Chapter Nine

The All-Seeing

'Bring forth the light.'

The tiny ember of light began to swell.

It was slow at first, so slow it barely seemed to change at all. Yet the glow grew brighter, and the ember grew larger. There were other things out there in the formless night, hidden away by darkness. What had seemed empty was not entirely so. But it was without life, and so very cold and lacking.

The ember continued to grow, illuminating the distant frozen spheres. Tiny dots of light flickered far away.

That ember, that spark, had potential. The potential to bring warmth, maybe even life.

It had to be protected.

'Princess?'

Mirana turned over, but did not open her eyes. She groaned. 'Whaisit?'

Another insistent thump on the door. Mirana opened her eyes and groaned again. She'd rather not have remembered where she was, that she was practically a captive along with two of her friends, that Marci was… hopefully just missing. Yes, missing. Mirana had to cling to the belief that she was somehow still alive. It was horrible to think of her alone and lost, but at least if she was alive, she might be found, or would find her own way to safety.

Mirana sighed. 'I'm awake. What is it?'

'Lord Aridin requests your presence. The matter concerns one of your… associates.'

Mirana grimaced. She had searched the room for anything she could use as a weapon, but there had been nothing. Gondar and Aridin's men had been thorough. They hadn't even left her with a letter opener. It wasn't like she'd be able to fight her way out with a chair-leg. 'All right.'

She took a silk robe from the armoire and wrapped it around her nightdress. Propriety could wait. Her friends' welfare came first. She knocked on the door and heard the lock clunk.

The guards on the other side ogled her as she swept past, ignoring them. Her escort, four mercenaries no less, fell into step as she marched downstairs.

Aridin was waiting for her, fully dressed though his doublet was rumpled. He was sipping tea as she entered the parlour. The sun had yet to rise, and Mirana was growing more worried by the second. Aridin stood and bowed. 'Princess. I am sorry to have disturbed you, though it is a pleasure as always to see you.'

Mirana was not in the mood for pleasantries. It took much of her restraint not to snap at him. 'I am tired, Lord Aridin. Please be brief.'

Aridin nodded curtly. 'Please, come with me, Princess.' Despite the phrasing, it was an order. Mirana had no choice but to obey.

Mirana worked hard to control her breathing as they stepped down into the gaol. This could only mean that something bad had happened.

She had nightmarish ideas of some vengeful mercenary beating Luna to within an inch of her life, or maybe even killing her. She'd heard the murmurs. Plenty of men here had lost someone to the Scourge. Or perhaps it was Aiushtha who had earned someone's ire.

Nico was standing inside. His face was grim as he stepped forwards. 'Princess,' he kept his voice low, and Mirana had to listen carefully to hear. 'Luna asked me not to let you see.'

'Stand aside, Hieronimo.' Aridin ordered.

Nico sighed, nodded and moved away.

Aridin moved to Luna's cell and nodded to one of his men, who moved his torch closer.

Mirana gasped and stared.

Luna was curled up as much as she could manage with her restraints, shivering on the floor. Mirana hastened to the cell door. 'Luna? Luna!'

Luna curled up even more, trying to hide her face.

Mirana turned, glaring at Aridin. 'What have you done to her?'

Aridin's look of surprise was somewhat marred by the triumph plain in his eyes. 'I have done nothing, Your Grace. Perhaps the gods have seen fit to punish her for her many crimes.'

Mirana glowered at him. 'If she is sick, treat her! I command it!'

'Princess, if I may,' Nico stepped forwards. Aridin scowled at him, but Nico either did not notice or did not care. 'Mademoiselle Luna is suffering from alcohol withdrawal.'

'Will she…' Mirana looked to Aiushtha. 'Will she live?'

Aiushtha shrugged. 'I've never seen this before.'

Nico opened his mouth to speak, but Aridin spoke before he could. 'We can provide her with some wine, to alleviate her suffering.'

Mirana hesitated. Why would Aridin want to help Luna? In his eyes, she was the dreaded and reviled Scourge.

Not out of the goodness of his heart. If he had any goodness there. Or a heart.

Mirana sighed. 'But only if I do as you ask.'

Aridin looked nonplussed. 'I only want what is best for the Imperium, Your Grace, and for us. Helping me helps the Imperium, and your comrades.'

'Is that what you believe?' Mirana hissed.

'It is what I know, Your Grace.'

Mirana looked away from him and back down at her shivering friend. Luna had always seemed so strong, so determined. Apart from the time when Marci had floored her, Luna had always seemed to be invincible. Even walking on a maimed foot, not quite healed and infected, had seemed more like an inconvenience than an actual problem to her.

Now she was weak, vulnerable, helpless and hurting, and Mirana wanted nothing more than to hold her and comfort her, and maybe even give her the alcohol she so desperately craved.

'Raesh… raesh…' Luna whispered. No.

Mirana assumed she was trapped in a dream or vision. She reached into the cell, as far as possible, and managed to place her fingertips on Luna's arm. 'Luna,' Mirana swallowed, her throat burning. 'I'm here, Luna.'

Luna's hand snapped up and caught hers with surprising strength. Mirana caught a glimpse of her violet eyes between strands of her dirty white hair, bloodshot, red-rimmed, yet focused. 'Raes'i covan di. Raes'i valyn resen nadef. Emin!'

One of Aridin's guards took hold of Mirana's shoulders and pulled her away. Luna kept her eyes fixed on hers, her plea fresh in Mirana's ears and mind.

'Don't give in. Don't do what he wants. Please!'

'Luna,' Mirana shook her head. She spoke in elvish, 'I can't let you suffer. Please don't ask that of me.'

Luna shuddered and buried her face. After a moment, she stopped shivering, then lifted her head. Her hair was sodden with sweat, her face shining with it, her skin cold and clammy, yet she still managed to look defiant, strong, resolute like the Luna Mirana knew. With her teeth gritted, she spoke once again: 'I can take it.'

'Luna—'

'I said I can take it.'

Mirana felt a tear leak from her eye. 'Stay strong, Luna. I have faith in you.'

Luna smiled grimly. 'And I have faith in you.'

Mirana blinked her brimming eyes clear. 'Aiushtha?'

'I'll be fine, Princess.' Aiushtha assured her. 'And I'll keep an eye on Luna for you.'

'I can keep watch over them both if you desire, Your Grace.' Nico suggested. It was not a hollow statement.

'You serve me, Hieronimo.' Aridin stated. 'And you will do as I command. Princess, let us return to the house.'

Mirana kept her eyes on Luna as she was herded out. Luna had started to shiver again, the sweat dripping from her hair and into her eyes, but she stared back, unblinking, still strong.

Aridin waited until they were back in the parlour before he spoke again. 'Would you care for some tea, Princess? Or would you prefer to return to your chambers?' He snapped his fingers, prompting a servant to hurry over with more tea. 'I am sorry you had to witness that, Your Grace.'

No, he was not. He had done it to make a point. Mirana had no intention of buckling, not since Luna had told her to defy Aridin. 'Make sure she is cared for,' Mirana doubted that Aridin would do much, but Luna had some value to him. 'If you want any co-operation from me, you'll make sure that she remains alive and well.' The servant with the tea held out a cup for her, looking down and shaking a little. Mirana gently took the cup from her. 'Thank you.'

Aridin's eyebrows twitched. He said nothing.

'It'll be sunrise soon, Lord Aridin.' Mirana stated.

'I'll dispatch my remaining pegagriff riders, as promised.' Aridin assured her. 'I trust that your handmaiden, if she is found, will come quietly.'

Mirana frowned. She wasn't sure what to say. If Marci was found and she fought back, the pegagriff riders might hurt her. But if she gained the upper-hand, she might come to the rescue sooner rather than later. Marci had never flown a sphinx or anything similar, but she was a fast learner. 'She might resist, but… I doubt that she poses much of a threat to your soldiers,' Mirana told him. 'Even if she does fight back, she is not to be harmed. Am I understood?'

'Of course, Princess.' Aridin inclined his head. 'I shall pass along your instructions, and I shall tell the riders only to bear light armament. But they will need weapons. This area is not completely safe.'

'I understand. But my handmaiden is likely lost, confused and scared.'

'Princess,' Aridin placed his cup on the table. 'I know that you value your handmaiden, but I think it would be wise to… accept the possibility that she may have perished.'

Mirana shook her head. 'Not without proof.'

'As you will, Your Grace.' Aridin stepped closer. 'Once this matter is resolved, we can prepare for the future: our return to Rasolir.'

'Our return?' Mirana frowned. 'Lord Aridin, the Senate and my father had you exiled. If you set foot in Rasolir, you may be imprisoned or even executed. You should stay here, and allow me and my friends to go once Marci is found. I will ask the Senate to reinstate your position.' She hated to lie. She fully intended to have him tried as a traitor. But what else could she do? She wasn't Marci. She couldn't fight her way out of this mess with her bare hands. Even with a weapon, she wouldn't make it.

'I'm sure they will make an exception for us.' Aridin smiled. 'After all, we have something in common: we both want what is best for the Imperium. We are not enemies, Princess. We can be good friends. If not better.'

Mirana's frown deepened. 'Lord Aridin, I too would prefer that we not be enemies. But let us not pretend that you have not wronged me, my House and the Imperium. We are not friends, and I doubt that we ever will be.'

'Maybe so,' Aridin moved closer. 'Though I am certain that I can change your mind. But I'm sure that you need to rest. I shall alert you should anything happen. Guards, escort the Princess back to her chambers.'

Mirana continued to frown and fret as the guards took her back to her chambers. It was plain that Aridin intended to use her in some way, to regain his place in the Senate, she supposed, or maybe to gain a position on the Royal Council.

He wasn't going to accept a lie either. Maybe he intended to keep a hostage to make her compliant.

So why hadn't he allowed her to leave yet?

Mirana could only speculate. But one thing was certain: she would not leave without her friends.

Aridin grimaced as he set his teacup on the table. 'A poor brew.'

'I apologise, Lord Aridin,' the servant behind him bowed low.

'I did not tell you to speak! Do better.' Aridin snapped. 'Or I will ensure that you are sent from this place with only rags upon your back.'

The servant gulped, backed away, still bowing, and retreated from the room. She nearly bumped into Gondar, who merely growled at her as she hurried past.

'You heard?' Aridin assumed.

'About the disappointing tea? Or what the Princess asked of you?'

'The latter.'

'I heard enough.'

'She is stubborn and wilful.' Aridin sighed. 'She will not allow herself to see that together, we can make the Imperium better than it ever has been.' He turned to the bounty hunter. Whatever species he was of, it was rarely seen here. Aridin did not know how to read him, but even if he had, Gondar barely gave anything away. 'Though I suppose that matters little to you.'

'I am here to honour our contract.'

'And earn your pay.' Aridin did not really care. In a way, Gondar's simple desire for coin made him trustworthy. So long as Aridin kept paying him generously, he would remain loyal. And he was very useful. Aridin had barely balked at his cost because he had heard how effective he was, and he had proved it. He couldn't think of many others daring and capable enough to snatch the Princess of the Sun from the midst of a levianth attack. 'She still insists on having her handmaiden found.'

'She was dragged into the depths by the Tidehunter. She is dead, one way or another.'

'Yet the Princess refuses to accept this. How can she have been so attached to a mere servant?'

Gondar did not answer. He did not consider this important. He just wanted to know what his next task was. 'Do you want me to find her remains? A difficult task, but some pieces might wash ashore.'

Aridin grimaced with distaste. He had people like Gondar sully their hands so that he did not have to. That was fine by Gondar, provided he kept paying. 'No, I have the matter in hand. Did you bring the item?'

Gondar held out a fang attached to a leather cord. 'It does not worry you that the Princess might recognise this as her own?'

'She will be too distraught.' Aridin took the necklace carefully, trying to touch it as little as possible. He grimaced. 'A dragon fang? Really! Why would she wear this?'

Gondar shrugged. Not his concern, again.

'As distasteful as it is,' Aridin murmured, ignoring the fact that he had a few trophies he had bought prior to his exile, 'it will serve a purpose. She said that her handmaiden wore such a trinket too. More fitting of a slum-rat than a Princess. Yes, it will serve.'

Gondar nodded, understanding what he intended. 'You see no reason to search for the handmaiden.'

'You said that she is dead. Given the Tidehunter's reputation, I believe you. I will dispatch my remaining pegagriff riders, for an hour or two, but I see no reason to risk sending them into the gun-sights of Claddish privateers in search of some torn remains. No, they have better uses.'

'I won't argue.' Gondar stated. 'Hieronimo has asked that he guard the prisoners. He thinks that the others might harm them. He may be right. Some of the men have a grudge against the Scourge.'

'What about you, Gondar?'

'That depends on you, Lord Aridin.' Gondar grunted. 'If you want her to live, pay me. If you want her to die, pay me. It makes no difference to me, provided I am paid.'

That simplicity was something Aridin appreciated when it came to Gondar. When his plans came to fruition, he hoped to keep Gondar in his employ. He would be a most useful tool. Gondar wouldn't even object to being viewed as a tool, not if he was well compensated for his work.

Aridin had no love for Luna. He would not weep if she died. But she was more useful to him alive, though not necessarily well. The handmaiden Mirana was so bewilderingly attached to might be dead, denying Aridin a means of controlling her, but Luna would compensate for that. Mirana seemed to have a habit of forming attachments he could not fathom, but they had their uses.

'Tell the men that anyone who tries to harm the Scourge without my permission will suffer dire consequences. Tell them that I intend to see her suffer for what she has done, that execution is better than she deserves.'

Gondar nodded. 'As you wish, my lord.'

Aridin did not bother to dismiss him. Gondar took his own leave. Aridin was busy determining his next moves, judging the timing, debating the best way to tell Princess Mirana that her handmaiden, her "dearest friend", was dead.

Martan paused only to bash in the skull of an elf who attempted to tackle him. He hurried up the steps and into the temple, his comrades forced the doors shut behind him, then set about piling debris and anything else they could find against them.

They would not hold for long. The Omniscience had made that clear. Only twelve of them had made it this far, and some of them were hurt. Martan was nursing a bruised rib, the dent in his armour pressing his gambeson against the injury. Hushaw had lost his left arm below the elbow, and had been forced to take up a fallen sabre since he could no longer hold his sacred hammer. Berice had a bloodstained bandage wrapped around her head, covering the space where her nose had been. Atresh was limping heavily. Norek was still dazed from the impact of a greatsword against his now crumpled armet. The others were carrying more minor injuries, and all of them were keenly aware that this would be their final stand.

The chamber was circular, white stone lined with golden scripture. The centre consisted of a dais covered in tiny golden runes. It was from this dais that the Omniscience would sometimes communicate with its followers, especially new converts. It never actually showed its true form though. Of the current generation of Omniknights, only Purist Thunderwrath had ever beheld the Omniscience in person, after taking the weeks long trek down the tunnels to the heart of the world itself.

He had returned with his dwindling faith renewed, but he had always kept the details of that meeting to himself.

'We could retreat further into the tunnels,' Atresh suggested quietly. Even as he said it, they all felt the Omniscience turn its gaze upon them, and all felt its will.

'They would only run us down if we tried.' Martan stated. 'No. We hold here.'

'For what purpose?' Norek demanded.

Again, the Omniscience made its will clear. It did not want them to die, but every second they bought, every moment they delayed the enemy, would make a difference.

Martan believed that. He had to. Just as Purist, the chosen champion of the Omniscience in the Battle for Creation, had been tasked with the ultimate sacrifice, so too were they.

'We're all scared,' Berice murmured. 'May the All-Seeing forgive me, but I'm so scared!'

'I do not blame you,' Martan laid his hand on her shoulder. 'And we may suffer terribly before we die. But ours is a holy duty, and we shall be rewarded for it, and those who live through our sacrifices may yet make a difference.'

Berice managed a tiny smile. 'I suppose that is some comfort.'

Something struck the doors. Martan could not hear anybody speaking outside. Another projectile struck, with greater force. Probably a stone cast by a catapult or onager.

'Ready yourselves.' Martan braced himself, lifting his hammer. 'To the All-Seeing and All-Knowing, we offer our souls, and to those we protect, knowingly or not, we give our lives as we have sworn.'

They fanned out across the chamber. Atresh and Hushaw were shaking visibly. Martan did not blame them. Death was not an easy thing to face, even with the Omniscience watching over them.

Another stone struck the doors. They buckled inwards. A gap wide enough to admit a person had opened towards the top.

The Omniknights stood firm, waiting for the next impact. A few more, and the doors would give way. The Dark Moon Horde and their newly acquired allies would swarm in. Martan expected to take a few of them down, but it would not take the enemy long to overwhelm them.

Five seconds passed. Ten. Martan frowned. Surely it wasn't taking them that long to reload their siege engines. It seemed unlikely that they had run out of missiles. But even if they had, they had the Invoker. He could easily tear apart the doors.

Even as he wondered, Martan felt the Omniscience touch his mind.

He quashed the rising dread as it rose, preparing to meet his end with what dignity he could manage. The siege engines had stopped because one of the enemy was about to enter the temple.

Something leapt through the gap and landed before them. A Bloodseeker with a black mask over his eyeless sockets, etched with red markings and crowned with black hlotl feathers. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his curved blades clutched in his bestial hands and dripping with blood. Gore coated his fangs, dripping down his chin.

The Omniscience knew of this beast, and thus so did Martan and his fellow Omniknights. 'We will not submit meekly to you, pagan beast!'

The Bloodseeker grinned, baring his bloody fangs. 'Good. The defiant make for such delicious sacrifices. You should be glad to feed the Flayed Twins.'

'We do not fear your barbarous gods, Strygwyr. You may claim our blood, but you will not claim our souls.'

Strygwyr chuckled. 'That is what you believe, Omniknight. We shall see if that is so soon enough.'

Norek raised his hammer and rushed forwards. 'Die foul beast!'

'No!' Martan yelled. If they had any chance of making a stand, they had to do it united.

Strygwyr grinned, crouched, then leapt high into the air, landing before his charging opponent. Norek roared and swung his hammer.

Strygwyr dodged easily, leaping as the hammer smashed uselessly into the stone floor. His obsidian blades slashed through the air, and the throat of his reckless foe.

Blood sprayed and gushed, and the doomed man collapsed to his knees, clutching at his throat as he fell.

Atresh lifted his hammer and shouted a prayer, intending to slow Strygwyr down enough for his friends to strike.

Strygwyr uttered what sounded like an incantation and waved his blades. The blood gushing from his first victim coalesced around him, a spinning bloody mass, then flew about the chamber, daubing profane patterns and pagan symbols everywhere in fresh blood.

The Omniknights felt their power wane, and their connection to their patron diminished further still. The blood rite had suppressed their abilities.

Laughing now, Strygwyr pounced. Hushaw brought up his sabre in an attempt to parry the obsidian blades. The first strike bit deep into the steel sabre. The second slashed into a vulnerable spot between the bottom of his cuirass and his cuisses, slicing through his mail skirt like a hot knife through butter, cutting deep into his groin.

Hushaw screamed and staggered back, blood welling from the wound. Whenever Strwgwyr's weapons cut flesh, they cut deep and caused extreme bleeding.

Martan and Berice rushed to Hushaw's aid. The others followed behind.

Strygwyr snarled and kicked Hushaw onto his back. A red mist erupted from his body, filling the air with a metallic scent and a thick fog of blood. It stung the skin of the Omniknights and sizzled against their armour.

Martan heard another scream and the sound of an armoured body falling. He almost tripped over the corpse and swung wildly. Berice jumped back to avoid the blow.

The obsidian blades found her next, biting deep into her femoral arteries. Berice's yelp was cut short by the blade which penetrated the back of her neck, severing her spinal cord. She fell limply to the ground, unable to move even as she bled to death.

Martan cursed and swung again. His hammer narrowly missed the Bloodseeker, who deftly rolled away, and spun, arms extended, his blades spraying blood. Two more men fell, blood spurting from their now headless necks.

It seemed that creating the mist had opened bleeding fissures in Strygwyr's skin, fissures which seemed to be healing before Martan's eyes. He thought that the mist was cheating his sight at first. It seemed as though the blood of the fallen was rising, a faint reddish haze, and alighting upon the Bloodseeker's wounds, forming scabs and mending his flesh.

Strygwyr vanished into the mist, a vague dark shape seeking new prey. Hushaw had barely stood when Strygwyr found him. Hushaw tried to parry again, but the obsidian blade snapped the sabre completely. His last sight was of the points of Strygwyr's blades rushing towards his eyes.

Martan heard Hushaw fall. 'Form up!' he shouted. 'Everyone, form a circle!'

Even as he called, he heard yet another Omniknight scream. A severed arm flew across the chamber. Another cry followed, and the man's legs.

There were only five of them left now. Martan saw Atresh limping back towards him, the eyes just visible through his visor wide and full of panic. A dark shape lunged through the mist towards him.

'Atresh!' Martan yelled. 'Behind you!'

Atresh turned and swung his hammer. Strygwyr rolled under it, slashing as he rose. The blades only nicked Atresh's leg. Atresh turned and lifted his hammer.

Stwygwyr grinned and crossed his blades, the edges scraping, then slashed at the air.

The cuts he had inflicted on Atresh exploded, spraying fountains of blood, thickening the bloody mist clouding the chamber.

Atresh wailed and toppled. Strygwyr left him to bleed out and vanished into the fog of blood.

Martan's skin was slick with sweat and blood. The once shining armour of the Omniknights was sullied with the gore of their friends. He could feel his limbs shaking. The Omniscience was still muted and distant, and Martan had never been more scared.

'We are forsaken!' one of the Omniknights cried. 'All is lost! We must flee!'

Before anybody could stop him, he broke away from the small circle and ran, casting aside his hammer.

A dark shape flitted through the mist.

'Get back here!' Martan shouted, his voice quavering.

'Mercy!' the fleeing man pleaded. 'Have mercy!'

Strygwyr's response was simple. His blades rushed forth, severing the tendons in his victim's legs, then the straps of his cuirass. As the cuirass clattered to the ground, followed by its owner, Strygwyr buried his blades in the man's chest, rupturing his heart. A fountain of blood gushed from the ragged wound when Strygwyr withdrew his weapons, showering him in blood.

Strygwyr ran his tongue over his soaked lips and teeth, withdrew into the mist, then leapt high into the air.

Martan turned in time to see him land in the middle of the circle. He jabbed with his hammer, but Strygwyr simply flowed to one side. Martan only succeeded in shoving one of the surviving Omniknights away.

Strygwyr laughed and plunged his blades into the neck of the man next to Martan. He pushed the flailing, gurgling man at Martan. Borne down by the weight of his dying ally, Martan hit the ground and lost his grip on his hammer. The man he had accidentally pushed was next to die. The blood-curdling scream and another eruption of blood marked his demise.

Martan shoved the corpse atop him away and scrambled for a weapon.

Too late.

Martan howled as the ritual blades of the Bloodseeker sliced into his legs, hamstringing him. The blades bit into his armpits next, then sliced upwards, shearing through flesh, sinew and bone. As Martan screamed, the Bloodseeker sliced away his cuirass and turned him over.

The bestial face loomed before him, blades dripping with blood ready to carve his flesh. Strygwyr ran his tongue over his teeth and raised his weapons. 'You should be honoured to bleed so that the Flayed Ones may live.'

The blades descended. Those stood outside the temple heard Martan's screams, and they knew that the last Omniknight had fallen—a sacrifice for the ever-bloodthirsty Flayed Ones.

Fymryn grimaced as the stench of spilled blood wafted down from the temple entrance. The Bloodseekers had rushed ahead with glee. As she had ascended the steps behind the Invoker, she had heard the hooting and howling of the creatures, followed by dark chants uttered in their own tongue. Their leader had slaughtered the last of the Omniknights, and now he and his fellows gloried in their victory, butchering the corpses in ritual desecration, devoting their blood, flesh and bone to the Flayed Twins.

Fymryn thought that she had seen the worst bloodshed of her life at the Battle of Dragon Keep. But this savagery was enough to make her sick. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she heaved, fighting to keep her bile down. They had barely left any flesh behind, just gobbets and pieces here and there amongst bones flayed of muscle, sinew and skin. Not even the formidable armour of the Omniknights had withstood the obsidian blades of their blood-crazed foes. They stalked amongst the carnage, painting baleful pictograms and glyphs devoted to the Flayed Twins upon the once golden walls.

Kneeling in the middle of the circular chamber was their leader, burlier than his fellows, with a black mask over his eyeless sockets, etched with red markings and crowned with black feathers. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his curved blades dripping. Fymryn shivered when she saw that his teeth were drenched with vitae, dripping over his lips and down his chin.

'Mmm,' Vanari ran her tongue over her triangular teeth. 'All this blood makes me feel peckish.'

Fymryn shuddered.

'It would not be wise to interrupt our ritual, half-spawn,' the kneeling Bloodseeker did not lift his head. Fymryn did not recognise the accent. She had never even heard of his kind or his religion before today.

'Yet it must be interrupted, for our victory is not yet attained,' the Invoker stepped forwards, unafraid of the bloodstained warriors who growled at him. 'We have not yet blinded the Omniscience.'

'You would settle only for that?' the large Bloodseeker rose slowly. The bones bound about his neck and waist clattered. 'The Flayed Twins desire the sacrifice of the Omniscience, and its blood in tribute.'

'The Omniscience cannot be slain like its mortal servants, something your gods fail to understand, Strygwyr.' The Invoker looked upon Strygwyr with a calculating gaze, the distaste barely veiled. 'But though we cannot strike down the Omniscience, we can end its role in this war.'

'That is not our bargain, Old One.'

'Our pact will be honoured, Hound,' the Invoker stated, ignoring the blood soaking into the hem of his robes. 'When Mene returns, She will punish the Omniscience for its treachery, and your Flayed Twins shall have their tribute.' The Invoker stepped past him, his boots sending ripples through the pools of blood. He stared into the mouth of the tunnel, his orbs still circling him.

'How long is that tunnel?' Fymryn asked, trying to focus on that rather than the gore around her.

'It has never been measured,' the Invoker stated. 'It would likely take us weeks, perhaps months, to walk to the Omniscience. We do not have time to waste.' The Invoker stepped onto the dais, nudging aside a severed arm with his foot. Fymryn fought hard to keep the bile down. 'This dais amplifies the power of the Omniscience, what remains of it. With some alterations, it will suit our purpose.'

Faint golden lines began to shine through the blood coating the dais. Fymryn stepped onto it, grimacing as gore squelched under her boots. The light rose higher, tinged red in places. Strygwyr hesitated, then stepped onto the dais too. Vanari shrugged and stayed where she was.

The Invoker spread his arms and closed his eyes. The tainted light grew more intense, too intense for Fymryn, who squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like she was being pulled towards the ground, as if something had seized her ankles and was tugging at them.

A bright flash bled through her eyelids. She felt weightless for a moment, and then it seemed as if she was encased in suffocating darkness. It was if the earth itself had swallowed her.

The feeling passed, and her feet came to rest on something solid and smooth. It still felt like there was something hanging over her, like the weight of the world was pressing down from above.

Her back felt cold, yet there was warmth caressing her face. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Fymryn gasped and stared.

The space they stood within was spherical. The stone was not unlike marble, but seemingly formed of gold and silver, smooth as polished metal, reflective like a mirror. Strange images flickered everywhere, snatches of places elsewhere, seen through eyes not their own. Some seemed familiar, some not, others impossible.

In the very centre of this place was a vast globe, seemingly wrought of glass—if gold could be rendered into glass. Light shone from its centre, radiating against the interior of the sphere. More strange images flitted across its surface. Fymryn was reminded of the glimpses she had seen in Terrorblade's mirrors.

There were… so many. The same, yet different. Different, yet the same. She could have sworn that she herself appeared in those images, many times. She recognised herself even though each instance of her was different. And there were others. Many others.

Davion.

She beheld him resting in some cold cavern, with Auroth, Rylai, Bram, Caewyn and Eserren. Yet in another image, he was stood on a balcony in the Invoker's tower with Mirana, kissing her, as in the shadows someone watched, someone she thought she knew. Marci perhaps? In yet another image, Davion staggered back, clutching at a mortal wound in his chest. His demonic foe fell back too, also bearing a fatal wound, inflicted out of defiance and desperation by Davion.

Fymryn gasped. 'Terrorblade? But… how? We stopped him!'

A voice whispered in her head. She could not define it, for it sounded like a multitude of voices speaking as one, neither male nor female, neither old nor young, and it spoke in tongues she knew and did not know. 'Here, your foe was bested. There, your foe was also defeated. But at a cost. Always at a cost.'

Again, the fight in Foulfell raced before her eyes. This was the one she knew, the one Davion had survived. But this time, she saw what she had missed. She saw Purist throw Marci to safety and smash the last mirror. She turned away as Terrorblade fell upon Purist, and unleashed his wrath on the Omniknight.

More images swarmed the chamber, and she at last caught sight of the Invoker and Strygwyr. She could guess what Strygwyr wanted. He was grinding his teeth, gripping his blades tightly. The Invoker, however, seemed completely nonplussed. He did not react, not even when they were shown an image of him, kneeling in a desolate hell. Before him stood a woman in golden armour, holding a doubled-bladed sword with crescent blades, her long white hair bound in a high tail.

Fymryn gasped softly when she saw someone so very like herself there too, clad in white, her skin aglow, making her seem unearthly.

'This is what you dwell upon, Omniscience?' the Invoker asked. 'You have no control over other realities. They will not avail you.'

'I have no more control over this reality, Kael the Invoker, servant of Mene, once the lover of Selemene, father of Filomena, than I do over any other. And that is among many things I lament. I can only ask my faithful to fulfil my will, and now they are no more.'

Another image flashed before the Invoker: a woman with white hair and green eyes. She looked young, but there was a resigned look in her eyes, as if she already knew her fate, and that fate was imminent.

'She could not be saved then. She cannot be saved now. Your struggle will not bring her back.'

'I know. I am not the Invoker of those realities.'

'There is much you should learn from him, from every instance of yourself. Even if your mission is completed, you will remain empty. Your future is as hollow as your present.'

'Enough of this!' Strygwyr brandished his weapons. 'It is time. You shall feed the Flayed Ones, Omniscience. I, Strygwyr the Bloodseeker, shall end your false reign.'

'No,' the Invoker waved a hand without looking at the Bloodseeker. A flash of flame made Strygwyr recoil, and he turned his eyeless head towards the Invoker, growling and baring his fangs. The Invoker was unfazed. 'I told you: the Omniscience cannot be destroyed by conventional means. It is a deity, and only a deity may slay another of its kind, or else diminished by a lack of faith or the theft of its power. If you were to strike at the Omniscience, you would be destroyed.

Today, we shall settle for blinding the Omniscience, silencing it and removing it from our war. That will suffice, until Mene rules once more, and then your ever-hungry gods will have their sacrifice.'

Strygwyr snarled, but did not argue further.

'Without me, the Covenant will not endure. You would risk war in the cosmos for your vengeance?'

'You failed to punish Selemene for usurping her rightful goddess,' the Invoker retorted.

'You could have stopped her, yet you did not. It was not a goddess who acted against Mene then, but a mortal. She only became a goddess after. But I will not deny that Mene's fall ended her threat to the Covenant, and mortal life.'

'And it was all in vain. For now Mene shall return, and the Dark Moon will arise as She intended.'

'Yes,' the voice of the Omniscience was heavy now. It sounded tired and resigned. 'She will return, and the Dark Moon will cast its shadow over the world. Yet your victory is not yet secure.'

New images flickered into being. Fymryn stared with wide eyes at various instances of a face she knew well.

In one image, Mirana stood before a throne, a golden tiara upon her brow, bestowing some sort of blessing upon the soldiers kneeling before her.

In another, she walked away from a strange man in a world overcast and grey, tears in her eyes, one hand resting upon a belly starting to swell.

In yet another, she wrapped her arms around Luna, watching over a small child in his crib.

Yet another image flashed before Fymryn's eyes, of Mirana kneeling before a headstone, weeping as she spoke. Fymryn could not read the words upon the stone, but she thought she heard a faint whisper as she tried to read Mirana's trembling lips.

I'm so sorry, Marci. I miss you. I miss you so much.

A final instance appeared: a column of bright light streaming into the sky, a figure rising within seemingly made of nothing but the purest light.

'You know why Mene fears her,' the Omniscience whispered. 'You know what she is. When the darkness rises, she will bring forth the light.'

The Invoker remained impassive, yet Fymryn thought she detected the faintest tic of uncertainty in his sharp face.

And then he spoke, and his words chilled her to the bone.

'Not if she falls.'

Fymryn shuddered.

The light within the globe swelled a little, and she heard the voice once more as the Invoker drew closer to the Omniscience. This time the voice was quieter, and she realised that the Omniscience spoke only to her.

'Your doubts are many, Fymryn, and they are not unjustified. Kael claims to fight for the restoration of justice. Perhaps he was right to cast down Selemene. Perhaps power had corrupted her. She too claimed to fight for what was just and good when she imprisoned Mene. And so the cycle continues.

But what victory is worth the deaths of so many innocents? Is it worth the deaths of so many good people? Mene chose you because of your faith, Fymryn. But unlike so many of your kin, your faith does not blind you. You have beheld your supposed enemies, and have found that there is goodness in them too, just as they have beheld it in you.

There will be a cost either way, Fymryn, to bring this war to a close. And in this fight, everyone will suffer, for that is the way of war. What price will you pay, Fymryn of Coedwig, Nightblade of Mene?'

Fymryn had no answer.

'You claim that my cause is hollow,' the Invoker said. 'But I do not fight merely for vengeance. I took my revenge when I brought Selemene low. My war is waged for justice. You willingly stand in the way of my cause, and thus you shall be punished, now and later. Your part in this war ends today, and my enemies shall suffer for it.'

'Everyone will suffer, Invoker. Everyone will suffer.'

'Silence it, Old One.' Strygwyr grated. 'Put an end to its prattle.'

The Invoker lifted his hand. 'I end what my goddess began, what you were and always have been powerless to prevent. No more will you see, and no more will you whisper.' The orbs wheeling around him pulsed and the Invoker's eyes flashed.

Before their eyes, the outside of the sphere became opaque and the light within dimmed. The images flared and moved faster and faster, becoming little more than indistinct blurs. Fymryn caught moments as they were torn away: a woman with eyes of flame, her hair ablaze, rising to meet a vast hulk of stone studded with red and blue crystals.

Marci, clad in apparel similar to the clothing worn by High Priestesses of Selemene, fretting over a supine Davion on the road, a tiny, winged humanoid, maybe some kind of small fae, flitting around her head.

A world turned into hell, Terrorblade lazing upon a throne carved from the bones of his enemies, revelling in victory.

A world trapped in an endless war, hundreds dying every day, only to rise from a maze of darkness and fear to fight and die yet again.

Mirana standing in a graveyard, amidst the sarcophagi of the ones she loved, tears streaming down her face, as a woman so very similar to Fymryn herself, yet so different, attempted to comfort her.

A vast wave of piercing light smashing through a strange, ancient ruin, filled with what seemed to be tools and apparatus for shaping something, a huge explosion of blinding light, followed by a darkness so complete it seemed to swallow everything, until a tiny flicker of light blossomed in the gloom.

'And so my role ends. But their fates never lay in my hands. Victory is no sure thing, and the struggle does not always earn it.

Will the fates you create be worth the cost?'

At last, the sphere grew dull and solid. The light faded away. Apart from the Invoker's orbs, there was no light in the chamber. The Omniscience was still present, but blind and silent.

Its role in the war was over.

This was supposed to be a victory. Yet Fymryn felt only trepidation and fear as she realised just what she had helped the Invoker to achieve.

Many thanks to Annbe11 and BarissOffee99 once again for a lot of help and support. You've probably noticed the references to your own stories here. For those here who have not tried their stories, I highly recommend them.