“Brakenus, a pleasure as always.” She inclined her head.

  The armoured man took a step forward, chains clinking on his arms. He didn’t respond.

  “Come now, Talradian. Spare this Demon a few pleasantries.”

  He paused, and through the slits of his armour she could feel his glare. His hands were hovering beside his sheathed swords. He hadn’t drawn them yet. Perhaps he thought he wouldn’t have to.

  His strength was in the chains wrapped around his arms. She could feel his skill with them coursing through her, but it was worthless if she didn’t have them.

  “Demon.” He finally spoke. “You-”

  “Alleria Elevar.”

  He paused again.

  “My name is Alleria. You could at least try to remember it.”

  “What need have I to learn a dead woman’s name?” He asked, “Do you remember the name of each Talradian you’ve murdered?”

  “I’ll admit, most of them never gave it to me.” She grinned, “You should be honoured, I remember yours.”

  “Demons have no honour.” He said, as if it were a fact, “I have seen firsthand proof of that.”

  “I believe we will have to agree to disagree on that, since I can only see an honourless Talradian before me. I doubt you would agree with that assessment.”

  “I would.” He admitted, taking another step forward, “Rejoice, Demon, for you have had me speak more to you than any other I have hunted. That should comfort you before the end.”

  Her sword, still levelled at him, shook slightly. “You have my thanks.”

  His helmet tilted and looked past her, “A foreigner. There are many amongst my Company who would have him executed for aiding you.” He shook his head, “Anger and rage can be as blinding as the sun itself.”

  “Your articulate nature never ceases to surprise me, General,” Velandus replied from behind her.

  “We’ve met?”

  “Briefly, but it was quite a long time ago. You have changed little since then.”

  “I am what my people need me to be.”

  Alleria took another step forward, and now the distance between them was growing shorter and shorter.

  “I find myself thankful that Danadrian is not here, right old man?”

  “I would say the same.”

  She tried to meet the hidden eyes of her adversary, “Thank you for indulging me with these brief pleasantries.”

  “It was more than you deserved.”

  His sword drew in an instant, and as fluid as water, the chain on his arm swung towards her. She’d predicted it. She leapt forward as it overshot her, a slash aimed for his neck. He met it, their blades similar in length, and deflected her. His next attack cut through her clothing, leaving a superficial wound around her stomach. She didn’t bother healing it.

  She backed up a step but felt the cool touch of metal wrap around her arm. The chain that had overshot pulled itself back, curling around her left arm.

  Gravitational Magic.

  She grabbed the chain and tugged, inching him closer to her as each of their arms engaged in a pulling match. The others brought their swords down on each other, engaging in a fierce melee. He deflected, she thrusted, he slashed, she pivoted. Every move was one she knew, every technique one he had mastered.

  Cuts appeared on her arms. Slashes opened the skin. Her blue blood dripped as she healed the worst of them. She needed her energy here and now.

  His armour took each blow that came against it. She didn’t give him so much as a bruise, but she swore that she did damage.

  She backed up, unlatching the chain from her arm. After one glance, she saw that the skin had gone red where the chains had tightened. It stung.

  She glanced up and slashed her blade in the air. The first set of chains bounced back mid-air. The other she sidestepped as it grappled for her legs.

  She pulled her sword back in case the chains aimed for it instead. Then it was a game of dodging. They were lurching all around her, trying to grab at her arms, her legs. One line smacked into her stomach and made her stumble. They were more than just metal, they were like extensions of his very self.

  Gods damn Slathir for not giving Demons this magic.

  She couldn’t see what he was doing, couldn’t predict where the chains would go next. They moved unnaturally, curving at square angles, slithering across the dirt like snakes. All she could do to keep herself alive was dodge them. Backstep, jump, knock aside the weaker attacks.

  She didn’t know how long she kept doing it, only that every time she moved in to strike him, he responded with chains, magic, and cuts to her body. She was left on the defensive.

  The chain struck her, making her sword arm shake. In that second of hesitation, the other caught her free arm and tightened. She gritted her teeth and looked ahead to see what he would do.

  Approach us in a melee. Twist the arm until it breaks. We cannot sustain that sort of injury and keep fighting. What-

  That was when he did something inconceivable to her. And in a roundabout way, that was what made it inconceivable. A circular paradox, if you will.

  She saw him flick his hand, the chain swept like a whip, and then she left the ground.

  Everything went quiet as she felt the wind rush against her cheeks. For a brief moment, she was weightless and free, beyond this world entirely. But like a bird that had taken flight for the first time, the ground’s pull on her eventually reared its ugly head. And then Alleria fell.

  She crashed onto the stone road, a few steps away from the cart. It had not been a graceful fall. The chain, which had retreated, had thrown her to the ground with force. Her mind raced as strength rushed to repair a cracked bone in her arm.

  The fog that had surrounded the road was closing in now. Swirling and blinding everything within it from view. It engulfed the figure, who walked like approaching death on the stones.

  She spat dust she’d inhaled in his direction. He didn’t seem at all fazed by it.

  “I have never before in my life done that.” He said as he closed the gap, “Your House remains a threat, Demon, but one with easier weaknesses to exploit. I regret to say that a Demon of House Wrathius or Lustravias would have been more of a challenge to contend with.”

  “You are not worthy to say his name.”

  Her head ran hot with anger. The General was collected, cool under stress, but that was a part of him she could not hope to replicate. At least not now. His words cut deeper than even he realised, though she knew them to be true. She pulled herself up, leaning against the wheel for support.

  That didn’t mean she wished to hear it from him.

  Her hand reached out and clasped something cold, rough to the touch. She looked up and saw Velandus, his face grim, looking down at her. No, it was more than grim. Resigned.

  In his hands, in her hands, was a sword resting in its sheath.

  Voices flooded her brain. A hundred memories and a thousand regrets. So fast they made Brakenus seem like a snail in comparison. His skills left her, she was just Alleria. Alleria with a choice set before her, one that she didn’t want to make.

  Just Alleria. That was all.

  She drew the blade from its sheath.

  It was exactly as she remembered it. Curved, silver, with a slight blue glow.

  We need this.

  She held on to it with her shaking hands, taking a stance she’d seen only once. Never before had she taken it, though. She gripped the hilt, angling it straight in front of her. And the effect was immediate.

  Brakenus hissed and retreated back, his posture immediately defensive. One hand hovered around the still sheathed second sword he had yet to draw, and the chains withdrew themselves to his arms.

  She took one step forward, and then another, and another. The weight never left her, but she steeled what resolve she had yet to muster. And then, with a swing, their blades met again.

  The clang resounded through the forest as her downward strike, so basic and unnuanced, was blocked. With his mind lost to her, she wasn’t sure what to expect next. What she didn’t though was for him to knock her away, and create more distance between them.

  “Soul Steel!” He shouted, “Were you that confident to only draw it now?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She replied, glad to hear her voice was still working.

  “I may know better than even you, Demon.”

  She thought that their eyes met through the darkness of his helmet. There she saw him recoil for the first time. What did he see in her eyes?

  “No, you don’t.”

  She stepped forward and attempted a thrust. Her movements felt so… slow, so easy to predict. He knocked it aside. When she tried again, it amounted to the same effect. In any other situation, she would have been dead already.

  But he was backing away, unwilling to get close to the blade. Whereas before he took blows to his armour without so much as a wince, now he seemed to be wary. She took another step towards him, and he raised his hand.

  And then they were surrounded.

  Shapes appeared out of the fog, bows drawn and arrows ready to be loosed. Half a dozen Talradians, each wearing armour similar to his, though many chose hoods rather than helmets. With a single glance, she could see their eyes locking onto her with animosity.

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  “She has Soul Steel. Keep your distance.”

  She turned back to see Velandus sitting in his seat, noticeably stiffened, “The opportune moment to make a break for it was about a minute ago.”

  “Then don’t let your fight cover the entire road.” He threw back.

  Brakenus was standing partially in the fog again. It stuck to his armour, surrounding him. Of course, fog this time of year was almost unheard of. Against him, she was at a disadvantage. Against what she could only assume was his vanguard, some of his best warriors, and him?

  She wasn’t a betting woman, but the odds were definitely not in her favour.

  How many of their arrows could she dodge before one hit its mark? Velandus was exposed; all it took was one stray shot…

  She was steeling herself, looking around for who she could copy, put this sword to some good use in another mind’s hands. With her holding it, she might as well be sitting ducks. How much energy did she have left to heal? Not much, not after spending so many days awake.

  She turned her head slightly, “Get into the back, or better yet, get on the horse and ride. If their attention is on me, that will give you a moment to get away. And don’t you dare argue, I’ve had enough-”

  “Sir!”

  One of the Talradians raised his voice and pointed. She flinched, but it wasn’t at her. He was pointing past her, into the fog. Brakenus levelled his sword, the chains on his arms loosening, and she imagined that he suspected one last ingenious plan. A win-it-all solution to her problems, where she had none. Velandus turned in his seat, and even she chanced a glance behind her.

  Then they all saw it.

  The fogbank that had embraced the Talradians like a blanket, so unnatural for this time of the year, began to part. It fled a dark shape that walked through it. A figure that came into view carrying something large, slung over his shoulder.

  He threw the sack, or rather, the person, onto the ground. Keleiva looked up at her with wide-eyed hatred as she squirmed and struggled against the gag and restraints tying her down.

  His cloak was tattered on one side, slashed and cut away. There was a trickle of blood running down his temple, and a crossbow bolt was still embedded in his shoulder. But he drew his rusted and ruined blade, pointing it straight towards Brakenus’ heart. Just a man, nothing more, nothing less.

  Danadrian glared at him, his face grim, “I take it you are the Demon Hunter General?”

  .   .   .

  The armoured man slowly lowered his head in a nod, his face hidden behind cloth and metal, “That would be correct. And you are… a Paladin?”

  “Nothing so fanciful. Just a worshipper of the Light, follower of Mayare, and associate of this young woman you’re accosting.” He nodded to the bound figure before him, “And I think you would call her my hostage.”

  It still doesn’t feel great to say aloud.

  The man, Brakenus, went stiff as he seemed to see who Keleiva was for the first time. His head tilted down as she went still, wide eyes looking up at him. Then, slowly, he looked back at Danadrian and drew his second sword.

  “Is Lord Eledakus dead?”

  “No. He was unable to engage me in any capacity.” He glared at him, “What do you think I am?”

  “An associate of a monster, as you yourself declared. And you dared to lay your hands on her?” His voice was cold.

  “In self-defence. She’s only sporting some ugly wounds, and I could have done worse, but I’m not equipped for cutting.” He repeated in a mutter under his breath, “I could have done worse.” Wrath was an equally powerful and terrifying thing.

  “You oppose us to what end?”

  “It is as I said. Alleria is my associate, and I cannot rest with a good conscience while she’s executed. So I come here, with open arms, to negotiate.”

  He glanced once at Velandus and Alleria, whose initial looks of surprise were quickly being covered. Alleria looked grim, and he could see her knuckles going white as she clenched that strange sword in them. Velandus, on the other hand, looked both concerned and slightly amused as he stroked and calmed his horse down.

  “And what makes you think I will bargain with you?”

  His hands clenched a little tighter, but he relaxed them. “Well, she is your niece, is she not? And by the sounds of it, quite important.”

  None of the surrounding figures reacted openly, but he could see, just under their hoods, expressions of actual worry begin to set in.

  “I could have you riddled with arrows or cut down in seconds.”

  He looked around, “True as that may be, but even if this sword cannot cut, it works quite well as a blunt weapon. I don’t want to, but I will do whatever I must to ensure our safety.”

  Talradian, they may be, realistic as that may be, it still made his stomach churn. Using a hostage under threat of death was not a feeling he relished, but it was that or see them all killed. And that held more sway.

  One more look at the Talradians confirmed it.

  Definitely afraid for her safety. She must really be worthy of their respect, in some way or another.

  “And your terms are?” His voice was angry but also resigned.

  “Everyone but you must leave. Send them to Fordain and order them to stay there. And after they make themselves scarce, I will hand her over to you, and you will let us leave. You will not follow us for three days.”

  “And what will compel me not to cut you all down once I have her?”

  “You will swear it.” The words blurted out of his mouth, “On your God.”

  Brakenus paused again. His obscured face made it exceptionally hard to tell what he was thinking, but after what felt like a lifetime, he nodded, “Fine, I swear it.” He turned to his men, “Go to Fordain and await further instructions. Seek out Lord Eledakus and see that he is unharmed.”

  Miraculously, they did so. Many paused, turning to look at him for confirmation, but into the fog they went. Though not without sparing glares of loathing for himself and Alleria that put even the Carathiliar to shame. She returned them in kind.

  Then Alleria followed, her sword, which he swore was glowing, held firmly in her hands. She moved it an inch as she passed the General and, to Danadrian’s surprise, he actually flinched. Then she paused beside the cart, watching both of them closely. Her face was unreadable.

  After an eternity, the Talradian moved. He stepped forward, his swords lowered, “What is your name, foreigner?”

  “Danadrian.”

  “Hold to your end of the bargain.”

  “Naturally.”

  He stepped away from Keleiva’s slumped form and circled around him, letting Brakenus approach her. He placed a hand on her cheek and leaned down to whisper to her. Danadrian began to back away, finally letting out a sigh.

  He lowered his sword and, for the briefest moment, looked away from the kneeling Talradian.

  It was like a flash. A glimpse of movement. He let his instincts take over.

  His sword met a line of chains, dimly glowing purple with mana, that had tried to coil around his neck. He knocked them aside, then sidestepped another line. Brakenus’ arms glowed the same bright colour as he clenched his swords in either hand. His niece, her bonds cut, struggled to get away.

  He heard a voice that must be his own, “You swore on your God.”

  And what he received was a snarl, “My god abandoned me. Abandoned my people. Damn be them and all their oaths.”

  Chains crashed. Swords cut through the air. Danadrian met his blades with his own, and then they both a whirlwind.

  Each thrust led into a parry that led into another countermovement. He had him outmatched with his two swords, but his was larger than them both. He swiped aside a cut meant for his throat, before smashing his hilt into his opponent's armour. He staggered for a moment before throwing his sword forward. Danadrian dodged but felt a thin cut open on his cheek. He barely had time to think, just match the Talradian’s movements. They danced across the stone road, into and out of the fogbank.

  The chains were almost as deadly as the blades themselves. They’d writhe around on the ground like snakes, ducking out of his eyesight before lurching and trying to wrap themselves around his arms and legs. When he knocked them aside, they would either flail and fall or reorient themselves and fly again. He could see the thin lines of mana, command their movements.

  Part of him was impressed. It took years of training to wield and fight effectively with a sword in each hand, and just as many to manipulate mana with such efficiency. And Brakenus did both in tandem with one another.

  He blocked one of the chains, attempting to wrap around his neck, then swept his sword in an arc around him, forcing the Talradian to back away. With any other blade this size, the weight would’ve left him entirely open after that, but he simply pulled it back in front of him and met the returning onslaught of blows.

  A chain slithered across the ground beside him. He crushed it under his boot without a second thought and expelled some of his mana on it. The iron went still.

  No magic, but mana is mana.

  Brakenus leapt forward, both swords slashing down in an X-shape. Putting as much strength as he could muster behind it, he smashed his sword down between them. The attack fell away as his struck him across the chest of his armour.

  The Talradian grunted and stumbled backwards, breathing harder, “Why do you defend her?”

  He didn’t give him a response.

  A chain slapped him across the back. The second leapt forward, striking like a snake and making him flinch. It was barely a second before he realised his mistake.

  The chain wrapped itself around his sword, and he felt a powerful tug as it left his hands, clattering to the ground ahead of him.

  And then Brakenus was upon him, twin slashes arcing at him, undefended. He raised his arms in a desperate attempt to protect himself before a dark shape intercepted the fatal manoeuvre.

  Alleria’s stance was poor, her footwork shoddy, and honestly, the deflect could have been done in a number of better ways. But she had the element of surprise, and more than that, the moment the Demon Hunter saw her, he threw himself back from them like she was contagious.

  Are his eyes on her, or the blade?

  He was sure now that it was glowing.

  Danadrian reached forward and retrieved his sword. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me when he’s dead.” She muttered.

  “He’s good, very good.”

  “There are very few whom I’d call better. Think you can beat him?”

  He squinted at the figure, who was sizing the two of them up again, “If I get lucky? Truth be told, I have no idea.”

  “Well then, let’s hope your goddess is looking favourably on us.”

  Then they leapt forward at him, Danadrian spinning in an attack aimed for the right side of his neck, Alleria awkwardly thrusted forward on his left. He wasn’t sure, but she seemed to be aiming for a small gap the beating of his armour had opened up.

  Behind him, Velandus and the cart had finally begun to move. The horse was whining in distress and seemed less than thrilled to get closer to the fighting.

  Their swords met the Talradian’s.

  Danadrian’s sword was blocked by the chain and blade. On the other side, Alleria’s thrust was likewise held in place, farther away from his body than his. His eyes widened as a set of chains spun out, wreathed in mana, and clasped the axle of the cart, slowing its movements as it tried to escape.

  It was…it was impossible. For seconds, he held all three of them in place, bearing the weight of two attacks and the desperate movements of the cart with only his two arms. He saw sweat drip out from under the helmet by the buckets before his sword was released and the butt of the opposing blade rammed into his stomach.

  He fell over, winded, and watched as Alleria was thrown across the dirt path, blood scattering in the air. She’d been cut deep across the chest. Then the Talradian shouted as he heaved backwards, mana exploding from around him, and the cart was thrown back to where it had begun, the horse crying in outrage.

  Just who exactly is this man?

  For the first time in several minutes, there was silence across the battlefield.

  “Where are your gods now, Danadrian?”

  He was walking to Alleria, his blades coated in red and blue blood alike.

  “You have my respect, for your skills if nothing else. The last light-worshippers I met…” He paused for a brief second, “…it seems that your Church rarely forges those of great talent. If you were properly equipped, you may have posed a greater challenge.”

  He felt a warm feeling brewing in his heart. Anger and indignation. Fury? Rage. So foreign…

  Where is my God?

  Where is your faith?

  What is faith?

  “Warriors of the Light-” He grunted, “-would not be so easily slain by the likes of you.” He rose from the ground, “Godless. Faithless. Men without honour.”

  Ah, there it was. He almost felt the word had lost all meaning for him.

  Pride.

  The Talradian had frozen in place and turned his head back to look at him, “You are opening up your wounds.”

  It was true. Even as he forced himself to his feet, he could feel the cuts and slashes he’d taken stinging, skin breaking apart, and blood dripping down his arms and legs.

  “Who do you think I am? A nothing hithnadrr? A foreign fool bearing a worthless Goddess?”

  He stumbled forward, sword scattered away from him, hands empty. But a heart filled to the brim, almost at a breaking point.

  “You are the same as the rest, then.”

  That was when he shouted.

  “I am Danadrian, Angelica of Mayare, those who are the foremost beings of the Light. Lay yourself bare before my fury, defacer of Gods. Murder and disgracer.” The words he needed were fleeing him, but he fought to let them out, “I- I am a warrior of the Light, a-” They vanished.

  Brakenus spun around, “What did you-”

  He let out a snarl as his mana gathered around him in a single, minute point. And then his world was filled with colour aplenty. He felt it. A familiar feeling, built into the very core of his being.

  The Light. His Light. Her Light.

  A single bolt of Light, thin and perfect as a knife, flung from his hand.

  It hit the surprised Talradian, cut through his armour and flesh like butter, and left a tiny hole in his chest. He’d missed the heart. But still, the figure stumbled, then collapsed on the ground.

  Then it was gone.

  He felt his body slowing, reeling from the effort, and now the pain of his newborn wounds was kicking in. He struggled to maintain his balance and so reached for his ruined blade to use as a support.

  “Danadrian.” Alleria coughed behind him, “We need to go, now.”

  Her tunic was in tatters, a deep wound cut into her chest, and where they, in any other situation, he might have looked away, for decency’s sake if nothing else. This time, however, he thought he managed a nod and stumbled towards the cart.

  How long would Brakenus stay down? He had no idea. He only hoped long enough for them to make their escape.

  He looked up at Velandus but couldn’t quite make out his expression. The world was spinning again.

  I wish that this feeling were not so familiar.

  He was trying to drag himself into the back of the cart and felt her hands pushing him up. He tried to look back at the Demon Hunter General, but the cart was already moving, and his head was finding it hard to rise.

  ‘Why do you defend her?’ That was what he had asked. He thought he was a little closer to an answer now.

  And then he passed out.