found the answer,” Miquella said, plaintive now. “This would cure your rot. You could be whole again. You must be whole again. You have lost your eyes, your legs, your sword arm, now your left arm as well. There is so little of you left.”

Malenia flinched. What she wouldn’t give to be free and whole. But… “At what cost?” Malenia demanded. “Do you recall Leyndell? When Marika offered you Godwyn’s position, and you rejected her because you said, rightly, that we would be trapped as Marika and Radagon both? But now you would walk in Marika’s footsteps? I have no desire to walk that path with you–and not as your consort.”

“This is different,” Miquella urged. “We would not be shadows of our parent. We would create a new age, a better age. You have always trusted me in the past. Why not now?”

Malenia bit back her first response, which was less than kind. Finding some restraint, she asked “And what of Finlay? If I walk with you as the other half to make you whole, what would be left of me for her?”

“There was a time before your knight,” Miquella replied. “There will be a time after her. She will understand. She does not complete you. I do.”

The fury, temporarily abated, returned. Malenia went to the door and wrenched it open. She knew Finlay was not far, she could feel Finlay’s gold and scarlet just down the hall. “Finlay,” she snapped. “I am done speaking with my brother.”

“Sister,” Miquella said quickly, “I meant no offense.”

Seething, Malenia rounded back on him. “Yet, still, you offended,” she said. Finlay, having moved quickly, was at her side now. Instinctively, Malenia put her hand back in its place on Finlay’s shoulder. To Miquella, she said, “The hour is late. We were sleeping. Leave.”

For a moment, Miquella said nothing. “Of course,” he finally said. “I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I did not consider the hour. I was so very eager to see you. We can speak more when the time is better.”

“Not about this,” Malenia hissed.

Miquella, as incorporeal light, drifted past Malenia into the hall.

Malenia drew Finlay back into the room and then slammed the door shut behind Miquella. The satisfying thud of such a heavy door closing with such violence mollified her, somewhat.

After a moment, Finlay asked, “My lady, what did he do?” She spoke softly, curious.

There were so many things Malenia could say to that, and they would all be true. She was not inclined to grapple with any of them. After a moment’s thought, Malenia replied in a mumble, “He was himself.”

“Will you say more?” Finlay asked. She took care not to suggest any demand, not to put any pressure on Malenia to speak or not to speak.

With effort, Malenia released her anger. She did not know what to say to Finlay. And she knew, with a certainty that stemmed from being his twin, that Miquella… Malenia shook her head. “Not now,” she said. “I think… Miquella has spent too long wandering alone. He will see reason, and then this will have been nothing.”

For a very, very long time, Finlay did not speak.

Uncomfortable with the silence, which sounded too much like respectful rebuke, Malenia shifted. She took one of Finlay’s hands. “Let us sleep again,” she said. “Please.”

[] [] []

When proper morning came, Malenia had barely slept at all. One of Messmer’s guards waited for Malenia and Finlay in the hall outside their room. He reported that Messmer, Rellana, and Miquella were all what passed as the castle’s garden, and that Messmer had suggested Malenia and Finlay join them at their leisure. Shoving down her misgivings at the prospect, Malenia assented to the demand dressed up as a proposal. 

Malenia and Finlay were, after all, guests.

The castle garden teamed with wilted memories of flowers and many, many weeds. Messmer and Rellana sat on a bench by a dry fountain. Miquella, still a brilliantly shining light in Malenia’s sense of the world, sat on another bench across a small path from them. The three of them were engaged in idle chatter when Malenia and Finlay arrived.

Malenia did not dignify her twin by turning her blind eyes toward him. Instead, she positioned her face to look at Messmer and Rellana, then nodded curtly in greeting. To make her point even more sharply, she even addressed them by name. “Lady Rellana. Lord Messmer.”

Messmer snorted.

Rellana shook her head. She glanced at Miquella. “You are not nearly so charming as you think you are,” she said to him dryly.

“Did you require something of me?” Malenia asked Messmer, her host. 

Messmer gestured lazily to a third bench nearby. “Sit,” he said. “I understand there was a quarrel.”

“And you would play mediator?” Malenia growled, making no move towards the bench.

“Our honored mother is not here,” Messmer drawled. “So the task falls to me, as eldest.” One of his snakes turned to look at Rellana and flicked its tongue at her. “Now, will you be seated? Or will you continue to loom?”

“We hardly know you,” Malenia replied, letting an edge into her voice. “And Marika never took any interest in settling disputes among her children.”

“Well, it is always the hope that children excel their parents, is it not?” Messmer mused. “I think that is Miquella’s plan, at least–but you have rejected him.”

Finlay shifted slightly, reproachfully. Malenia had still not told her the extent of Miquella’s fancies. Perhaps she should have. But there was no need. Nothing would come of it. And Malenia would end this pointless conversation.

“I am here to take Miquella home,” Malenia said. “And nothing else.” She turned her face now towards her twin. “Have I come all this way in vain? Again? Will you or will you not return with me?”

“If I refuse?” Miquella asked quietly, still in that strange voice that echoed in Malenia’s head. “Will you leave me?”

Malenia clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth so hard that her face ached.

“Sister,” Messmer cut in, voice smooth, and sounding as if he were smirking. “Your consort looks confused, though she hides it very well under those scars. Do you keep secrets after all?”

Malenia bristled. “It is one thing to keep secrets,” she said. “It is something else to omit matters of no consequence. As I told Miquella, I will not entertain his foolishness.”

“Miquella’s proposal is hardly of no consequence,” Messmer chided. He looked to Miquella. “Would you explain to Finlay how you intend to remake our age?”

Before Miquella could reply, Malenia snapped, “No.” She felt the conversation fast slipping out of her control. She had to at least take this. She then turned her face towards Finlay. “Miquella asked that I join with him as his consort and walk together in our mother’s footsteps. He would become a god. I told him no.”

Finlay’s scarlet and gold flickered, unsteady.

The light that was Miquella brightened.

“And I told her that this would make us whole,” Miquella said to Finlay. His excitement made him sound so very earnest. “It would make her whole. Sir Finlay, what would you not give to see her whole?”

For a long moment that felt as an eternity, all waited for Finlay to speak. At last, she said, speaking slowly, deliberately, “My lord Miquella, with all deference due to you, my lady has declined your proposition. I will say nothing in support of it. Efforts to lobby me otherwise are ill-spent.”

“Sir Finlay,” Miquella began, “Do you recall when I proposed that we leave Leyndell and go north? And my sister was reluctant, but for her sake you spoke in my favor. Because we went north, I was able to craft that needle, the one that I gave to her and that would have preserved her had she not given it to you. How is this so different?”

Finlay shook her head. “It is,” Finlay said. “Different.”

“How?” Miquella pressed. “Explain it to me so that I can understand.”

“It just is,” Finlay said with a shrug. “I have asked that you not argue this point with me. Will you not respect my request?”

“Will you not think? Will you not apply your own judgment rather than deferring to that of my sister?” Miquella replied.

“I have my own thoughts and my own judgments,” Finlay said, tone measured. “My lady is entitled to them. You are not.”

Messmer snorted. Rellana shook her head and put a hand on his elbow.

“I want what is best for her, for us both,” Miquella pressed, undaunted. “You know me. You know my love for her. You know my power. You know that I would not propose this if I did not mean well, and that when I mean well, I succeed. You know that I will succeed. Or at least think–why would it be that my sister would reject this opportunity to be freed from the rot? For your sake? Would you hold her back for your sake? I know that you love her as well, and so, by your own will, you would not. If you released her–”

Finlay raised a hand. “My lord, stop.”

“Finlay, hear me out,” Miquella continued. “If you–”

“Little Miquella,” Rellana interrupted, “Your manners are terrible.”

“This is very important, lady aunt,” Miquella replied. “I would sacrifice manners for my sister’s survival.”

“I wonder–what else would you sacrifice?” Messmer asked mildly. “For, as I judge, you have not yet finished the preparations.”

There was a pause before Miquella responded to this. “The final preparations are difficult. I would like to know that I have secured my sister’s assent before I continue.”

“You will not secure it at all if you do not reconsider your approach,” Rellana advised. “Finlay has told you several times that you cannot peel her away from Malenia’s position by browbeating her with your arguments.”

Miquella replied, heat in his tone, “If Sir Finlay will not see sense, then that is to her own grief.”

Malenia fought to keep her voice even. “Miquella, I dislike how you address my Lord-Consort Finlay. I would hear your apology.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Then, Miquella, “Sister, you should not have so elevated one of your knights.”

Malenia inhaled sharply. “You were not present to object.”

“I warned her–”

“And you have no right to object regardless. You–”

“I am your twin. She is a mortal. She–”

“I made a choice, Miquella,” Malenia hissed.

“She serves her purpose, but–”

“Children,” Messmer cut in, condescension dripping rich from the single word. “Is this really–”

Malenia turned on Messmer, “And you have even less–”

“Do not ignore me, sister,” Miquella demanded. “You must–”

At Malenia’s side, Finlay touched her shoulder. “My lady…”

Messmer scoffed. “All this over–”

“You shall not instigate this further,” Rellana said over him, with such volume and in such a tone that all others fell quiet. “My lord,” she added, sarcasm sharper than any blade.

Messmer turned towards Rellana sitting next to him, then shrugged. Rellana snorted.

Silence settled over the garden.

At last, Miquella spoke once more. “I would always prefer to win others over with words than by action. I see I will need to find different words. This conversation has given me much to think about. I will absent myself for a time, and I will reconsider these matters. Malenia, sister, I regret to leave you again so soon, but I will not be away long.”

“That is what you said before you locked yourself in your tree,” Malenia growled. “You call me all this way, and then leave? How long do you expect me to wait for you?”

Miquella’s light flickered for a heartbeat. Then it steadied once more. “This time is different,” he said. “Sister, I promise. I will not be long. I will return.”

One moment the world was full of Miquella’s light.

The next moment the world was dark.

His absence had a physical effect on Malenia. She felt cold. She felt empty. She felt incomplete. 

She also felt, in a small, spiteful and self-satisfied way, victorious.

“I hate it when he does that,” Messmer remarked. “He’s just showing off.”

Malenia turned her face towards Messmer and Rellana. She wished sorely that she had eyes with which to glare. “You are both helping him. For what reason?”

Messmer shrugged. “He’s very persuasive.”

“I understand that you have helped him your entire lives,” Rellana said. “Why?”

Malenia tensed. She did not like Rellana’s question. “He is intelligent, wise, and usually correct,” Malenia said. “And I am his twin. Of course I have helped him.”

Messmer replied now, “We look at you and we see family. And we see that you, an eternal child of Marika, are dying of your curse. Your brother has found a solution. Why would we not help him?”

“And the price,” Rellana said, “Would not be ours to pay.” She turned then to Finlay. “If you are Malenia’s consort, then you are bound to counsel her well in favor of her interests. Is your counsel truly that she should reject this opportunity?”

Finlay answered in a steady voice. “Yes.”

“Fascinating,” Messmer murmured. Messmer and Rellana both shifted, turning their heads towards one another as if they were exchanging a glance. “That being the case then,” Messmer said, “And you having not had any chance to speak with her on this, I think we should withdraw for you to give that counsel.”

As one, Messmer and Rellana stood. Rellana offered Messmer her hand. Messmer took it.

“We will send someone to find you when it is time for dinner,” Rellana said.

Messmer sniffed loudly. “And, please, do know that the baths beneath the castle are open for your use.”

Once Messmer and Rellana had swept away, Malenia and Finlay stood together in silence.

After a while, Finlay spoke. “We don’t smell that bad.”

Malenia forced a short burst of laughter. Then she sighed. “If you had not already heard my answer, what would your counsel be?”

She thought she knew Finlay’s answer. But she needed Finlay to say it. She needed that comfort.

Finlay took a moment to consider her response. Eventually, “It would hurt you more than it would help you,” Finlay said quietly. “I do not think that you can become whole by giving up more of yourself.”

“Are you afraid I will do as my brother wishes?” Malenia asked. “That I will walk with him? As I have always done? And in so doing…?”

Finlay’s reply came measured, calm. “My lady, you swore that you would not cast me aside and that you would not leave me. You have never broken faith with me. I know that you would not do so now. I do not know what you will do next, and I am afraid of many things, but that is not one of them. I trust you.”

Malenia shifted to pull Finlay into a one-armed embrace, and bowed her head so that she could set her forehead against Finlay’s. “Thank you, Finlay,” she murmured.

Finlay inhaled deeply, exhaled long. “My lady…”

“Yes, Finlay?”

“Maybe we should clean up.”

[] [] []

The baths under the castle evacuated as soon as Malenia and Finlay entered. Public bathing was not a luxury that Malenia and her Cleanrots had often enjoyed. No one in Leyndell, in Elphael, anywhere, was ever inclined to share water with them. They were usually expected to make do with chilly running streams as far from any settlement as possible. After Messmer’s exaggerated sniffing and efforts to lobby for Miquella’s position, Malenia felt a sort of vicious satisfaction as his retainers fled.

Finlay crouched down next to one of the heated pools. She dipped her fingertips into the water, hesitant.

The other reason Malenia and her Cleanrots did not often use public baths was that, as much as their presence polluted the shared waters, the shared waters were unkind to open sores.

Malenia inspected her sense of the world. There was decay in the water, yes, but not overly much. “It is fine,” Malenia pronounced. Her words echoed in the water-filled underground chamber. “Help me undress.”

Finlay stood back up and went to Malenia. Simple acts like getting into and out of clothes had become steadily more and more difficult as Malenia lost the use of her left arm, and, at the same time, could allow her left arm to be jostled, less and less. It was like when she’d first lost her right arm, but worse. At least when she’d been learning how to live with a stump, the worst she’d had to worry about from where her arm should have been were phantom pains.

When Finlay and Malenia had together succeeded in getting Malenia free of her dress, Finlay took care of putting the dress out of the way, and then undressed herself. By the time Finlay had finished, Malenia was sitting and soaking in the pleasantly warm water, on a ledge that ran along the side of the large bath.

The water felt divine. She hadn’t enjoyed something like this in so long.

In Elphael, rather than build themselves a bath, the Cleanrots had found a way to pump water into a ceiling and then drop it down from above. It solved the problem of needing clean water, but, with Elphael being so far north, the water was always wretchedly cold.

“My lady, get your arm out of the water,” Finlay growled. “I don’t trust it.”

Malenia sighed. Her rotting left arm wouldn’t last much longer, regardless. But she obliged, raising it up and laying it out on a cloth Finlay had found. Finlay dabbed at it with another cloth until it was merely damp rather than sopping wet. Malenia heard Finlay muttering a prayer under her breath, and she knew that Finlay was sinking power into the necrotic flesh, but her nerves had withered such that she couldn’t feel the soothing coolness that usually accompanied Finlay’s workings.

Finlay’s efforts benefitted Finlay more than they did Malenia.

When Finlay had finished mollifying her anxieties, she sat down in the water next to Malenia, on Malenia’s right, and leaned up against her. Leaving her rotting left arm out of the way, Malenia put her prosthetic right arm around Finlay’s shoulders.

“This is nice, no?” Malenia said.

“It is nice,” Finlay replied.

“It would be nicer if I could have both arms in the water,” Malenia said.

“My lady–”

Malenia chuckled.

Finlay huffed. She crossed her arms. “You spoke in jest,” she concluded, rightly.

Malenia brushed a light kiss to Finlay’s scarred cheek, then rested her forehead against the spot she’d kissed. Finlay’s face shifted, and Malenia knew she had smiled.

“My lady, we have this entire bath to ourselves,” said Finlay, in a tone that conveyed clearly her intentions.

Malenia grinned. She shook her head though. “I would like to speak first.”

Finlay tensed. The movement was subtle and Malenia would not have perceived it had they not been side by side. “What of?” Finlay asked. “What is left?”

Finlay never much liked speaking of troubles. She did not like rumination. She preferred to act or to willfully ignore.

To ease Finlay’s tension, Malenia kissed her cheek again. “I would only say to you, once more, that I will cleave to you always. I would say to you, once more, that I will never choose any path unless you will walk it with me. I will not relinquish my own self for anything, for my own self is yours and it is therefore not mine to abandon. I would only say to you, Finlay, once more, that I love you.”

As Malenia spoke, Finlay relaxed. By the time that Malenia finished, she was entirely at ease again.

Malenia moved her mouth very close to Finlay’s ear. She let her voice go low. “You were saying that we have this entire bath to ourselves?”

[] [] []

By dinner, Miquella had not returned. Messmer and Rellana engaged them in smalltalk, and no one mentioned Miquella’s scheming. For a while, troubles slipped from Malenia’s mind.

When she slept beside Finlay, she slept well.

[] [] []

Over the next several days, Miquella did not reappear.

Hour by hour, Malenia grew restless again.

She did not like to have been summoned, only to then be told to wait. But what could she do? She had to wait, she decided. She had to wait Miquella out. Eventually he would find a different path forward. A more acceptable path forward.

Gradually, Miquella’s band of followers arrived at the castle before he himself returned. There were more of them now. Leda, Freyja, Ansbach, and Moore were there. In addition, there was a small, strange man in a mask who went by Thiollier, and a tall man in a broad-brimmed hat whom the others called Dane.

Dane did not speak. Thiollier, like the rest of them, spoke only, spoke incessantly, of Miquella.

In the main, Miquella’s followers left Malenia and Finlay alone, which was well enough. Malenia and Finlay did not like any of them.

But then there was Moore.

Moore followed Malenia about, close enough to annoy her but always just too far away for her to justifiably take offense. It was not in Malenia’s nature, however, to constrain herself to only what was justifiable.

At last, one afternoon as she tried to walk the ramparts of the castle with Finlay in peace, she lost what little patience she’d ever had. Here, where the air was mostly clear of ash and there was a good breeze, she just wanted to be with Finlay. She rounded on the pest and advanced.

Moore waivered, as if considering whether to flee. But he stood his ground.

“Why are you following us?” Malenia demanded.

Now Moore shrank back, cowering.

Finlay stepped forward. “Lady Malenia asked you a question,” she said, tone level. “Answer.”

Moore shook his helmet back and forth quickly and shrank back further. His heavy armor clanked at the movement. “The saint,” he mumbled. “The saint asks about you. The others told me.”

Finlay leaned forward slightly, intently. “Saint? What saint? What others? Leda and the rest?”

Moore only shook his helmet back and forth again.

“Remove your helm,” Malenia ordered.

Moore hesitated. Malenia waited. She would be obeyed. Very slowly, Moore raised his hands to his helm. He removed it.

Finlay went stiff.

Moore drew in on himself, shoulders hunched, holding his helm close to his chest, trying to be as small as possible.

“Finlay, what do you see?” Malenia asked.

“It’s a bug,” Finlay growled. “He’s a bug.”

“An insect,” Malenia corrected quietly. “Moore, leave us,” she commanded. At once, he fled. “Finlay, we are going to see Messmer.”

Messmer was nowhere to be found. He had gone out hunting for the day. Malenia settled for Rellana, whom they tracked easily to the castle library, an area which, unlike the rest of the castle, had been well-maintained over the many and long years. As she had said on the road to the castle, Rellana remained a Carian.

Rellana looked up as Malenia and Finlay entered. She sat at a large desk, surrounded by books, scrolls, and loose paper. “Malenia,” she greeted, without standing. “Finlay. What can I do for you? I assume you are here to speak with me–neither of you seem… scholarly.”

“Messmer’s insects,” Malenia said, blunt. She went up to the edge of Rellana’s desk and set her gold hand on it, leaning forward, so that her face was only a foot or so from Rellana’s. “What are they?”

Rellana tilted her head to one side. Malenia of course could not see Rellana’s expression, but when Rellana replied, she sounded as if she were smiling darkly. “You’ve taken an interest?” she asked.

“Yes,” Malenia said flatly. Then she waited for Rellana to answer her question.

“The lands west of here–before we came to this place they were a vast temple complex called Rauh,” Rellana started. “Messmer razed it all. One of the cults survived. The insects are theirs.”

“And this cult?” Malenia prompted. She leaned back so that she was at a more conversational distance from Rellana “What is it?”

“I understand that before we came here, they worshiped the first stirrings of life, embodied in the bud of a flower before it blooms. Now they worship the last subsidence, rot.”

“You did not mention this before,” Malenia said, accusing.

“You did not ask,” Rellana replied with a shrug. “I am sure I know many things that might interest you, but I am not your tutor. I am under no charge to marshal my knowledge for your edification.”

“This cult has a saint?” Malenia asked.

“Romina,” said Rellana. “She was a priestess of some sort before Messmer burned her church to the ground. Now she is something else.”

Malenia scowled. Carians and their riddles. “And what does that mean?”

“Frankly, I do not know what Romina is now,” Rellana said. “If you have any thoughts on that matter, I would gratefully hear them.”

“And why would I have thoughts on this Romina?” Malenia pressed. She did not like Rellana’s insinuations.

“I know that Miquella is too curious for his own good,” Rellana said. “And you are his twin.”

“I am unlike my brother,” Malenia replied tightly.

“Duly noted,” replied Rellana. Then, “You should wait for Messmer to return tonight. He will take you to Rauh–he has meant to go there again for a while now. That place is a maze, and there are still old war machines wandering there. If you’re to reach Romina’s old church, you will need a guide.”

Malenia, lips pressed together in a tight frown, said nothing. She did not like to be predictable. But she was predictable. Miquella had often told her so, all her life. She couldn’t help it.

“How far is Rauh from here?” Finlay asked reluctantly.

“It is far if you walk,” Rellana answered. She shuffled through some of the papers on the desk, then extracted one and pushed it towards Finlay. “Here,” she said. She tapped a finger on the paper, presumably a map. “By overland travel, you would take the road north to the old keep, then cross the western ravine at the bridge, then go south again. But there is a waygate near here that will take you to the heart of Rauh.”

“I see,” Finlay said, sounding strained.

Finlay hated waygates. She inevitably vomited after passing through them. The other Cleanrots… When there had been other Cleanrots, the other Cleanrots had mocked her mercilessly for it.

“How long would it take by land?” Malenia asked.

FInlay shook her head. “Too far,” she said glumly. “Not practical.”

“Now,” Rellana started. She gestured to the books and papers covering her desk. “There is an eclipse coming, the kind that happens in a given place but once in a thousand years, and my calculations must be exact. If you’ve no further questions, perhaps you would see yourselves out?”

[] [] []

As Rellana had said, Messmer would take them to Rauh. The proposition amused him.

“Do you like to hunt insects as well, little Malenia?” Messmer asked, unkind humor in his tone. The fiery snakes that hung about him seemed to stare at Malenia intently.

“No,” Malenia answered.

“A shame,” Messmer replied. “I think that I would enjoy hunting with you, sister.”

Armed and armored, the group of them set out on horseback from the northern gate of the castle, accompanied by several of Messmer’s soldiers. Messmer had explained that the horses and guards would go merely as far as the near gate. The terrain of Rauh was unsuitable for horses, and so someone would have to be left to watch them.

The waygate was very similar to the one that bridged the gap between the northern tip of Marika’s lands and Elphael. Made of stone with a hole cut out in the center, it crackled with arcane power. A relic of a past age, it endured from a time before Marika.

As host and guide, Messmer stepped through first. Then Malenia. Then Finlay.

To Malenia, passing through the gate felt like being pressed small, drawn out long, and then reformed badly. It left her slightly dizzy, but not overly so. She stepped out onto thick grass, then took several more steps forward to make room for Finlay, who staggered through after her and then doubled over dry heaving. She had eaten nothing before they set out so that she would have nothing to throw up.

Malenia turned and went back to Finlay. She crouched down and put a steadying hand on Finlay’s back.

Messmer watched it all. He leaned on a greatspear like it was a walking stick. “An unfortunate reaction to such a convenient method of travel,” he remarked. Then he gestured, beckoning. “Come. We are not so far.”

Based on Malenia’s feeling of life and decay around her and Finlay’s descriptions, she formed a picture of Rauh in her mind as a sprawling, overgrown ruin. Finlay said it was very green. Tall trees and lush, hanging vines hid crumbling masonry. Everywhere they went, Malenia heard running water. The air here lay heavy with humidity, and there was not so much ash. As the day wore on, she also felt sun on her face, more intensely than she had felt it anywhere else in the shadowed lands.

Messmer took them along an ancient paved road that led, eventually, to a vast cavern.

At times, Malenia felt other presences, humanoid but not human, at a distance, watching them. But these presences did not approach. Anything that meant them harm would likely not last long against even one of them, to say nothing of all three of them.

At the mouth of the cavern Messmer had them halt for lunch. Finlay pointed out that it wasn’t midday yet, but he shrugged and replied that there was no suitable place to eat inside the cave or on the other side. So they ate.

As they ate, Malenia felt the press of nearby rot as an almost physical pressure on her. The cave steeped in it, so much that she couldn’t untangle the contours of decay as she did in Ensis or Elphael in order to make her way through hallways and doors without assistance. There was so much rot that… Malenia shook her head. They were very far from the Ainsel, from Nokstella, and from Uhl.

Sitting next to Malenia in the grass, Finlay watched, questioning. Malenia shrugged. She had no desire to explain her unease in front of Messmer. Finlay knew that something had disturbed Malenia, and, for now, that would be enough.

Speaking as he chewed, Messmer asked idly, “Sister, have you always borne the rot?”

Malenia stiffened. Had Messmer somehow known her thoughts? “For as long as I can remember,” Malenia answered.

“And Marika did nothing for it?” Messmer asked, sounding genuinely curious. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What could she have done?” Malenia replied. “No–she did not.”

Messmer’s snakes coiled about him, agitated. He turned towards Finlay, and so did his snakes. “Finlay, look at my face,” he said. “What do you see?”

Sitting on the grass, Finlay shifted uncomfortably. “Your face, my lord,” she said.

Messmer chuckled. Then, “Describe it to my sister.”

Finlay paused. Malenia could almost hear her frowning. “Your hair is the same color as my lady’s. Your face is… It is narrower than Lord-Consort Radagon’s. Your features are finer. You resemble my lady in many ways. And… I have not seen you open your left eye. You keep it shut. Your right eye is bright gold.” Finlay leaned forward. “There is something strange about the pupil. It is not a circle, it is more like a line.”

“It is not an eye,” Messmer said. He turned back to Malenia. So did one of his snakes. The other snake continued to stare at Finlay. “At the beginning of her conquest, our mother sealed my curse,” he said. “Rot–it is one of the old powers that Marika cast out of her order. She made it so that nothing she loved would end, so there was no place, no need, for renewal. I think that she could have warded it from you, if she had so chosen. I wonder why she did not.”

“It is easier to think that she could not,” Malenia replied. Messmer’s words sat very ill with her.

“Did she ever tell you that?” Messmer asked.

“We were not close,” Malenia said. “She… Radagon preferred Miquella.”

Messmer snorted. “Of course he did. Because you looked too much like him. And who can resist your twin’s allure?”

“I have no interest in discussing Miquella,” Malenia said.

“Reasonable enough,” said Messmer with a shrug. “Let us discuss something else then. You never answered Rellana’s question, how long it has been since you took Finlay as your consort.”

Tone flat, Malenia responded, “I did not.”

“Is it so invasive a question?” Messmer asked.

“Will you too presume to judge my choices?” Malenia snapped.

“No,” Messmer said, plainly. “So much of what we do is dictated by obligation. I burned and I impaled on account of obligation. I am here in exile on account of obligation. But I know of no obligation that would dictate to whom you give your heart.”

Malenia sat with that response for a moment. Then she turned her face towards Finlay and shrugged.

“It has been well over a decade, I think,” Finlay said.

“I am given to understand that you served my sister as a knight before that,” Messmer said.

“Since the war with the dragons,” replied Finlay.

Messmer shook his head. “A war from which I was absent. But I take your meaning. You have accompanied my sister for the better part of a mortal lifetime. I think that the vows of a knight are quite different than those of a consort. What caused you to set the former aside and take the latter?”

“I did not set any vows aside,” Finlay replied sharply. 

“Well, that seems complicated,” Messmer mused.

“You and Rellana are complicated,” Malenia cut in. 

“Not really,” said Messmer. “It is a shame you are blind–if you could see her, you would think it quite simple.” Then, sounding as if he were smirking, “Finlay, you have eyes, you know what I mean, do you not?”

Finlay cleared her throat. Tone flat, she said, “My lord, yes, I understand your purpose in speaking those words.”

Messmer chortled in delight. “I should hate to gamble cards against you, Finlay,” he said. “Your face betrays nothing.”

“I am aware,” Finlay replied dryly. “My scars have their uses.”

Messmer leaned back and stretched. Then he stood. “I think we have dawdled long enough. It is time for a bit of spelunking.”

Finlay nodded. She got to her feet quickly so that she could offer her hand to Malenia, who took it and rose last of the three of them.

And then they continued on to the cave.

Malenia felt when they crossed the threshold of the cave not by her sense of shifting currents of decay, but merely because she felt that sun no longer touched her and that the air had cooled.

Messmer raised a hand and flames leapt from his fingertips, illuminating the space for himself and Finlay. His fire hissed and cracked, lively. “This way,” he said, sounding unbothered by the surroundings. He strode forward into the maw of the earth.

In this place, Malenia felt even more strongly that they were being watched. She could hear the scuttling noise of a great many chitinous feet crossing rough stone. She walked very close to Finlay. So disoriented by how the rot enveloped everything here, if Malenia became lost, she would not be able to find her way out of the caves. And if something attacked, she would not be able to fight it off except by grappling.

She despised feeling so vulnerable.

It reminded her of when she’d first lost her sight, and she’d had to send Finlay away with Miquella to fight a wyrm because she could not go herself.

She had hated every moment of sitting in Elphael, utterly reliant on Cleanrots who were not Finlay, waiting for some news, any news. In all her long existence, even when she’d first lost her sword arm, even when she’d lost her legs, she had not felt so weak and so much like prey. No wonder that, when Marika broke the rune ring, with Finlay and Miquella both away, Malenia snatched a piece of it for herself, damn the consequences.

The consequences–the price had been the lives of a half dozen of her knights, extinguished by power she could not control.

Here in the cave, Malenia did not become lost, and nothing attacked. And, as Messmer had said when they passed through the waygate, the way was not far. After no more than an hour walking through the caverns, they reemerged beneath the afternoon sun.

Still disoriented by the sheer volume of decay about her, Malenia could only barely make out a stone building down a ways from where they emerged. 

“Romina’s church,” Messmer remarked lazily. “You won’t want me with you when you see her. She and I… are unfriendly. I’ll handle my errand when you are finished.”

“Your errand?” Finlay asked warily.

Rellana had mentioned that Messmer had some intent to go to Ruah, but she had not elaborated and neither Finlay nor Malenia had previously pressed him on it. Perhaps they should have. But his business was none of theirs.

Messmer shrugged. He made a show of stretching, then meandered to lean up against the cliff that they’d emerged from. “If you hurry, we might all get back to Ensis today.”

Malenia gave Messmer a nod. Then she turned towards the stone building. Understanding, Finlay started towards it, leading Malenia after her.

Without prompting, Finlay began to quietly describe what she saw. “There’s an open gate through what looks to be an outer wall. There is probably a yard beyond. The masonry seems different than that of the ruins we were walking through before. There is…”

“Rot,” Malenia finished for Finlay.

Finlay nodded. “Growths of it,” she said. “Like in Caelid.”

But not like Caelid–

It made no sense to distinguish rot by color, but that was the only way that Malenia’s mind could explain what she felt. The rot here was brighter, more vibrant. More alive. As they approached the building, Malenia strove to distill some sense, any sense, from the sea of decay all around her. It took until they were crossing the threshold of the compound before Malenia started to find enough nuance in the world to understand it.

A vast pool of rot sat in the yard within the compound. In many places, buds of decay broke the slimy surface of the sludge. Enormous fungi grew all over the walls of the old church. And at the far end of the yard…

Swearing, Finlay drew her sword in a fast, fluid motion. Finlay was always fast to go for her blade, sometimes too fast, but she did not normally swear so much just upon seeing something.

Malenia had a sense of the thing, for it was made of rot, akin to the way that Moore was made of rot. But this thing wore a shape that Malenia’s mind struggled to understand. Preoccupied with the effort of trying to comprehend what it was that she beheld, she was herself slow to reach for her own blade, and she did not draw it.

“A woman,” Finlay started. “And a centipede. And a scorpion. A chimera. The woman part has wings, like an insect. She’s dripping rot.”

At the far end of the yard, the thing scuttled back and forth, not approaching, as if it could not make up its mind what to do. Then, without warning, it swarmed forward, gliding through the rot on so many legs. Its monstrous form meant that it moved in a weird undulating way, two paces forward, then one pace back. But it moved very, very quickly.

Finlay stepped in front of Malenia. Her scarlet-laced gold flared in Malenia’s sense of her.

The creature stopped just short of Finlay’s reach. It loomed at least three times as tall. Its scorpion tail tensed, relaxed, then tensed again. Its centipede third swayed in the air. And the part that resembled a woman regarded Finlay. “I am no threat, rot-sworn,” she said. Her voice was low and hoarse, and her words came hesitant, like she hadn’t spoken for an age and had difficulty remembering language. “Not to her.”

Finlay did not lower her sword. Malenia considered, for a moment, telling Finlay to sheathe her weapon, that her gut told her that this the thing–Romina, for sure this was she–would not harm them. But Malenia said nothing. Finlay trusted more the assurance of steel than the assurance of words, even when they were Malenia’s words. She would be more comfortable with her sword drawn.

With a shudder, Romina moved back a half pace, then all of her shifted strangely.

“She’s bowing,” Finlay muttured. “I think.”

When Romina straighted back up to her full height, she turned its attention to Malenia. “I did not think you would come.”

Malenia found her mouth had gone dry. She cleared her throat before speaking. “Why did you wish to see me?”

Romina laughed. Her laugh sounded angry, bitter, and despairing. “Every saint would see their god before they die.”

Malenia chose her words carefully. “You have survived this long. You do not seem to be dying.”

The centipede part of Romina thrashed, raising itself up and then slamming down into the decaying muck of the ground, throwing up splatters of rot. At the same time, her scorpion tail coiled as if to strike. But she did not strike. “The family of Marika is capricious and cruel,” she hissed. “There is no more use for me. I am in the way.”

“In the way of what?” Malenia pressed.

Romina slithered forward. Finlay started to likewise move forward to meet her, but Malenia shook her head and stepped out in front of Finlay. In so doing, she brought the distance between herself and Romina down to almost nothing at all. Though Malenia was tall, Romina, buoyed up by her strange form, was taller. Malenia felt Romina’s shadow on her.

“The way to the gate is sealed,” Romina said. Her breath tickled Malenia’s face. Her breath reeked of fetid meat, so much that Malenia, inured though she was to the stench, flinched. “If you would ascend, I will step aside for you, goddess of rot. But I will not step aside for your wretched brothers, daughter of Marika. What will you choose?”

“No one will ascend,” Malenia replied, anger coloring her tone.

“Pity,” Romina hissed. “Your age could have been a great age. So many hoped you would renew this wasted world and lift us up. But you would rather scorn as you have been scorned. Do you even understand your power, what you could do? Or are you really so cruel and spiteful?”

Malenia clenched her jaw tight. She said nothing.

Romina drew back, shifting herself away on her hundreds of legs. “So leave. Send in Marika’s mongrel then. Let this be done.”

From behind Malenia, over near the far side of the archway into the courtyard, Messmer’s voice, “No need to send for me,” he drawled. “I am here.”

Having been so intent on Romina, Malenia had not noticed that he had come down the hill. He had probably been lurking just out of sight, waiting. 

Messmer stepped forward now, around Malenia. He raised his spear, and Malenia felt intense heat on her skin and heard the crackle of fire as Messmer’s weapon burst into flame.

“Messmer!” Malenia snapped, shaking her head, struggling to think. “Hold.”

“Miquella requires her removal,” Messmer said coolly. He bowed his head and pointed the blazing tip of his weapon at Romina. “And so I shall oblige.” Then he threw himself forward, aflame.

Romina reared back before likewise lunging out to meet him.

“Finlay,” Malenia said through gritted teeth. Malenia did not understand, not fully, but Romina guarded some key to Miquella’s ill-conceived scheme. Romina, then, rotten though she was, should not fall. “Protect her,” Malenia ordered.

Without hesitation, Finlay slammed her sword back into its sheath. She raised both her hands, golden power, tinged scarlet, swirling around them. In the center of the yard, Messmer stabbed his spear forward, aiming to disembowel Romina’s humanoid part, but a shield materialized in an instant, just in time to nullify the blow. Romina’s scorpion tail slammed down to pierce Messmer, but he artfully stepped aside. Romina screeched in frustration.

Messmer swiped the tip of his spear at Romina’s human head.

Finlay flicked her fingers and gold swatted Messmer’s blow clear.

Leaping backwards, Messmer looked back towards Malenia and Finlay. “Will you fight in her defense, or is that all the aid you’ll render?” he called. He sounded delighted.

Malenia scowled.

She should…

Messmer twirled his spear, calling up greater flame, wreathing himself in it, then hurled himself forward once more.

Growling, Finlay swept one hand down. A wall of light slammed into existence, fully separating the combatants.

Messmer did not slow. Still charging, he thrust the blazing tip of his spear forward.

Finlay’s wall shattered to a thousand motes of gold, and Finlay herself staggered.

Laughing, Messmer leapt back on Romina. The two of them danced back and forth across the yard. Messmer easily dodged every strike that Romina attempted. He moved with a serpentine ease, so quick that he was difficult even for Malenia to follow. As he dodged, he wove in fast and powerful blows. With every move, he trailed fire.

Gathering herself again, Finlay once more raised her hands, calling her power. Rather than attempt another great work, she used smaller bursts of gold to redirect Messmer’s spear as he struck, causing him to just barely miss his target again and again. It worked–for the most part. But not entirely. Some of Messmer’s attacks landed, and, slowly, Romina started to bleed rot. 

“My lady,” Finlay grunted. “If you do not intervene directly, he will prevail. I can only do so much for her–I cannot aid her the way I aid you.”

Sweat beaded on Malenia’s brow, though she remained standing still. 

All that Malenia could do to intervene would be to raise her blade against Messmer.

Malenia could not raise her blade against Messmer.

Messmer was family, and he treated her as family. And, too, he and Rellana both had recognized Finlay. Even Miquella would not do that. In their own way, Messmer and Rellana had welcomed them together, without a second thought, according to them the respect of equals.

Romina, though her purpose might align with Malenia’s desires, was rot. And she was not Malenia’s kin.

Long seconds passed. Messmer and Romina continued their melee in fury. At Malenia’s side, Finlay’s breathing became increasingly labored.

“Let it end then,” Malenia said.

Finlay nodded. She lowered her hands and sagged with exhaustion.

Messmer and Romina exchanged a few more blows. Then Messmer found an opening and rammed his spear through Romina’s humanoid abdomen. Several feet of spear, coated in viscous spoilage, protruded from her back.

Rather than fight to wrest the weapon free, Messmer let go and leapt away. Romina’s monstrous centipede and scorpion parts thrashed wildly, without purpose except to be in pain. Her human hands tugged at the spear, to no avail. It was fixed too deep. A shrill keening ripped from her throat, sending jarring shudders all up and down Malenia’s bones.

Finlay glanced at Malenia. Malenia’s jaw clenched tight. “Go,” Malenia said. “Do what you can to ease her passing.” Cautiously, Finlay walked forward, towards Romina. She took a path that, to the extent possible, kept her away from Romina’s death throes.

Nonchalant, Messmer ambled over to Malenia. “Your consort is much more powerful than I expected,” he said. Small flames still danced about him. His snakes swayed. “You chose well.”

“Why did Miquella want her dead?” Malenia asked flatly. “What sin did she commit? What was the meaning of this?”

Messmer shrugged. “I suspect that should be a matter for you and him to discuss yourselves.”

“I asked you,” Malenia replied.

“So you did,” Messmer acknowledged. “It was in the way,” he said. “And it represented a path that he has no interest in.”

In the center of the yard, Finlay now knelt over Romina. One of Finlay’s hands, wreathed in gold, was set on Romina’s flesh where Messmer’s spear impaled her. Finlay could not heal rot, and Romina was rot through and through. She could only dull the pain.

“And what path is that?” Malenia asked.

“If you do not know, then I certainly would not be able to say,” Messmer replied.

Malenia recognized an evasion when she heard one. She had grown up beside Miquella. She asked, “Do you know it?”

“I have suspicions,” said Messmer.

“Suspicions that you will not share,” Malenia concluded.

“Perhaps to call them suspicions was not entirely accurate,” Messmer replied. “Speculations. And to share speculation is merely to gossip, which is beneath both of us.”

“I think that you delight in gossip,” Malenia said darkly.

“What has given you that impression?” asked Messmer, sounding far more smug than offended.

Malenia let her silence answer for her.

Finlay stood. Romina was still now. Dead. Messmer strolled forward to retrieve his spear. He jammed his armored boot against Romina’s human face to brace as he yanked the weapon free. Once he had his spear again, he headed towards the far end of the yard.

Messmer swept his spear forward and a gout of flame surged forth, blasting into the stone wall. Rot turned to ash and a door, previously concealed beneath fungal growths, blew open. Messmer vanished then through the door.

Meanwhile, Finlay had come back to Malenia. The way Finlay held herself, she moved with too much tension and too much deliberation. “What is wrong?” Malenia asked.

Finlay shook her head, not to reject the question, merely to collect herself. She glanced towards where Messmer had gone, then, very quietly, “She spoke to me.”

Matching Finlay’s volume, Malenia asked, “What did she say?”

Finlay hesitated.

“Did she curse me?” asked Malenia.

“My lady, I think her words are not worth repeating.”

Malenia frowned. Before she could reply though, a roar of flame burst forth from beyond the gate Messmer had gone through. A pillar of flame soared up into the sky. Even from a distance, Malenia felt its heat on her face. After a moment’s consideration longer, Malenia decided not to press the question. She  trusted Finlay to tell her whatever she needed to know. Instead then, she turned and headed back the way they’d come. “I am eager to leave this place,” she mumbled.

Together, she and Finlay retreated back up the hill to the entrance of the cave and waited for Messmer. He eventually strolled back to them, dragging Romina’s hacked-off centipede head behind him. When he spoke, he sounded entirely self-satisfied. “Let us be on our way then.”

[] [] []

Back at the castle, the centipede head did not impress Rellana in the least. “Send that thing on its way to the storehouse,” she said. “I will not have it here.”

Dinner was just the four of them, and it passed in uneasy silence.

Guilt gnawed at Malenia’s rattled conscience. But why? She owed Romina nothing.

Malenia waited until she was alone with Finlay in their room to voice her intense disquiet. “Should I have helped her?” Malenia asked, sinking down to sit on her bedroll. There was nowhere to sit except on the floor or on the decrepit bed that seemed like it might collapse at any moment.

Finlay sat down next to Malenia. When Finlay spoke, Malenia could hear her frowning. “Why did you tell me to protect her?”

It took Malenia a while to formulate an answer. She did know her mind on this. But as soon as she gave voice to her thoughts, she could never deny them, not to Finlay, nor to herself. And what had Romina said to Finlay? “Because Miquella wanted her dead,” Malenia replied. “And what Miquella wants–it is not good for him, for me, or for us.”

“I am sorry I could not do more,” Finlay said.

“Messmer is older than Godwyn, and was said to be greater.” Malenia replied. “You did what you could.”

“There was no reason for you to have helped her,” said Finlay. “She was a stranger.”

“If I saw a soldier killing a stranger on the side of the road, would I not intervene?” Malenia asked.

Finlay said nothing.

“And if the stranger had rot, and was being killed for having rot?” Malenia went on. “I would like to think that I would.”

“I think that in this case, it mattered more the identity of the soldier than the identity of the stranger,” Finlay said. “If you raised your blade against Messmer, one of you might be dead now.”

Malenia frowned and shook her head. “Had I taken no interest in Rauh, Messmer would have killed her alone and I would carry no guilt for it. Why should I feel guilt merely for witnessing the acts of another?”

“Miquella wanted her dead,” Finlay said. “And Miquella is your twin.”

“But Miquella’s choices are his own,” Malenia said. “And mine likewise belong only to me.”

“I know that,” Finlay said. “But I think he does not. And neither, sometimes, do you.”

“He is my twin,” Malenia echoed.

“I have sometimes wondered…” Finlay started, but then she trailed off.

Malenia at first waited a moment for Finlay to finish. When it became clear that Finlay would not, Malenia prompted, “You have sometimes wondered what?”

Finlay shrugged. “He has a way of bending others to do as he wishes,” Finlay said. “Not just by his words. I have sometimes wondered if you are as susceptible to it as the rest of us.”

“I do not know,” Malenia said, plainly. Then, knowing her answer deficient, she added, “I know that there have been times when he has tried and I have rebuffed him. I do not know if there have been times when he has tried and he has succeeded. I like to think that it has not happened, but I cannot say. His power is… It is a subtle thing, guiding what a person desires. When he wields it, it is not incompatible with a person’s own will.”

Mulling over Malenia’s words, Finlay said nothing.

“If he did work on me as he does on others, would you resist me?” Malenia asked.

Finlay exhaled, a long sigh. “I might resist him, but I could not resist you.”

Malenia started to open her mouth to respond, but then she paused. Finlay’s answer was what it was. Malenia’s opinion on the subject mattered little. Instead of responding with words, she nodded.

“It has been such a long day,” Finlay said. “We should rest.”

“It has,” Malenia agreed. “And yes, let us rest. Will you help me with my arm and legs? My stumps are sore.”

Finlay tilted her head to one side. “Are you sure?”

Without use of her left arm, if Malenia lay down her gold limbs, she could not reassemble herself again without help. If Finlay was with her though, this was not such a great problem. Even so, she had not removed more than one limb at a time since coming to Messmer’s lands.

“Yes,” Malenia said. She shrugged. “I think we are safe enough here.”

“Very well, my lady,” Finlay said. She shuffled around to Malenia’s side. With deft, practiced movements, she removed Malenia’s right arm and set it down gently. Then she wrapped an arm around Malenia’s back. “Lie down,” she murmured. Only once Malenia had gotten comfortable on her bedroll did Finlay remove the legs as well. Without being asked, Finlay set her fingers near a friction blister from the day’s walk, and soothing gold washed across Malenia’s skin.

The corners of Malenia’s lips curved up in a smile. “Thank you, Finlay.”

When Finlay replied, it sounded like she might be smiling as well. “Of course, my lady.”

[] [] []

The next day, when Malenia and Finlay were sitting together in what passed as the castle garden, Leda and Moore came to them.

Moore held his head bowed and his shoulders slumped. He walked with a shuffling gate. At his side, Leda stood tall and did not shuffle, but she matched her pace to his.

At an appropriate distance, Leda bowed. “Lady Malenia,” she greeted. “Sir Finlay.” Next to Leda, Moore stood with his hands hanging limply at his sides.

Finlay quickly put a hand on Malenia’s thigh, a silent request not to engage in any pettiness with her brother’s minions.

“Sir Leda,” Malenia replied. “Moore. What brings you here?”

“I am here to speak with Finlay,” Leda said. “Moore is here to…”

“The saint is dead,” Moore said softly, interrupting Leda. The angle of Moore’s helmet raised slightly, as if he had lifted his head to stare at Malenia. “Why?”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Malenia said stiffly.

Leda put a hand on Moore’s shoulder. “Miquella will heal this wound,” she said softly.

“Why?” Moore asked again, more insistent this time, almost desperate, perhaps. He brushed away Leda’s hand. “She hurt no one. She sheltered us, even when no one offered shelter to her.”

“Moore…” Leda started. “She is not…”

“There was nothing that I could do,” Malenia said. She did not know why she said it. Her words rang utterly hollow. Guilt knifed into her gut. She should not have said anything.

“Why do you disdain the unloved?” Moore asked. “You are the sister of kindly Miquella. Why do you not love like him?”

“I am his sister,” Malenia replied. “I am not him.”

Moore took a step forward. He did not menace. Nevertheless, Finlay shifted, preparing to rise if he came closer. At the same time, Leda grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“But why do you not love?” Moore pressed.

Malenia bristled. What was this rot thing to question her? “I owe you no answers, pest,” Malenia said. “Leave.”

Moore hesitated for a moment, then turned and shuffled away without another word.

Leda looked to Malenia. “That was hard-hearted, Lady Malenia.”

“I owe him no answers, nor do I answer to you,” Malenia snapped.

Leda inclined her head. “Of course, my lady,” she said. She then turned to Finlay. “May I have a word?”

“What would you speak with me of?” Finlay asked her.

Leda glanced briefly to Malenia, but then returned her attention to Finlay. “I would like to speak with you as one knight to another,” she said. “I would be able to speak more freely if we were alone.”

“Everything that is said to me–it is as if it is said to my lady,” Finlay replied. 

“Be that as it may, I would be more comfortable speaking to you alone,” said Leda. “As a matter of propriety.”

Was this how Finlay felt, Malenia wondered, whenever Miquella demanded she leave a room? 

“Then you should find me when I am alone,” Finlay said. “I shall not take leave of my lady merely for your comfort.”

Leda hesitated. Finlay had not been apart from Malenia since they came to Messmer’s lands. To find Finlay alone was not such an easy thing.

Malenia stood. “Finlay, I am curious what she has to say. I will go a short distance.”

The garden was quiet enough. Malenia could stand at the far end and still hear whatever was said. Finlay knew this, and surely Leda did as well. Malenia had not offered privacy, only the semblance of it. She had, after all, spoken truly–she was curious what Leda wanted.

Leda offered Malenia another bow. “Thank you, Lady Malenia.”

Malenia did not go even to the far end of the garden. She went only to the edge of what she judged would be a mortal’s earshot, then turned and fixed her blind stare on Leda and Finlay. If she’d had use of both her arms, she’d have crossed them. As she did not, she contented herself with resting her golden hand behind the small of her back.

“Sir Leda, I would not wish for you to labor under any false ease,” Finlay said. “I keep no confidences save my lady’s.”

“You have made that clear enough,” Leda replied. “And I am, of course, here at Miquella’s request.”

“I had no doubt,” said Finlay. “I think that we can be brief. I will not aid him against my lady’s interests. I will not speak to her on his behalf. He is her twin. If he wishes to sway her, he must make his entreaties directly.”

Leda nodded, acknowledging Finlay’s words. But she would not be so easily dismissed. “He wants nothing that is not in his sister’s interests,” Leda said. “But regardless, you need not aid him. You have said that he must make his entreaties directly, and he would do this if you would step aside and let him.”

Finlay spoke now with the tone of someone glowering, though Malenia doubted that she’d bothered to force her face, stiff with scars, into the expression. Leda did not merit the effort. “I stand at my lady’s side, exactly where I should be. For no one will I recede.”

“Gentle Miquella should be at her side,” Leda said, calm and confident despite Finlay’s mood. “As you said, he is her twin. As her knight, you did well to support her in his absence, but he is returned now. As her knight, you must put her interests above your own. How can you do that while also standing in her brother’s place? A knight serves.”

Malenia inhaled sharply, and her golden hand clenched into a fist. But she kept her distance. Finlay did not need her.

Finlay planted both her feet firmly against the ground and crossed her arms over her chest. “I do not stand in Miquella’s place. I stand in my own place. I serve in my own way. Do not question my fidelity to my vows.”

“Consider what you have done and what you do,” Leda replied, unrelenting. “Your liege would sacrifice of herself for your sake. She denies her twin, who is her other half, and she denies herself her own chance to be whole to protect your feelings. And you allow this? What sort of knight are you? You should know your place.”

Finlay stood. She was taller than Leda by several inches. “I am a Cleanrot,” Finlay spat. “I lost my face in my lady’s service. I have spent nights vomiting up my own decaying viscera. I would sooner finish spoiling from the inside out before I allowed harm of any kind to befall my lady.”

Leda was not cowed. “You do not need to spoil for her,” she replied. “When Miquella has ascended, no one need rot. Not her, not you. He will usher in a new age, a softer age. It is only your obstinance that harms her.”

“Miquella could not win me with his silver tongue, so he instead sent you to insult my honor?” Finlay demanded. She took a threatening step towards Leda, bringing them barely a foot apart.

Now, Malenia started forward, heading back to Finlay and Leda. She did not run, but neither did she tarry.

“You insult your own honor, Sir Finlay,” Leda replied, standing her ground. She glanced over at Malenia, coming towards her like a dark storm. She offered a bow. “Lady Malenia.”

Malenia rested her golden hand on Finlay’s shoulder. Mindful of her mood, she took care not to grip Finlay too tightly. “Leda, you have taken enough of our time.”

Rather than immediately obey, Leda had the gall to hesitate.

“I never knew my brother’s retainers to be so disrespectful,” Malenia snapped. “You shame Elphael’s memory, and the memory of Iridollus as well. For all that you say you are his knight, where were you when we marched to Caelid? What have you sacrificed for him? I will suffer your presence no longer. Begone.”

Leda bowed again. “Thank you for your time,” she said. “I will take my leave.”

As Leda walked away, Malenia did not wait for her to leave earshot before addressing Finlay. “Had she not conspired to send me away, that conversation would have been far shorter.”

Finlay did not respond.

This time, Malenia waited until Leda was gone. She spoke quietly now. “Her words troubled you.”

“Yes,” Finlay said simply.

“What of them?” Malenia asked. “I think that you have heard their like before.”

“But not from a peer,” Finlay said.

Malenia suppressed her instinct to raise her voice. Finlay was not the object of her anger. She made sure to speak evenly. “She is not your peer.”

Finlay shrugged.

Sensing that Finlay had not accepted her point, Malenia continued, “If you must compare yourself to someone, compare yourself to Rellana. She does not question your place at my side.”

Finlay snorted. “Rellana is the younger sister of the Carian queen. I am unlike her.”

“Her kinship with Rennala did not save her from exile,” Malenia said. “Nor did Messmer’s with Marika. What status should dint of birth confer so long after the fact?”

“You hold Miquella foremost because you were born with him,” Finlay replied.

The heat of frustration drained from Malenia, leaving her very, very weary. “I held Miquella foremost because he loved me,” Malenia said softly.

Finlay, always the less inclined of the two of them to pick at open wounds, said nothing.

[] [] []

As Miquella still had not returned to Ensis and thus Malenia and Finlay were at loose ends, Messmer proposed they go with him to his other keep in the north of the lands. He was heeding Rellana’s directive to put his grisly trophy hacked from Romina’s corpse somewhere where Rellana didn’t have to look at it. And, since he would travel with the centipede head out of sight in a bag, Rellana had declared she would accompany him, because, according to her, the other keep was where the better books were.

Malenia and Finlay agreed to go along.

Setting out from the castle, Malenia noted, to her satisfaction, that Leda and Miquella’s other assorted hangers-on remained behind. That was not to say, however, that no one else accompanied them. A squadron of Messmer’s knights rode ahead and behind, and a gang of his guards came as well to handle menial work.

The whole affair reminded Malenia of one Marika’s processions between Leyndell and the outlying lands, though much smaller and far less gaudy. Strange to find something so familiar in such a far land.

Despite how uncomfortably silent their last dinner together in the castle had been, Messmer and Rellana were once more good company.

It seemed to Malenia that in their years together cut off from the rest of the world, they had taken to passing time by verbally swatting at one another, never with any malice. It was not unamusing to hear.

Once, Messmer had challenged Finlay to a race. Finlay had pointed out that a race would not be fair because Messmer knew his horse and she did not. Messmer replied that, to the contrary, it would not be fair because he was larger and heavier and so his horse would be more burdened. Rellana then interjected that he was growing fat and that she could outrace both Messmer and Finlay. And then, laughing, she did.

When their party finally reached the northern keep, Messmer immediately excused himself to stow his trophy somewhere appropriate in his collection of insects.

He said it so nonchalantly that, had Malenia not been present when he collected his prize, she would never have guessed that the trophy he referred to had once been a woman’s head. For a moment, Malenia had to tamp down on her disgust lest she say something unwarranted.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Rellana scoffed and told him they would proceed to dinner and he’d best not be late if he wanted anything to eat.

Sitting down at one end of a banquet table far too large for so few diners, Malenia found herself remarking, “It is not so bad, this life that you have.”

“No, it is not,” Rellana replied. Then, wistful, she added, “Sometimes I miss my sister and her children.”

“Rykard, Ranni, and Radahn?” Finlay asked.

Rellana sighed. “I know that you have had your differences with them,” she said. “And I know of your battle with Radahn and its ending. But, despite what some astrologers may say, their struggles and their ends were not fated.”

“Ranni likely still lives,” Malenia said. She did not mention Rykard because… It was generally better not to mention Rykard.

“She was always the most far-sighted of them, with all the best qualities of both her parents,” Rellana said. “Even when they were all young, she excelled her brothers. I do not doubt that she had some contingency.”

Finlay tilted her head to one side. “Would you return to Liurnia if you could?”

In reply, Rellana shrugged. “The thought has crossed my mind. I know of my sister’s circumstances. But I think I would not be able to help her. I cannot help any of them. There was a chance, once, but that was a long time ago. Better to guard the family I have than to chase memories.”

Before anyone could say more, the door at the far end of the hall opened, and–

Light.

Miquella had returned.

It felt so good to be near him again. He had come back to her, again. He would always come back to her because he loved her. Malenia found herself starting to smile as she turned towards her twin. She felt Messmer’s presence beside him, as well as a stranger. The stranger’s form lacked life in the way peculiar to albinaurics, and he was seated in a chair with tall wheels. It was a very strange contraption.

“I hope the food hasn’t gone cold,” Messmer remarked as he guided the wheeled chair and the stranger into the hall. “Malenia and Finlay, this is my friend Gaius. Gaius, meet my sister Malenia and her consort Finlay.”

Gaius nodded to them both. “Well met,” he rumbled. His friendly baritone rumble reminded Malenia of O’Neil and his father Niall.

Messmer spared the light of Miquella a glance. “And I found our esteemed brother hanging about, lying in wait.”

“Too damn proud to go into a room without a squadron of heralds,” Gaius grunted.

“No one has ever accused him of humility,” drawled Messmer as he wheeled Gaius forwards.

Miquella’s light dimmed somewhat. “Responding to your japes is beneath my dignity,” he pronounced.

“If you deigned to do nothing beneath your dignity, you’d do nothing at all,” Rellana interjected. At Messmer and Gaius’ approach, she stood and dragged a chair away, making room for Gaius. 

Miquella sighed, and, against all that had transpired in the previous days, Malenia laughed.

Miquella brightened once more. “Sister,” he started, “I apologize for my absence. I think though that I will not need to go again.”

Malenia started to settle back into the familiar ease of her twin. But then she recalled all that had transpired since they had last spoken. Romina. Leda. Finlay. Malenia scowled. Anger sparked in her chest and she nursed it lest Miquella distract her once more. “Better that you had been more absent.”

Miquella’s light flickered.

Messmer scoffed very quietly as he took his place next to Rellana at the table.

Under the table, Finlay laid a hand on Malenia’s thigh.

Miquella gently floated to a seat across from Malenia.  “Sister, your words wound me,” he said. When he spoke, his voice lacked any of its usual gentleness. To Malenia, he sounded cold and distant, as he never had before. There was something wrong with his voice–and that only aggrieved Malenia more.

Malenia’s golden hand, the hand that Miquella had crafted for her, tightened into a fist. “You sent your knight to insult my honor. If my words wound you, then I am glad.”

“I asked Leda to persuade Finlay as I could not,” Miquella replied. “I regret that you took offense.”

Finlay’s elbow jammed into Malenia’s side. Malenia ignored it. She had decided to make her thoughts known, regardless of the wisdom of restraint. So set on her course of action, she would not be diverted. “I would prefer that you regret that you asked,” Malenia snapped.

Miquella’s light drew in on itself and burned brighter. “I will not be spoken to by you in that tone.”

“I will speak to you, brother, in any tone I like,” Malenia replied. “If you will not respect me and mine, I see no cause to respect you and yours.”

“After all that I have done for you, all that I have sacrificed for you, now you would deny me your respect?” Miquella demanded.

“You have taken my support and my patience for granted for too long,” Malenia growled back.

“You are my twin,” Miquella pronounced. “I am entitled to it.”

“If you are entitled to my support, then I am entitled to yours,” hissed Malenia.

Rellana suddenly stood. She spoke softly, but with steel in her voice. “I will hear no more of this at my table,” she said. “Miquella and Malenia–be silent or leave. I would break bread with my family, and whatever words you have for one another, they are better said without an audience.”

Pushing Finlay’s hand aside, Malenia stood as well. “I will have this put to rest,” she growled. Turning, she stalked to the doors that Miquella, Messmer, and Gaius had come through, then continued out into the hall beyond. She felt Miquella following her, a storm of frigid brilliance. All the others remained behind at the table.

Driven by roiling anger, Malenia kept going until the hallway terminated in a balcony and she could go no farther. Then she rounded on her twin.

Miquella spoke before Malenia could begin. “Are you really so upset by what Leda said?” Miquella asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Malenia growled, scowling darkly. “You know that I do not tolerate insults to my knights, least of all Finlay. Did you send her merely to provoke me?”

“I gave no such instruction,” Miquella replied, more than a touch of condescension in his tone. “Nor did I bid her insult anyone.”

“Then what did you bid her say?” Malenia demanded.

Miquella hesitated, then, “I bid her to ask Finlay to step aside.”

Malenia took a deep breath, restraining herself from raising her voice. Shouting at Miquella would doubtless help her mood, but it was beneath her. “Finlay is not in your way,” Malenia said. “I would not assist you regardless of Finlay.”

“I think that you are not honest with yourself,” replied Miquella sharply. “But for Finlay, you would have no reason to deny me.”

“You think that my own sense of self means so little?” Malenia sneered.

“To you?” Miquella asked. “Yes.”

Caught off-guard by Miquella’s response, Malenia had no ready reply.

“I know you, sister,” Miquella said. He sounded almost… sad.

“Not as well as you should,” Malenia murmured.

“You’ve changed,” said Miquella.

“So have you.”

“You resent that I was not there for you.”

“Yes,” Malenia said. Then she added, “But Finlay was.”

“And all the years that I cared for you before she swore to you–do they mean nothing?”

“I did not realize that you would ever demand anything in return,” said Malenia, bitter. “My mistake.”

“I never intended to,” Miquella replied. “I… I never thought that I would need to.”

“You need this?” Malenia asked. “You need me to give myself up for your sake?”

“I do.”

Malenia shook her head. “Then I am sorry, brother. I cannot give you what you need. My answer will not change. It would be better if you accepted that.”

“Why?”

“Because for once in this terrible existence, I have something to live for.”

There was a long moment of silence.

At last, Miquella spoke. “I think we have nothing left to say.”

“I…” Malenia started. Though she was blind and he was naught but incorporeal light, she turned her face away from him. “I regret…”

“As do I,” Miquella said.

“We should return to dinner,” Malenia said.

“We should,” Miquella echoed. Then he turned and started to drift away.

Malenia trailed after him.

Back in the hall, Messmer, Rellana, and Gaius were talking about some strange creatures called hippos. From what Malenia gathered of their conversation, these hippos were for riding like horses, not for Messmer’s insect collection. Small mercies.

Malenia took her seat again and turned her face towards Finlay. Finlay gave her the smallest of nods, then started serving her, just as she had since Malenia first lost her sight, and even before then, when Malenia had struggled to adjust to having only a single hand. When Finlay finished, Malenia took up a forkful of something from her plate, put it in her mouth, and was pleasantly surprised that it was some kind of tender meat.

Malenia had once had both Finlay and Miquella. Why couldn’t she have them both again?

For the remainder of the meal, Rellana and Gaius dominated all conversation, chatting on and on about hippos. Messmer occasionally would chime in with a sarcastic remark. Neither Malenia, Finlay, nor Miquella said much at all.

When Messmer deemed dinner concluded, he started to announce that he and Rellana would both retire, but Miquella interrupted him.

“Brother, I would have a word with you,” Miquella said. His light started to float towards the main door of the room. “I require a favor, it seems. If you would oblige me?”

Messmer sighed theatrically. “Anything for my youngest sibling.”

“Youngest?” Miquella said, almost haughty. “That would be Malenia.”

Malenia snorted. And she dared to hope.

Messmer looked to her. “Is that so?” he mused. “I never would have guessed.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Malenia said dryly.

Messmer seemed for a moment like he might say more, but by then Miquella had drifted out of the room. Messmer shook his head, then lengthened his stride to catch up.

“I haven’t seen him like this an age,” Gaius remarked as Messmer hurried off down the hall.

“He hasn’t had a purpose since the exile,” Rellana said.

“Now he has a master again,” said Gaius.

Rellana turned towards Gaius. Malenia could not see her expression. Gaius shrugged.

With a sigh, Rellana stood. “Malenia, Finlay, shall I show you to a room? The accommodations here are better than those in Ensis, thankfully.”

“Not a high bar,” Gaius rumbled. He gripped the tall wheels of his chair and rolled himself away from the table.

Finlay rose to her feet and offered Malenia a hand, which Malenia took. “We would be most grateful,” Finlay said, answering for them both. “Thank you.”

“This way then,” Rellana said, beckoning.

The room that Rellana took them to was indeed better than the one in Ensis. It had, for example, an actual bed.

[] [] []

Miquella found his sister curled in on herself on the floor at the foot of her bed in their room. Though she had just that year started to grow taller than him, she now seemed very small.

He went to her, bare feet padding softly on cold stone, and sat down beside her. He took her hand.

“Sister, I will find the cure for you,” he said. “I promise.”

[] [] []

Malenia woke slowly.

Unusually, Finlay, a very early riser, had lingered in their bed. She had one arm wrapped around Malenia’s waist, and her forehead rested against the crook of Malenia’s neck. In Elphael, Finlay would go before the crack of dawn to labor on behalf of a city that merely tolerated her. Here, there was no work to drive her. So she stayed.

Although Finlay’s chest rose and fell slowly and evenly, Malenia did not doubt that she was awake. She had probably been awake for some time.

“Finlay,” Malenia mumbled, still sleepy.

Rather than answer with words, Finlay nuzzled Malenia just under her chin. Her warm breath tickled Malenia’s skin. Malenia smiled and, as best she could, leaned back into Finlay. Her prosthetics sat in a neat pile on the floor–unlimbed, even just turning herself around was difficult. Finlay’s embrace tightened just enough to say that she was there, that she had Malenia, that she would not let go. Against all the strife in the world, Finlay would keep Malenia safe.

And all she asked in return–

She asked nothing in return.

They shared vows, but those vows were an expression of devotion, not its price.

Which was not to say that Malenia felt no inclination to give back.

“Finlay,” Malenia mumbled again.

This time, Finlay replied, “What is it, my lady?”

Malenia hummed, giving herself a moment to choose her words. She settled on, “Finlay, my lord, a mood has struck me.”

So close, Malenia felt Finlay’s heartbeat quicken.

Finlay stirred, preparing to get up. “Do you want–”

“No,” Malenia said. She did not want her brother’s unalloyed gold, did not want to touch Finlay with a hand that was not her own. “Leave them. I am whole enough without them so long as I have you.”

Finlay settled once more, her arm still draped over Malenia. Softly, gently, she said, “Then tell me what you would have me do, my lady. Command me. Whatever you desire, I shall make it so.”

Malenia inhaled deeply. “I want to kiss you, Finlay,” Malenia replied, just as softly, just as gently. She smirked. “I want you to put me on my back, with you over me, and I want to kiss you. When I am done kissing you, you will undress, and then you will bury my face in your cunt until you finish.”

Finlay let out an amused huff. “As you wish, my lady. How could I refuse such a polite request?”

“I do not feel polite at the moment,” Malenia breathed. “Nor am I patient. Oblige me, Finlay.”

Finlay pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just behind Malenia’s ear. “Of course, my lady.”

And she did.

When they were done, they lay together much as they had before, Finlay with an arm around Malenia’s waist, breath tickling Malenia’s neck.

“Do you recall our first time together?” Finlay asked quietly.

“I do not answer foolish questions,” Malenia murmured.

“I was frightened,” Finlay said.

“I remember,” Malenia replied.

“I did not want to have power over you,” Finlay said.

“You already did,” Malenia said. “But you came by it honestly.”

“I know that now,” Finlay said.

“You gave me your heart, and I gave you mine,” said Malenia.

They both lapsed into silence. 

For a long time they simply lay together. There was peace here. If Malenia stirred, or if Finlay stirred, the peace, delicate, would break.

Eventually though, Malenia heard Finlay’s stomach gurgle.

Finlay sighed in annoyance.

“Help me with my limbs,” Malenia said. “I’ll find the kitchen and bring something back.”

Finlay sat up. Malenia could feel her scowling. “No,” she said. “I’ll find the kitchen. You stay.”

Malenia shook her head. “Finlay, let me.”

Finlay sighed. “We should both go then,” she said.

Unspoken–Malenia was blind and, while she always knew when meat was rancid, had no skill at distinguishing what sort of food was in front of her. She could insist on being the one to go to the kitchen, but she could not follow through.

Grumbling all the while, Finlay retrieved Malenia’s prosthetics and secured them, then saw to it that they were both dressed. She also insisted before they left that she wash Malenia’s face.

Finding the kitchen was not so difficult. They knew the way back to where they had dined the night before, and a dining room was never too far from the castle machinery that served it. Malenia could smell oils, old and fresh, as they meandered down the last corridor to where they would find breakfast.

Messmer intercepted them.

Or, more precisely, he intercepted Malenia.

He greeted them both–“Ah, Malenia and Finlay.” But he made it clear he was interested in only one of them. “I presume you are in search of… an early afternoon meal. It is rather too late to call it breakfast or even lunch. But, sister, if I might detain you a moment?”

Malenia frowned. But then she shrugged. She let go of Finlay’s shoulder, a silent signal that Finlay should continue foraging without her. She turned to Messmer. “What do you need of me?”

Messmer inclined his head, not quite nodding, but achieving the effect. “I thought that we might speak of your difficulties with Miquella,” he said.

Malenia tensed. “What of them?”

She thought that she and Miquella had reached an understanding. So what, then, was this?

“I feel for him,” Messmer said. “I pity him. I might pity you as well.”

Taken aback, Malenia had no immediate response. 

Moving languidly, Messmer went to lean up against the stone wall of the corridor. He gestured with a hand, but the effect was lost on Malenia’s blind eyes. “He built a dream assuming that his twin sister, whom he always thought was his other half, and whom he thought felt the same, would accompany him. I… am not unfamiliar with this story.”

If Malenia still had two working arms, she would have crossed them. Instead, she contended herself with scowling and shaking her head. “He assumed too much. I will take no blame for the consequences of that folly.”

“But you will live with them,” Messmer said. “Whatever he does next, it will be worse for your absence.”

Chill fear shivered through Malenia’s core. To warm herself again, she quickly turned to anger. “You and I both know that–that whatever it is, this fancy of godhood, nothing good will come of it,” Malenia growled.

“Do I know that?” Messmer asked in reply. “Would it be so bad to replace an age of order with an age of compassion?”

“Age of compassion or an age of order–is there a reason why one should be better than the other?” Malenia shot back. “You knew Marika. If you care  for Miquella, you will not take his side.”

“I did know our mother, and better than you, I hazard,” Messmer said. “It was not godhood that made her who she was.”

“What she was,” Malenia corrected.

“She did have a heart,” Messmer said. He bowed his head. One of his snakes moved to rub against his cheek. “She did love.”

“She loved herself,” Malenia spat. “And we are the bastard proof.”

“You think that she intended for us to be born cursed as we were?” Messmer asked. “What mother would want that for a child?”

“Marika,” Malenia answered, bitterly, falsely. She turned away from Messmer, towards where Finlay had gone off to the kitchen–where she would have been had Messmer not intervened. “I am done with this,” she said, stalking away.

Messmer did not follow.

Turning her attention ahead, down the corridor, Malenia startled. She could feel Finlay’s gold and scarlet, and she could also feel Miquella’s undying light. What was Miquella doing?

She started to walk quickly.

Drifting down the corridor, she heard her brother’s voice. His words, cool, calm, distant, echoed in her head. “Give her back to me, Sir Finlay. I will ask only this once.”

“She is not mine to give, nor yours to take,” Finlay said levelly. “What are you, Miquella? You are not… What have you done?”

“I have cast aside my fears and doubts,” Miquella replied. “I have divested myself of my cursed flesh. I have divested myself of everything that held me back.” 

Malenia stepped into the kitchen. Miquella’s light occupied the center of the room. In contrast to Miquella, Finlay stood against the far wall. She kept her posture straight and her head high, and she held her hands clasped behind her back.

At Malenia’s entrance, Finlay looked to Malenia, briefly, but then returned her attention to Miquella. “And you think that was a good thing?” Finlay asked.

“It was necessary,” Miquella said. “For the sake of a better age.” As he spoke, the light about him intensified. Malenia felt the compulsion to agree with him, to bow to him, to love him, like a physical blow slamming into her chest.

Furious, Malenia stepped forward, not quite interposing herself between Miquella and Finlay, instead, hovering on the edge of both of them. “Miquella, do not try to bend Finlay to your will. She is mine. I will not abandon her for your sake. I will not leave her side to stand at yours. You will not be Marika, and I will not be Radagon. I have made myself clear. Now cease.”

Miquella turned his attention to Malenia. “I thought that Messmer would detain you longer,” he said. He sighed. “We would not be Marika and Radagon. For we are Miquella and Malenia.” As he spoke, the terrible urge to desire as he desired continued to press down on Malenia, like he’d never wielded it against her before. “Sister, this is for the best.”

Malenia shook her head and pressed her hand, her one good hand, the hand Miquella gave her, to her temple. “Miquella, stop,” she muttered. “This is…”

Finlay shifted, placing herself fully between Malenia and her brother. Her level tone belied how the gold and scarlet of her raged. “Miquella, I do not know what steel would do against you, but if you continue, by my oath to your sister, I will draw steel against you.”

Through the haze of her brother’s charm, Malenia felt him grow brighter still. Every one of his words rang overwhelming, demanding compliance. “Know your place, knight. Kneel.”

Finlay’s hand dropped to rest on the hilt of her sword. “No, my lord.”

Miquella’s light seethed, but, though it seethed, Finlay stood unmoving, unmoved.

Malenia had a dim sense that she should do something, should somehow intervene. She did nothing. The weight of Miquella’s compulsion pressed her down into nothing. She wanted to want as he did.

At the same time though, she had her own intentions, her own being.

But…

But she loved Miquella. Whatever he needed, she wanted him to have it. He was kind, gentle, had every virtue and lacked any vice. He was pure. He was above pettiness. He was above the sins of the world. When he was a god, his age would be a good age.

Malenia struggled to hold onto herself.

In her struggle, she turned to the steady gold veined with scarlet that was Finlay, her anchor and her guide.

And then, in the contest of wills, something broke.

Miquella’s charm broke .

Suddenly relieved of the immense pressure of her brother’s charisma, Malenia staggered.

Finlay took a deep gulping breath, as if she’d been suffocating and only now had air again.

The light that was Miquella dimmed, its surface roiling chaotically.

For a moment, tense silence smothered the room.

Then, Miquella, “How…?”

Shaking her head as if to clear it, Finlay did not answer.

Miquella’s light steadied once more. “I see. So be it. There are other candidates, though I prefer none as much. But I will need back what is mine.” His light reached out. Finlay made a strangled noise, surprise, as a thin void, a line of what did not decay, pulled from her chest. The needle. Miquella’s needle, returning to its maker.

Malenia stood frozen, uncomprehending.

The world seemed to move very slowly.

Finlay fell to her knees, gagging. With both hands she clawed at her chest where the needle had been moments ago, then she doubled over and she heaved up rot, so much rot, a putrid mess that had for so many years been held suspended, accumulating. She threw one hand out to try to keep herself upright, to no use, shaking uncontrollably she tipped forward into the pool of her own vomit.

Malenia screamed, a name, she was not sure whose.

“This was never for you,” Miquella said, with a bored detachment. “Sister–stay here. Wait. When I am done, I will return and make things right between us.”

Malenia lunged at him. Miquella closed his hand around the needle, then vanished. Malenia stumbled through empty air.

Her twin gone, Malenia whirled about to Finlay. All the rot the needle had held back, all of it at once, consumed Finlay’s flesh and blood and bones. She opened her mouth to drag in air, but instead more of her own viscera bubbled out, and, lying in filth, when she did manage to get a gasping breath, she inhaled her own spoilage.

Horrified, Malenia knelt and tried to take one of Finlay’s hands in hers. As soon as Malenia touched it, the hand started to subside to mould.

“Stop,” Malenia mumbled, words flowing jumbled. “Stop. Finlay, stop. Please. Don’t… Stay, stop, don’t leave me.” She was scared now to touch Finlay. Her hand hovered barely an inch away from Finlay’s face. “Please…”

Finlay convulsed. With a shudder, she turned towards Malenia. Her arm jerked as if she were trying to reach out, but she didn’t manage to raise her gangrenous hand. Through mouthfuls of decay, she choked, “My lady…”

She sounded so small.

She sounded so scared.

Unable to resist, Malenia grabbed Finlay by the shoulders, shoulders that softened and started to cave in. On instinct, Malenia’s grip tightened, and there was even less to hold. To her own ears, her mutterings were a prayer. “Don’t leave me, Finlay. Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I demand–please, please don’t…”

Finlay didn’t answer.

A ragged howl ripped out of Malenia’s throat. She shook. Her mind raced, her heart pounded, she teetered on the edge of madness.

She had power, so much power, enough power to devastate a continent.

Not enough.

All her existence, she had excelled at destruction, at destroying and at being destroyed.

For Marika, she’d slaughtered. For Miquella, she’d killed.

For herself–

Malenia had only ever wanted one thing for herself, one person.

Finlay, her knight, her consort, hers.

Finlay.

Notes:

you all know that finlay's plot armor will protect her so don't even

thanks for reading!

(and, like, phew, if you're reading this note at the end, you made it! in retrospect i could have shifted some of the stuff at the beginning of this chapter to the end of last chapter, but then it would have been that chapter that ended up super long... oh well. only one more chapter! almost done! probably going to be three or four weeks before i post the last chapter though due to real life scheduling things)

Chapter 14: The Land of Shadow - Part Three

Malenia did not know how long she spent kneeling over the body. It was cold by the time she noticed Messmer leaning against the door of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching.

Malenia heard her own words as if from a very great distance. “You drew me away from her,” she said flatly. There would be a time for vengeance. But not now.

Messmer did not reply, did not defend himself.

“So both my brothers betray me,” Malenia said.

“What will you do now?” asked Messmer.

Malenia’s voice broke as she replied, “Was I not as much your kin as he?”

Messmer looked away. “I will have the body treated with honor.”

Malenia snarled. “You will not touch her.”

Still averting his gaze, Messmer nodded. “Whatever your requirements, I will see to them.”

“I require that I be alone,” said Malenia.

Messmer retreated.

[] [] []

It was a dream of her own.

In this dream, Malenia’s will was done.

She willed that she saw, and so she did.

She willed that she was whole, and so she was.

And so was Finlay .

[] [] []

They built the pyre on one of the grand landings on the steps leading up to the fortress keep.

It was unlike so many of the pyres that Malenia had burned her other Cleanrots on. Those had often been thrown up haphazardly out of whatever was on hand wherever the company happened to be in the wilds of the world. Sometimes they’d burned well, sometimes they hadn’t. So long as they burned away enough rot to protect the land, they served their purpose.

This pyre stood as tall as Malenia. Messmer’s guards had cut and stacked the wood in a way that ensured it would catch and consume. The shape of it recalled a great ship.

Malenia sat by herself on one of the nearby steps. The body, in a shroud, lay next to her. She wouldn’t let anyone near it. A guard had tried to carry it for her, and she’d backhanded them so hard she shattered their cheekbone.

It had been perhaps a day, perhaps two days, maybe even three–she hadn’t slept or eaten.

Her head swam.

Footsteps tugged at Malenia’s attention. Silver and fire, coiling around one another endlessly. Rellana.

“Malenia,” Rellana greeted. She had come to stand slightly behind Malenia, and off to the side, the side opposite the body. She was the only one who had approached. Other than them, the landing and the stairs were deserted. Even the guards who normally manned the area had been recalled to allow Malenia her privacy–a privacy that Rellana now intruded upon.

Malenia did not respond.

Rellana took a seat next to Malenia.

For a long time neither of them said anything.

Eventually, Malenia asked, “Are you here for some purpose? Or do you intrude merely for the sake of intrusion?”

“One of Miquella’s band came to the gates,” Rellana replied.

Malenia inhaled sharply, fury stirring, though weighed down too much by exhaustion to truly kindle. “And what has that to do with me?” Malenia hissed.

“We did not allow him entry, but he asked that we give you this.” Rellana reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew an item about the size of a fist. She held it out towards Malenia. “He said that it is from the kindred, and that the Saint wanted you to have it.”

Malenia recoiled.

The abhorrent thing was a growth of rot in the shape of a bud. Its petals were unlike those of a flower, rather, they were covered in irregular bumps and holes, the mark of disease.

How could Rellana endure to hold it in her hand, even protected by a glove?

“Burn it,” Malenia said.

Rellana hesitated. “Are you sure? It holds power.”

“You question that I hate the thing that has afflicted me all my existence, and that has taken everything from me?” Malenia snarled. “Am I respected so little that I am presumed to lack both my own will and also even my own resentments?”

“You do have your own will,” Rellana murmured. “And your own resentments. And your own loves. You chose better than your father, but to your grief.” She shook her head. She placed the bud down on the stone step, but not near Malenia. “This is not mine to burn,” Rellana said. Then she stood, and, saying no more, walked away, back up the steps towards the keep.

With Rellana gone, Malenia was alone again.

It was just her, the body, and the rot.

Malenia pulled her knees–golden knees, Miquella’s work–to her chest, and wrapped her right arm–also gold–around them. Her rotten left arm hung useless at her side. She couldn’t divest herself of Miquella’s limbs. If she did, she’d reduce herself to less than nothing.

How?

Why?

Should she have acquiesced to Miquella’s demands? Would he have then let Finlay keep the needle that held her fixed in time, at the precipice but never crossing it? 

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

If Malenia had given in to him, what reason would Miquella have had to care who else she might love?

Tears leaked out from the rotted mass of her eyes, ran sluggishly down her cheeks, dripped from her chin. Her nose also ran, and she was too tired, didn’t care enough, to sniffle or wipe at it.

What had Finlay said–

Finlay had said that joining Miquella would hurt Malenia more than it would help her.

What an utterly asinine thing to say.

This hurt.

And what Malenia wouldn’t give to hear Finlay say it again, or any of her other hundreds of affirmations that she stood at Malenia’s side, would remain at Malenia’s side, would not be drawn away by anything, by her oath and honor and love.

Malenia shakily rose to her feet.

Finlay took an oath as Cleanrot.

She owed Finlay the rites of a Cleanrot.

She owed Finlay so much more–but this was what she could give, all that she could give.

Slowly, Malenia scooped up the shrouded body from where it lay. The motion was awkward, for she had only one arm and, if she did not handle the body gingerly, riddled with rot, it would come apart. The shroud helped with that, at least. Malenia did not want to handle the body gingerly. She wanted to pull Finlay into her, crush them together, never let go.

A few paces from the base of the pyre, Malenia stumbled and fell to her knees on the stone pavement. Her feet would not let her continue forward.

She could not let go. She swore never to let go, never to surrender, never to subside. And Finlay, sworn to her, could not leave her. Not like this.

Malenia had cried so much that her throat had become raw, and, when she screamed, it hurt so much.

But she screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and she should hurt because she failed and so she deserved to hurt.

Then she rose. Stepping over the body, she closed the distance to the pyre. She curled her right hand of gold into a fist and slammed it into one of the heavy timbers buttressing the structure. The wood splintered at the blow, and the entire construction shuddered and groaned.

Malenia had no words for what she felt. Maybe it was grief, maybe it was wrath.

She hated the rot.

It had taken so much from her.

It had taken her arms, her legs, her eyes, now her heart too.

The rot, and Miquella.

Snarling, she raised her nearly useless left hand, levering the dead arm up with her shoulder, and put it against another timber. At her touch, the wood softened and started to give out.

Miquella had his abundance and his adoration and his stifling brilliance, and she had only the rot.

And the rot had her.

The rot seethed in her. It ate everything, and now it feasted on her rage, her fury. As it glutted itself, it sought to grow. She let it. Why not? What was left? Vengeance? Vengeance was not worth continuing on like this. Nothing was worth–

One nerve-dead finger at a time, Malenia curled her left hand into a fist to match her right.

She made an oath to Finlay. Finlay made an oath to her. Those oaths would not be broken. Not like this. She would not allow it.

Malenia rounded about away from the pyre, now entirely crumbling to mere detritus, and stalked back to the steps. She bent down and scooped up the shriveled bud that Rellana had left there.

Hate it though she might, the rot was hers, her power, her dominion. Hers to scorn, but also to command. What it had taken from her, she would wrest back. The rot would do as she willed.

With her golden hand, Malenia crushed the bud.

She willed the rot to bloom.

A nova of scarlet burst from her, swirling about, taking the form of great petals, the likeness of a peony, like the flowers that Finlay had once planted in their garden in Elphael–though Malenia had never with her own eyes seen them.

Power like nothing she’d ever had surged through Malenia’s veins. This was the kind of power that could smother empires, could extinguish entire peoples. Every rhythm of decay hummed all at once in Malenia’s mind, a symphony of the inhalations and exhalations of the world. Even mountains eventually wore down to dust. And all this power was hers.

So enveloped in herself, Malenia understood–

Rot was not only decay. It was also renewal.

Within her chrysalis of petals, she turned back to the body. She knelt at the body’s side and laid her left hand over the body’s sunken chest. The rot had always been thickest in Finlay’s lungs. She’d carried so much rot, her devotion and her sacrifice. The rot in Finlay was Malenia’s, and, like Finlay, it would obey her.

Nothing could be frozen forever. Everything changed. But for a thing to change did not require that it subside.

Finlay’s lungs had collapsed in on themselves, so wasted that they could not hold their shape. Malenia found the fungal roots riddling the body and she commanded them to grow, but not rampant, only as she willed. They spread into the sunken cavity of the chest, building up layer by layer, creating a matrix of support. Ribs that had softened were reinforced with sclerotin. When there was room for them, Malenia turned her attention to the lungs themselves.

Now, the rot squirmed against her. This was not so easy. It was not human. It did not want to be human. It wanted to be chitin, fungi, spiracles, and haemolymph. It did not want to be lungs. But Malenia impressed her purpose upon the rot, and it did her will.

Throughout the fungal mass that had grown in Finlay’s chest to fill it out from the collapse, a network of tracheae formed, the same kind of network that carried oxygen throughout the body of an insect. And throughout, new muscle grew to force air in and out.

Bit by bit, Malenia rebuilt.

She could not say all that she did. The rot knew bodies well, having devoured so many. And as well as it understood pulling life apart, just as well did it understand making anew. It understood how a worm might spin a cocoon, dissolve to ichor, but then reform and reemerge as something else. Something alive and stronger.

When she was done, she had a body.

Whole.

Lifeless.

Malenia clenched her right first tight and ground her teeth in the way that Finlay hated. Like her rage, her frustration too fed the rot. In this moment, there was nothing she would not feed it. She would feed it the world if she had to. She would not be denied.

What had Finlay once told her?

To call a miracle by faith was to do what could not be done.

Finlay’s boundless faith had been for Malenia, and so, like the rot, it was hers.

No wonder that Finlay had never been able to purge the rot with gold–she could not with her faith destroy anything of Malenia.

Hers.

Finlay was hers.

There was nothing Finlay would not do for her.

Malenia clutched at that truth.

The single word came from the deepest point in her.

“Return.”

She brought her lips to Finlay’s, kissed her, trusted.

For a moment it seemed as though time had stopped.

There was silence and stillness.

Malenia’s heart beat.

And Finlay’s heart beat in reply.

So much of Finlay was rot that Malenia felt the moment that it happened. But Malenia wanted, needed, to see. She turned her attention to her own eyes. Eyes were not so hard–insects had many. After so many years in the dark, the first thing that Malenia saw was Finlay’s scarred face.

Finlay had more grey hair than Malenia remembered. But the shape of her face was the same, the set of her nose, and her own eyes–hazel, near gold–starting to open.

Finlay inhaled slowly, exhaled.

Her breath was soft and warm against Malenia’s skin.

All up and down Malenia’s rotting left arm, chitin grew to cover and replace weeping sores. Where chunks of flesh had come away, fungal mass filled in the indentations, and then chitin covered that too–but not in the places where threads of unalloyed gold remained sewn into the skin. Those places remained carious.

Eyes half-closed, Finlay murmured, “My lady? You’re crying.”

Malenia rested her forehead against Finlay’s. Finlay’s hazel eyes, she could lose herself in them. When she spoke, joy made her voice tight. “I missed you, Finlay.”

Finlay shook her head once, slowly. She put a hand against Malenia’s chest, over Malenia’s heart. “Do I dream? Do the dead dream?”

Malenia leaned into Finlay’s touch. “I lost you,” she said, plaintive. “You left me. But I called you back,” she went on. “And you came back–you came back for me.” 

Finlay’s eyes fluttered closed. Half of her mouth curled up in a lopsided grin. When was the last time Malenia had seen that grin? Longer than since when she’d lost her sight. Finlay had been so morose in the last days before the rot sealed Malenia’s eyes.

Again, Malenia leaned forward and kissed Finlay. This time, Finlay met her lips, kissed her back. Finlay’s arms wrapped around Malenia and pulled her close, crushed them together with all the ferocity of her devotion. If Malenia were human rather than a being of decaying divinity and gold, Finlay’s grip would have bruised down to the bone.

Some distant part of Malenia’s mind mused that Finlay, mortal, had not been so strong before. But it was only a distant part of her mind–the better part of her thoughts lay elsewhere.

They fit against one another so perfectly.

Malenia wanted the moment to last forever, to never let Finlay go.

She knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that Finlay felt the same.

What did the rest of the world matter?

And–

A thunderous blast shook the world around them.

Malenia jerked away from Finlay to look for the attack.

She could see that they were inside a chamber made of smooth rot in the shape of scarlet petals. She hadn’t paid it any attention before. Smoke was starting to fill the chamber, and her sense of life and decay around her told her that, outside, petals were burning.

Moving fast, Malenia grabbed her sword from where it lay on the ground beside her and locked it into place in her right hand, then stood she offered Finlay her left hand. Finlay took it and rose to stand beside her. Around Finlay, an aura of scarlet-gold power began to coalesce.

Had Finlay’s light always been so scarlet?

With a thought, Malenia caused the petals wrapped around them to unfurl.

There would be time to talk later–Malenia would make sure of it.

Outside, Messmer, about to hurl another ball of fire, checked himself just in time. His face, contorted with strain, was covered with sweat and grime. All around were giant masses of charred rot, littering the stairs up to the fortress, the fortress walls, everywhere. The air stank of burnt decay. Next to Messmer stood Rellana. She held both her blades unsheathed. One blazed with scorching fire like Messmer’s, the other with the freezing blue light of sorcery. Her rich robes were filthy with the kind of dark sludge that seeped out of putrid heaps of corpses.

Behind them both stood about a dozen knights in a formation that would allow them to charge on a moment’s notice, all in red cloaks, all holding burning weapons of their own.

Shoulders rising and falling heavily from exertion, Messmer straightened. He did not quite lean on his greatspear, but he did clench it tightly and push it hard into the pavement. His body language spoke of exhaustion. Two snakes lay draped wearily over his shoulders, their tongues only occasionally flicking out to taste the air. “Sister,” he grunted. Then he paused. Suddenly, he rounded about and grabbed a cloak off of one of his knights. He then threw it at Malenia. “Sister, our apologies for interrupting, but put some clothes on.” Another knight, not the one he had just defrocked, offered him their own cloak. Messmer took it and hurled it after the first. “For your consort.”

Finlay picked up both cloaks. She put one on, then draped Malenia in the other. Having been sightless so long, Malenia didn’t care much what was seen or not, and the cloaks didn’t cover much. While Finlay fussed, Malenia glared at Messmer. 

Messmer cleared his throat roughly. “I see all is well then,” he said.

Malenia turned her attention away from Messmer and back to Finlay. Having sight helped very little in judging Finlay’s thoughts. Thick scars covered most of Finlay’s face, freezing it in place. She betrayed very little through her expression. “Are you well?” Malenia asked quietly. 

“I think that I am as well as is possible, under the circumstances,” Finlay replied, at a volume that matched Malenia’s. “If you desire to speak with your brother, then speak with him.”

“I will pay him no attention if I must give up even a moment with you,” Malenia replied. She always meant what she said. This time, more so than usual. There was so much vying for her focus–Messmer, Miquella, vengeance, fury, grief, power–so much that she could not hold it all in her mind at once. But it seemed there was no immediate danger, and Finlay took precedence over everything else.

Up on the steps, Rellana extinguished both her blades with a faint hiss, then she slid them into their sheathes at her side. She then turned to the knights behind herself and Messmer. “Thank you for your service,” she said curtly. “It is no longer needed here. Go join the others clearing the the storehouse.”

For a short moment, the knights hesitated. A few of them exchanged brief glances. Then one by one they let the fires wreathing their blades fade. They put their weapons away and retreated up the stairs, back towards the fortress.

Malenia noted that the doors of the fortress had entirely rusted to nothing but piles of flakes on the ground.

Finlay’s eyes closed for a moment, in thought. Then she opened them once more. “I will be here still when you finish.”

“Do you swear it, Finlay?”

Finlay nodded. “I do, my lady.”

Malenia nodded to Finlay. Then she rounded back on Messmer. “I should strike you down,” Malenia growled. Her anger, abated since she last dismissed him from her presence, rekindled.

“I should do the same,” Messmer growled back.

Looking at Messmer–

Malenia was seeing him for the first time. He looked so much like her, it was uncanny. They had the same chin, the same nose, the same red hair, like their father. The soft light of dawn, which she hadn’t witnessed in so many years, cast long shadows across his tired face.

Shifting, Malenia raised her sword an inch, but not yet to a guard. “You conspired–”

Messmer lifted his greatspear and then pounded its butt into the stone step he stood on, causing dark cracks to spiderweb out from the point of impact. He snapped, “I did as I thought was right. He asked me to make his case to you as he made his case to your consort. It was an innocent request. How was I to know what he would do? And he would have done as he liked regardless of my actions.” He gestured to the area around them, covered in rot and char. “You’ve destroyed my seat, devastated my lands. Is that not amends enough?”

Rellana grimaced. She bowed her head and placed her right hand over her heart. “I apologize that we did not protect you while you were guests beneath our roof. What can we do to repay your forbearance?”

Finlay touched her fingers to Malenia’s left elbow. And Malenia felt it. How strange, to have such subtle feeling in her arm again. At Finlay’s direction, Malenia let her sword lower once more. “Tell me what Miquella has done and where he has gone.”

Messmer looked as if to answer, but Rellana took a step forward, taking the answer for herself. “In coming to these lands, he abandoned his flesh,” Rellana started. “But to finish his rite, he needed to abandon as well his doubt and vacillation, his heart, and his love. So he did, though he must still also abandon his fears. He is going now to Enir-Ilim. The gate to ascension is at the peak of that city, and the eclipse is soon.”

To Messmer, Malenia hissed, “You let him go?”

Messmer bristled. “I have no power over him. He does as he pleases.”

Malenia started to raise her blade again, but then stopped herself. But she did not stop herself from snarling, “You have aided and abetted him at every step, and now you wash your hands of his self destruction?”

“Would you have done differently in my place?” Messmer responded. “I think not. And why do you rage at me? I did not keep you long. You are strong. You are fast. You could have stopped him. You failed, and now you are–”

Fury blotted out thought and Malenia lunged forward.

She’d taken no more than a step though, before Finlay tackled her to the ground. Even as they went down, Finlay twisted to take the brunt of the fall. On instinct, Malenia tried to struggle free, but to no avail. Finlay had her in a bearhug and Malenia could not break it. Malenia should have been able to break it, easily. She should have been able to shrug Finlay off. Perhaps she still could if she truly forced it, but if she did…

“My lady,” Finlay grunted, “Not now.”

Breathing hard, Malenia stilled, then allowed herself to go limp. “Fine,” she growled. “Let go.”

Finlay relaxed her grip and allowed Malenia up. As Malenia stood, she offered Finlay a hand, which Finlay took.

Higher on the castle steps, Messmer and Rellana finished whatever discussion they’d been having and looked back down. Rellana’s face was a polite mask. Messmer looked like he’d choked on something sour.

Malenia took a deep breath, trying to find some calm. To Rellana, she asked, “He told me that he needed a consort. If not me, then who?”

“I cannot say,” Rellana said. “But he must take one to have the godhood he desires. You know that he is not whole. He is less whole now than he has ever been.”

“You will give us clothes, provisions, horses, and a guide,” Malenia said. “We are going to Enir-Ilim.”

“Done,” Messmer said. “And begone.” He turned to stride away, but Rellana grabbed his arm before he could go.

“We will guide you, if you would have us,” Rellana said.

“No,” Malenia said, and, at the same time, Messmer said the same.

“I do not trust you,” Malenia said. “You have proven traitors.”

Messmer spun around, fury about him. “I am no traitor,” he snarled. “I have inflicted atrocities, but I have never raised a blade against kin–not even when Marika commanded it. My honor is inviolate. And I will not draw steel against kin now.”

Malenia’s brow furrowed as she grasped at his meaning.

“Would you allow me alone to accompany you?” Rellana asked.

“Why would you do that?” Malenia demanded. “Why would I allow it?”

Rellana glanced at Messmer briefly before answering. “If Miquella claims divinity without doubt, fear, a heart, or love, he will be no better than Marika.”

“You have been aiding him all this time,” said Malenia. “You played both sides.”

“If you had chosen to join him, he would not have lacked those things,” replied Rellana. “I know of no other who could anchor him as well as his twin.”

“I am not his keeper,” Malenia said. “My heart is not his. His follies are not mine. And I would not have chosen to join him.”

“No,” Rellana acknowledged. “And I would have thought less of you if you had. So–will you have me as your guide? If you will not take Messmer, you will find no one better.”

Malenia glanced at Messmer. She read his face easily, as it was nearly her own. Anger and helplessness warred over his features. For him though, she felt no pity. “Fine,” Malenia said to Rellana. Then, with no small degree of spite, she added, “Let us go then. I will not linger here. This place is a wreck.”

Messmer glared balefully but did not deign to reply before finishing his retreat back into his ruined keep.

Rellana shook her head once, then beckoned to Malenia and Finlay. “Come,” she said. “Your own supplies will still be in your room–unless they rotted with so much else in this fortress. If they did, you may take whatever of mine that you like.” She turned and started up the steps after Messmer. “I will have horses ready by the time you reach the gates.”

As Rellana left, Malenia felt herself sag. For all her bluster–

Malenia turned to Finlay.

Though Malenia might not be able to read Finlay’s face, Finlay could read Malenia’s.

“Like a great weariness and then a dreamless sleep, my lady,” Finlay said. Though her expression hardly changed, her eyes seemed to soften. “I did not mind waking for you.”

Malenia inclined her head, then leaned forward and briefly kissed Finlay. “Thank you,” she murmured.

[] [] []

They wasted no time in setting out. With the entire fortress–or, what remained of it–at his disposal, Messmer provisioned them quickly. From the stables they took four horses–three to ride, and then one to carry supplies so as not to weigh down the others.

Rellana had explained they would have to go back to Ensis. From Ensis, they would continue south on the main road, then veer west to a town that Rellana called Belurat. Like so much else in Messmer’s domain, Belurat had once belonged to the hornsent that Messmer had purged in Marika’s name. Enir-Ilim rose up past Belurat, above it.

Riding hard, they could make very good time.

It was good that they had Rellana as a guide. Nevertheless, Malenia chafed that she rode with them. Malenia did not know whether she blamed Rellana. Messmer’s actions were surely his own, but what did he do without Rellana’s influence? If Malenia did blame Rellana then she had not forgiven. But, more pressingly–

“Rellana,” Malenia said curtly. “Ride ahead. We will follow.”

Rellana glanced at them both. Then she nodded. She tapped her heels against the flanks of her horse and picked up speed. As she pulled ahead, her mount’s hooves kicked up small clouds of dust at every step. Malenia stared at them a moment, the way they hung in the air before blowing away or simply fading. Such a small thing, but something she hadn’t seen for so long. In its own way, it was lovely.

Trusting her horse to follow the road of its own accord, Malenia turned to look at Finlay beside her. Finlay glanced at Malenia, then, seeing that Malenia was watching her, turned more fully.

“How do you feel?” Malenia asked. She spoke quietly. Rellana was some distance ahead, but not quite far enough for Malenia’s comfort.

Finlay considered the question and took her time in answering. “Strange,” she eventually said.

Malenia’s grip on her reins tightened ever so slightly. “All these years you have threatened to die for me. And you then did.”

“What good is a threat that will never be?” Finlay asked. Her face was unreadable, but her tone hinted at amusement. On the whole, she seemed far less affected by her death than Malenia. For her it had been no worse than those few terrible moments of passing.

“Finlay…”

Finlay sobered. “I regret that I hurt you.”

Malenia tensed. “It was my brother who hurt you,” she snapped. “You bear no fault. The fault is his. And… Messmer was not wrong. The fault is mine as well. I… I should have…”

“I can regret without fault,” Finlay said. “As can you. You are not your brother. You are not responsible for what he does.”

Malenia frowned and did not reply. She would not gainsay Finlay, though she did not entirely accept Finlay’s words.

“How did you recall me?” Finlay asked, turning the conversation somewhat. “Rellana said that I was two days a corpse.” Although her tone remained serious, she managed a lopsided grin. “And not a pretty one.”

Malenia’s throat clenched. She forced her tone even. “I used the rot to rebuild your body. I called you back by your devotion.”

After a while, Finlay said, “You could not do that before.”

“I was desperate,” Malenia replied. “I am not able to be without you. While you were gone–I could not stand it.”

Finlay nudged her horse closer to Malenia’s. She reached over to touch Malenia’s elbow, sheathed in faintly gleaming chitin that served Malenia’s arm as skin. “My lady, I will not leave you again. I swear it.”

“You will not die again?” Malenia asked. Fear mingled with hope robbed her voice of any power. She only sounded small.

“As long as you are, so will I be,” Finlay said.

Malenia covered Finlay’s hand with her own golden one. “Then I think we will both be eternal,” she said. “For I will be as long as you are.”

[] [] []

They did not stop their ride until the sun had almost disappeared under the horizon. As it set, it cast the sky in vivid hues of red, orange, and purple. Malenia could lose herself in the sight.

Rellana and Finlay pitched camp swiftly. Malenia tried to assist, but Finlay brushed her aside. It had been too long since Malenia raised a tent. Now was not the time to fumble her way through remembering. Malenia gathered wood for a fire instead, and Rellana set the fire with a touch of one of her swords.

Neither Finlay nor Malenia spoke to Rellana, and in turn she too refrained from engaging them, except to discuss the road ahead.

As they settled in for the night, Finlay started picking bits of unalloyed gold from Malenia’s left arm. As Finlay pulled the wiry threads free, smooth chitin formed where they had been. Finlay had gotten only a little ways into her work though when Malenia shook her head. She was very tired. Finlay could finish later. 

When they lay down for the night, Malenia wrapped her arms around Finlay tightly. Finlay did not complain, and so Malenia did not let go.

Having not rested in days, Malenia, face buried in the crook of Finlay’s neck, slipped into a deep sleep. She did not dream.

[] [] []

They reached Ensis by sundown on the third day. By then, Finlay had finished removing all the unalloyed gold from Malenia’s arm, and the arm was whole as if it had never been otherwise.

Though Malenia still may not have entirely made up her mind about Rellana, it was certainly useful to have her in dealing with Messmer’s guards. Upon seeing Rellana approach, they opened the gates, and they obeyed her orders without question. And, too, they answered questions.

“Where is Sir Leda?” Rellana asked the knight-captain who greeted them in the courtyard. By the captain’s silver and sapphire armor, she was a Carian of Rellana’s own retinue that had accompanied her as she accompanied Messmer on his crusade. The sun was so low in the sky that the entire yard lay in shadows. The blue gems in the captain’s armor had a faint glow about them, more evident in the dark than in the light.

“Sir Leda?” the captain repeated back. She frowned. “She left with Miquella’s other followers two days ago. They departed through the southern gate.”

“I see,” Rellana replied. She nodded. “Thank you, Moonrythill. I doubt she will come here again, but if she does, detain her.”

That night, Malenia and Finlay slept in the same room they’d been given when they first came to Ensis. At some point in their absence, the ancient bed had finally given out and collapsed. As before, they slept on the floor.

In the morning, when Malenia started towards the door of their room to set out again, Finlay stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “My lady, what do you intend to do when you next see Miquella?” Finlay asked quietly.

Malenia grimaced. When she replied, she did not quite meet Finlay’s hazel eyes. “I cannot say for I do not know.”

Finlay did not remove her hand, did not give Malenia leave to disengage. “My lady–you must know. If you do not know now, you will regret later.”

Now Malenia turned to fully face Finlay. “Would you have me take vengeance?” she asked.

“Not for my sake,” said Finlay.

“Would you have me forgive him?” Malenia asked.

“Only for your sake,” Finlay replied.

“He hurt you,” Malenia said. “He killed you.” She raised her left hand and caressed Finlay’s cheek. “Can there be any response more appropriate than vengeance? Your honor and mine both demand a defense.”

Malenia could not read Finlay’s expression. But Finlay’s rot felt steady, calm, unshakeable. Through every storm, Finlay anchored Malenia. “In Rauh, Romina told me to flee your side, for you and your family are trapped, all traitors betrayed, always seeking retribution to the ruin of the world,” Finlay said. “I know your bond with Miquella. I do not need you to exact vengeance to know your love, and not even for honor would I see you ensnared to your destruction.”

For a while Malenia said nothing. Then, softly, “He must not become a god. I know you do not reckon my love for you by great deeds, though I incline that way. I do love you, and that is enough. But in an order of his making, there will be no place for that love.”

Rather than let go of Malenia, Finlay pulled Malenia towards herself while also stepping forward. She kissed Malenia, briefly, then broke away and nodded.

Malenia returned her nod.

Down in the courtyard of the castle, Rellana waited with restocked provisions and fresh horses. She had traded her court clothes for her heavy plate armor. The captain from the prior day stood with her, and the two were in deep conversation.

As Malenia and Finlay approached, Rellana looked up. She was frowning deeply. She glanced at the captain and gestured that the other woman should explain.

The captain, Moonrythill, gave Malenia and Finlay a quick, shallow bow. “A runner from the outpost across the Ellac came before dawn this morning. The runner said that Leda came to them accompanied by several fellows, including one of the hornsent. Leda vouched for it. Somehow a quarrel started, and the hornsent proved feral. Five are dead, eight more are gravely injured.”

“And Leda?” Malenia asked.

“Gone,” Moorythill said. “She took her band and took the southern road.”

Finlay looked to Rellana. “To Belurat?” she asked.

Rellana nodded.

With a frustrated grunt, Malenia stalked over to the horses and mounted up. Finlay quickly followed her lead. Beneath Malenia, the horse shifted in pace and shook its head. “I’ll waste no more time here,” Malenia said.

Moonrythill regarded Malenia a moment, then turned back to Rellana. “Have you any other instructions?”

“Send a message back to the fortress,” Rellana said. “Messmer may be too sullen to care, but if we do not at least go through the motions of informing him, we shall never hear the end of it.”

Moonrythill snorted. “Of course,” she said. Then she bowed again. “By your leave,” she murmured, then, without waiting for anything further, she turned and headed for the castle keep.

The three of them–Malenia, Finlay, and Rellana–set out again.

They rode for two more days before reaching the outpost.

It was the same outpost, Malenia realized, where she and Finlay had first met Rellana. Malenia had been blind then. She had felt the timber of its walls and structures, slowly rotting, and the metal fittings, slowly rusting. With her senses not so dominated by attention to deterioration, the outpost appeared far more impressive than it had previously.

The faces of the guards who opened the gates for them, however, did not match the sense of solidity and strength that the fortifications projected. Their faces were gaunt and their eyes dark from stress.

As the day was only half-over, Malenia intended to ride through the outpost and continue on. But Rellana nudged her horse closer to Malenia as they crossed the threshold of the gates. “Malenia, I know that you owe us nothing and are inclined to ride swiftly, regardless, I would ask a boon.”

Taken aback, Malenia did not have the presence of mind to glare. “What is it?”

“Would Finlay spare a moment for the wounded here?”

Malenia paused. Then she looked over at Finlay, who met her eyes. “That is up to her,” Malenia said.

Finlay had already halted her horse by the time Rellana turned to her.

Of the eight whom the runner had reported injured, two had already died of their wounds.

In the portion of the outpost barracks that the guards had turned into an infirmary, Finlay worked quickly. One man seemed to be at death’s door, and she started with him.

Watching from a corner of the room, Malenia and Rellana kept out of Finlay’s way.

Before losing her sight, Malenia had never had much occasion to watch Finlay tend to the wounds of others. Finlay had done so, often, of course. Before Malenia raised her to command the Cleanrots, she had been their most gifted healer. Given Finlay’s marked shortcomings in bladework, she had not been a conventional choice when her predecessor fell, but, since most of her fellows owed her their lives, no one challenged her. However, in any battle dire enough for Finlay to need to drag someone out of the melee, Malenia had no time or attention to spare for whatever Finlay did with them.

Mostly, Malenia knew Finlay’s skill because Finlay had used it so often to heal Malenia’s own injuries and fight back Malenia’s own rot.

The man currently under Finlay’s care had a rib sticking out of the side of his torso. Malenia only knew it as a rib by its shape and its general location. It was covered in bits of muscle and fascia, gone dark from exposure outside their cavity. Mercifully, the man had slipped into a coma a day before they arrived.

Finlay touched the broken rib with a hand wreathed in scarlet-gold. Necrotic tissue sloughed off, leaving a clean bone. She guided the bone back where it should be, then the flesh knit together behind it, so perfectly that not even a small scar remained.

A few guards by the door stared, open-mouthed.

“Bucket,” Finlay said.

Someone handed her a wooden bucket. She put it next to the bed the man lay on, then rolled him onto his side and tapped his back. He shuddered and black bile, built up over several days of increasingly shallow breathing, spilled out of his mouth into the bucket.

Finlay rolled the man onto his back. She peered down at him. “He’ll live, but there’s nothing I can do for his eye–eyes never heal quite right,” she said, as much to herself as anyone else. Malenia suspected that no one except herself and Rellana would have thought Finlay would be able to do anything at all for the man.

Malenia raised her left hand and touched the soft skin beneath one of her own iridescent eyes.

Could she…?

She lowered her hand again. The man had no rot about him except the kind that came with any life well-lived. Even if she could, she should not.

When Finlay had finished, she spared no time for the stammering thanks of the few wounded who had woken and their comrades. It was time to continue on.

In the afternoon, they made it several leagues from the outpost before stopping for the night.

Although up until that point Rellana had said little to them except regarding the road, as they sat around a small campfire she broke their unspoken truce. “Thank you, Finlay,” she said.

“Of course,” Finlay replied, stiff and rote.

Unable to help herself, Malenia spoke, “Finlay is unrivaled as a healer on battlefields.”

“I am not surprised,” Rellana said. “I have never seen a mortal work with such skill and strength.” She hesitated. She looked to Finlay. “Are you mortal?”

Finlay shrugged. “I am my lady’s knight and consort.”

“You are more than that,” Rellana replied.

“Yes,” said Finlay.

“What will you do when all this is done?” Rellana asked.

Finlay glanced at Malenia. This time it was Malenia’s turn to shrug. They were talking now, and demanding that they cease felt petty, even for her.

“Return to Elphael,” Finlay said. “Return to our comrades.”

Rellana’s head tilted to one side. “Miquella’s city?”

“Our city,” Finlay corrected. She frowned. “Though it prospered more when he was there to favor it.”

Guilt brushed up against Malenia’s conscience. When Leda came to them, Finlay had inclined to spurn Miquella’s summons and remain in Elphael, the slowly withering city that she had poured herself into propping up. Malenia had known how much Finlay cared for the city, and she had known too that faithful Finlay would leave the city she cared so much for to follow Malenia to the lands of shadow.

“It can prosper again,” Malenia said. As soon as she spoke them, she heard how her words lacked conviction. Elphael would not prosper again, not without Miquella and his endless abundance.

“Under your leadership, I do not doubt it,” Rellana said. Unlike Malenia, she did sound sincere.

Finlay shook her head but said nothing.

[] [] []

The next day, it started to drizzle. The accompanying mist tamped down on the ash that swirled everywhere in Messmer’s land, but that was little recompense for how it seeped through armor and clothing, making everything wet and cold.

Malenia thought that the weather recalled the soggy valleys of Limgrave–and, unsurprisingly, Finlay didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Rellana had done something with her sorcery to keep the damp off her. The thought crossed Malenia’s mind to ask Rellana to share, but her pride stopped her.

For a while they went south along a wide, paved road. There was a point where the road split, one part continuing south and the other turning west. Rellana took them along the western branch. Over the next several days, they kept to that western road. Gradually, the condition of the road improved, as did the weather. The paved part of the road widened, and there were fewer missing stones.  By the time Malenia saw enormous pillars rising through in the distance, the road could be described as a boulevard, of a size and quality to rival any in Leyndell.

The pillars were masonry, though they were set into a looming escarpment that rose as high as a small mountain. Centuries ago, if not longer, a tunnel had been cut through the stone, and the walls of the tunnel had been shorn up with cut blocks and mortar. Over the long years, wind and rain had worn the built pillars and walls smooth, but had not at all affected their integrity. Malenia’s sense of decay told her that these works would last at least a millenia more, so long as no hand did them violence.

Malenia assumed that the original inhabitants of the land had built the boulevard, the tunnel, the pillars, and the walls. Such a great people, extinguished by Marika’s command.

Though it took them more than a day to traverse the tunnel, it was so wide that for as long as the sun was in the sky, they saw at least a little light both ahead of them and behind them, though that light mixed with the darkness of the tunnel, creating thick gloom. Malenia noted that the builders had set enormous stone braziers at regular intervals at the side of the boulevard. Once, the tunnel would have been bright with fire.

Fire…

At the very edge of Malenia’s perception, she felt flame, Messmer’s flame, stalking along after them.

Malenia scowled. She dug her heels hard into the sides of her horse, pushing it forward so that she surged in front of Rellana. Then she wheeled about, blocking Rellana’s path.

Rellana’s horse came to a quick but calm stop. Rellana, sister of the Carian queen, had been riding her entire life. She kept control of her mount.

“For what reason is Messmer following us?” Malenia demanded. “Does he mean to stop me? Do you conspire with him? With Miquella?”

Rellana’s eyes widened by a fraction. But when she answered, her voice was even. “I hazard that shame finally had its way with Messmer,” she said. “I cannot say precisely what he means to do. I can say that he will not raise his blade against you.” She glanced at Finlay. “Nor against you, Lord Finlay. This I swear on both my moons.”

Malenia glowered. “If he would undermine me, I will raise my blade against him.”

Shrugging, Rellana replied, “And you would be within your rights, if he sought to undermine you. But I know him well, and I judge that he has had enough of that.”

Malenia let out a frustrated grunt. Then she turned her horse around again and urged it forward once more. “We will not wait for him,” she snarled.

And so, they continued on.

Messmer caught up with them the next morning, just before dawn, when they had broken camp and were about to mount up to set off again. He was covered in dirt from the road and his horse looked near to dead. He’d surely pressed on all through the night in order to reach them.

Malenia greeted him with her right hand on the hilt of her sword. But she did not draw it, did not lock it into place. “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice low with menace.

“These are my lands, I go where I please,” Messmer replied. Still perched on his horse, he tried to sound haughty, but his state of exhaustion undermined him. He wobbled in his saddle. Rellana stepped around Malenia, positioning herself near Messmer’s side–not close enough that she seemed to be supporting him, but certainly close enough to catch him if he tipped over.

“Let it please you to go back to your castle or your stronghold then,” Malenia said.

“It pleases me to be here,” Messmer replied sullenly. One of his crimson snakes twisted as if to glare at him, but then dropped low and slithered away into the folds of his riding cloak.

“And why does it please you to be here?” Rellana prompted.

Messmer glowered. “Because it does,” he muttered.

No one spoke.

Messmer, already slouched in his saddle, managed to slouch further still. “I made a grave error and wronged my sister,” he muttered. “I am here to make myself useful. Does that suffice?”

Rellana looked to Malenia and arched an eyebrow. “Does it?” she asked.

Malenia drummed her fingers on the hilt of her sword.

“My lady,” Finlay started, slow and cautious. “I am ignorant of what transpired as I lay still, but as I recall from the moments preceding, Messmer is not the brother who raised a hand against me. Is this a matter of injury, or merely of pride?”

“Had I known what Miquella intended,” Messmer started, speaking through gritted teeth, “I swear that I would have interposed myself in your consort’s defense.”

Malenia let out a frustrated growl. Then she rounded on her heel and stalked towards her horse. “If it pleases you to join us, then join us,” she snapped, not looking back at Messmer. “But I will make no accommodation for your presence.”

It was another two days to the gates of Belurat.

Malenia and Finlay stayed close together. Messmer and Rellana stayed close together. The two pairs largely avoided one another.

Belurat’s entrance was as colossal and well-built as the pillars and walls of the tunnel through the escarpment. To reach it, they first had to ascend a great staircase that stretched, as Malenia reckoned it, at least half a mile. By the time they stood in the shade of the gatehouse, she could look behind her and see they had climbed high above the treetops. Restored of her sight, Malenia paused, though only for two heartbeats, to take in the panoramic view of the lands below, lit soft red by the setting sun.

The creak of an enormous metal gate, long shut and now rusted in place, being slowly shoved open inch by inch by brute force brought Malenia back to matters at hand. Messmer had his shoulder to one of the highly decorated leaves of the gate and was heaving with all his strength against it. Though she was loath to help him in anything, he was opening the door for her, so she went to join him. Between the two of them, both grunting and straining with effort, they got the way open just wide enough for the four of them, going one by one, to pass over the threshold and into the city beyond.

They took their supplies from their horses, and Rellana let the horses to roam. She said that if they had any sense they would head back to Ensis. And if they didn’t, then that was on them.

When they had passed the gate, they came into the gatehouse proper. No one had been here in a very long time. It was pitch dark, save for the thin sliver of evening sun drifting through the opened door. Finlay, Messmer, and Rellana all conjured flames, each in the hue of their own particular art. The three flames cast long and strange shadows in the gatehouse. As the casters were each very strong, so were their flames. But that made the shadows all the darker, all the more impenetrable.

Malenia saw that they stood in a high-ceilinged hall, and before them rose another long flight of steps and another gate. Single file, with Messmer in the lead, they advanced.

The next gate was not as difficult to open as the first. It was much smaller, and, sheltered from the elements, had rusted less.

Beyond that gate there was an open chamber. At the far end of the chamber was a shrine to a horned man. On either side of the chamber, spiral staircases rose up to an another level.

Something rippled in the currents of decay, catching Malenia’s attention.

“Above,” Malenia said, tone tight, wasting no time. “A scorpion.”

Finlay and the others all looked up.

As Malenia had warned, there was an enormous scorpion, covered in thick, glossy black scales, stinger coiled and ready, hanging to the ceiling, waiting to drop down on unsuspecting prey.

Messmer’s lip curled in derision. He raised a hand and a jet of fire shot out, incinerating the lurking beast in an instant. His flame was so hot, so all-consuming that when he was done only small motes of white ash drifting in the air recalled the scorpion that had once been.

“Anything else?” Messmer drawled.

“No,” Malenia answered. Sweat had beaded on her brow from standing next to Messmer as he flaunted his power. Rather than wipe it away, she steadfastly ignored it. She headed for the stairs.

Beyond the gatehouse, Belurat sprawled out as a city to rival Leyndell in size. But the works here were very different from that of Leyndell. In Leyndell, one could not throw a stone without hitting a statue of Marika or an etching of the Erdtree. Here, a spiral motif dominated, and carved lions watched over the broad, empty, streets. Black soot streaks marred the walls of ancient structures and thick ash covered everything, remnants of Messmer’s conquest.

“I am surprised you left so much standing,” Malenia remarked as they made their way down a silent boulevard and past a dried up fountain. Their armored feet rang loud on the pavement.

“I was sent here to cleanse the people, not the buildings,” Messmer answered. “The buildings committed no sins.”

Despite her disinclination to engage Messmer in conversation, Malenia found she could not stop herself asking, “And for what reason were you sent to cleanse these people?”

As soon as the question had left her lips, Malenia expected Messmer to rebuff her.

He did not.

“These are our ancestral lands,” Messmer replied. He sounded distant, recalling memories from a very long time ago. “Not Belurat. But the rest of this place. The towerfolk, they carved our people up, still living, and stuffed them into jars. When Marika had secured enough to be confident of her power, she turned to vengeance. I carried it out.”

Shaking her head, Finlay started, “I have met living jars–”

Messmer scoffed. “This was a different sort of jarmaking. A jar made from the flesh of one such as you does not scream as sweetly as one made from your lady’s mashed up viscera, stitched back together with mine, and Miquella’s, and all the rest of our kin. A jar made of you would forget what it once was. Jars with our essence do not.”

Finlay fell silent.

“And if you came here on Marika’s orders and cleansed these people in her name, for what cause was your exile?” Malenia asked.

Messmer took his time in answering, and Rellana did not intervene to prompt him or to speak for him. They had gone more than a city block before he replied, “Marika gave an order that I could not countenance. I will say no more. It is in the past, and I think that the consequences of that choice have long ago run out. This is my realm, and here I remain.”

They walked until the sun had fully set. When it was well and truly dark, they ducked into a long-empty building next to the street they were walking along. Messmer conjured a fire to warm them as they ate a hearty meal. Now that they no longer had horses to carry their supplies, whatever they ate lightened their burdens. And Rellana said that their destination was not far now. They would reach the foot of the stairs to Enir-Ilim the next day, and from there they would ascend the stairs until they reached Enir-Ilim’s peak–no doubt easier said than done, but, relative to the rest of their travels, not a great distance.

The next day, they woke early and set out quickly. They shared an unspoken sense that time surely was running short.

Like Rellana had predicted, it did not take them long to approach the base of Enir-Ilim.

As they came near, Malenia again recalled Leyndell. Had Leyndell been built in its echo? Wherever soot and char from the purge so many years ago did not entirely cover the base of the citadel, it gleamed of light and gold. In its heyday, it must have been a marvel to behold. A great white spire that pierced the heavens, a beacon of its builders’ mastery shining across all the land. Now, an empty, beautiful, husk.

Rellana had predicted they would reach the base of the citadel swiftly, but she had not predicted resistance.

At the base of Enir-Ilim lay a grand courtyard, and, in that courtyard, Malenia felt them, or, rather, it, lying on the weathered pavement.

Approaching the open arches that marked where the grand boulevard through Belurat ended and the entrance to Enir-Ilim began, Malenia raised a hand for them to slow. “There is something ahead,” she said. “Two beings, or one, I cannot tell. They are very old. They are draped in stone in a way that should not be possible.”

“Lion dancers,” Rellana said without hesitation. Then, bemused, “I thought they were all dead.”

Messmer hefted his greatspear. “It appears not,” he said. “We are fortunate.” He looked to Malenia. “I wonder which of us can take its head first?”

Malenia gave him a tight frown. She recalled Romina, and her frown deepened. “It has done nothing to me,” she said.

“It is in the way,” Messmer replied, shrugging. “And I tell you truly, it would delight to sink its teeth into any child of Marika, regardless of identity.”

“Because you purged its kith and kin?” Malenia asked.

“I may have committed the atrocities, but they stain us all,” said Messmer. “Will you let such petty a feeling as remorse slow your advance?”

Malenia gave no answer.

Messmer smirked. “So then, shall we?”

Malenia drew her blade and locked it into her right hand. “Fine,” she said. She strode forward. If it was to be a race to take a beast’s head, then Messmer had best keep up.

In the courtyard, Malenia would have at first mistaken it for a pile of rubble were it not for her sense of decay that marked it out as something else. At the far end of the yard, it rose up onto four human legs. Rellana had called it lion dancers, and, indeed, it seemed to be two men sharing a ceremonial robe, with the lead man holding a great stone mask carved like a roaring lion, crowned with horns. The robe was made of heavy red brocade, royally embellished but severely faded, with large tassels hanging from all its edges. Here and there, bits of gold still glittered. In a past age, the entire thing had been covered in gilt, but much of the gilt had worn off years ago.

Once on its feet, the lion swayed from side to side but did not advance. It reminded Malenia of a cat measuring a lunge.

Cautious, Malenia stepped forward, testing what the lion would do. She heard Messmer behind her, flames crackling happily all about his spear.

The lion froze. Then, slow, it turned his stone head towards Messmer. And, despite being composed of just two men prancing in a cloak and a mask, it opened its maw and roared violently like a beast three times its size. The ground shook and Malenia half expected spittle to fly from its carved maw.

Malenia’s new-made eyes widened by a fraction. She had underestimated the lion. She would not do so again.

Allowing the lion no more time to plot its attack, Malenia surged forward, blade held slightly back until she was close enough to bring it around in a wide slash that, if it connected, would slice through the lion horizontally, bisecting it. In that moment, Messmer too sprinted forward at Malenia’s side, holding his burning spear outstretched to impale his enemy.

At the last possible second before contact, the lion leapt into the air, twisting like it had no spine–and, Malenia realized, it didn’t, for it was two men, not one beast. Neither Malenia nor Messmer landed their blows; both of them finished their charge through empty space and then wheeled about in tandem.

The lion had landed in the center of the yard. At the far side, where Malenia and Messmer hand entered, Finlay and Rellana stood with blades drawn as well. Rellana’s twin swords blazed with sorcerous blue and pyromantic red flames. Finlay’s scarlet and gold nearly blinded Malenia to look at. Between the four of them, they had the lion surrounded. It spun and writhed, then leapt up again.

Malenia scowled. Where would it come down? When it came down again, she wanted it to come down on her sword.

In the air, the lion turned a summersault, and wind blasted out in a circle from it, gale force, infused with whatever magic lent the lion life.

The wind slammed into Malenia’s chest, forcing her to take a step backwards to keep her balance. Nearby, she heard Messmer grunt as the wind hit him just as hard. The flames of his spear flickered wildly in the gust, nearly guttering out.

Eyes watering from the wind, Malenia tried to follow the lion’s movements. It was still turning over in the air, and now gold lightning flashed out.

Instinct took over, and Malenia threw herself to the side as a bolt of divine energy slammed into the pavement where she’d stood less than a heartbeat earlier. Stone shrapnel sprayed up. Most of it clattered harmlessly against Malenia’s armor, but one small sliver sliced Malenia’s chin.

A streak of red–Messmer charged the lion once more.

Malenia brought her sword up and followed after him.

The race was still on to take the beast’s head.

Malenia would not be defeated.

The lion never stood a chance.

Messmer reached it first, stabbing out with his spear. The lion shifted and grabbed the spear in its mouth, then twisted, trying to rip the weapon out of Messmer’s hands. But the lion couldn’t deal with two foes at once, not two foes of the caliber of Messmer and Malenia. As it fought with Messmer for control of his spear, Malenia’s sword stabbed through where its neck would be if it were made like a normal animal. Her blade punched through the heavy brocade of the lion’s robe and pierced flesh, one of the dancers underneath.

The lion roared again and spun out, away from both Messmer and Malenia.

But the lion kept hold of Messmer’s spear, and so did Messmer. He went spinning out with it.

As he hurtled towards the ground, Messmer turned about so that he landed on his feet. As he landed, the stone under him cracked at the impact. Holding his weapon in both hands, he wrenched. The lion, still not letting go of the spear, was ripped out of its spin, under Messmer’s control. He slammed it into one of the thick walls of the yard. Dust shuddered out from the wall, covering everything, turning it all dirty grey.

Malenia came storming after Messmer and the lion both, refusing to relinquish the quarry. While Messmer finished wresting his spear free, Malenia shouldered him out of the way and brought her sword down in a vertical slice, severing the carved stone head from whatever dancer held it aloft.

With his spear finally free, Messmer swore at Malenia for taking the kill, then, almost as an afterthought, skewered the second dancer in the lion’s hindquarters.

“But I did most of the work,” Messmer grumbled.

“Not swiftly enough,” Malenia replied smugly. The vicious elation of bloodlust was in her, and she didn’t mind Messmer’s presence so much now–because he was present, she had someone to show herself better than.

“I pinned it for you,” said Messmer, aggrieved.

“Thank you, brother,” Malenia responded. “Your assistance was appreciated.”

“You got cut,” Messmer tried to argue, “On your chin.”

Malenia wiped her sword clean on the lion’s robe, then detached the blade from her right hand and sheathed it at her side. “Perhaps if you had been less hesitant, you might have won.”

“If you two are quite done, the day is young and we have a long way yet to go,” Rellana said dryly from the far side of the courtyard, by a great gate leading to the stairs that climbed Enir-Ilim.

Finlay stood next to Rellana, waiting. It was impossible to tell from her face, but Malenia thought that Finlay might be amused. When Malenia drew near, Finlay reached out and tapped a finger, glowing scarlet-gold, on Malenia’s chin, sealing the cut.

Malenia paused and smirked at Finlay.

Finlay sighed. With a thumb, she wiped away the blood on Malenia’s chin and then kissed the place she’d just healed.

Messmer made an exaggerated gagging noise, cut short when Rellana flicked his nose.

[] [] []

The arduous climb up Enir-Ilim took, as Malenia judged it, an eternity.

There were endless stairs. Sometimes the stairs were broken up by landings, but there was far more stair than landing. And here, it seemed, Messmer’s purge had never been quite as thorough as in Belurat below. From time to time, warriors whom Messmer and Rellana identified as remnants of the original inhabitants tried to block the ascent. They were dispatched easily, but, nevertheless, their presence complicated the party’s progress. They were not able to summit the tower before dusk, indeed, they were just past halfway, so they found one of the indoor landings to camp for the night.

The landing was a nondescript room in a tower–for everything in Enir-Ilim was some sort of tower. The citadel seemed to be constructed as a series of narrow towers and bridges, branching one from the side of another, piercing ever higher. The hornsent had built this place for no reason but to ascend.

Malenia found that the higher they went, the more imperative it was that she not look down–or up.

Sitting around a conjuring of Messmer’s fire with the others, Finlay turned towards Rellana. “Why are there so many enemies remaining here?” she asked. “Did the crusade not come this high?”

Rellana glanced at Messmer, and then it was Messmer who answered. “I left them here,” he said. “To defend the gate that Miquella seeks now.”

“They are not much protection,” Malenia said. “They fall easily.”

“They were not the only protection I set,” Messmer said. “This place was sealed with shadows that only I could burn away. But…” Here, he shrugged.

“And that is why you let Romina be for so long, but then slew her,” Malenia concluded. “And you say that I should trust you?”

One of Messmer’s snakes, arched up to rest against his cheek, tilted its head to one side. Its pink tongue flicked out at Malenia. “I have never said that you ought to trust me,” Messmer said, almost petulant.  “Nor would I presume to offer guidance on such a matter.”

“Will you stand with me against Miquella?” Malenia asked directly.

“I do not want to see him ascend as he is now,” Messmer replied. “But I will not raise a blade against him. Will you?”

Malenia glanced towards Finlay. At Ensis, Finlay had asked a similar question, and Malenia had answered. But Malenia’s answer to Finlay was not something she was inclined to repeat to Messmer.

“As I understand it, you are already a kinslayer,” Messmer remarked. He said in an offhand manner, but the tension in his body and the keenness of his attention betrayed his interest.

Finlay stirred. “There was cause,” she said.

“I do not doubt it,” Messmer said, sparing Finlay a glance. “Every crime has a cause.”

Malenia raised a hand to forestall Finlay’s retort.

“I owe it to Miquella to divert him from this course,” Malenia said. “If I should raise a blade against him, would you turn on me?”

The firelight cast a play of light and shadow across Messmer’s face. “I would stand back and let you both have it out,” he said. “I will not step between you.”

“Is that how you think this will end?” Malenia asked. “Is that how you have planned for this to end?”

Messmer scoffed. “Do I seem the sort to plot?” he asked.

Next to him, Rellana shook her head. “The plan was that you would come here and ascend with Miquella,” she said. “There has been no real plan since you refused him.” She inclined her head towards Finlay. “No one anticipated Finlay.”

“Miquella should have,” Malenia muttered.

“He has the mind of a great sage, and a kind heart,” Rellana replied. “Or, he had such a heart. But neither logic nor kindness can replace empathy. I think he could not fully grasp that you might have any other love that rivaled his love for you.”

“Can he be restored?” Malenia asked.

She did not like the silence that followed.

“If it is possible, then you would be the only one who can achieve it,” Rellana finally answered. “But can anyone ever be made to be as they once were? We can always change. We can never go back.”

[] [] []

The second half of the ascent up Enir-Ilim went in the same manner as the first. Stairs, stairs, more stairs, and the occasional challenge from the remnants of whatever civilization Messmer had once extinguished with his flame.

Although Malenia thought she had managed to impress upon herself the first day not to look down or up, she did both anyway. Down, she saw a thicket of roofs of towers, and tiny bridges as well, territory that they had already traversed. Up, almost nothing at all. Just the dizzying height of clear sky and only one or two more spires to climb.

They were close.

On the steps up to the second to last spire, they found a corpse–not one that they had made.

Malenia did not recognize it, but Finlay did. “It’s Thiollier,” she said, crouching over the body and examining the mask that covered its face. “He was with Leda before. It’s a stab wound. Someone ran him through and left him to bleed out.” She looked over at the trail of blood smeared over the steps below the body. “He tried to crawl forward after, but then he gave out. The blood is fresh. This was recent.”

“Who else would be here in opposition to Miquella?” Malenia asked.

Finlay shook her head. She didn’t know. Neither did Rellana or Messmer. With the flick of a hand, Messmer cremated the body. Then they pressed on.

There was another corpse at the top of the steps.

This one, Finlay said, was Ansbach. Malenia recalled Ansbach–he had been the knight of Mohg who had fallen for Miquella’s charms. His death was no great loss. But it did worry her that someone, something, was on the spires ahead of them, hunting her twin’s retinue.

Perhaps not someone or something, but several people or several somethings. She felt them ahead, though, the longer she relied on her eyes, the harder she found it to clearly focus on the currents of decay. In a way, having sight distracted her.

“They are waiting for us,” she murmured to the others.

“Who?” Messmer demanded.

“I think…” Malenia started. Then she shook her head. “I do not know.”

But when they did attain the second to last spire, Malenia did know their foe.

Though Malenia had never before laid eyes on her, she recognized Leda at once. Miquella’s power lay all about her. Accompanying Leda in the enclosed landing, yet another tower chamber, stood Freyja the Redmane, the monk called Dane, and a humanoid wrapped in bandages.

This chamber was one of the largest that they had encountered on their ascent. It had a sandy floor, and the walls around it had a curious architecture–they started out as usual walls, but rose only part of the way up to the ceiling before receding back. The place reminded Malenia of the old colosseum in Leyndell. It was an arena, of sorts.

Malenia noted that Leda’s sword was unsheathed and dripping blood, making for a grim juxtaposition with her pearlescent armor. Had Leda killed Thiollier and Ansbach?

“Have you changed your mind then?” Leda asked. “Will you accept kindly Miquella’s grace?” Her voice had the razor edge of zealotry.

Malenia gazed coolly at Leda. “If I am as my twin, then you will step aside and allow me to pass,” she said.

Leda did not step aside. “Have you come here to join him?” she asked.

“I am here to speak with him,” Melania said.

“If you are not here to join him, then I apologize for this,” Leda said. She took a step forward, raising her bloody sword. Gold light, so brilliant as to be nearly white, swirled about her. “In this hour, you may not approach.”

Malenia started to reach for her blade, but Rellana stepped out ahead of her. “Be on your way, little Malenia,” Rellana said. She drew her two swords. One ignited with crimson flames, the other burned icy blue. “We will deal with this riffraff.”

Messmer, not sparing Malenia so much as a glance, followed after Rellana, raising his spear and calling his own fire.

Finlay touched Malenia’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said.

Malenia nodded.

As Rellana and Messmer charged towards Leda and her allies, Malenia and Finlay slipped around the melee towards the far door.

Beyond the door lay another flight of stairs, and then the last spire.

With every step Malenia took, the world felt colder, darker. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

By the time they reached the massive gate at the top of the steps, she realized that the feeling that it was colder, darker, was not merely in her head. The world itself was cold and dark, she could see by the way shadows did not fall. She started to look up, but Finlay hissed a warning.

“Don’t,” Finlay said. “Eclipse. Rellana said not to look at it directly.”

Malenia brought her eyes down again, to Finlay. She could not recall Rellana saying anything like that, but, then, she was not terribly concerned with such things and if Rellana had said something of it, Malenia would likely have forgotten. She nodded. “I see,” she said. She turned back to the enormous gate, open, with a vast open space beyond, and two enormous pillars jutting up in the distance. “Are you ready, Finlay?”

Finlay’s answer came quick and sure. “Of course, my lady.”

And that was all that needed to be said.

Side by side, they advanced through the gate.

The space beyond did not seem like anything that could exist so high in the air. It was so wide, so open. The ground beneath their feet was sandy, but it was not sand. Malenia’s sense of decay told her what it was. Bone dust. Ancient bones so weathered that they remembered nothing of what they’d once been. In a few places, more recent bones lay scattered, femurs, skulls, tibias, fingerbones. And there were two pillars some distance away, and those pillars too were bones, but more complete and with desiccated skin still on them, corpses, packed one on top of another, and every one of them clawing to climb up to the pinnacle of the macabre pile.

The world was entirely dark now, the eclipse total.

But in the dark, the space between the pillars shone gold, radiant. Together, Malenia and Finlay started towards the pillars, for the pillars surely were their destination.

As they approached, Miquella’s voice sounded, seeming to come from every direction. “Sister. I am almost finished. When I am finished, then we shall speak.”

“Miquella,” Malenia called back. “Stop. Stop this. You cannot be a god without a heart.” She heard her voice go plaintive, and, for all her pride, she cared so much for Miquella that she didn’t care. So what if she begged? Despite all he had done, for him, she would beg.

Miquella’s voice replied, reverberating throughout the dark and empty space. “I will be a kindly god. My age will be an age of compassion.”

“How can you lead an age of compassion without a heart?” Malenia pleaded. “Without love?”

“Those are mortal concerns,” Miquella said.

“Miquella–”

Miquella cut her off. “We shall speak when I am finished.”

And he said no more.

Malenia and Finlay had come now to the base of a flight of steps leading up to pillars. Malenia clenched both her hands into fists at her side. She was not a great mage. She had come all this way on the conviction that she must stop her twin, but without any clear plan how.

What could she do?

The rot?

Malenia scowled and stretched out her awareness of decay around her.

The pillars were strange things. They were built of corpses, corpses so ancient that they should have long ago joined the dust beneath Malenia’s feet. But the corpses had not succumbed to time. They had not decayed.

They had also never known Malenia’s power.

Malenia raised her left hand–

Something dark came hurtling out of the gold between the pillars, so fast that Malenia, concentrating on the pillars, had no time to react. But before it fell on her, a scarlet-gold wall slammed into existence, and the thing crashed into it.

Immediately abandoning her attempt on the pillars, Malenia set her sword in her right hand and locked it in place. Next to her, she heard Finlay’s sword slide free of its sheath as well.

The thing, momentarily rebuffed, had retreated a few steps back to collect itself.

Himself.

Godwyn.

He wore armor, the kind he’d once worn in battle against the dragons, heavy and ornate, washed in gold, inset with sapphire enamel. His white-blonde hair, in a loose braid, lay over his shoulder to hang in front of him. In his right hand he held a colossal, long-handled axe, so great that a mortal would not be able to lift it.

Many had often said that, so armored and carrying his axe, he looked the spitting image of his father, Godfrey, Marika’s first lord–though those who’d seen both said Godwyn stood slightly slimmer and slightly taller and so much more handsome. As long as he had lived, there had been no question who should inherit Marika’s dominion. None of Marika’s other children would think to stand against him. Then he died, and so the world shattered. To see him now…

His skin was grave-pale and waxy. His features were sunken. His eyes, bright in Malenia’s memory, were dark, and something flickered in them, a sort of spectral light strange to gold, that sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes struck Malenia as hollow in a way that she could not put to words. 

Malenia swallowed. “Destined death took you,” she said. Against her will, her voice trembled.

The voice that came out of Godwyn’s throat was as Malenia recalled, deep and powerful, commanding. “Yield, Malenia,” he rumbled. “Miquella wishes you unharmed.”

Anger steadied Malenia. “That, I do not believe.”

“Believe as you will,” Godwyn said. “Yield.”

“What reason have you to oppose me?” Malenia demanded. “By what right do you stand between me and my twin?”

Godwyn’s tone remained even as he answered. “Miquella has raised me to be his consort. I was born to be a lord. Now I am his. He will speak with you when he is ready.”

“Are you his chosen consort?” Malenia growled. “Or just his dog?”

Godwyn raised his axe an inch. “Have a care, youngest sister. My patience is thinner than your twin’s.”

“Patience?” Malenia spat. “Yours may be thin, but I have none.”

In a flash, Malenia hurtled forward, and Godwyn met her. Both of them moved for killing blows immediately. There was too much at stake to fritter away time and strength on anything less than fatal intent. Malenia made to stab through Godwyn’s center, just below his sternum, a point that she could not miss. Godwyn, gripping the long haft of his axe in both hands, swept his weapon out horizontally to cleave Malenia in half.

Almost too late, doubt flickered in Malenia’s chest. She could not fall here. She could not fail Miquella, and she could not leave Finlay as she had been left barely a week prior. Smoothly, she brought her blade around to the side and twisted, catching Godywn’s blow on the flat of her sword in a perfectly executed parry. She absorbed the momentum of his strike and moved with it, taking several steps in time, then disengaged to dart in behind his guard.

But not for nothing had Marika named Godwyn her heir.

He pivoted to bring his axe haft between himself and Malenia in a defensive posture to block any strike from her blade. At the same time, he shoved forward, slamming his armored shoulder into Malenia’s throat.

With a sick crunch, Malenia went flying backwards. She hit the dusty ground and skidded several yards more, unable to maintain her poise for the explosion of pain and shock overwhelming her senses. At once, Finlay was at Malenia’s side. In the dark of the eclipse, the light of her faith shone bright about her fingertips. She touched Malenia’s throat, restoring structure to crushed cartilage and reknitting fine muscles in Malenia’s neck.

Godwyn stood, axe held easily, some ten paces away, waiting.

Sword drawn in her right hand, Finlay offered Malenia her left, helping Malenia back up to her feet.

“Yield, Malenia,” Godwyn said again.

Malenia raised her sword again. “No.”

Godwyn nodded once, and then he charged. An awful roar ripped from his throat. As he charged, eerie white-blue flames kindled around the blade of his axe. An ugly snarl contorted his pale face. Godwyn’s father had worn the lion Serosh to calm his ceaseless lust for battle. Godwyn had no such retainer of his own.

Together, Malenia and Finlay they met Godwyn’s charge. They did not need to exchange any words. Malenia stabbed her long blade forward as Finlay stepped across to block the swing of Godywn’s axe.

When the three collided, the brilliance of white fire crashing against scarlet faith lit the dark, and the sound of it rang like a peel of thunder. 

Godwyn hit with such force that Finlay, holding her guard, slid a full pace backwards across the bone-dust ground. As for Malenia’s thrust, with a smooth motion he transitioned to wielding his axe with a single hand and swatted Malenia’s blade aside with the back of his other hand so that it passed him by harmlessly. Rather than disengage for another swing, he stomped a foot down and pushed himself up in a high leap, twisting, bringing his axe about to slam down on them.

Malenia threw herself to the right and Finlay threw herself to the left.

Godwyn’s axe smote the ground, cleaving down at least a foot and sending up such a great cloud of dust and cold fire that Malenia nearly lost sight of him in it.

Lest Godwyn have any time to recover, Malenia and Finlay both surged forward, each attacking a different flank.

Moving fast, Godwyn rose up and cast out a hand towards Finlay. A pulse of blue-white flame flew from his fingers and caught her full in the chest, blowing her back. Even as he did this, he whirled around to counter Malenia as well, taking his axe again with both hands.

Malenia ducked under a strike aimed to decapitate her, kept charging forward.

Godwyn dodged to the side, then pivoted to jam his knee up and around, catching Malenia full in the gut. Malenia stumbled back with a heavy grunt, and Godwyn followed up, slamming an armored punch into her sternum, fully lifting her off the ground by several inches.

Staggering, wind entirely knocked out of her, Malenia swung her sword up into a guard, not against any particular blow, just to get her weapon between her and Godwyn.

Before Godwyn could continue his assault, Finlay came charging back into the fight from the side. Screaming fury and wreathed in blinding scarlet, she crashed into him with the force of a raging dragon. 

With the split second Finlay bought her, Malenia regained her breath.

Then, snarling, she too again threw herself at Godwyn.

The three of them were now whirls of steel and violence and faith and fire. Back and forth they danced. Sweat poured down Malenia’s face. 

Slowly, as they all tired, Malenia and Finlay started, bit by bit, to gain the advantage. Godwyn, able at first to manage the fight outnumbered, could not defend himself on two fronts indefinitely. Here and there, Malenia’s and Finlay’s blows started to slip through his guard. They never quite landed squarely and with enough force to do more than nick or dent his plate armor, nor did they ever find the chinks in that armor, but, given long enough, he would fall.

And then for Miquella.

Time, though, was not on their side.

Gradually, the battlefield started to lighten. The eclipse faded. The gold of the gate brightened. When it happened–

A shockwave blasted forth from the gate, staggering Godwyn, staggering Malenia, knocking Finlay clean off her feet. There was so much light that, for a moment, Malenia had to blindly backpedal away from Godwyn, waiting for her sight to clear. The light had even overwhelmed her connection to the currents of decay, for this light, eternal, did not decay.

Miquella’s voice reverberated through every bit of Malenia’s being. “Sister. Cease this futile struggle. Did you not always desire peace? Let there be peace.”

The dark spots dancing across Maleina’s sight started to fade. She saw him, her brother, her twin, Miquella, standing next to Godwyn. Miquella did not look as she remembered him. He stood tall, as tall as a fully grown adult, and his face resembled Malenia’s, Messmer’s, and Marika’s. His hair flowed down past his bare feet. He had one hand on Godwyn’s shoulder, and beneath his touch Godwyn straightened, the weariness of battle falling away..

“You’ve done well, my consort lord,” Miquella murmured to Godwyn.

Godwyn caught Malenia’s eyes with his grave-flame gaze, then, smirking, he took Miquella’s hand and brushed his lips to Miquella’s knuckles.

“Miquella,” Malenia whispered. “What have you done?”

Miquella gestured to Godwyn. “I have restored our brother,” he said. And now he sounded hurt. “For you would not take your rightful place at my side.”

“You would have sacrificed me in your pursuit,” Malenia replied.

Miquella fixed his eyes on Malenia. Those eyes shone so bright that there was no trace at all of the blue they’d once been. They were only light. “No,” he said. “Your knight, yes. But not you.”

As Malenia and Miquella spoke, Finlay came up behind Malenia. Out of long habit, Malenia reached back with her left hand and rested it on Finlay’s shoulder. “Did you ever see me as anything other than an extension of yourself?” Malenia asked. “Such that I might not have any love of my own? Such that you could dispose of the one to whom I pledged my heart and yet keep me?”

“You and I have always been two aspects of one being,” Miquella said. “You might have other loves, but you do not need them so long as you have me.” His expression was so serene that it betrayed nothing of what he might think, what he might feel. Perhaps he felt nothing.

“And now that you are a god, does anyone need any love now, save love for you?” Malenia asked.

“They will love me, and so long as they love me, that will suffice.”

“Will you love them?” Malenia asked.

“I abandoned that fetter,” Miquella said. “As you should have done as well.”

“If I ever gave up my love, I would certainly not then follow you,” Malenia replied. “It is only because I love you that I am here now.”

“You would not help me in my time of need,” Miquella said. “How can you claim to love me?”

“How could you claim to love me and yet respect me so little?” Malenia snapped.

Miquella answered with silence.

“You did love me, once, didn’t you?” Malenia asked.

“I did,” Miquella said simply. “I do.”

“And what are we now?” asked Malenia.

“We are still twins,” Miquella said. “There will always be a place for you at my side. You need only pledge yourself to me, and only to me. Return to me.”

“I will not return to you, not the way that you want,” Malenia said. “And I would not call it a return. I do not think that I was ever yours in the way you desire. I am Malenia. I am only Malenia. I am not yours.”

“I am a god now,” Miquella replied. He held out a hand to indicate the vast desolation surrounding them.  “Everything is mine.”

“I am as much a god as you,” Malenia said softly.

Miquella lowered his hand. Condescension dripped from his voice. “Sister, you are not. I offered you apotheosis. You refused. You are a blade, and you will never be anything more.”

Anger flared in Malenia’s chest, but she tamped it down. Anger would do only mischief here. Only when she thought she would sound calm did she say, “In all our long existence you have never so belittled me.”

Micquella scoffed. “In all our long existence you have never chosen so poorly.”

“For what reason do you scorn my choice?” Malenia asked. “Because it would have suited you better had I chosen otherwise?”

“You have discarded your birthright.”

“I have kept my will and my freedom.”

“And what is the use of those except for the pursuit of folly?” Miquella replied. “How many are the legion who have used will and freedom to inflict suffering on others? How many are the legion who have had will and freedom and still been mired in misery? There will be peace in my age without them.”

Malenia’s eyes drifted to Godwyn at Miquella’s side. She did not feel any trace of decay on him. Rather, he was an absence of decay, much like the unalloyed gold of Malenia’s limbs and blade. And still his eyes smoldered with grave-flame. A dead prince for a dead world. 

Malenia let her own eyes shut for a moment–but there was no darkness. Miquella’s radiance was too bright. For some time now she had known how this would end. She had hoped… “I cannot allow that,” Malenia said.

“You would oppose me?” Miquella asked.

“Yes,” Malenia answered. “Because I love you.”

“No,” Miquella said. “I think that you do not. But you will.”

“Lord Finlay,” Malenia said. Stepping forward, she let go of Finlay’s shoulder. “I require that you deal with Godwyn. I will see to Miquella.”

Before, it had taken both of them to deal with Godwyn. But now Malenia needed Finlay to face him alone. For Malenia, Finlay would do it, and she would succeed. 

Finlay raised her sword to Godwyn once more.

And Malenia, holding nothing back, surged towards Miquella, her own blade extended.

Briefy, Finlay was at Malenia’s side, but then they separated, both intent on their own opponents.

Miquella faded back and raised a hand, conjuring a shield of white gold so brilliant that she lost sight of him behind it. Rather than divert her course, she slammed into it, sword first, trying to smash it down with brute force. However, it held. Dragging her sword against its smooth surface, she darted to the side, looking for a way around.

Suddenly, the shield vanished. Malenia, who had been partly leaning against her sword on the shield to maintain pressure on it, wobbled. A blast of gold caught her in the side and sent her flying up and back several yards. She managed to land on her feet, but her ribs were surely bruised from the impact.

Exactly where he’d been standing before, Miquella lowered a hand. His face remained a picture of serenity, though the air around him crackled with power and stank of dry flame.

Malenia growled.

Allowing neither of them any time for her recovery, she hurled herself forward again. This time, a split second before she thought Miquella would again raise a shield, she jumped up, catching him off guard. As she came down on his position, her sword danced, tracing several dozen slashing cuts in an instant, too many and too fast to follow. Miquella spun about in a swirl of light and vanished, reappearing some distance away, out of reach. As he reappeared, he raised a hand and bolts of white lightning flashed out at Malenia. Malenia threw herself out of the way of the bolts, then started to sprint towards where Miquella had fled to. But by the time she was coming close again, he again removed himself from her way.

Frustrated to no end, Malenia slowed briefly to catch her breath and think how she would catch Miquella if he kept running from her. As she slowed, she noted that, across the field, Finlay and Godwyn were locking blades and hurling blasts of power at one another in a devastating dance of their own. Neither had taken any serious injuries yet.

“There was no need for this,” Miquella’s voice rang out. “There is no need for this. Give me back your heart, and we can stop quarreling thus.”

Starting at an even pace, Malenia started to stalk towards Miquella, going slow, as she knew he’d fly off before she got to him. Still, she advanced. She would not be stopped. “You are not entitled to it,” she said. “I have told you no. You cannot force me otherwise.”

Miquella did not reply with words. He gestured, and light shot up from the ground all around. Malenia’s eyes widened–she had not expected such a change in tactics. Without time to think, she leapt up, and where she’d been standing a moment ago, bone and bone dust was blasted up and apart by an explosion that must have been at least ten yards across.

For a second Malenia hung suspended, done rising from her leap, but not yet falling towards the ruinous gold below. She had nowhere to land. Caught thus, time slowed for Malenia. Beholden to gravity, she started to tip downwards. 

The rot had her.

It felt her need, and it provided.

The skin of her back ripped apart and the rot burst forth, not as sludge, but as a thousand butterflies with wings in every shade of red, of orange, of scarlet. As they started to fly free, they caught in her hair, and so they held her aloft, wings of her own.

Rather than crash down to the earth below and into Miquella’s tempest of gold, Malenia swooped down and then shot back up, rising up out of the cloud of light and dust, soaring above it all. More an expression of power than physical things, the wings of rot spread out as she ascended, trailing falling butterflies. 

In the clear air over the battle, for a heartbeat’s time Malenia felt distant, peaceful.

Only for a heartbeat though.

Finding her twin again, she folded her wings dove towards him, renewing her assault.

Again, Miquella shifted himself away.

Malenia pivoted in her dive, shifting her downward momentum forward instead as she plunged after him.

Not a warrior, Miquella took too long to react and adapt to the change in the battle. Backpedaling, he raised a hand and white light shot out at Malenia. Miquella hadn’t aimed, and Malenia avoided the blast easily, twisting out of its way as she still came on.

Miquella threw up a shield now–

Malenia barreled through the shield, sword first, shattering it into a thousand flecks of fading light. On the other side, her sword narrowly missed impaling Miquella’s left shoulder. Malenia slammed bodily into Miquella’s ethereal form, bowling him over. They landed together in a pile on the ground in a puff of bone dust. Malenia had the sense to throw her left hand out to grab a fistful of Miquella’s long hair lest he vanish again.

It was childish, yes, but, for a moment, wrestling him down, Malenia felt like they were children again.

Flailing under her, Miquella crammed a hand against Malenia’s face to push her away. His form had always been frail, and abandoning his flesh to shine as a spirit hadn’t done anything for his strength. He had no more effect on Malenia than a kitten trying to shove over a mountain.

Quickly, Malenia got herself over him, locking her legs around his torso so he couldn’t squirm away. She never let go of his hair. Instead, she looped more of it around her hand, getting a better grip. There would be no more running.

“Yield, Miquella,” Malenia grunted.

Even as they grappled, she’d kept her sword clear. Now, she held it off to the side, aloft, but not clearly threatening. Importantly, it was out of Miquella’s reach, lest he form any ill-conceived plan. At her back, her wings of rot spread out over them both.

“And then what?” Miquella asked. His facade of serenity had begun to crack, revealing a glimpse of the ugly anger beneath. “What will you do then?”

“How do I find your heart and shove it back in you?” Malenia growled. Her rage and desperation made it hard to choke words out. But she managed. “How do I get my brother back?”

Miquella shook his head as much as he was able given Malenia’s grip on his hair. “What I have done will not be undone,” he said. “I will have my age.”

“You will not,” Malenia snapped.

“So will it be your age instead?” Miquella asked. His serenity was entirely gone now. He snarled as he spoke. “An age of decay? Will you inflict yourself on the world?”

Miquella’s questions each felt like a knife stabbing into Malenia’s chest. “You think I would do that?” she asked. “You think so little of my character?”

“You have started it already,” Miquella spat. “Look at yourself. Look at your knight. Will you be the inheritors of divinity? You are both spoilage that walks.”

Malenia glanced towards where Finlay and Godwyn were still struggling against one another. Neither had gained an upper hand. Finlay’s swordsmanship was technically fine, though markedly uninspired. Her furious casting, however, showed unmatched mastery. Her faith, far more scarlet than gold, blazed through every possible iteration of violence in a heartbeat’s time, again and again. Whenever she needed a shield, she would raise one, but she poured far more of her power into blasting Godwyn with a ceaseless barrage of scarlet.

“You have accumulated so much power now,” Miquella continued. “What else would you do with it but spread your putrescence?”

Malenia returned her attention to her twin. “I would live my life,” she said. “With Finlay, in peace, unscorned, unburdened.”

“We were born for greater things than that,” Miquella said, scorn thick in his voice.

“I am not bound to our birth,” Malenia hissed. “I don’t want anything other than that.”

Some emotion that Malenia did not recognize flickered across Miquella’s face. Then his expression softened. “Fine. In my age, I will give you that,” he said. “We can set this behind us. Take your knight, go, there will be a place for you.”

Malenia hesitated.

“You doubt me?” Miquella asked. “Have I ever lied to you?”

He had, surely he had, but no occasion came to mind. Except that–

“You said that you love me,” Malenia replied.

“You know that I love you,” Miquella said.

Now, every word that Malenia spoke hurt. She could barely force them out for the emptiness in her chest. “You discarded love,” Malenia said, voice breaking. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. “You do not love me.”

Miquella shook his head. He reached up and stroked Malenia’s cheek. “I do,” he said. “I do love you. All that I have ever done, it was always for you.”

“You do not,” Malenia said quietly, even as she tilted her face towards her twin’s touch. He might not love her, but she still loved him so much. “You did. But not…”

“I do,” Miquella repeated. “What would make you believe?”

Malenia could no longer hold back her tears. Her vision blurred. “Nothing,” she murmured.

Miquella’s hand trailed down, along her neck, towards her heart.

They were twins.

They were two aspects of one being.

Malenia knew him.

Miquella had always been smarter, more charismatic, more beloved, more sure of his place in the world.

For Malenia’s part–

She had always been stronger.

And she had always been faster.

Acting on instinct that foreran thought, before he could curl his fingers and steal her will for his own, she jerked back from him, shifted to bring her sword around, then ran it clean through where his own heart had once been.

Across the field, Godwyn faltered. In his moment of weakness, Finlay brought her sword up in a vertical slash, cutting clean into his vulnerable armpit and relieving him of his right arm. Then, as he staggered, she spun about and severed his head from his body.

Malenia and Miquella both stared dumbly at her blade of unalloyed gold sticking out from his chest. There was no blood.

“I…” Malenia started. “I didn’t mean to…”

Miquella touched the place where the sword pierced him with ghostly fingertips. He wasn’t a creature of flesh, not anymore. He was a creature of ethereal light, and his light, around the edges, was starting to fray, to dissipate. Malenia’s sword may have been first made of his blood, but just as it was inimical to time and to rot, it was likewise inimical to the divinity he’d raised himself to. “You did,” he murmured, surprised.

Malenia shook her head fiercely. Stammering, “I thought… I thought you were going to… I…” 

An incredulous chuckle escaped Miquella’s lips. “I was,” he said. “I was going to take your heart.”

Malenia slumped. She relaxed her grip on Miquella’s hair. The hair was slowly fading from between her fingers regardless. “You shouldn’t have…” Malenia started. She didn’t understand. Was it over? It was over. It had happened so fast. It shouldn’t have happened like this. “It was not yours to take… If you had not…”

“I think… I should have known,” Miquella mused, almost to himself rather than to Malenia.

“You did know,” Malenia murmured. “Miquella, you did know. I knew, and so you must have known. But you did…”

“It would have been a good age,” said Miquella, still seeming to converse with himself rather than with his sister.

Fingers trembling, Malenia caressed the dimming outline of Miquella’s cheek with her left hand. “I’m so sorry… I wish…”

Miquella let his eyes close. The corners of his lips turned up in a small, sad smile. “I wished many things,” he said.

“You wished so badly, Miquella,” Malenia said, without rancor, with regret. “So very badly.”

“Perhaps,” said Miquella. “But now you will live your life, with your knight.”

Wordlessly, Malenia nodded.

Miquella sighed. “I would speak with Finlay.”

Malenia tensed.

Miquella surely felt it. “I know,” he said. “But this time I mean her no harm. I am not so spiteful.”

Slowly, Malenia nodded. She looked towards Finlay, who was already near but keeping a respectful distance. Dark ichor from Godwyn’s beheading splattered her front, still wet, dribbling down her golden cuirass.

Miquella opened his eyes. As his light faded, the barest hint of blue had returned to them. He turned his ethereal face towards Finlay. “Finlay, come here,” he said.

Finlay hesitated.

“Sister…”

Malenia caught Finlay’s eye and inclined her head by a degree.

Finlay hesitated a moment longer, then knelt down next to Malenia, over Miquella.

Miquella reached up, and Finlay took his hand.

Where they touched, gold light shone forth.

“Finlay, I give you my abundance,” Miquella whispered. His form had waned now to just an outline of him, traced in the faintest of lights. “I charge only that you wield it Malenia’s service.”

“All that I do and all that I am is in her service,” Finlay murmured.

“I know you love her,” Miquella replied. His voice was so soft now that Malenia could barely hear it. “Better than I did. And that is why I can go now. Sister, I’m sorry. I only…”

Whatever else Miquella said, whatever else he’d meant to say, Malenia did not hear.

He was gone.

Malenia knelt still, leaning on her sword, stabbed into the dust of bones.

She felt the weight of all that had transpired on her shoulders, threatening to push her down and grind her face into the dirt. Miquella, her brother, her twin, was gone. He was…

“I forgive you,” Malenia whispered.

Finlay removed her helm and set it aside. Then she put an arm around Malenia’s shoulders. It was a very awkward gesture–because of Malenia’s wings, Finlay’s arm circled more Malenia’s neck than her shoulders. Finlay set her forehead against Malenia’s temple. “I love you, my lady,” she said. “My lady, Malenia.”

Malenia turned her face so that her forehead now lay against Finlay’s. Quietly, she replied, “I love you, Finlay.”

[] [] []

Spring in Elphael arrived slowly, gradually.

The snow that had blanketed the city in winter abated in fits. In the early days, it would melt a bit a while after noon, but then freeze again later as hard, slick ice. In the mornings, everyone had to take special care not to slip. 

Eventually though, as days grew longer and the sun brighter, winter receded.

It was something of a pity as Malenia had an easier time convincing Finlay to linger in bed when it was frigid outside. But Finlay would not be herself if she spent too much time idling.

Malenia, on the other hand–

“My lady, it is almost dawn. We will be late.”

Malenia rolled over in their bed. The bed was warm. The room, although not particularly cold, was not as warm as the bed. “We cannot be late,” Malenia muttered. “They will not go without us.”

Finlay, already up and dressed, seized the blanket covering Malenia with both hands and yanked.

Malenia sat up immediately, swearing and trying in vain to grab the blanket back.

Rather than return the blanket, Finlay handed Malenia her golden right arm.

One of Miquella’s gifts.

It would not take too much effort for Malenia to create a new right arm for herself as she had restored her left arm and renewed her eyes. But…

Once Malenia was up, it did not take long to dress and set out. As they passed the courtyard of the Cleanrot’s barracks, their home, Finlay paused. The ground had only recently thawed, but Finlay’s garden was already tending towards weeds. It would require attention, and soon.

Finlay knelt down and touched the earth. She took a deep breath in and then exhaled long. Beneath her fingers, the earth shifted and fresh green, new growth, shot up. As Malenia watched, a bush sprouted, budded, and blossomed in only a few moments. From the bush, Finlay plucked one of the flowers, a scarlet peony. With a lopsided grin, she offered it to Malenia.

Malenia smiled but made no move to take the flower. “And what will I do with that?” she asked.

In reply, Finlay snorted. She tucked the flower into the clasp of Malenia’s cloak.

In the main square of the city, Loretta and Niall waited for them with four saddled horses. O’Neil was absent–after all, someone had to mind things.

“You’re late,” Niall rumbled as they approached. Though quite old now, age had not bowed him. Finlay had spoken with Niall and Loretta both. Their time would come at their choosing. For now, there was still so much to do. But not today. Today was just for them.

“You are still here,” Malenia answered. She went to one of the horses, a dark chestnut who knew her very well. She mounted easily. Finlay, Loretta, and Niall all followed suit.

Finlay patted her horse’s neck fondly. As Malenia understood it, that particular horse had set a record for the longest Finlay had ever managed to keep a horse alive.

Malenia nudged her knees into her horse’s flanks, urging it forward at a walk.

The four of them together traversed the long paved boulevard that cut through the center of the city. On either side, tall buildings faced in clean, white stone towered high. Here and there, an ornate bridge spanned the street, connecting the upper stories of the buildings. As it was still early–no matter what Finlay and Niall said–there were very few residents out and about. What few there were though made themselves seem a crowd, shouting greetings and waving at the small party.

As they approached the main gate of the city, they passed a statue of Miquella. In stone, he knelt in prayer, a small hint of a smile on his lips but otherwise serene.

High above them, the tree that Miquella had planted stood grand and strong, its new spring leaves rustling in the wind. Finlay had been tending to it well, though, unlike Miquella, she gave it water rather than blood. It was, after all, a plant, not a wolf.

The guards opened the city gates for them.

Beyond the perimeter of Elphael stretched a great plain of tundra just barely touched by first spring. Malenia inhaled deeply of the crisp, cool air. It smelled, overwhelmingly, of life. In the east, the sun was just starting to peek above the horizon.

Finlay drew up to Malenia’s side. “My lady?”

Rather than answer with words, Malenia urged her horse into a gallop to take off across the open plain. Only a heartbeat after, Finlay did the same, drawing up to match pace with Malenia.

They were not racing, just riding.

They went on until Malenia felt her horse starting to tire, and then she slowed back down to a trot, then a walk, then came to a halt. 

At some point, Loretta and Niall had fallen so far behind them as to be almost out of sight.

Malenia turned to Finlay, who was looking off to something in the distance.

“With spring upon us, it will be a while before we have this much time to ourselves again,” Finlay said. “I think–”

Malenia leaned over to kiss Finlay’s cheek. Catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Finlay turned, and Malenia kissed her lips instead.

When they pulled apart, Finlay grinned and laughed.

Malenia smiled, laughed, and kissed Finlay again.

Notes:

holy shit it's finished

thank you to everyone who has been with me for--jesus--more than a year and a half. and thank you to everyone who joined along the way. and especially thanks to folks who dropped by in the comments and talked lore with me, y'all are awesome and it was super helpful to the writing process and also kept me motivated. lord. i hope you all had as much fun as i did with this fic.