Finals: Morituri te Salutant v. Cipher Nex Army Battle

[Max Dirks]

The battle will last two weeks. Good luck!

[Christoph]

A foul wind whistled its ominous harmony through the tops of distant trees. It swooped across a rocky, frozen field pockmarked with the dead. The thin coating of fresh snow failed to hide the evidence of the slaughter that the day had witnessed. It made a silk veil over the face of a troll. Christopher climbed atop a jagged boulder and gazed upon the face of his gruesome bride. He was surprised at the strange calm that inhabited the scene of a particularly violent conflict.

Large grey rocks pierced the snow like rows of jagged bloodstained teeth. Many of the dead still slumped against them. There must have been a thousand corpses strewn across the valley; the main battle had taken place there. His troops had lured a contingent of armed Ethereal Sway followers through the mountain pass and the forest to ambush and systematically slaughter them in the rocks.

It had been a clever plan concocted by his left hand man, Sir Ciaphas Gellunberg,that had freed an entire town from the oppression of tyrannical Church forces. Not only did it allow Cipher Nex to fight the battle on their terms, it also kept it far from the civilian population that they were protecting. It was so effective that Christopher opted to ignore the questionable levels of unadulterated brutality it involved.

The chef slid from his perch and trudged onward through the icy tomb. He was a sight both horrifying and repulsive to behold. Fresh red stains covered much of his chef coat and sticky gore coated his heavy knife. Smears of blood and mud streaked his face and hair, making him appear more savage beast than man. That was only natural given the intensity of the battle. He’d fought so hard that his limbs dragged like lead weights.

During this moment of tired tranquility a somber question formed infiltrated his mind. When did killing become so easy? The notion had never occurred to him, perhaps because it had been a gradual transition. When he first left home barely over a year ago, the biggest things he’d killed were some wolves. Then he moved up to zombies, though he never considered them anything greater than animals. From there he progressed to the Citadel, where he killed several actual people. They didn't count though, since the monks revived them afterwards.

Each laid another stone on the road to damnation. After the Citadel he killed in self-defense, and after that in battle. He would kill to protect himself and others when they were in danger. Soon, as his definition of “in danger” became looser and looser, that the motive of protection expanded to include vengeance as well. That was when he killed a priest of the Sway in cold blood.

Of course, Chris rationalized as much as humanly possible. He called it “justice” and convinced himself that he was merely trying to prevent other lives from being destroyed the same way that his was. It was a lie and he knew it; he wanted revenge for the death of his mother. And beneath that burning desire for vengeance writhed the desperate longing to alleviate his guilt for not being there to defend his only family during her time of need.

Even that bloody murder had left the chef emotionally devastated. In the months that followed, he’d honestly tried to atone for his sins. His efforts only led to even more killing. Though he didn’t indulge in revenge again and only fought to defend innocents and combat the agents of tyranny and oppression, something had changed within him. He’d become hardened and cold. Each slain enemy felt less real and personal than the one coming before it. The chef eventually stopped wondering whether the man he’d killed had a home or a family that would miss him. It became conveniently mechanical. Had he lost his humanity?

Just as melancholy began to take hold, Chris laughed at himself. Why was he fretting over such a triviality? War and killing went hand and hand. Death was the most inevitable part of life. That was the great irony. He wasn’t some kind of monster for not agonizing over every death. Yes, he’d made mistakes in the past – as had everyone. That was why he fought for peace in Salvar and the freedom of its people. Sometimes peace requires war to achieve. He couldn’t overwhelm himself with guilt for killing when there was no other alternative. Besides, it wasn’t as though he enjoyed it.

He shivered and sighed wearily as an ominous chill ran down his spine. Not yet, anyway.

“Master Knighton!” A voice both urgent and at the same time eerily emotionless broke the chef from his introverted daze. A trio of black-clad warriors slipped out from behind a cluster of boulders and approached him. They were the Shadows – the brutally efficient core of the Cipher Nex army. They served as the primary soldier as well as effective scouts when the situation called for it. The three knelt before their leader in unison.

“Stand,” he commanded. The underlings obeyed immediately. “What is the status?”

“We routed the enemy, sir,” replied the lead Shadow. “Casualties in our division were light; only twenty three dead counted so far from our ranks. We’ve yet to receive details from the other detachments.”

“Good.” Chris traced the blade of his knife with his thumb as he thought. “Have our troops begun the pursuit yet?”

The Shadow hesitated. “Not yet, my lord. Sir Ciaphas ordered the soldiers to halt.”

The chef’s fists tightened and he narrowed his eyes. “Did he give a reason why?” he asked curtly.

“No, sir, but he did request that we relay his request for you to meet him at our northern lookout post right away.”

Right away, huh? This had better be important.

[Magdalena]

“The years have been gentle to you, Sati...”

From the moment she was ushered to her plush seat, Natalya had been hesitant, struggling in vain against lips that felt as though sewn shut. The situation overwhelmed her, and her long caroche ride through the countryside of Corone had done little to appease her mind or put order to her erratic thoughts. Yet, now that she was here, in a nameless tenement that sat on the edge of Radasanth’s slums, the feeling was even harder to bear. The stench, for one, made her yearn for the frozen compost of the farmlands that skirted her native fiefdom, and the denizens of this city, daily wanderers of this never abating reek, were just as unsavory. Though unable to understand many of those who had approached her on the streets, she had the creeping feeling that a few had mistaken her for a red-light rarity, freshly shipped from the bountiful north.

Overwhelming, indeed.

Alas, there was nothing more overwhelming than the woman who sat across from her. She lounged tacitly on a divan of leather so worn that its padding bulged, stained and yellow where the material had ripped. Even so, neither the destitute condition of this foreign city nor the noisome wreck of this room could sour her breath of nobility. Natalya could however not dismiss the coldness with which this queen regarded her. It pained her, as she had expected it would, but this foresight did nothing to soothe the hurt. Gentle as they might have been, the years still seemed to have changed Sati Sarasvati, this priestess who was once her closest friend.

“I don’t enjoy hollow pleasantries, Natalya. I certainly didn’t expect any from you, of all people they would send.” Sati looked askance, avoiding contact with the envoy’s wounded eyes. “What does the Church want with– ”

“It wasn’t pleasantry!” Natalya cried as she bounded to her feet, a gloved fist quavering against her chest. Sati halted mid-sentence, eyes wide at the priestess’ unexpected behavior. “It… it wasn’t. It’s been ten years, and you’re… you’re just like I remembered you. I was… glad.”

She paused, her shoulders tensing up as she suddenly became self-conscious. “Well… I was glad that the world outside didn’t change you. If you had stayed, you might have become like me.” She chuckled sheepishly, derisively pointing at her laugh lines. “See these? Not even thirty and I’m already wrinkled.”

After a long silence, Natalya was bewildered to hear Sati’s laughter. It was a sound familiar, pure and unrestrained, capable of warming something inside her that this Coronian summer could never even hope to thaw. Sati may have once been known as the most skilled priestess of Zarinsk, and before that as one of the Baron of Salair’s beloved daughters; yet, beneath all these dignified titles and merits, she was just as every bit of a country girl as Natalya.

“Forgive me,” she finally said, delicately brushing out a welling tear. The frigid facade was melting away, and underneath Natalya could finally see the warm and amiable face she had longed to see. “I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s been so long, and I’ve become inured to mountains of lies and flatteries flung my way. Honesty like yours is a rare occurrence, no matter where I travel.” Though unspoken, Natalya could clearly read what followed in the glimmer of her friend’s eyes. Thank you for that.

“I just wish I'd come here without a reason other than seeing you, Sati,” the priestess said at last, grey eyes drooping in shame to the dusty floorboards underfoot.

“I understand,” Sati responded with a knowing nod. “As such, let me reiterate: what does the Church want with an excommunicate like me?”

“The new High Priest of Zarinsk has gone to war… and we’re all to follow. The priests have become foot soldiers, while most of us serve as medical assistants on the sidelines.” Natalya’s voice was trembling. She was shaking, shoulders high and tense while she clutched her knees to stop their shuddering. “We do have large ranks of assassin priests, but our enemy still outnumbers us by far. There have only been minor scuffles, but we’re afraid that they’re preparing to hit us with all their force, and will carry out their assault within the month.”

“And, pushed into a corner, he calls out for help, having heard of the recent exploits of my rogue army under the name of Sine Nomine.” The ex-priestess threw back her head, letting loose a long and irritated sigh. Only for a moment did she bask in the mild warmth of the dimming sunlight. “This new High Priest should know better than anyone what feelings I harbor for the Church. I did kill his predecessor, after all.” The woman was in musing, speaking lightly of these matters with the most deadpan of voices. “And for all that I know or care, these enemies of yours could be entirely in the right. A secular rule might be best for the people of Salvar– ”

“Sati.” Natalya barely managed, her voice broken by the urge to cry. When their eyes met, it was heartrendingly clear that she had already abandoned herself to the wistful compulsion. “Please… Anya and Valery died in the last skirmish.”

These words, simple as they were, had given her pause for a fleeting moment. “Natalya… I can’t just risk these people’s lives,” she muttered as she knit her hands, their trembling betraying what emotions she kept for herself. “Not for friendship alone.”

Though disheartened at first, Natalya realized what her friend had meant. Slowly, she swept her tears away with the back of her hand, straightening herself at last. “Of course. You may tell your men that the Church is willing to part with a sizeable portion of Zarinsk’s riches, should you agree to assist us.”

Sati grinned sweetly, an earnest reply to Natalya’s own relieved smile. “Cassock,” she called out, eyes riveted on the cracked door that led into the hideout. There was a terse click, grating with rust, and the door groaned open, revealing behind it a small creature, with wide amber eyes like molten glass and a large, bald pate. “Have you been eavesdropping?”

“Cassock would never dream of betraying your trust by happening upon crucial information that may or may not lead us to war.” His voice was dreadfully sedate, so impassionate that it would make the most monotonous of butlers green with envy.

“Good. Now go tell everyone what you never heard.”

“Cassock expresses his consent for the disclosure of the paradoxal.” With that, the grey being turned on his heels, his ample cassock billowing behind him in a swoop of black, until he vanished beyond the staircase.

“Who was that strange fellow?” Natalya asked, obviously shaken by the fact that one of her followers was not human. “A… subordinate of yours?”

“For the time being. Though in truth, if I were a queen, then he would be an emperor.”

“I see,” she simply replied after a moment, obviously lying. “In any case, I’m glad, Sati.” She smiled one last time, and in that moment, whatever wrinkles and dimples she had said to hate only made her more endearing. “You really haven’t changed.”

You really haven’t changed.

…

After a final blink of gold and vermillion, the sun turned a blind eye to the snowy vales and white-capped crags that made the mountains. Beyond the hillside, the dunes of white now bore a cyanotic hue, a dark blue tint mirroring the thousand dead who had found their graves in the cold’s embrace. With the rise of the night, countless howls swept across the gruesome landscape, from the eulogy of the wind to the hungered calls of amassing wolves.

Sati stood in the heart of this deathly field, silently scoping the merciless carnage. She threaded through the corpse-mounds, her gait steady and deliberate, until she came to a slow stop, then stooped down. The snow crunched under her knees, unhurriedly robbing her legs of their warmth.

But she could not feel the theft. The void that had now been born in her heart was colder than anything the winter could offer. Gingerly, she reached down, hooking an arm beneath the neck of a fallen soldier. Specks of snow trickled down like dust as she raised it, taking it in a motherly embrace. She hopelessly tried to share her warmth. She hopelessly tried to instill it life. Alas, the priestesses of the Sway had never managed such miracles. There was no way for an excommunicate to find success where the others had failed.

“Didn’t you say the women would be on the sidelines?” she asked, cradling the white-clad soldier in her arms. “Hands that heal should never touch a sword.” Her voice was only a whisper, lost under the hiss of cold dust that was snaking in the breeze. “Do you hear me, Natalya?” A great many times, she repeated the question. A great many times, she was given no answer.

“I have changed,” she finally said, closing her eyes. “So much, that I can’t even cry when an old friend dies.” Without another word, Sati rose to her feet, doing her best to carry her friend away from the slaughter. She stumbled, almost tripping on the severed arm of an old comrade. After much effort, she reached the nearby treeline, where awaited a massive creature sheathed in shadows, with blood-caked fur that danced as would streams of dark smoke and eyes like the dying embers of a hearth fire. It leaned down, allowing Sati to straddle it without effort while she still held on Natalya’s body.

The steam from its muzzle melted the snow, until wilted needles of grass bristled from the white patch. A drop of blood splashed on one of the blades. There was a sudden burst of smoke, and the grass had burned away. At last, the beast raised its lupine head and whimpered like a newborn whelp. It was apparently as miserable as she was, but for different reasons. “I apologize, Barghest. For her, I can’t let you eat any one of them.” Reluctantly, the hound swung around, turning heels to face the dappled hillside. “Don’t worry. There are people who say that revenge is a dish best served cold...”

“But of course, I disagree... and I think you do too.”

The hound grinned, black lips drawn back to bare vicious rows of teeth, each fang filed down and gleaming red like a dagger that had freshly bitten flesh. The shadows that kissed its charcoal pelt slowly whirled away, like vast streams of dust caught in the wind, until they blurred and flickered for a single instant. Within the time of a blink, the strange distortion was gone.

And so were they.

[Christoph]

Sir Ciaphas Gellunberg waited impatiently for Knighton at the specified location. His stained green and white tunic concealed his chain mail and blended in with the gloomy frozen forest. It had been several minutes since he’d sent the messengers to fetch their master. What was taking him so long?

The Cipher Nex forward lookout post was little more than a concealed wooden platform hidden in the protective embrace of a thick, full pine tree. It stood near the edge of a high, steep ridge, which had made it a key tactical location in the day’s battle.

Ah, the battle… It had been a brilliant maneuver – swift and mercilessly effective. It was precisely how the Salvic knight liked it. Sir Alexander Gellunberg, his younger brother, naturally disapproved of the plan because of its viciousness. He’d always played at being the noble one. Ciaphas sighed and ran his pale hand through his well-groomed blonde hair. His sibling rarely approved of such “cruel” methods, and Christopher Knighton would often side with the younger Gellunberg.

It was one of the larger frustrations of his campaign with Cipher Nex. Why should he allow enemies quarter who would never have returned the favor if the situation had been reversed? How were they supposed to build a new social order in Salvar, and the world for that matter, with such insane standards of warfare? This time, however, Christopher finally went along with his plan. Perhaps the chef-general had been hoping to avoid civilian casualties and decided to choose the most efficient way of achieving that end. Sir Ciaphas still held out hope that it was the beginning of a new trend in their leader, though. That was a marvelous thought.

He smiled in spite of himself. To think, instead of stalking the wilderness like a reaper of death and leading a honest-to-goodness army of darkness to battle, the twenty-five year-old noble could have still been sitting at home, waiting for his father to hurry up and die so that he could claim the estate. Besides, if things went as their leader planned, Ciaphas could slice out his own chunk of the new order. The schemes of carving out a new empire seemed far-fetched at first, but they grew on him, but there was something about that chef that drew him in. What can I say? Megalomania sells.

A familiar reptilian snarl shook the knight from his reverie. A massive Ashkor war lizard was approaching. Ciaphas hopped down from the lookout’s platform, landing in front of the beast’s row of white, dagger-like teeth. It was a monstrous mass of green scales, claw, and muscle, and somehow had the constitution to survive in the cold despite being cold-blooded. Even after nearly a year of working with Cipher Nex, the sight of the horrific Ashkor still unnerved him. Equally formidable was the man riding it – Christopher Knighton, the butcher of souls, the keeper of the recipe of death, the caterer for the Abyss.

“You requested my presence, Ciaphas?” asked Christopher, the subtle accentuation immediately establishing the chef’s higher position in the pecking order. The chef hopped down from his mount. The noble knew of his commander’s background, that of a chef, a commoner. Yet, the man possessed a potent air of authority that even the blue-blooded knight envied.

“Indeed I did,” replied the knight, casually ignoring Christopher’s established authority as usual. He noted his commander’s bloody and torn clothing and his all-around dismal state of appearance. “But you didn’t have to go through all the trouble of making yourself presentable for me.”

The chef rolled his eyes, but chuckled anyway. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he answered. “Now, what is the situation?” Translation: ‘what was so damned important that you had to make me rush all the way here?’

“Follow me,” said the older Gellunberg, climbing back up the rope ladder to their observation post. He passed an ornate silver looking glass to the chef. “Look down there. That is where we surrounded and destroyed the largest chunk of the Sway’s forces.”

“All right… I see corpses. I trust you didn’t call me here to boast.” Chris sighed, but then he tensed suddenly and leaned forward. “I see someone moving down there. A woman… and some big, furry… thing, for lack of a better way to describe it.”

“Heh, don’t worry, I used essentially the same words to describe it myself,” replied the knight. “This is why I sent for you. It’s not unusual for a lone woman to visit a battlefield in search of loved ones… but not with something like… that. She’s important. She must be.”

“And this is why you called off the pursuit of our foes?” asked the chef, genuinely curious.

“Not entirely. It just… felt off. My instincts went on edge and I knew that something wasn’t right, so I called everyone back.” The chef lowered the looking glass and nodded gravely, his expression suddenly serious. The knight’s instincts were very rarely wrong, and Chris knew that.

“Do you recognize her?”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied the knight truthfully, taking the looking glass back from Christopher and putting it to his eye again. “But she seems familiar for some reason. I can’t quite place my finger on it. She’s definitely from Salvar.” He gazed down at their query for a few more moments, until both the unidentified women and her bestial companion vanished. “Damn! They’re gone!”

“What?” demanded the chef. “Where in the hells did they go?”

“I have no idea!” The Knight grumbled. “So much for capturing her.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now,” sighed the commander. “Let us head back. I’m sure that something will turn up once we put our eyes and ears to work. Who knows? Perhaps it will turn out to be nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Knighton.”

“I know.”

* * * * *

The “eyes and ears” of Cipher Nex took flight soon after. Ten harpies ascended from the frozen forest and into the darkened sky, gliding silently upon their dark, leathery wings. Cloaked in the night, their lithe, feminine forms soared over the bloodied wilderness like demons, searching for anything unusual. If there were a threat nearby – if the Sir Ciaphas’s suspicions were correct – these eagle-eyed winged creatures would stand the best chance of identifying it.

Below them, hundreds of Cipher Nex warriors lurked in the forest, prepared to jealously guard their new domain, no matter how temporary it was, from any intruders. Even the supernaturally keen eyes of the harpies could barely spot the shadowy soldiers from the air – and they knew what to look for. They were proud to fight alongside such skilled mortals, and would do their part.

Even these feral creatures understood and respected the elder Gellunberg’s instincts. Because of this, they would follow their objectives with single-minded efficiency. Search, identify, learn, and report. It was what they had been hired for.

[Magdalena]

“I need you, Orarion.”

Suave as it was, the voice had come from the far end of the cavern like a fracas of ice. Where there once was nothing but a wall of sheared rock, warmed by the glow of a rachitic campfire, a beast of a hound now stood at the edge of its tangerine halo. Leaning down on its elbows, its belly flat against the mild chill of the ground, it let its rider slide off its smoky fur to land squarely on shaky feet, physically burdened by the body the woman in her arms.

“Dear, I’ve long lost the bone needed to sate your needs,” spoke a man wryly as he stepped into the anemic light, his voice more grating than the grind of old and dusty bones. He threw back his head in a raucous snicker, the white hood falling away to reveal a sun-bleached skull. Where his eyes had long rotten away, hollowed orbits remained, alit with vicious embers. His fleshless jaws scraped dry like gravel as he cackled, and with a cursory look to Natalya’s corpse, his teeth clicked victoriously. “Just as I had guessed, dead as a nail – what a hoot! Now, into what do you want me to reanimate– ”

“Don’t,” Sati hissed between her teeth, not even deigning to look at the lich. “Just have one of the Wardens question her body.” Quietly, carefully, she kneeled to lay down her friend, propping her back against a nearby outgrowth of limestone. “Make it quick, and don’t play games with her.”

“You mean it,” Orarion corrected absently as he gestured for one of his subordinates to come. Sati kept silent, lightly brushing the woman’s umber hair, slightly soaked from the melting snow that crested her head. Gently, she pressed her lips against her forehead, where they lingered in sorrow. Though she felt the skin shift beneath her kiss, it was as damp and cold as the stones around them.

“By the by,” the lich began innocently, “I meant to ask you something, out of my infinitely good – yet anatomically inexistent – heart: whether you would like to be reanimated, should you die in this skirmish or the next, and as what. One of my wardens of death? Then again, you do have the lewd curves to make a stunning vampiress... ”

“A necromancer is always in good need of lackeys, I suppose.” Sati scoffed, looking back at him in a mocking, sidelong glance. “A banshee, naturally.” Then, without a word, she tiredly rose to her feet and walked away, only barely listening to the skeleton's cackle of agreement.

Unsteadily, she roved along the short, craggy corridor until a larger area came into view, the high ceiling punctured with stalactites of various sizes. Beneath it were camped a few dozens of her men, all clad in white uniforms save for one, who wore deep brown robes and an all-shrouding hood. They were bored zealots gathered in circles and casting a variety of dice made of shaved bones. The brown-clad figure intrigued her, but her mind was too so hazy to make any sense of it. They nodded deferentially as she passed, a lax salute that had taken her months to enforce.

Tightly packed near a second fire were several of her Basilisk Dragoons, massive warriors best described as reptilian centaurs, whom she had befriended in the swamps of Dheathain. They knew that, should the occasion to fight arise, they would not last long in the unforgiving climate of Salvar. Conserving as much heat as they could with minimal waste of energy was their only countermeasure, and a meek one at that. Even against these odds, they remained steadfast and brave, as well as loyal – and of this loyalty, she truly thought herself undeserving.

“Sati, you’re back!” Hidden in a shadowed corner was the ex-priestess’ mirror image. Sati’s twin sister sat comfortably on a bundle of white furs, all freely lent by the zealots. Sapna seemed somewhat sallow-eyed, but was otherwise exuding her usual, heart-warming liveliness. Peculiarly, she had her hands buried under a thick coat of yak fleece, which seemed to slightly shift left and right on its own volition.

“Cassock wonders if your search has born fruit.” There it was, that familiarly anesthetic voice. The small grey being wriggled out from the layers of wool, its bald head breaking the surface as would the least threatening of shark fins. The sight of Sapna’s hitherto unseen fingers piercing knuckle-deep into his temples, though expected, still upset her stomach. It was, however, necessary – Cassock, the Dover Patriarch, would never be able to relay her sister’s illusionary abilities to his Grand Dukes without this particularly gruesome process. Thanks to this, what should have been the 'entrance' to their four caverns had been concealed behind snow and stone, out of sight and out of mind.

“I brought Natalya’s body back,” Sati started, casually taking a seat next to the two. “And the enemy should have taken the bait.” The priestess drew her legs up, locking them in her arms while she rested her chin atop her knees. “We should see them scrambling about the battlefield shortly, wondering where that mammoth of a hellhound might have gone,” she finally said after a long, world-weary sigh. “And how are you holding up, Sapna?”

“It’s not as tiring as it used to be,” the green-eyed sister began, a dollish smile splayed across her lips. “Granted, this time we’re only managing four illusions that are incredibly simpler than the last ones, which are all stationary.”

“What about the… feeling?” Sati asked hesitantly, nodding in the direction of the Patriarch’s skull, or to be more precise, the throbbing, bluish holes where Sapna’s fingers were currently buried.

“Like squishy leeches giving me a finger massage,” Sapna grinned mockingly, fully expecting the nauseous look on her sister’s face. “You could say the sensation is growing on me.”

“Please, stop that!” Sati painfully managed between a laugh and a groan, the exertion exhausting her further.

“Cassock would inform you of his continued presence...”

“We’re sorry,” the sisters drawled in unison, but the Dover ignored the apology, simply diving back underneath the warm and furry covers. “In any case,” Sati resumed sluggishly, eyelids strangely heavier than she had remembered them to be. “I’ll have a short rest… just shake me awake when you need a boost, or to inform me of any changes in the situation.”

The cavern walls shied away from her vision, the earthen tones becoming distant blurs in a world that turned increasingly dark. Soon, she could only hear the pitter patter of melting snow, until even that, she could hear no more.

::::::

The sharp sting of a blizzard awakened her. Specks of snow were as glass shards in this storm, lancing her skin and eyes as she sought to rise in vain. Groggily, she struggled to her knees, feeling countless bites creep up from each of her extremities. She felt her lips crack, and had they bled, the crimson drip would have frozen still. “What is this? Sapna? Cassock?” She paused, then cautiously resumed, a tint of disgust lacing her voice. “…Orarion?”

The storm raged on, an impenetrable screen of white that quickly robbed her of all senses. Her throat felt raw, a myriad icy pinpricks slashing it open from the inside. Her hair felt stiff atop her head like winter-frozen hay. Still she called on, but soon did her voice deaden as well. So numb, now. She was so incredibly numb.

“Are you cold?” As soon as she heard someone speak, Sati, bounded back, the motion so brusque she had felt her skin tear. The burn soothed her somewhat. Through the unmoving slits of her eyes, she could make out a faint shape, a dark silhouette in what she thought was a brown cowl.

“You… with the zealots…” she rasped, catching her throat between both hands as it gurgled with quickly freezing blood. “And before that… you were always there, everywhere… but never… never one of… us.”

“Are you cold?” it asked again. Unable to speak, Sati only nodded. The silhouette kneeled down, hefting its wide sleeves. The blizzard still raged, but not a drop of snow made it past the being, whose arms now spread like soft, auburn wings. The priestess could only cough her thanks. “You have grown, Sati.”

Bewildered, she looked up, but could not pierce the shadows that swirled within the hood. But that emerald gleam… those slanted, handsome eyes, she had seen long ago. There was something inherently warm about its presence, so warm in fact that the snow seemed to withdraw from its presence, drawing a growing circle of grass at the being’s bare feet. “When have we…”

“We met long ago, Sati, when you were but a child of fifteen.” That voice dripped into her ears, words made honey, left in the care of the kind summer’s heat.

“That was... thirteen years ago.” For a moment, she basked in the echoes of its words, their silky tone like a soothing balm. Suddenly, she cracked her eyes open, realizing what she had just said. “When they…”

“When I helped you take your revenge.” Though she could not see it, she could feel its grin, and the strange shift in its presence. “For what they did to Sapna… oh, beloved Sapna. She was so young.” It leaned forward, reaching out to caress the priestess’ cheek. “Poor, beloved Sapna.” The snow continued to melt, the gentle heat spreading far beyond her now. “But there is something you forgot to do, that day.”

“No… you weren’t real.” It choked her, the strange warmth. She could hardly breathe as she backed away, but it leisurely advanced toward her, parting the bed of snow with each of his elegant step. “You were a nightmare.”

“A dream, my dear, and the sweetest of all,” it chuckled as it corrected her. “Do you remember?”

“No,” she gasped, the unbearable warmth drawing sweat to trickle down her eyes, and she was blinded by the sudden sting.

“Do you remember, Sati?” The being pressed on, and she could hear the loudening crackle of grass at its feet, the crisp sound akin to the sizzle of blazing coals.

“No… don’t come closer,” she pleaded, suffocating. Where the unforgiving breath of winter had scored her flesh, infernal fangs of ravenous flames and scalding steam now gnawed away. The world was afire.

“The matter of…”

“Stop it,” she whispered, feeling skeletal fingers slowly close around her throat like five, red-hot branding irons. They tore through flesh and were showered in effervescence of blood that bubbled and dried into fuming black clots. Her throat was melted shut. Through this world of pain, she had barely heard the stranger's final words.

“… my payment.”

::::::

When she truly awoke, she saw her sister’s worried eyes looking down, staring into her own. For a moment the attention calmed her, but the green flash of her sister's gaze, so eerily familiar, trawled back the nightmare in a shock of horror. The skin on her throat suddenly seared. Bounding to her feet, she shakily leaned against the dank walls and tottered away. Out of sight, she retched and retched, until the agony had been purged with the contents of her stomach.

When she was done, her hands scrambled for raw burns, but she felt no marks upon herself. Visibly shaken, she tiptoed back into the larger cave, where she muttered under her breath, both out of worry to be heard and fear that she would vomit again. She gave a cursory glance to the pack of zealots, who were subtly looking her way. The brown-robed man was nowhere to be seen. “Cassock, have you ever seen someone who… didn’t belong here? Someone with a burnished cloak and the hood always pulled up?”

“Cassock has seen no person thusly garbed, for you have imposed white clothing ever since our arrival in Salvar. Someone like that– ”

“Would stick out like a sore thumb... you’re right.” More tired than ever, she fell back on the mound of furs, burying her face in the cup of her hands. She tried to seek comfort in this assertion, tried to think of this ordeal as nothing more but a nightmare. Alas, for the first time in thirteen years, she remembered all too well the events of Sapna's desecration, of their constant torture and pleas for death. The one to answer, however, had damned them to this simulacrum of a life. 'And for what price, I wonder? What did I sell in exchange for our survival?'

“Sati... what happened?” her sister asked fretfully. The concern was still fresh in her eyes, yet she was trying with all her might to hide the hurt she had felt when Sati bolted in fear of her sight.

“Nothing… I’m sorry Sapna,” the priestess said at last. More weary of the world than she had ever been, she breathed heavily through the filter of her hands. “It was just an old nightmare.”

::::::

The flight of harpies was a rare sight, as beautiful to behold as it was wicked. Against the charcoal backdrop of stratus clouds, they were as majestic eagles that soared in the circling paths of carrion crows or bone-stripping vulture. Shadows lurked within shadows, more silent than phantoms on the haunt. It was a beautiful thing. The Stranger could not see them, could not hear them; yet, for the moment, neither could they. Thus, It found its stead at the heart of the battlefield, surrounding itself with the mounds darkening corpses that had barely bloated due to the unwavering cold.

It allowed itself to be found. At once, the shadows converged where it stood, this being cloaked in earthen tones, whose elusive face ever hid beneath a drooping cowl. A harpy broke from the swooping circles overhead, quietly landing atop a tree branch, while the stalkers emerged one by one from their nightly covers, treading in a complete absence of rustle or shuffle. The being raised its arms, the motion deliberate, announcing that it meant no harm. Whatever their weapons, it knew they could unsheathe or unload them under the span of a single blink.

One man advanced, motioning for him to take off his hood. “Why?” it answered simply, chuckling. “Would you recognize the face of a stranger?”

“I have news for your leader,” it continued at last, after their humorless silence. “Within the mountains, the Maiden lies in wait, ever elusive of your scrutiny, for she is ever illusive.” The Stranger hummed pleasantly, content with his delivery. “Be warned, and find her before she finds you.”

In a single, quick jerk, it threw its arms toward the sky. Cords twanged in unison as quarrels burrowed into its flesh, one bolt piercing the shadows of its hood, swift as lightning and sans the flash. The figure stood in still silence, hands upheld in prayer to the heavens, until it finally fell in a heaping mass.

Slowly, they approached the corpse to verify its death, before recovering the quarrels of their crossbows. Effortlessly were the wooden shafts plucked out, and upon further inspection they noticed that no stain of blood had clung to the steel tips. One of the shadows roved even closer, tentatively prodding the mass of brown felt with the tip of his boot. Then, a single kick, and the heap spun over, trailing lightly across the bed of snow.

It was clear, now. The husk was empty.

[Christoph]

“I’m sure that kind of thing happens all the time,” jested Sir Ciaphas, making light of his comrades’ unease as the Harpy messenger bringing word of the strange encounter flew into the sky once more. The flickering light of the large fire painted the noble’s face in a demonic visage and danced between the gnarled trees and canvas tents of their seemingly abandoned camp. The emptiness was an illusion, of course; the guards merely decided that they were most efficient when not seen. “It was a random cloaked figure. Wandering through the forest, delivering cryptic messages, and vanishing mysteriously is what they do.”

“While I am inclined to agree with you,” began the chef commander with a warm laugh, “this is still troubling. We don’t know who or what our visitor was, or who we’re supposed to be up against out here.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” asked the third and final figure occupying the fire’s warm glow, and the only one not warming his hands by it. Temujin chuckled with the faintest hint of cynicism. The oldest of the trio, the mysterious paternal man always wore a massive black greatcoat and black gloves, and sported short salt-and-pepper hair with long sideburns. “For once, it is we who are in the dark about our foes, instead of us casting the shroud over the eyes of our enemies.”

“Bah! I hate irony!” scoffed Ciaphas.

“When it happens to you, anyway,” corrected Chris, before turning to face to his advisor. “Do you actually think that there is a real threat, Temujin?”

The older man nodded. “Yes, I have no doubt about it. When Ciaphas first conjured an illusion of the woman you saw in the killing field to the north, I had a feeling that I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. But now…”

Temujin gained Christopher’s full attention. The chef had long since learned to appreciate his advisor’s nearly eidetic memory and encyclopedic knowledge. Chris lost track of the number of occasions that Temujin had been able to make connections that no one else had seen or produce information practically out of nowhere, simply because he’d ‘heard something about it once.’ He’d attribute it to his contacts and mercenary experience, but the cook commander knew that there was far more to it than that.

“What do you know, ‘Jin?”

“Our scouts said that this stranger mentioned ‘the Maiden’,” he explained. “I’ve heard that title used before, regarding someone with the name ‘Sati’.” Chris knew not to bother asking where his friend had heard it. “And then I remembered where I’d seen that woman from. Sati Sarasvati used to be a priestess of the Ethereal Sway, but had been excommunicated some time ago. If I remember correctly, I believe she works for Sine Nomine.”

Christopher blinked. “Sign who?”

“Oh, right, I forget that ninety-nine percent of the world has no idea that they exist,” sighed ‘Jin. “Sine Nomine is an organization, devoted to… something. From what I’ve heard, it involves some revolutionary anarchy nonsense. I honestly have no idea, though. What I do know is that they are a very powerful group with extensive influence in several nations.”

“Well, this makes a ton of sense,” groaned Sir Ciaphas sarcastically. “This Sati, an official enemy of the church is now fighting for the church.”

“There is still too much that we don’t know,” Temujin pointed out, sighing wearily. “There are dozens of possibilities. Perhaps Sine Nomine has some investment in the church, or maybe Sati is trying to regain favor. And who knows, there’s a chance that there is no connection, and that she was only here to retrieve that body and is no threat to us at all.”

“All right, what do we do?” asked Chris.

The advisor laughed darkly. “Why, we do exactly what that stranger told us to do; we find them. I suggest that we gather a few of the harpies and our Illusionists and Necromancers. If Sine Nomine is here, we will find them.” With that, the trio dispersed. They left the fire burning, hoping that the enemy would be stupid enough to “find” the Cipher Nex camp.

* * * * *
Temujin’s muffled footsteps pounded against the frozen forest floor with more force and weight than would typically be expected from a man of his frame. The mercenary moved in the opposite direction of Chris and Ciaphas. They would take care of things on their end and make sure that nothing went wrong. As much as he didn’t like the influence that Ciaphas seemed to be having upon Chris, Temujin trusted the noble’s paranoia to keep his charge, the chef, alive in a forest stalked by cloaked phantoms.

The faint whoosh of flapping wings brought him back to the present. The lithe, sensuous form of the Harpy Matron landed silently to his left, her grace nearly inhuman.

“Good evening again, Celaena,” said the mercenary. He was the only man in the army to know her name. Such a trust came only from saving her life and her entire flock from a band of Salvic demon hunters. He was the reason that the Harpies had joined the ranks of Cipher Nex. He trusted the Matron to be his eyes and ears over any other. “Your promptness is admirable.”

“Isn’t it always?” she replied in an amused hiss, circling around Temujin and dragging her clawed fingers playfully across his chest. “My Harpies are on their way to our rendezvous point, but I kept three in the sky as you asked. Also, the commander of our Illusionists will meet you at the ridge.”

The mercenary nodded, stepping away from the feminine creature’s teasing fingers. “Good,” he said. Celaena sighed and drew her hand back, folding her wings irritably.

“When are you going to tell me what you’re coming up with?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I haven’t even figured anything out yet,” he answered, his voice eerily casual. “I’m thinking this up as I go along.” The Harpy raised her black eyebrow; her glaring red eyes pierced him like shards of glass.

“Do you expect me to believe that you, careful and calculating Temujin, is going in blind?” she huffed.

“Of course I don’t expect you to believe me. I wouldn’t trust you so much if you always trusted me.” He grinned, pleased with himself. The Harpy scowled. “But in all seriousness, if I were to come up with a plan now, without knowing who or where my enemy was, then I would be going blind. I can only hope that my suspicions are wrong, and that we’re not about to go to war with Sine Nomine… not now, so soon.”

His answer summoned silence from dark night. Celaena stared at him, tilting her angular head. Her gaze was confused and concerned. Temujin could tell that she wanted to ask him how he knew; she wanted answers and explanations; she wanted to know that he had everything under control. Yet, at the same time, she knew that they couldn’t be given yet. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and low. It sounded very… human.

“And if you’re right? What will you do then, Temujin? Will you know what do?”

He nodded again, summoning all the confidence that he was able. “I hope so.” He sighed softly. “Until then, you know what to do. I’ll come up with a plan once I know for sure.” The Harpy took to the ominous sky once more, leaving Temujin once again alone.

His last words were a lie, and he did not doubt that Celaena knew it.

* * * * *

The temperature had dropped considerably in the few hours since sunset, but Temujin barely noticed. He walked north, the Illusionist commander at his flank. The mercenary’s garb was completely different than before; it consisted of the light blue robes of the Ethereal Sway clergy, complete with stolen symbols and badges of office. They were all real, not illusions. He even had a new name: Priest Nicholai Timko.

“And you’re sure that you’ll be able to pinpoint where these people are hiding?” asked Temujin.

The Illusionist, a bald, wrinkled and ancient man, nodded. He too wore a Sway robe, though he lacked any symbols of office; he would simply pose as a servant. “If they are using magic to conceal themselves, yes,” he croaked.

It all made perfect sense to the mercenary. He knew the formidable talents of the Harpies as scouts; the only way that their enemy could have avoided their detection was through arcane means. So he summoned the most skilled of Cipher Nex’s illusionists to aid him while the rest of their magical staff worked to determine the same exact thing; If Sine Nomine was hiding nearby, ‘Jin would be the one to find them first. The terrain grew more rocky as they continued north.

“We’re close…” whispered the spell caster.

“Good. We keep going; let us find out what sort of reception we will receive.”

[Magdalena]

“They are scrying for us,” Cassock declared sedately as he burrowed out of the furs, amber eyes were sealed and quavering as he focused on the warbled voice of a distant interlocutor, a feat made possible with the courtesy of his telepathy. “One of the Grand Dukes, posted outside as sentinels, has informed Cassock that the enemy’s own illusionists are combing the mountains as we speak.”

“What?” Eyes blinking open, Sati regarded the Patriarch squarely as her brows knit together in disbelief. Unfortunately, time had taught her to discern when the Dover was speaking in jest; bizarre as his humor may be, he could never spin a tale as tasteless as this one. “This is too soon,” Sati sighed, suddenly on edge as she took to her feet. “They would never hunt for illusions unless they knew what to look for in the first place, and that means they already know something’s hiding in the mountains.”

“Then there has been a leak, Cassock believes.” The possibility was cause for alarm, but Sati had an inkling that this was too simple a claim. Any traitor would have been seen leaving the caves, and the only telepaths were the Patriarch and his ranks of Dover Demons, whom he trusted unconditionally. One could not betray without the others knowing – no, one could not betray, without all the others betraying as well. Then perhaps not a leak, but a breach, she wondered. Quickly, she concluded that pure conjectures would lead her nowhere, deciding instead to focus on a solution.

“These illusionists… how strong?” Deep in musing, she held her lips between thumb and index, racing against the frenetic flow of her thoughts. If they were fairly incompetent, Sati presumed that the simple chimeras they conjured would still hold unnoticed, or at least do so long enough for them to prepare and take action. If that were the case, then their initial plan would not fall through. No, the plan had to hold, no matter what.

“Strong – with one much stronger, Cassock is told.” Sati wheeled away at the response, muttering a string of oaths as she paced the cave. The Patriarch paused to consider his words, then resumed as simply and sedately as he could. “Your orders, Maiden?”

“They already know we’re here.” It was a simple statement, plainly spoken. “And, if they don’t, they’ll find out soon enough. The only thing we control, right now, is how soon.” She stopped her stride at the edge of the fire’s glare, like the Dragoons drinking in as much of the soothing heat as she could. She would need it. “Have the Dukes leave a trail of red herrings, Cassock. Invite them to look for us.” The patriarch sealed his eyes in focus, then nodded as a sign that the message had been delivered.

“Decoy illusions for the real illusions,” Sapna said with a tone of enthusiasm. She had refrained from giving her opinion while the Maiden and the Patriarch confabulated, fervently conserving as much of her energy for this very task. For nearly twenty hours, she had lain awake, continuously pouring out her power into the eldritch channel that began deep within Cassock’s mind and ended in thirteen pathways leading into his Grand Dukes. This time, however, she would need to expend all that she had saved for no more than ten crucial minutes. “You know I won’t be able to help after this, sis.”

“I know, but don’t waste your energy worrying about me,” Sati replied, showing her sister an apologetic smile. “I’m just sorry that I had to push you this far, Sapna.”

“Ah, this heart-warming display of sisterly love makes my joints ache oh so horribly.” With a rhythmic click of bones, Orarion stepped into view the bare white of his skeletal arms arcing in an overzealous flourish. To what the others truly paid mind, however, was the wraith that walked in his wake, wrapped in tattered sheets like an amply-robed corpse found afloat in dead and quiet waters. In its shriveled arms, it cradled the corpse of Natalya as a loving mother would her newborn child. Sati was surprisingly touched: the creature had paid heed to her request.

“I bring ill tidings,” Orarion began, waving a fleshless hand around dismissively. “The corpse contained absolutely no relevant information as to the identity or power of our foes.” In an attempt to sigh, a puff of dust blew between his teeth. “That it was dead as a bent nail is good for a chuckle, but equally useless? Not amusing.”

Dismissing the lich’s comments with a grit of her teeth, Sati turned an eye to the rocky corridors that snaked deeper into the mountains in tortuous paths. She perked her ears, almost expecting to hear the sound of picks and spades. Instead, there was nothing but the ongoing hum of the dark, and perhaps a distant rumble that could be felt by way of the ground. “Then there’s nothing left but to trust that the Undertakers are nearly done with their task. Still, I’ll wait by the entrance; if the worst comes to pass, I might have to stall for additional time.”

“They’ll kill you, Sati!” Sapna was struggling against the urge to rise and knock some sense into the priestess. A concerted motion of the three motley generals of this army, however, had stopped her from committing an irreparable blunder. The girl was already short of breath, huffing and puffing without relent as her forehead became slick with sweat.

“I told you not to worry,” Sati chided. “They won’t kill a woman on her own, not unless she becomes a clear threat – and heaven knows, I’m a more than decent actress. Have some faith in me, will you?” She managed that lightly scolding smile and, after a deep breath, vanished within the labyrinthine complex of corridors to make her way toward the entrance.

Alas, what she asked for was not something Sapna could easily grant. How, she wondered, was she to have faith in a woman who had long forsaken hers?

::::::

“They are nearing, Maiden,” were the words spoken into her mind. The Grand Duke stationed at the entrance of their lair was sitting cross-legged on the bare and snow-bedded floor, apparently unmindful of its chill and asperities. Only slightly taller than a toddler, it had no nose and no ears, with small green barbs covering its sandpaper skin. It seemed to be in meditation, an action most likely required to maintain the illusion of a rocky wall in front of it.

“Though they have yet to discover one of our bases, the Wraith Operatives estimate a convergence of positions in less than three minutes. What shall you do?” it asked, its voice a perfectly blank replica of its master's. To be frank, she had been short on ideas ever since her rough awakening.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” came a disembodied voice that startled Sati where she stood. Then it sank into her, the familiarity of that honeyed voice. Seeing that the Duke gave no reaction, the priestess concluded that the stranger of her nightmares had left its realm of predilection. “The precious moment that precedes the coming of mass death. A thrill unto itself, one among many that I have witnessed.”

“Caused, you mean,” Sati growled inwardly, careful not to alert the Dover of this peculiar situation. “Were you the one who alerted them of our presence?”

“Is that anger I hear in your voice?” the being enquired despondently. “How sad. Your face was most attractive when warped by fear. Such an expression would make... any man want to protect you.”

“How unfortunate for me, then that you're nothing close to one,” Sati hissed in her mind, feeling that deathly warmth creep beneath her skin, a myriad jabs from crimsoning needles. “I hope you’re aware that your little ruse has as many chances of killing us as it has of saving us.”

“Yes, quite a coin toss it seems,” it noted in a playful tone. “Let’s see now, if you still have the devil’s luck.”

“Maiden, whatever you have planned, now is the time,” The Duke spoke again, pulling her out of her mental torpor. No longer could she feel the wicked heat, nor the unbearable presence of the ghost that haunted her. “Before they see you step out of the illusion…”

Without a word or a moment wasted, she strode onward, ignoring the static pinpricks as she waded through the fallacious wall. Only when she saw the range of white-capped hills and vast tract of snow that spanned a dozen feet beneath the mountain’s versant did she realize how cold it truly was. The wall’s illusion had fooled more than just her eyes, it seemed.

Within moments, she saw black figures round the area were the first of their lairs was hidden. Sati forded through the thick and cold bed at her feet, hurriedly approaching the ledge for them all to see. Thrice breathing deep, she pinched her thighs through the fabric of her dress, twisting forcefully. Then, in perfect Salvic of a well-born priestess, she shouted with the furious despair of a widow, her forced tears freezing as fast they were shed. “Why have you come? Do you foreigners seek to kill more of my people, to bleed us to the very last?”

For a moment, they had stopped to hear her distant voice. A strange occurrence, however, was the rising rumble that suddenly growled. Sati herself could not make out whether it came from the mountain peaks, or the ground upon which they sat. When she realized that perhaps it was both, an idea came to her. She was... grateful, one could say, for Orarion's twisted courtesy and concern over the advent of her... death, so to speak. The notion made her sick.

“Zver’! Chërnye Sotni!” she screamed through the cone of her hands, and at the top of her lungs. Brutes and the Black Hundreds – a dead political faction that began countless pogroms in the heart of Knife’s Edge – were the most offhand yet relevant insult she could think of, situation-wise. Almost in response, the ground rumbled in unison with the mountains again. Mustering everything she held within her frail body, the would-be-banshee shouted one final time, beyond the top of her lungs. “Vrag Naroda!*”

The cold burned her throat. Yet, the growling echoes of the mountains, akin to the furious groans of giants stirring beneath their prisons of ice, held a disturbingly soothing quality. The peaks quavered, their mane of snow barely poised atop ithe rocky perches, until time finally thawed. There was a bellow in the distance, a beastly moan of nature enraged – and there it was.

There was nothing more telltale than the sound of an avalanche.

Though of disappointingly small magnitude, it descended in rapid white torrents, tumbling in crashing waves across the hillside. Yet, before she could see if it the wintry stampede had swept her foes away , the priestess had bounded away, hear skull barely missing the falling boulders of ice that her scream had calved off a few feet above her. She lay prostrate in a cold pool, craning her neck in an overhead glance for the sign of another snowslide. Seeing none, she picked herself up, dusting off the powder industriously before looking back at the opposing forces.

The priestess cursed. The bulk of the avalanche had missed them, and from what little she could see through the risen screen of diamond dust, they were unharmed – albeit slightly colder than they had been before. Still, Sati was far from upset. Though the enemy was still standing and breathing, she had done exactly what she had set out for. “Was that enough time for you, dears?”

The world shook once more, but this time it clearly came from the crust beneath these titans sheathed in ice. The terrene roar came in waves, each one louder, perhaps faster, but definitely stronger than the last one. They remained harmless earthquakes, tremors of an amplitude too weak to disturb the mountains, but the noise was ever ominous, like a baleful battering at the gates of the underworld – a legion of undead, clambering out of their snowy graves.

A final ram, and the earth split beneath millennia of frost. Dust flew from the fresh wound in the crust, spilling as would blood amongst a storm of flying debris. Howls came from the hollow deep, the depraved wails of an army that had tread far too long in the darkness below. In a nightmare rush of laughter, winged beasts flew into the mist, their black and silver-streaked shadows circling within the clouds of dust and snow. Soon, they were out of sight, but the relentless cackle of the Laughing Crones was ever within earshot.

Five figures stood soldierly, in a row at the top of the slope that had been fashioned through arcane means. They were giants of pulsing flesh, faceless, misshapen, lumbering lumps of red and purple and veiny pink, with disroportinate pumps at their back exhausting with putrescent smoke. These were the ones to have broken the earth but moments ago, expending all of their organic fuel for the accomplishment of this feat. Between these now-inoperative hulks, however, stood a triad of skeletons. They boasted small horns like crowns atop their skulls, a bone-white bow in their long-fingered hands and a quiver of spines strapped to their ribplates.

These were the Undertakers of the Marrow, famous among the undead for their skilled marksmanship, but revered by all for their control over the earth and its underlying forces, and this was no exaggeration. Under twenty-two hours, they had tunneled out from their respective bases until the three burrows conjoined to form a single path, one stairway wide enough to lead most of the forces of the Hexxen Nacht into the battlefield.

All for the sake of this final hour, wherein which this war would end.

*Enemy of the people

[Christoph]

“I’m sure that kind of thing happens all the time,” jested Sir Ciaphas, making light of his comrades’ unease as the Harpy messenger bringing word of the strange encounter flew into the sky once more. The flickering light of the large fire painted the noble’s face in a demonic visage and danced between the gnarled trees and canvas tents of their seemingly abandoned camp. The emptiness was an illusion, of course; the guards merely decided that they were most efficient when not seen. “It was a random cloaked figure. Wandering through the forest, delivering cryptic messages, and vanishes mysteriously is what they do.”

“While I am inclined to agree with you,” began the chef commander with a warm laugh, “this is still troubling. We don’t know who or what our visitor was, or who we’re supposed to be up against out here.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” asked the third and final figure occupying the fire’s warm glow, and the only one not warming his hands by it. Temujin chuckled with the faintest hint of cynicism. The oldest of the trio, the mysterious paternal man always wore a massive black greatcoat and black gloves, and sported short salt-and-pepper hair with long sideburns. “For once, it is we who are in the dark about our foes, instead of us casting the shroud over the eyes of our enemies.”

“Bah! I hate irony!” scoffed Ciaphas.

“When it happens to you, anyway,” corrected Chris, before turning to face to his advisor. “Do you actually think that there is a real threat, Temujin?”

The older man nodded. “Yes, I have no doubt about it. When Ciaphas first conjured an illusion of the woman you saw in the killing field to the north, I had a feeling that I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. But now…”

Temujin gained Christopher’s full attention. The chef had long since learned to appreciate his advisor’s nearly eidetic memory and encyclopedic knowledge. Chris lost track of the number of occasions that Temujin had been able to make connections that no one else had seen or produce information practically out of nowhere, simply because he’d ‘heard something about it once.’ He’d attribute it to his contacts and mercenary experience, but the cook commander knew that there was far more to it than that.

“What do you know, ‘Jin?”

“Our scouts said that this stranger mentioned ‘the Maiden’,” he explained. “I’ve heard that title used before, regarding someone with the name ‘Sati’.” Chris knew not to bother asking where his friend had heard it. “And then I remembered where I’d seen that woman from. Sati Sarasvati used to be a priestess of the Ethereal Sway, but had been excommunicated some time ago. If I remember correctly, I believe she works for Sine Nomine.”

Christopher blinked. “Sign who?”

“Oh, right, I forget that ninety-nine percent of the world has no idea that they exist,” sighed ‘Jin. “Sine Nomine is an organization, devoted to… something. From what I’ve heard, it involves some revolutionary anarchy nonsense. I honestly have no idea, though. What I do know is that they are a very powerful group with extensive influence in several nations.”

“Well, this makes a ton of sense,” groaned Sir Ciaphas sarcastically. “This Sati, an official enemy of the church is now fighting for the church.”

“There is still too much that we don’t know,” Temujin pointed out, sighing wearily. “There are dozens of possibilities. Perhaps Sine Nomine has some investment in the church, or maybe Sati is trying to regain favor. And who knows, there’s a chance that there is no connection, and that she was only here to retrieve that body and is no threat to us at all.”

“All right, what do we do?” asked Chris.

The advisor laughed darkly. “Why, we do exactly what that stranger told us to do; we find them. I suggest that we gather a few of the harpies and our Illusionists and Necromancers. If Sine Nomine is here, we will find them.” With that, the trio dispersed. They left the fire burning, hoping that the enemy would be stupid enough to “find” the Cipher Nex camp.

* * * * *
Temujin’s muffled footsteps pounded against the frozen forest floor with more force and weight than would typically be expected from a man of his frame. The mercenary moved in the opposite direction of Chris and Ciaphas. They would take care of things on their end and make sure that nothing went wrong. As much as he didn’t like the influence that Ciaphas seemed to be having upon Chris, Temujin trusted the noble’s paranoia to keep his charge, the chef, alive in a forest stalked by cloaked phantoms.

The faint whoosh of flapping wings brought him back to the present. The lithe, sensuous form of the Harpy Matron landed silently to his left, her grace nearly inhuman.

“Good evening again, Celaena,” said the mercenary. He was the only man in the army to know her name. Such a trust came only from saving her life and her entire flock from a band of Salvic demon hunters. He was the reason that the Harpies had joined the ranks of Cipher Nex. He trusted the Matron to be his eyes and ears over any other. “Your promptness is admirable.”

“Isn’t it always?” she replied in an amused hiss, circling around Temujin and dragging her clawed fingers playfully across his chest. “My Harpies are on their way to our rendezvous point, but I kept three in the sky as you asked. Also, the commander of our Illusionists will meet you at the ridge.”

The mercenary nodded, stepping away from the feminine creature’s teasing fingers. “Good,” he said. Celaena sighed and drew her hand back, folding her wings irritably.

“When are you going to tell me what you’re coming up with?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I haven’t even figured anything out yet,” he answered, his voice eerily casual. “I’m thinking this up as I go along.” The Harpy raised her black eyebrow; her glaring red eyes pierced him like shards of glass.

“Do you expect me to believe that you, careful and calculating Temujin, is going in blind?” she huffed.

“Of course I don’t expect you to believe me. I wouldn’t trust you so much if you always trusted me.” He grinned, pleased with himself. The Harpy scowled. “But in all seriousness, if I were to come up with a plan now, without knowing who or where my enemy was, then I would be going blind. I can only hope that my suspicions are wrong, and that we’re not about to go to war with Sine Nomine… not now, so soon.”

His answer summoned silence from dark night. Celaena stared at him, tilting her angular head. Her gaze was confused and concerned. Temujin could tell that she wanted to ask him how he knew; she wanted answers and explanations; she wanted to know that he had everything under control. Yet, at the same time, she knew that they couldn’t be given yet. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and low. It sounded very… human.

“And if you’re right? What will you do then, Temujin? Will you know what do?”

He nodded again, summoning all the confidence that he was able. “I hope so.” He sighed softly. “Until then, you know what to do. I’ll come up with a plan once I know for sure.” The Harpy took to the ominous sky once more, leaving Temujin once again alone.

His last words were a lie, and he did not doubt that Celaena knew it.

* * * * *

The temperature had dropped considerably in the few hours since sunset, but Temujin barely noticed. He walked north, the Illusionist commander at his flank. The mercenary’s garb was completely different than before; it consisted of the light blue robes of the Ethereal Sway clergy, complete with stolen symbols and badges of office. They were all real, not illusions. He even had a new name: Priest Nicholai Timko.

“And you’re sure that you’ll be able to pinpoint where these people are hiding?” asked Temujin.

The Illusionist, a bald, wrinkled and ancient man, nodded. He too wore a Sway robe, though he lacked any symbols of office; he would simply pose as a servant. “If they are using magic to conceal themselves, yes,” he croaked.

It all made perfect sense to the mercenary. He knew the formidable talents of the Harpies as scouts; the only way that their enemy could have avoided their detection was through arcane means. So he summoned the most skilled of Cipher Nex’s illusionists to aid him while the rest of their magical staff worked to determine the same exact thing; If Sine Nomine was hiding nearby, ‘Jin would be the one to find them first. The terrain grew more rocky as they continued north.

“We’re close…” whispered the spell caster.

“Good. We keep going; let us find out what sort of reception we will receive.”










“That was an unusual sound,” said Ciaphas, as a distant, unexpected rumbling echoed through the forest. His voice was surprisingly calm. It always was. “I wonder if it’s a coincidence that Temujin hasn’t shown up yet, either.”

“I’m not sure… earthquakes aren’t… usually his style,” replied Christopher, fighting to keep worry from infecting his face. They stood several yards away from a circle of over a dozen Illusionists. The coven of mages had been working furiously for over fifteen minutes, but to little avail. They had confirmed that potent illusion spells were at work within a couple of miles, but their attempts at pinpointing the source had been unexpectedly fruitless. The fact that the Illusionists’ Patriarch was missing as well didn’t help the process, either.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” commented the noble.

“I wouldn’t either,” sighed the chef. He strained his ears, more rumbling and unnatural sounds carried from the north. “I don’t like it, though. It’s maybe two miles away… whatever the hell is going on out there. Do we have troops in that area?”

“Maybe a handful… but the Caelgrar and the Gargoyles are probably still lurking about near there as well.”

Chris paused, thinking furiously. “All right. There’s not much we can do yet. We’ll stay here until the Illusionists have finished their scrying or until we receive word from our forces to the north, or at least Temujin. We’ll be best off here, with the bulk of our forces on the defensive. Until we know what we’re facing, I’d rather not commit to an attack.”

“As much as I hate missing out on the action, I agree,” said Ciaphas with a nod. “Getting myself killed is something I hate far more. Besides, I’m sure our forces to the north can take care of themselves.”

* * * * *

With the silence grace of a deadly hunter, the humanoid tiger stalked through the frozen steppes and trees. Her white and black stripes were dulled and grayed with mud and dirt, allowing her lithe form to melt into the winter night. All but invisible, she lurked through dead, crystaline bushes and between ancient trees, stalking her prey like a solitary predator. The Calgrar Tigress Asari wasn’t hunting alone that night, however.

The other eight Caelgrar warriors, all male, were taking up their watchful positions as well. They were taller and far broader than she with massive muscles rippled through their sculpted bodies. Despite their bulk, they were just as invisible as Asari.

There were others, too. A patrol of twenty Shadows and Shades, cloaked in black and armed with deadly repeating crossbows had gathered nearby, obscured by the night. Further back, fifteen of the Dark Rangers crouched behind rocks and brush, arrows notched and ready. Closer in were a dozen glaive-masters, the dreaded Stalkers and Reapers, slinking in the shadows of the trees with their short pole arms tucked into their wiry frames. The entire assortment of warriors moved in small, silent squads as they formed a half perimeter around their unexpected target.

The target, if it could be accurately referred to as such, could best be described as a hellish swarm pouring from a matching pit in the frozen earth. Asari couldn’t help but imagine that even the leaders of Cipher Nex would be impressed by such an imposing entrance – that is, if these unknown enemies had managed to get closer to their headquarters before bursting from the ground like insects.

Without a moment’s hesitation, whispered orders filled the entire detachment. In an instant, every Shade, Shadow, and Ranger sprung into action. A dozens of arrows and bolts whizzed into the enemy. They continued their volley without pause. Meanwhile, the glaive warriors remained still, hiding silently while the Caelgrar hunters prepared to strike.

The massive catlike humanoids darted up trees, hopped from branch to branch with supernatural dexterity, and lunged down upon the advancing army. All nine of the terrible beasts landed in a whirlwind of death and destruction.

The tactic was truly Cipher Nex’s hallmark. The Caelgrar and their handful of human allies would seem like several times their real number to the enemy’s eyes.

* * * * *

Beneath Sandulf’s dark granite wings, it seemed as though the fabric of earth and hell. The stink of smoke, sulfur, and unholy magic floated like a mist between the frozen trees. Blood spilled all over the forest floor as men, beasts, and demons fought. Chaos and terror reigned over the night like king and queen. By the dark gods, it was beautiful.

He curled his stone lips into a sinister grin, catching a gust of wind with his mighty wings instead, allowing his heavy, muscular body to stay aloft. Two hundred years of standing as a motionless statue in a cave had done nothing to diminish the Gargoyle’s appreciation for beauty and art – and this growing storm of bloodshed and violence below him was art at its finest.

His eyes burned like embers from the abyss as he gazed down at the landscape below him. His form was terrible to behold; stone skin, devilish horns and fangs, and razor-sharp claws combined to make him nothing less than what the stories described. He saw his brothers already closing in on the escalating battle; most would have confused the hellish figures for the other demons in the sky. Sandulf picked up his pace. He wasn’t going to let pass his only opportunity to cause destruction and death before the rays of sun turned him into a statue once more; he wasn’t going to let the other Gargoyles have all the fun.

With nothing more than a silent signal from Sandulf to command them, the entire brotherhood of Gargoyles sprung into action. They swooped down at their victims like birds of prey, dodging and weaving through the tree trunks and enemy flyers as they swept into the knights from all directions without warning. Their powerful wings guided their heavy forms right into the fray, claws extended, ready to pluck their unsuspecting enemies from the snowy ground. Then, the real fun would begin.

* * * * *

Temujin’s gloved hand burst from the packed snow that had swept both he and the Illusionist Patriarch up and buried them. He struggled against his own unnatural weight to dig himself and his companion free from the icy embrace. After a few grueling minutes, the mercenary managed to free both of them. The mage coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath.

“Are you hurt?” Temujin asked.

The Illusionist grinned weakly. “A little… I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Temujin scanned his drastically warped surroundings. Barely one hundred yards away, the earth was split, and twisted and demonic creatures were spewing from it crack. This was bad. This was very bad. The last thing they needed was a war with Sine Nomine. Cipher Nex wasn’t ready; even if they won the battle, they would certainly be undone by that powerful organization, should they hold a grudge.

Then, the disguised mercenary spotted his last hope. It was Sati Sarasvati – the one who had buried them in the snow. She appeared to be the one in charge, as he’d expected. The time to execute his plan was upon him, and he’d only have one shot.

“Patriarch… do you have another spell in you?” he asked. The spell caster nodded. “Good

[Christoph]

“That was an unusual sound,” said Ciaphas, as a distant, unexpected rumbling echoed through the forest. His voice was surprisingly calm. It always was. “I wonder if it’s a coincidence that Temujin hasn’t shown up yet, either.”

“I’m not sure… earthquakes aren’t… usually his style,” replied Christopher, fighting to keep worry from infecting his face. They stood several yards away from a circle of over a dozen Illusionists. The coven of mages had been working furiously for over fifteen minutes, but to little avail. They had confirmed that potent illusion spells were at work within a couple of miles, but their attempts at pinpointing the source had been unexpectedly fruitless. The fact that the Illusionists’ Patriarch was missing as well didn’t help the process, either.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” commented the noble.

“I wouldn’t either,” sighed the chef. He strained his ears, more rumbling and unnatural sounds carried from the north. “I don’t like it, though. It’s maybe two miles away… whatever the hell is going on out there. Do we have troops in that area?”

“Maybe a handful… but the Caelgrar and the Gargoyles are probably still lurking about near there as well.”

Chris paused, thinking furiously. “All right. There’s not much we can do yet. We’ll stay here until the Illusionists have finished their scrying or until we receive word from our forces to the north, or at least Temujin. We’ll be best off here, with the bulk of our forces on the defensive. Until we know what we’re facing, I’d rather not commit to an attack.”

“As much as I hate missing out on the action, I agree,” said Ciaphas with a nod. “Getting myself killed is something I hate far more. Besides, I’m sure our forces to the north can take care of themselves.”

* * * * *

With the silence grace of a deadly hunter, the humanoid tiger stalked through the frozen steppes and trees. Her white and black stripes were dulled and grayed with mud and dirt, allowing her lithe form to melt into the winter night. All but invisible, she lurked through dead, crystaline bushes and between ancient trees, stalking her prey like a solitary predator. The Calgrar Tigress Asari wasn’t hunting alone that night, however.

The other eight Caelgrar warriors, all male, were taking up their watchful positions as well. They were taller and far broader than she with massive muscles rippled through their sculpted bodies. Despite their bulk, they were just as invisible as Asari.

There were others, too. A patrol of twenty Shadows and Shades, cloaked in black and armed with deadly repeating crossbows had gathered nearby, obscured by the night. Further back, fifteen of the Dark Rangers crouched behind rocks and brush, arrows notched and ready. Closer in were a dozen glaive-masters, the dreaded Stalkers and Reapers, slinking in the shadows of the trees with their short pole arms tucked into their wiry frames. The entire assortment of warriors moved in small, silent squads as they formed a half perimeter around their unexpected target.

The target, if it could be accurately referred to as such, could best be described as a hellish swarm pouring from a matching pit in the frozen earth. Asari couldn’t help but imagine that even the leaders of Cipher Nex would be impressed by such an imposing entrance – that is, if these unknown enemies had managed to get closer to their headquarters before bursting from the ground like insects.

Without a moment’s hesitation, whispered orders filled the entire detachment. In an instant, every Shade, Shadow, and Ranger sprung into action. A dozens of arrows and bolts whizzed into the enemy. They continued their volley without pause. Meanwhile, the glaive warriors remained still, hiding silently while the Caelgrar hunters prepared to strike.

The massive catlike humanoids darted up trees, hopped from branch to branch with supernatural dexterity, and lunged down upon the advancing army. All nine of the terrible beasts landed in a whirlwind of death and destruction.

The tactic was truly Cipher Nex’s hallmark. The Caelgrar and their handful of human allies would seem like several times their real number to the enemy’s eyes.

* * * * *

Beneath Sandulf’s dark granite wings, it seemed as though the fabric of earth and hell. The stink of smoke, sulfur, and unholy magic floated like a mist between the frozen trees. Blood spilled all over the forest floor as men, beasts, and demons fought. Chaos and terror reigned over the night like king and queen. By the dark gods, it was beautiful.

He curled his stone lips into a sinister grin, catching a gust of wind with his mighty wings instead, allowing his heavy, muscular body to stay aloft. Two hundred years of standing as a motionless statue in a cave had done nothing to diminish the Gargoyle’s appreciation for beauty and art – and this growing storm of bloodshed and violence below him was art at its finest.

His eyes burned like embers from the abyss as he gazed down at the landscape below him. His form was terrible to behold; stone skin, devilish horns and fangs, and razor-sharp claws combined to make him nothing less than what the stories described. He saw his brothers already closing in on the escalating battle; most would have confused the hellish figures for the other demons in the sky. Sandulf picked up his pace. He wasn’t going to let pass his only opportunity to cause destruction and death before the rays of sun turned him into a statue once more; he wasn’t going to let the other Gargoyles have all the fun.

With nothing more than a silent signal from Sandulf to command them, the entire brotherhood of Gargoyles sprung into action. They swooped down at their victims like birds of prey, dodging and weaving through the tree trunks and enemy flyers as they swept into the knights from all directions without warning. Their powerful wings guided their heavy forms right into the fray, claws extended, ready to pluck their unsuspecting enemies from the snowy ground. Then, the real fun would begin.

* * * * *

Temujin’s gloved hand burst from the packed snow that had swept both he and the Illusionist Patriarch up and buried them. He struggled against his own unnatural weight to dig himself and his companion free from the icy embrace. After a few grueling minutes, the mercenary managed to free both of them. The mage coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath.

“Are you hurt?” Temujin asked.

The Illusionist grinned weakly. “A little… I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Temujin scanned his drastically warped surroundings. Barely one hundred yards away, the earth was split, and twisted and demonic creatures were spewing from it crack. This was bad. This was very bad. The last thing they needed was a war with Sine Nomine. Cipher Nex wasn’t ready; even if they won the battle, they would certainly be undone by that powerful organization, should they hold a grudge.

Then, the disguised mercenary spotted his last hope. It was Sati Sarasvati – the one who had buried them in the snow. She appeared to be the one in charge, as he’d expected. The time to execute his plan was upon him, and he’d only have one shot.

“Patriarch… do you have another spell in you?” he asked. The spell caster nodded. “Good. I need you to make me look at… divine and holy as you possibly can. Can you do that?”

“Yes…” the Illusionist replied. He murmured some arcane formulae and within seconds, Temujin began to glow in a heavenly light. Imposing angelic images swirled around him, singing holy chants. An unnatural wind caused his blue cloak to flutter dramatically. It was perfect.

With a visage of complete confidence and authority, Temujin – or rather, Priest Nicholai Timko – strode toward the gaping, demonic pit. Merely for effect, the false priest struck aside one of the hellish creatures with his supernatural, or as far as his foes were concerned, divine might. He was a sight to behold, a true image of holy power and the avatar of all that people fear about the Sway.

“Heretic Savi Sarasvati!” he bellowed, command pouring from his voice like fire. The mercenary had always been a fine actor. He continued toward her. “I am Priest Nicholai Timko, and by the power of the most Holy Order of the Divine Denomination of the true gods the, Ethereal Sway, I command thee to depart immediately from our sacred lands and take your depraved minions with you!” It was a bold gamble, but it was all he had.

[Skie and Avery]

Cipher Nex wins!