Author's Note: Ah, so good to hear that my readers enjoy! I did good with the names, eh? I wanted fairly meaningful names, but also ones that sounded exotic enough for Erna. I'd give the meaning of the names, but I don't want to hint too strongly at what's coming up.
...
Chapter One: Flight of the Ravens
Damien stood at the bow of the Golden Glory, enjoying the surprisingly warm breeze that had sprung up. According to Gerald, the warmth meant that they were nearing land: the air was warmed by the thermals rising from the dry land, and had not traveled far enough over the cold ocean water to lose that warmth. The wind had done a lot to lift the priest's spirits, both because it seemed almost hopeful in its pleasant temperature, and because it meant that they would soon be on dry land once more.
For all that he was far more comfortable on a ship in general, Gerald seemed glad to be approaching their home continent as well. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that while at sea, he was virtually cut off from the power that sustained his very existence.
As though summoned by Damien's thoughts, Gerald melted out of the darkness, a faint smile curving his lips as he moved to stand at the knight's side. "Vryce. Anticipating that first glimpse of land?"
"You have no idea." Damien said wryly. He glanced sideways at the adept, appraising him. The dynamic of their alliance was shifting yet again, and had been for some weeks now, but Damien thought that this time it might be a shift for the better.
The nightmares had eased lately, and strangely enough, Damien could have sworn that Gerald was flirting with him. It had started with the supposedly 'accidental' touches, the subtle glances that could have been real or imagined - and then the dreams changed as well. The Hunter had started insinuating himself into the dreamscapes more often, and those interactions in the dead of night... a few times, Damien had been sure that the adept was about to kiss him, right before the dream dissolved back into the fae from which it had been woven. By rights Damien probably should have been panicking, but in truth, he was rather enjoying this new element of their relationship. With the sting of Rasya's death still fresh in his mind, he had missed that simple companionship and intrigue as much as he had missed the woman herself. Whatever game Gerald was playing now, Damien was willing to play along, for now at least.
A pleasant side effect was that the cat-and-mouse flirtation seemed to have cooled the adept's temper considerably. He hadn't snapped at Damien in four weeks, although they still bickered occasionally, and though he was just as cryptic as ever, he often made his puzzling remarks with a smile on his face and a playful sparkle in his silver eyes. Damien had no clue what had brought about this sudden shift in attitude, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
After all, the Hunter was certainly attractive enough. Nothing serious could ever come of it, of course, they were far too different for that - but if a bit of flirting and maybe a roll in the hay would mellow the mercurial adept, who was Damien to object?
At the moment, Gerald was practically lounging against the railing of the ship, regarding Damien with an amused expression. Damien shot him a questioning look. "What?"
The adept chuckled softly. "You are quite the puzzle, Vryce, one that is a great deal more difficult to solve that I would have guessed. I thought you'd be storming around demanding answers by the second day - instead, you've simply adapted. Fascinating."
Damien tried and failed to suppress a grin. "This is about this... whatever the hell it is that's going on between us?"
Gerald smirked. "Eloquent as ever, Vryce: however, that does sum it up nicely. I was not expecting you to adapt so quickly - nor so calmly."
Damien cocked his head, grinning openly now. "Oh? And why's that?"
Gerald snorted softly. "For one thing, I was under the impression you were straight - and while I have in the past, shall we say, persuaded men to assume more open viewpoints... there's usually a few stages of denial and rage to get through first. Also, you've spent rather a lot of time telling me the various painful ways you plan to kill me. I foolishly assumed that meant that you harbored a dislike for me."
Damien chuckled. "Well, to address your first point, I'm bisexual: I just don't make a big deal of it. Secondly, I was making such a point out of hating you because you're unsettlingly good-looking while also being shockingly arrogant, so I figured you'd probably kill me for daring to be attracted to you."
Gerald threw back his head and laughed: genuine, carefree laughter that sparkled in the night air like stardust and made Damien's heart skip a beat. "I'm flattered, Vryce. That might have been my reaction a few months ago, but I find myself inexplicably comfortable around you now. Hence my lack of 'snapping at you', as you so elegantly put it."
Damien winced. "Damn. You heard that?"
Gerald smirked. "You think quite loudly sometimes, you know."
Before Damien could think of a suitable retort, Karril appeared on the deck of the ship. The Iezu was wan-looking and not entirely substantial, with just a hint of translucency around the edges. Gerald frowned at him.
"Karril, you look like Hell. It must be urgent if you couldn't wait until we were on land: what's wrong?"
The Iezu grimaced. "You'd better tell the Captain to hold off on making port, Gerald, it's all gone to hell here. I would have warned you sooner but I can't materialize that far out to sea. Tell the Captain to drop anchor: there's a few things you need to know."
The Captain was skeptical when Damien told him to drop anchor and wait a while before moving any closer to land, but he obeyed anyway. The three reconvened in Damien's cabin for the discussion: Karril insisted it wasn't necessary for the crew to hear the whole story. Gerald leaned against the wall by the porthole and stared steadily at Karril.
"Alright, let's hear the bad news first."
Karril sighed deeply. "The bad news is that Calesta has somehow gotten King Steafán wrapped around his little finger just as much as the Immortal Prince was."
Stunned silence descended on the cabin as Damien and Gerald froze in shock. Karril swallowed hard and went on. "The really bad news is that Steafán already had some deep-seated prejudices, which are now being brought to the fore and exercised over the whole bloody kingdom."
Gerald's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "What exactly are you saying, Karril?"
The Iezu's eyes were sad as he looked at his long-time friend. "He's started the witch-hunts again, Gerald. It's the Dark Ages all over again. They're hunting down adepts as 'tainted by evil', sorcerers are being burned at the stake - no one's safe now. The Knights of the Flame are the only ones not being actively killed but they're under orders to bring in any fae-Workers they encounter. Steafán's actually reformed the Inquisition, and he's forming up the army to lead an assault on the Forest, claiming it's a 'breeding pool of evil'. He's even sent militia forces west of the Dividers into Ganji, routing out all the Workers there. It's a massacre."
Gerald's face went completely white, colorless as marble: Damien sank down on the edge of his cot, his knees suddenly weak and useless. "What about the Hallow's Eve Court?" he asked through numb lips. Karril looked baffled.
"The what?"
"It's a Church-sanctioned order of female sorcerers, pledged to use the darker aspects of the fae against the demons, to turn their own powers against them." Gerald said quietly, reciting the facts automatically. Damien nodded.
"My sister's a part of the Court. They don't exactly make a secret out of the fact that they are in contact with demons: if the King's moving against Workers on the basis of some kind of corruption..."
Karril spread his hands, his expression one of helplessness. "I'm sorry, Reverend, I don't have any answer for that. There's one more thing you need to know, though."
Something about the Iezu's tone sent foreboding thrilling through Damien's body, and Gerald closed his eyes. "What else?"
"The King's making examples." Karril said quietly. "He forced the Patriarch to turn over the files on every Knight of the Flame for special investigation, and he took a particular interest in you, Reverend. He suspects Gerald of having ties to the Forest, and between Gerald, Ciani, and Mer Reese, you've got quite a history of working alongside fae-Workers. He... he declared exigent circumstances and had you tried for high treason, in absentia."
The world seemed to sway violently, and for a moment Damien thought he was going to be sick. He swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea. Gerald reached out, laying a hand on the Knight's shoulder, a surprising gesture of support. Damien closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to breathe, before he choked out, "What was the verdict?"
Karril shifted awkwardly. "He also added charges of consorting with powers of evil, aiding and abetting enemies of the King, and aiding and abetting known Workers. The trial made national headlines, everyone knew it was going to show just how hard he was cracking down on Workers."
"Karril. What was the verdict?"
The Iezu closed his eyes. "Guilty, tried with prejudice. The jury recommended without mercy, though I'm pretty sure they were coerced into it, but regardless... the sentence was death. I'm sorry, Reverend."
The words fell hollowly on Damien's ears, echoing and distorted, drained of meaning. Death. He had committed no crime, done no wrong: all he had ever tried to do was to protect the people of Erna, and this was his reward. A sentence of death from a deranged monarch, corrupted by a rogue Iezu bent on world domination.
Gerald's hand tightened convulsively on Damien's shoulder. When his spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically harsh. "And the King thinks that he can get away with this? The people won't stand for it, Karril, we'll have a civil uprising before the week is out."
Karril's face twisted into an expression of bitterness. "You would think so, but Steafán's been slaughtering anyone who so much as grumbles about the new regime. The people are in an uproar, but they have no one to lead them. The trial was a month ago, you know - they should have rebelled by now, but they can't get organized. Ciani's trying to do something about that - she's gone to ground in Jaggonath, and she's running a resistance group of adepts and sorcerers who've escaped the King's raiding parties. I think the Church might be your best hope, Gerald - formally they've bowed to the King's wishes, but in reality they're biding their time. The Patriarch practically burst into flames of wrath when the King made the order for the files to be turned over, apparently, and the Knights are the worst. I've even heard rumors of an Order rebellion in the West: some young up-and-coming knight by the name of... Davin Escron, I think it was."
A sudden flare of hope lit Damien's eyes. "Davin? Vulking hell, that damn kid never did learn to follow the rules."
"You know him?" Gerald asked, glancing at Damien.
"Yeah, we went through training together." Damien explained easily, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice as he spoke. He brushed it off quickly, though, and continued. "I'm not surprised he's started a revolt, the guy was a rabble-rouser from the start. Hell. What are we going to do?"
Gerald's silver eyes narrowed and sharpened, gaining a dark edge that sent tingles racing along Damien's spine. "If the people don't have a leader, then by God we'll give them one. Karril, I want you to start spreading the word amongst my various allies. Let it be known that the Forest is open as a haven for any of those being persecuted by the new laws. This is war - and if Steafán wants a fight, then he'll get one. If there's one thing I haven't forgotten from my days as a Neocount, it's how to topple a tyrant from his throne."
Karril nodded, the beginnings of a grin spreading across his face. "Just like old times, isn't it? Where will you two and the khrast be headed?"
"To Jaggonath." Gerald said firmly. "If Lady Ciani's started a resistance there, we might gain some helpful information - and I need to have a stern word with a certain Patriarch."
Karril nodded and vanished. Gerald sat down on the bunk next to Damien, his silver eyes surprisingly concerned as he brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of Damien's face. "Are you all right?"
Damien managed a shaky nod. "Yeah, just fine, considering I've just been told I'm a dead man walking." He pressed his eyes closed, trying to work through the sick dread roiling in his gut. "God, Gerald, what are we going to do?"
Gerald's expression hardened, and he said firmly, "We're going to keep fighting, Damien. And no matter what, I am not going to let Calesta win. I will destroy him, if it's the last thing I do."
Looking at the almost angelic-seeming adept who had uttered that dire threat, Damien felt oddly reassured. Because if there was one person on Erna who would stand a chance against a deranged monarch, a megalomaniacal demon, and an army of fanatical soldiers, then that person was Gerald Tarrant.
