Chapter Eight

A Futile Stand

Midnight. The hour at which Mene had always been at Her strongest.

Midnight. The hour at which Her faithful launched their attack against the Omniknights.

Without fear or hesitation, the Invoker walked down into the valley, alone, his circling orbs revolving around him like small glowing moons.

The dry dirt of Emauracus crunched under his boots as he pulled back his hood. The Omniknights and their adherents remained where they were. The Omniscience might have been losing its sight, but here it was at its strongest. It would not send its soldiers to snap at the bait so quickly.

He had to force them to act. Desperation would overrule their prudence.

There were numerous caves in the cliffs, not just the fortified temple which led to the Omniscience itself. Those smaller caves were used for storage, worship, garrisoning and rest.

Those caves were where many of the non-combatants, servants and caretakers, were sheltering, cowering behind barricades and praying to be spared.

The Invoker stood near the bottom of the slope leading into the valley, his robes fluttering in the cool breeze.

Awaiting his signal, the warriors of the Dark Moon Horde lurked in the darkness. The faint growls and hisses of the cockatrices and banshees reached his ears as he waited.

The Invoker remained where he was. The Omniknights did not move either.

'Servants of the Omniscience, heed me,' the Invoker uttered the words clearly into the darkness, his voice striking down the silence which had filled the valley. 'I am the Invoker, herald of Mene, First and Greatest, true Goddess of the Moon and the Night. The Usurper has been cast down, and soon Mene will return to claim Her rightful place, and to punish those who turned from Her.

An army you cannot hope to overcome is prepared to crush you. You cannot win this fight. Lay down your arms and swear fealty to Mene, and your lives shall be spared, now and when the Dark Moon rises.'

Behind him, he heard the faint murmurings of the warriors. They doubted that a surrender would happen. So did he, but he saw little harm in trying, if only to humour Fymryn—she had gone to him earlier and suggested offering them mercy.

Her heart was kind, perhaps too kind. She was a Nightblade, Chosen of Mene, meant to be a soldier of the shadows. She was supposed to be an assassin.

Yet he did not wish for her to lose that gentleness still present within her heart. Mercy had served them well already. He had spared the Princess of the Sun and her companions, even though it would have saved him and Mene much trouble had he simply killed them then and there, and they had defeated Terrorblade and saved the world from him. Because of that mercy, Mene would have a world to rule.

Unlike Fymryn, the Invoker had no illusions about what would happen to them. Yet he allowed her to cling to hope, and perhaps he even hoped for a more peaceful end to this for her sake.

Maybe it was because she sometimes reminded him of Filomena.

He only just heard her approach, and he sensed her presence as she reached his side. Without looking at her, he could tell that she was disappointed yet still hopeful.

'They have to give in,' she whispered. 'Surely they know that they cannot win?'

'I have offered you my terms,' the Invoker declared. 'What say you? Will you yield? Or must we fight?'

Silence. And then: 'We know of you and your cause, Kael the Invoker. And we know that in the world you would usher forth, there is no place for us or the Omniscience. What you intend will cause the deaths of thousands upon thousands of innocent people. We will not surrender, if only to give your enemies a chance to prepare for your reckoning.'

'The Omniscience can surely see the situation, even as its sight dims,' Fymryn surprised the Invoker by calling out. 'We don't want to kill you. I fought alongside one of your fellow Omniknights. His name was Purist Thunderwrath. He was… he was a good man. He gave his life so that this world could be free from Terrorblade. He wouldn't want you to die in hopeless battle.'

Silence again. The same voice answered. 'If you knew him as we did, then you would surely know his loyalty to the Omniscience. He gave his life for this world during the Battle for Creation. He would do the same now. We all will. We do not fear our deaths, for they serve a higher purpose.

Does Mene offer you that same comfort, Fymryn of Coedwig? Our god's sight is dimming, you claim, yet your heart is plain to us. You are full of fear, young Nightblade, you are driven by it. Ask us not if we serve the right cause tonight. Ask that question of yourself.

You have our answer, Invoker. We will not surrender. Either fight us here and now, or face us when we stand alongside your true enemies.'

The choice was made. As the Invoker had suspected, the Omniknights had been prepared to ally with the Helio Imperium. In this war, they were natural allies.

But that, he could not allow. As the Omniknights had rightly said, even with their patron's sight dimming, it still saw much. Too much.

'So be it, Omniknights,' the Invoker raised his hand. 'Your fate is chosen.' He extended his arm.

An orb of flame rushed through the air, illuminating the valley floor as it flew, straight and true, into the mouth of one of the smaller caverns. Fire billowed out of the entrance, and the Invoker heard the screams of people and livestock from within.

Fymryn gasped and blanched as figures of varying size emerged, twisting and flailing, wreathed in consuming flame.

'Steel yourself, Fymryn,' the Invoker urged sternly. 'What I do now is cruel, I do not deny it, but it will save the lives of your fellow elves, and bring this war to a swifter end.'

He flung another fireball. This one caused no deaths, for it entered a cave filled solely with feed and grain. The third struck true, and yet more screams filled the air. Fymryn squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head.

As the Invoker prepared to release another fireball, the Omniknights finally emerged. They could not stand and allow innocents to die as they hid. They knew that charging forth would be the death of them, yet they would embrace the end just to spare the lives of others.

Admirable, but foolish. They were brave, there was no denying that. But the Invoker would not be moved by sympathy tonight.

They sent a shield wall ahead, protecting the Omniknights bearing their distinctive two-handed hammers behind them. Archers, mostly faithful from the valley homesteads, took up their positions at the back. Horsemen emerged from some of the cavern entrances, warhammers, lances and shields gleaming in the moonlight.

Dierdd called forth the soldiers of the Dark Moon Horde. Upon his command, the spearmen rushed forwards and took up their positions in front of the Invoker, crouching and bracing their weapons, steel points ready to gore the cavalry should they charge. The rest of the infantry waited behind. Archers stood upon the ridge, prepared to take advantage of the high ground. More shouts filled the air as the siege engines were loaded.

The Invoker guessed that there were maybe three-hundred Omniknights facing them, and maybe thrice that of loyal servants, militiamen and adherents who had taken up arms for the cause. It was too small a force to withstand a sustained assault from the Dark Moon Horde. But not for nothing were the Omniknights chosen to serve the Omniscience, and they were blessed with sacred power. They would exact a heavy toll upon the Invoker's forces given the chance.

'You fight without honour, Invoker!' A burly man in full plate, wielding a mighty hammer, spurred his horse ahead of his fellows.

Fymryn stared at him, momentarily believing that somehow, Purist had returned to stand against them. Her resolve wavered at the sight of this man, so very similar to Purist in appearance and devotion.

'My sins will be forgiven, Omniknight,' the Invoker stated. 'Can you claim the same? By your reluctance to fight, your cowardice, innocents have died in your stead. Meet your ends with dignity, Omniknights.'

The man who had to be the commander raised his hammer aloft. His fellow knights raised their weapons and cried aloud, then began to chant as they advanced. They were uttering a hymn to the Omniscience.

It would be their last.

'Archers!' Dierdd cried. 'Volley on my command!'

The Omniscience must have seen. The shield-bearers halted and lifted their shields and the cavalry staggered its formation.

'Loose!'

The arrows, purple tipped, whizzed overhead. They bounced off shields or missed the weaving cavalrymen. Only a few, mostly militiamen, fell to the volley.

As expected, the Invoker mused. The Omniscience was directing them.

Good.

'Archers, loose at will!' Dierdd bellowed. 'Catapults! Release!'

The catapults shuddered as their arms rushed forwards, hurling ruinous munitions into the valley.

As one, the Omniknights raised their weapons and uttered a prayer. The flaming stones slowed to a crawl in mid-air, giving the enemy ample time to march under them before they landed. Now their archers responded, sending arrows flying into the ranks of the Dark Moon Horde.

Many of them were directed at the Invoker. With a simple gesture, his flaming orb hovered before him and expanded into a dome, protecting him, Fymryn and several of the elite warriors Dierdd had sent to protect him. The arrows exploded into dust as soon as they hit the shield.

Other fighters were not so lucky, and men and women on either side fell.

The Invoker dropped his shield, called forth his electrical orb, and raised his hand skywards. At once, forks of lightning leapt into the air and crashed down upon the enemy. The Omniknights once again were prepared. They dropped to one knee, holding up their weapons, shielded by spherical domes of light. The riders dodged each bolt, drawing ever closer. The Dark Moon Horde's spearmen tensed and gripped their weapons tighter.

By now, the enemy was wholly in the valley, save for a few archers and sentinels.

The cavalry was gathering at the flanks of the shield-wall, preparing to move around them, form up and swarm the Invoker's position.

The Invoker called forth the Quas orb and waved his arm, instantaneously creating a sheet of ice at the foot of the slope. Spines formed, leaping up like spears.

'Archers,' the Invoker called, 'focus on the horsemen.'

The archers dutifully began to loose arrows at the charging horsemen. As expected, they began to swerve to avoid the incoming volleys. The Omniscience was looking everywhere in this battle, a challenging foe. But whilst it could see everything, its servants were only mortal, and restrained by their physical limitations.

He called upon the Wex orb next, lightning crackling between his fingers. His started to hurl it at the horsemen, and now they began to fall. If they tried to avoid the arrows, they were struck by lightning. If they tried to dodge the arcs of electricity, they were struck by arrows. The commander was blown off his horse as he tried to shield himself, disappearing amongst the smoking corpses of his comrades. Fymryn winced.

The few horsemen to escape the barrage found their mounts skidding across the sheet of ice, impaling themselves upon the icy spines. Those who leapt clear slipped and struggled across the ice, helpless when Dierdd sent his spearmen forwards to finish them off.

The shield-wall held fast, then began to slowly draw back to a more defensive position. The Invoker wasn't going to let them go so easily. He drew upon the Wex and Quas orbs at the same time, forming a cyclone and hurling it into the enemy ranks. A massive cloud of dust rose with the tornado as it scooped up stones, debris, horses, men and women alike, lifting them high into the air before casting them aside. Bodies landed at random, smashed apart inside the armour meant to protect them. The shield-wall was sundered, and Dierdd wasted no time in sending in the cavalry.

The cockatrices leapt over the spearmen, and banshees swooped overhead with horrible screeches. They bore down upon the Omniknights, further scattering them. The were falling into disarray. The stalwart tried to hold their ground, attempting to buy time for their comrades as they fell back to the stairs. They would soon be overwhelmed, but they were skilled and well-equipped. Hammers aglow with power smashed into beast and rider, smashing bones and pulping matter. The blood of human, elf and beast was soaking into the dry earth of Emauracus.

A new sound echoed down the valley, just rising over the clashing of weapons and the screams of the dying. A bestial howling, as if a pack of great wolves were on the hunt.

The Omniknights on the right flank turned and attempted to form a line, but were hindered by the elves. They could hardly turn their backs on their already present enemies even as a new threat bore down upon them.

The Invoker heard Fymryn gasp as loping forms leapt from the shadows and pounced upon the Omniknights, savaging them with wicked obsidian blades, yellowed fangs and curved claws. Above the waist, they had the forms of humanoids, their bare chests covered in blood. Each creature wore a red mask which covered their eyes—assuming they had any. But below their waists, their legs were like those of savage bloodhounds, furred and tipped with rending claws. Their hands too, though still human enough to hold weapons, were equipped with claws. They wore no armour, clad in loincloths along with their hoods, but instead bore the bones of various creatures in the forms of necklaces and bracelets. They made up for their lack of protection with sheer speed and savagery.

'At last!' Vanari smirked. 'The Bloodseekers are here. Late for their own glory, though there is still meat enough for them to feed upon.'

The Bloodseekers were tearing through the enemy in a mad frenzy. They did not seem to care if they lived or died, desiring only to kill and maim and shed as much blood as possible, be it their own or that of their foes. The Omniknights were attacked from both flanks as well as the front now, and were quickly being forced back.

The archers who reached the high ground turned and began to send arrows into the throng. Unlike the adherents of the Omniscience, the soldiers of the Dark Moon Horde had no divine warning. The arrows fell amongst them, cutting holes in the masses. Some of the missiles were blessed with power, and when they hit anything, living or inanimate, they exploded with blinding light.

The Invoker frowned, determining how best to respond. At Dierdd's direction, the catapults and siege engines were targeting the enemy archers' positions, forcing them to seek cover. But they would keep launching missiles until they ran out of arrows or were slain.

With the Exort orb this time, he threw burning lances at the archers. He left several slumped motionless, smoking holes bored through their bodies. Others, trying to avoid his fiery missiles, were crushed under the rocks hurled by the siege engines or impaled by arrows.

The Invoker gestured to Dierdd, who ordered the infantry to advance. Fymryn swallowed, clutched her weapons, and stayed close to the Invoker. A cadre of heavily armoured warriors gathered around the Invoker to protect him and Fymryn. Dierdd remained with the archers, making skilled use of his mighty bow and directing the onslaught of missiles.

The Invoker descended into the valley. The troops advanced swiftly to support the cavalry. Now that their momentum was slowing, they were becoming vulnerable.

'Press the attack!' the Invoker ordered. 'Give no quarter!'

Fymryn stayed by the Invoker's side, trying not to look too closely at the mangled and ruined corpses they marched past.

She pitied these men and women. Though they were just as zealous and fanatical as many amongst the Dark Moon Order had been, they had not massacred her people or killed people she had loved. Their only crime was siding with a god who opposed Mene and Her cause.

She found herself blaming the Omniscience. It could supposedly see all, could it not? Why could it not see that Selemene had wrongfully stripped Mene of Her power and stolen Her place? Why could it not see that they were bringing back the true Goddess of the Moon and Night? Why could it not swallow its pride and aid them in bringing justice and unity back to the divided world? Under Mene's rule, peace would surely reign!

Wouldn't it?

Again, Fymryn's thoughts drifted to her friends, to Mirana, Marci, Davion and the others. She had no doubt that they would stay loyal to their beliefs. Mirana was returning to the Imperium to lead her people. She was the Princess of the Sun—Mene's enemy. The Imperium represented the greatest threat to Mene's resurgent dominion.

Would Mirana see what the Omniscience could not? Could there be peace? She prayed it could be so.

Movement on her left distracted her. She rebuked herself for becoming lost in her thoughts. Now was not the time.

She saw the rushing figure just in time and swung Dawn's Bane, sending a crescent of darkness towards the attacker. Had she not, his hammer would have caved in the Invoker's skull.

The man was heavily injured, one arm blown from the socket, his armour torn and scorched, his flesh burnt and raw. The shadow arc sliced through his waist, cutting him in half.

Fymryn recoiled as his upper body landed at her feet. Even badly marred, she recognised him as the commander of the Omniknights, the one so similar to Purist.

He gazed up at her, struggling to cling to life. His one remaining eye bored into her, the other had been burned away along with much of his face and hair. The sickening scent of cauterised flesh and singed hair made her stomach heave.

The man opened his mouth and rasped a single word: 'Betrayer.'

Fymryn shuddered.

'Fymryn!' the Invoker snapped. 'Remain focused! The battle is not over.'

Fymryn turned away from the corpse, her eyes darting about the battlefield. The battle may as well have been over. The few Omniknights left alive were withdrawing into the temple, preparing to make one final stand.

There were only twelve of them, more than half of them injured. They would quickly be overwhelmed.

'Come, Fymryn,' the Invoker instructed, the orbs circling him casting his sharp face in various hues. 'Now we go to gaze upon that which few mortals have ever seen: the Omniscience itself.'

Lina sighed and ran her hands through her hair as she walked down the corridor, lost in maddening circles of internal argument. She really felt like she was unravelling.

Everything had seemed so simple during the rebellion. Don't get caught. Keep your head down, as infuriating as that had been. Then had come the simplest part: fighting or dying.

But this… was so much harder than she had expected. Before, it had simply been her purpose to be a figurehead, to lead the Imperium until Mirana returned.

Even before Draxius had made his suggestions plain, it hadn't been the easiest thing to do. A part of her was still tempted to let Mirana take control—assuming she was still alive and was ever found—just to give herself some relief. Kashurra had said that on a good day, the Imperium would take care of itself.

But now they were preparing for war and the Princess was delayed. There were no good days.

Lina stopped and spun around. 'Who's there?'

Nothing. She had felt like she was being followed. Again.

It was subtle. She felt like someone was staring at her. She could sometimes believe that someone was touching her, even though that was impossible—there was no-one near her in those moments.

'Answer me!'

Still nothing. She really was alone, or so it seemed.

Lina sighed. 'Goddess, I'm losing my bloody mind! I'm having to deal with so much all at once, I'm being asked to do terrible things, I'm becoming paranoid and now I'm… talking… to myself.' She almost laughed at the absurdity of that. 'Next I'll be looking for hairs on my palms.'

Trying to keep a rein on her thoughts, she stepped into the chambers Drysi had taken for her use. Drysi was also very busy these days, yet she handled her part with dignity. The piles of papers atop her desk were better organised than Lina's, and none of them were singed.

The fireplace was cold. Drysi did not often light it.

Lina frowned, noticing that Drysi had a guest. Another elf, tall and lean, with chiselled features, and a shock of white hair which contrasted with his lightly bronzed skin. He was plainly dressed, indicating that he was likely from outside the palace, and was carrying a worn and frayed leather satchel stuffed with what appeared to be bottles and small boxes.

'You said you needed to talk to me, Drysi?' Lina said uncertainly.

'I did,' Drysi slid her chair back and stood up. 'I knew you'd still be awake at this hour.'

'If this is about me not sleeping,' Lina murmured, aware of how irritated she sounded, 'you're not either.'

'True. But tonight is an exception as opposed to a rule. The same cannot be said for you these days.'

Lina sighed. She had seen her reflection earlier. Back in Misrule, she'd had more than a few eager men attempt to court her. They'd be less inclined if they could see her now. Her face was drawn, her eyes almost glazed, with noticeable bags under them, her hair was messed up and her robes were unkempt. 'I'll admit, you're not wrong about that.'

'Which is why I bought a friend to see you,' Drysi indicated the white-haired elf. 'This is Tathlan. I've known him for a long time, even before we met. He was one of the few who knew who I really was before the rebellion.'

Tathlan inclined his head respectfully. 'Lady Lina. It's an honour to meet you.'

'I don't remember seeing you before.' Lina said, trying to rouse her now sluggish memory. She really did need more sleep.

'You wouldn't have done, my lady.' Tathlan told her. 'I'm an apothecary, by trade and necessity.'

'As well as an excellent physician.' Drysi added. 'He played his part, by treating the wounded and those stricken by the plague. I used to smuggle him supplies.'

'For which I am still grateful.' Tathlan acknowledged. 'Drysi tells me you've been exceptionally restless recently.'

'No need to dance around the problem, Tathlan.' Lina sighed. 'I'm a mess. Everyone knows it.'

'I can't stop you from worrying.' Tathlan stepped closer, peering at her intently, even stooping to look into her eyes under their drooping lids. 'But I have remedies which will make sleep easier.'

'I really don't have time.' Lina argued.

'Make time.' Drysi insisted tersely. Her features softened a moment later. 'Please. You're really worrying me, Lina. Let Tathlan have a look at you. I assure you, he's very good, and he is discreet.'

Lina sighed. She wasn't going to win, and she was simply too tired to argue. 'Fine.' She slumped onto the couch.

Tathlan crouched in front of her, stared at her face from different angles, then stood and took a small book from his satchel. He began to ask her questions, making notes in the book as he went. 'How much are you eating and drinking? Any alcohol? Do you take stimulants of any kind? Are you having regular cycles?'

'Pardon?' Lina asked, thrown by the last question.

'Are you... bleeding regularly?'

'He's asking if you're pregnant.' Drysi supplied.

Lina flushed. 'No!'

'Sorry, but I had to ask.' Tathlan said. 'Well, as far as I can tell, you're simply overworked and very worried.'

'I could have told you that.'

'Forgive her, Tathlan.' Drysi said.

'There's nothing to forgive.' Tathlan stated. 'Believe me, I know how you feel, my lady.'

Lina opened her mouth to retort, then thought better and shut it. Even if Tathlan was as discreet as Drysi claimed, she would do herself no good by letting her irritation get the better of her now.

'Do you dream?' Tathlan asked.

Lina stared at him.

'A simple "yes" or "no" will suffice, my lady.'

Lina sighed. 'Yes. And they're not good dreams, not now.'

'I see.' Tathlan stowed the book, reached into his bag, and pulled out a thick glass bottle and a spoon. 'Take a spoonful of this. It will help you to sleep.'

'Sleeping syrup doesn't work.' Lina muttered. 'My nightmares wake me up regardless.'

'This is my own recipe.' Tathlan assured her. 'Any sleep it provides will be dreamless, that I can promise.'

'It does work, Lina.' Drysi added. 'I've had it before.'

Lina did not need to ask why. She could guess.

She sighed yet again. 'All right. Can I at least take it with me?'

Tathlan exchanged a wary look with Drysi. 'I believe it would be best if we could keep an eye on you. Your circumstances… may cause other effects.'

Lina raised an eyebrow. 'Meaning?'

'I was referring to your… abilities. I haven't treated someone like you before.'

'You can use the bed,' Drysi said, jerking her thumb at the room behind her. 'I'll behave.'

Lina was uncertain, but she supposed that Drysi and Tathlan had good intentions.

And she was so tired.

Lina nodded. Tathlan handed over the spoon and poured a dollop of syrup on it. Under his watchful gaze, Lina swallowed it. 'It tastes like treacle.'

'That's… good?'

'You didn't know…' Lina struggled to find the words. She was feeling even sleepier, struggling to keep her eyes open. 'How it… uh…'

'No, but we can discuss that later. Please, come with me.'

Lina rose clumsily and stumbled. Tathlan caught her and called Drysi over to help. As the syrup took hold, Lina could barely make out what they were saying.

'Thank you, Tathlan. She needs to rest more.'

'I haven't known you to worry about someone this much, not since Lleuafn joined that gang.'

'I let her down.'

'You don't have to keep blaming yourself, Drysi. She made her choice.'

'I know.'

They kept talking, but Lina was practically asleep, and Drysi and Tathlan had switched to elvish. By this point, she no longer cared. She just wanted to sleep. She barely felt them lay her down on the bed as she gladly surrendered to the dreamless dark.

Drysi stepped back, looking down at Lina. Tathlan could see how worried she was. He'd known her for a long time, longer than most.

When she had become "the Wraith", Tathlan had chosen a different path. He'd wanted to survive by more honest means. Yet he'd found it impossible to find medical supplies without her help.

They kept each other's secrets, being amongst the only survivors from their village to settle in Rasolir. The Wraith had garnered a scary reputation as the ruthless leader of a smuggler gang. Tathlan had always suspected that those rumours had been exaggerated—not that Drysi had hesitated when Janulus' agents had gotten too close.

Things had changed so much. Their village had stopped worshipping Mene to avoid persecution from the Dark Moon Order. They had cast Lleuafn out and moved deeper into the Imperium to avoid retribution from those Lleuafn had wronged. They had hidden amongst the people of Rasolir to survive Shabarra's intolerance of their kind.

'Sleep well, Lina.' Drysi whispered.

'She will.' Tathlan assured her. When the plague had struck, he'd used the syrup often. It had seemed more merciful to let those dying of the plague pass in their sleep, rather than meet their ends in such pain. Lina at least would sleep deeply, for maybe five or six hours, and hopefully awaken refreshed. 'You care about her.'

'She put me on this path. A better one.' Drysi explained as they returned to the study, shutting the bedroom door behind her. 'You never approved of what I did, and I understand that.'

'You helped the survivors, in your own way.'

'I became greedy. Money became more important.' Drysi sighed as she sat down at her desk. 'I did not know it, but I caved. It was easier than fighting. Lina gave me hope.' Drysi picked up her quill and selected another page. 'We never saw this coming, did we?'

Tathlan wasn't sure what to say to that. Elves being in a position of power in the Imperium was unheard of. One way or another, they had always been considered enemies. 'I'll keep an eye on her.'

'No, I can do that.' Drysi finished with her current page, yet another trade agreement. 'Say… maybe you could find work here? I can ask Lina when she wakes.'

Tathlan shrugged. 'I'd better stay anyway. I don't feel like skulking through the slums at this hour.'

'What about your patients?'

'They'll stay at home too.' Tathlan said. 'Shabarra may be gone, but some things do not change so quickly.'

Drysi sighed. 'I guess some things never change.'

'You have.'

Drysi smiled in response. Tathlan made himself comfortable on the couch as Drysi finished her work, then returned to the bedroom. Sleeping syrup worked effectively, but it was wise to keep an eye on those who took it. Drysi settled in the chair next to the bed, watching over Lina as she slept.

He was glad to see her here, changing just a little back into her old self.

Lanaya stepped back from the door, keeping to the shadows. She could sense that Lina was slumbering. There was no point in standing vigil outside Drysi's chamber. She needed to sleep too.

She had to report to Kashurra anyway. Assuming that he did not already know what had transpired, he needed to learn what she had seen and heard this day.

Nico stepped onto the cold gaol floor, already able to hear Luna suffering.

'Nico?' Aiushtha called. 'Please help! I think she's dying!'

Luna was curled up on the bare stone floor of her cell, shivering madly. It wasn't warm down here, but it wasn't freezing either.

'How long has she been like this?' Nico asked.

'Hard to say,' the guard shrugged. 'An hour or two maybe?'

'Please!' Aiushtha cried. She would have thrown herself against the bars if she could. 'What is wrong with her?'

Luna shuddered and curled into a tighter ball. 'Whiskey… beer… give me… whiskey…'

'She is suffering from a lack of drink.' Nico explained gravely. 'It is alcohol withdrawal. She has been too reliant on it.'

'But she…' Aiushtha broke off. She was recalling the time she had spent with Luna, and how often she had drunk from some concealed flask, or taken the opportunity to scrounge up a drink. She had drunk practically every day.

And now she had gone for at least two days without any alcohol. Long enough to suffer for it.

Aiushtha had noticed the restlessness before, but had thought that was only because of the recent calamities.

'What can we do?' Aiushtha asked.

'We could give her something to drink.' Nico suggested.

'Sure,' the guard stepped forwards with a bowl of water in his hand.

Nico did not like the glint in his eyes. 'What are you doing?'

'Whiskey…' Luna shuddered. 'Ale… just give me a drink… please!'

'I'm giving her what she wants.' Without another word, the guard swung the bowl, splattering Luna with water.

Luna cringed, then lifted her head, baring her fangs like a beast. Cold sweat soaked her clothes along with the water. 'FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL!'

The guard laughed, casting the bowl aside. It clattered into the corner. 'Look at you! The once feared Scourge, grovelling on the floor like a starving beast. Maybe I can convince Lord Aridin to give you a little sip of wine, just so you can suffer without it once again.'

'Enough!' Nico shoved the man back. 'She may have once been the Scourge, but that doesn't excuse this cruelty.'

'Do you have any idea what she did, pangolier? She's a monster!'

Nico looked down at Luna, shivering on the floor once again. She was actually crying. 'She doesn't look like a monster to me.'

'You're too soft, Nico. You always were. This thing does not deserve kindness. Look at her! So helpless.' He reached for the keys on his belt. 'How about I get a little revenge for all those people she hurt. How about some revenge for my family?'

Nico seized his arm. 'She is not to be harmed, you know that.'

'To the hells with you! She'll be dead, or worse, soon enough. Who's going to care about some broken bones?'

Nico tightened his grip. With his other hand, he reached for his dagger. 'I would.'

The guard snatched his arm away. 'Sod you.' But the fight had gone out of him. He knew that Lord Aridin would not permit them to harm Luna. He needed Mirana to become compliant, or so the other guards whispered.

Nico disliked the sound of that, but he had no wish to see Luna come to harm, Scourge or not. No matter what she had done, he saw no good in brutalising someone helpless and suffering.

'Go up and get yourself something to eat,' Nico took the keys from the guard. 'I'll keep watch.'

'Yeah, yeah,' the guard snorted. 'Bet you just want to rut them.'

Nico scowled. 'You're angry. Go now, before your ire provokes my less gentle side.'

It was no idle threat, and the guard knew it. Scowling, he stalked back up the stairs, muttering the whole way.

Nico sighed and crouched in front of Luna's cell. Luna was barely conscious now, trapped in some feverish dream. She was drenched, her matted, straggly hair draped across her quivering form. There was a hollowness in her cheeks, what little Nico could see of them since she was curled up and hiding her face.

Nico could only pity her. He knew that she was a strong woman, a skilled and powerful warrior. To see her reduced to this, despite her many horrible acts, was a terrible thing.

'Aiushtha,' Nico looked up a the enchantress. 'Is there anything you could do?'

'Not without my staff.'

Nico sighed. That was locked away in the house, under heavy guard. Aridin might not allow Luna or Aiushtha to be harmed, but he would not risk letting Aiushtha near her focus. Maybe he intended to let Luna suffer so that he could bargain with Mirana.

Nico could imagine it. "Give me what I want, and I will grant poor Luna a drop of wine to alleviate her suffering." The thought sickened him.

Luna shuddered again. 'No… please! I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…' She started to whisper in a tongue Nico did not know. Elvish, he assumed. She seemed to be pleading, with whatever ghosts haunted her. There had to be many of them.

Nico went to refill the bowl with water. He opened her cell, stepped inside, and laid the bowl gently before Luna, who continued to shudder. 'Be strong, Luna. If you can withstand this, you may be better for it.'

Luna's arm snapped out and she seized Nico's hand with a clammy, yet strong grip. 'Please…'

'I can't, Luna.'

'No… please,' Luna lifted her head ever so slightly, giving Nico a glimpse of her feverish violet eyes. 'Please stay.'

Nico carefully sat, stretching out his legs. 'I will, at least until I am relieved. You understand, yes?'

Luna managed a shaky nod. 'Don't… don't let Mirana see me like this.'

'I do not believe she would think any less of you.'

'She has… enough to worry about. She's suffered enough.' Luna inhaled a shivering breath. 'If I could suffer in her stead… I would. I deserve it.'

'Mirana wouldn't believe that either.' Aiushtha murmured.

Luna sighed and hid her face again, only whispering: 'She's too good for me.'

Nico held her hand as she slipped back into a fitful slumber, lost in nightmares roused by her deprivation and guilt. 'I also doubt that she thinks that, Luna.'

My apologies for the delay. I needed a break for various reasons. But I am starting to feel better, so hopefully I can get back into the rhythm again.

Shout-out and thanks to BarissOffee99 for letting me borrow Tathlan. I know he technically appears in the show, but he gets more development in the Luniverse fics which are what made me want to include him in Ascension. You also have my thanks for providing some information regarding Luna's withdrawal.

Invoker fans (especially those who know/like him from the game), I hope I got things right. I doubled down on research, mainly via the wiki, to see what he's capable of. I certainly wouldn't want to tangle with him!