Chapter Seven

The Dead of Night

'How's this? "And he climbed to the top of the ridge, and stared out over the barren land, wondering what foes stood betwixt him and his destiny." Well? What do you think?'

The huge oglodi, naked from the waist up apart from the leather strap holding his spaulder in place, grunted. 'Wordy.'

'You always say that!' the elf who sauntered up to his side was diminutive, especially compared to him, with youthful features set in a round face, wide eyes and messy hair held out of her eyes by a headband. Despite her size, she was carrying a heavy, odd assortment of objects on her back: sacks, an old, half-rotted chest, a bird cage containing what might have been a weirdly shaped fossil, smoked fish, a mess of supplies and random junk. 'So, go on! What else do you think?'

The oglodi grunted again. 'Axe thinks it is a long way to Stonehall. But Axe will have his revenge, and what he deserves.'

The elf drew a battered wooden board from the junk pile strapped to her back, pulled a quill from behind her ear, dipped it into the inkpot on her belt, and began to scribble on the parchment nailed to the board. 'Long way to Stonehall… revenge… what he deserves… I can work with that.'

'Axe hopes that Goodkind writes a better story than the last one.'

'Hey! I thought Red Mist, Red Passion was my best work!'

'Axe does not think so,' Axe, so rarely going by the name of Mogul Khan, rested his massive namesake against his shoulder. He never went anywhere without that axe. Except for when he'd dropped it during a fight with a gryftok. Goodkind had dragged the damn thing all the way along a river to get it back to him.

'Well, I suppose erotic thrillers aren't for everyone.' Goodkind murmured. 'They liked The Roshan Expedition better.'

'Roshan was a coward.' Axe declared. 'He fled before Axe's fury.'

'Indeed, he did.' Goodkind agreed, though it had been a close thing. Axe might not have seemed terribly intelligent—he couldn't even read—but he was a quick thinker when the need arose. The cave-in he had caused had not only saved him, Goodkind and the other members of their expedition, but it had also wounded the Roshan enough to drive it off. But it had been a very close call. Their expedition of over a dozen strong warriors had suffered heavy losses, and all of the survivors, including Axe had suffered numerous injuries. 'Now, about the current segment…'

'Are you em-bell-ish-ing?'

'Of course!' Goodkind admitted. 'At least a little. We agreed it was a good thing.'

'Axe thinks so. It has gained Axe many admirers.'

'That, and the "murder talent", yeah.' Goodkind scribbled something out. She paused, then lifted her head, frowning at Axe. 'Are you sure about this, Axe? Sorla Khan said she'd flay you alive if she met you again, and she has an entire horde at her beck and call.'

'That will not stop Axe.'

Goodkind shrugged. He had a point. A great many foes had tried to kill Axe, and they had all failed.

She looked forwards to chronicling his upcoming duel against Sorla Khan, though she was prepared to write about a single-handed massacre of the Bloodmist Army if it came to that.

It was enormous, standing upright, bulky and armoured in thick greyish scales over its mottled hide. Large, reptilian wings spread from its hunched back, and a thick tail extended towards the ground. Aurel couldn't be sure, but it looked as though some brave victim had tried to plunge a spear-tipped standard into the beast's back. A red flag, spattered with dried blood, fluttered forlornly in the wind. A pair of massive, clawed hands curled and uncurled, as if they were already seizing and crushing Aurel.

The creature's head was small by comparison to the rest of its features, but no less intimidating. Its large lower fangs stuck up over the upper lip, the jaw flanked by two, long horns.

Its real eyes were small, with a faint sulphuric glow. But what arrested Aurel's attention was the large yellow orb sat in the middle of its brow. That alone would have told him what this creature was, even without seeing the rest of it. He knew what this thing was: something which had walked out of fireside tales of horror and the nightmares they inspired.

Roshan.

Aurel stepped backwards, purely on instinct. There was no way he could have outrun the creature, even if he hadn't been injured.

Roshan growled, a low rumbling which turned Aurel's blood cold. Roshan stomped closer, completely unafraid, just toying with him like a cat with a mouse.

Aurel triggered the pistol. Roshan didn't even flinch when the shot lodged in one of his scales. Aurel swore and tried to reload, fumbling with the pouch of shot, partially due to leaning awkwardly on his improvised crutch, mostly because he was scared nearly witless.

Aurel dropped another shot and fell onto his backside, swearing again and reaching for more ammunition.

The flashes of light were followed swiftly by thunderous explosions. It was a sound Aurel knew so well from his time serving in the keenish sky force: a flak cannon.

Roshan staggered, roaring, as the shells tore chunks out of his hide and scales.

Aurel turned his head, staring in shock as Marci raised the flak cannon. They weren't supposed to be used like that, and Aurel had no idea how she was managing to carry and fire it without dislocating her arms, but she was doing so regardless.

Marci advanced, opening fire again. Roshan staggered again, blood pouring from multiple wounds.

The cannon clicked, clunked and fell silent. Marci tried it again, but nothing happened. Aurel knew what had happened: the flak cannon's ammunition belt had become stuck. There was a reason it wasn't used as a handgun. It needed a carefully position feed or a second operator to keep it running smoothly.

Marci dropped the cannon and took up a stance, fists raised. Roshan bellowed and stomped towards her, enraged that she would dare to attack him.

Marci bounced on the balls of her feet. Aurel thought that she was insane, then realised that he ought to reload and try to help her. No, his pistol was useless against this beast.

But the flak cannon was a different matter. Marci had no idea how to clear the feed, but he did.

Aurel picked up the improvised crutch and limped over to the discarded cannon.

Marci forced herself to wait until Roshan was closer. She knew full well what he was, she'd had her share of fireside tales too.

Her father had always jokingly said after each telling that perhaps Marci could fight Roshan. The irony wasn't lost on her.

Marci tensed, then sprang aside as Roshan swung at her. His massive hand smashed into the earth where she had been a moment ago.

Marci retaliated with a series of kicks, knocking a few scales loose from Roshan's arm. Damn but he was tough! She'd had less trouble with dragon scales.

Roshan lashed out with the same arm, trying to backhand her.

Marci leapt, landed on her hands, and back-flipped out of range. Roshan's arm sailed over her as she flipped, less than an inch away from striking her. Aurel had dragged the flak cannon away, perhaps to try and fix it. Marci had no time to spare for him. Roshan was angry with her, and would kill her if she lost her focus.

Marci jumped aside again, and felt the earth tremble under her feet from the impact of Roshan's fist. She coaxed some of her power forth, not fully unleashing it, not yet, and powered her fist into Roshan's side.

He barely felt it, even when the scales cracked. The tail whipped round, too fast.

Marci had barely crossed her arms over her chest when it hit her, flinging her backwards. She tumbled, coming to rest a couple of feet away from the edge of the cliff.

She had been lucky. If Roshan had damaged her ribs, her chances would have plummeted. There would have been no chance of surviving a fall from the cliff either.

Roshan had turned towards Aurel again. Marci jumped up, stuck her fingers in her mouth and issued a piercing whistle.

Roshan turned to her again, fixing his eyes on her and hissing malevolently. He scraped at the earth with his foot, then, with a powerful roar, charged at her.

Marci forced herself to wait again. She waited. Waited until…

Now!

Marci leapt, becoming a blur of light and soaring to the left a mere heartbeat before Roshan reached her.

Big, heavy and moving at great speed, Roshan was unable to stop in time. He teetered on the edge of the cliff, then tumbled over the edge.

Aurel whooped. Marci wiped her brow, then moved towards the edge of the cliff, expecting to see Roshan smashed to pieces on the rocks below.

A bellow of rage stopped her in her tracks. A moment later, a pair of scaly hands reached over the edge of the cliff and Roshan hauled himself back up. He didn't wait, he charged straight at Marci.

Marci jumped, but was a moment too slow. The shock-wave Roshan unleashed sent her sprawling and she landed heavily.

Marci lifted her head as Roshan rushed towards her, lifting his foot to crush her head.

She didn't expect Roshan to stumble and miss her, bellowing with pain.

Marci jumped up, and saw an arrow sticking out of Roshan's shoulder, buried so deeply she could only see feathers.

For a wildly insanely hopeful moment, she thought that Mirana had come to her rescue.

'Over here!' The voice which followed dashed her hopes, very different from Mirana's. A woman in her mid twenties, dressed in green and yellow, was taking aim with an elaborately fashioned longbow.

As Roshan turned towards her, the archer started to loose arrows. She was impossibly fast, launching her arrows at breathtaking speed, her arms a blur. Mirana would have been left speechless.

Each arrow struck hard, lodging into Roshan's hide. Roshan pelted towards the archer now, closing in fast. The archer stared for a moment, then crouched.

Roshan bounded into the air, intending to crush her under his bulk. Marci rushed forwards, even as she realised that she would be far, far too late.

A sudden gust whipped through the trees. The woman vanished.

Roshan landed where she had been, smashing into a tree and knocking it down, leaves and splinters cascading down around him. Snarling, he turned, searching for its quarry.

A blur of green fabric and red hair flitted into the branches of another tree. Becoming solid again, the archer took aim and loosed more arrows.

Roaring, Roshan picked up the fallen tree and hurled it at her. She leapt clear, rolling to cushion the landing, then took off in an impossibly fast sprint as Roshan hurtled after her, leading him into the trees.

'Marci!' Aurel waved her over. 'I cleared the feed. Here! Take it!' He indicated the flak cannon.

Marci hurried over and seized it, then looked questioningly at him.

'Well get after her then!'

Marci sighed, then scooped up Aurel. He protested, then shut up as he realised that she could still carry the cannon. Marci started to run, following the sounds of roaring.

She heard another tree smash into the ground as she ran, going as fast as she could whilst carrying Aurel and the cannon.

Another blur of green caught her eye and she sped up as much as she could. The archer landed heavily in front of her, panting, sweat pouring from her brow. Her quiver was nearly depleted.

Roshan charged at her, his roars shaking the trees.

The woman closed her eyes, then stretched out her free hand.

Another gust, violent enough to tear the leaves from the trees around them, snatching loose branches and lifting stones, tore through the trees and slammed into Roshan. The creature staggered back, then continued to advance, pushing against the gale slamming into him. The red-haired archer's teeth were gritted, her hand still outstretched.

Marci dropped Aurel behind a tree, took up the flak cannon, moved to the archer's flank, and opened fire.

Roshan howled, but rather than charge, he instead leapt towards a tree, intending to take cover. Marci did not stop firing, knowing that the explosive shells would shred the tree. The archer lowered her hand and drew one of her few remaining arrows.

Roshan pounced from behind the tree, the yellow orb in the middle of his forehead flaring. A wave of concussive force slammed into Marci and the archer, hurling them backwards. Marci dropped the flak cannon, hit the ground and rolled. The archer tumbled past her, more arrows dropping from her quiver.

Roshan ran towards the, intending to crush them both.

Aurel staggered out of hiding, clutching his now loaded pistol, leaned heavily on the tree, and took aim. He wasn't as good a shot as Kardel, but he was still a decent marksman.

He fired.

Roshan stumbled, hissing with pain. Aurel's shot had struck him in the back of the knee, tearing into his hide.

The archer struggled to her knees, then lifted her hand again. Another fierce gust struck Roshan, pushing him back.

No more holding back. There was no other way.

Marci drew forth her power. Her heart began to hammer, her blood surged, and mighty strength flowed into her limbs. Light bled from her skin and her eyes filled with light.

Marci sprang forwards, running straight at Roshan. He drew back his fist to smash her into pulp.

Flying forwards in a blur of light, Marci felt another torrent of wind at her back, pushing her even faster, and she extended her arm.

She sailed over Roshan's arm, and her fist struck the orb in the middle of his head.

It shattered, and in Marci's gold-hued vision it was as if an explosion of shadow erupted around her. She could feel it careening off her, streaming into the night.

Roshan fell, howling with pain. Marci flew over his toppling form, landed behind him, rolled, came up in a combat stance and spun round to face him.

Roshan stumbled to his feet, bellowed yet again, and advanced. Marci darted in, too fast for him, and launched a flurry of bone-shattering kicks and punches into his torso. She could feel scales breaking under her feet, hide being torn with her knuckles. Internal organs ruptured and bones broke, spearing into flesh.

It felt like something was surging within her, thundering in her body as her heart pounded. Marci consciously let it go, and felt a pulse erupt from her, the light searing Roshan, blasting weakened scales away.

Roshan fell back, his howls of pain filling the night.

Marci drew back, gathered herself, then leapt. Light coalesced around her raised fist, then erupted from it as she bore down on Roshan, her mouth tearing open in a soundless cry.

She struck Roshan where the orb had been, and felt dark, oily blood slap against her skin and clothes, evaporating off her burning flesh.

Roshan tumbled backwards, slamming into a tree and uprooting it. He'd had enough.

Whimpering now, Roshan limped into the darkness as fast as he could. Marci started to give chase, but her power was starting to abate now.

She also had Aurel and her newfound ally to worry about now.

Marci came to a reluctant halt, the light retreating from her eyes, leaving them blurry and full of flashes of indistinct colour. Her limbs were shaking and rubbery, and she felt weak now.

Marci leaned against a tree, panting and blinking rapidly. She tried to steady herself, concentrating on her heartbeat as it returned to its normal rhythm. Gradually, her vision cleared and the shaking subsided. She curled her right hand into a fist, satisfied that her strength was returning. At least it was getting easier now.

Roshan obviously wasn't returning. Assuming he survived his injuries, he would need a long while to heal.

Marci turned towards her allies. Both were standing frozen, staring at her in shock.

Marci merely shrugged. It occurred to her just how tired she was now. She hadn't slept for more than a few hours before landfall.

The red-haired archer recovered first. 'Gods above… he never mentioned that!'

'Did we just see off Roshan?' Aurel murmured.

Marci just shrugged again, then looked to the archer and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

She responded in a way Marci did not expect. What she did took her completely by surprise.

She lifted her hands to her forehead and drew her fingers across her brow, back towards her ears.

Marci stared. That was… that was one of the signs she used for Mirana.

How did this woman know about that?

Shabarra? He might have remembered it. Marci tensed.

The woman lowered her hands, then made another shape. A sunburst, and then a circle.

Marci continued to stare, then relaxed a little. Shabarra hadn't sent her. Kashurra had. The circle within the sunburst was the symbol of the office of the Viceroy.

'Not to interrupt,' Aurel slid down the tree he was leaning on, 'but maybe we should find somewhere else to chat? Somewhere a little safer?'

Marci nodded. She moved towards the flak cannon and picked it up. Roshan might not take his chances with them tonight, but there were other dangers out here.

'Careful, lass,' Aurel advised. 'The barrels are bent. You try firing that, and it'll explode in your hands. Pull up that big lever on the side, then take out the belt. Carefully.'

Marci did as he said, extracting the ammunition from the gun. She decided to take it anyway. Perhaps Aurel could fix it later.

'So, you're Marci then?' the archer supposed. She extended her arm when Marci nodded. 'I'm Lyralei.'

Marci shook her hand, feeling callouses under her palm.

'I shouldn't be surprised you have a strong grip.' Lyralei remarked. She looked down at Aurel. 'And you are?'

Aurel grunted as he finished reloading his pistol. 'Aurel, pioneering inventor and pilot. I'm part of the Mingin Accord Armed Forces. Better flier than trekker, and right now I could do with some help.'

Marci sighed, then scooped him up. Aurel grumbled, and adjusted his position. Lyralei chuckled, thinking that it looked like Marci was giving him a piggyback. 'Come on. I found your crashed contraption earlier. It's as good a place to rest as any.'

'Guess the fuel ejectors worked this time.' Aurel mused. 'I'll chalk that up as another success.'

'You crashed.' Lyralei reminded him.

'We were shot down.' Aurel countered. 'There's a difference.'

Marci decided not to mention that she was the one who had destroyed one of the engines. Accidents happened.

Carrying Aurel, she followed Lyralei through the trees, relieved that Kashurra had thought to send a capable ally her way.

The keenish contraption had cooled and stopped ticking by the time they found it. Marci placed Aurel next to it and left the keenish cannon at his feet, then started to pace the area.

'It's safe.' Lyralei assured her, watching with intrigue. The letter hadn't mentioned her abilities, though she supposed it might have taken a few extra pages. She'd met people who perfected the art of fighting with their bodies rather than weapons, but she'd never seen light burst from their bodies or burn in their eyes, nor possess such mighty strength.

Lyralei had hoped to meet others like herself. Marci might not have an affinity with the air and wind as she did, but as with herself, Lyralei had never encountered anybody like her.

Marci finally returned to the gyrocopter and peered at it, obviously thinking. Her brow was furrowed. After a few moments, she reached into the ruined craft and began to rummage around.

'That's property of the Mingin Accord.' Aurel murmured, not seeming to care that much if she actually took anything.

Marci dug out a strange looking box, peered into it, sighed, then dropped it back into the gyrocopter.

'You're bleeding, Marci.' Lyralei noted, spotting a thin trickle of blood near Marci's ear.

Marci frowned at her.

'May I?'

Marci considered, then nodded. Lyralei stepped up to her, feeling wary. Marci was shorter than her, but she had seen how strong she was.

Lyralei carefully shifted some of Marci's hair. 'Hmm. It doesn't look serious. I should clean it though, just in case. Come on, sit down.'

Marci obediently sat next to Aurel, crossing her legs. Lyralei took a cloth and a flask from her belt. As she wet the cloth, Marci reached into her tunic and pulled out an amulet, gold with a yellowish gem in the centre. She held it in her hands, staring off into the distance, towards a large estate.

Lyralei decided not to ask. Instead, she cleaned the cut on Marci's head, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Marci stowed the amulet, clearly unhappy. She hesitated, then withdrew a leather cord. She clutched whatever was on the end of it, sighing softly, looking wistful, her mind elsewhere.

'Done.' Lyralei withdrew the cloth. Marci put the cord away and nodded. With a slight frown, she turned to Lyralei and raised an eyebrow.

Lyralei didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't even sure why Marci wasn't speaking.

Marci made the symbol Kashurra had told Lyralei to make, pointed at Lyralei, then raised her eyebrow again.

A question, Lyralei realised. 'Are you asking me how I know your Viceroy friend?' Lyralei shook her head. 'I don't really.' She reached into her bag and withdrew the letter, handing it to Marci. 'He sent me this.'

Marci unfurled the letter and held it up, trying to read it in the light of the bleeding moon. Lyralei watched her eyes skim over the words, the frown deepening. As she read, her brows lifted.

Eventually, she held out the letter and pointed at a single word. A name.

Mirana.

'Yes,' Lyralei nodded. 'This Kashurra believes she's in danger. He said we could help each other.'

Marci frowned again, pointed at Lyralei, then made a sort of curving movement with her hand.

'I don't understand.'

Marci made the movements again, more slowly this time.

'I think she's asking you why you're here.' Aurel guessed.

Lyralei shrugged. 'Saving your friend seems like a good cause.'

Marci nodded, then made more gestures. It took Lyralei a few moments to figure out that she was thanking her, either for helping her to fend off Roshan, for wanting to help her save the lost Princess, or both.

'I'm glad to be of help.' Lyralei resisted the urge to ask Marci why she wouldn't, or couldn't, speak. She didn't want to risk offending her. She also resisted asking her about that compound she kept staring at. She didn't want to tax the poor woman by making her try to explain. Aurel didn't seem to understand her much better than Lyralei did.

'If you don't mind, I'm going to try to sleep.' Lyralei declared, unstringing her bow and settling down next to the gyrocopter. 'Wake me if you need to.'

It didn't take long for her to drift off. All things considered, things could have gone much, much worse. Few were those who had encountered Roshan and survived. Fewer still were those who had actually fought him and lived to speak of it.

Another fine tale to tell, Lyralei supposed as she fell asleep. The last sight she beheld before waking was of Marci, staring into the distance, as if by sheer force of will she could break into the estate and free Mirana, clutching whatever was on the end of that leather cord.

Her dreams, her nightmares, were full of blood.

The blood of her people.

The blood of her family.

The blood of her pod.

The blood of her enemies.

The blood of her friends.

Every night, she dreamt of the bleeding moon.

Every night, as she stood amongst countless corpses, all dead by her own bloodied hands, she saw the moon open up, blood rushing to fill the sky, and a shadowy form emerge from within.

She stood there, frozen with both fear and excitement. In that moment, it was as if there were two of her.

One fell to her knees, heedless of the pool of blood she was kneeling in, lifted her arms, and cried out in gladness: 'I welcome you, Goddess of the Moon and Night, True-Mother of the Coriel'tauvi, First and Eldest, Greatest and Fairest! Take me into your embrace, for I love you!'

But the other shrank back in terror, dropping her naked, dripping blades, staring in horror as Mene descended upon the world, enshrouding it in absolute darkness, smothering and cold, lamenting all that she had done to allow this to happen.

'No!' she would scream, 'What have I done? Why did I do it? Mene, why did my friends have to die?'

And every time, Mene, shadowy and indistinct, would reach out and cup her chin with a delicate, cold hand. Every time, she gave the same answer.

'You are my Chosen, Fymryn of Coedwig. Together, we shall usher in a new age: the Age of the Dark Moon.'

Fymryn would smile and tremble with excitement and pride.

Fymryn would wail and collapse with shame and anguish.

Darkness fell upon the world, and she saw no more.

Fymryn bolted upright, her breathing rapid and panicky, her skin slick with sweat.

All was dark around her, like the end of the dream. As her eyes adjusted, she realised that there was some light filtering through the shadowy canvas walls of her tent.

Fymryn wiped the sweat from her forehead. She had made her choice, and she knew why she had done it. She had been Chosen by Mene Herself, and she would serve Her well, all so that she could both save her people, and perhaps save her friends too.

Fymryn knew that there was no point in trying to sleep now. Night had well and truly fallen. The Dark Moon Horde would be preparing for the coming battle.

Fymryn slid out of her bedroll and gathered up her armour. Dierdd had given her some new armour, still light and allowing plenty of mobility, but now openly bearing the symbols of Mene.

As she pulled the armour on, she heard the screeches of the cockatrices and the hissing of the banshees. She was glad that she had to ride neither. They were intimidating creatures.

Fymryn stepped out, briefly arrested by the sight of the bleeding moon. Even after seeing it for the past few weeks, it still shocked her. The bloody fissure was growing wider, and the crimson stain was spreading further across the sky. It was even visible during the day now, a constant reminder of Mene's inevitable return.

A constant reminder of what Fymryn had done.

Fymryn sighed and focused. There could be no room for doubts. Even as she told herself that, they gnawed at her anyway.

'Awake at last,' a low, sibilant voice startled her. 'Wouldn't want to miss all of the fun, would you?'

Fymryn turned her head, her gaze first alighting upon the sinister, glowing orange eyes as usual. They shone in the darkness, not seeing as the eyes of Fymryn or her fellow elves did. Vanari was no elf though. She was half-meranth, though she had never said what meranth she was descended from.

Her sallow, pointed face bore strange lines, almost like tattoos, and there were obvious gills fluttering on the sides of her neck. Her teeth were distinctly shark-like, but it was always the eyes which caught the most attention, glowing as they did. Apparently, she saw heat and variations in the temperature of things around her, nothing more. However that worked, it made her a deadly hunter.

'They haven't started yet.' Fymryn muttered, trying not to give away how disturbed she was. Not entirely by Vanari, but more by her nightmares and doubts.

'Obviously.' Vanari rolled her sinister eyes.

'Fymryn?' The second voice was one Fymryn was happier to hear, though it made her wary for different reasons.

An elven woman, about Fymryn's age, hurried over, tucking a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled widely at Fymryn. 'Did you sleep well?'

Fymryn shook her head. 'Not as well as I'd like.'

'Maybe it's because you sleep alone?' the elf said with a teasing smile.

Vanari rolled her eyes again. Fymryn wasn't really sure why she was here, assisting the Dark Moon Horde. She suspected that she was a mercenary.

Fymryn sighed. 'You have a nice pod, Aehlie.' It was true, Fymryn found Aehlie and her two pod-mates, Nemwyn and Denweth, appealing, and she had been sorely tempted to respond to Aehlie's flirting. 'But I don't think I'm ready to join your pod, or any pod, right now.'

'Oh,' Aehlie looked crestfallen. 'All right. You don't have to do anything with us you know, we could just talk and be friends.'

In some ways, Aehlie reminded Fymryn a little of Caewyn. She wasn't as small—she was about the same height as Fymryn—and her blonde hair was paler and longer than Caewyn's, but she was cheery and friendly.

'Maybe,' Fymryn shrugged. 'I'll think about it.'

Aehlie nodded. 'Please do.'

Fymryn had wondered if the Invoker had asked Aehlie to keep an eye on her, but that seemed more like something Dierdd would do. The Invoker was focused on his objective and whatever it took to fulfil his goals. Dierdd, though outwardly stoic, quiet and taciturn, gave more thought to the morale of his soldiers.

And now, Fymryn had somehow become one of them.

In the distance, she could see glittering lights. Some moved along the paths cut into the sheer cliff wall a couple of spans ahead, others remained where they were.

They knew they were coming. How could they not?

In the valley down below, small farmsteads and simple dwellings were dotted amongst the fields. Many bore symbols and holy emblems. Here and there were deep pits, used for ritual sacrifice of animals and, if the rumours were true, unrepentant enemies taken captive by the fanatical warriors who dwelt here.

Emauracus was the home of the Omniknights. Omniknights just like Purist Thunderwrath.

And the Dark Moon Horde was here to destroy them.

Purist had given his life in the Battle for Creation. What would he have said or done if he had known that this would happen? Would he have tried to kill Fymryn? Would he have been there now, preparing for a hopeless battle?

And it really was hopeless. The Omniknights, once a proud and powerful force, had dwindled over the years, and the power of their master had waned. People had lost faith in a supposedly omniscient being which did very little to save them from all manner of calamities. Yet as they had fallen into obscurity, their enemies had grown stronger.

The Omniknights and their adherents could hope to hold them for a while, but not forever. Mene had decreed that they must be destroyed, and the Omniscience silenced, and so it would be done.

When Mene returned, She alone would hold dominion of the Covenant, blinding those deities which would not serve Her cause. It was already happening, and the other deities were afraid. They had all beheld the fall of Selemene.

Fymryn was afraid too.

She could see the hastily erected fortifications on the paths lining the great cliffs. The central staircase, carved from the rock of the land itself, leading up to the main temple housed within the cliffs, had been barricaded.

It would not be enough to stop the Dark Moon Horde. They knew it. The Omniscience had to know too.

So why did it demand that its followers throw their lives away like this? Or did they do this willingly? Maybe they did so against the wishes of their deity?

Fymryn realised that she was clutching the dragon fang Davion had given her. She hastily stuffed it under her collar.

'What's that?' Aehli had noticed.

Fymryn hesitated. 'A… a gift. From a friend.'

Aehli could tell that Fymryn didn't want to explain. She dropped the subject. 'I've never been in battle before.'

'You weren't involved in the Battle of the Nightsilver Woods?'

'No. My people did not dare to reveal themselves, not until the Invoker struck down the Usurper.' Aehli smiled ruefully. 'I wish we could have done more to help. But we're here now.'

Fymryn recalled the battle, how scared she had been, how she had been filled with rage and hatred.

But in the end, when Luna had been at her mercy—the woman who had led the massacre of her people—she had chosen to spare her.

Yet here she was. Mene might spare those who could be convinced to worship her. Luna and Mirana both knew how Selemene had lied to them. Perhaps they might convert.

She hoped they would.

What would Aehli think if she knew that? Hoping for Mirana to convert was understandable. She had served Selemene ignorant of Her persecution of the Coriel'tauvi. And she had been grateful, since Selemene had given her and Marci sanctuary. But Luna had carried out massacres willingly.

Fymryn should have wanted her dead.

'He's waiting for you.' Aehli inclined her head towards a figure clad in dark robes.

Fymryn nodded and approached the Invoker, feeling a distinct sense of foreboding. Aehli might have treated her as a friend, and Vanari might have been cold, but most of the people here treated her with reverence. She was Mene's Chosen, the first of Her new Nightblades, the one who had ensured Her return at long last. But the treatment felt wrong.

In spite of Mene's return to Her rightful place, and her fellow Coriel'tauvi finally being able to emerge from hiding, part of Fymryn wished that she could go back to those simpler times, be with her pod again, just… herself again, the Fymryn of old.

How had it come to this?

The Invoker turned his head, saw her and nodded curtly. He had done away with the white robes, now wearing black robes with a faint purplish tinge, edged with dark gold.

At his side, Dierdd was issuing orders to his adjutants. From what Fymryn could deduce, the attack would begin soon.

Still, the Omniknights had not attacked. She supposed she could understand. They lacked the numbers to take on the Dark Moon Horde, and they trusted in the strength of their defences. Much like the Dragon Knights had at Dragon Keep.

But the Helio Imperium wouldn't come charging to the rescue here. The Omniknights were truly alone.

'Set up the catapults behind our secondary barricades.' Dierdd was saying. 'Position the archers in front. We outnumber them several times over, but they are well equipped and well trained.'

Fymryn had seen Purist fight. If the rest of the Omniknights were anything like him, they would exact a heavy toll from the Dark Moon Horde.

Purist… he had been an ally. A friend. And now she was here to destroy his fellow Omniknights.

She felt sick.

'The Omniknights will withdraw into the tunnels to avoid bombardment,' the Invoker stated.

'We could collapse the tunnels,' one of Dierdd's comrades suggested. 'And leave them to starve.'

Fymryn grimaced. Killing someone in combat was one thing, deliberately leaving them to a horrible death was another.

'No,' the Invoker disagreed. 'They must be destroyed utterly, and the Omniscience rendered inert. It is Mene's will.'

'Then we must draw them out.' Dierdd concluded. 'A difficult feat, considering that they know that we can overwhelm them, and that their master sees all.'

'It does not,' the Invoker stated. 'Not now. The Omniscience has been losing its sight for a long time now, as faith in it diminishes. Mene has further blinded it, but we cannot leave it be.' The Invoker paused, staring at the tiny lights flickering in the distance. 'It cannot see our intentions.'

'What do you suggest?' Fymryn asked, knowing that the Invoker had an answer. He always seemed to, for whatever faced them.

'To present myself to the enemy, openly. The Omniscience will likely guess my purpose, but will not be able to resist the chance of slaying me. It knows that Mene has need of me, and it knows of my power.'

'The Omniscience will send its forces to kill you.' Dierdd surmised. He shook his head. 'The risk is too great, my lord.'

'To attain the greatest rewards, the greatest risks must be taken.' The Invoker took a few steps forwards, eyes fixed on the temple, within which lay the tunnel which led to the Omniscience itself—to the heart of the world.

Another step closer to bringing Mene back to the world She deserved to rule.

Fymryn shivered, fear outweighing her excitement, and gripped the hilt of Dawn's Bane tightly. It would be drawn for battle very soon.